Page 6 of Stolen By the Rogue
Toby straightened his posture and then bowed firstly to Stephen and then the others. “Thank you, gentlemen. I bid you a good day.”
Harry took Toby by the hand and led him to the door. He turned and nodded at Stephen. “Send word if your plans change and you cannot collect Toby before supper tomorrow; Alice and I are more than happy for him to stay a second night.”
“Will do and give my best regards to your ever-patient wife.”
George kept his gaze on the door long after Harry and Toby had left. He was badly in need of a distraction. With the small boy gone, it wouldn’t be long before Monsale decided to wade back into George’s misery and offer him yet more of his unsolicited advice.
“As I was saying. You need something to get you out of this rut. Your life lacks purpose. And you owe the RR Coaching Company a new coach, which at the moment doesn’t appear to be arriving any time soon,” said Monsale.
The head of the rogues of the road was never going to let George forget his contractual obligations. Every member of the company had to provide a coach as part of their buy-in money.
Can’t you just leave me to wallow in my despair for five minutes? If it’s not too much of an indulgence.
But as much as it pained him to admit it, Monsale was right. He was in a rut.
His career as a master thief had once been full of vigor, but with the war in Europe now over, his steady supply of stolen items from France and Spain had all but dried up, and with them so had his passion.
People no longer had the pressing need to engage his services to steal or smuggle precious goods out of the continent. Over the past year, business had gone from bad to terrible.
It left him aimless, and if he was honest about it, more than a little scared.
“I hear you, Monsale. I just don’t know what I can do about it. Apart from almost getting caught the other night, I am also facing a serious cashflow problem. Meaning, I basically have none. All my recent jobs have either paid poorly or not at all. And the only other available avenues, such as stealing to order, are becoming far too dangerous,” he replied.
The truth was that for all his illicit behavior, George considered anything that was not of his own volition to be, well, beneath him. Oddly, for a career criminal, George prided himself on the quality of his work, on the creativity behind it. He would never stoop to the dull and less financially lucrative level of picking pockets or robbing people’s houses.
The art gallery job had been a first for George. He admired the artist Titian and had planned to hold onto the painting for a short time before eventually selling it to someone who could give him a good price.
There was a lucrative market for stolen artwork both in England and overseas. Buyers with deep pockets would have been lining up to buyVenus with a Mirror.
’Twas not to be.
His fingers carelessly settled on the top of the newspaper, and he glanced over at it. A headline partway down the second column on the front page caught his attention.
A SPECIAL OTTOMAN EXHIBITION
From the private collection of the Sultan, Mahmud II,
Treasures of the East. An exhibition of antiquities, including the priceless gold and jewel-encrusted crown of Baldwin I (crusader ruler of Constantinople).
At the Ottoman Embassy, Adelphi Buildings, nr. the Strand.
J. Scott. Esq. Curator and Antiquities expert.
What if I could get my hands on some ancient treasure? Surely something like that would be worth pinching, and there must be a market for it.
“Now that would solve all of my problems,” he muttered.
He cleared his throat. “Monsale, do you still have that connection who deals in finding new homes for dusty old artifacts?”
“Yes, why?”
“No reason. Just asking.” He rose from the table, suddenly in need of a second strong cup of tea.
Escaping from home early most mornings in order to avoid his father meant George usually purchased a hot bun for breakfast on the way over to the RR Coaching Company offices. This morning, however, he had been in such a low mood that even food couldn’t spark his interest. Now he was hungry.
Hungry for change.
He filled his cup quickly before returning to stand next to the table where he picked up the newspaper once more. He met Stephen’s gaze. “You don’t mind if I keep this, do you? I agree with what you told Toby. A gentleman should peruse the paper properly each day.”
