Page 33 of An Artful Dodge
A sudden coldness slid along my veins at the thought of Maggie, artful, resourceful, and clever, coming back here for that. “What sort of scores?”
“Emma said she heard there was bad blood between Maggie and her jenny,” he said, “over a man they both liked.”
Despite myself, my hand halted on the way to the deck, sudden as if someone had grabbed my wrist.
“We’re just playing cards,” James reminded me softly.
I picked.
But I couldn’t even read the card in my hand while the pieces were fitting together in my head.
The idea that my ma had betrayed Maggie to steal a man’s attentions was easy to believe. What if Maggie came back bent on revenge against my mother? Would she now take it out on me?
My voice shook as I tucked the card into my hand. “My ma was Maggie’s jenny the day she was caught. Amelia told me.”
“Jaysus, Kit.” James’s voice rasped, and he reached a hand to his glass, taking it up for a sip.
“The very first time I saw Maggie here,” I said, “she stared like she recognized me.”
“Because you look like your ma.”
I nodded. “And ever since then, she’s made a point to be friendly. Asking about Sarah, praising me for being clever, even saying my ma was kind to her.”
James had known my mother, so he understood how unlikely that was. “You think she’s trying to get round you.”
“Of course. The day Maggie took me out thieving, I asked her about being caught. She told me the bare facts—but she never mentioned my mother was her jenny. It would be a natural thing to tell me, wouldn’t it?”
“Sounds like she was hiding it.” He took up the three and discarded a king. “But your ma’s beyond her reach, and she can’t blame you for what she did.”
I picked a card from the pile. “Maggie believes the dead can see what happens on earth. What if she thinks my ma can see her hurting me?”
James’s eyebrows rose. “She said that? That the dead can see things?”
“Yes.” I laid down a six, my blood running cold again as I recalled how earnest Maggie had looked. And now I had a good idea why she’d said it to me.
Shouts of laughter from the group by the fire made us both look over. Caleb was juggling three raw potatoes, with Sid standing nearby, ready to pitch him two more.
James scanned his cards. “If she’s as clever as you say, Maggie’ll keep how she feels about your ma and you separate.” He paused. “You’re also the best thief she has. My guess is she knows it.”
“I hope so.” I didn’t mention the special dodge Maggie said she might have for me. I didn’t need James to warn me against it; I was doubly wary now, plenty for both of us.
James laid a card face down. “Three.” He laid down his melds and set the three of clubs to the side with his usual grin, reminding me to keep up the pretense of our game.
“Two,” I said, laying down my own cards and sitting back with a satisfied look.
“Ach, Kit, how do you do that?” he grumbled in protest, his head bowed over the table as he swept up the cards. His voice was low. “God’s sake, just be careful. I don’t want you or Sarah hurt.”
When he looked up, I raised my glass toward him. “Thanks.”
He pushed the deck across the table. “Your deal.”
Before I left the taproom that night, I edged into the circle of thieves by the hearth, the fire crackling and spitting with the damp descending the chimney. Cathy stepped back to include me, and I joined the general laughter, listening to Caleb’s story about having stolen a horse from a gentleman’s carriage house for a ride. Jake and Nick—Billy and Tommy’s best mates—were there, and my every nerve was attuned to their responses to me, to stories, to everything. As usual, they paid me absolutely no attention at all, but I couldn’t measure if they were avoiding my gaze or careless of my presence. After half an hour, sipping my ale slowly so it wouldn’t soften my mind, I left the circle, unable to reassure myself that Sarah was safe.
James, standing at the bar, caught my eye. He read my look and gave the barest nod—not even the usual small lift of his chin, more just his eyes lowering and returning to mine. He’d keep an ear to the ground.
That night, awake in my room with Mary asleep nearby, her breath barely audible, I stared into the darkness, picturing the day Maggie was caught.
Ma tagging Maggie, somehow drawing attention to her so the jeweler knew to summon the constable. Knowing if Maggie was caught and sentenced, she’d have at least seven years to get her hooks into whatever man stood between them.
