Page 26 of The Gentleman’s Thief

“Damn it, man! Blake is a beast.” I spat angrily. “But you know that, don’t you.” I accused. “You know him and what he’s about.”

It was Sebastian’s turn to lose all colour in his cheeks. “I do,” Cavell admitted in a regretful tone. “And I feel wretched for letting you go to meet him alone. I just couldn’t let him know I’m in London.”

“How do you know him?”

“This is quite the story. Might as well get comfortable, old man!” Cavell said in warning as he slid into bed beside me. At that moment, I did not want his bodily warmth; however, I did not have the energy to be angry with him, especially after he had cared for me so sweetly. I remembered the shocked expression that first time we saw Blake at my club. He was terrified of the man. And now, knowing of Blake’s penchant, I was sure this telling would be worthy of a penny dreadful!

Cavell picked up his ready-stuffed pipe from the nightstand, lit it, and took in a few puffs of tobacco. The pipe sent up a familiar cloud of fragrant blue-grey smoke that I now associated with my new companion. I occasionally partook of a cigar on special occasions but did not care for a cumbersome pipe. Inhaling the scent I remembered fondly that I did like the taste of pipe tobacco, but not to smoke. I liked tasting it, the spicy smoke mingled with Port or Brandy on the lips of the man sitting beside me.

“I want to know everything,” I instructed.

“Very well. Where shall I begin?” He said ponderously, “Right, I was born in India in 1862, Bombay to be precise.”

“That would make you…thirty five, yes?!”

“Correct.”

“Why were your parents in Bombay?”

“My father was the chaplain at St Thomas’s Cathedral.”

I reached for the teacup on my bedside table and took a sip as Sebastian spoke.

“India was all I had ever known, so it was quite the culture shock when, at ten years old, I was sent alone to England for my schooling. I had a dreadful time with bullying at school, and so I found ways to circumvent the bullies—I made the boys laugh so they wouldn’t pick on me.”

“Rather the class clown than the punching bag, ay!” I said with a raised brow.

Sebastian paused for some thoughtful puffs on his pipe. “And after school, I was enrolled at the Sorbonne in Paris. My father wanted me to follow in his footsteps and study Theology. He’d instilled in me that it was my path ever since I was a child.”

“And did you share this belief?”

“Not as such,” Sebastian said in response. He took a deep inhalation of his smoke, pursed his lips, and let the blue-grey cloud seep out of his nose.

“But I carried out my father’s wish… to a point!”

My brows rose in inquiry.

“I studied Theology but I… left before graduating.” He revealed haltingly.

“Oh”, I wondered if he had ceased his studies by choice or if an event had occurred that gave him no choice. “What does all of this have to do with Blake?”

Sebastian rested the hand holding his pipe on his lap and sighed. “His name was Nathaniel Everett when I knew him.”

Any warmth left in my flesh drained from me.

“Paris is a city where a young man can get… distracted very easily.”

I was certain that this was true. I had visited Paris several times to deal with collectors of antiquities and more than once they’d tried to lead me astray. I was happy to dine with a client, but I found that a meal was never enough to entertain a Frenchman, and they became rather insulted that I would not partake of their more indecent hospitality.

“My heart wasn’t in my studies. I felt trapped in a life that was not of my choosing. And so I would creep out of my dormitory window at lights out, and shimmy down drainpipes to explore the city and have fun.”

“Is that where you honed your sneak-thief skills?”

Sebastian let out a light laugh. “Indeed, that is where I learned the skills of a second-storey man! Parisian buildings are highly ornate, you know, and so it was an education of sorts, but not the one my father paid for!”

“We’re you alone or did you have a partner-in-crime?” I probed.

“I was alone, but not for long after my nightly escapades! I made lots of friends on the street, artists, actors, prostitutes, and people of the night. On one of my outings, I met a man, an American. He was sitting outside a café watching performers juggle and dance in the square. He had the most peculiar eyes I’d ever seen. One of the jugglers, whom I knew, tossed a ball to me and made me part of his act. The American watched me with those mismatched eyes. He seemed magical and otherworldly to me. I was eighteen, lonely, in a strange city. He offered me a drink, and we began the dance!”