Page 35 of The Gentleman’s Thief

“That was a very graceful Waltz.” Leopold praised excitedly, “I am impressed with the lightness of your step, Mr. Hannan”.

“I may have been leading but it was Mademoiselle d’Harcourt who was truly in control, for she made me look good!” I charmed.

“Careful Mr. Hannan. A lady could get used to such flattery!” Yvette d’Harcourt fluttered her fan and flashed her doe eyes at me.

As is the tradition I asked, “Would you care for some refreshment, my dear?”

“Non-Monsieur. I am fully refreshed. Thank you for a most pleasurable Waltz.” I bowed again and stood at the left of her chair, my hands behind my back.

“Such innocent pleasures are to be had at a British party. In the United States parties are not so… proper.” Blake observed in a rather condescending manner. “We should indulge in pleasure where we can get it. Would you not agree?” Blake eyed me and reading between the lines I knew what he wanted to hear.

“Indeed. I am becoming aware of the need for more pleasure in my life.” I said. Blake smiled as if I had spoken in a code that only he understood. He bowed and said, “I do hope you enjoy the rest of your evening Mr. Hannan, Mademoiselle d’Harcourt. I will be performing a reading in the drawing room at nine o’clock should you wish to attend.”

I did not wish to attend and again, I did not feel like I had a choice. I was to be pulled into this secret circle of men whether I liked it or not. I reluctantly nodded. There were codes and etiquette with belonging to a secret society and I felt like a foreigner, just off the boat with no idea of the language in this strange new world. I sent my gaze around the full-to-bursting ballroom and wondered what the sly winks, nods, and hand gestures that passed between men truly meant.

Blake vanished into the crowd of guests.

“Mademoiselle, as I recall you are mine for the next quadrille, ja?” Leopold offered his crooked right arm which Mademoiselle d’Harcourt accepted. Sebastian gave me a nod as Leopold led Evie to the dance floor.

Blake, with his ill-manners, had abandoned beside me an unknown man. The man was broad of shoulder, much like a Rugby player, yet his waist was waspish. I was sure at first glance that whoever he was, this man favored lifting weights as his exercise, for he had honed a fine muscular physique. I snuck a glance at his face and noted that he wore a thick, waxed chestnut brown mustache. His wavy, tousled hair was close cut to the nape and parted to the left with a rebellious curl over his brow—which he seemed to brush away as an affectation. His complexion was apricot as if the man had spent time abroad and caught the sun, or a parent was of Mediterranean origin. I felt rather awkward at the way he observed me with heavy-lidded chocolate brown eyes as if he was tracing my features to imprint my face into his memory. It seems the other man was now aware I had noticed that he was staring as he stood erect and held out a hand.

“Forgive me. Charles Ashe”, the man introduced. I kept my hands clasped behind my back, my stance rigid. I nodded my greeting.

“Benedict Hannan. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Ashe.”

I knew that name, Ashe, was whispered about at my club but I did not know why. I was not privy to much of the scandalous information that passed like bird calls around my clubhouse, and I did not enquire further, as ignorance from such twittering was bliss!

“Ah, the auctioneer. I did wonder.” Charles Ashe said enthusiastically and rubbed his hands together. I saw ink stains on the second finger of his right hand. Was he a writer? I did not know what Ashe had heard about me to become so happy at our meeting.

“Yes, I run Hannan’s Auction House in Fitzrovia.”

“I viewed the items for your sale of Spanish art. It went very well, I hear.”

“It did. Did you make a purchase?” I enquired. I was sure I would have remembered the name Ashe in the account manifest.

“I was not there to make a purchase this time, rather, observe the goods.” Ashe gave a sly smile and a shudder of discomfort ran through me. I was being watched, even in my place of business.

“I have a feeling we will be more than acquaintances soon enough my good man.” He added with a wink.

“Are you a collector?” I said, trying to move the conversation onto safer ground.

“Very much so, very much so. Hand-cuffs are my thing. I have a wonderful collection of hand-cuffs from all over the world. The design and ingenuity that goes into making them has always intrigued me. The mechanisms can be extremely intricate you know!”

“I imagine so”,

“Although, illustration is my calling—much to my father’s displeasure.”

“Do you work for yourself?”

“I’m an artist for the Illustrated Police News.”

“Are you now? That is very interesting.”

“Never a truer word was said! My latest assignment is to put a face to The Dandy Rogue, no less. You know, the sneak-thief who has baffled police all over the country.”

“I have heard of him, yes. How are you getting along?” I asked politely, while secretly delighting that not only did I know the man who had baffled police forces all over Europe, but he was indeed my intimate friend.

“It’s a damnable hard job.” Ashe blustered. “I’ve interviewed ten of his victims to get a first-hand rendering and not one bally description matches with another!”