Today's Reading
His hand slid towards his knife. For days now, he'd carried a vague feeling with him, a nagging little fear of danger at the back of his mind. No reason at all for it; he wasn't even working at the moment. Simon let the hand fall once he saw it was only George Mudie, the failed newspaperman who owned a printing shop on the far side of the Head Row. Someone he'd known for years. A friend of sorts; certainly a man he trusted.
'Don't often see you down here, George.'
'Never, you mean.' He snorted and paid his money for a tin mug of coffee, then stood staring at it.
'Changing your habits?'
'Here, I have this for you.' He reached inside a shabby coat and pulled out a crisp, folded piece of paper with a wax seal.
'From someone important?' Simon weighed it in his hand. So light it might blow away.
'A man asked me to do it.' Mudie took a sip of the coffee and spat. 'God Almighty, you drink this every day? The mud from the river probably tastes better.'
Simon laughed. 'It's an acquired taste.'
'I won't take the time to develop it.' He tipped the liquid into the road and placed the cup back on the trestle. 'Go and see him, Simon.'
'Who sent it?'
'You'll have to take a look and see. Now I'd better go and try to make an honest living.' He shambled away, hands thrust in the pockets of his trousers. Simon glanced at the seal: plain wax. He tucked the letter out of sight; time to read it once they were home.
'What did he want?' Sally asked as they walked.
'Bringing us some work. Looks like someone's keen to employ us but doesn't want the whole world to know.' Secrets and discretion were the lifeblood of his job, one he did very well. 'We'll find out soon enough.'
Simon placed the paper on the table. Rosie, his wife, picked it up.
'Old silver,' she said thoughtfully after she'd finished reading. 'Probably worth a fair bit of money.'
Their twin sons, Richard and Amos, were roughhousing upstairs. Sally moved to go and quieten them, but Simon gave a brief shake of his head. Let them have a few minutes of fun before the tutor arrived.
The note laid it out in a swift, flowing hand. Sir Robert Foley was the kind of man who'd always known wealth. It had passed through his family for generations, and he'd married a woman who brought her own healthy dowry. His life had been comfortable, perfectly cushioned against the world. Until yesterday morning, at least; he'd come down to breakfast to discover his valet gone, and four silver cups along with him. That was why he needed a thief-taker, someone who recovered stolen items for a fee.
The cups been made for one of Foley's ancestors more than a hundred years before. They were valuable in their own right, but that wasn't the only reason he wanted them found; they carried the thread of family. The man was clear. Find the cups and return them. No prosecution. As far as possible, he'd prefer everything out of the public eye, to avoid the humiliation of people knowing he'd been outfoxed by a servant. That was why he was using Mudie as an intermediary, a man he trusted could keep his mouth closed. At the end, the promise of a handsome fee.
'What's the valet's name?' Sally asked.
'He doesn't say.'
'Then you're going to need to go and talk to him,' Rosie said. 'Find out the details and come to a proper agreement.'
'I will,' he promised, and felt another twinge of fear in his belly. Strange.
Simon left his reply with Mudie and strolled back down Briggate. Thieving servants were common enough in his trade. He'd have to know all the details, but it sounded quite straightforward.
Sally remained his shadow, staying four or five paces behind, alert and keeping watch. She proved to be a natural at this; all he'd needed to do was refine her skills and teach her some subtleties of the business.
...
