A Gift for Guile (The Thief-takers) Read Online Free PDF

she asked, knowing full well that wasn’t his question. “Because that was what the woman did. She arrived, she charmed, she took money, she left. Eventually, and to the regret of all, she came back again.”
    “No, why do you want to find this man?”
    She bit her lip and shook her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”
    “I certainly don’t at present.”
    And he never would. She couldn’t claim to know every detail of his early youth, but Lottie had mentioned once that Samuel’s father was a vicar somewhere in the south. How could she possibly explain to the son of a vicar what it meant to wish for a better father and a better life? “It doesn’t matter why. I do, that’s all.”
    “He lives in Spitalfields?”
    “He did nine years ago.”
    “How do you know?”
    She reached into her bag again and produced a second torn piece of paper. “Last year, when Lottie and I were arranging to have our things moved from Willowbend to Greenly House, I found a portion of a letter that had fallen behind a drawer in an old desk. It was from my father. Mr. George Smith.”
    She gave him the scrap of paper but didn’t wait for him to read it. “There isn’t much to it. Mr. Smith asks after my mother’s health. He hopes she is well. He assures her he is well, and the rest is missing. But look.” She tapped the other side of the letter, where a date and part of the address remained intact. Mr. George Smith, No 58, Commercial Street, London. “I’m told it used to be a grocers, but it was lost to a fire some years ago. I was also told that Mr. Smith survived, but no one knows for certain what happened to him after the fire. A few people did seem to think he moved to either Rostrime Lane in Bow or to a street in Bethnal Green with ‘apple’ in its name. Or possibly ‘pear.’”
    That wasn’t strictly true. One person had mentioned a fruit-themed street in Bethnal Green. She knew for entirely different reasons that her father had lived on Rostrime Lane the year before he’d sent the letter from Spitalfields.
    Samuel frowned at the note. “This couldn’t have been meant for your mother. It was written well after her death.”
    “Five years after,” she agreed. “He must not have known. I don’t know how else to explain it. Perhaps there had been no contact between them after my birth. Perhaps the letter was an attempt to reestablish that connection.” Though how the man had known where to send the letter remained a mystery. “I can’t imagine he kept up a correspondence with Will Walker.”
    “How do you know Mr. Smith is your father? There is no mention of a child in this note.”
    “My mother told me.” The lie slipped off her tongue without thought. She regretted it immediately but couldn’t find it in herself to take it back. The truth required a long and painful explanation, and she’d quite had her fill of explanations today. “Before her death, she told me his name.”
    Samuel handed the letter back to her. “Did you wear your veil in Spitalfields?”
    “Yes, of course. Only…” She winced. “I lifted it to speak to an elderly woman. She had difficulty hearing. It helped her to see my lips. It was only the once.”
    “Once was enough. Someone recognized you.”
    She blew out a short, aggravated breath. “It would seem so.”

Three
    Rather than put the loathsome mourning bonnet back on, Esther hid behind a folding screen while their meal was brought in the room and set out on a small table before the fireplace.
    Sometimes, it felt as if she’d spent the whole of her life hiding. From the police, from her neighbors, from her father’s friends and his enemies alike. And now from a trio of silly young maids who giggled nervously at Samuel’s every request.
    She couldn’t judge them harshly for it. Samuel cut an imposing figure. In part because there was just so much of him but mostly because so much of him was undeniably appealing. His muscular physique and rough-hewn features were hardly