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Chapter Three
Nora sagged against her bedroom door. Escape at last! She’d thought the ladies would never leave. Usually the Wednesday tea lasted for an hour and a half. Today, the ladies had stayed until half past six, dissecting every moment of the Earl’s visit.
She tugged at the pins holding her wig in place and freed her head with a sigh. Who would have imagined a wig could be so tiring to wear or so hot? Even in December she managed to sweat beneath it. Nora shook out her hair and let it fall freely. She walked to her vanity, placed the glasses in a small drawer and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
The tea had started off well enough. Alice Bradley had been eager to recount the doings at her place. Thanks to Alice’s tendency to gossip, The Cat’s legend grew with each robbery. The Cat needed that kind of exposure if she was going to succeed. If she were a big enough menace, the threat of The Cat’s presence would be enough to warn off the investors in the textile mill. In the meantime, if the investors continued to take up residence in Stockport-on-the-Medlock, she’d gladly pilfer their wealth to feed the people they were putting out of work.
Then Stockport had shown up, looking devastatingly handsome in his immaculate clothes. She’d felt his excellent physique the prior night but the perfection of his face had escaped her notice in the dark. In the afternoon light, she could better appreciate the strong jaw set off by a razor-straight nose, classical cheekbones and deep blue eyes. His good looks commanded attention and she wasn’t the only one who noticed. Every woman in the room had their eyes riveted on him. They hung on each word the black-haired, blue-eyed devil uttered.
His presence would have been a piece of luck if he’d told everyone about the burglary. Yet when given the chance to admit Stockport Hall had been robbed, he had ignored the opening and perpetuated the belief that his home was untouched. That made him a liar.
His omission hadn’t helped her cause either. The whole point of going there last night had been to make a statement, but if he didn’t tell anyone the point was moot. He was supposed to react like everyone else and shout his frustration all over town. That was the problem. He wasn’t like everyone else. She’d discovered that last night, although her brain had failed to comprehend the impact it would have on her escapades.
Nora plopped into the chair in front of the vanity and began brushing out her hair. Last night, she’d thought the kiss was a stroke of bold brilliance, despite its risks. Now she saw it as a mistake. No wonder he hadn’t told anyone of her visit. What was he to say that wouldn’t make him look like a fool? ‘The Cat put her tongue in my mouth, ripped open my shirt and cupped me through my trousers until I thought I’d burst?’ A lesser man might have enjoyed circulating that juicy tit-bit over ale in the taverns but there was nothing lesser about Brandon Wycroft.
It was clear enough from the way he’d smiled and doted on the ladies today that he thought highly of himself. He was a prideful man who was completely aware of his effect on people. His self-conceit would not allow him to admit a thief, and a woman at that, had provoked such a base reaction from him.
The kiss had been her first mistake. Her second mistake had been leaving the ring. Nora was certain that, if she’d taken the ring, he would not have hesitated to mention her presence in his home. He would have gone to great lengths to put word out about the ring in case anyone saw it. That ring meant something to him and he would not be parted from it easily.
Nora tapped her fingers on the vanity, an idea surfacing in her mind. Stockport might go so far as to declare a reward for the ring if it were missing. Even if he didn’t, she could blackmail a ransom of sorts out of him. That settled it. She would go back tonight for the ring and to set the record straight. By tomorrow morning news of The Cat at Stockport Hall would be common knowledge in the village.
Stockport Hall was dark except for the lone light burning in the library window as Nora approached from the south shortly before midnight. She was not surprised. Her information was highly reliable. Stockport lived alone when he came to the country and kept late hours in the library, which had a convenient entrance from the garden on the south side of the estate. She wouldn’t use the entrance to go into the house. She had a stop to make first. She would climb up the tree to Stockport’s bedchamber and retrieve the ring first, but later she’d need an exit after their little tête-à-tête.
Nora scaled the tree easily, her arms and legs recalling the toeholds she’d found the previous night. The tree wasn’t the hard part, although it was tall and climbing it was no easy task. The hard part was getting from the tree to the window.
Nora climbed the tall oak a level higher than necessary so that she looked down on the window. Lying on her belly, she inched out along a wide, sturdy branch that effortlessly took her weight, a much more reliable branch than the one below it onto which she’d exited the night before. She took the coil of black rope from her belt and securely looped it about the branch in an intricate knot. She gave it a tug and was satisfied it would hold. She double-checked her watch—ten minutes before Stockport’s highly trained patrols would pass this way, plenty of time to reach the sill and pop inside.
Taking a deep breath, Nora levered herself onto the rope. Her arms took the initial weight as her legs found their grip. Then she began the process of lowering herself down the rope length until she was level with the window. She halted and took three more deep breaths. Now it was time for the fun.
Swinging back and forth, she gained enough momentum to launch herself over to the window ledge. The ledge was only six inches wide, hardly wide enough for a strong foothold, so Nora steadied herself with one hand on the rope, using the other hand to grope for the broken window latch while her feet balanced against the sill.
Victory! In his pride, Stockport had failed to have the lock fixed immediately. No doubt he’d guessed The Cat wouldn’t strike again so soon or by the same method. The window slid up and Nora scrambled inside. She gave the black rope a yank and reeled it in behind her. It took only a moment to see that the room had been righted and the casket holding the ring was in the same place.
Nora lifted the lid and found the ring couched among the purple velvet cloth. She reached for it and suffered a momentary lapse of conscience. She squeezed her eyes shut and pictured the people the ring could help. Little Timmy Black, youngest of seven children, would have hot porridge until spring. Widow Malone, bereft of a husband because of a careless maintenance error in a Manchester cotton mill, would have clothes to warm her three children. There were others too numerous to mention. She grabbed the ring and shut the lid of the box before she could change her mind. Stockport would get the ring back, she reminded herself. It wasn’t as if she was stealing it permanently. She was only temporarily borrowing it for the greater good of humanity.
Feeling better, Nora slipped the ring into a small pouch around her waist and tucked it securely inside the band of her trousers. She squared her shoulders, allowing a small smile to creep across her lips as she contemplated her next task: a visit with Stockport. She was looking forward to giving him a piece of her mind.
The trip downstairs to the library was uneventful, which ironically only served to provoke her irritation with the man. She passed down the darkened major staircase and met no one, not even a footman. What a crime it was for one man alone to command all this space when families crowded together in single-room dwellings!
Nora gained the library. The door stood ajar, affording her the luxury of studying her quarry undetected. Stockport sat behind a large mahogany desk, diligently applying himself to letter writing, documents spread across the desk top. The light caught at his hair, giving it the polished gloss of obsidian. If he wasn’t such a prodigiously arrogant man, she’d consider him handsome.
He lifted his head from his correspondence, giving her a glimpse of his remarkable blue eyes, behind spectacles that rode the bridge of his nose. Glasses? The Earl of Stockport wore glasses? Nora found the image before her hard to reconcile with the picture her research painted of the Earl as a man about town who had a way with women. But she had been warned that while Stockport had a well-earned reputation as a lover, he also had a reputation for responsibility.
Stockport stilled, his eyes probing the darkness beyond his door. He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger before returning his gaze to the door. Had he guessed she was there? For a moment Nora slipped back into the shadows. She scolded herself. The Cat didn’t hide. The Cat went where she pleased and when she pleased.
‘Is someone there?’ His voice held the steel of challenge.
Nora stepped inside the doorway before he could rise and come investigate his suspicions. ‘Good evening, Stockport. You and I have unfinished business.’
‘You! How did you get in?’ He snapped, recognition firing his eyes with the intensity of blue coals.
Nora savoured the fleeting look of surprise that skittered across his face. He was not a man who liked surprises unless they were his. Responsibility and control were two attributes that went hand in hand.
She made herself comfortable in a large leather chair, draping her legs over the arm. ‘The same way I got in last night. You’re not as smart as I thought. The lock on the window was still broken.’ She gave him a pointed, flirtatious look, ‘I hope you don’t make it that easy for other women to get into your bedroom.’
‘A smart thief doesn’t return to the same haunt the next night,’ he countered.
Nora smiled wickedly, ‘I am not a smart thief. I’m a brilliant thief, and a brilliant thief knows how to do the unexpected.’
Stockport rose from the desk and she knew a flash of uncertainty as he walked to a sideboard holding a collection of decanters containing varying shades of amber liquid. A bell-pull’s tassel lounged dangerously nearby. One tug would bring assistance. From her relaxed position in the chair, she would be hard pressed to gain the French doors leading into the garden. She was betting on her usually reliable instinct and Stockport’s desire to keep the robbery of his home a secret that he wouldn’t call for help.
‘Am I supposed to be impressed with your criminal antics?’ he asked coolly, his long hands deftly skimming from decanter to glass. The moment of danger passed. He wasn’t going to call for help.
Nora breathed a mental sigh of relief. ‘You’re already impressed.’
Stockport turned from preparing his drink, dark eyebrows raised in censure at her saucy tone. ‘Why ever would you think that?’
‘Because now, when you could catch me, you have made no move to summon help. Is that brandy? Pour me a glass, a double measure, neat.’ That shocked him, as she’d meant it to. He needed to be reminded the world didn’t always run according to his standards.
He delivered the glass and resumed his seat behind the desk. ‘You have your drink, now on to your unfinished business. I don’t have all night and neither do you. I presume you have to go rob the Squire’s house again.’ The last was said derisively.
‘You’ve told no one The Cat burglarised your house last night. I want to know why,’ Nora demanded, her eyes fixing him with a hard stare.
Stockport smiled knowingly over his glass. ‘I told no one because you so clearly wanted me to tell everyone. It would make your coup complete. However, I do not cater to the whims of morally deficient thieves.’
Nora swung her legs to the floor in a show of anger. ‘I do not lack morals!’
‘You take what isn’t yours,’ he accused.
‘For a purpose. From people who have more than they need,’ she countered evenly.
He scoffed at that. ‘You fashion yourself to be a modern-day Robin Hood. I suppose you expect me to believe you give it all to the poor?’
‘I told you as much last night. I keep nothing for myself. If this was about money, I wouldn’t be limiting my raids to mere candlesticks and petty cash. If you don’t believe me, ask Miss Habersham about the orphanage in Manchester or the families living in the poor part of town. They’ll tell you all about The Cat.’
His attention perked at the mention of Miss Habersham. ‘What does the shy spinster have to do with your elaborate charade?’
‘No more than any of the other ladies in the village. At times, they are unknowing conduits for The Cat’s loot in the form of baskets for the poor. Especially around Christmas, the need is great. The ladies go into Manchester the third Tuesday of every month to do their good deeds.’ The last was said with a touch of cynicism.
Stockport was quick to reprimand. ‘They have found an honourable way to do good deeds.’
‘One day a month doesn’t do anything beyond making the ladies feel superior,’ Nora retorted. She’d probably said too much, but she doubted Stockport would tell anyone. He’d kept her secret so far. She rose from the chair and stalked towards the desk, turning the conversation away from herself. ‘What are you working on with such devotion that it demands late hours from you?’ She snatched the top sheet off the desk, narrowly escaping his futile swipe to reclaim it.
‘Ah, Parliament work. The Reform Act? It’s a step in the right direction, but I am sure the House of Lords will never stand for it since it weakens them considerably.’
‘I am surprised you know about it.’
‘I steal for a purpose,’ she reminded him. ‘Until the government takes care of the lower classes, someone must represent them in whatever manner they can.’
‘It shouldn’t be much longer if Prime Minister Grey has his way.’
‘You’re quite the optimist. The bill has been defeated twice in the House of Lords. I don’t see anything happening to change that, no matter how many times the House of Commons passes it.’
‘You are surprisingly well informed for someone who exists on the other side of the law,’ Stockport commented wryly. ‘Still, I can see where passing the bill complicates things for you. You’ll be out of work.’
‘Hardly, my lord, I’ve discovered there is always someone to rob, always a cause to fight for. The lists of injustices in this world are quite extensive.’ She leaned over the desk until their faces were only inches apart. His lips opened a slight fraction in anticipation. The vain man thought she was going to kiss him again. She gave a mocking half-smile and moved back. ‘No, I don’t think I will kiss you.’ She gave his form an obvious perusal. ‘Although, from the state of things, I’d say you need kissing badly.’
Nora backed to the French doors, not taking her eyes from him, and clicked open the easy lock. ‘Thanks for the brandy.’
‘You will be caught, if not by me, then by someone else,’ Stockport said.
‘I doubt it.’ Nora pulled out the little pouch from her waistband, waving it in victory as she fired her parting salvo. ‘I’d get the window fixed upstairs if I were you.’ She bowed theatrically. ‘I give you goodnight, my lord.’
Brandon stared at the spot where she’d stood. Damn! Not again. He took the stairs to his room two at a time, a lamp in one hand. She had come back for the ring! He should have known when she said she’d used the same entrance. This was the second time she’d been in his house and caught him unaware. Perhaps she was a brilliant thief after all. He certainly hadn’t expected her to return and he’d hardly expected to discuss politics with her over his best brandy. Whoever she was, she had too much education to be from the dregs of society.
He lifted the lid of the casket and confirmed his fears. The ring was gone.
In its place was The Cat’s cream calling card, just like the one the Squire had shown him. He turned it over and found a message scrawled on the back: The ring shall be returned to you in exchange for three hundred pounds. I will collect the money in two weeks’ time at the Squire’s Christmas ball.
Ransoming his ring was a neat trick and an audacious one, nothing less than what he’d come to expect from this particular burglar.
He had to have that ring back. However, there was no question of paying the three hundred pounds. The Cat had made a serious misjudgment if she believed him to be a man who would succumb to the unscrupulous practice of blackmail. He would not be The Cat’s whipping boy. The mill and the financial security of the people who depended on him were at stake, to say nothing of his considerable pride.
It irked him immensely that he had been called away from Parliament to play catch The Cat when so much depended on his presence. The latest correspondence from John Russell and other prominent Whigs intimated how much he was needed there.
Brandon crumpled the card in his hand with vehemence and silently declared war on The Cat. Her latest antics demanded nothing less. She would learn at the Christmas fête who ran things in this part of the world, if he didn’t catch her sooner. Already, the inklings of a plan were forming in his mind. He couldn’t find The Cat, but he could find her trail and Eleanor Habersham seemed the most likely place to start. The Cat had mentioned her by name and Eleanor had all the signs of a woman who had something to hide.
Adrenaline still coursed through her as Nora slipped into the Grange’s kitchen. That had been fun! She’d pricked Stockport’s temper and his interest, if those parted lips were to be believed. He’d wanted her to kiss him.
‘Where have you been?’ Hattie’s stern tone sapped Nora’s smugness. Her post-raid elation faded at the sight of Hattie standing in the kitchen doorway, arms folded and foot tapping in irritation.
‘I’ve been to Stockport’s for the ring, just as I told you.’ Nora tried a smile and jiggled the soft felt pouch containing her prize. Hattie was not fazed.
‘It took much longer than anticipated,’ Hattie continued her interrogation, moving to the stove to heat a kettle of water.
There’d be no escaping Hattie’s questions now if the woman had her mind on tea and conversation. Nora knew the signs and humbly took a seat at the long work table. ‘The Earl and I had a little chat,’ Nora confessed.
Hattie slapped a plate of sugar biscuits down on the table next to Nora and sniffed. ‘From the smell of it, I’d say you’d had a drink, too. Getting above yourself a bit, aren’t you, drinking with the likes of him?’
Nora bristled. ‘What is your point, exactly? The man needed taking down a notch. You should have seen his face when I drank down his fine brandy in a single swallow.’
Hattie put down the tea things and stood back from the table, hands on wide hips. ‘My point is, why did you do it? You could have gotten the ring without Stockport knowing you were there. Instead, you risked everything for a few prideful moments of confrontation. What if he’d called for help?’
‘He didn’t call for help. I knew I’d be safe or I wouldn’t have done it.’ Nora dismissed Hattie’s complaint with a heavy sigh. There was no sense in confessing to the moment’s trepidation she’d felt when he’d gone to pour the drinks with the bell-pull hovering inches from his hand.
‘Safe? Because he let you go last night? Pardon me for saying so, but you’re getting dicked in the nob if you think you’re ever safe with a man like him. Those men think they own the world and everyone in it.’
Hattie poured herself another cup of tea and turned her thoughts in a different direction, apparently done with scolding. ‘We have to be more cautious than ever. Our goal is in reach. The Cat is succeeding. While I was doing the shopping today, I heard that more of the investors are on the brink of pulling out. They’re worried about the security of the mill. They fear that if The Cat can get to them so easily, The Cat will get to the mill and sabotage its construction. They aren’t willing to risk their money further.’
‘Or their reputations,’ Nora said wryly over the rim of her teacup. ‘Are Cecil Witherspoon and Magnus St John getting edgy finally? They have the most to lose as long as I am free.’
That comment earned her a reprimand from Hattie. The woman shook her finger. ‘You know I don’t hold with blackmail. I’ve never liked the idea of you taking those documents out of Witherspoon’s safe.’
‘It’s not blackmail. It’s insurance,’ Nora protested. ‘Those documents prove the mill is unsafe and the contractors are deliberately cutting costs by using substandard products.’ Nora smiled, remembering the thrill of the night she’d broken into Witherspoon’s study and cracked his safe.
A reliable source from town had sent word he’d overheard a rumour about something murky on the mill’s contract. He’d been right. From there, it wasn’t a large leap of logic to see that Witherspoon had an insurance scam on his mind. He’d build the mill with substandard materials and after a year or two have the building succumb to an ‘accidental’ fire. He and the other investors would be waiting to claim the insurance money. The scheme would never come to pass if Nora could prevent it.
‘I wish I could have seen his face the next morning, don’t you, Hattie?’
‘No, I don’t,’ Hattie said briskly, gathering up the tea things. ‘He was furious then and he’s still furious. You’ve made an enemy of a very dangerous man. The Cat might be succeeding, but the risk is going up. It’s not just the investors who are angry now. Some of our own wealthier residents are disappointed too, like the Squire. The news is that they mean to redouble their efforts to catch The Cat. They’re convinced as soon as The Cat is caught, the additional investors will come.
‘It might be for the best that no one knows you raided Stockport’s. It would put them over the edge. I fear we’re out of our depth here. We’ve never gone up against a man like Stockport before. He’s not one to be trifled with,’ Hattie fretted.
Nora covered Hattie’s hand with her own, hearing the unspoken plea in the woman’s scolding. ‘I won’t get caught. You and Alfred taught me to be a good thief. Eleanor Habersham has to go into Manchester tomorrow to conduct business. I’ll take a look at the situation first hand, if it will make you feel better. Alice Bradley and her daughters are going into the city tomorrow too for shopping and they’ve offered Eleanor a ride. Alfred can take a note up to Wildflowers in the morning to say I’ll join them.’
Hattie looked at her with concerned eyes and Nora braced herself. ‘These days I wonder if I should have taught you to be something else. Maybe then you’d be settled with a home, children and a husband. You’re only six and twenty. It’s not too late for you to have a real life, Nora.’
‘It is too late. This is my real life. I made that choice a long time ago, Hattie. Besides, if you recall, I tried marriage once and found it sorely lacking. I discovered men are highly exaggerated commodities, both in and out of bed.’ Even as she said it, her thoughts wondered back to Stockport, his ardent kiss, his firm body and the stack of papers on his desk. Perhaps there was an exception to be had. She had to be careful not to overrate him. One good act and a handsome face did not dismiss the reason he was here. She had made that mistake with her brief marriage to the handsome but incurably lazy Reggie Portman when she was seventeen. Well, she wasn’t that impressionable any more thanks to the two years of disappointments that had followed.
Nora said goodnight to her long-time comrade and made her way to bed, her mind plagued with the new information she’d discovered that evening. She wished she knew more about Stockport’s motivations for siding with the Reform Act.
It seemed an odd position for a man of his rank to take. If successful, the Reform Act would redistribute the seats in the House of Commons and lower electoral qualifications, making it possible for much of the middle class to vote. The House of Lords would be weakened considerably. She had yet to meet a peer who would willingly give away legal power. Yet tonight, it seemed she had.
She couldn’t help concluding The Cat wasn’t the only one who wore a mask. Stockport was becoming a conundrum and riddles intrigued her. The reputed Cock of the North was more than a well-dressed womaniser. This evening, he’d shown himself to be a politician, who had unusual convictions for a man of his rank and experience.
The Cat had pierced his outer shield with her kiss. Stripping away the rest of his urbane façade and revealing the man beneath was a scintillating concept to fall asleep on, leaving Nora with jumbled dreams of a hard-chested man rousing to her touch wearing little else but tight-fitted trousers and a mask that kept eluding her when she reached to untie it.
Chapter Four
Eleanor Habersham stepped down from Squire Bradley’s covered carriage in front of the Blue Boar Inn and thanked Alice Bradley and her daughters for the ride, waving aside Alice’s suggestion that she conduct her business in their company.
Several times during the short trip into Manchester, Alice had invited her to join them for the day. Her daughters had echoed their mother’s sentiment. Nora had refused all requests politely on the grounds that she didn’t wish to hamper their fun and that there was nothing unacceptable about a respectable, middle-class spinster conducting errands on her own.
She did, however, promise to meet them at the inn for tea later that afternoon and to join them on the return to Stockport-on-the-Medlock. Nora had no intention of looking a gift horse in the mouth. In the cold winter weather, it would be the height of foolishness to make the five-mile trip home on foot and carrying her purchases to boot.
Nora pulled her winter cloak close about her. It was a solid, although inexpensive, affair, made of wool and lined with rabbit instead of the other more luxurious furs worn by the Squire’s wife and his daughters. But it was what she could afford without taking funds away from the truly poor who couldn’t lay claim to even the middling garments she wore.
She pulled her hood over Eleanor’s dun-coloured wig and clutched her reticule and shopping basket close, glad to be off on her rounds. The winter had been especially cruel so far and many people would be happy to receive the relief The Cat offered through the conduit of Eleanor Habersham.
The Cat could not afford the risk of making deliveries in person often for fear of increasing her chance of exposure. If she was too liberal in flaunting her identity, it wouldn’t be long before someone turned her over to authorities.
Early on, she had taken great pains to set up her network by identifying reliable and trustworthy merchants who would convey The Cat’s offerings to those in need. They’d learned to recognise Eleanor Habersham as The Cat’s messenger.
Nora hadn’t gone far when the strange sensation of being watched caused her to pause and reassess her surroundings, which until that point had been filled only with other people going about their daily business at the shops. Someone was not what they seemed.
Cautiously, so as not to give away her awareness of being followed, Nora glanced around, quartering the area with her gaze. A woman with her young children entered the greengrocer’s. A street-sweep cried out his business on the corner. A hackney waited for his next fare. Then she saw him. It was no more than a glimpse before he fell back into the crowd of people moving through the streets, but it was unmistakably him. Stockport was following her.
Nora cautioned herself not to jump to conclusions. He was a busy man. He might very well have his own reasons to be in Manchester. It was, after all, a thriving city and Stockport was a man interested in enterprise and industry. She had no proof yet that he was here simply to follow Eleanor Habersham, a spinster of meagre means, on her errands. He had given no indication of having seen her beyond her intuition sensing his presence.
