The Thief Taker by Janet Gleeson Page A

do you mean?”
    â€œA week ago, while I was changing the linen on her bed, I found it under her mattress—a purse stuffed with gold sovereigns. There were twenty of ’em.”
    Agnes’s brow knotted. “Show me where you found it.”
    Nancy stepped over to Rose’s bed and rolled the thin horsehair mattress forward to expose the wooden slats. She pointed to the top right-hand corner. “It was here.”
    â€œDid you speak to her about it?”
    Nancy laughed and shook her head vehemently. “I wouldn’t dare. No point in asking for trouble. She could be ferocious when she wanted.”
    How would a kitchen maid like Rose have come by such wealth? The accusations of Lydia and Mr. Matthews still rang in her ears. “Have you any notion how she got the money?”
    â€œMust’ve been something underhand, mustn’t it?”
    â€œDid you mention the matter to anyone else?”
    â€œNo,” said Nancy, her head down.
    She was holding back something. “Why did you dislike her?” asked Agnes impulsively.
    A sudden flush spread across Nancy’s pale face. “I weren’t like her, ma’am—she’d do anything for a man. Philip got taken in by her—more fool him. She were scarce better than a whore at times.”
    Agnes remembered now Philip’s quip that he was the cause of Rose and Nancy’s argument. “Was Philip the reason you fought yesterday?”
    Nancy’s gaze flashed toward the window, then she looked quickly back at Agnes. “I told you that was over nothing more than the mess she made. But there’s something else, Mrs. Meadowes…although I don’t know if it’s aught to do with her running off.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œThere’s a pair of pocket pistols that are always kept in a box in Mr. Nicholas’s room, with a small flask of powder. This morning when I looked, one was gone. I didn’t say nothing before, on account of I shouldn’t have been looking. Do you think she might ’ave took it?”
    Agnes hesitated. “I don’t know, Nancy.”
    What she meant was that she did not want to know, but she feared she would now be obliged to find out.

Chapter Fifteen
    A T ONE O’CLOCK , the servants gathered for lunch. Doris had laid the table, knives and spoons haphazardly askew, and set out yesterday’s leftovers—dropping a meat pudding, which burst all over the flags and turned them slippery as grease. Once everyone was seated, Mr. Matthews declared he had an important announcement, and a ripple of unease and excitement spread through the assembly.
    The butler stood at one end of the table to say his speediest grace—“Lord, we give humble thanks for the fruits we are about to receive. Amen”—then without further pause, he cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, with as much gravitas as a judge announcing a death sentence, “I have news of a tragedy.” He looked at the assembled faces, waiting for hush to descend. “Last night as we slept in our beds, an interloper entered the premises next door and cruelly murdered the apprentice keeping watch. This same interloper then helped himself to a valuable wine cooler and made off with it.”
    As Mr. Matthews picked up his carving knife and fork and began expertly carving the bacon, he added further detail to his news. He had first heard the news from the apprentice who found Noah’s body; the constable had visited the Blanchards’ workshop soon after the crime was discovered. The justice had been left undisturbed until nine, by which time the undertakers had arrived and transported the corpse away on their wagon. The only obvious evidence of the crime was a large wine-colored stain on the ceiling of the downstairs showroom, where blood had dripped through the floor above. Despite the efforts of the other two apprentices, this had so far proved