Moriarty Meets His Match: A Professor & Mrs. Moriarty Mystery (The Professor & Mrs. Moriarty Mystery Series Book 1) by Anna Castle Page A
Authors: Anna Castle
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your hostess and there will probably be other guests, which makes it difficult to find a quiet moment.”
“Fellows staying up till all hours playing billiards and what not,” Sebastian said. Angelina shot him a quelling glance. “Playing billiards and what not” had caused this trouble in the first place. He shrugged charmingly, knowing he would always be forgiven.
“And you need money desperately,” Viola said. “You must have more clothes. No self-respecting heiress wears the same dress to the opera twice! It’s being talked about. If it’s talked about enough, you’ll be exposed as a fraud and our whole scheme will collapse.”
“Then Hugh and I will go to prison, and Sir Joseph will be drummed out of government. And I will never get to play Robinson Crusoe at the Avenue.”
“Lady Lucy has offered me her —”
“Absolutely no cast-offs,” Viola said. “What can you be thinking! She should be asking for yours. We must have money or the game will be over. And you must get into those libraries, gather up all the likely books and files, and bring them back here for me to study. The solution is staring us in the face. You simply must become a burglar.”
Angelina gaped at them. “Become a what?”
“A nabber,” Sebastian offered helpfully. “A tea leaf. You know: a thief.”
Chapter Five
Angelina stared at them. How could they look so angelic and be so devilish? They’d gone barmy, that was the only possible explanation. The strain had gotten to them and they’d gone right off their bloomin’ nuts.
Viola clucked her tongue. “We’re not daft. I can hear you thinking it. If you break in from the outside and take everything in the library, it will look like the work of ordinary thieves. No one would dream of suspecting the respectable Mrs. Gould. And no one would ever imagine the real target is a bundle of letters. When we fence the valuables, you’ll have plenty of money. You can buy some decent clothes and live in comfort at the Brown all summer.”
“Fence the valuables? Can you hear yourself?” Angelina spoke slowly, articulating each word. “We are not thieves.”
The twins shook their heads. Sebastian said, “We’ve picked our share of pockets, working the crowd while the Chairman sang ‘Walking in the Zoo.’”
They always referred to their father as the Chairman, a nod to his function as the master of ceremonies in the music halls and taverns where they’d grown up. He’d trained them to call him Mr. Buddle when speaking to him directly, to keep the little children from slipping up when he was playing a long game. Sebastian had taken to calling him Archie as he got older, as if he were an older brother. None of them had ever once called him Daddy.
“You did,” Angelina said, “not me. I had to change costumes.”
She’d worked her rosy, round backside off in those days, being the principal support of the family. Her father had fancied himself a great impresario, exploiting his attractive children to the nth degree. Angelina had begun performing in the back rooms of pubs at the age of five. The twins took their turns onstage as soon as they could toddle out and take a bow, doing especially well as Angelina and Her Little Angels. Their sweet faces coined money until Sebastian’s voice changed. Then the Chairman devised double acts for them, mostly brief farces larded with innuendo involving short-sighted blighters who couldn’t tell one twin from the other.
The Chairman had also taught them the arts of the confidence trickster to tide them through the slow seasons. It had been a practical education. Angelina had kept herself and Peg in silk stockings and dime novels for the past ten years on the generosity of gullible gentlemen. And by singing — there were stages everywhere. Sometimes that had been enough.
The twins watched her mulling over their preposterous plan, four blue eyes twinkling and two sets of rosy lips curved in anticipation. They knew she’d
“Fellows staying up till all hours playing billiards and what not,” Sebastian said. Angelina shot him a quelling glance. “Playing billiards and what not” had caused this trouble in the first place. He shrugged charmingly, knowing he would always be forgiven.
“And you need money desperately,” Viola said. “You must have more clothes. No self-respecting heiress wears the same dress to the opera twice! It’s being talked about. If it’s talked about enough, you’ll be exposed as a fraud and our whole scheme will collapse.”
“Then Hugh and I will go to prison, and Sir Joseph will be drummed out of government. And I will never get to play Robinson Crusoe at the Avenue.”
“Lady Lucy has offered me her —”
“Absolutely no cast-offs,” Viola said. “What can you be thinking! She should be asking for yours. We must have money or the game will be over. And you must get into those libraries, gather up all the likely books and files, and bring them back here for me to study. The solution is staring us in the face. You simply must become a burglar.”
Angelina gaped at them. “Become a what?”
“A nabber,” Sebastian offered helpfully. “A tea leaf. You know: a thief.”
Chapter Five
Angelina stared at them. How could they look so angelic and be so devilish? They’d gone barmy, that was the only possible explanation. The strain had gotten to them and they’d gone right off their bloomin’ nuts.
Viola clucked her tongue. “We’re not daft. I can hear you thinking it. If you break in from the outside and take everything in the library, it will look like the work of ordinary thieves. No one would dream of suspecting the respectable Mrs. Gould. And no one would ever imagine the real target is a bundle of letters. When we fence the valuables, you’ll have plenty of money. You can buy some decent clothes and live in comfort at the Brown all summer.”
“Fence the valuables? Can you hear yourself?” Angelina spoke slowly, articulating each word. “We are not thieves.”
The twins shook their heads. Sebastian said, “We’ve picked our share of pockets, working the crowd while the Chairman sang ‘Walking in the Zoo.’”
They always referred to their father as the Chairman, a nod to his function as the master of ceremonies in the music halls and taverns where they’d grown up. He’d trained them to call him Mr. Buddle when speaking to him directly, to keep the little children from slipping up when he was playing a long game. Sebastian had taken to calling him Archie as he got older, as if he were an older brother. None of them had ever once called him Daddy.
“You did,” Angelina said, “not me. I had to change costumes.”
She’d worked her rosy, round backside off in those days, being the principal support of the family. Her father had fancied himself a great impresario, exploiting his attractive children to the nth degree. Angelina had begun performing in the back rooms of pubs at the age of five. The twins took their turns onstage as soon as they could toddle out and take a bow, doing especially well as Angelina and Her Little Angels. Their sweet faces coined money until Sebastian’s voice changed. Then the Chairman devised double acts for them, mostly brief farces larded with innuendo involving short-sighted blighters who couldn’t tell one twin from the other.
The Chairman had also taught them the arts of the confidence trickster to tide them through the slow seasons. It had been a practical education. Angelina had kept herself and Peg in silk stockings and dime novels for the past ten years on the generosity of gullible gentlemen. And by singing — there were stages everywhere. Sometimes that had been enough.
The twins watched her mulling over their preposterous plan, four blue eyes twinkling and two sets of rosy lips curved in anticipation. They knew she’d
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