The Plan – The Thief Takers
Elizabeth looked around with a feeling of dread. She was now in a place in London she never dreamed existed. The streets were dark, dirty, and narrow. Piles of garbage with rats scurrying among them were everywhere. She had seen Wilkinson tucking a brace of pistols under his coat as they left the rented, unmarked, coach. Now, she could understand why as they entered the darkest and most rubbish strewn street she had never imagined in her worst nightmares. But with her husband sitting in gaol, she had no choice but to proceed on her own with Wilkinson's help.
He halted before a door that looked to be the sturdiest part of the building it fronted. Wilkinson rapped three times loudly, then twice more softly. After a moment the door swung inwards and a faint light illuminated an interior as dark as the street they were leaving. Wilkinson looked in then backed out to allow his Mistress to enter. He crowded close behind her. The door closed with a loud 'click' as though some sturdy locking mechanism fell into place. A small man, perhaps even a lad, was leading them, candle in hand, down a narrow hallway. At the end there was another door, slightly ajar. Wilkinson pushed it open and stepped forward, looked around, nodded, then stepped aside to allow Elizabeth to enter.
A small table with another candle, a few chairs, and a scurvy looking fellow on the other side of the table, was all Elizabeth could make out in the dark interior. He was short and squat with ears that stuck out like those of an ape she had seen in the London zoo. His eyes were sharp and suspicious. She sensed the room was large, but aside from a small area around the table she could see nothing. Wilkinson was at her side and held a chair for her to seat herself, which she did, slowly, feeling the weight of her swollen belly. When she was comfortable, he sat down next to her. She could not see anyone else in the shadows, but she thought her ears detected some heavy breathing, and though someone, or even more than one person, had difficulty drawing air in.
"This is your Mistress who would hire us?" the figure opposite hissed. Wilkinson cleared his throat and said, slowly and with some force, "This is Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley, Derbyshire." The man opposite seemed almost to sneer at his words. "And how am I to be sure this isn't some elaborate trick to trump up some evidence against me and my crew? You can dress any trollop in fine clothes and pass her off as a Lady," he hissed. Elizabeth thought she had never heard such venom. She looked askance at Wilkinson whose face was growing red with simmering anger. To forestall harsh words, she spoke quickly. "I assure you, sir, my only aim here to be provide succor to my husband who languishes in gaol for a crime he did not commit. I was persuaded you represented the best chance of achieving that goal. If we are mistaken in that belief, then we shall take our inquiries and money elsewhere!" She gathered herself to stand, but the little apewaved a hand at her, as though commanding her to remain seated.
"Let's see some of that money then," he all but snarled. Elizabeth opened her reticule and drew out crisp new bank notes. "There are five hundred sterling here and another five hundred on successful completion of your task." His hand snaked out like a striking viper and snatched the money away. The sneer did not leave his face. Wilkinson started and seemed about to argue, but Elizabeth put a restraining hand on his arm. She spoke again to the little ape. "I do not know what I have done to earn such careless treatment from you, sir. Since we are strangers I can only assume this is your general conduct with people. It matters not, as we are not seeking your friendship. We can tolerate such boorish behavior… as long as you can do what we require of you and deliver George Wickham to justice." His only answer was another snarl.
Then there was movement in the shadows behind him where Elizabeth thought she had detected the heavy breathing. Two huge forms rose and moved closer to the light. She had never seen such horrors. They stood head and shoulders taller than Wilkinson, himself not a short man. Their heads were huge, with features that suggested bones of their faces had been broken many times. The noses of both were crooked and askew, which accounted, Lizzie was sue, for the heavy breathing. The ears were flattened and over large, like a mound of dough that had been under the rolling pin too long. Their eyes were bright blue with an alert sharpness to them. They stood at either side of their sneering boss. With a start, Lizzie realized they were twins!
"I like the way the pretty Lady speaks," one said in a voice like a child's.
"Yes", the other one said in the same childlike tones. "And did you see she's going to be a mommy soon?"
"I saw," his brother answered almost gaily. "So, why did the boss-man talk so mean to her?"
"I don't know," his twin replied, "but it isn't nice to talk like that to a new mommy. We should teach him better, yes?"
Yes," his image agreed. And with that, each grabbed a protruding ear in a giant paw and lifted the thief taker straight up from his chair.
Holding him above the table, ignoring his squeals of pain and terror, they shook him gently. "Talk nice to the pretty Lady," they both scolded him in high, almost childlike voices. His face almost purple with panic and fear, the thief taker stammered, "No discourtesy intended, my Lady. I just had to be sure there was no trickery." The two giants nodded to each other and dropped him from the height back into his chair which gave way with a cracking sound and collapsed, spilling him to the floor.
The two giants stepped forward. "I'm Whip," said one, bowing slightly. "I'm Snap," said his brother with a similar bow.
"My goodness," Lizzie gasped. "How am I to tell you apart?" They grinned almost childlike grins at her. "Sometimes we get confused ourselves," the one on the left… (Whip?)…murmured, softly.
"How are you to spy quietly without being noticed?" Lizzie asked. "You are hardly inconspicuous," she added.
"We are pugilists, nice Lady," Snap (she guessed) replied. "We fight and people watch, cheer, drink… and wager on the outcome of our bouts."
"We draw many hundreds to each bout as we travel the country," his brother added. "If the one you seek is a gambler, a drinker, a ne'er do well, he will attend and we will see him."
Elizabeth handed the two the porcelain plaques with Wickham's portrait as Charlotte had envisioned him. "This is the fellow. A thief, a gambler, and a murderer."
"Just the sort who come to our contests," one said, smugly. "We will find him for you."
