author Therese A. Kraemer

My Lady Is A Thief

ONE

The Thief

South Hampton, Long Island, 2017

“I love Halloween,” Holland Foxx said to her reflection as she studied herself in the oval mirror. She shoved her shoulder length hair under the cotton cap that came with her costume. The party would be filled with the richest people on Long Island. It was a once a year tradition and she had taken a job with a catering business. The women were given antique apparel, dressing up as maids in the eighteen hundreds. Her gown was a mite short because of her five foot ten inch height, and a bit lose because of her willowy figure, but it would suffice. Last year she had made off with a king’s ransom in jewelry from her talent of lifting the necklace of the women’s neck when they were tipsy after a few cocktails. Men’s rings were also easy when flirting with them in the hallways. Dirty old farts thinking that they had gotten away with taking the liberty of fondling the help when their wives were not around.

Tonight, she’d collect another good heist. She put the mask in her apron pocket and headed out to the catering store as platters of food were loaded into the restraint’s truck. She went to help as her heart beat with excitement. At twenty-six, she had mastered the art of stealing items from people but the talent hadn’t come easy and she’d been arrested twice for shop lifting at the early age of fifteen. Twice, she had spent a few years in a juvenile detention center for minor theft. She had to be careful, three strikes and she’d be in the poky for a very long time. She hadn’t been caught since her teenage years, and she had gotten very good at evading the police.

“Hi, I’m Sofia, you’re late we’re almost done loading the truck.”

Holland blinked. “Huh?” she looked into the smiling face of a pretty brunet.

“Sorry to startle you,” the girl apologized.

Holland returned the smile. “That’s okay Sofia I was just in another world. Sorry to be late, my mother called just as I was leaving” she fabricated.

“No problem, wasn’t criticizing, just stating a fact. Never seen you before, first time?”

“Yeah, again I apologize for my tardiness; my mother was drilling me again on why I haven’t been home for a long time and if I found any eligible men,” she continued her falsehood. “She claims she wanted to be a grandmother while she was young enough to enjoy grandkids.”

Sofia snorted, “You have a Jewish mother too; such mother hens,”

“No, mines Italian; same difference, I suppose.” They laughed and finished loading the truck.

As usual the big mansion was filled with upper-class snobs having a good time. A band was playing loud music, drowning out conversations and the popping of the champagne corks, but her eyes were the only thing she needed to see what was going on. She cared little of what the rich-snobs had to say or drink. By the end of the evening, her apron pockets would hold enough gems to get her a good profit.

Bermuda, here I come. Days in the sun, relaxation; life was good and so profitable! What else could a gal ask for?

As she passed around trays of hors d’ oeuvre and caviar thankful that she had no taste for fish eggs she kept a keen eye open.

“Sorry,” she apologized after bumping into a tipsy-lady, then placing the diamond bracelet into her pocket that already held a few rings and necklaces. It was time to go, her task was done. As she placed the tray down, her heart stopped. Looking at her with interest was a familiar face; Patrolman Slater, a cop who had arrested her the first time. He frowned as if was trying to recall where he had seen her before, then he tilted his brow, looking at her uncertainly.

Maybe he won’t remember you. You were much younger. She hoped her thoughts were right.

He was dressed in a suit, also looking a bit older, probably work-stressed. Of course, as luck would have it, just then someone yelled, “My diamond necklace is gone!”

Slater turned to see the lady and it was then she noticed Slater was wearing an earwig and she assumed that he had been hired for security. The lady clutched her neck and he turned in Holland’s direction again. Slater’s eyes narrowed suspiciously and this time recognition appeared on his features; he quickly spoke into his cuff. There was no doubt in her mind that he was calling for backup. He reached for his sidearm and started heading in her direction.

Run! Her mind ordered her to move her feet and she ran into the kitchen, bumping into a waiter with a tray of food. He and the food went flying and she mumbled, “Sorry.” Then passing a rack of plates she knocked it over blocking Slater’s path and she headed for the nearest exit which was the way she came into the kitchen. Running through the doors, she bumped into Sofia, nearly toppling them over.

“What’s wrong?’ asked the girl.

“Sorry, can’t explain but there’s a man chasing me, please do not tell him which direction I’m heading.”

“Okay…but..?” Sofia stammered.

As Holland headed for the front doors she spied another plainclothesman scanning the room and her way out was blocked. She headed for the stairs, foolishly thinking how she always wondered why the bad guys always ran up to the roof. Now she knew, as she, they had no other choice.

As she reached the second floor, the weight of the apron was holding her down and she couldn’t be caught holding the bag, um, pockets full of stolen jewelry on her person. With a curse, Holland untied the apron strings and ran into a room. She tossed it under a bed and ran to the window. Luckily, it opened but when she discovered she was up high on a narrow ledge, she gasped. She didn’t fear heights but she did fear breaking her neck. She had to think. Quickly, she climbed back in and locked the door hoping to give her more time for her plan. Stripping the bed, she tied the sheets together and around her waist hearing someone banging on the door.

Is this the best idea you can come up with? asked her conscience.

Do you have a better one? she argued foolishly. It works in the movies?

The voice in her head had no smart reply.

Again as she climbed onto the ledge Holland said the only prayer that popped into her head. Now I lay me down to sleep and pray…She lowered herself down hoping she had tied the knot securely around the bed post. It was two feet short and she fell and crashed landed on her ass in a bed of flowers. She looked up to see Slater looking down at her.

She didn’t waste time to rub her smarting butt and headed down the winding driveway. Running into the road, hearing sirens she turned to see the headlights of an oncoming car. Like a deer blinded, she stood frozen for what felt like an eternity. She then raised her hands before her face as if she could shield herself from the imminent danger. Pain wracked her whole body as she felt herself flying into space.And, then blackness vanished anymore thoughts.

“Is she dead?” asked someone. The voice was male and seemed to be coming from a distance away.

“What happened?” asked another; a female this time.

Holland felt as if her body had gone through a shredder; she ached in places she didn’t know existed. Some sixth sense brought her fully awake but she was afraid to open her eyes knowing that she was probably surrounded by the police.

“Where the hell did she come from?” barked a deep voice and she winced wondering why he sounded so agitated.

“Oi do not know sir. ‘Twas as if she just appeared out o’ nowhere,” said another. “Suddenly, a flash, like lightnin’ started the ‘orse an’ after Oi controlled the beast, Oi jump off the carriage quickly. There she was just lyin’ there. Is s-she d-dead?” he stammered. “Oi did not see ‘er yer lordship, Oi’m truly sorry.”

“’Tis all right, Baron, no one will blame you for this.”

Holland thought that the poor man, this Baron, really sounded upset. And then his words came back. Horse? Carriage? The last thing I saw was headlights from an oncoming car. Lordship? Did someone come to the masquerade party in a horse drawn coach dressed as royalty? Had I missed a chance in stealing something really worth a king’s ransom? Bummer!

Stop thinking foolishly, you have more problems right now! her inner voice lectured. She answered herself with a woeful groan as the penetrating quixotic haze began to diminish.

“She’s alive,” said the deep voice. Someone grabbed her hand and a shiver went through her making her eyes snap open. Dear Lord, she had died and gone to heaven. The most mind-blowing-handsome man, with golden-brown eyes and a secret expression was looking down at her. His face was bronzed by the sun. As much as her body ached she could not keep from staring into his lips that were firm and sensual.

Damn, where has he been all my life?

“Mistress, can you move?” he asked.

Move? She wasn’t sure but she would rather not. She wanted to remain here just gazing at him. When she didn’t answer, his hand came down over hers possessively and he picked her up in his strong arms. She could feel his hard muscular chest under his shirt. And he smelled so good; she really must be in heaven because it would be a shame if this man was in hell. But then, if they were in Hades this wouldn’t be so bad, she mused with a sigh.

She knew she was not thinking logically, but she was confused. Where was she? She had noticed when he carried her to a vehicle that her surroundings were not familiar and she was no longer in the country, but in a city. Something strange was going on but she ached too much to ponder seriously over it. Maybe she was in a coma?

“My lord, she’s dressed as a maid,” informed the one called Baron. “She must work for some family close by.”

“We will take her home Baron and I’ll have my doctor tend to her and then in the morning I’ll have my friend at Scotland Yard look into it.”

 “Aye, sir, as ye wish,” the servant nodded.

Holland was gently placed on the plush seat of a coach and the handsome stranger sat across from her. She heard the whip snap over the horse’s flank, causing the carriage to lurch forward. She fell back against the seat and cursed softly. She raised her eyes to find him watching her, studying her closely.

“Can you speak? What is your name?”

She swallowed hard and nodded. “I cannot recall,” she lied.

“I am sorry for the accident. I know you must be in shock, where does it hurt?”

“All over,” she rasped. “But I do not think anything is broken, just bruised and I do not blame you for what happened. I cannot explain it but I do not come from here and I do not know how I got here.”

He rubbed his square chin for a moment and said, “You are in England and I’m taking you to my estate in the country.”

England? Her stomach knotted. What the hell was going on? She felt as if she was in one on the Twilight Zone series.

“Yeah right, and I’m Elizabeth, the Queen of England!” she scoffed. “Aren’t you taking this to an extreme? Did you hire an actor and rent this coach to play the part of an um, whatever you are dressed up to be? Either I bumped my head so hard or I’m in a parallel universe. Look, whoever you are, you can let me go.”

The man made no response save for raising his dark eyebrow a fraction and rubbing his clef-chin. He seemed to be seriously mulling over her request. Then he gave her an inflectionally charming smile and damn she wished that he had not done that. That smile went straight to her heart giving it palpitations, double time.

Finally, he spoke. “Sorry mistress, but I feel responsible. Can you tell me the name of your employer? I am Lord Paxton Barrette, Earl of Wellington. And the queen of England is Queen Victoria.”

She shook her head. No way in hell! She feared to ask but she did, deciding to play along with his charade. What year is this?”

He drew in his dark brows and gave her a strange look as if she had asked a silly question but he said, “This is the year of eighteen hundred and forty-two. Today is Sunday, May 10^th. ”

Her heart fluttered in her chest. She was definitely in a coma or she had been knocked into another time and month. Coma was more likely; she’d settle on that deduction for now. And then, she thought for a moment over the buzzing in her head and decided, until she could figure this out, she’d say that she was abducted.

“Well, err, Paxton I…”

He cleared his throat rudely. “It’s Lord Paxton, or my lord, mistress!”

She snorted and seeing the anger in his eyes, she quickly apologized and corrected herself. “Um, Lord Paxton, I was taken, but I don’t know why and by whom. I was at a costume party held by a rich friend,” she lied. “I’m not wealthy by any means; at least I don’t think so. I was invited by my, um…girlfriend,” she continued to fabricate, hoping she sounded sincere. “Someone must have thought that I had money. Well, too bad for them, no such luck. I was chloroformed and apparently they discovered the truth and left me somewhere in an alley. I was dazed and wondered into the street where, um…you, err, well, you know the rest.”

She had to give herself credit; she even believed the story herself.

Again he scratched is manly chin He had auburn hair, reminding her of a glossy-coated Irish setter. “So, you are not a maid, just dressed as one, you say? At a party, you say? That may be all well and good, but you still cannot recall your name. Strange? And by your accent, you are not from England. You sound like a Yankee, to me. I have to assume that you came here to visit someone.”

She took offence to the way he said Yankee. She knew an insult when it hit her on the head. She stiffened and her nostrils flared slightly as she took a deep breath before she spat, “Do you have a problem with Americans?”

“No, I was just making an observation off your speech pattern. Sorry if I offended you.” His mouth curved with a roguish charm.

 She then felt a bit ashamed for coming off so catty; his apology was sincere. “Still, you are in no condition to be left alone. You can stay at my estate until we can figure this out.” She tilted her head slightly as she took in the importance of his words. He was right; she did have much to figure out. But if the large diamond ring on his pinky is any proof of his wealth, she might just take her time. And a day with this hunk of a male specimen wouldn’t hurt.

She licked her lips studying the hunk and mused, when the world hands you lemons, you make delic-i-o-u-s lemon aid.