None of the jewels had been recovered.
These were the facts. Then there were the letters.
Arthur’s decision to publish Robin Hood’s letters was wildly controversial. Each letter outlined the supposed sins of the victims as justification for the thefts, and the public outcry upon reading these sins was swift and at times substantial. The paper received letters and telegrams from readers daily, in ever-increasing numbers, some begging Arthur to cease giving Robin Hood a platform and an equal amount imploring him to continue.
Newspaper sales had increased by almost twenty percent.
The various misdeeds of the thief’s victims ranged in severity. By far the most shocking were those of Winston Collins, a powerful railroad magnate, whom the thief accused of also running a lucrative prostitution ring. While some members of New York’s elite had been aware of the family’s side business (indeed, many gentlemen had been enthusiastic patrons), once the lurid truth was exposed so publicly, the rest of society and the general public turned on the family. There had been calls for their arrest in some of New York’s other papers. Mud was thrown at the Collinses’ frightened teenage daughters as they attempted to shop on Broadway, and rumors circulated that the Collins household might be set afire. The family had become so terrified that they’d packed their belongings and left town in the dead of night, presumably to Europe.
The letter regarding Mrs. Jones, on the other hand, elicited a modicum of sympathy from some. The thief detailed how Mrs. Jones’s late husband, Matthew Jones, had made his fortune in textiles by aligning with Southern plantation owners both before and after the war. The letter accused the late Mr. Jones, and by extension Mrs. Jones, of having personally profited from the slave trade, despite the pro-Union stance they had maintained during the conflict a quarter of a century prior. At this, most of the Astor 400 rallied to Mrs. Jones’s defense, likely knowing the majority of their fortunes couldn’t withstand similar scrutiny. But while much of the general public disliked seeing an elderly widow the target of a thief, many others, particularly those who remembered relatives lost in the war, sided with Robin Hood.
The latest letter, published just yesterday, had been far more personal in nature. Robin Hood tore Sarah Huffington to shreds, recounting feuds she had begun, others’ reputations she had maligned, and accused her of marital indiscretion with one of her husband’s business partners, financier Ernest Clark (not named in full, of course, but anyone who was anyone knew what “E.C.” meant). While Genevieve didn’t particularly care for Sarah Huffington, née Alston, who had been two years below her at school and a horrid girl even then, it was still unsettling to see the details of her life spilled all over the newspaper in such a way. Also, she couldn’t fathom Sarah, who regularly looked down her long nose at young (though very wealthy) social climbers like Ernest Clark, engaging in a dalliance with such a man.
Genevieve paused for a moment and looked around for the waiter, but he was busy at another table. Keeping half an eye on the window, she turned her attention back to her notes. Having glimpsed the original two letters before they were turned over to the police permanently for evidence, she knew they were composed in an educated hand, and the language and word choice also indicated someone with proper schooling.
These were the knowns. The unknowns were tangled, complicated questions. What did it all add up to? Some of the thief’s complaints were political, some highly personal. The only connections between the victims seemed to be their social status and the fact that it was jewelry that had been taken.
And what of Daniel McCaffrey?
She didn’t know how, or if, he was related to the thefts. Only that she’d heard him and his companions talking about Robin Hood, that the thefts had started a few weeks after he arrived in town, that he’d been present at both social events apparently related to the thefts, and that he seemed to have a disturbing familiarity with both unsavory parts of town and dead bodies.
Genevieve turned her full attention toward the window and shifted in her seat again, wondering if she could make Daniel appear by the sheer force of her will.
The waiter appeared at her table instead, but rather than requesting more chowder, Genevieve asked for the bill. Either Daniel would be staying at the brothel all night, or he’d already exited through the back door into an alley. Regardless, it was time to go home; after all, she could hardly stay out all night.
She rooted through her reticule for the proper change. It actually had been rather fascinating to observe the various men enter and exit the establishment. Most were well dressed, some even obviously upper class; she’d half expected to see someone she knew.
“If you’re not overfull from the gingerbread, perhaps you would care to join me for dinner.”
Her head snapped up.
Perhaps she had conjured him. For standing in front of her, wearing an entirely solicitous expression, was the very man she’d been waiting hours to see.
CHAPTER 5
Genevieve shifted on the hard seat of the hansom cab while she eyed the man across from her. While it was more comfortable than the café chair, it had been a long afternoon of sitting. Nothing today had gone as planned. Agreeing to dine with the target of her investigative pursuits after he’d spent the last several hours in a brothel was unexpected, to say the least.
Neither spoke as the cab lumbered downtown. Mr. McCaffrey folded his arms over his chest and regarded her mildly. She drew a breath to speak but paused, unsure of exactly how
