Author: Aunt Augusta Page 7 of 12

This reporter is in shock today after witnessing the attempted heinous crime in our dear city of London, this day, the 23rd of December, in the year of our Lord 1822. The criminal acted with deplorable boldness when he attempted to snatch the reticule of the ton’s beloved Lady Delia Witherspoon whilst the lady frequented the elegant shops of Marlborough Street. This reporter is appalled at the criminal’s audacity to commit such fiendish acts, but it is with a gleeful pen I report the criminal’s even more magnificent downfall.

It happened thus –

Lady Witherspoon had just alighted from her carriage in front of the esteemed establishment of Rugbottom’s Books on Marlborough Street at the stroke of two o’clock. The lady was, of course, escorted by her charming companion, one Miss Penelope Paiget. Lady Witherspoon was intent on procuring one or two more items for the loved ones on her Christmas list when she thought to peruse the offerings of Rugbottom’s. But no more had she stepped from the carriage than the assailant attacked, slicing the strings of her reticule with wicked accuracy as he made off with his purloined treasures. Lady Witherspoon promptly and properly executed a trembling scream of outrage so sharp it was heard by this reporter from across the thoroughfare.

This reporter had only seconds to follow the ill-fated attempt of the criminal to flee when the intrepid Mr. Samuel Black, whom our dear readers will know as the handsome grandson of the popular Duke of Lofton, leaped into action with breathtaking cunning. With moves this reporter is unable to capture with proper articulation, Mr. Black apprehended the criminal and returned the offended reticule to Lady Witherspoon. But while Mr. Black’s capture of the thug was earthshattering, it pales in comparison to the explosion of heat that erupted when our dear Mr. Black laid eyes on the lovely Miss Paiget.

Will this reporter be writing of the sounds of wedding bells for our Mr. Black and Miss Paiget? Perhaps next time on the Tattler.

To Be a Spy: A Christmas Spy Series Short Story

by Jessie Clever

Samuel Black must make a decision: to be a spy like his father or follow his heart.

Either is likely to give his mother chest pains.

For Samuel is no longer a lad with the ambitious and noble wish of being a lamplighter to keep the seedy streets of London safe. About to embark on university, his mind stirs with the thoughts of creating a policing force in London to safeguard its citizens. Held back by his family’s legacy as spies, Samuel does not make his ideas known.

But when he stops a would-be purse-snatcher, his path unexpectedly veers into that of one Miss Penelope Paiget, and suddenly, Samuel must make a choice.

The short stories in the Spy Series:
1. To Be a Spy
2. To Be a Duke
3. To Be a Lady
4. To Be a Debutante

The Spy Series short stories take place after the conclusion of the Spy Series.

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Excerpt

London, 1822

It happened on Marlborough Street a little past two o’clock two days before Christmas.

Samuel had just returned from Eton the day before as his Greek studies had compelled him to stay longer than the rest of the students. It all sounded rather dull, but honestly, it was quite thrilling as one of his tutors believed he had stumbled upon an undiscovered Biblical text. The ramifications could be enormous, and so when asked to assist him in analyzing the text, Samuel had stayed on, of course. It wasn’t as if he would miss the opportunity.

And thus two days before Christmas, he found himself on Marlborough trying desperately to find a present for Jane and Elizabeth. He wondered briefly if any other man of ten and eighteen was stricken with not just one headstrong sister but two for whom to shop, and if those sisters were raised by an equally headstrong mother. All three of them would not settle for the customary ribbons or baubles or fabrics that other ladies would surely drool over. If it were anything less than divine, the Black women would not find it at all appealing.

Samuel stared in one window after another hoping inspiration would strike. It was while waiting for inspiration that the crime was committed.

He was standing innocently enough outside of Rugbottom’s Books admiring a particularly ornate illustration of Shakespeare’s sonnets when the commotion began behind him. Having been raised in less than ordinary circumstances, the time that lapsed between when the commotion began and when Samuel noticed it was rather exaggerated. But commotions were quite common in the Black family, and he thought nothing of it.

Until Lady Delia Witherspoon screamed.

“He’s stolen my reticule!”

Samuel turned at this in time to see Lady Witherspoon pointing at a fleeing figure clutching the offended reticule under his arm.

And then Lady Witherspoon screamed again.

“That man! He’s stolen my reticule!”

The fleeing man charged at Samuel directly, as it was previously noted, Samuel merely stood in the middle of the pavement staring into a window. He was obviously ripe for any interaction with a passerby on the pavement, even should that passerby be a thief.

As he watched the thief approach, Samuel’s mind took that opportunity to think on matters. He wondered briefly if other gentlemen stepped out of the way of fleeing criminals or if they advanced. He wondered if they cowered at the thought of getting their waistcoat ruined. And then he wondered what the wives of said gentlemen would think if their noble husbands did not act to avenge the slight against a lady.

Samuel thought none of that likely as the gentlemen of the ton that he had had the pleasure of meeting were all sopping idiots. The apprehension of criminals was not something that suited such personalities.

And then Samuel sighed.

He sighed because he quite liked his waistcoat. It was a fine cranberry color that went well with his breeches, and if he had learned anything from his Uncle Alec, it was that a man who showed care for his dress showed care in every aspect of his life. And that was why Samuel was rather despondent to put his cranberry waistcoat in danger.

About Jessie Clever

Jessie decided to be a writer because the job of Indiana Jones was already filled.

Taking her history degree dangerously, Jessie tells the stories of courageous heroines, the men who dared to love them, and the world that tried to defeat them.

Jessie makes her home in the great state of New Hampshire where she lives with her husband and two very opinionated Basset Hounds. For more, visit her website at jessieclever.com.

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