Captain Gallagher

Chapter 17

"I don't like it, Eamon." Tadhg bit his lower lip and eyed the strong back door of the magistrate's house.

"Of course you don't," Eamon grinned. "You don't like anything since you got married. It's made you too cautious."

"It's good to be cautious," Tadhg retorted. "You're not cautious at all! You trust any maid who throws a smile and a kiss your way."

"Enya said she knew the magistrate would be gone today." Eamon bent down to rub a speck of dirt off his boots. "What better time to rob a house than when it's empty?"

"I can think of a much better time. At night, when everyone is asleep!"

Eamon scoffed. "That would take all the fun out of it, it would." He slipped his arms into the burgundy coat that he had stolen off the laundry line. "How do I look?"

"Dashing. But a bit stuffy." Tadhg put his shoulders back and made a haughty face, pursing his lips and looking down his nose.

Eamon rolled his eyes. "I'm supposed to look stuffy. I'm a butler, not a rake." He stepped out of the bushes and tossed his pistols to Tadhg. "Keep an eye out at this door. I'll be back." Ignoring Tadhg's protests, he walked towards the back door and slipped inside, straightening the collar of the butler's coat.

He took a deep breath and walked boldly into the house, passing a room that he assumed was the kitchen. It was larger than his whole cottage. He continued down the hall and into a large, well-lit room that would have comfortably held the Kavanagh family, the Dolan family, and what remained of the Gallagher family. Eamon whistled and the sound echoed, causing him to cringe.

Eamon suddenly remembered he was here to rob the magistrate, not to gawk at his house. He mounted the stairs, peering into every room he passed. Where is the money? He saw a room at the end of the hall and opened the door. A four-poster bed with red velvet curtains sat against one wall, and against the other rested a large oaken chest.

Eamon grinned and tested the lock on the chest. Of course it would be locked, wouldn't it? He reached into his boot for his knife and twirled it around in the lock. It was some time before he heard the tiny click that told him the lock had opened. He knelt in front of the chest and opened the lid. There's enough here to feed and clothe three families for a year! He took out several bags of money, weighing each one in his hand.

Hooves sounded outside the door. That's a lot of horses, so it is. Eamon went to the window that overlooked the front of the house. His eyes widened. A troop of British soldier sat outside the magistrate's door, and at their head sat a man that Eamon assumed was the magistrate himself. A maid came outside and Eamon frowned. Enya?

The magistrate patted Enya's frilly white cap and pressed something into her hand. She curtseyed and scurried back inside, throwing a glance up at the window where Eamon was standing.

Eamon closed his fist around a bag of money. He ripped the bag open and poured the money into his boots, then went back to the window and saw the soldiers dismounting and heading towards the door. Hurry up, Eamon. He took off the red butler's coat, grabbed an armful of money bags from the chest, and wrapped them up in the coat.

The noise of booted feet came up the stairway. Eamon shoved the window open, leaned out, and dropped the butler's coat to the ground. It thumped heavily on the ground and his stomach churned a bit at the thought of what he was about to do. He swung himself out of the window and onto the face of the wall and began to climb down, his boots clinking each time he placed his foot in a crevice. He rested at the ground window, then jumped to the ground and picked up the bags of money, wiping sweat off his forehead.