Acolyte to Priestess
The Twelve Crimes of Hannah Smith Series
By Alp Mortal
Copyright © 2016 Alp Mortal
Written by Alp Mortal - https://alpmortal.weebly.com
Cover Design by The Carter Seagrove Project LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Disclaimer: The material in this book is for mature audiences only and contains graphic content. It is intended only for those aged 18 and older. This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, places and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
Published by
The Carter Seagrove Project LLC
Indiana, USA
Website: https://carterseagrove.weebly.com
Email:
[email protected] Twitter: @carterseagrove
Facebook: www.facebook.com/thecarterseagroveproject
Previously published 2013 in separate volumes: Acolyte and Priestess
Edited in 2015/2016 and made available as a web series at https://alpmortal.weebly.com
Contents
Author’s Note
Crime One - Possession is Nine-Tenths of the Law
Chapter One – Introducing Hannah
Chapter Two – Hawksbill
Chapter Three – Hettie
Chapter Four – Honest as the day is long
Chapter Five – All that glitters is not gold
Chapter Six – The stage is set
Chapter Seven – All the World’s a stage
Chapter Eight – Adieu
Crime Two - Masquerade
Chapter One – Making friends and influencing people
Chapter Two – Boehme Silvestre
Chapter Three – Preparing for Fayette’s Ball
Chapter Four – The Masquerade
Chapter Five – Pay off
Crime Three - Rites of Passage
Chapter One – High Tide
Chapter Two – Accidents will happen
Chapter Three – Fish fingers, chips and peas
Chapter Four – The Exhibition
Chapter Five – Bon Voyage
Chapter Six – Hand over
Epilogue
Crime Four - The Nizza
Chapter One – Choices
Chapter Two – Thierry Silber
Chapter Three – Michael Burlington
Chapter Four – The Muses
Chapter Five – Criminally easy
Chapter Six – La Fache
Chapter Seven – Huntin’, shootin’ and fishin’
Chapter Eight – Reckoning up
Chapter Nine – Appearances can be deceptive
Crime Five - Virtuoso
Chapter One – Steinway would be turning in his grave
Chapter Two – Finding a thimble in a haystack
Chapter Three – Loretta’s bash
Chapter Four – David’s offer of work and lunch
Chapter Five – The contracts and the appointment at Fitzwilliam’s
Chapter Six – Friday and Hannah sneaks a peek
Chapter Seven – David and Dominic
Chapter Eight – Fencing lessons
Chapter Nine – The plan takes shape
Chapter Ten – Revelations
Chapter Eleven – Ten thousand dollars later
Chapter Twelve – Could it have turned out any better?
Epilogue
Crime Six - Rivals
Chapter One – The Quarrel
Chapter Two – Forbes Darlington
Chapter Three – James Fotherington
Chapter Four – The Fotherington Show
Chapter Five – Where historians fear to tread
Chapter Six – Incendiary Device
About the Author
Also by this Author
The Carter Seagrove Project
Author’s Note
The Twelve Crimes of Hannah Smith is a series of crime stories, following the stellar fortunes of art thief Hannah Smith.
Acolyte to Priestess contains the first six of Hannah's twelve crimes, each charting the on-the-rise career of arch thief Hannah Smith. All of Hannah's crime stories are free and they can also be read on Alp Mortal's website - https://alpmortal.weebly.com/the-twelve-crimes-of-hannah-smith.html
... Hannah got back into the car and drove down the driveway towards the gates, which did not open immediately; she waited. Eventually, they did open and she waved as she drove out; it had been touch and go all along. Her relief in not having to ram the gates and pay out for the damages to the car was palpable ...
Audacious, brilliant and cunning, Hannah may have fallen into thievery but having tasted of the forbidden fruit, no other path offers anything quite as sweet as the chance to alleviate the rich and powerful of their most treasured possessions.
The Twelve Crimes of Hannah Smith, of which Acolyte to Priestess charts the first six, and which Goddess to Infinity charts the second six, are the prequel to the crime trilogy, The Virtue of Dishonesty, which will appear later in 2016.
I am always very happy to receive your feedback. If you wish to contact me directly, please email me at:
[email protected] Visit the website, www.alpmortal.weebly.com, for updates on the next gay romantic story or crime thriller which I am working on.
Thank you,
Alp Mortal
Crime One - Possession is Nine-Tenths of the Law
Chapter One – Introducing Hannah
“Very good, Hannah … lift your chin a little … that’s right … and turn … extend the arm a little more … perfect!”
Madam clapped her hands and gave everyone five minutes to recover. Hannah’s calves ached like hell but she didn’t show it or complain. Dancing came naturally to her; she had rhythm and poise a plenty, a good ear for the music and bags of expression all of which was only equalled by her desire to be the best - which she was, as far as Madam was concerned and she’d seen plenty of young dancers in her time.
The rest of the group mingled, leaving Hannah to herself. She liked it that way. Hannah was never one to get too close to anyone; she wasn’t haughty just reserved and maybe a little shy.
“From the beginning!” boomed Madam and they practised for another hour before being dismissed.
“Hannah …” said Madam as Hannah was getting ready to leave, “if you have a moment I would like to speak to you …”
Hannah grabbed her things and followed Madam into her private rooms. The dance studio formed part of her private home, connected via a door from the hallway; the house was in Clapham, overlooking the Common.
“Yes, Madam …” ventured Hannah, wondering what the old woman could possibly want with her.
“My dear, don’t look so worried; I have a treat for you …”
The old woman, French by birth and as graceful as a gazelle, handed her a thick piece of paper - an invitation.
“What is it?” asked Hannah, seeing words but making not head or tail of them yet.
?
??A private party; they would like you to dance, with a partner … I think Gerald. Something classic yet with a twist. It’s a hundred pounds for you and you will meet some very fine people.”
“When?”
“Saturday …”
“I’ll need to get the night off.”
“Let me know if you can’t …”
Hannah worked in a cocktail bar in the West End most nights to make ends meet; paying the rent on a tiny but chic little room just off the Edgware Road, paying Madam, attending deportment classes and language classes, shorthand, book-keeping and commerce and endless other things. No other seventeen-year-old girl did more to improve her prospects in this life than Hannah. She came from Ventnor on the Isle of Wight and had been in London for six months; ostensibly to learn to dance. However, the big city and the bright lights offered so much more to the girl who dreamed of being someone, a somebody - not in the public eye – but nevertheless, a mover and shaker behind the scenes. She’d have done very well as a Parisian salon hostess and she played the piano too.
Not a plain girl by any means but if you asked, “Oh; what does Hannah look like?” The person asked would struggle for a minute to pinpoint that feature that set her apart from the crowd. If she wanted to, she could melt away. Conversely, dressed and made up she could look like a million dollars and felt very comfortable in it. Naturally graceful and stylish, lithesome, a dancer, strong and agile, highly competitive and very, very intelligent; perhaps too intelligent for her own good and often, as a result, bored and restless, hence the myriad of courses and classes.
A day later she phoned Madam, “Madam, I can get the night off …”
“Excellent! And Gerald can make it too ... practice on Friday from four to six.”
“Thank you, Madam …”
Chapter Two – Hawksbill
The name of the house and the family which resided there was ‘Hawksbill’. The master was a big thing in banking; the mistress was the equivalent of that salon hostess and she moved and shaked behind the scenes to ensure the very finest people graced her soirees. The profit was considerable; the currency, information. She was the hawk in this relationship and Hannah admired her instantly.
“My dear child; come in out for the rain and let me fetch you a glass of champagne,” she said as Hannah was admitted by the housekeeper but Madam kept her hawk’s eye on the vestibule likewise the salon and the study where her husband was wheeling and dealing with some European investors. “Your partner has telephoned to say that he cannot make it and Madam Perrot cannot find a replacement at such short notice. Time for you to shine, my dear; don’t worry, you’ll do just fine. Madam suggests the competition piece which you have been working on.”
“Oh, no, that’s fine; I just need to loosen up ... but what about the music?”
“I can play for you; it’s a piece I adore as it happens. Let me show you where you can change …”
Francis escorted Hannah to a room upstairs where she could change and loosen up for fifteen minutes.
“Come down when you’re ready, child, and relax!”
Easier said than done when you have fifteen minutes to polish a dance which you’ve only been working on in your spare time, with a pianist you don’t know and a room full of people equally alien. Still, Hannah was always up for the challenge and she preferred to dance alone ... and if Gerald canned then she would get his hundred pounds too. These thoughts entertained her as she made her preparations.
She changed into her pretty costume and loosened up, performing a series of stretching exercises, then she checked her makeup and hair and judged herself to be ready. She descended and entered the main salon, catching the mistress’s eye who then marshalled everyone to take a seat, leaving the floor to Hannah. Francis took up position at the piano and after a few bars to get her fingers loose she signalled to Hannah that she was ready and the performance began.
A simple country dance spiced with something exotic; a bit like your favourite meat and vegetables cooked in a deliciously aromatic sauce; you looked at it doubtfully until you’d taken the first bite then you couldn’t get enough and before long the platter was clean and you were looking for second helpings. The performance lasted twenty minutes or so and the applause was warm and enthusiastic; pianist and dancer took a bow and for the last five seconds Francis stepped away and gave the floor back to Hannah to accept her due praise.
Thinking no one would actually wish to speak to her directly, she made to leave the room but two or three women waylaid her and very soon Hannah was mingling, veritably dancing through the crowd until she came across the master of the house, Gareth Hawksbill, the banker.
“My dear, that was delightful and wonderfully entertaining; won’t you come into the study and I’ll give you your fee …”
She accepted his arm and was escorted to the study where two or three European banker types were ensconced with heavyweight tax papers; they didn’t pay her any attention.
“Here you go, my dear child; and Francis insists you have something extra for your bravery in going solo at such short notice.”
He handed her a thickish envelope.
“Thank you, Mr Hawksbill!”
“Call me Gareth; my colleagues missed a treat but as you can see, they are pouring over the latest tax regulations from Strasbourg. Thank God Maggie has them by the scruff of the neck else we shouldn’t make a penny!”
Now Hannah was studying business finance so her question was well aimed and it grasped everyone’s attention.
“If Sterling rises much more against the Dollar then wouldn’t you do better to bundle into Yen futures?”
A colleague, possibly Spanish, looked at her directly and said, “The young lady might have a point.” at which point Francis materialised.
“There you are, my dear; come and speak to the Foreign Secretary and leave these boys to their balance sheets and I think Hettie has a proposition for you …”
And that was how the evening was; a waltz of a different kind. Having one’s fingertips kissed by the Foreign Secretary was most definitely the highlight as far as Hannah was concerned ... but that was before she had opened the envelope!
Hettie was a favourite of the Hawksbill’s; originally a Lancashire lass who had inherited millions from her grandfather; an art collector and seasoned socialite.
“Hannah; I have a gathering in two weeks’ time and I would be delighted if you would come and dance for us and of course feel free to bring a guest and enjoy the party afterwards …”
“I would love to …”
Hannah said goodbye and disappeared into the Notting Hill night, grabbing a bus rather than risk scuffing the heels of her favourite shoes though she toyed with the idea of a cab but promised herself she wouldn’t open the envelope until she was safely behind her door. Her mother called her ‘my little squirrel’.
If Hannah excelled at dancing then she certainly excelled at hoarding; just about anything of value that she came across - a Limoges tea cup, a pair of gloves by Chanel, antique lace, a first edition of ‘Wuthering Heights’, pieces of hand-painted silk, ivory figures, a jade lotus flower and so on. She had an eye for quality even when it was encrusted with grime and dust.
In her room she flung herself down on the bed and opened the envelope to find that it contained five hundred pounds.
“Sorry, Gerald; you missed out there!” she said to herself and she placed the notes in a box, roughly the same size as a tissue box, which she kept under a loose floorboard by the radiator. There was already quite a stack in there before the five hundred was deposited.
“One day, Hannah,” she mused, looking longingly at a print of a Degas painting of a ballerina which she’d found in Portobello Market that she’d hung on the wall by the window.
On Sunday, by way of a reward and celebration, she took herself to the Ritz to have tea and took in the last performance of Forgotten Land by Kylian at Sadler’s Wells.
Well, it was her eighteenth birthday!
&nb
sp; Chapter Three – Hettie
Two weeks later and she was knocking at the door of Hettie’s smart house in Portman Square, accompanied by William, her closest and gayest friend. Hannah had no girlfriends and William was practically her only pal. He worked in theatre and regularly did her hair and makeup for performances and competitions. They were shown into the small salon where Hannah could change and William could put the final touches to her makeup.
“Jesus! Have you seen the stuff?” he exclaimed, eyeing every kind of antique stuff with which the house was literally bulging at seams.
“She’s a collector and fabulously wealthy; have you seen the canapés waiter?”
“Yes and he’s fairly well bulging too but I don’t stand a chance …”
“Certainly not with an attitude like that; he’s pretty but no prettier than you ... just smile …”
“Yeah! Maybe I will …”
Hannah was performing solo again and the crowd was larger. Hettie didn’t play so had hired a pianist. It was someone Hannah knew, and she felt more confident and the piece was one she had practised more often.
“Am I ready?” she asked William.
“Yup! I wish everyone was as easy to make up as you. Your face is just so … so adaptable to so many styles. I bet you could even pass off as a man if you wanted to-”
“Thanks!”
“I didn’t mean it like that; you’re beautiful …”
Hannah kissed him on the cheek.
“Go and grab some canapés!”
She made her way out and Hettie commandeered her for a second to re-introduce her to the pianist and of course to Francis and Gareth. They smiled and wished her well.
“Would everyone take their seats, please,” announced Hettie and after a few minutes of bustle, the floor was Hannah’s.
The piece was very contemporary and edgy; the moves were subtle and intricate, full of expression and based on a Greek tragedy, ‘Electra’ by Euripides. The dance was physically very demanding and Hannah loved to push herself to the limit without making it look like it cost her any effort. Her body caught everyone’s attention; not just the men’s. However, one man in particular paid her more than his fair share. Rathbone was his name. The piece ended with a ‘chaotic splurge’ - Hannah’s own words. The applause was hearty and lasted for three or four minutes, during which Hannah bowed and then invited the pianist to accept his due praise.
“My dear; that was wonderful!” exclaimed Hettie, “Come! Get yourself a glass of champagne and by all means stay for the party but let me pay you first …”