Chapter 6
Chapter Six
H er heart was pounding. She hadn’t the slightest notion what she would say.
All she knew was that she simply had to have her pocketbook back.
“Looking for something?” The shop owner (or so she assumed) was a big, greasy-haired man with a suspicious expression. Behind him, shelves held a jumble of items: snuffboxes, poorly folded linen bedsheets, candlesticks, military uniforms, silverware, pocket watches…
“I… I am merely looking.”
“Ah. Times ’ard? Come to loan something for credit? Not to worry. James Malkin is known to give fair terms to distressed young ladies such as yourself.” He jerked his thumb toward his chest. “That’s me.”
“I have not come to pawn anything. I am looking for a pocketbook.”
“Ah. Got the perfect item, as it ’appens.” He reached under the counter and produced a somewhat worn pocketbook of red morocco with a stamped design in gold. “This ’ere one is very nice. I can let you ’ave it for two pound. A steal at the price.”
She pretended to look at it. Now she wished that she’d waited for Mr. Keynsham. “I am not fond of red. I—I prefer blue.”
His eyes narrowed. She was certain that he was becoming suspicious. Well, it was too late to worry about that now. “In fact, I believe that I saw just such a pocketbook in your window.”
“Hmph.” He whisked the red pocketbook away, ducked under the counter and led her through the dusty, crowded shop to the window. “You mean this ’ere? Very fine workmanship. Just come available today, too. But I’m afraid I couldn’t let it go for less than… three pound.”
Three pounds! Why, the pocketbook had only cost fifteen shillings in the first place! Did everyone in London take her for a fool? “May I see it, please?”
“Ah! Good evening, sir.” By the shopkeeper’s suddenly unctuous tone, she knew exactly who had come into the shop without even turning around. “How may I ’elp you?”
“The pocketbook?” she reminded him. It was plain that she’d suddenly become unimportant, compared to a well-dressed gentleman in polished boots and glossy brushed top hat.
She felt the pocketbook. It was light—the coins had been taken, of course—but she thought she heard the faint crinkle of paper. The precious letter might still be safe inside the inner lining!
“We ’as some very fine snuffboxes in now, as it ’appens. Also fobs, seals, watches, and rings. Everything for the gentleman.” The shopkeeper was already trying to lure Mr. Keynsham toward the back counter.
“How much did you say this pocketbook costs?” she asked.
“Three pound.”
Mr. Keynsham elbowed her in the ribs. “My good man—three pounds? For a second-hand pocketbook? Surely you can offer the young lady a better price than that. Say… one pound.”
Which was still nearly twice what it had cost new! she thought. But then, he must be accustomed to buying at luxury prices.
“Oh, is you two together?” Now the shopkeeper looked even more suspicious.
“I can pay.” Keynsham pulled out a purse, dumped the contents into his hand… and did a double take.
The shopkeeper squinted at the coins. “Now see ’ere—I ain’t no flat! What’re you playing at? That’s only a few bob you ’ave there.”
Mr. Keynsham was staring in disbelief at the money. “I… ah… seem to be missing…” He patted his other pockets.
Having had the same experience herself only too recently, she experienced a sudden rush of sympathy. The shopkeeper folded his arms. “If you don’t ’ave the blunt, I’ll thank you to leave my shop and not waste my time.”
“I beg your pardon. This pocketbook is mine—and I can prove it.”
The shopkeeper tried to snatch it from her. She jerked it out of his reach, suddenly furious. “We shall not pay you a groat! This pocketbook was stolen from me only this evening—as I am sure you know perfectly well. I have no doubt that those who stole it are your associates! I am taking it, and if you try to stop me, I will have the law on you!”
She turned to leave. But suddenly, a second, even larger man was blocking the way out of the shop. He seized her wrist. “Oh, you will, will you?”