February 13, 1889 Evening #2
An archway led out of the room into another small chamber.
Two women stood behind cases that folded out into little tables displaying an array of glittering goods that were being inspected by a man in a long, black coat.
An alcove stood at the back with a basket inside it, and another woman sat on a stack of thick brick slabs that had likely been recently unearthed.
The woman had wild, curly, brown hair that she had attempted to stuff under a white cap and wore a dirty blue and red dress.
When she saw them she stood, arms folded across her chest.
“What are you doing back here, Fitzwilliam? You didn’t go and lose the job did you? You don’t need more papers, do you?”
“No, not at all Miss Sibyl. No one questioned the papers.”
“Course they didn’t.” She looked over Monty’s shoulder. “And who’d you bring, eh?”
Monty’s hand shook a little as he gestured to them, and Mira wondered how he’d ever made it as a thief.
“This is Ernest Norman and his wife Rita. They’re interested in talking to you about the business.”
Sibyl raised an eyebrow. “We don’t need anyone else.”
Byron stepped closer to her and she flinched back.
“Please, Miss,” he spoke with a prominent lisp. “We’ve tried working on our own, but we don’t have no one to sell to.” He pulled out the pearl necklace and held it out. “Here’s proof of what we can do.”
Sibyl took it, running her hands over each pearl. “And?”
Byron took it back. “I’m a jeweler by trade. Least, I want to be. I ended my apprenticeship rather badly, so I’m hard up to get a supply of jewels to work with. I can steal or help take pieces apart and put them together again. Once we have enough money to buy a shop, then I can be your fence.”
Sibyl looked him up and down, then over to Mira. “And what exactly do you do?”
A brief panic overtook her. They’d discussed the plan and she was prepared to have a false name, but she wasn’t entirely prepared to improvise.
“I’m nimble and quiet, and handy with a lockpick,” she said, not putting on too much of an accent for fear of losing it.
Sibyl moved over to her, her eyes narrowing. “You’re educated. What’re you doing with this sort of fellow?” She gestured to Byron.
She straightened her shoulders. Byron said that a good persona started from a place of truth.
He didn’t say whose truth it needed to be.
“My parents didn’t approve of him, but .
. .” she looked over at him and let her real feelings show through.
“We eloped. And I’ll do what it takes to stay with him, even if it means stealing. ”
Sibyl’s expression softened and she stepped away. “We have enough thieves. You’ll do well to forget about this place and go find dealings elsewhere.”
Byron clenched his fists. “That’s a lie. Mr. Fitzwilliam here says that you just lost one of your thieves. Mr. Treadway. We can help you.”
Sibyl turned to Monty. “How do you know about that?”
Monty fidgeted with his sleeves. “When I was cleaning out his room I found his pin.”
Byron pulled it out, handing it to her. “This one. He says it’s a symbol of your group.”
Sibyl scowled. “Not our group, no. One we’re obliged to work with.” She gritted her teeth and threw the pin on the ground. “And that man weren’t one of ours. Not anymore.”
“But he was, once?” Mira asked.
“Before he joined up with Circe,” Sibyl said.
“And brought the rest of us under their eye. We’d heard of them, stayed out of their way, and he goes and brings them to our doorstep.
” She turned away from them, wincing. “If you’re smart, you’ll stay away from them.
Otherwise, you’ll always be at their beck and call. ”
Byron’s gaze flicked to Mira. “You don’t want to work under them?”
Selene’s letter came to Mira’s mind. Most gangs had no desire to work with the Crescent, but were forced to for one reason or another.
Sibyl whirled towards them, gaze narrowing further. “You’re asking an awful lot of questions.” Her hand rested on the knife at her belt. “I’d suggest you leave before I’m tempted to ask some of my own.”
Byron stepped in front of Mira. “Just one more. If you could be free of Circe, would you?”
Sibyl froze for a moment before moving over to the other two women. She pushed in front of the man examining the wares and closed up the stands. “Shop’s closed. Get out.”
The man protested as she escorted him to the archway before turning towards them again.
“You’re from the Crescent, aren’t you?” She sent a glare Monty’s way, tightening her hold on her knife. “Well, what do you want from us? You already got one of us killed for those documents. You going to kill us too?”
Mira’s heart raced. There was a crazed look in Sibyl’s eyes.
“I think you’ve misunderstood,” Byron said, stepping between her and Mira with hands out in front of him in a placating gesture.
Sibyl pulled the knife, brandishing it in front of her. “Not another step. Not until you tell me who you really are and why you are here.”
One of the other women pulled out a gun. “Sibyl, you need to sit down,” she said, inching towards the archway. The second woman pulled out a knife and nodded in agreement.
“I’m fine,” Sibyl all but growled. “Now tell us.”
They were pinned in on two sides with no possible exit.
A tense few seconds passed. Mira didn’t know what to do. Her eye caught some of the dirt on the hem of Sibyl’s skirt. Except it wasn’t dirt. It was blood. Mira swallowed, finding it difficult to breathe.
Monty broke first. “I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you. Just put the weapons away.”
Sibyl shook her head. “Tell us first.”
“I’m sorry, really I am,” he said, and Mira wasn’t certain who he meant to apologize to. “This is Byron Constantine. That detective. He’s promised not to arrest anyone, he just needs to know about Mr. Treadway.”
Sibyl faltered, lowering the knife by a fraction as her brow furrowed in confusion. “You mean, the gent who got you arrested for stealing paintings?”
“The very one,” Byron said, standing a bit straighter and speaking in his normal, albeit tired, voice.
Sibyl raised the knife again. “You aren’t from Circe?”
“Not at all. In fact, I do believe we share the same sentiment about them.”
Sibyl gestured to Mira. “And who’s she meant to be?”
“I’m his secretary,” Mira said, stepping to Byron’s side. “We really are only here to find out why Circe ordered all those burglaries and who Mr. Treadway was.”
The knife made a sharp “schink” as Sibyl sheathed it on her belt. “I don’t need to answer nothing.” She moved past them, back over to the vendors who also put their weapons away and began packing up.
“Take it out to the carriage,” Sibyl told the other women. “We’re done for the night.”
“But won’t he—”
“I don’t care. We’re done.”
“We’re working to stop Circe,” Mira said. “You could help us.”
Sibyl scoffed, crouching to latch one of the cases. “And I could kill the three of you and be done with all the questions.”
Monty shook his head. “It’s not worth it, Mr. Constantine. Let’s leave.”
Byron looked between him and Sibyl. “Perhaps we should go,” he told Mira, taking her arm and leading her away. As they reached the archway, a cry sounded from the basket in the alcove and Sibyl rushed towards it. Mira turned, letting go of Byron’s arm.
“A baby,” Mira whispered. Sibyl held a bundle in her arms, gently bouncing it and shushing.
“Get them out of here,” she said. “I don’t care how.”
The other two women stepped towards them, weapons once again at the ready.
“You can kill us,” Mira said, “But murder is messy. Someone will come looking for us, and they’ll find you.”
“We’ll be gone by then,” the woman with the knife said.
“Maybe. But is this really the life you want?” She called out to Sibyl.
“Is it the life you want for your child? To always be on the run? To always live in fear?” Mira stepped forward.
“We can’t promise you anything, but if you help us, at least you’ll be fighting back. You would have a chance at freedom.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” the woman with the gun said. “Now leave!”
Byron gently pulled Mira through the archway. There was no sign of Monty.
“Wait!” Sibyl called from behind them. She stepped up to the archway, still bouncing her baby. “I’ll tell you what I know.”