Chapter 10 #2
The cab drew to a halt, and there was no opportunity for me to probe what wisdom she’d been given—not, perhaps, that I wished to, for there was a darkness to her life that made me draw back from any truth she’d discovered.
As the driver slowed the horses, I found myself of two minds.
My initial wariness hadn’t vanished, certainly; but though Maggie may have taken the ring unfairly from Amelia, if this story was true, she was a victim as well.
It wasn’t until I was climbing out of the cab that it occurred to me to wonder how Maggie had escaped from this man.
We walked down Burnham Street, and Maggie paused in front of an apothecary. “Not this shop,” she said quietly. “The one across the street.”
I used the apothecary’s plate glass storefront as a mirror to observe it. A sundry shop, with a large front window, a paneled front door, a shining brass bell above. “May I go in first?”
“If you like.”
“Give me two full minutes before you enter. When I come out, I’ll follow this street west and turn south at the corner to meet you. I’ll turn my cloak if I’m being followed.”
She laid her hand on the apothecary’s doorknob. “Very well. I’ll stop in here.”
I waited until two carriages and two gentlemen on horseback had passed, then picked up my skirts and walked across the street to stand in front of the chandler’s window to the right of the shop.
I fingered the reticule I’d brought, as if I anticipated making a purchase of candles, all the while surveying the shop immediately to the left.
It took less than ninety seconds to glean what I needed.
I entered the busy shop, followed shortly after by Maggie, and after achieving my aim, I left, turned west and then south, slowing my step on that street.
I hadn’t bothered turning my cloak. Maggie caught up with me a few minutes afterward, greeting me with an approving smile and looping her hand through my elbow as if we were old acquaintances.
“You’re even better than I was told. I watched you in the mirror across from the glove cabinet, and I didn’t see it. ”
“Most of what I took wasn’t from the cabinet,” I said.
That surprised her.
“It was an easy mark,” I said.
“Have you been to that shop before?”
“No.”
“Then tell me why.”
It was a test of sorts, I understood that.
“There’s a large front window, with a full display that must be taken down and put back up each day, or the star-glazers would steal everything at night.
To save time, the shop owners don’t pin everything down but merely set it in place on the stands and shelves, with the lace folded or in coils, the ribbons hung from hooks.
There’s a shiny bell over the door that rings when a customer enters.
I slipped in when a customer left, so it didn’t ring for me; but you rang it when you entered, and the clerk’s eyes went to the door just for a moment while I slipped my hand inside the front window case.
” We halted at the corner to let two carriages pass.
“Then, while you went to the cabinet on the other side, I went over to the cabinet to look at gloves because there was a second customer there. Between the two of us, the clerk pulled out six sets, one of which is now in my pocket.”
She laughed. “I watched your face the entire time. You look bored, even dim-witted. Do you not feel your nerves?”
“Of course I do. But Amelia taught me early on to spend time in front of a looking glass, to see how emotion flickers across. She taught me to keep the sparkle out of my eyes, and the triumph off my mouth, until we reached the goods room. Then we could gloat a bit.”
“Remarkable,” she said. “Like an actress in a play, earning money by arranging your face.”
I felt the pull of her hint, strong as an outright question.
Suddenly I understood. She’d never believe I hadn’t heard of her stage career; if I didn’t say something now, she’d know I was deceiving her. And in that split second, I chose. “Amelia told me you were an actress once. That you sing beautifully.”
“Aye.” A flicker of warmth lit her eyes, and the faint tension I’d felt in the hand resting on my arm eased.
I’d said the right thing, and I felt relieved enough to make a joke. “Well, a shop is like a proper stage, I suppose. Only we steal the props.”
She chuckled at that. “Well, I may have a special dodge I’ll be putting together. I’ll certainly keep you in mind.”
That prickled the back of my neck, but I thanked her, and the moment seemed right to ask: “How were you caught thieving?”
She gave a sideways look and stepped around a pile of horse shite on the cobbles.
“Not much to tell. I was nicking a bracelet at a jewelry shop in Clerkenwell. They called the constable and I was taken away, tried, and put on the ship within two days. The sentencing judge doubled the usual sentence for me having ‘dangerously clever hands.’ Those were his very words.”
She made no mention of my mother being her jenny.
The distrust that had abated over the afternoon returned.
I might have probed further, but she said, “I understand you work at Mr. Ardle’s shop sometimes.”
We stepped onto the pavement at Fleet Street. “Yes.”
“He’s one of the friends I was glad to find still here.”
They were friends? That surprised me. The more I saw of Maggie, the more I could imagine her as a girl—bright-eyed, quick-witted, with a ready laugh. I imagined she wouldn’t have given him the time of day.
Suddenly I suspected why Mr. Ardle looked sprightlier a few days ago.
“Did he admire you?” I asked.
“Oh.” She gave a deprecating shrug. “For a time.”
Likely he worshipped you, I thought.
“Have you stopped by his shop?” I asked. “Let him know you’ve returned?”
She stepped over a crack in the pavement, wide enough to catch a heel. “Last week,” she said. “He’s the same as he ever was.” There was a note of satisfaction in her voice.
A woman like Maggie knew her own power to draw a man in.
Indeed, Maggie had made efforts to charm me this afternoon—confiding about her past, showing an interest in mine, chuckling at my quips, praising my abilities.
I could readily imagine how Mr. Ardle would feel, seeing the sparkle of delight in Maggie’s eyes at their meeting, hearing her laugh at a jest he attempted, absorbing the pleasant interest in her voice.
She would know how to wrap him around her finger as easily as thread around a spool.
But to what purpose? I’d be sorry to think she stirred his hopes, only to take advantage of him.
As for myself, I wondered the same. What was Maggie’s intention toward me?
Did she merely want to secure my continued presence in the ring?
Or to draw me into her special dodge? And had Maggie’s story of the horrors in Swan River been true?
Every instinct I had told me it was genuine, but it had also seemed deployed with a purpose.
We neared Elephant and Castle, and I found myself thinking that Maggie’s intentions were rather like my money stash—the small purse a decoy for the larger one. Part of me admired her for surviving, but she wanted something more than ordinary thieving from me. I could feel it.