Chapter 18
James had offered to take me home, but I wanted time between the north bank and the south, time to think and feel before I had to keep my happiness off my face. I wasn’t ready to share it.
Nothing could keep my heart in its proper place.
He put me in a cab back to Elephant and Castle. I found myself smiling.
Upon entering the inn, I approached Pat to ask where I might find Maggie only to find she’d left for Birmingham on the early train, back the day after next.
Deflated, I spent the next day with the uneasy, restless feeling of urgently wanting to act but being stalled.
On Monday morning, I went to the inn to ask for Maggie again, but still she hadn’t arrived. I went for a walk, occupying myself as I could, and returned early in the afternoon. This time Pat’s eyes flicked toward the stairs.
I found Maggie in the goods room with Silas Pike, going over ledgers. Remembering that Amelia told me Silas had been Maggie’s lover before being Amelia’s fence, I backed out and said I’d wait. Nearly an hour later, when he left, I entered.
She stood behind the desk, her fingertips on the edge. “Well?”
“I want to propose a different dodge,” I said. “I’ve found a way to get your necklace. Safer and easier than taking it from the jeweler’s.”
“Oh?”
“I went to the shop, twice—in different costumes—and considered every angle. But Maggie, there’s a clerk and the son of the jeweler present, mirrors everywhere, a safe behind a locked door, and locks on every cabinet, the back door, and the alley, not to mention a high gate.
The entire family lives upstairs, so there’s no way of coming in over the roof from above, as they’d hear the noise. ”
Her eyebrows rose. “The entire family lives upstairs?”
“Yes, including a son who returned from Crimea with terrible injuries. He’s bedridden.
Besides, the Fairleigh murders mean the constables at the end of every street are more vigilant.
So I truly don’t think it’s possible to take the necklace off the premises, even at night, without being caught.
” I dropped my hands onto the top rail of the chair.
“But there’s a ball in a few weeks. That’s why the marquess is having it cleaned and repaired at the jeweler’s. I can retrieve it at the party.”
To my surprise, there was no light of approval or even curiosity in her eyes.
“Sit down,” she said and as I drew out the chair, she took a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard, pouring some into a glass.
The smoky tang of it made me miss Amelia.
Maggie put the bottle away without offering me any, not that I’d have taken it.
There was something unpleasant coming, and I’d need my wits about me.
She sat behind the desk across from me, but at an angle, her right forearm on the desk, her warped fingers around the glass with its amber liquid, her eyes on it as she said, “I want to tell you the story of the day I was caught. Would you like to hear it?”
Cold spiked down my spine. Was she finally going to tell me about the role my mother played? “Yes.”
She tapped the glass soundlessly with her thumb. “I was once a girl much like you.” Her eyes met mine. “You might not think so now, but I was very pretty. Twenty years in the blazing sun of Swan River ruined my looks, but I once had thick dark hair and a complexion as fair as yours.”
I recalled the photograph. “I’m sure,” I replied. That much was honest.
“Your mother was my jenny that day.” She paused and gave an appraising look. “So you knew that.”
I nodded.
“I don’t blame her, you know,” she said. “I never blamed her.”
I wasn’t sure whether to believe it.
“We were at Simonson’s,” she said.
She’d been caught at Simonson’s?
My heart gave a thud, and I had the uncanny feeling of having trod in Maggie’s footsteps—and Ma’s.
Maggie shook her head, as if she’d followed my thought. “Remember, ’twas back when the shop was still in Northampton Square.”
“Of course,” I said.
“They didn’t have the locks and safes and mirrors back then, but I was caught all the same.”
“By a constable?”
The skin around her eyes tightened. “No. By the son, the bloody ratbag.” She raised the glass and sipped, holding the whiskey in her mouth before she swallowed.
“He took me to the back room and said if I gave up the jewels and let him fondle me a bit, he’d let me go.
He wouldn’t even call a constable, provided I was willing. ”
My spine pressed against the wooden slats of the chair, dreading what came next.
“I’m not a fool, and I’m no fish.” Her fingertips went to her lips, rubbing from one side to the other and back, as if wiping away a kiss.
“I knew he’d want more than fondling, but I’d never been taken so.
He covered my mouth and shoved me up against the safe, so I could hardly breathe.
I fought back, biting his hand and clawing his face, but he was too strong for me.
I still remember the cold metal on my back.
The knob jabbing into my spine.” Her voice thickened.
“And he laughed and kept saying in my ear how nice and soft and warm my pocket was. He was so bloody strong. The arms on him. The weight of him. He was twice my size.” Her eyes flicked up to me, held.
“When he finished and finally called for the police, it was a blessing.”
With a chill, I began to understand. This dodge had never been about the Hargrave necklace. It had only ever been about the jeweler. The man who had been brutally vicious to Maggie was no doubt the same who had been mundanely cruel to the clerk. “I’ve seen him,” I said hollowly.
“He told the constable he’d caught me thieving, and I’d fought back.
Made himself the victim, pointing to his face and showing the teeth marks on his hand, with the constable grinning the entire time.
The pig passed him some coins—he didn’t even trouble to hide it—and I was thrown into a cell in Newgate, with nary a bed, moldy bread to eat, and only a metal pot for pissing.
The next day, they walked me into the Old Bailey.
” She paused. “Have you ever been inside?”
“No.”
“It’s bigger than you’d think, with a balcony up above crammed full of people watching, dozens of benches on the floor, the jury under the windows, and a witness box, perched up in the middle so everybody can see.
Just before me was a thief who’d killed an innkeeper’s wife, and I think it put the judge in a mood to come down all the harder on me.
” She sniffed and gave a small shake of her head.
“Simonson climbed up into the witness box and gave evidence, most of which was the scratches on his face, and I swear he’d scratched himself twice over to make it look worse.
Then the constable got up and said his bit.
The judge didn’t even call me.” Her eyes narrowed.
“You mightn’t understand, but it was a lesson for me.
To realize that a villain can make himself out a victim by turning facts around. ”
“It wasn’t fair,” I said.
“No,” she said. “So twenty years later, when I finally made it home, I bought some fine clothes and visited his new shop.” An audible exhale flared her nostrils. “He didn’t even recognize me. Can you believe the like?” Her mouth pinched in bitter wonder. “Tried to sell me some pearl earrings.”
“This scheme of yours will hurt him back,” I said.
“Not near enough.” Her eyes flashed. “He should hang, but he’s rich, so he won’t. But this will do. He’ll suffer longer.”
I couldn’t say I blamed her for wanting revenge.
“You’re sure it was him?” I asked. “It’s been years.”
“I knew him straightaway. He’s portlier now.
The skin under his chin is wobbly, though he tries to hide it with a beard.
” Her voice was thin, precise as a blade.
“And yes, it’s been years. But God knows, Swan River taught me patience.
” Her green eyes held mine. “Call it revenge if you like, but before we die, we must all balance the scales if we want to die in peace. The reason I didn’t die in Swan River was because God left me alive to do it. Do you understand?”
The set of her jaw reminded me of men who doubled their bet when they were behind. Maggie had dragged this revenge around with her for so long, it had a heft of its own, a weight, a value. Perhaps she couldn’t set it down now, not without feeling a fool.
I made one last attempt to convince her. “Maggie, I understand you wanting revenge. I would, too. I’d want to slit his throat and let him rot in some back alley. But . . . I’m the one who would be taking the risk, along with whoever you sent with me.”
“Are you frightened?” Her voice was edged with disdain.
“I’m not a coward, but I’m not a fool, either. Chances are, we’d be caught. The family lives upstairs. What if they hear? What if they come down? What if they have pistols?”
“My men’ll keep you safe.”
Men? Two? Or more?
“Then why can’t you do this yourself?”
“This.” She lifted her bad hand. “It’s a hindrance, as is my eyesight, which isn’t as keen as it once was.”
I drew a breath. “Maggie, I can’t get you the revenge you want. Not like this.”
“Not even for two hundred pounds?” she asked. “What if I make it three?”
When I didn’t reply, her face tightened with anger before she smoothed it back out to show only disappointment.
“Why don’t you think on it and come see me tomorrow?
You’ve done most of the work already, looking into Hatton Garden.
” She raised the glass to her mouth and sipped.
“I’ll have something for you, whatever you decide. ”
“There’s no need to pay—”
“No. I don’t ask people to work for nothing. It’s only fair.”
“All right.” I knew my answer, but I would give it to her tomorrow, if she preferred.
As I reached the door, I heard her voice behind me: “Have you talked to Amelia lately?”
Stifling a pang, I turned back. “No. Not since she left.”
She smiled briefly. “Tomorrow, then.”
I nodded and shut the door behind me, heading down the staircase with a feeling of relief.
My escape from Maggie’s plan had been easier than I expected—indeed, so easy that it left me unsettled—and her story raised questions about the past that I knew only Amelia could answer. My chest ached with wanting to talk to her.
But who might know where she had gone? The only person I could think of was Emma.
A storm had rolled in while I’d been with Maggie, and it had begun to rain, one of those London rainstorms that slashed at windows and made the edges of the streets run with water.
In the pub room, I plucked an abandoned, bent-spoked umbrella from the stand beside the door, took a lit lamp from the sill, and crossed the wide expanse of cobblestones in front of the inn.
Usually at this time of day it was filled with carriages, costermonger carts, children, dogs.
The downpour had emptied it and hid the facades of the buildings opposite, the only sign of them the light from the windows.
I headed to Emma’s shop and knocked at the door. There was no answer, and I banged on the door again, louder. Emma emerged from the kitchen, peering through the shop toward the window.
“Emma, it’s Kit,” I called through the glass, tilting back the umbrella so she could see my face.
She hurried forward and unlocked the door. The bell tinkled as she pulled it open. “Good lord, Kit, it’s pouring!”
I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. I didn’t attempt to fold the umbrella as I wasn’t sure I’d be able to open it again.
Her eyes searched mine. “What’s the matter? Is it James?”
“I need to speak to Amelia.”
Her jaw slacked, and she began to shake her head.
“It’s important, Emma.”
Emma wrapped one arm across her waist, crooking the other to put her hand in a loose fist over her mouth.
I was putting her in a terrible spot, I knew.
“Kit, she doesn’t want anyone to know where she is. Including Maggie.”
“She’d be the last person I’d tell,” I said. “Please, Emma, trust me.” A pleading note crept into my voice. “James does.”
She lowered her hand to cross both arms over her chest. “Near Farringdon Market, in Shoe Lane, number thirteen.”
Shoe Lane was between Old Bailey and Hatton Garden.
“The upper story,” Emma added, her voice subdued. “And don’t be followed.”
“I won’t.”
As I reached for the doorknob, she added, “Just remember, Kit. She did the best she could for you all. She had no choice.”
I turned back, perplexed. “I’m not angry with her, Emma.”
She grimaced. “You look it.”
“Well, I’m not,” I said. “I’m just—worried.”
“Go on, then. No—wait.” She stepped to the corner. “Take my umbrella. You’ll get soaked with that stupid thing.”
I thanked her, put it up, and headed across the cobbles toward the railway station, where I could hire a cab.
Around the corner came a dark, broad-shouldered figure. Instinctively, I halted. With those shoulders, the man could be James, but the walk was wrong. The inn’s door opened, and as he stepped inside, I saw his face.
Billy.
My heart gave a thud.
My first thought was, did his return make it less likely that he’d seen Sarah in Mayfair? Perhaps he felt safe, believing he hadn’t been seen.
Or had he been drawn back by something so important he was willing to risk being caught?
Was he one of the men Maggie was bringing in for her dodge?
But why would Billy feel such loyalty toward her?
She was nearly a decade older than he, so I doubted he was a lover.
He couldn’t be her brother—there was no obvious resemblance—
Then, like two pieces of fabric stitched together, the image in Fanny’s photograph and Billy’s face came together in my mind. Take the boy, add twenty years, longer hair, a beard and mustaches, and burlier shoulders—it was Billy.
That’s Maggie’s cousin, Fanny had said. She took him in.
Good lord, I thought, putting my hand to my chest to steady the sudden stutter of my breath. No wonder he’d come back.
But if Billy was involved in this dodge, it was because Maggie needed a bludger. She had been dismissive of the constables, but they wouldn’t be silenced for good with money. Bribes could always be trumped with bigger bribes or threats.
If there had been any question in my mind, Billy’s appearance resolved it. Tomorrow morning, I’d refuse whatever cut Maggie offered and say no in a way she knew I meant it.
At the railway station, I found a cab and sank into it, shivering. It drove through St. George’s Circus and headed toward Blackfriars Bridge.
Had it been only two days since I’d ridden in a cab along this very route in the opposite direction, exultant over the plan to take the necklace at Charleton’s ball? Yet again, I’d let myself stop worrying, blithely thinking I’d solved a problem when I didn’t even know what the problem was.
When would I learn?