Chapter 20
In front of St. George’s, I shoved my way onto an overcrowded omnibus, then leapt off at the Lambeth railway station and dashed to the inn, rushing straight up to the goods room, where Maggie and Billy each held a glass of whiskey.
Maggie sat behind the desk, Billy perched on the windowsill, one heavy boot on the floor, the other swinging idly.
As if they were waiting for me.
Fear dug its fangs into my heart as I set down Sarah’s satchel. “Where is she?”
Billy snickered and turned to Maggie. “You were right. It brought her round, even faster than you expected.”
Maggie’s smile was almost gentle. “She’s not far.”
“Is she alive?”
“What use would she be to me dead?” Maggie returned. She reached into a pocket and withdrew a silver chain, passing it over to me. Unthinking, I reached for it. From the chain dangled Sarah’s locket, the one I’d given her. “She told me you’d recognize it.”
“How did you find her?” My voice rasped.
“You told me she was a maid in Mayfair, so I had you followed, of course.” Maggie smoothed back an unruly dark lock near her temple.
“I’ve understood you from the first, Kit.
I saw your affection for Mary and your sister.
Why do you think I told Mary I was cutting her from the ring?
I knew you’d bargain to keep her here. After that, it was just reeling you in.
When money wasn’t enough to make you willing, you left me no choice. I had to use your sister.”
I tucked the locket into the secret pocket in my bodice. “I want proof she’s alive now.”
“And you’ll do what I ask?”
“If she’s alive,” I spat back. “You have me for your bloody dodge. But so help me God, if you harm her, I will make sure you hang, even if I hang alongside you.” I sat on the opposite side of the desk and put out my hand. “Give me paper and a pen.”
She took a piece of paper from the drawer and gestured to the inkwell with the pen in the brass tray that had stood on the desk—Amelia’s desk—for as long as I’d been thieving. “Very well. Billy can take it.”
I bent and wrote: Sarah, I’m doing what Maggie asks, and she’ll let you go.
Reply to me on this page. I hesitated. When she saw Billy, would she assume this had something to do with her seeing him in Mayfair?
Would she try to reassure him that she’d keep quiet?
She wasn’t a fool or a child, but she’d be terrified.
I couldn’t take the chance she’d be thinking carefully.
I added, Say nothing, and underlined it for good measure.
“Give this to her,” I said, sticking the pen back in its place. “Have her write back. I know her handwriting.”
Maggie took it from me, read the message critically, and handed it to Billy along with a stub of pencil. “Do as she says.”
He pocketed it and ambled out.
In my mind, I followed him down the stairs, out the door, along an alley, into some dank boardinghouse, and into a cellar, where he shoved open a door, setting Sarah’s nerves on fire with fright until he handed her my note. It filled me with a pain so complete I couldn’t think.
Until my eyes returned to Maggie. Her expression of cool patience, even tolerance, told me she had no feeling for Sarah or me at all. This was only revenge, pure and practical and well planned.
And I had better start thinking practically as well.
I jerked my head toward the closed door. “So he’s part of the dodge?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re going to tell me everything,” I said. “Who else is in, when and how.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I’ll tell you your part of it.”
“No. You tell me every bloody step,” I retorted.
“So I can go over it in my head.” She opened her mouth to protest, and my voice rose.
“Damn it! I don’t trust you and I certainly don’t trust Billy.
He’s a lout with a temper, and you will want me to know the whole plan because if something goes wrong, he’s not going to keep a clear head!
He’ll fly off the handle and kill more people than he needs to.
” Her expression altered. “You’ve given me no choice, so I’m doing what you ask.
” I spread my hands. “But I’m not bloody following your men in blind, like a stray dog on a leash.
For God’s sake, you wouldn’t, either! Billy’s reckless, and I don’t even know what other devil you’re throwing me in with.
If we get caught, I want a plan to get us out. ”
A flicker of acknowledgment crossed her face. “All right.”
I drew a long breath. “Now, why do you need me so badly? Your cracksman can retrieve the necklace. And don’t tell me it’s because you don’t want to end up with worthless paste. I can teach anyone to tell the difference, if you give me a day. So could you.”
“I’m not nicking the necklace,” she said.
Had she changed her plan? I sat back in amazement, for I’d have sworn she’d have scrupulously planned every detail. “Then what the devil are you nicking?”
“Much less,” she said evenly. “Three stones out of it.”
“What? Why not take the necklace? It’s easier and nets you more. Simonson’ll look careless and lose custom, and there’s less risk to all of us.”
“Because stealing the necklace would make him look like a victim of a crime. People will sympathize and say, ‘Oh, it’s so terrible, London is full of thieves.’” Her eyes were flinty. “Replace them with paste and people will say he’s crooked. An unscrupulous jeweler. A fraud. A thief. A villain.”
If he was caught substituting paste for real gems, no one would ever trust him again. His business would be ruined, he’d be jailed, and the villain and the victim would have changed places yet again.
This wasn’t a change of plans; this had been her scheme all along.
Maggie took out the picture of the necklace, unfolded it, and laid it on the desk between us. “How long will it take you to switch out three stones?”
I studied the picture for a moment, buying myself time. “Any in particular?”
“No.”
“These would be easiest,” I said, pointing.
“Medium sized diamonds, round cut. It looks like they’re anchored by four or six prongs.
Impossible to tell if it’s gold or something else—silver or platinum.
There might be adhesive, but I’ve a solvent for that.
” I set down the page. “Depending on the setting, changing out three stones would take forty or fifty minutes, I think, unless there’s something odd. ”
“And if you have time to practice?”
“Quicker than that.” I studied her, considering the next logical step.
“How would the replacement be discovered? Surely you don’t expect the marquess to detect the difference between real and paste, with the stones still in their settings, and only a few of the dozens replaced.
” Even I needed to remove stones to examine them properly with a loupe.
“The marquess shall learn that the jeweler has been known to replace real stones with paste, and he’ll have it examined.”
“So the second jeweler will find the three false ones.”
“The story will break in the newspapers, and their reputation will be ruined.” She took a sip of her whiskey. “It’s simple, you see. That’s why it will work. You’ve only to do your part. You can trust my men to manage the rest.”
Men. That confirmed there would be at least one other besides Billy.
“And how will we get in?”
Maggie withdrew a second piece of paper from her pocket. It was her hand-drawn map of Hatton Garden, with the alleys now marked with Xs. She pointed to one of them. “Through here.”
“But there’s a constable stationed at the entrance.”
“Stop worrying about the constables,” she said shortly. “There’s only one who will be in your way, and the world could do with less of them anyway.”
In our way and then dead. Because Billy couldn’t just knock the man unconscious or tie him up. There was the risk of him regaining consciousness faster than the time it took us to get in, open the safe, exchange the jewels, and get out.
“So Billy will kill him,” I said, “and drag the body out of sight. But what if another constable comes around and wonders where he’s gone?”
“Billy will put on the uniform.”
I gave a bark of a laugh at the absurdity of it. “While he’s doing that, who’s getting me into the shop and the safe?”
She refolded the picture of the necklace and the map of Hatton Garden, tucking them away. “We’ll have a hook ladder, so the two of you can climb the gate and jump down into the alley. The jeweler’s door is three down. As you said, there are two Yale locks, which my smith can pick.”
“Who is it?”
“He’s not from here,” she replied. “But don’t worry.
He keeps a cool head and is the quickest I know.
He’ll get you into the office, which you’ll examine, so you can leave it exactly as it was.
He’ll open the safe, give you the necklace, and after you change out three stones, he’ll put the necklace back. It’s an hour’s work.”
“Closer to ninety minutes,” I said. “And I need a good supply of paste. The stones need to match. The right color and size, the same cut and brilliance.”
She sniffed, touching her nose delicately with a lawn handkerchief. “Seamus has collected a variety—good ones, cut like the ones in the necklace.”
So she’d roped Mr. Ardle into this, too.
The thought flicked into my mind that he’d had me doing more stone replacement and repair the past few weeks.
“There’s variation in the stones,” Maggie said, “so you’ll be able to find three that are close enough. You can practice at his shop. You have plenty of time.”
“Hardly,” I snapped. “The ball is on Wednesday. That’s only nine days. What if the necklace is being picked up tomorrow? Or has been picked up already?”
“The necklace will be picked up Monday morning.”
“You have someone inside the jeweler?” I asked. “Why not have them do—”
“Not inside the jeweler,” she replied.
So, someone inside the house. A maid or footman, bribed, no doubt, to divulge when the necklace was being retrieved. She’d crafted this dodge down to the smallest threads.