Chapter 23
The following night, Wednesday, when I went to James’s rooms, he greeted me at the door with the news that the tunnel was exactly what he’d hoped, so the only piece of the plan yet to be fixed was the locksmith, who was being brought by Amelia. Not ten minutes later, they arrived.
Amelia embraced me warmly and introduced her friend.
Art was a slender man of Far Eastern descent, about forty years of age, with shining black hair, unreadably dark eyes, and a raised scar under his jaw that suggested a blade had once been held just below his ear. It reassured me to know he’d had the skills to evade it.
I was keenly on edge, but he greeted me calmly in a tone that was soothing, even mellifluous. Did he have any nerves at all?
My gaze went to his hands. Long, delicate fingers.
“You’re Kit,” he said, the T stuck in the back of his throat, pure Cockney. “Wi’ the wee sister ’oo’s been taken.”
“Yes.”
“Amelia tol’ me the plan, but let’s go over i’ again, all together.”
Amelia’s map was already open on the table, and James bent over, pointing to the wharf with a boathouse that was poorly secured as the place we would begin.
“It’s an old padlock, easy to pick.” He glanced up at Art, who nodded.
“We’ll row along here, and into the Fleet.
There’s no foot access, and the water is fairly deep and fast.”
“Remember, I can’t swim,” I said.
“I can swim like a fish,” James said, for Art’s benefit.
“So can I,” Art said.
“The tunnel is the third one up,” James said.
“The water was chest height when I went last night, but so long as it doesn’t rain, it’ll be down far enough we can wade from where the side tunnel branches off.
It’s about two hundred yards to the metal ladder that leads up to the trapdoor we need.
” He tossed me a ball of red yarn. “This is the distance from where we’ll park the boat, and I marked the ladder with an X on the third rung, in case the yarn breaks, because there are two others not far away. You don’t want to climb the wrong one.”
“It’s a ladder?” Art asked doubtfully.
“Well, metal bars,” James replied. “Old but anchored into the stone solid enough. The trapdoor is latched from the underside and easy to open. Push it up and turn to the right. You’ll see a door. That’s Simonson’s.”
“How big a door?” I asked.
“Smaller than average. About so,” James said, his hands sketching a rectangle the width of his shoulders that reached from the ground to his chest.
“Locks?” Art asked.
“Just one. Standard. Obviously, I didn’t attempt to open it.”
Art nodded.
“You should stay outside,” Amelia said to James. “So it’s just the two of them.”
“The door opens to the shop?” Art asked.
“With a door that size, no,” I said. “The mirror was horizontal, not vertical. So I think it’ll open in the stairwell that leads to the upper floor. From there, we’ll enter the main room, and the office, which will likely also be locked.”
Art scratched his chin. “Inside door’s no trouble.”
“And then there’s the safe.”
He gave a small smile. “Doan worry. I go’ the tools.”
“The most important thing is we must leave no trace,” I said. “If they suspect anything, they’ll examine the necklace one more time before they return it to the marquess.”
“That’s obvious, innit?” Art replied.
We were all silent for a moment, studying the map with James’s pencil marks, committing it to memory.
“I’ll have the boat turned around for when you return,” James said. “The tide will be running out, so it’s an easier row back to the boathouse. The entire thing should take no more than four hours.”
Art’s mouth twitched skeptically. “You ’spect this to go as planned?”
“No,” Amelia said, and James shook his head.
Of course not, I thought.
I itched to carry out our plan that very night, but Simonson didn’t leave London until the following day. Besides, James had assured us the waters would be most favorable late Friday night, barring a storm.
Friday morning, I woke to rain against my window, and my heart turned over.
Feeling almost feverish with worry, that afternoon I did the only thing I could to further our plan.
I donned my disguise and retrieved the bracelet from Simonson’s.
Although I had given it to them in a small black pouch, it was returned to me in a box with a ribbon and a red wax seal, with a large scrolling S for Simonson’s.
I drew a breath of relief; wax and a ribbon would be easy to remove and reattach.
By the time I emerged from the shop, the rain had stopped.
From Hatton Garden, I went to James’s rooms, hoping against hope the additional rain hadn’t thwarted the dodge for the night.
James’s expression as he opened the door told me it had.
“The water’s going to be too high, Kit. It’ll have to be tomorrow. ”
The thought of waiting yet another day before being able to release Sarah was nearly unbearable. “But the rain’s stopped! Can’t we at least try?”
“There’s no point,” he insisted. “The water level will still be dangerous, and we can’t get hurt.”
I strode back and forth in his room, my boots hard on the boards. I fidgeted and fumed until James pulled out a deck of cards and gestured to the seat across the table. “Come on, let’s play.”
“Cards?” I burst out. “Are you mad?”
He spread his hands, half the deck in each. The cut revealed the six of clubs. A terrible card to have in vingt-et-un. I pushed away the thought of it being an omen.
“You can’t stew and fret like this, Kit. The plan’s solid, and there’s nothing to be done tonight. Spinning your nerves into a tangle isn’t going to help. You need to sleep and be ready for tomorrow.”
He was right, of course. I’d have said the same thing to him if our positions were reversed and Emma was the one being held. Still, I was nearly drowning in worry and impatience.
“What if we can’t do it tomorrow, either?” I asked, but answered before he could: “I know. It means I go through with Maggie’s plan, including a constable’s murder. And Maggie will make sure I hang for some part of it, to save the trouble and risk of killing me herself.”
James stilled. “You still think she wants you dead?”
“How can she not?” I asked. “With what I know? I could hold it over her head forever. She won’t let that happen.”
James closed the deck and set down the cards.
“I won’t let Maggie hurt you, or Sarah.” He came around the table and cupped my face in his hands, his face sober.
“I swear to you, Kit. We will get you out of this whole and alive. And Sarah, too.” His eyes fixed on mine, his words came fast. “Maggie’s damned clever, and she’s plotted it well, but she’s not cleverer than all of us together.
Remember, Maggie thinks you’re going along with it.
I’m not saying she’ll let her guard down.
But she’s not looking for you to spike her dodge.
Sarah’s alive, and we’ll do this tomorrow night.
Stay the course, love.” He rested his forehead against mine before drawing back. “All right?”
“I’m afraid,” I said, my voice breaking. Tears burned, and I blinked them back. “What if I fail?”
“Ah.” His face softened, and he pulled me against his chest, pressing his lips to the crown of my head while my fists clenched the back of his shirt. “You’ve never failed her, Kit. You kept her alive and safe for years after your mum died, against odds no better than these. Remember that.”
Not wanting to tip Maggie to anything out of the ordinary, I planned to remain around Elephant and Castle for all of Saturday. Feigning a quarrel, Mary had left our room on Thursday, so I had it to myself, which was for the best, as I struggled to sleep.
In the early morning, I looked over my choice of black trousers, dark woolen sweater, and coat, and placed them back under my mattress.
Then I practiced at Mr. Ardle’s shop for several hours, slipping the necessary tools into my pocket, and took an early supper at the Elephant and Castle, keeping an anxious eye on the darkening sky. There were clouds, but no rain.
At nine o’clock, I turned out the light in my room; at ten, I donned my borrowed clothes, picked up my tools, and slipped out of my room.
By a circuitous route, I made my way across the river, and at half past eleven, I arrived at James’s rooms. Though my dark brown hair was tightly pinned, he gave me a black cap to cover it.
Amelia was there, as was Art. He picked up an unlikely looking sack that clinked as he angled the rope strap over his shoulder and across his chest. I handed him my bound parcel of tools to put inside.
Amelia pulled me close, muttering in my ear, “I’m sorry.”
I drew back. “Don’t, Amelia. She did this, not you. And we’d never have this plan without your map and Art.”
“Come to me afterward.” She looked me hard in the eyes. “Keep your wits about you, and you’ll be all right.”
At midnight, James, Art, and I departed.
The Thames was a few hours into an ebb tide, with its lowest point three hours away. James was timing our arrival at the tunnels for two o’clock, coming out at four. We didn’t want to be fighting the Thames more than we had to.
Above, the clouds had peeled back to the margins, leaving the moon a yellow yolk above the rooftops.
We stole west along Upper Thames Road, with its long shallow puddles, the air holding the musty smell of damp stone and earth from the previous rains.
Past Queenhithe Dock, we cut down an alley to Maidstone Wharf, where a wooden boathouse stood.
An old padlock linked two ends of a chain around the doors; Art had it undone in under a minute, and I let out my breath.
I trusted Amelia’s judgment, but still, Art’s ease at this first obstacle reassured me.