Chapter Eighteen
EIGHTEEN
Vivian stood in the shadows next to Miss Ethel’s shop, trying to ignore the way her heart felt like it was going to jump out of her chest.
“You sure you want to do this, pet?” Honor, in a dark sweater and trousers, was barely visible in the gloomy night. But she was close enough that her murmur brushed Vivian’s cheek like a caress.
“I don’t have a choice,” Vivian whispered back, glad that the darkness hid her shaking.
She had done illegal things before. Buying liquor. Working at the Nightingale. Blackmail. That last one she had hesitated over—but she had still gone through with it, and her life was better because of it.
But blackmail was one thing. Outright theft felt like a completely different game. She shivered again, grateful for Honor’s presence at her side.
“All clear,” came Leo’s quiet whisper from out on the sidewalk.
He lounged against a streetlamp in his most respectable-looking suit and hat, which really just meant his most expensive looking.
Vivian could see the tip of his cigarette glowing, like a beacon, like a warning.
He had bristled at being asked to keep watch while Honor and Vivian did the dangerous work of actually getting the dress, but he hadn’t argued.
They all knew he was the one least likely to be hassled if someone came along.
Danny had wanted to come. As soon as he realized what they were planning, he had pointed out that he was better at picking locks than Honor—a skillset Vivian hadn’t realized either of them possessed, but hadn’t been surprised by at all when he told her about it.
But though no one said it out loud, they all knew it would be much more dangerous for a Chinese man to be picked up than for the rest of them.
It was risky for them too, of course. But the chance of jail time was less scary than the risk of a beating from the police. And someone needed to be in charge at the Nightingale.
That left her with just Honor and Leo for help. Another time, she wouldn’t have wanted to put them anywhere near each other, too conscious of the not-quite-history she had with each. But tonight she didn’t care.
Florence was in danger. That was all that mattered.
“Won’t your Miss Ethel get suspicious when she finds herself robbed and neither you nor your sister shows up for work in the morning?” Honor whispered.
Vivian shook her head. “I told Florence she was going to work tomorrow after all. We’ll show up like usual and look shocked along with everyone else. Just gotta hope Flo’s got her poker face on good and tight, because she’ll realize what I did as soon as she gets here.”
It was a cloudy night, but there was still light from the streetlamps catching the edges of buildings, making everything look twice as large as it did in the day.
They didn’t want to risk carrying a light of their own, so that was all they had to work with.
Vivian blinked again and again, straining her eyes against the way the shadows twisted her perception.
“Okay,” she whispered to Honor. “Let’s give this a whirl.”
She could hear the smile in Honor’s soft voice as she replied, “I always did like how you keep me on my toes.”
Honor moved like silk and water through the shadows, sliding toward the heavy, half-hidden little cellar door that Vivian had pointed out to her.
It was set at an angle, half in the wall, half in the stone of the street, and if you didn’t already know, it was hard to tell which shop it would actually take you into.
But Vivian had worked at Miss Ethel’s for a long time.
If you were breaking and entering, it sure helped to know the joint well.
There was always a lock on the door, a heavy padlock that was almost never opened.
And if anyone passing by glanced down the alley, they would be able to see two figures crouched awkwardly against the wall.
Anyone out for a casual stroll would know to keep walking, rather than risk upsetting a group of criminals who might be either more violent or more well-connected than they expected.
But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t telephone the police.
And if the police happened by … well, they wouldn’t hesitate to start making arrests.
“Hurry up,” Vivian muttered as Honor slid two slim metal tools into the padlock.
“Talent can’t be rushed,” Honor murmured, her voice barely louder than the gentle click of her tools.
“Where’d you learn to pick locks, anyway?” Vivian asked, as much to distract herself from her nerves as to learn the answer.
For a moment, Honor was silent. In the shadows, Vivian couldn’t see her face well enough to tell whether that was because Honor was concentrating or because she didn’t want to answer.
Just when Vivian was beginning to regret asking, Honor replied, barely loud enough to be heard, “I had an occasionally criminal childhood.”
It was far from the answer Vivian was expecting. She desperately wanted to ask more, but it wasn’t the time for anything resembling a real conversation.
“Evening, fellas.”
Leo’s clear greeting echoed down the alley, a warning that someone was about to go past. Honor and Vivian flattened themselves against the wall, trying to blend into the shadows in case someone looked their way.
It was a raucous group of young men, hats and bodies both tilted drunkenly as they strutted down the street with as much swagger and dignity as they could manage. They looked harmless, but even the mildest-looking fellow could be dangerous, especially when he was surrounded by his friends.
“Got a smoke, pal?” one of them slurred, giving Leo what looked like a none-too-gentle sock in the shoulder.
It was the sort of treatment that Leo wouldn’t normally let slide without a response.
But he couldn’t do anything in return, not if he wanted to keep Vivian and Honor from being noticed.
Instead, he took refuge in good humor; but Vivian could hear the edge in his voice as he replied, “Glad to share. But I wouldn’t linger if I were you; cops are thick on the street tonight. ”
“Then what’re you doing standing here?” one man asked belligerently.
Vivian didn’t realize she had grabbed Honor’s hand until Honor squeezed back gently. “He can handle them,” she said, her voice barely more than a breath next to Vivian’s ear.
In spite of the humid night, Vivian shivered. But Honor was right. It was easy to picture Leo’s smile as he replied, “Following orders, my friend. Which I don’t recommend getting in the way of.”
A murmur went through the group; they might have been drunk, but they knew better than to ignore that sort of warning. Getting in the middle of someone else’s business was a good way to end up beaten or worse in an alley.
“Thanks for the cig,” one of them called, while a friend gave him a shove to get him moving down the street with the rest of the group. “Good luck with your night.”
As soon as the sound of their footsteps had started to fade, Honor was back at the door.
Vivian thought she must be working more by feel than anything else; it was certainly too dark to see the keyhole.
Vivian stayed where she was until she heard the click of the padlock’s hinge and Honor’s quietly triumphant “Open sesame.” A flicker from the streetlight caught her smile as she turned to Vivian. “Shall we?”
The door was heavy enough that they had to work together to ease it open and lower it, silently and slowly, toward the ground.
Vivian tried to trick her mind into thinking of it as a game, just like sneaking out to go dancing, back when Florence had looked at her nighttime excursions with such bitter disapproval.
But her heart felt like it was pounding right in her throat, making her breath come in shivering bursts that couldn’t quite pull enough oxygen into her lungs.
“After you,” Honor murmured, and they slipped inside, light on toes that were used to keeping up with the rapid tempo of a Charleston or a quickstep.
There were five stairs going down on the other side, and they had to stand on them to ease the door back into place so it wouldn’t come crashing down and tell the whole world that something shady was going on.
When it was closed, it was inky black in the basement, where the only window was barely seven inches high and looked out over the dank ground of the alley.
Honor pulled out a flat pocket light, and the weak, narrow beam darted around the crowded little storage room like a firefly trying to find its way back to the sky.
But there was no sound from outside. So far, so safe.
“This way,” Vivian whispered, sliding carefully past stacked bolts of fabric, crates of notions and trimmings, and two broken sewing machines in need of repair.
Honor was a shadow moving behind her, nearly silent, but Vivian was all too conscious of the other woman’s presence, the faint sound of her steps, the smell of her perfume, the electric feeling when their hands happened to brush against each other in the dark.
It was the first time they had ever been together outside the Nightingale.
Vivian wondered if Honor was as scared as she was.
She wondered if Honor was scared of anything. “The safe is upstairs.”
The narrow staircase up to the first floor crackled beneath them, a sound that would have barely registered in the daylight but at night, in the quiet, sounded as loud as a gunshot. Vivian’s breath came faster as she darted up.
Halfway up, Honor put out her light, and when they came to the top of the stairs they paused once more, listening and watching.
A streetlight shone right outside the store, making it easy to see what they were doing.
But it also meant that anyone who happened to glance through the window would be able to spot two people moving around inside a store that was clearly closed, even if they wouldn’t quite be able to tell who those people were.