Chapter 10 #2
The tinkle of a bell over the door announced their arrival and it took a moment for Harry to adjust to the gloom inside.
The shop was smaller than she’d expected, and decidedly Victorian in style.
The floorboards might once have been polished but were now dusty and scuffed with the passage of many boots.
Dark, wood-panelled walls held shelf after shelf of clutter, everyday items that had once been treasured, reluctantly given up and lost. A glass-topped counter took up almost the entire length of the far wall, with additional goods on display in its depths – the more valuable stock, Harry assumed, spying jewellery, silver candlesticks and a canteen of cutlery.
A large ledger rested in the centre of the glass top, open to a page that was filled with line after line of handwritten scrawl; the record of debtors, she guessed.
It was presided over by a tall, thin man with deep-set eyes that roamed across the two of them with the kind of naked calculation that made Harry’s skin crawl.
She could not escape the feeling that they had stepped straight into the den of a Dickensian arch-villain.
‘Ladies,’ he said, smiling in a manner that held more than a hint of a crocodile assessing its prey. ‘What can I do for you today?’
Glancing at Beth, Harry saw that a curious change had come over her since they had entered the shop. Gone was her cheerful confidence, replaced by a timid look of shame that almost caused Harry to blink in surprise. ‘Are… are you Solomon Pole?’ she asked, her voice wavering and subdued.
‘At your service,’ the man said, and Harry saw his gaze narrow in greedy anticipation even as his smile widened. ‘How may I help?’
Thrusting her hand into her pocket, Beth withdrew the silver bracelet. ‘What’ll you give me for this?’
Solomon Pole’s gaze fixed upon the glittering chain dangling from her tightly clenched fingers. ‘Come closer, my dear. No need to be scared, I’m here to help.’
Beth did as he commanded, but not before she cast a swift look at Harry.
That was her cue, she realised, and she turned away as though uninterested in the tawdry financial transaction that was about to occur.
She allowed her eyes to roam the shelves, not focusing on their contents but taking in the strategically angled mirrors fixed to the walls that allowed whoever was standing behind the counter to watch out for light-fingered visitors.
There was no sign of the brutes Beth had predicted but a beaded curtain covered a doorway in the wall to the rear of the counter. Perhaps they were lurking in there.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Beth had relinquished the bracelet.
Solomon Pole was bent over it, an eyeglass held between long spindly fingers as he studied the delicate charms attached to the links.
Harry had no idea of its value in monetary terms; each charm had been hand crafted from the finest silver, soldered into place with seamless skill, a new one added for birthdays and anniversaries and other celebrations over many decades.
Its sentimental worth was beyond price, but it seemed it was also a prize worth having, if the expression on Solomon Pole’s face was anything to go by.
Harry did not intervene, however. Beth knew her task well enough.
She resumed her study of the shop. Now that she was closer, she saw that the trays of jewellery beneath the counter contained pieces that were clearly of higher quality than their neighbours.
A gold signet ring embossed with the kind of seal she associated with the nobility, although no one sealed their letters with wax any more.
An emerald pendant set on a fine gold chain that glimmered even in the dimness.
A jewel-handled knife that was far too beautiful to be of any practical use.
Harry frowned. These were not the possessions of the working class, hastily exchanged for too little money and never reclaimed. These were something else.
‘I see you have an eye for the finer things,’ Pole said, and Harry looked up to see him watching her.
‘I like stuff what shines,’ she said, and decided to take a risk. ‘I suppose you might say I collect it.’
‘We have that in common,’ he said. His tone was bland but she thought he took her meaning. ‘Is that how you came by this particularly fine piece?’
Harry shook her head. ‘Nah. That’s hers, handed down through her family.’ She paused. ‘But I reckon I might come across one or two shiny bits and bobs to add to your collection, from time to time. Stuff what don’t match my own interests, if you catch my drift.’
From the warning look Beth flashed her way, Harry suspected she was talking too much but if her accent was imperfect, Pole did not seem to notice. He resumed his inspection of the charm bracelet. ‘I run a respectable business here – all above board.’
‘I can tell,’ Harry said, and cursed the error in judgement. ‘I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise.’
‘And yet I have a weakness for the finer things myself,’ Pole went on. ‘Perhaps we may be of use to one another after all, Miss—’
Her heart thudded. ‘Peterman,’ she said, as coolly as she could manage. ‘Hilda Peterman.’
He lowered the eyeglass to observe her then. ‘Peterman,’ he repeated, as Beth also glanced at her sharply. ‘An interesting surname. Tell me, is it the family occupation?’
Harry tried a carefree shrug. ‘No. But I’m always on the look-out for long-lost family members. Maybe you know one or two.’
He regarded her for several seconds. He was no longer a predator surveying its prey – now his manner was that of a scientist contemplating an interesting specimen.
‘It’s possible a Peterman might be found in my ledger,’ he said.
‘But there are so many names.’ His attention switched suddenly to Beth, who had been following the exchange with narrowed eyes. ‘I’ll give you half a crown for this.’
Her mouth fell open in what Harry thought was genuine outrage. ‘What? It’s worth ten times that.’
He shrugged. ‘You say it’s a treasured family heirloom but how am I to know whether that’s true? Half a crown is a fair price for something that might bring the police to my door, wouldn’t you say?’
Beth scowled. ‘It ain’t stolen.’
Pole inclined his head. ‘Perhaps not, but the risk is mine nonetheless. My commission on the loan will be a further half-crown, bringing the total pledged to a full crown. You have one year and a day to repay the pledge, starting from today’s date.
’ His hand closed around the bracelet. ‘Do we have an accord?’
‘That’s robbery!’ Beth said, and her voice rose several notes. ‘No, we do not have an accord. I’ll go and see Mrs Hackett, she’ll give me a better price.’
A distant scraping sound broke the silence that followed her words. Harry heard the ponderous tread of heavy feet. The beaded curtain swayed and rattled as a meaty fist appeared and forced the strands apart. ‘They giving you trouble, Mr Pole?’
The man was a giant, Harry thought as he ducked through the doorway to glare at them.
His shirt strained over enormous biceps as he folded his arms, and she saw his forearms were covered in tattoos.
The face was florid and wide, its size only exaggerated by his bald head.
His eyes were piggy, dwarfed by a large hooked nose that looked as though it had come off worse in a number of fights.
The overall impression was of a mountain that had pulled loose from the earth, but there was intelligence in his porcine gaze and Harry was struck by a fleeting observation that he was somehow familiar to her, although she was certain they had never met.
He was, however, exactly the kind of complication she had feared.
She exchanged a look with Beth and something passed between them.
There was no help for it, Harry realised as she smothered a wave of dismay.
They would have to agree. ‘All right, you’ve got a deal,’ Beth said.
‘Mind you don’t sell it. I’ll be back for it as soon as I get myself straight. ’
Solomon Pole reached for the ledger. ‘A wise decision. I’m going to need your name and address for my records.’
Harry tensed. They hadn’t discussed providing a false address, not having planned to get as far as pawning the bracelet.
But Beth showed not a flicker of concern as she reeled off the name Lizzie Devine, and an address in Bethnal Green that might be real or as fake as her name.
If Pole was suspicious, he didn’t show it.
His bruiser radiated menace as Pole handed Beth a numbered ticket.
‘You need this when you come to pay. I won’t release the item without it, no matter how much you beg. ’
Beth studied the ticket, then squinted at the ledger. ‘Does it match what you wrote down there?’
Pole turned the book to show her. ‘As I said, Miss Devine, I run a respectable business.’ His gaze flickered to Harry. ‘And perhaps if you both return, I may have had time to consult the ledger for that long-lost family member you mentioned.’
Harry said nothing as he slid a coin across the glass towards Beth. ‘I hope that helps to alleviate your financial difficulties,’ he said smoothly. ‘Good day to you both.’
The giant took a step forward, making it clear the transaction was at an end.
Glowering at both men, Beth snatched up the money and flounced to the door.
Harry followed, resisting the temptation to cast a longing glance at the bracelet.
They would retrieve it, she told herself as an ache welled up in her chest. It was not lost. Overhead, the bell tinkled and was abruptly cut off by the closing door.
Neither of them spoke. Instead, they set off along Middlesex Street, listening for the thud of heavy feet that suggested trouble was brewing.
When they reached the derelict shop adorned with posters, Harry placed a hand on Beth’s arm. ‘I think we’re safe.’
‘I’m not sure we are,’ Beth grumbled, but she stopped walking all the same. She held out the ticket and the half-crown to Harry and sighed. ‘I suppose these are yours.’
‘Keep the money,’ Harry said, taking the ticket. ‘As payment for today.’
Beth looked as though she might refuse, then tucked the money away in a pocket. ‘So now what? I’m sorry about the bracelet. I know it’s important to you.’
Another stab of dismay pierced Harry’s stomach, but she forced herself to ignore it. ‘That’s not important for now. What matters is that we’ve established Pole isn’t against handling stolen goods.’
The other woman sniffed. ‘Hardly the discovery of the century.’
‘No, but there’s also the suggestion that he knows a safe-cracker or two,’ Harry countered.
‘I did wonder where you were going with all that long-lost family malarkey,’ Beth said. ‘But then I remembered that Peterman is another name for a safe-cracker. That was quite clever, even if it did bring the plan tumbling down around our ears.’
‘Yes,’ Harry admitted. ‘Sorry about that.’
It had been a risk, but one that had been worthwhile, she decided.
And perhaps the odds had always been against getting out of the door with the bracelet still in their possession.
It certainly seemed that Solomon Pole had meant to have it.
Her gaze came to rest once more on the poster for Cuthbert’s circus and she stared without really seeing it, her mind circling around everything the pawnbroker had said.
‘At least we didn’t get beaten black and blue,’ Beth cut in, sounding a little more positive. ‘Did you see the size of that devil he had working for him?’
‘Hmmm,’ Harry said absently, as something tugged at her memory. Her gaze slid across the poster, taking in the grinning strongman with his bulging forearms, and something fell into place. ‘Beth, look at this. Do you think that’s him?’
‘What, the bruiser? It can’t be.’ Squinting, she followed Harry’s pointing finger. ‘I bet they all look the same – big, ugly and stupid.’
Harry leaned closer. ‘But look at those tattoos. There’s one of a mermaid on his left forearm – I saw that back in the shop. And the anchor on his right arm. Pole’s bruiser had one of those too.’
‘Could be coincidence,’ Beth said, but she sounded uncertain. ‘Maybe he’s an artist’s muse.’
Harry’s mind was whirring. Her eyes slid to the picture of the acrobats, small and lithe. ‘What if there’s a connection between Pole and the circus?’ she said slowly. ‘The job at Berkeley Square needed an expert safe-cracker, but it also needed someone small enough to navigate the tunnel.’
Beth’s gaze settled on the acrobats. ‘There was a little one,’ she said, as though recalling a distant memory. ‘No more than a kid. You think the circus is involved with the theft of the diamond?’
‘Perhaps,’ Harry said, although the idea sounded ridiculous even to her ears.
‘I suppose it’s possible,’ Beth allowed, then frowned. ‘Hang on, didn’t I see in the papers that they found a body in that house?’
Harry felt all the adrenaline from the morning’s adventures drain away like water from a sink, leaving her empty and heartsore.
She looked around for a bench where they might sit or, better yet, a public garden that might take the sting out of what she had to say, but she saw neither.
In the distance, she spotted what appeared to be a pub, and checked her watch.
It was almost opening time; with a bit of luck, they might even get a table and a modicum of privacy.
At the very least she could take some gin to fortify herself.
‘Where are we heading now?’ Beth asked, falling into step with her. ‘Ain’t you going to answer my question?’
‘Yes,’ Harry said, and wished all over again that she didn’t have to reveal such awful news. ‘But I think we’re both going to need a drink before I do.’