Page 23 of Guardian
“She doesn’t want it.”
“Oh.”
My thoughts must have shown on my face, for her expression softened and she drew out the chair behind the desk and sat across from me. “I’ll miss all of you, but I won’t be far. I’ve family in Whitechapel. Like as not, I’ll go there.”
But once people left, they built lives elsewhere, found new friends, different pastimes.
“We don’t even know her,” I protested. “Can we trust her? What if she starts changing things?”
“Why would she?” Amelia tilted the whiskey to her mouth. The amber liquid caught the pale sunlight. “I’ll stay on for a bit to show her the ropes, though she knows a good deal about the ring already.” She replaced the glass on the table. “She’s experienced and practical ... and very clever, Kit. Bear that in mind.”
“She was caught twenty years ago,” I said pointedly. “Is she any good?”
Amelia looked at me from under her brows. “Maggie’s one of the best there ever was—and she didn’t even begin as a thief.”
I settled back in my chair, the turned wooden rail rigid against my spine. “What was she?”
“A magician’s assistant, in one of the music halls, at first,” she replied.
“A good chance to learn sleight of hand.”
From outside the window came the clatter of wheels. “Carrots and turnips! ’Tatoes and peas! Fresh and full weight! No false bott’ms in these!” The costermonger’s bellowing song had been scraped down to a rough shout, for he was nearing the end of his day. Amelia waited for him to pass before she replied. “Maggie was sixteen and very beautiful. She was always a favorite.”
“I can imagine,” I said. “I noticed her the other night, sitting at one of the tables. She acted like she belonged.”
Amelia heard the edge in my voice and shrugged. “Likely she feels shedoesbelong. She spent her first twenty years in Southwark and still has friends here. ’Tisn’t surprising she made her way back.”
“So ... she went from magician’s assistant to thief.”
“Well, between those, she was an actress and a chanteuse.”
“A what?”
“A singer,” she said patiently. “The papers called her ‘the peerless contralto.’” Her eyes took on a musing look. “She was a sensation, yeah? Men were bloody mad for her—everyone from MPs to gang leaders. The morning papers would report who she threw her kisses to the night before. She had a second dressing room just for flowers and presents they brought. She was a legend.”
I felt a jolt of surprise mixed with awe. “What ended it?”
“The manager threw her out for running doves in his theater.”
“Wasshe?” I asked. “Would she risk all she had to do that?”
“I doubt Maggie would’ve risked it. But her mother might’ve.”
Patty Wirth would compromise her daughter, for the sake of profits? I shivered, feeling grateful that Amelia never would.
Amelia turned her glass on the desk with nearly invisible movements of her fingers. “Naturally, Maggie was blacklisted across every theater. It was hard on her, but she joined the ring after that.”
I could well imagine Maggie’s resentment, if her mother had caused such a thing. “Famous as she was, didn’t she have trouble thieving?”
Amelia shook her head in reluctant admiration. “She changed once for the stage; she simply changed again. A drab wig, some spectacles, a limp, and a shy, lisping manner. It was remarkable, honestly.” Amelia’s fingers stilled. “She only thieved for a few years, but she knows enough to take it on.”
“But you’ve changed our dodges,” I said. “Does she even know about the new privies and constables? And the new stores and shops?”
“No, but it won’t take long to explain it.” From the railway station came a train’s blaring whistle, thinned by distance. Amelia paused with the glass on her lips, letting the sound fade before downing the last sip of whiskey. “Besides, she’s been here a few weeks already, watching you all.”
That pulled me up short and told me plenty. Maggie was shrewd and observant, someone who didn’t rush in without looking about herself first.
“What about your ledger?” I asked. “Will you be giving her that, too?”
