Page 77 of Guardian
“It isn’t really false information,” I said. “Three stoneswillhave been stolen.”
“Because three is less than four,” Mary added. “He could just say ‘a few.’”
James ran his hand into his hair. “I’d like to say he would, but I don’t think so.”
“Would he do it,” I asked, “if I could also give him the names of two Castle men who were seen in Mayfair the night of the murders at Fairleigh House? And give him an eyewitness?”
Mary and Amelia both turned to stare. “God’s sake, Kit. Truly?” Mary asked.
“Yes. Sarah was on her way home that night and saw them.”
“Who?”
“Billy and Tommy.”
Mary turned to James and saw by his face that he already knew, and her head swiveled back to me, her eyes full of worry. “Did they seeher?”
“We don’t think so,” I said. “The light was dim, and she stayed out of their way with her bonnet pulled up.”
“And I haven’t heard her name mentioned,” James said. “I’ve been listening.”
“A double murder in Mayfair’s a bigger story than a burglary,” Amelia said. “And according to the papers, they have no leads yet.” Amelia turned to James. “But do you trust this friend of yours? What’s his name?”
“Fuller.” James bit his lip, considering. “He treated me fairly, I’ll say that much for him, and he cares about people getting what they deserve.” He touched my arm. “With information about the Fairleigh murders as bait, you might not have to say much about the dodge.”
I was already assembling what I might tell him.
By the end of the night, we had a plan. We’d talked through it three times, combing through the details, stitching bits and pieces into place, and while we knew we’d have to be ready to improvise, it could work.
With a bit of luck.
“You’re in charge of that part,” I told James as he helped me into my coat. “Finding the luck. I never find it on my own.”
James replied, “I’ll go into the tunnels tomorrow night. Unless it rains again, the water level should be low enough. Let’s hope the trapdoor is where it needs to be.”
“I’ll take a bracelet to Simonson’s for repairs, so I can see how they return it to me,” I said.
Mary’s part required perfect timing, but she didn’t hesitate. “I’ll manage it.” Mary’s voice was quiet but her expression was as determined as Maggie’s had been. “She took my mother from me, Kit.”
The hard brightness in her eyes, so unlike her usual warmth, made me shiver.Maggie doesn’t have the corner on revenge, I thought.
Amelia said, “I’ll speak to my friend about the locks and safe.” Her gaze dropped to my hands. “You practice, so you’re quick. You should aim for switching out four stones in thirty minutes.”
I nodded in agreement.
But I had already decided that I would be taking a fifth one, for reasons of my own.
Chapter 22
At four o’clock in the morning, Elephant and Castle was dead silent except for the bells of Newington Church. The pubs and brothels were shuttered, the nightsoil men come and gone, the earliest costermongers still two hours from rolling across the cobbles.
I slid out of bed and stole along the streets, empty aside from the scurrying of rats, the bang of a broken shutter, the soft howl of the wind around the corners. I picked the lock of the back door of Elephant and Castle and slipped inside. In the darkness, I felt my way up the stairs to the costume room, lighting a candle only long enough to filch what I’d need for a disguise—the fair-haired wig, two moles, spectacles. Together with my feigned limp, these were traits quickly noticed, easily described, and utterly at odds with my true appearance. Still in darkness, I locked the door of the inn behind me and returned to my room, where I stashed my disguise, together with the stolen bracelet, in a satchel, concealed it under the floorboards, and lay down again, combing through all that was to come during the next four days, as the morning light crept across my ceiling. At last, it was time to go to Mr. Ardle’s shop.
I arrived at the back door and knocked as usual. Mr. Ardle let me in with his eyes averted and an air of apology. So he knew enough about this dodge—and my role in it—to feel guilty.
And so he should, I thought. I gave him a bitter look and stalked past him into the workroom.
He’d prepared a collection of paste stones, and using my loupe, I separated them into two piles: those that could pass for diamonds and those that could not. Paste, made of lead glass, wasn’t as hard as diamond, and some stones had scratches on the surface and chipped or rounded facet edges, as if they’d been nibbled. Once I’d found twenty stones that satisfied me with respect to cut and size and brilliance, I began practicing on a necklace, taking the stones out and putting them into settings with different sizes and numbers of prongs. Three hours later, I’d already become quicker—from seventeen minutes each down to eleven. I needed more practice, but at least I knew I could improve my speed.
