Page 30 of An Artful Dodge
It wasn’t until I was climbing out of the cab that it occurred to me to wonder how Maggie had escaped from this man.
We walked down Burnham Street, and Maggie paused in front of an apothecary. “Not this shop,” she said quietly. “The one across the street.”
I used the apothecary’s plate glass storefront as a mirror to observe it. A sundry shop, with a large front window, a paneled front door, a shining brass bell above. “May I go in first?”
“If you like.”
“Give me two full minutes before you enter. When I come out, I’ll follow this street west and turn south at the corner to meet you. I’ll turn my cloak if I’m being followed.”
She laid her hand on the apothecary’s doorknob. “Very well. I’ll stop in here.”
I waited until two carriages and two gentlemen on horseback had passed, then picked up my skirts and walked across the street to stand in front of the chandler’s window to the right of the shop. I fingered the reticule I’d brought, as if I anticipated making a purchase of candles, all the while surveying the shop immediately to the left. It took less than ninety seconds to glean what I needed.
I entered the busy shop, followed shortly after by Maggie, and after achieving my aim, I left, turned west and then south, slowing my step on that street. I hadn’t bothered turning my cloak. Maggie caught up with me a few minutes afterward, greeting me with an approving smile and looping her hand through my elbow as if we were old acquaintances. “You’re even better than I was told. I watched you in the mirror across from the glove cabinet, and I didn’t see it.”
“Most of what I took wasn’t from the cabinet,” I said.
That surprised her.
“It was an easy mark,” I said.
“Have you been to that shop before?”
“No.”
“Then tell me why.”
It was a test of sorts, I understood that. “There’s a large front window, with a full display that must be taken down and put back up each day, or the star-glazers would steal everything at night. To save time, the shop owners don’t pin everything down but merely set it in place on the stands and shelves, with the lace folded or in coils, the ribbons hung from hooks. There’s a shiny bell over the door that rings when a customer enters. I slipped in when a customer left, so it didn’t ring for me; butyourang it when you entered, and the clerk’s eyes went to the door just for a moment while I slipped my hand inside the front window case.” We halted at the corner to let two carriages pass. “Then, while you went to the cabinet on the other side, I went over to the cabinet to look at gloves because there was a second customer there. Between the two of us, the clerk pulled out six sets, one of which is now in my pocket.”
She laughed. “I watched your face the entire time. You look bored, even dim-witted. Do you not feel your nerves?”
“Of course I do. But Amelia taught me early on to spend time in front of a looking glass, to see how emotion flickers across. She taught me to keep the sparkle out of my eyes, and the triumph off my mouth, until we reached the goods room. Then we could gloat a bit.”
“Remarkable,” she said. “Like an actress in a play, earning money by arranging your face.”
I felt the pull of her hint, strong as an outright question.
Suddenly I understood. She’d never believe I hadn’t heard of her stage career; if I didn’t say something now, she’d know I was deceiving her. And in that split second, I chose. “Amelia told me you were an actress once. That you sing beautifully.”
“Aye.” A flicker of warmth lit her eyes, and the faint tension I’d felt in the hand resting on my arm eased.
I’d said the right thing, and I felt relieved enough to make a joke. “Well, a shop is like a proper stage, I suppose. Only we steal the props.”
She chuckled at that. “Well, I may have a special dodge I’ll be putting together. I’ll certainly keep you in mind.”
That prickled the back of my neck, but I thanked her, and the moment seemed right to ask: “How were you caught thieving?”
She gave a sideways look and stepped around a pile of horse shite on the cobbles. “Not much to tell. I was nicking a bracelet at a jewelry shop in Clerkenwell. They called the constable and I was taken away, tried, and put on the ship within two days. The sentencing judge doubled the usual sentence for me having ‘dangerously clever hands.’ Those were his very words.”
She made no mention of my mother being her jenny.
The distrust that had abated over the afternoon returned.
I might have probed further, but she said, “I understand you work at Mr. Ardle’s shop sometimes.”
We stepped onto the pavement at Fleet Street. “Yes.”
“He’s one of the friends I was glad to find still here.”
