Page 43 of Guardian
Mary swung her legs off the bed.
“Not you,” Bea said. “She wants Kit.”
Worry pricked along my spine.
“I don’t think it’s bad,” Bea said hastily.
“Now?”
Bea nodded. “In the goods room.”
“Don’t fight it, Kit,” Mary said.
She meant she didn’t want me to argue about Mary being pushed out. There was no point in Maggie questioning my loyalty.
Trust Mary to think of me, even in the face of this.
As I left, Bea slid inside the room, asking, “Are you all right, Mary? You look peaked.”
I closed the door and headed for the inn. The fireplace was aglow, half the tables occupied, and Pat lifted his chin in greeting as I passed. I climbed the stairs to the first story. The door was shut, so I knocked, and upon hearing her call to come in, I entered.
She had repositioned the desk closer to the window, where she sat with a cup of tea at her elbow. It was fresh, still steaming. “Ah, Kit. Please sit down.”
I took the chair opposite, folding my hands in my lap, resolved to conceal all resentment at how she was treating Nell and Mary and to glean whatever I could, including what she didn’t intend to show.
She sat back, eyeing me for a moment. “Well, this is one way you’re different from your mother. You keep your face quiet.”
“She showed enough for everyone,” I said.
Maggie arched one eyebrow. “She was ... spirited, to be sure. She knew what she wanted.” My heart lurched, for I suspected what she alluded to. When I didn’t reply, she added, “Your mother took drink to steady her nerves. I notice you don’t.”
“Amelia always said not to.”
That raised her eyebrows, but she didn’t remind me that she was the leader now. “A good rule,” she said. “I daresay you’re all better thieves than we were.”
It was too sweeping a statement to sound sincere. Was she trying to get round me with flattery? Or learn how cocksure I was?
“Amelia told me that you were the best,” I replied.
Maggie ran her broken forefinger lightly along the edge of the desk, left and right, just once. “Amelia told me you’reherbest. After watching all of you, I agree. Your hands are quick and quiet. You notice everything and your memory is superb.”
This flattery was leading up to an ask.
“I mentioned I have a special dodge I’d like to try,” she said. “And I want you for it.”
Perhaps someone else might have been gratified, even eager, at being singled out. I only felt my nerves tighten because I couldn’t be sure how Maggie truly thought of me, given what my mother had likely done. I didn’t bother to conceal the mix of curiosity and wariness I felt, for only a fool jumped into a dodge without knowing the particulars.
“You’d receive a higher percentage, of course,” she added. “And believe me, it’ll be worth your while.”
“What is it you’re thinking of?”
“How well do you know Hatton Garden?” she returned.
Hatton Garden?
The name was a misnomer for an area approximately one square mile in Camden, north of the river. There was no garden of flowers or herbs, only a tight weave of streets with nearly sixty shops, mostly jewelers and dealers in gold, silver, and the new Kimberley diamonds. Six months ago, there had been two thefts in broad daylight, and since then, the stores had doubled their precautions, including adding private detectives, Chubb safes, and Yale locks, and going so far as to create paste reproductions of the most expensive items, leaving the real jewelry in a locked safe to be brought out only for the most discerning of customers.
I arranged my thoughts before I answered. “Amelia never had us work it because there are privies during the day and constables patrolling at night.”
