Page 45 of Guardian
I knew better. Indeed, I knew a good deal about these savonnette watches, having repaired some with a tourbillon mechanism in Mr. Ardle’s shop. This was an older model, for the decorative gold cover hinged at the nine, and the stem, crown, and bow were at the three. The newer models tended to hinge at the six, with the winding stem up top.
“It’s called a hunter-case watch,” he said. “As opposed to an open case, like these others.”
“Hunter case,” I echoed, as if I’d never heard the term.
“It’s named so because fox hunters wanted to be able to open the watch with one hand, while holding the reins with the other. It’s also known as a ‘savonnette’ in France.”
“What a pretty name.” I closed the case and clicked it open again, enjoying the smoothness of the polished gold against my palm. If I opened the reverse, I’d see the inner workings, all the springs and notched wheels and gears.
“And what about that silver one?” I asked, wondering if I might be allowed to see two at once.
He held out his hand for the gold watch, and I gave it to him. He replaced the first and drew out the second. “Another fine piece, although it’s American. The Waltham company. This one is graded for railway use.” He placed it in my hand.
“Oh my. It’s quite heavy, isn’t it?”
“Heavier than the Breguet, yes.”
“Thank you.” I smiled and returned it to him. “Honestly, you have so many fine ones. I’ll bring my husband to see them because I’d like him to pick for himself.” I lingered by the cabinet of earrings, admiring a pair with emerald-cut diamonds surrounding cabochon sapphires.
One solid theft from here and I could knock off thieving for good, I thought.
But between the privy, the paired mirrors, the lack of dim corners, the three clerks, the locks on the individual cases, the double-thick glass, and the practice of taking out only one piece of jewelry at a time, I didn’t see how a dodge here could be done easily, if at all.
I visited nine shops that day, and with few variations, most of them had the same precautions in place. The following day I visited the shops in Hatton Garden Street, and on the third day, I tackled Kirby and Saffron Hill, lingering as the shops were closing. Four different uniformed constables appeared around corners at random, with the streets quite empty; as dusk fell, three more took up fixed positions at the south ends of the major streets. It would be nearly impossible to walk down a street, much less reach the front door of a particular jeweler, without being seen by one of them. Evening fell, and as I walked south on Farringdon toward the river, I was approached by a man who took me for a streetwalker. Knowing I’d be staying late, I’d brought my knife, which I removed from my pocket. The glint of the open blade deterred him sufficiently. He backed away, his hands raised, and turned, muttering unflattering epithets under his breath.
I studied these shops not only for Maggie’s benefit, but for my own. If I did work this dodge—or if I refused and she asked one of the others—any knowledge would be useful. I continued south, pausing at a street corner just below Holborn, where I looked to the west. Against the mottled dark rose of the sky, I could see the dome of St. Paul’s, overlaid with copper that could have been melted down to feed and clothe any number of the people living hand-to-mouth below.
At busy Fleet Street, I waited as a queue of cabs and carriages rolled by. In their wake was a Black Maria, a police wagon with separate locked cubicles used to carry prisoners from gaol to court. The windows had thick, hammered iron bars, and from behind them, men stared out with expressions of resignation, resentment, hatred toward the world. One met my eyes and spat, and I thought of Josie and the danger of being caught.
I didn’t blame him. Caged like an animal, I’d spit too.
The threat of arrest for a Hatton Garden dodge was very real, given the number of privies and constables. With everything I’d discovered, I could not imagine what Maggie was thinking of doing. What sort of dodge would work in a store with bells and locks all over the doors and cabinets? What sort of disturbance could a jenny create that would draw everyone’s attention long enough for me to snatch something? And if Maggie intended for me to go in after dark, how was I to get in without a constable noticing?
Or was that the point, to get me arrested? I recalled what Maggie had said about the dead seeing what happened on earth. Did she intend me to be caught as some sort of twisted revenge upon my mother?
I dismissed that idea. If Maggie wanted me arrested, she could have done it with an anonymous tip to a shop that I’d be thieving on a particular day.
But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t mind risking me for something she wanted.
Compared to West End shops, Hatton Garden was as impregnable as London Tower’s vaults. I would not be doing this dodge.
Chapter 16
Ifound Maggie alone in the goods room the next day standing before the large map of London that hung on the wall. All Amelia’s pins had been removed, and it was bare.
“Well,” Maggie said. She crossed to her desk and drew up her chair, motioning me into the one opposite. “What do you think?”
“I can tell you a good deal about Hatton Garden,” I said, as I sat. “But you mentioned a favor I might ask.”
She turned over a palm. “Go on.”
“I’ve heard you’re pushing Nell and Mary out of the ring. Is it true?”
“Nell has decided to move to Lambeth, to live with her sister,” she said matter-of-factly. “And Mary shouldn’t be thieving.”
I swallowed down my argument that I’d seen with my own eyes that Mary was fine. Instead, I said, “I want you to let Mary stay in my room with me.”
Her green eyes met mine coolly. “The ring pays for the rooms, and it isn’t fair to the other girls if one isn’t pulling her weight. It cuts down their take.”
