The situation with Frances, however, was easier to resolve. If there was one thing Bryony understood even better than numbers, it was helping sisters. She’d had a lifetime of practice.
“This is it,” said the driver as he pulled the horses to a stop. “Shall I come in with you?”
“No need. Stay here with the horses.” Bryony accepted his hand to alight from the carriage and hefted her carefully wrapped parcel in her arms.
Today was the day.
It was a typical London morning. Cold and gray and rainy. Perfect for what she was about to do.
She made her way into the pawn shop and set her violin case upon the counter.
“Miss Grenville,” said the pawnbroker with a smile. “An age since I seen you last.”
Bryony nodded. This was where she had sold her prized possessions to fund that first nest egg that allowed the creation of Basil Q. Jones, and later led her to Max’s door. A lifetime ago.
For the past few years, she hadn’t needed to pawn anything of value. Her investments had been wildly profitable. Enough so to allow her to purchase outright the very property upon which the Cloven Hoof stood.
But every penny had gone to purchasing that deed. Last month’s rent, to the gown she’d worn to the masquerade. She needed more. A lot more. Enough to cover a year or two’s salary.
She unwrapped the linen and opened the case. “What will you give me?”
“Let’s see what we have.” He lifted his quizzing glass from the counter before inspecting Bryony’s violin.
The color drained from his face. He turned to her with eyes wide with shock.
“A Stradivarius?” he breathed in awe and disbelief. “You cannot be serious.”
She pulled a sheaf of papers from beneath her cloak and laid them on the counter. “Proof of provenance. You will have no trouble earning back every pound you give me, and I expect a fair amount.”
He was barely listening, so enraptured was he in inspecting every swirl and key, every string and hollow.
Mother would not forgive Bryony for this act of defiance.
Bryony pressed her lips together. The few compliments Mother had ever spoken were all related to Bryony’s prowess with an instrument.Thisinstrument. Although Mother had not been the one to purchase the violin, she had been the brains and the impetus behind the Grenville family musicales.
Her throat pricked. Soon the violin would be gone.
Not only was her gift with music the primary reason for the acceptance of a misfit like Bryony in High Society, the runaway success of the family musicales was what had made a low-ranking baroness like her mother into a reigning queen of London.
The Grenvilles were famous because of their music.
Parliament might bring lords to London each Season, but the Grenville musicales brought everyone else. Seating was limited, invitations exclusive. A spectacle rumored not to be missed.
Without the musicales, Bryony was no one. And neither was her mother.
At last, the pawnbroker murmured a number.
“Double it,” she replied without hesitation.
He glanced up from the violin in pique. “Now, look here, miss. I’m a working man. Ye can’t possibly expect…”
Whatever was written on Bryony’s expression at that moment must have indicated she very much expected negotiations to go her way.
“One and a half,” he hedged.
“Double,” Bryony said again. The numbers were in her favor.
This was more than a couple years’ salary. It was food, it was clothes, it was lodging. It would mean freedom.
