He opened his mouth to speak, but Hilda declared, “My dear Miss Summersby, he hardly talked of anything else. In fact, he called you a fighter.”
Eliza grinned at that. “It’s a wonder he didn’t call me a pain in the arse for all the trouble I caused him that day!” Hilda giggled and Mark groaned, yet Eliza barreled on. “Did he tell you that he saved me first from thugs and then from the coppers? I’d never been so afraid in my life, yet Sir Mark came striding into Bow Street Station to my rescue.”
He felt his cheeks flush from her praise. “I’m no hero, I assure you…”
Yet Eliza touched his sleeve, saying, “You were my hero when I needed one.”
She had needed him then, but she did not need himnow.
“This is too charming,” said Miss Prevost, “I’ve never before been privy to a real romance. I scarcely believed they existed, but you have given me hope, Miss Summersby. You’re truly a marvel of our modern society! A woman like you might become anything you wish, and so might I be!”
She lifted her gloved hand to embrace the girl only to realize that—to her horror—her pearl bracelet was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Unlike everybody else huddled beneath the awnings of Shaftesbury Avenue, Eliza noticed the small, shabbily dressed figure moving about the shadows. She knew from her own time on the streets that if one couldn’t engage one’s target—whether by distraction or deception—then it was best to remain unobtrusive, unremarkable, and ultimately unseen.
Yet Eliza was more observant.
This pickpocket was a girl of fifteen or so, pretty but bedraggled. A straw hat hid her tangled hair, and a man’s wool greatcoat covered her threadbare skirts down to her ankles where only the scuffed and mud-caked boots were visible.
Nimble fingers slipped into slackened cloak pockets, carefully removing the theatergoers’ purses. Eliza watched this young woman pinch a shilling here, a few pence there—a paltry sum to most. No harm was done since these well-off Londoners wouldn’t miss their loose change, but for a poor and hungry indigent, it meant a hot meal and a night’s shelter.
Eliza was content to let the little thief work. She followed the girl’s progress through the crowd of patrons as they waited for their cabs and carriages in the rain. No more than a handful of coins had been pilfered. Had the child been satisfied with her modest ‘take’, she might’ve disappeared into the night without ever being caught. But Miss Prevost’s bracelet proved too tempting to pass up.
The pickpocket’s eyes widened at the flash of the golden clasp. Her motions were so quick that Eliza almost missed the sleight of hand necessary to remove the bracelet from Miss Prevost’s wrist. The strand of pearls was cut from its clasp, and then dropped into the girl’s deft hand. A disreputable pawnbroker would pay good money for damaged goods, as they could be easily repaired by a jeweler who asked no questions.
This act of theft took less time than a heartbeat, yet Eliza knew that Miss Prevost would mourn the loss of her bracelet—an eighteenth birthday present from her parents—for the rest of her life. It wasn’t fair to take what would be missed when a few coins would’ve sufficed.
All at once, chaos erupted on the pavements. Miss Prevost groped at her wrist. She scrabbled and fumbled for her absent pearls.
“Please!” she shouted. “No one move! I have lost my bracelet!”
The pickpocket tried to retreat to the safety of the shadows, yet Eliza caught her hand and gripped it hard. She hauled the girl back into the lamplight, exposing her pallid face and wide, red-rimmed eyes. The little criminal looked hungry, thirsty, and exhausted. Now she appeared terrified, for the theft of a lady’s costly bauble was a serious offense.
Someone called for the Scotland Yard. The girl began to squirm, but Eliza was stronger. She grasped the young woman’s arm in a bruising hold, preventing her escape.
The crowd began to boo and jeer. Miss Prevost pleaded for the return of her pearls. Mark stood, stunned and stoic, as he witnessed the shameful exchange.
“Oi!Turn me loose!” cried the pickpocket. “Turn me loose, milady, and let me go!”
A man shook the girl by her thin, bony shoulders while another bloke rummaged through the pockets of her second-hand greatcoat. They produced a palm filled with coins, an assortment of wrappers and papers, and Miss Prevost’s broken bracelet.
“Thief!” they shouted. “By Jove, here is the evidence! We’ve caught you red-handed, missy!”
Eliza felt her pulse race at the thought of the girl’s fate. Not so very long ago,shehad been scared and starved.Shehad once seduced a Piccadilly toff away from the security of the street lamps in an effort to lift his purse.Sheknew all too well what happened to pretty, petty criminals in the custody of the coppers.
From a distance, she heard a snobby gentleman state, “We ought to go back to cutting off the hands of thieves!”
The little pickpocket began to wail,“Guvnor, not my hand!”
“Hush,” Eliza whispered. “Nobody’s going to cut your hand off. Now follow my lead.”
She looked at Mark, who was blank-faced and mute. He seemed to wonder what she was up to, and whether she’d suddenly switched sides. Street urchins ought to stick together, yet Eliza knew that life in London was a cutthroat business. Had she not been beaten mercilessly over a basket of meat and bread? Had she not been abused, abandoned, and betrayed by her own people?
Nobody got a handout in her world, and every kindness must be repaid, one way or another.
Yet Eliza strived to do better, tobebetter than those who’d treated her cruelly.
