Mr. Wells nodded.
“And do you always keep the key in your pocket?”
“Since I discovered the theft, yes. I store it in a locked desk drawer when I leave.” Mr. Wells showed him the drawer. “It wasn’t tampered with either.”
Eli spoke with the assistant, a young man with orange hair and freckles. The shop owner was certain the apprentice wasn’t involved. After questioning the employee, Eli’s gut told him the same.
The next jeweler had a similar setup but used the single tumbler lock with an added padlock. Mr. Jensson, of Jensson’s Jewelry and Accessories, had two employees—a young woman who helped customers in the front of the shop and a middle-aged man who made the pieces in the workroom.
“One of my best customers—I’d prefer not to mention his name—sold a pair of sapphire cufflinks and a diamond cravat pin given to him by his mother when he wed last August. He hates her, you know, so he decided he’d rather have the blunt.” Mr. Jensson cleared his throat and gave Eli a half smile. “He brought the items in a velvet bag, and I placed them in the iron chest.”
“Were all the gems authentic?”
“Oh, yes. I had a potential buyer, which is how I found out it was missing.”
“Where do you keep the key?” asked Eli.
“In a hidden slot in my desk drawer.” The jeweler opened a top drawer with a key, then felt along the bottom of the underdrawer. There was a soft click, and a panel slid back, holding the key.
“Do your employees know the hiding place?”
“I’ve never told them. In fact, only me, my wife, and now you know of it.”
After interviewing the two employees, Elijah was stumped. Neither shop had fired any employees in the last year, so it wasn’t a disgruntled worker or a plant to find out the location of the goods. Besides, a plant would indicate a gang, who would take everything they could in one robbery rather than a few pieces.
***
That evening at seven
Hatton Garden
Clara let out a long breath and surveyed her new domain. The kitchen was smaller than Henri’s, which made it less overwhelming to tackle. Her new assistant Mary—she had an assistant rather than being one!—seemed capable and eager to learn.
Mary blew a curl of black hair off her forehead and adjusted her mob cap. Her blue eyes were dull with fatigue, but a smile curved her lips. “What a day!” At nineteen, the girl wasn’t much younger than Clara but towered over the cook’s petite form.
“Sally, come here, please,” Clara called from the doorway of the scullery room. It was a small room with a raised wood platform over a stone floor. The space itself was set lower than the rest of the kitchen, so dirty water could never spill over or contaminate the food being prepared.
The scullery maid rinsed the last pot and wiped her hands on her stained, damp apron. Her cap sat crookedly on her head from constantly wiping her brow with her shoulder, her hands continually wet and puckered from the sink. Sally joined the other two women in the main kitchen.
“Well done,” Clara announced with a grin. “We’ll be ready for Comte du Aveculót when he arrives.” Today, she had made a clear broth, poached flounder, mashed turnips and beets, and shortbread with fresh butter and honey. Mrs. Johnson had finished her meal and declared Clara an angel, while the thin, stern-faced butler proclaimed she was much too young for so much talent.
Donning her cloak, she addressed Mary, “Porridge, toast, and jam for tomorrow morning. Oh, and boil some eggs, please. I will stop by the market and pick up some vegetables and pheasant.” Clara turned to Sally. “You know how to pluck properly?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said. “You won’t see so much as a pin feather.”
Satisfied, she picked up her tin and the small crock with leftovers for her and Pa’s supper. Mrs. Johnson had agreed to deduct a portion of Clara’s wage so she could bring her father a meal each night. As she headed up the stairs, a shadow passed over the gas lamp above her.
“Good evening, Miss Alberts,” said a deep voice.
Her heart raced as she looked up at his handsome face. “And to you, Mr. Norton.” On the top step, she handed him the tin. “Thank you again,” she said, giving him her best smile.
As he reached for it, their gloved fingers touched. A jolt ran through her, even with the leather barrier between them. He was so handsome, a tall man with a straight nose, strong chin, blond hair, and hazel eyes. Yesterday, she’d thought his eyes seemed greener, but tonight they leaned toward a soft brown with gold flecks.
But it was his smile that made her legs weak. Straight white teeth, full lips, and the feeling it was meant only for her. Heavens, what would she do if he kissed her?
Where did that thought come from? Clara wondered, feeling heat creep across her cheeks.
“I wasn’t sure if you would come,” she said, surprised by how nonchalant her voice sounded.
