Clara’s breath caught. She had the position? “Are you saying…”
“Yes, you are hired, Miss Alberts. Beginning tomorrow, you will be introduced as Mrs. Alberts, befitting your position.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She beamed at the woman who was helping to fulfill her dream. “When would you like me to start?”
“The comte is arriving in less than two weeks. I have most of the staff hired except for your assistant. You’ve already met Sally, the scullery maid.” She tapped her finger against her mouth. “Could you begin tomorrow? We’ll discuss your day off then. Half a dozen of us will be staying here as of tomorrow, and all of us will need to be fed. It will also give you a chance to familiarize yourself with your surroundings, and Mr. Smalley and I will be able to test your skills.”
Clara almost curtsied before she caught herself and shook Mrs. Johnson’s hand, thanking her profusely. Once outside, she skipped across the street, waving cheerfully at the driver of a wagon cursing her for almost getting hit. She left Hatton Garden, hurrying through Camden to tell Henri the good news.
***
Saturday
Covent Garden
Elijah whistled a jaunty tune as he made his way toward Bow Street to report to his superior and see what had been added to the Criminal Register since yesterday. His head was filled with images of a little shop, the canvases and easels stacked along the wall, leather satchels to carry the sketchpads, pencils, and brushes. But it was the paint pots that whirred his imagination. He loved color, how a painting could tell a story with vivid tones, some bold and bright, some dark and shaded, all evoking an emotional journey through the artist’s hand.
The costermongers of Covent Garden were out, yelling their wares to the passersby. A small girl in a worn skirt and wool shawl too big for her, called to him, “Chestnuts, a penny a score.” Elijah’s stomach growled as he passed. Another older woman, bundled in a coat and great scarf around her head and neck, cried in a singsong voice, “Ho! Ho! Hi-i-i. Here's your turnips.”
Eli needed to place an order with the butcher on his way home. His grandmother usually took care of the shopping, but she wasn’t ready to venture out yet. As his mind wandered, his eyes scanned the crowded lanes and alleys of Covent Garden, looking for anything suspicious or out of the ordinary.
He was one part of the day patrol, and this area was always rife with mischief. Eli wore his dark-blue short greatcoat and beaver top hat. His weapons included a short cutlass, a tipstaff or trudgeon, with a crown at the end of the hard wooden stick to represent his badge of authority, along with a set of William Lacey pistols.
At night, when the more dangerous criminals were active, the patrols wore plain clothes and moved in groups of five or more. If Elijah were to stay on with the patrol, he might move up to such a position. Bringing in thieves and other miscreants could be lucrative if convicted, but he didn’t have the temperament of his brothers. Harry, Gus, and Clayton were hardened souls who loved the thrill of the chase and the excitement of danger. They had done well during their time as Runners.
Elijah was an excellent marksman, could fight with his fists as well as his pistol or sword, but his heart wasn’t in it. He did his duty, paid his homage to Paddy, and bided his time. But his sketching provided another way to assist the O’Brien Investigative Service, and he would always be available to help the Peelers and Bow Street in that way.
“Norton,” called a voice from across the street. He peered at the front of the Brown Bear, a tavern where its cellar often held those who were waiting to be heard in court. Conveniently located directly across from 4 Bow Street, it was also a gathering place for the constables, Runners, and magistrates.
George Ruthven, wearing his signature yellow waistcoat, hailed him. Eli smiled and waved back, making his way across the crowded street and dodging between a wagon and a carriage. “Good day, sir,” he called to his superior.
“Norton, come and sit with me. I have a case for you,” said Ruthven. He was a powerfully built man with sandy hair and small eyes set in a red face. A brilliant investigator, he had been instrumental in breaking the Cato Conspiracy against the Crown the previous year.
The tavern was dark, smoky, and crowded even in the morning. The food was reasonably good and cheap, and the ale wasn’t watered down. Any criminals kept below wouldn’t think of escaping with the clientele above them. Eli followed Ruthven to a corner and eased into a chair.
“How’s Walters?” Ruthven asked as he leaned back and signaled to the barmaid. “Did he finally get caught in the parson’s trap?”
Eli nodded and grinned. “Yes, sir. Harry’s gone to Lord Darby’s country estate for the honeymoon but will return next month.”
“And O’Brien? The rest of the family?” He ordered some food and a small ale from the young woman, raising a brow at Eli to see if he wanted anything. Eli shook his head.
“They are all well, sir. I hope you are in good circumstances too?” While Eli respected the man, George Ruthven always brought back the memory of that day above the stables when they burst in on the political conspirators.
Eli and his friend, Richard Smithers, another Runner, had accompanied Harry and Ruthven and their crew. It had been a violent attack, and some of the rotters had escaped, though later captured. Richard had been the sole fatality. After watching his friend die, Elijah realized he would never become accustomed to killing a man. The scene still haunted him occasionally in his dreams.
“We have a report of a burglary at Wells Jewelry yesterday. He discovered a diamond and ruby tiara and necklace set missing.” Ruthven frowned. “Unfortunately, the man can’t tell us when it was stolen.”
“Has he been away?” asked Eli.
“No, it was a set he took from an earl about six months ago. The set was used as a payment toward another piece the man wanted made. But here’s the strange part.” Ruthven leaned forward, his dark eyes bright. “I remembered this happening before, so I looked through the register. Another jeweler lodged a similar complaint at the end of January. A set of sapphire cufflinks and a cravat pin had disappeared when he did his annual inventory. He had purchased them the previous June.”
“An untrustworthy employee?”
Ruthven shook his head. “I doubt it since he would have to work for both owners. These sets were locked away, not in the cases set out for customers. Jewelers often purchase expensive pieces cheap when a nobleman is in the River Tick or, as I said before, they use older family heirlooms as payment toward something more modern.”
“Each business only had one collection taken?”
“Nothing else was missing. Why would they risk the hangman’s noose to break in and steal so little? Why not take the lot?”
