She felt almost light-headed.A cat collar worth a king’s ransom!
“I shall need to speak with him in person,” Mr. Russell continued, “and have him sign a contract making Asprey’s his broker, and he must agree to our commission. It’s fair, I assure you. Any jewel we don’t buy ourselves, I will find a jeweler or patron who will. In any case, your Mr. Carson will be a wealthy man.”
Her Mr. Carson!
Mr. Russell reached into the drawer again and drew out a satin sack, dropping the collar inside. “There, that seems more fitting. I’ll be here on Saturday morning if you want to—”
Suddenly, a commotion on the street interrupted him. Yelling and loud whistling, reminding her of Charlotte except it was plainly coming from a bobby’s steel whistle, as she could see two of them in front. Taking the small sack from Mr. Russell, she returned it to her satchel.
“Let’s see what’s happening,” he said, “shall we?”
Together, they walked to the spacious front of the shop with its wall of windows and double doors. He opened one and they stepped outside. And that’s when she saw the hubbub was coming from Rare Confectionery next door.
“Charlotte!” she exclaimed, running as if her bustle were on fire toward the open front door of the shop, terrified at what she might find.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Two policemen wereinside with a scared-looking Charlotte, who had clearly been in a tussle. She held the cricket bat they kept for knocking the stuffing out of any ne’er do well. Her hair was half down from its usual tidy bun for work, with her curls dangling loosely over one shoulder and her apron askew. Worse than both was her shocked expression.
As soon as she saw Beatrice, she gave a cry, broke away from the bobbies, and launched herself into her sister’s arms. Beatrice closed them around her and heard Charlotte begin to sniffle.
Instead of asking her questions, Beatrice gave her time to shed any tears she needed and then to gather her emotions. Meanwhile, the bobbies went into the back room and then returned.
With Charlotte still in her arms, Beatrice said, “This is my sister and this is our shop. Do you know what happened?”
“Your sister whistled — a cracking good loud one, too,” one of the bobbies said, both looking at Charlotte with admiration. “That brought us in. I thought it was a fellow policeman in trouble. She was just telling us how a man entered, asked her if she was Miss Rare-Foure, knowing her by name apparently, and then demanded her purse.”
“He went in the back room,” Charlotte said, lifting her head but still clutching Beatrice around the waist. “I told him he had to leave, and then I pulled out the bat and tried to hit him.”
“You shouldn’t have engaged with the robber, miss,” said one of the bobbies.
“Engage with him?” Charlotte sputtered. “I wanted to knock him out cold. Unfortunately, he turned as I lifted the bat.”
Beatrice shivered with fear at the notion of Charlotte in there alone, trying to subdue a thief.
“He grabbed the bat and tossed it. And when he was trying to leave, I jumped on him.”
