“Let’s look at it.”
I expected we’d use Amelia’s wall map, but instead Maggie slid open a desk drawer and withdrew a page that showed Hatton Garden, hand drawn. “Leather Lane to the west,” she said. “Saffron Hill to the east, Holborn south and Hatton Wall north. What else can you tell me?”
At one time Amelia had thought we might work there, so we’d all walked it. “There are three churches and Wren House, the big redbrick building, about here.” I pointed to the locations of each. “A railway station to the east, on the other side of Farringdon Street. A brewery on the northwest corner and a fruit and vegetable market to the southeast.” I looked up to find her mouth curving in an approving smile.
“You know it well.”
I let that pass. “What sort of dodge are you thinking?”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure yet. But I’d like you to visit some of the shops and give me your impressions.”
“Do you have any in mind?”
“Not in particular. Any that might serve our purposes.”
I had a feeling she did have one in mind, but I was being lured in slowly, softened up like a potato brought to boil in a pot.
“I’m not sure I’m interested in this dodge,” I said cautiously. “With all the constables and new precautions, it won’t be easy.”
“All I’m asking is for you to look about, tell me what you see.” She studied me, her eyes looking a brighter green than usual. “There’d be no proper cut for doing this, but there might be something I could do for you in exchange.”
Such as let Mary stay on more than two weeks, I thought. It was likely Maggie knew that mattered to me, but I wasn’t going to show her that card. Not until I had something to trade.
“It might take a few days to visit all of the shops,” I said.
“I can give you the week, take you off dodging until next Monday.”
I didn’t trust Maggie’s intentions toward me. But for now, I was only taking a measure of part of the city. There was no risk in that. Also, staying close to Maggie, having some idea about her plans, might keep me safer than ignorance; and it wasn’t much to do in exchange for Mary possibly being allowed to stay.
The following day, I donned the most elegant dress I could find in the costume room, put on the gloves James had sent, and took an omnibus across Blackfriars Bridge. At the far end, I walked north on New Bridge Street, crossing Fleet where the road became Farringdon. I passed St. Andrew’s Church and cut west. Knowing shops had likely changed in the year since I’d been here, I planned to walk all the streets of Hatton Garden in a largeS, drawing a provisional map of shops in my head, before dividing my task into Leather Lane, Hatton Garden, and Kirby Street and Saffron Hill, one each day.
I walked up and down, examining the buildings. On every street, the original buildings had been divided into two or three shops, for although each one had its own door on the ground floor, there was a continuity of rooflines and similarity in the brickwork or the size and shape of the windows, particularly on the upper floors. I observed three uniformed constables in constant motion. It wasn’t surprising that of the eight thousand constables in London, several would patrol here. The two recent dodges, by thieves bolder than us, had netted one hundred watches, which were smuggled to the Holland market. It would have been a triumph, except that the four thieves were betrayed by one of their fences; two were in Newgate and two had taken to rowboats, attempting to evade arrest, and drowned in the Channel.
After my initial stroll, I entered the northernmost shop on the east side of Leather Lane. I approached the door, wood and glass, two locks, one a dead bolt. When I pushed it open, the bell above the door clinked softly. Everything about the place was soft—a light shade of sage on the walls; a thick, patterned Turkey carpet underneath my feet; sconces with shades that dispersed a pleasing golden glow; two long mirrors, each throwing light into dark corners, dispelling the shadows. I spotted three clerks and one man who stood slightly apart, with watchful eyes and hands that were rougher than the neat coat and trousers he wore. His shoes were dusty around the toes, which told me he walked rather than taking a carriage. A privy.
The clerk who approached me nodded, his voice silky, with proper vowels. “May I help you, mum?”
“I’d like to look at a new pocket watch for my husband,” I said, in my own proper vowels.
“Of course,” he said and gestured. “Please, come this way.”
We stood before a glass case lined in black velvet, with trays holding pocket watches of gold and silver, some with elaborate carvings on the cases, others with tiny jewels. The faces were perfect ivory, the delicate hands moving silently forward each minute. Some numbers were ordinary and curving, but most were Roman, tall and stiff as soldiers.
I turned my head from side to side, as if surveying the many different watches, to examine the case. A solid polished wooden back; glass front and sides. In fact, glass of a double thickness, harder to smash. A single cam lock in the middle of the back panel.
I removed my gloves and pointed to one particularly handsome Swiss watch, a Breguet.
“Could I see that one, please,” I asked.
The clerk tucked his hand inside his coat to reveal two chains: one gold, no doubt attached to the watch in his own pocket, the other silver, which held a key that he inserted into the lock in the middle of the cabinet. The lock would be difficult to reach from the sides and far enough down the back that I would have to sprawl stomach down on the glass top to reach it from where I stood.
An amusing thought, if not a useful one.
He removed the watch and opened the spring-hinged metal cover. “A Breguet, with a special mechanism called a tourbillon.”
“Oh, what’s that?” I asked.
“The watch escapement and the balance wheel are mounted in a rotating cage, to eliminate errors that might occur from movement.” He lifted the chain, showing me the gold T-bar on the other end. “It also comes with a gold Albert chain for attaching to the waistcoat, to insure it cannot be dropped or stolen by a pickpocket.”
