Hannah had barely unlatched the door to the shop on Monday morning before the small front space was filled with customers. Some were shabbily dressed, popping in on their way to work as laborers or dockhands. Others yawned from a night on the streets, where they found other ways to earn their keep.
All needed funds. And all hoped that she would accept whatever objects they were willing to part with to get them. Whether the object was theirs or not—that was the question.
Not that the provenance of her wares precisely mattered, Hannah thought, reaching out to inspect the bottom of a fine porcelain bowl. However,expensive, stolen goods—like what she was holding—were hazardous to one’s health, no matter the potential profits or thrill from the risk.
“Not for me, unfortunately.” She pushed the bowl back at the bedraggled man in front of her. Not quite a regular, but he’d been around a few times before, selling her some little trinkets—pieces of ribbon, a plain tin ring, a decent knife. None originating with him, but all small and ordinary. Nothing big like today.
“What’s wrong with it?” His pale eyebrows knittogether in obvious frustration. “No chips or breaks, see?” He held it aloft, as if proving his words would solve the argument.
“No, but—” She reached out and turned it on its backside. “It’s got markings here and here, but only one from the maker. The other is for some other purpose, probably identification, if you catch my meaning.”
“It’s small.” He pouted as she laid the bowl back on the counter.
She rolled her eyes. “It’s big enough. I, for one, am not in the market for a one-way ticket to New South Wales. And you should know, I’d nameyouin court faster than you can say ‘prison hulk.’”
The customer leveled a surly glare at her. “As if they’d believe the likes of you,” he snapped before turning to the side and spitting on her newly swept floor. “All you do is lie.”
“Maybe they would, maybe they wouldn’t, but is that truly a risk you want to take?” Her lip curled even as the insult pinged off the emotional parapets that enabled her to survive the day without throwing a punch, or worse, shedding a tear.
Not that she’d ever do the latter.
“Rent’s due, Hannah.” Now he was pleading. Which was not only rather odious but bad for business. She glanced at the line behind him to find it had dissipated, with only the jingling of the bell and a trail of wet footprints to signal those who’d been there before. Hannah swore in her head. Hopefully the afternoon rush would be more fruitful.
“Not my problem,” she told him, before shoving the stolen goods back at him. “And another piece of advice, I’d not take this elsewhere. At least two shops have beeninforming the magistrates for extra coin. Moreover, another three are so foolhardy, the constables will’ve nabbed the lot of you by sunset. Next,” she called even if it was at an empty space.
The man grumbled, but accepted both the bowl and the halfpenny she hid in her sleeve for such occasions, before shuffling out of the now vacant store. This time, with an audible sigh, Hannah retreated to the back room, hidden by a thick, heavy curtain, where she could shelve the pawned and sold goods, and do some accounting, leaving her sister to tidy up the front section.
“That was kind, but it won’t pay his rent,” a male voice rumbled in her ear after Hannah opened the ledger to record her purchase of a worn perfume bottle from an earlier customer.
Whirling around, she came face-to-face with Solomon Weiss. She swallowed a gasp, working not to appear off-balance, despite the odd shift in the ground beneath her feet.
“No, it won’t, and it wasn’t. But I’m not kind and neither is he. What it’ll do is put something in his stomach, which will make it less likely for him to come back here later, with a knife.” She sniffed to hide a shudder at the memory of a similar encounter. One that had cost her father not only all the funds on hand, but two of his teeth.
Her chest tightening uncomfortably, Hannah forced back the past as she returned her attention to the present.
“Who let you back here anyway?” she demanded, making her voice as sharp and imperious as possible. Unfortunately, the effect was slightly lost when shebacked into a table covered in vases and ornamental boxes, nearly knocking over the lot.
“The girl out front with the broom—said she was your sister—told me I could come back here when I introduced myself.” He indicated behind him. “Does that happen often, the knife bit?” he asked, knitting his brow.
“I wouldn’t stick around and find out if I were you.” Hannah glared at him, folding her arms over her faded, once pale blue gown—a garment she suddenly noticed was, well, quite drab and hideous. Especially compared to his smart, deep green overcoat, which set off his fine features, highlighting the contrast between them even more. “As for my sister, she’s too kind for her own good and no doubt you manipulated her in some way as you most certainly shouldn’t be here.” She wagged a finger at him. “Unless you’re perchance buying or selling something.”
To her surprise, he lowered his gaze almost sheepishly before looking back up at her. “I came to properly thank you for helping me last spring, something I should have done far earlier. I also wanted to apologize for the other day. I was flippant, as well as bordering on inappropriate, given the location.”
When she didn’t respond, he gave a shrug, his voice suspiciously nonchalant. “But now that I am here… may I look around?” He was already weaving to her left toward her merchandise. Not that it was unexpected. After all, rich or poor, macher or pariah, none of their people ever got anywhere, let alone survived, by asking for permission.
“Does this look like a shop in which you can ‘look around’?” She closed the lower cabinets, silently thanking her own vigilance in locking up the morevaluable—and thus more dangerous—wares. The ones that could only be sold to very special customers, if at all.
“It is rather dark.” He glanced at the single lamp in the corner, the only light in the entire room. “Here and in the front. Why do you cover all the windows?”
Because I’m a bloody criminal and I’m trying not to get caught. Again. What do you think?Hannah wrinkled her nose at the man, unable to decide if he was putting her on. Because if he was here, he had to know who she was, right?
“The sun fades the wares,” she said instead, removing a tin pocket watch from his hand and setting it back in its place.
“A fair point.” He took a step back, cocking his head. “And I’m sure it has nothing to do with that man and his stolen bowl and the coin you slipped him despite the fact he was trying to make you his fence.”
Oy. If this was an example of their sekel, no wonder the Weiss family business had failed.
“I’m already his fence. Just when he has things that won’t get us both transported.”Or worse.She leaned back against the small desk she used for accounting, cocking her head right back at him. “Does that shock you?” she asked, hoping her voice held enough threat to send him running for the front door. Because he had no business being there. None at all. And he needed to leave.
