Chapter Twenty-Six
The following morning, right after Michael snuck out the back door to make his way to Victoria station, Emma dashed up the stairs and into her bedchamber. She unfolded a linen handkerchief with a lily of the valley flower embroidered in the corner and spread it out on top of her dresser. Mama had stitched it for her, stating the flower represented luck in love. Obviously, it hadn’t worked.
Emma gathered up Mama’s ruby necklace, cameo, and wedding band. She set them onto the pristine linen, removed Simon’s signet ring from around her neck, and placed it with the other jewelry. As she gazed down at his ring, guilt made her eyes sting with tears. Pawning it was wrong. So wrong, but she needed to protect Michael. Shoving aside her guilt, she gathered up the ends of the handkerchief, tied the blue ribbon around it, and dropped it into her reticule. She rubbed away the moisture blurring her vision. She would not, could not, question her actions. Not now.
Downstairs she found both Lily and Mrs. Flynn in the morning room. Emma looked about, hoping to spot something of value. But there was nothing worth more than a pittance left. “Mrs. Flynn, I need that silver tray you have been using.”
“You need money, dear? Is Michael in trouble?” The housekeeper nervously twisted her hands together.
Emma glanced at Lily’s anxious face. “No, all is fine. He just needs new clothing. He fears he looks the pauper compared to the other lads.”
The expression on the housekeeper’s face betrayed her doubt. “I have twelve pounds, dear. I can give it to you.”
Mrs. Flynn used nearly all of her pay, the measly amount Emma gave her, to buy some of the ingredients she needed to bake her decadent desserts. “I cannot take it, but if you don’t mind, I will borrow it from you.”
“No need, child.”
“I insist. With interest.”
Mrs. Flynn nodded. “I shall get the money and tray.” Grabbing her skirts in her pudgy fingers, the housekeeper dashed from the room.
Lily grabbed Emma’s hand. “Something is wrong, isn’t it, Em?” Without waiting for a response, she added, “I have a threepence, and you can sell my Inspector Whitley books.”
Teary-eyed, Emma pulled Lily toward her and hugged her tight. Maybe she wasn’t a complete failure at helping raise her siblings. Whatever their problems were, they did love one another, especially if her sister was willing to give up her prized books. Drawing in an unsteady breath, Emma kissed the top of Lily’s head. “Everything will be fine. Don’t worry.” Though her voice sounded calm, her knees wobbled under her skirt.
Mrs. Flynn returned and handed Emma a green carpetbag with worn seams and frayed handles. “Here is the tray. I put it in my carpetbag so that nosy Mrs. Jenkins doesn’t see you leaving the house with it. She’ll know what you’re about, and she’ll tell the whole street before tomorrow.”
The heavy weight alerted Emma to the fact that it not only held the money and tray but something else. She peeked inside to see two brass candlesticks.
“They were my mother’s. I never use them,” Mrs. Flynn said.
“Thank you, but I can’t pawn them.” She reached inside to remove the candlesticks.
The housekeeper stilled Emma’s hands. “Now, don’t you worry about it, dearie. You, Lily, and Michael are like my own flesh and blood.”
* * *
Pedestrians, drays, and hackneys clogged the streets of Bloomsbury as Emma made her way to Mr. Morgan’s pawnbroker shop. She touched the flowered hat she wore, regretting purchasing it. The proprietor would give her very little compared to what she’d paid for it.
She turned the corner and onto a narrow street. Up ahead, the three gold globes of the pawnbroker’s shop projected from a wrought iron hook.
Guilt over Simon’s ring made her steps slow as she made her way to the entrance. A woman with a green dress of finely spun linen stepped out of the place while another woman, who looked less regal, entered with a bundle of clothes in her hands.
Inside, Emma waited for Mr. Morgan to help the other customer. He examined the woman’s bundle of clothing and dropped a few coins into her hand and the pawn ticket. The amount so small, the proprietor waved off the halfpenny for the ticket, causing the customer to smile and bless his soul.
As the woman chatted with the proprietor, Emma glanced around. Clothing, pots, and pieces of furniture crowded every inch. Her stomach clenched when she saw one of Papa’s suits hanging near the front bow window and a familiar rose-colored glass bowl. The suit had been pledged to the pawnbroker only a couple of months after Papa died. The bowl over a year ago. The jangle of the bell over the door drew Emma from her thoughts. She turned to see the bedraggled woman exiting the shop.
“Can I help you?” Mr. Morgan smiled. He probably hoped she was here to collect her belongings and pay him the interest.
Though the shop was empty of other customers, she wished to conduct her business in one of the small rooms that afforded more privacy. “Can we go to a box, sir?”
“Follow me,” he said in a businesslike voice.
They stepped into a tiny room with a single window. A pendant fixture with a milk-glass shade hung above the square table. The proprietor turned the lamp up, and Emma placed the carpetbag down, removed her hat, and set it on the table.
“I’ve my hat. It’s all but new, and”—she opened the bag, pulled out the silver tray and the two candlesticks, and set them down—“I have these items.”
The proprietor brought the jeweler’s loupe that hung from a gold chain around his neck to his eye and peered at the silversmith’s marking on the bottom of the tray. He inspected the candlesticks. “I’ll give you twelve pounds for the lot. And you know my rates. Plus a halfpenny for the ticket.”
Twelve pounds? Tears burned the back of her eyes. A pittance compared to what she needed. She opened her reticule, withdrew the linen handkerchief and untied the satin ribbon, and placed Mama’s cameo, ruby necklace, and wedding band on the table. The jewelry caught the light from the gas lamp.
A smile lifted the corner of the man’s lips. He held the necklace up to the window. The sunlight reflected off it, sending shards of muted red light around the room. He made a noise as if intrigued. Did that mean the stones were real or paste? She didn’t wish to ask him—make him aware of her naïveté regarding the jewelry.
He withdrew a small pin from the lapel of his wool coat and ran it over the largest of the three red stones. Without saying a word, he placed it back on the table and picked up the wedding band and cameo. He angled the ring to the light.
“I’ll give you thirty-five pounds for everything.”
Disappointment swirled within her. “Can’t you do better? I should go to a jeweler instead.” Something she didn’t wish to do, since she’d not be able to reclaim the items at a later date should she be fortunate enough to get the funds.
“Thirty-seven pounds. Not a penny more.”
Her heart sank. Even with Mrs. Flynn’s twelve pounds and what Emma had left in the bank, that wasn’t enough. Her fingers flexed around Simon’s ring. She set it on the table.
He cocked a brow and lifted his monocle and examined it. He glanced up at her with narrowed eyes. “Where did you get this?”
“Um, my father won it at some gaming hell years ago.”
The proprietor nodded and slipped it onto his own pinkie. “Very well, seventy-five pounds for the lot.”
Emma’s heart sank. Not enough. Fighting her tears, she outstretched her hand for Simon’s ring and gathered her belongings.
“Good day, sir.” Setting her hat on her head, she strode from the room.
“Seventy-nine pounds,” Mr. Morgan called out.
Still not enough. She needed another plan and knew just what she had to do—visit that blackguard the Devil of Danbury Street and barter with him. The thought of dealing with such a man made a shiver crawl up her spine, but what other choice did she have?
* * *
Mrs. Flynn set her hands on her hips and frowned. “Dear child, you cannot go running willy-nilly to the rookeries all by yourself. I’ll accompany you.”
After returning from the pawnbroker, she’d told Mrs. Flynn about the trouble Michael was in. Emma shook her head and glanced at the mantel clock in the morning room. She needed to leave. “No, you must remain here with Lily.”
“But there are vagabonds, thieves, and even murderers there. And this moneylender they call the Devil of Danbury Street is the worst of the lot.”
The anxiety already making Emma’s palms sweat, amped up as the woman spoke. She knew the rookeries could be a dangerous place. She’d read articles about the crime. Even some policemen were leery of several areas in the East End, but she needed to protect Michael, and she could see no other way around it.
“I’ll bring that blackguard what Michael owes him,” Mrs. Flynn said, breaking into Emma’s thoughts. “Not safe for a sweet thing like you to venture into the dark part of London, but no one shall mess with me.” The housekeeper fisted her hand and shook it in the air.
What would Mrs. Flynn do if she realized Emma didn’t have all the money Michael owed the moneylender? That she intended to barter with the man? The older woman would suffer an apoplexy. “Mrs. Flynn, you know I love you dearly, but I need to handle this—”
“You can’t go there!” Lily said, stepping into the room.
What had her sister heard? Too much, by the tears shining in her eyes. “Lily, you shouldn’t be eavesdropping. And there is nothing to be concerned about. I shall be fine,” she said, feigning bravado.
Lily knotted her fingers into the skirt of her dress. “Why did you send Michael away? Why didn’t you make him go with you?”
Because Emma had promised to care for her siblings, and she would not break that pledge. And hopefully her plan would work. She stepped up to Lily and hugged her. “Everything will be fine.” Thankfully her voice remained steady, even though her heart beat erratically.
Sniffling, Lily rubbed her tear-streaked face into the bodice of Emma’s dress. “Why don’t you have Mr. Radcliffe. . . Lord Adler go with you? I bet he’s not frightened of anyone. He’d take care of this dastardly character, Mr. Wolf. I know he would.”
The thought of seeing Simon again—of having him accompany her—held great appeal, but she wouldn’t be indebted to him. “I cannot do so, Lily. Now, I will be back shortly.”
God willing.