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Mr. Rippen flipped them over in his hand, his expression shifting from elated to horrified in one swift second. “I… Oh dear. Oh my goodness. I would never—these are—”
Emmeline put a hand on his arm before he could leap through a window. “I do not doubt you for one moment, Mr. Rippen,” she said warmly. “I wonder if you could answer us three questions, though.”
His Adam’s apple bobbing, the jeweler nodded. “Of course. Anything you require of me, I will do my utmost. I—”
“What was the age of the young man who brought you the pearls?”
“I… I’d say he was somewhere between seventeen and twenty, Mrs. Pershing. A stranger to me, long-haired and wearing fine clothes, very apologetic about bringing in found items and saying it was the luckiest he’d been in a year.”
That described several young men around Birdlip, but Mr. Rippen attended church with them and their families every Sunday. A stranger, though, narrowed things considerably. Will imagined he should be furious, but it wasn’t anger drilling through him. It was relief. “Dark hair? A thin mouth and a beaked nose?”
The jeweler nodded.
“Did he give you a name?” Emmeline asked, always after absolute proof and the last detail.
“No, he did not. He did say how pleasant it was to find an honest businessman about, and that given his luck hereabouts, he might begin digging beneath bridges in the area and bring any findings to me.”
“Lastly, how much did you pay for the pearls?”
His fair skin turned even pinker. “I’m ashamed to even say, but with no provenance I offered the lad ten pounds for the three items. He accepted without bargaining.”
Wordlessly Will reached into his pocket for a ten-pound note and handed it to the jeweler. “If you should see this young man again, please purchase what he offers you. We will reimburse you.”
Now Mr. Rippen looked like he meant to begin weeping. “I was the fool, Mr. Pershing. Please take them back, and I could never ask you to reimb—”
“Simon,” Will broke in. “We’ve all been fooled on occasion. I do not expect you to pay for someone else’s dishonesty.”
The jeweler’s fingers curled around the money, and he brought it up to press against his chest. “I’ve always said the Pershings are the very best of landlords, and you’ve proven me right yet again. I shall certainly send word immediately if I set eyes on him, and I apologize for my lapse of judgment. It will not happen again. I swear it.”
Emmeline slid her hand around Will’s arm again as they walked back into the street. “I think we can agree that that was not a description of George,” she said, keeping her voice low, “or of Rose standing on George’s shoulders and pretending to be a gentleman.”
That image made him snort. “No. I believe we need to have a conversation with James Fletcher.”
“And the pearls aren’t the only things missing.” With a grimace, Emmeline kept hold of his arm as they strolled down the lane. “Do you think the children are involved?”
“I’d say so. This is what they know. He’s the one who should have seen this eight weeks for the opportunity it is, rather than risking George and Rose’s freedom and their future along with his own.”
“I wish they’d told us about him,” Emmeline went on.
“They’ve lived on the streets of London for most of their lives. Even if it wasn’t a question of loyalty, I don’t doubt there are several unspoken rules about carrying tales.”
“I should have realized everything was going too smoothly. Reading, writing, dance, a bit of petty larceny, and now this.” She made a face. “I suppose our family-seeking is finished for the day.”
At least they’d known something about the pilfering going on behind their backs, though the pearls meant the thefts had escalated far beyond the porcelain-cup level. He and Emmeline had to be the children’s best opportunity in ages, if ever, and they were still so accustomed to being self-sufficient that they were unable to stop hoarding goods. And evidently handing them over to James to sell.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said aloud, “about why George created chaos rather than answer our questions about what his ideal future would be. Perhaps it wasn’t nefarious. I wonder if imagining a good thing is, for him, a road to disappointment.”
She moved in closer against his side. “That makes sense. I wish he’d simply said that instead of trying to begin a war between the two of us, though.”
“What would you tell me if I asked you the same question, Emmeline? Where would you put yourself, if you could be anywhere?”
Emmeline paused. For just a moment she shut her eyes, and he wondered what she might be imagining—and whether it included him. Then she opened them again and glanced away, wiping a hand across her cheek. “I think George had the right of it,” she murmured, and continued on.
Hmm. Considering that he’d already spent some time imagining the future, and that it included Emmeline as well as George and Rose, he knew what she meant. At the same time, he wanted to know what her perfect world looked like, and if it was at all similar to his.
Bartholomew Powell seated himself at the head of the long kitchen table, and the rest of Winnover Hall’s staff, less the three stable boys and Hannah, took their seats on the long benches set at either side. “My friends,” he said, as the platter of thin-sliced meats went around the luncheon table, “I’m afraid the time has come to discuss a serious matter.”
“Is something amiss, Powell?” Mrs. Brubbins asked. “You have been looking rather pale over the past few days.”