Page 67 of Counting on a Countess
“Yes, my lady,” he said, quickly pocketing the coin. He held the curtain back for her, and she swept into the corridor, with Nessa following.
Within moments, they were in a narrow, brick-lined alley, the cobblestones slick at their feet. Tamsyn hastened down the narrow passageway until she reached its end, which opened onto a street. After giving the street a thorough inspection and finding no sign of Kit, she consulted a map that she had tucked in her reticule.
Once oriented, she walked with quick, decisive steps toward her destination.
Kit waited across the street, using a newspaper to shield his face. Minutes passed. Tamsyn and her maid didn’t emerge. Perhaps something had caught her eye, and she was arranging for its purchase.
Yet time stretched on until a full half an hour passed.
Curious, Kit made his way to the shop and glanced through the glass. Inside, a gentleman in a long coat examined a case of watch chains, attended by a clerk, yet there were no women inside.
The hell with caution.Kit entered the shop, and the clerk greeted him.
“Excuse me,” Kit asked, stepping beside the other customer. “Did a redheaded woman and her maid come in here?”
“No, my lord,” the young clerk answered.
Strange. Kit could have sworn thatthiswas the shop she’d entered. He drifted out of the jeweler’s and stood on the curb, looking up and down Turnmill Street. But there was no sign of Tamsyn or her maid. It was as if both women had vanished.
Where had his wife gone?
You’ve gone and spied on her—for nothing.
Not for nothing. I’ve learned something very important about her: despite her frugality, she craves something pretty and frivolous.That’s a significant discovery.
He had to believe it was worth it.
“This is it,” Tamsyn said quietly to Nessa.
The sign outside read,A. Jayne, Purveyor of Fine Jewelry, Watches, &c.
A bell rang as they stepped inside the jewelry shop. The sound matched her jangling pulse as she fought to keep her expression calm.
It had been close, very close with Kit. Thank God she’d lost him in the maze of London streets. She would have to think about his reasons for following her, but not now. Not here.
She didn’t know much about the world inhabited by the upper echelons. But she’d been a part of the criminal sphere for years. Stepping inside a fence’s front felt natural and comfortable. Yet she didn’t feel too at ease—so much was at stake.
Tamsyn glanced about curiously. She hadn’t truly paid attention to the interiors of the other jewelry shops, too focused on shaking Kit. After her experience with the tanner and his stinking booth weeks ago, the elegant luxury of A. Jayne’s showroom came as a surprise.
“Areah,” Nessa exclaimed softly. “Don’t see much like this back home. Not even in Penzance.”
“Or Newquay,” Tamsyn agreed in a low voice.
A plush Oriental carpet covered the floor, and polished brass fittings gleamed in the sunlight. Locked glass cases were arranged atop wooden counters. The contents of the displays dazzled with their brilliant array of gold and silver, pearls and diamonds, all arrayed on black velvet-covered cushions. Though she was here on a different kind of business, she found herself drifting to one case with an array of necklaces. They ranged in design from large and showy to delicate and understated.
One in particular caught her eye. It was a fine gold chain with a single teardrop pearl pendant. Next to the other pieces, it seemed almost plain. But the simplicity of the design highlighted the iridescent allure of the pearl. It reminded her of the white foam atop the waves as they rushed toward the shore.
“A good eye you’ve got.”
Tamsyn looked up at the man standing behind the counter, gazing at her expectantly. He had dark brown skin and black hair that was going silver at the temples. Dressed finely but soberly, he sported a very stylish watch chain draped over his waistcoat, and a ruby ring glinted on his right hand.
“Most people go for the diamonds and emeralds,” the man continued. “It takes discernment to appreciate pearls.”
“Are you Mr. Jayne?” Tamsyn asked.
“I am,” he answered with a nod. “Alfonse Jayne, and this is my establishment. That lass over there,” he continued, pointing at a girl of about twelve years who was wiping down one of the cases, “is my daughter, Lydia.”
Tamsyn nodded at the girl, who shyly curtsied in response.
