A Rip Through Time(64)

I inwardly wince. I was attacked in Catriona’s old haunt, with Isla’s necklace on me, as if I’d sat in that library yesterday, listened to her pleas for its return, and heard only that I should sell it before she searched my room.

“I sold it before my accident,” I say. “To a pawnshop. After we spoke, I knew I had to get it back. That’s what I was doing. I recovered it just before I was attacked.”

“A pawnshop?”

“Er, yes, a place where people sell items for money.”

“I know what a pawnbroker is, Catriona. I meant that, if this is your story, it is easily proven. Take me to this shop, and I shall speak to the owner. Let us see whether he confirms your story.”



* * *



“I have never laid eyes on this girl in my life,” Dover says as we stand in his shop. “I certainly did not buy that necklace from her. It’s obvious that such a piece would have been stolen, probably from her mistress. I am an honest man who loans money to the poor for their belongings in times of need. I do not deal in stolen goods.”

“Of course you don’t,” I say. “But I misrepresented myself to you, sir.”

His eyes narrow at “misrepresent” as if he doesn’t know the word and presumes I’m casting aspersions on his character.

“I lied,” I say flatly. “I told you it was my grandmother’s locket, and I had to sell it to feed the baby. Then I said my brother gave me money to buy the necklace back. There is no baby. I have no brother. I lied, and I’m sorry that I duped you, sir. The truth is that I stole it from my mistress and then regretted it. You had no way of knowing it was stolen goods.”

He doesn’t take my excuse. Either he’d seem like a fence or a fool, and he won’t be either, especially in front of a proper lady like Isla.

When we finally leave, I say, “I warned you, ma’am. He won’t admit he bought stolen goods even accidentally, for fear of a police investigation. You could tell he was lying, couldn’t you?”

“No, Catriona. I could not, which means either he’s telling the truth or I have a poor ear for detecting falsehoods. I believe, at most, that you have sold him goods before and hoped he’d go along with your story in expectation of future business from you.”

“Then why would I have tried to dissuade you from speaking to him?”

Her brows lift. “Do you honestly think that trying to stop me from proving your claim worked in your favor? You hoped to dissuade me, and when you could not, you hoped he would lie for you.”

We keep walking. My mind whirrs, looking for solutions. No one likes being made to play the fool, and that’s what I’ve done to Isla. She thinks I had no fear of losing my position because my employer is a silly, wealthy woman who fancies herself a philanthropist. Shed a few tears and spin a few lies, and no matter what happened, I’d keep my job.

“You will pack your things,” she says. “My offer stands. I will even keep it at two pounds, despite this. Come home, pack, and leave quietly. The alternative?” She looks at me, locking gazes. “I trust you did not enjoy your night in a cell. The courts have no sympathy for servants who steal from their employers.”

“I didn’t—” I bite it off. “I know you don’t believe me, ma’am. Forget the two pounds. I’ll go quietly if I must. No bribe required. But is there some way I can make this up to you? I’ll forgo my salary. Take on extra tasks. Give up my privileges—”

“No. I am sorry, Catriona, but you are leaving today, without references. I cannot lie to future employers. I would advise you to take the two pounds.”

“Is there nothing—?”

“There is nothing you can say. Nothing you can do. No story will get you out of this.”

There are moments when you know you are about to do something incredibly reckless and breathtakingly dangerous. And you don’t care. It’s not leaping before you look. It’s looking, seeing the pit of boiling lava, and jumping anyway, because an enraged elephant is charging straight at you, and there’s a very slight chance you might land on that tiny island amid the lava.

“What about the truth? No story. The truth.”

She sighs. “Please take the two pounds and do not insult me with more lies. I am more worldly than you seem to believe.”

“Which is why I’m going to tell you the truth, and if you don’t believe it, which I’m sure you won’t, then I ask only one thing. Keep your money. I’ll go quietly. Whatever I say, though, promise you won’t have me sent off to Bedlam?”

Her lips twitch, just a little. “Bethlem Hospital is in London, Catriona.”

“Whatever the Edinburgh equivalent is. What I’m about to tell you is going to have you seriously questioning my sanity, and I need you to promise you won’t have me committed to an asylum. Just tell me you don’t believe me, and let me leave.”

She rolls her eyes and assures me that Scottish asylums are nothing like English ones, because they are Scottish and thus very much advanced. Finally, though, I get her to agree. No matter what I say, she will not summon the guys in the white coats.

“We should stop walking,” I say. “So I can explain properly.”

I look around. We’re on an Old Town street, bustling with carts and carriages and people.