Anne asked, drawing a small velvet pouch from a pocket in her cloak. Grime coated the windows of the cramped shop, situated on a narrow street off Petticoat Lane—a place where money was handed over for all kinds of goods, whether obtained legally or not. She spilled out two necklaces: a modest one with small rubies and a second with a pear-shaped sapphire. Kat had given her these. Somehow, in some way, she would repay her friend. She watched the door nervously, as if by magic Bow Street would catch her here. The slender man behind the counter, Mr. Timble, picked up the rubies first, his face carefully impassive. He studied them, grunting. Then he gave his assessment and she gasped in disappointment. “They’re worth far more,” she protested. “It’s all I’m willing to pay for them, my dear.” “What about the other?” Timble named a second figure, also depressingly low, but it was enough for her to buy passage and start a new, frugal life in a different country. “All right.”
