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E velyn reeled at the revelation the Signature Swindler had ties to Bethnal Green.

And right across the street, of all places!

Frankie looked up at her with the innocence of a child, clearly not realizing how important this news was.

The boy had seen a hard life—she could tell by the tattered edges of his clothing and the guardedness in his eyes—but that innocence still remained.

She thought about Ollie as a small, bright-eyed boy filled with wonder, with hope, despite sleeping in alleyways at night.

“Frankie…” Evelyn was trying to keep her voice level.

“Why did he go across the street? What’s there?

” As far as she could guess, either the thief lived there or stored his stolen goods there.

Or maybe a buyer lived there, though that seemed the least likely to her. Or perhaps someone tied to art buyers?

But Frankie only shrugged.

She wouldn’t get that answer, and he may not even know. “Do you know him? The Signature Swindler?”

The boy bobbed on his feet. “Yep!”

She shot a wide-eyed look at Ollie. “Could you by chance tell us where he lives?”

Frankie considered that. “Nope.”

That didn’t surprise her, but it was worth a try. “Then could you please tell him we would like to meet with him?”

“I can’t do that, either.”

Disappointment hit her. “Why not?”

Frankie shrugged. “He’s already waiting for you.”

Evelyn met Ollie’s eye again. He was not pleased by this news.

Admittedly, Evelyn was not exactly thrilled, either.

They were now at a severe disadvantage. They didn’t know how the man knew they were here, or if the thief was dangerous.

They still didn’t even know what he wanted from them, though now she supposed he wanted the reward for returning her to the earl.

“Wait!” Frankie yelled suddenly. “That’s why I came here. I was supposed to give you this and then I forgot.” Frankie shoved his grubby hand into a pocket and then pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper. He held it out for Evelyn to grab.

It had the same overly ornate handwriting they had seen in the Signature Swindler’s previous note.

At the top, it read, Hello again.

And then Evelyn read out loud:

Curiosity killed the cat—isn’t that how the saying goes? But then, cats have nine lives. So how many lives do you curious kittens have?

Find me at the scene of the crime.

Evelyn furrowed her brow as Ollie made a strangled noise of irritation. “Why must everything be secretive with this idiot?” Ollie asked. “And what’s the deal with the cat? Is he threatening us?”

Evelyn looked at both sides of the paper as if hoping to find the answer that way. “I’m not sure,” she admitted.

“What do you want to do?” Ollie asked.

They only had two choices. They could leave and go back to Ollie’s, with no questions answered.

The artwork would still be missing. Ollie would still let down his brother Dantes.

And it was not a mark she wanted in her career, even if she never went back to work.

Her career was a source of pride for her, but there was more to it.

If it was discovered she had lost a painting in a heist by inadvertently helping the thief, it would create an even bigger barrier for any future women who worked their way into academics or the arts.

It was already hard enough for women. If Evelyn was remembered as this much of a failure, that would put a bad taste in the mouths of the men who ruled everything.

Their other choice was to go inside, confront the thief, and get the artwork back.

It seemed pretty obvious what they had to do.

“I want to end this,” Evelyn said with determination. “I don’t want this hanging over me.”

“Nor I.” Ollie looked down to Frankie. “So, the thief. You said you know who he is.”

Frankie nodded.

“Anything worth telling us? Like, is he dangerous?”

“I’m eight. How should I know?”

Ollie grumbled to himself. “Fine. How do we get in, then?”

Frankie frowned. “Through a door?”

With a long sigh, Ollie motioned for Evelyn to follow. They left Frankie behind—he wasn’t allowed inside, according to him—to search for a way in. As they had done previously, they checked for unlocked doors and windows.

“Have you ever been to this museum before?” Ollie asked as he tried pushing up a window sash. It didn’t budge.

Evelyn peered through the window to see inside. “No, I haven’t.”

“It’s a strange place to have an art museum,” Ollie added, peering in the window beside Evelyn. Whatever room they were looking into, it was too dark for her to identify any artwork on the walls. “Amongst the squalor and poverty sits this fine art museum. It’s strange to me.”

“The Prince of Wales built it in 1872. I’m sure he intended it to be something positive for the local community.”

“It’s practically begging to be robbed, to be honest. Hence, why the thief likely chose it, pretty convenient for whatever he has going on across the street there.”

Evelyn led Ollie a bit farther down the long, outside wall and paused at another window. She cupped her hands around her face to block out any light and see into this room as well. “Art museums are for everyone, Ollie, not just the wealthy.”

“Do you honestly think the people who live here can afford the entrance fee? They can hardly clothe and feed themselves, Evelyn.”

Evelyn pulled away from the window to find Ollie’s usual easy demeanor was absent. “I’m sorry, Ollie. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Ollie made a dismissive noise and went down along the wall on his own. Evelyn followed but kept a distance. Clearly, she had touched a nerve, though unintended.

Up ahead was a side door. Ollie stopped before it but didn’t look back at her.

“Ollie, if I said something wrong, I didn’t mean any offense by it.”

Ollie scratched at an eyebrow. “You didn’t say anything wrong. But I do find this museum insulting. To me, it’s another way for nobs to thumb their noses at everyone else. But to you, it’s an opportunity for all. Sometimes I forget how different you and I really are.”

Evelyn tilted her head. “You really think we’re that different?”

“Maybe there are some similarities between how we were raised, but we have had different life experiences, too. And our views of this museum is evidence of that.”

“Would you rather it not exist at all?”

Ollie shoved his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know,” he admitted. But it was clear he was irritated with her, and it didn’t feel good. “I’m not here to debate the existence of this museum. I’m here to see the cad inside, get my brother’s painting back, and go home.”

Sensing a tension mounting between them, Evelyn decided to put her focus on getting through the door and off her own negative emotions. She removed one of the hatpins Ollie had bought her and stared down at the lock.

Ollie held out his hand, expecting her to hand over the hatpin.

“No,” Evelyn replied stubbornly. She crouched down to do it herself. He didn’t argue. She set to work, sliding the sharp, metal point into the keyhole and began to poke and prod. She recalled how last time Ollie had rotated it around a bit, too. She mimicked that movement, determined.

So she didn’t know what it was like to worry about having enough food.

And she didn’t know what it was like to not have shoes because her feet kept growing and her parents couldn’t afford to replace another pair.

She would never understand what the less fortunate experienced.

But while her life had been safer and easier, it hadn’t been carefree, or risk-free, either.

She still was under the thumb of those more powerful than her. She still was a pawn to her family.

“No one likes me much, anyway,” she mumbled as she pressed the hatpin into something inside the lock. She pressed too hard, though, and the pin slipped. She wanted to scream but forced it back, lest it make everything worse.

“What was that?” Ollie replied.

Evelyn gritted her teeth as she tried pushing the hatpin against the same spot that had slipped a moment ago. “I said, no one likes me, anyway. You seem to think I’m some toff darling, but I’m not. Most people find me intolerable.” Another slip, and Evelyn let out a frustrated groan.

“Evelyn, let me—”

“No!” She bit out the word harsher than intended, realizing she was trying to prove something to herself, to Ollie. He thought she was a spoiled princess? Watch her pick a lock, then! No one knew any toff darlings who could pick locks with their hatpins!

The hatpin slipped for the third time. Evelyn growled and threw the instrument to the ground.

As she’d aged, she could more easily identify when her emotions were mounting too quick and too fast. This was one of those moments, and she would have a fit if she didn’t calm herself down. Evelyn took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment, willing the rising steam back down.

Once she felt more in control, she opened her eyes to find Ollie watching her.

Ollie picked up the hatpin. “If you can resist kicking me in the shin, I can show you how to do it.”

Evelyn let out a sigh. “I’m not kicking you in the shin.”

“Good. Come here, then,” he said. Evelyn hesitated but eventually complied. “Rule number one: No stabbing Ollie with hatpins.”

Evelyn glared at him. He laughed but conceded the hatpin to her. He then held his hand over hers for a moment, meeting her eye, and when she didn’t protest wrapped his hand around her own, light at first, but then fully embracing it.

His hand over hers caused that strange but pleasant warm, honey feeling to spread through her body. But right behind that would be the nerve-screaming sensation where she would desperately shake someone off.

But strangely, she didn’t want to shake Ollie off. Yes, she was annoyed with him and with the hatpin and this whole moment in general. But she sort of liked Ollie’s hand over hers in the moment.