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“I think we should call on my mother,” Constance said, by way of explanation as to why she had instructed her coachman to take them to Covent Garden.

“To see who is likely to fence the treasure?” Solomon said.

“Or if she has heard any rumors. I learned long ago never to discount my mother’s wealth of low knowledge.”

“Will you tell her about our engagement?” he asked.

They were seated side by side, so she had to turn her head to look at him. “I suppose it would kill two birds with one stone.”

“Are you afraid she will make a fuss?” he asked wryly. “Or forbid the banns?”

“I’m afraid she’ll laugh.”

“Am I so laughable?”

“Engaging yourself to me? Of course you are! But it’s me she will be laughing at.” Constance shifted restlessly. “And no wonder. I don’t know what a wife does , Solomon. Except turn a blind eye when a husband visits a woman like me.”

“Constance.” He took her hand, his fingers warm and firm around hers. “There are no other women like you.”

For a second, she clung to his hand, longing for his fidelity.

She hated being on that side of the fence.

All she knew about marriage was from the unfaithful, and she doubted she could be like these tolerant, ladylike wives.

She was more likely to revert to her upbringing and break bottles over his head.

With a breath of laughter, she thrust such personal thoughts aside, withdrew her hand, and said, “Have we learned anything useful?”

Solomon shrugged. “That the servants are well trained and loyal.”

“And tense,” Constance added. “They didn’t strike me as a happy group. They’re much too defensive. Though I suppose they can’t be blamed for that, since servants are always under suspicion whenever anything goes missing.”

“They were unusually obstructive,” Solomon agreed. “And they told us nothing new about the theft. Only Garrick the butler knows where the keys to the strong room are kept at night and when Lloyd is away.”

“And we do know Mrs. Lloyd has entertained several times during her husband’s absence,” Constance added.

She had learned that not from the cook but from John the footman.

“There have been sizeable dinner parties with old friends and new and frequent morning callers, all Mrs. Lloyd’s acquaintances but some of them Jemimah’s friends and admirers. Like Benjamin Devine.”

She must have been frowning over that, for Solomon said, “You are suspicious of young Devine?”

“No more so than of any of the other visitors to the house, although he does seem to have had carte blanche to wander about the place in search of Jemimah. No, what worries me about Devine is that no one seems to have told Lloyd about his friendship with Jemimah. Apart from her, the whole family was dismayed to some degree by his arrival.”

“Mrs. Lloyd certainly was,” Solomon agreed.

“Like many fathers, I daresay he doesn’t like his daughters growing up. Sydney implied as much. And the transformation apparently happened while they were away.”

“What did you think of Sydney?” Solomon asked.

“Actually, I’m not sure what to make of him. He is very young, of course, and in his father’s shadow, but he does seem rather…offhand—about the treasure and everything else. The selfishness of youth, I suppose.”

“Lloyd didn’t tell his family about employing us,” Solomon said thoughtfully. “He sprang us on them without warning.”

“You think he suspects one of them and was trying to make them betray themselves through surprise?”

“Maybe. He plays his cards close to his chest. I wonder what he has not told us ?”

Constance thought about that, too, then turned to the matter of their suspects. “On the face of it, the family is likeliest,” she said. “Any of them could have taken the keys while he was away, copied them, and opened the strong room during the night.”

“Except Sydney, although he could have copied them earlier. We need to talk to the locksmith. Would you like to go to the opera tomorrow evening?”

Constance, who had been gazing out of the window as the carriage rumbled its way through Covent Garden, turned to him in surprise. “It’s very public.”

“Do you mean to hide?” he asked.

She took a deep breath. “I may not affect your business, Solomon, but I will affect your social standing.”

“I have never sought social standing, and I very much doubt I have any.”

“More than you know,” she said seriously.

“Are you saying no to the opera?”

“No. I’m saying…” Actually, she didn’t know what she was saying, except that attending the opera with him in the full glare of, she was sure, many of the gentlemen who attended her establishment on a regular basis was both damaging for him and terrifying for her.

“Don’t lose your courage because of me,” he said. “It is one of the things I first loved in you.”

The carriage had halted without her noticing. He opened the carriage door and alighted before holding out his hand to her.

She stared at him. He loves me. Solomon Grey loves me .

The miracle of that would always take her by surprise.

Closing her mouth, she swallowed and took his hand to step down in front of her mother’s new shop. “Of course I will go to the opera with you.”

*

Her mother’s shop consisted of an eclectic display of antiquities and curios, the valuable and the valueless, the beautiful and the frankly ugly.

Spread out around the shelves and cabinets, in the bright light gleaming through the large window and glass door, they presented a fascinating array to browsers and collectors.

Two sets of customers were already wandering around.

A third was having something wrapped by the proprietress.

Juliet Silver had found her element. Dressed in a unique, exotic style of flowing gowns and shawls, she looked like some Byzantine princess of ages past. Constance felt her lips twitch, just as her mother glanced up and saw them.

She beamed, for she and Constance had recently reached a sort of rapprochement. It might not have been total understanding, but it was an acknowledgment of affection, a bond that could not be broken.

“Good afternoon!” she said. “I shall be with you shortly.”

It had become habit between them to pretend no relationship, mostly so that neither could be used against the other by the nastier of the criminals who had inhabited both their worlds until recently.

Constance wandered over to a small but eye-catching porcelain tea set. The shapes were exquisite, the painted design of interlocking flowers beautiful and somehow happy. She had a sudden vision of serving tea in them to Solomon and the Tizsas and other shadowy friends.

Where will we live? she thought in sudden fright.

Not in her establishment—that would never work. She felt more than a flicker of regret for that. She wondered about his little house behind the Strand. Or would they choose somewhere new?

“Gerry,” her mother called through the door into the back of the shop, and the familiar figure of the lad who had been her gatekeeper in her old—rather less salubrious—quarters emerged. He looked somewhat self-conscious and stiff in his smart new suit, but he had scrubbed up remarkably well.

Constance smiled, glad to see him still with her mother.

He grinned back. “Afternoon, Miss Connie.”

“Watch the shop, there’s a love,” Juliet said, holding the inner door for Constance and Solomon. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“We’re picking your brains, Ma,” Constance said, sitting down at the comfortable table and producing from her bag Lloyd’s inventory of his treasure. “Have you heard a whisper of stolen treasure coming on the market? Unusual items? Anything about the items on this list?”

“I don’t hear what I used to, being respectable now,” her mother said virtuously, eyeing Solomon, who was her landlord. “But no, I haven’t heard anything in particular.” She took the list from Constance, and her darkened eyebrows flew up as she read. “Where does all this come from? A museum?”

“It was stolen from a private home,” Solomon said.

“Very well, I’ll keep my eyes and ears open for a word, but this lot would need to be sold to a private collector. Whoever pinched it would get a tiny fraction of its worth. I presume the police are already looking for it?”

“Yes, but it’s possible our thief is somewhat na?ve in the ways of stolen goods,” Constance said, “and has no idea how to earn usable money from his loot.”

“I’ll listen for that too. I daresay I’ll have the peelers poking their long noses and clumsy mitts into my business again.” Juliet looked up from the list. “Did you consider it might have been a private collector who stole it?”

Constance felt her eyes widen. “Actually, no, but that makes perfect sense.” Presumably the Lloyds numbered several eager collectors among their friends. “We should look into that. Who would you suspect of such practices among the wealthier of your clientele?”

“You mean the outwardly respectable?” Juliet thought for a little, then pulled a piece of paper in front of her and took a pencil from a hidden pocket behind her shawls. She started to scribble a few names, some with addresses beneath.

When she paused in her writing, Constance said, “Solomon and I are engaged to be married.”

A slow smile tugged at her mother’s lips before she looked up. She wasn’t laughing, though her eyes did gleam. “Congratulations, Solomon. Con, I knew you’d turn respectable one day, even if it took a man like our Mr. Grey.”

“Women like me are never respectable,” Constance snapped.

“Why not?” Juliet retorted, spreading her arms wide. “Look at me.”

Constance was obliged to laugh. “You are right, of course. There are many shades of respectability. Your shop appears to be blooming.”