“On Finley Street near the embankment at Old Bridge Road.”
“Old Bridge Road?” His intuition’s voice went from a whisper to a scream, stopping him cold. A mere two-minute walk from the very spot he’d climbed down from the embankment only that morning to see where he’d been hit on the back of the head. He swallowed, feeling his Adam’s apple rise and fall, resisting the urge to clutch his throat and check for a bloody gash.
“Just one more question,” Ian said. “Did George ever mention a woman named Mary Blackwood?”
Chapter Sixteen
Edwina ducked inside the shop just as that horrid boy spotted her and grinned in that disconcerting, bullying way of his. Why was he always watching the shop? Why couldn’t he harass some malcontent toff on the high road for a change?
“Where’ve you been?” Mary asked.
Edwina shut the shop door behind her. “Sorry I’ve been gone so long,” she said, swinging her shawl off and hanging it on the hook behind the counter. “I lost track of time.”
Mary, who’d been polishing the silver pieces, placed a spoon on a front table, arranging it beside its twin. “Best be careful with that one,” she said. “He’s handsome enough, but there’s something suspicious about a man’s intentions when he asks a woman to escort him to the foreshore unchaperoned.”
“Don’t be absurd.” Edwina tried to cover up her discomfort at the mention of Ian, but she could never hide anything from her sister.
“Are you saying he was a complete gentleman?”
“In the ways that count.” Edwina looked at the tally book to see if they’d had any sales while she was out.
“Oh, do tell.”
“You sold that handsome set of mother-of-pearl buttons.” Ignoring the demand for more information, Edwina tried to read the amount, but the numbers blurred in her teary vision. What was happening to her?
Mary swooped in and put her arm around her sister. “There, there, what’s the matter? It’s not like you to cry like this.” The combined scent of vinegar and baking soda clung to her sister’s hands and sleeves from the polishing, making Edwina pull away.
“Oh, it’s everything. Mother leaving. Then Father. Both without a word of explanation. As if we were a burden they grew tired of carrying around. Us never fitting in anywhere no matter how hard we try.” Edwina sniffled and gestured to the window, where the nipper with the name too big for him leaned his back against the glass. “And why is that wretched boy always hanging around our front door with that smirk on his face?”
“Oh dear. And perhaps a certain man has proved all too human?” Mary said. Edwina dabbed at her eyes as her sister turned them both away from the window so they wouldn’t have to see the boy anymore. “Let’s close the shop early. I made some very good sales today. The women on the street can’t buy enough hatpins lately. We should have our rent money by now. Come upstairs. I’ll put a kettle on and you can tell me all about your day’s adventures.”
It was far too early to close the shop, but Edwina agreed to the tea. The events of the past two days had been emotionally exhausting, further reminding her of her limitations and her limited life. Her sister was mildly teasing her. Mary knew adventure wasn’t a word or deed that naturally bonded itself to Edwina. Duty and responsibility, that’s what steeled her blood. Oh, but she had enjoyed the morning hunting on the foreshore for clues, fighting off a gang of thieves （even if they were mere teens）， flying underground in search of forgotten lodgings, and even drinking tea in a witch’s safe house while reading the ghastly details of the city’s latest murder spree to try and piece together Ian’s lost few days. Until he turned horrid with his accusations. Like everyone always did in the end.
Mary went upstairs to make the tea, so Edwina remained behind to watch the shop. While she waited for her sister, she returned to the ledger to check whether Mary was right about the rent. Since their father left, they’d managed to pay on time each month, though every now and then Mary had to magic up a tiny gem—nothing too extravagant, just an opal or teardrop of amber—that they then affixed to a hatpin or letter opener. While not strictly legal, according to the city bylaws for witches, selling such things to the occasional well-to-do customer browsing the shop for a bargain afforded them the money needed for food and maybe even a new pair of shoes and stockings. She ticked off the sales they’d made in her head and found Mary was correct. The mother-of-pearl buttons, along with a pewter mug and three hatpins, had put them over the top of what they needed to earn a profit for the day.