Ten minutes later we’re making our way down the busy lane, and I feel extremely uncomfortable in the itchy, high-necked dress that Gus and Ellie picked out for me. When I’d peered into the cheap looking glass on the wall I’d be horrified to see I looked like a spinster school teacher. Ellie even tried to comb my hair out with a bent fork she found in one of the junk bins, but had to resort to tying it back with a black ribbon she stole off a pair of pantaloons.

                Grumbling to myself, I run my fingers under the collar, trying to loosen the death grip it has on my throat. Beside me I can hear Gus muttering to himself under his breath, and glancing over at them makes me feel a little better about my ridiculous outfit. Gus is wearing a pair of black and brown striped slacks and a patched black dinner jacket. He’s jammed the short brown top hat down over his eyes and is glaring up and down the street, as if he’s afraid he’s going to see someone he knows.

                Ellie’s dress is even more ridiculous then mine. It’s emerald green with puffy sleeves and a copious amount of lace around the collar. She even managed to find a little black parasol and pin up her hair with a couple of copper pins she dug out of the junk bin. Together, the three of us look like a trio of slightly shabby middle class citizens.

                This is ridiculous.

                “There’s a buy and sell shop down the street here,”  Gus says,  “we should be able to get a decent price from the ring there.”

                “And we had to dress up in this bloody ridiculous clothing so they won’t think we stole it and call the coppers on us, eh?” I yank at the fabric of my dress, which is trying to ride up around my hips, “gah, this thing is driving me mental!”

                “Yeah,” Gus says, “as we are, we’ll have to stick with the real story of what happened,  with your ex-fiancé and all that,” he glances at Ellie, “it’s actually the most believable thing in our situation.”

                “That’s because it’s true,” Ellie was absent- mindedly twirling the handle of the parasol around as it rested on her shoulder, “say, why we can’t just sell it to your cousin?”
                Gus snorted, “Did you hear me bargaining with cousin Theo? He’d pull the ‘family’ thing and we wouldn’t get anything remotely like a fair price.”

                “And we’ll get a fair price somewhere else?” I was scanning the street now, thinking about the ring on Ellie’s finger and the black diamond. I’d put the chain back around my neck again, making sure the black rock was safely behind the fabric of the dress. It was nerve wracking being dressed like this, we were way more of a target now that we were better dressed, and walking through this part of London wasn’t particularly smart.  

                It’s comforting to feel the gentle pressures of the silk ribbons I’d tied around my upper and lower thigh. The curved sword that Jasper gave me is strapped to my leg, the blade wrapped in a thin layer of fabric so it doesn’t slice my skin. Luckily it’s short enough to fit perfectly against the length of my thigh, but it will be perfect if anyone tries anything.

                “Just here,” Gus is saying, “just around the corner across the street there.”

                We wait for a second as a carriage rumbles past and then we dart through the bustle of people walking by. I curse at a man with a fruit cart who nearly runs over my toes, and Gus grabs my arm and jerks me out of the way,

                “Steady on,” I snap at him.

                “Try to be more lady like,” he says, “ladies don’t curse.”

                “you can dress up like a horse, but it won’t make you a real horse,” I grumbled, “same goes for a lady.”

                We’re rounding the corner now, and Gus says, “well, you’ll have to try to pretend for a few minutes. Let me do the talking though.”

                We stop in front of a row of crammed buildings, so stuck together they’re almost crooked.

There’s a narrow, dark building crammed between a hat shop and a rundown pub. There’s a sign hanging above it, tipped down on one side where it’s come off of one of the metal rings, that reads “Jacob White’s Fine Trade Shoppe” in black swirling cursive.

                The windows on either side of the door hold crates of junk, in fact, it looks almost identical to Gus’ uncle’s shop, only when we get closer I can see that this junk is a little shinier, slightly less broken. It’s a higher grade of junk shop, which in itself, is ridiculous.

                Quality junk. Right…

                Gus leads the way, pushing through the door into the dim interior of the shop. Ellie and I follow on his heels, and I brush my fingers over the slight bulge in the side of my skirt where the handle of the sword is hiding. The gloomy  insides of the shop are piled to the ceiling with every manner of debris, everything from suitcases to old bicycle tires.  There’s a desk in the very center of the room, and an older man in a clumsily tied cravat and vest is staring down at the glass table top, squinting through a silver monocle.  He looks up when we come in, giving us a wide smile,

                “Welcome! Welcome! Do come in.”

                For a moment I’m startled at his friendly greeting, until I remember we’re dressed like middle class. When you’re obviously a street rat nobody is happy to see you. It’s really bizarre to have the shop owner beam at us like he is.

                Obviously hoping we’ll buy something.

                Gus strides forward, hands in the pockets of his slacks, face confident, “good afternoon, my good man.”

                My good man?

                I have to keep my mouth from dropping open at the accent he’s suddenly put on. He sounds like the hoity toity middle class that come to the tea rooms and stroll down the street smoking their fat cigars. He’s rather convincing actually.

                The shop keeper  gives him a little bow and his smile grows wider, “what can I get you today, sir?”

                Gus casts a bored look around. He’s so convincing I almost believe he’s some sort of spoilt leisure- man for a moment.  “Actually, my sister and I have a proposition for you.”

                “Ah, something to sell perhaps?”

                “Yes,” Gus turns to Ellie, “show him the ring, sister.”

                At the word “ring” the shop keeper’s murky eyes light up, and when Ellie takes her lace glove off his eyes bug out almost comically.

                “Her bastard fiancé left her for another woman,” Gus says smugly, “well, he isn’t getting this little gem back, I’ll tell you that. It should by my dear sister some lovely new dresses.”

                Ellie pretends to glare down at the ring, “yes, I’ll be glad to be rid of it.”

                The shop keeper doesn’t question their story, “May I see it?”

                Ellie slips the ring off her finger carefully and places it on the glass top. The shop keeper picks it up gently, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, squinting down at it through his monacle.

                “Hm, yes…I’m afraid to tell you he’s more of a bastard than you first thought.”

                Gus doesn’t look surprised, “why do you say that, sir?”

                “I’m afraid this is, in fact…just cut glass,” he shrugs, his sorry expression obviously fake, “my apologies. I can still take it off your hands though…”

                Gus is shaking his head, a smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth, “Oh please, sir. Do you take me for a fool? I had my sister appraise it at a real jewelers when the man first gave it to my sister,” he leans forward and says in a low, steady voice, “I know exactly how much it’s worth.”

                The shop keeper clears his throat nervously, “er…right. Can’t blame me for trying.”

                I grumble, “that’s debatable.
                Gus shoots me a warning glare and turns back to the man behind the counter, “now, I insist on at least a hundred silvers.”

                “Outrageous,” the shop keeper makes a shocked face, “I can’t possibly pay more than fifty.”

                Now Gus looks shocked, “please, good sir! You cannot see the true quality of the diamond? It’s truly large, reminiscent of a shining skating rink. You cannot possibly think that fifty silvers will suffice.”

                “Ah, you’re going to take food from my children’s mouths!” The shop keeper sighed, “very well, I can offer sixty.”

                “No less that ninety,” Gus shakes his head, “less would be positively criminal.”

                This is getting old.

                “seventy then,” his voice is smooth and oily, “it is all I can offer.”

                Gus appears to consider this, “eighty and we have a deal.”

                “Very well,” the shop keeper is obviously trying to conceal a smile when he ducks his head. He obviously thinks he’s pulled a fast one on us, “eighty it is.” He pulls out a small leather purse from the drawer beside his knee and counts out eighty flat, tarnished coins onto the glass counter top.

                Gus dips his head in thanks and scrapes them into his own leather purse, shoving it deep into the pocket of his slacks, “excellent doing business with you.”

                The shop keeper is already staring down at the ring in his palm, eyes gleaming, he barely looks up, “yes, yes, pleasure. Have a nice day.”