outside Mr Percival’s antiques shop, rapping at the door. It was midday and the public house down the road was filled with lunchtime drinkers who spilled out into the street. She knocked again. She’d already called last night and twice this morning, but each time the shop was closed. People were everywhere—but it looked as if Jack Rutherford had vanished into thin air.
She tried to peer through the window. ‘Mr Rutherford? Are you in there?’
One of the lunchtime drinkers came wandering over. ‘You’ll be lucky, young ’un. That Mr Percy’s not opened up at all this morning—he’s most likely done a runner for not paying his rent.’
And Matty’s fears gathered.
Yesterday, after her visit here, she’d lost her gold coin. She’d searched the lanes between the wharf and here, but she was growing more and more convinced that she’d mislaid it in this shop and Jack’s absence only served to confirm her suspicion. The man knew not a thing about antiques, but he would have known her coin was valuable because she, like a fool, had told him so.
She suddenly found herself remembering the warmth of his strong hand on her shoulder. ‘You and me together, youngster. What a team!’ But the memory made her shiver now. If Jack Rutherford had found it, he probably couldn’t believe his luck.
It was starting to rain and most of the drinkers had retreated inside the alehouse. She knocked one last time and was about to depart when something caught her eye. She’d already noticed that a few cheap posters had been pasted to the nearby wall advertising all sorts of services, most of them rather dubious. But one of the posters particularly drew her attention, because it said An Auction Of Historic Artefacts and Heirlooms.
She examined it more carefully. The auction was to be held at a sale room in Oxford Street in two days’ time. She peeled the poster off the wall and folded it so it fitted in her pocket. And an idea bloomed.
* * *
The scent of delicate perfume hit Jack’s senses from the minute he entered the luxurious room around midday two days later. ‘Why, Jack, my dear!’ came a sultry female voice. ‘What a delightful surprise!’
This was a far warmer welcome, Jack reflected, than the one he’d received from Sir Henry Fitzroy in Grosvenor Square the other day, though this was in an equally imposing mansion. Lady Vanessa Lambert didn’t rise from her chaise longue, but her eyes were dancing with merriment as Jack strolled over to raise her fingers to his lips.
‘Now, what brings you here, Jack?’ She was dressed in an exquisite and rather low-cut day gown of blue silk. ‘Some errand of pleasurable intent, I hope?’
‘How,’ responded Jack gallantly, ‘can a visit to you be anything other than a pleasure, Vanessa?’
She laughed. ‘Scoundrel. Sit down, do, and tell me what you’ve been up to.’
Lady Vanessa had become an extremely wealthy widow a few years ago at the age of thirty-two and was eager to enjoy the various pleasures of her new-found independence. She had other admirers, of course, but Jack was a firm favourite. Now she pointed to a chair by the window and Jack settled himself there, reflecting that to tell Vanessa what he’d been up to recently might puzzle her rather—because Jack had been searching the lanes and alleys of Paddington without success, looking for a girl dressed as a boy who happened to have left something rather valuable by his shop. In the end he’d reluctantly given up. He’d also given up the shop as a dead loss, which meant it was time to make fresh plans.
He leaned back in the chair, adjusted his carefully tied cravat and looked straight at Lady Vanessa. ‘I need your help,’ he said.
She looked amused. ‘So what can I do for you this time, Jack? What mischief are you plotting?’
Jack couldn’t help but notice how she’d allowed her blue silk gown to slip even farther from her shoulders to reveal an expanse of creamy skin. ‘Vanessa,’ he said, ‘you make me sound like some rogue adventurer.’
She leaned closer. ‘But you are a rogue adventurer! Which is one—just one—of the many reasons why I’m rather partial to you. Now come along, confess—you have some naughty plan in mind. Don’t you?’
Just then a footman entered with champagne and two glasses; Jack waited while the champagne was poured and once the footman had gone he raised his glass and said, ‘Your health, Vanessa. You’re right, I do have a plan in mind. Now tell me—am I right in thinking your late husband visited the auction houses quite regularly? Did you ever go with him?’
She sipped her champagne and eyed him over her glass. ‘As rarely as I could. I have always preferred to spend my time more enjoyably.’
‘Very wise of you. But what exactly happens at these sales? I gather there are catalogues to study and then you make your bid. Does a good deal of money change hands?’
She laughed aloud. ‘Whatever is this, Jack? You’re not taking that peculiar little shop of yours too seriously, are you, my dear?’
‘Oh, I’m bored with it.’ Jack made a dismissive gesture. ‘But perhaps it’s made me realise there could be some other way to make money in the antiques business.’
‘Plenty of money to be lost, too,’ she answered, rising from her chaise longue. ‘But I’ll find you some of my husband’s boring old catalogues, shall I?’
She left and Jack realised that almost without knowing it, he’d reached inside his pocket for that gold coin. It brought back an immediate picture of the young woman who’d shown it to him—and unfortunately he could imagine all too well how she must have felt when she found that she’d lost it.
‘I could not,’ Jack muttered to himself, ‘have done any more to find her.’
He’d tramped the streets of the neighbourhood asking about her, but she was difficult to describe because to the casual eye she just looked like all the other lads who hung around the area. The words needle and haystack kept springing to mind—in other words, he’d got precisely nowhere, just received odd looks, some of them hostile. In the end he gave up, but he still remembered her melodious, cultured voice. He also remembered the appealing tilt to her nose and her clear green eyes; then there was her hair, cut very short but in a way that made you want to run your fingers through its cropped softness...
‘Jack!’ Vanessa was back in the room. ‘I’ve found these old catalogues in my husband’s study.’
He took them. ‘May I borrow them?’
‘My goodness, you can keep the lot and welcome. They’re only gathering dust. But you’re not leaving already, are you? You’ve only just arrived!’
He was draining his glass and standing up. ‘Vanessa, you are a true friend. But I have several plans to set in motion.’
She sighed. ‘I rather thought you might. What are these mysterious plans? Are you going to stop being a tease and tell me?’
‘Well,’ he began, ‘there’s this auction in Oxford Street this afternoon—’
‘Goodness!’ she broke in. ‘You really are taking this antiques business seriously, aren’t you?’
He grinned. ‘You know me. I’m always open
