The Orphan of Cemetery Hill - Hester Fox Page 0,65

last night. The fob would have easily paid for his entrance into a high stakes card game at a reputable club and then some, but this was more important.

Eying the fob, the man nodded. “Which picture is it you’re wanting to know about then?”

Caleb went to the shop window and plucked the daguerreotype from its place. “This one. When did she come in? What’s her name?” Looking at the picture was like being transported back across the ocean. It couldn’t be Tabby, yet there could be no doubt that the sitter was somehow related to her.

The man’s face shone with pride. “Ah, yes. Her,” he said with a wistful sigh. “I saw her walking past my shop one day and knew that I had to have her sit for me. In my ten years behind the lens, I have never seen eyes like that. She was hesitant, said that she didn’t want her likeness immortalized. But I wore her down,” he said proudly. “Offered her a handsome sum, and even told her she could have a copy of the portrait free of charge. But she never came back to collect it, so I keep it in the window for business.”

“What was her name?” Caleb asked, breathless.

The man shook his head. “If she told me, I’ve long forgotten. It had to have been going on three years now.”

Caleb studied the picture again. “Does she live nearby?”

“I couldn’t say. She used to pass by frequently, but I haven’t seen her since her sitting.”

The shop door opened, and two well-dressed women came in. The shopkeeper excused himself and left Caleb with his thoughts.

Any hope that Caleb might have felt on seeing the picture was quickly deflating. London was a vast city, and finding a girl with no name would be nearly impossible, and that wasn’t even taking into consideration the fact that she might not be in the city at all anymore.

Why did it matter so much anyway? It was probably a coincidence, and nothing more. But as he stared into the face that was so like Tabby’s, he knew he had to find her.

* * *

Outside, he looked about him in a daze. Without his watch fob, he had nothing left to pawn except the clothes on his back, and those were in a rather sorry state after the events of the previous night. He stopped in front of a cart where an old woman was selling wilted bunches of watercress, and took stock of what he had.

He had the clothes on his back, which he had already established were both undesirable to anyone else, and necessary to his (relative) decency. He had a quick wit and was clever at cards, but had no money for a buy-in. He had a gnawing hunger that had quickly returned after his breakfast. He had an overwhelming need to find the girl in the picture and find out who she was, but no resources to do it. All in all, he was in a rather hopeless situation.

So deep in his thoughts was he, he didn’t hear the old woman at the cart speaking to him. “I’m sorry?”

“I said, ye’re scaring away me costumers, standin’ there a-gawping and gaping.”

Caleb looked around but, aside from a few pigeons pecking about in the mud, didn’t see any of the supposed customers in question. “My deepest apologies, miss,” he said with a low bow. His flattering address did nothing to warm her, and her scowl only deepened. Then a thought struck him. “You must be quite familiar with this street and the goings-on here, I would imagine?”

She gave him a sidelong look from her rheumy eyes. “Ye might say that. They don’t call me Sharp-Eyed Maggie for nothin’.”

“Do you see that picture in the window over there?” He pointed to the shop, where the man had replaced the picture in its place of honor. “The one of the girl with the striking eyes and the flower brooch?” He doubted that “Sharp-Eyed” Maggie could see as far as her own nose, let alone across the street, but she surprised him by nodding vigorously.

“Oh, aye, I know that picture well. Knew the girl in it just as well, too.”

Caleb’s heart stopped in his chest. “You knew her? Who is she? Is she still living?”

“That’s Miss Alice,” the woman said, her expression growing soft and nostalgic. “I couldn’t say if she’s alive yet or no, as she moved away some years ago. She was a dear thing, though, always brought me sweets,