find some way to get the money. I suppose I could sell my other dress and a pair of stockings.”
“And maybe get a half crown for the both, if you’re lucky” Claire looked down at Rachel’s hands, clasped within her own. Rachel eyed the pearl ring set in gold that gleamed on her cousin’s finger. It was pretty and had to be valuable, an elegant token of Harwood wealth. Rachel had no idea what it was worth, however, because she’d never owned a piece of jewelry so fine.
Claire’s eyes met Rachel’s; she had caught Rachel staring.
“The ring was a gift from Father on my eighteenth birthday. When he’d still been pleased with me.” She rolled the ring’s band beneath the pad of her thumb. The opalescence of the pearl trapped the dim sunlight filtering through the leaves overhead. “It must be worth far more than four pounds. But if Gregory notices the ring gone from my hand, he’ll be unmercifully furious with me.”
“I cannot ask you to sell it,” Rachel said, though she was too desperate to absolutely refuse Claire’s suggestion.
“I’m going to pawn it, not sell it.” Clasping Rachel’s hand, she dragged her upright. “Come. Let’s do this before I lose my nerve.”
“Eight pounds,” the pawnbroker declared, his sharp eyes concealing any genuine interest in Claire’s pearl ring.
“Eight pounds!” Claire exclaimed. Beyond the pawnbroker, out in the body of the main shop, a customer in shabby tweeds looked over from his perusal of silver watches and gaudy snuffboxes. Claire slunk back into the shadows of the tiny cubicle, a row of which lined the rear of the shop and offered some privacy to those unwilling to march in directly off the street to pawn their bits and pieces.
“Truly, you do not need to do this,” Rachel whispered, tugging on Claire’s sleeve. “I will find another way.”
“I do need to do this,” she answered, her tone unyielding. She stared at the pawnbroker, her shoulders back, head high. Brave. “The gold band itself has to be worth more than eight pounds.”
“Might be so, miss, but I run a business here, not a charity,” he said, his expression flat, almost bored.
Resting his arm on the counter separating them, the pawnbroker held out the ring, the band pinched between his fleshy thumb and forefinger, daring Claire to take it back. Rachel recognized the game, having observed other pawnbrokers in other pawnshops act precisely the same. If a woman like Claire, clearly well-off, was desperate enough to come to this grimy back alley shop, she wouldn’t leave without some money.
“I’ll not accept less than ten,” Claire insisted, but she made no move to reclaim the ring.
“Eight,” the pawnbroker repeated, scratching his ear.
“Nine. I must have nine.”
He sniffed, his rather large nostrils flaring, and turned to the counter behind him. He fiddled with a locked money box and withdrew coins.
“Eight and six, and that is my final offer. Because the both of you are such lovely ladies.” He scribbled the information about the exchange on a scrap of a card, pressed the paper into a box of sand to set the ink, and handed it over. “Here’s your ticket. That’ll be one pound per month interest. If you’re so inclined to fetch the ring back, that is. If not, I sell it at year’s end.”
Nine pounds six due by the end of the month? Ten and six by the month after that? Rachel stared at her cousin, aghast. If she didn’t have the money to lend Rachel four pounds, she would not have the funds to pay off the pawnbroker’s loan. The ring was as good as gone. And Gregory Harwood would be unmercifully furious.
“Are you certain you want to pawn the ring?” Rachel asked.
“It’s done,” said Claire firmly. “Good day to you, sir.”
Grabbing the money and the ticket, Claire deposited them into her reticule. Rachel pushed open the cubicle door and together they hurried down the hallway, exited the side door, and burst into the courtyard. Claire took the lead, more anxious than Rachel to flee the pawnshop, running past a gin shop and women hawking rotten vegetables, a knot of boys throwing stones in a game of gully who shouted lewd remarks at the both of them.
Passing beneath the courtyard’s archway, Claire kept up a rapid pace until she reached the street and her family’s carriage, waiting on the road.
“You all right, miss?” The Harwood coachman hustled to the door and threw it open.
“I am quite all right, Benjamin.” She took his hand