Alicia gave us a nice curtsy and almost managed to hide her twelve-year-old boredom.

Once we passed by, I murmured to Emma, “This is going to complicate things for our burglar if he comes down from London to pass on the drawings. I imagine every inn near Lord Harwin’s will be booked up with people escaping the London heat to take the waters at the spa.”

“It might also make him stand out more when we question the landlords of the inns.”

“And the pubs,” I added. The burglar would have to be somewhere when he wasn’t trying to contact Baron von Steubfeld. Or whoever he planned to contact with the ship plans.

When we saw Lady Bennett in Fortier’s Jewelers, we walked in. Emma waited by the door while Phyllida and I stood on either side of her. “Lady Bennett,” I said.

We curtsied and the shop assistant behind the counter bowed. “What brings you in here, Mrs. Monthalf? Shopping for jewelry?” Lark Bennett asked.

“Wouldn’t that be fun,” I said, trying to hide my alarm at spending money on anything in so expensive a shop. “What are you getting?”

“The clasp on this necklace repaired.” It was a pearl choker with diamonds strung through in an intricate pattern. “I want to take it with me tomorrow. Thank you, Henry. The work is perfect.” She pronounced his name in the French fashion.

“Thank you, madame.” The clerk had a slight French accent.

“Is Fortier’s a French company?” I asked.

“It was, but we’ve been here since the Revolution.” He gave me a small smile. “Everyone who could afford our workmanship came to England.”

Lark Bennett picked up the small pile of bags and the hatbox she was carrying. The gold writing spelling out Gautier’s flashed in a sunbeam from the window.

The bell over the door chimed, and from years of habit, I turned to see who’d come in. Lady Peters strode three steps into the shop, blinking in the change from brilliant sunshine to shadow. As soon as she saw us she froze. An instant later her face took on a welcoming smile. I wondered if I was the only one who saw the look of fear or dismay cross her features before she set her expression in place and stepped forward to greet us. She’d worn a similar expression when Lady Bennett had called on her the day we’d been there.

We went through a round of curtsies before I said, “Lady Peters, have you ever seen anything as exquisite as Lady Bennett’s necklace?”

“I’ve seen her wear it before. Truly lovely.” Rosamond Peters’s tone was smooth but less than enthusiastic.

“Have you been lucky in your purchases today?” Phyllida asked.

“So fortunate my maid has had to load them into a carriage, since she couldn’t carry any more. So many last-minute details before going to the country. And you?” Lady Peters, too, carried a hatbox from Gautier’s.

Phyllida drew a cloak of highborn aristocratic reserve about her. “We’ve barely started. Mrs. Monthalf hasn’t been shopping in London before, so we are making a circuit to familiarize her with all the city has to offer.”

Well done, Phyllida. She was growing into her role. “Are you shopping here today, Lady Peters?” I asked.

“I’m dropping off a chain to have the clasp repaired.” Lady Peters brought out a gold chain with a gold heart-shaped pendant. On the pendant was etched a finely detailed rose.

Phyllida oohed and aahed over the jewelry. The shop owner took the chain and logged it into the large book on the counter before he handed the pendant back to Lady Peters.

“You should hold on to this, milady,” he said with a small bow.

“Yes, of course.” Lady Peters glanced around. “Oh, Lady Bennett, I see we shop at the same milliner.”

Their hatboxes were identical. “Is there anyone in London designing prettier hats?” Lady Bennett asked.

“And a lady can never have too many hats.” Lady Peters dropped her pendant into her purse. “I’ll see you ladies tomorrow at Paddington Station.”

After a round of curtsies, we followed Lady Peters out into the wilting sunshine. She walked away before Lady Bennett said, “I’m off home. Enjoy your shopping, although I imagine this doesn’t rival the markets in Singapore. My sister says the Chinese market there has better silks and spices than we get in London.”

“I haven’t seen any silks or spices here to make a comparison,” I replied. “Good day.” I didn’t want to fake knowledge of the Far East that I lacked. Lady Bennett would no doubt check every statement I made when her sister arrived.

Free of the two ladies, we continued down Regent Street to Piccadilly. When we passed Hatchard’s bookshop, I looked in the windows with the eye of a rival proprietor, but I didn’t dare go in. The staff at Hatchard’s knew me as Georgia Fenchurch of Fenchurch’s Books.

We followed Piccadilly to Old Bond Street, looking in the windows of more shoemakers, hosiers, and glovers. I noticed two more hatboxes from Gautier’s carried past us, drawing Phyllida’s attention. She led us into shop after shop as we climbed the grade up to New Bond Street. I bought a pair of short white kid gloves and some sheer hose. Emma nudged me as a signal to buy her some thin white stockings.

When we reached the milliner’s window, Phyllida enthusiastically rushed us into Gautier’s and found a straw hat with a wide, floppy brim that made her look rakish. Gautier packed her purchase in the same eight-sided brown carton, flat on the top and bottom, that we’d seen several times that day. The only flourish to the container was the name of the store printed on the sides in shiny gold.

We walked up the sidewalk slowly, while I looked for a hire carriage to take us back to the town house. Behind me, I heard a yelp. I turned to see Emma fall to the ground, her packages flying. A young man scooped up Phyllida’s hatbox by the string handle and ran down an alley.

“Stop him!” Phyllida screamed. “Help! Police! Somebody stop him!”

There were few pedestrians out in the heat and Phyllida loved that hat. Abandoning my role as a well-bred lady, I held up my skirt and took off down the alley.

The young man was fast, but he wasn’t clever. I saw him look over his shoulder at me and dart off to his left. Thanks to Emma’s childhood training in the East End, in the cool of the mornings she’d dragged me down every shortcut between the town house and my bookshop. I knew he’d gone down a dead end.

I hurried to the turnoff and then slowed down, catching my breath. Our robber was trying to pull off the grilles over doors and windows, searching in vain for an escape.

Emma ran up to my side, her plain black uniform dirty and her hem torn.

“You okay?” I asked, stalking toward the foolish young man.

She nodded and moved farther to my left. Her knife was in her hand.

The young man saw the knife, dropped the hatbox, and tried to run past us. Emma made a feint with her knife while I slammed my fist into his face. He went down in a sobbing heap.

Emma put her knife away and retrieved the hatbox while I kept a hand on his collar. “What do you want with a hat?”

“The gent said to steal a case jest like that ’un from the lady and bring it to him. ’E didn’t say nothin’ about being chased by ladies with knives.”

“What gent?”

“Dunno. Kept his face hidden behind a white cloth.” The robber wiped at his bloody nose with a dirty kerchief.

“So he was dressed as a gentleman?”

“More like a shop assistant, but real clean.”

Looking at the young man, I wondered what his standards were for clean. “Did he pay you?”

“Half.”

“Well, that’s all you’ll be getting,” Emma said cheerfully as she helped me pull him to his feet and march him between us back to New Bond Street.

The bobby on the beat turned away from Phyllida and came down the alley to meet us. He put handcuffs on the prisoner and marched him toward the nearest station, saying, “You ladies shouldn’t chase after criminals on your own. You might get hurt.”