‘Another twenty-five then, and that’s your lot. And don’t bring me anything else until I’ve got those sapphires off my hands.’ There was the sound of a key grating in a lock. Quinn nodded to Gregor, let go of Lina’s hand and the two men shouldered through the door, pistols in their hands.
‘What the—’
‘You are under arrest on suspicion of the theft of the Tolhurst Sapphire and of a diamond ring belonging to Mr Vasiliev. I am Sir James Warren, magistrate. Do not attempt to resist.’
Squashed behind Mr Trevor, Lina could see the pawnbroker throwing up his hands, his face bitter with anger as he glared at Reginald Tolhurst. ‘You cack-handed idiot!’
Tolhurst looked around wildly then, to Lina’s amazement, sank down on a chair, buried his face in his hands and burst into sobs. ‘Where is the Tolhurst Sapphire?’ demanded Sir James.
The pawnbroker rummaged in his safe, which stood with the door swinging open, and came out with a small bag. He tipped it out into the magistrate’s hand and they all stared at the deep blue stone burning with cold fire in the palm of his hand.
‘And the ring?’ Quinn asked. The man produced a ring, its stone the exact replica of the unmounted one except, seeing them together, there seemed something less vivid about the stone in the ring to Lina’s untutored eye.
‘Who brought you these?’
‘He did—Reginald Tolhurst. Brought me the genuine article a month ago and I bought it in all good faith,’ the man said. The magistrate snorted. ‘Then he turns up with this paste version, saying he’d substituted it when he stole the real thing and now his father’s died and he daren’t have it found to be a fake. And the next thing I knows, the papers are full of the ruddy Tolhurst Sapphire.’
‘It did not occur to you that an innocent young woman was being accused of stealing something that was in your safe?’ Quinn’s voice was like ice.
‘Just some bawd, weren’t it?’ the pawnbroker said and the next moment was flat on his back on the rag rug in front of the fire.
‘My lord! We need him with his jaw unbroken to give evidence,’ Sir James said. He produced his card case, scribbled a note and passed it to Mr Trevor. ‘Perhaps you would be so good as to take the hackney to Bow Street and send me three Runners and a secure wagon. We will have this place searched.’
Trevor hurried out and Gregor hauled the pawnbroker to his feet and set about tying him to a chair. ‘What about this one?’ He jerked his thumb at Tolhurst who looked up, his red-rimmed eyes glassy with fear
.
‘I am hoping he is going to make a run for it.’ Quinn ran a finger down the barrel of his pistol.
‘We must take him to Sir George and see what he wants done,’ the magistrate said with a warning shake of his head.
‘That is not justice.’
‘It is the best way to avoid scandal. I imagine Sir George will make his brother’s life hell for this—stealing his father’s ring, replacing it with paste and then stealing the paste version from his father’s hand as he lay dying so he might not be discovered? Despicable.’
‘It could have been murder, if Miss Shelley had been hanged,’ Quinn said. ‘I know a man who trades with the British penal colony in New South Wales. I will tell Sir George Tolhurst that he can arrange passage there for his brother or I will make a scandal that will rock the Tolhursts to their foundations.’
Reginald burst into tears again. Lina found she could not stand it. This pitiable excuse for a man had almost been the death of her, had given her weeks of fear and nightmares; now he was revealed as a pathetic, greedy, selfish creature not even worth hating.
She pushed the door open and stumbled out of the stuffy little parlour into the crowded shop. She wanted to run away, away from here, away from the torture of seeing Quinn every day. She wanted to go back to the peace of Dreycott Park, but she would not even be able to go to church or the village shop without running the gauntlet of hostile villagers.
She wanted her aunt and Katy and the other girls, but she knew now that their world would never be one she could be happy in. She wanted to go home to Martinsdene and find her father had forgiven her and that Meg and Bella were there, too, but she was certain he never would and that there was no one there for her now.
Lina knew she wanted Quinn as a starving woman wanted bread—not because it tasted good but because her life depended on it. But she could not have him. He did not love her and her soul would wither between the brief interludes when he came home to be kind to her, to rub the salt in her wounds. He would find adventure and interest and other women on his travels and then he would come home to a world of scholarship women were not allowed to share.
If she told him how she felt about him, she was certain those intervals at home would be few and far between. He was free and wild and independent and he could not change for her. Nor, she realised as she stared blankly at a bad oil painting in the gloom, would she want him to. To love someone truly was to love them as they were, not want to change them.
‘Lina?’ It was Quinn. He moved like a cat through the dark cluttered space and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes. Thank you. You have probably saved my life,’ she said, turning so that she was against his chest. It was weak and self-indulgent, but she thought she could stand there, hold him, hope for his embrace and he would suspect nothing but that she was overcome with relief and gratitude. Which she was, but it was neither that made her shed silent tears into the linen of his shirt. ‘I am sorry I did not trust you with the truth at first. What will happen when that Runner, Inchbold, finds out about this? He will know you deceived him.’
‘I will talk to him, apologise. I hope he will understand that it was a matter of life and death. With the true culprit identified and Sir James involved, he will see there was little choice.’
It would not be easy for him, she knew. Lina rested her hot cheek against Quinn’s shirtfront and imagined this proud man having to confess that he had lied to an officer of the law. It touched his honour. As she thought it he said, ‘Just Langdown to deal with and we can get married.’
Protesting about marriage was pointless; he was implacable, she could sense it. ‘Why must you risk your life?’
‘To draw a line, to retrieve what I lost ten years ago,’ he said. ‘Will you accept that, Celina, and not seek to persuade me against what I have to do?’