I sigh dramatically, which also makes Catriona’s boobs bounce. “I have made a dreadful mistake, Mr. Dover. Sold something I ought to have kept. It is most vexing.” I raise my eyes to meet his. “I do hope you have not sold it yet.”
“I hope I haven’t either.”
He bustles me in and holds out his hands. It takes me a moment to realize he wants my coat. It’s not nearly warm enough in here to take it off. But it isn’t my comfort he’s looking after; it’s his view. I hand over the coat.
As he hangs it up, I glance around the shop. It matches my mental image better than he does. I don’t see any jewelry—with the glass windows, he probably locks it up. Mostly it’s the vintage equivalent of a modern pawnshop. Instead of used electronics and jewelry, there are everyday items like clothing and tools. Whatever people had of value that they needed to sell, whether it was to get through to the next paycheck or to fund a bad habit. I’d smelled a distinctive sweet smoke outside, as if one of the surrounding buildings housed yet another Victorian melodrama staple: the opium den.
As I move inside, I see what looks like a bank-teller counter, complete with dividers. To give a modicum of privacy for those embarrassed by their need. There are three sections, as if for three clerks, each with a pen and a pad of pawn tickets.
“Now what did you sell me that you need back?” he asks.
“A locket. It’s rather unique.”
“Ah, the one with the rod of Asclepius. You’re lucky, Catherine. I had a student from the medical school in here eyeing it. Said he’d return when he had the money. Offered me a pound for it.”
I presume Victorian pawnshops operate like modern ones. You can either sell them something or you can leave it as security on a loan, which you have a certain amount of time to redeem with interest, and after that, the broker can sell it. Catriona would go for option one—the straight-up sale. This guy’s telling me I need to pay more than “purchase plus interest.” He has a buyer lined up. Or so he claims, but both Catriona and I have seen this stunt before.
“Oh…” I say. “That is far more than I can afford.” I sigh, letting my breasts sigh with me. “Such a shame. I was prepared to pay nearly twice what you gave me.” I glance toward my coat. “But I understand that you must see to your business interests, and I do not fault you for it.” I slide a look his way. “Unless you are still willing to sell it to me for less than he offered. It is a firm sale, payable this very night, not reliant upon a poor student’s return, a student who, might I guess, was here because he lacked money?”
Dover smiles and dips his chin. “You have a point, Miss Catherine. A very fine point. So rare to see a pretty girl with such a sharp mind.”
“Not as rare as you might think, sir. It simply behooves some of us to play to the fool. I would rather not.”
Another dip of his chin. “I admire you for it. I believe we can come to some arrangement. Let us open negotiations at one pound.”