The Thief Taker by Janet Gleeson

over something—don’t know what—and suddenly went for me. Good job John were there to pull her off.” Unconsciously, the girl raised her hand to her neck, where Agnes caught sight of a livid red line.
    â€œDid Rose do that?”
    â€œYes,” snapped Nancy.
    â€œQuite a temper over an unmade bed.”
    Nancy shook her head. “Like I said, she were in a state. Probably thinking of going off.” Turning on her heels, she led the way up four flights of stairs to the garret. There were two attic rooms. “That there’s where Patsy sleeps,” said Nancy sourly, pointing to a door on the right. “This is ours.” She led the way into a narrow, drafty garret with sloping ceilings and exposed rafters. Agnes shivered, thinking of her own snug quarters in the basement, which were warmed by the kitchen range. “Her bed is there by the window, and mine here, next to the door. Doris’s is over there.” She signaled to a third bed a short distance away by the washstand. “I made Rose’s this morning—Doris and I took turns. Rose was never one for order, and if Mrs. Tooley comes up and sees the room in a state, all of us get a scolding.”
    Agnes looked down at the bed and its thin coverlet, imagining Rose half asleep first thing in the morning, her hair, the color and thickness of treacle, sprawled across the bolster. She walked to the casement window set into the eaves. The sky was fine and clear, with only the occasional strand of cloud marring the blue. She gazed out at the dome of St. Paul’s, squatting above the patchwork rooftops of Foster Lane and Cheapside; at the spires rearing above the mottled roofs; at the warren of alleys leading down to the river. The water looked glassy and still. Somewhere in this panorama of shadow and light was Rose. But where? What had lured her away? She did not believe Rose capable of murder and the robbery. She turned back to Nancy. “Where did Rose keep her things?”
    â€œIn here, like the rest of us,” said Nancy, throwing open the creaking doors of a small deal press cupboard painted a soft shade of green, and pointing to the uppermost shelf. “Those are hers.”
    Folded neatly was a meager assortment of clothes: a back-laced corset, a calico petticoat, a cotton slip, a patched underpetticoat, two pairs of yarn stockings, and two threadbare skirts and bodices, one of a dark blue woolen cloth, the other of yellow-and-green striped cotton. Agnes recognized these as Rose’s usual workday clothes. There was nothing more.
    Agnes pointed to the skirts and bodices. “As I recall, she had a Sunday gown of blue wool, did she not?”
    Nancy nodded. “I hadn’t looked afore now. And her cloak and bonnet and her best boots are gone. She must have been wearing them when she went out.”
    â€œShouldn’t there be more besides what is here? Underclothes and a nightgown? They aren’t here.”
    â€œPerhaps. I hadn’t thought.”
    â€œAnd had she no personal possessions—no letters, papers, keepsakes from her family?”
    â€œIf she had, I never saw ’em.”
    â€œShe must have had some things,” said Agnes carefully. “If nothing’s here she must have taken them with her, which suggests she did not intend to return.” She looked at the scant belongings on Rose’s shelf, and then at the fuller shelves lower down—presumably Nancy’s and Doris’s possessions. All were neatly stowed in deference to Mrs. Tooley’s inspections. She raised her eyes and caught a strange look on Nancy’s face. “What is it? Has something else gone?”
    â€œNo, Mrs. Meadowes. Nothing from what I can see. It’s only you asking me made me recall there was something in particular that was somewhere else. I haven’t looked to see if that’s gone. I pray you won’t scold me for not mentioning it sooner.”
    â€œWhat