Maggs grins, leans over the table and punches her softly on the chin. ‘You’re so naïve sometimes. Still so much to learn. A fancy jeweller will notice if one of the girls sticks a ruby ring where an emerald is supposed to be. This is why we’re sending you: you’ve got an eye for the best goods. You identify the choicest pieces first of all, and Solly finds you a match as close as he can make it. That way, it won’t be so obvious when you switch them.’

‘I see it now.’

‘Thought you would. Anyway, Annie wants you there right away. You’re back with us, Ruby.’

‘Now?’

‘Yes, now.’ Solly interrupts. ‘You’ll have a clear view of the jewellery in decent daylight. If you wait until later, it’ll be too dark. You’ve a good eye, like Maggs says. Make use of it, little Magpie.’

An opportunity to prove herself. To be back with them all again. To have them talk to her, rather than ignore her. Have Solly call her Magpie. And no grovelling. ‘Alright.’

She will visit Daisy afterwards. Or maybe tomorrow.

‘Grace has sent you a decent coat to wear,’ Maggs says, nodding at the biscuit-coloured creation draped over Solly’s chair. ‘Fetch yourself a string of pearls from downstairs. Elegant but not too flash. This is upmarket.’

It is upmarket. She can tell that as soon as she stops outside the big bow window. It sparkles. There are only a few choice pieces on display, and everything that she examines is blinking back at her – even through the glass.

She stifles a yawn, curling her gloved hand into a ball as she holds it to her mouth. She can be a lady, when she wants to be – one who has not had much sleep recently and has filled her stomach with nothing but cake this morning. Someone like Harriet Littlemore, who sleeps in a chaste and comfortable bed, who offers her food so easily because she has never known what it is like to go for days without, and who frets about a single trinket she has lifted. Ruby was nicking items like that before she was tall enough to see over the shop counter.

She straightens her shoulders trying to recall the last time she was ever so innocent. Too long ago. Before Solly sent her to Ray the Rat. It’s hard to remember.

Instead, she pictures Harriet’s face. The way her lips part a little, and how she grows slightly short of breath when she becomes anxious or nervous. Sweet, really.

Harriet Littlemore is not only sweet; she is useful.

Ruby inclines her head towards the shop window in a slow and graceful movement. She widens the back of her throat, ready to stretch the vowel sounds when she speaks.