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“Doubtless, doubtless,” Bartlebee said. “But just to make you feel better, miss, I will tell you that Wiglet here married Betsy as does behind the livery stables on Pond Street. Now there, does that make you feel better?”

Isidore looked at Wiglet. He had no teeth and a leer.

“Did I express any sorrow over your lonely condition?” Isidore asked, politely enough. “If I did, I assure you it was an error.”

“Enough of this charmin’ banter,” Bartlebee said. “We’ll be having a jewelry box, since you was daft enough to bring it into the shit, if you’ll pardon my plain speaking. And just as payment for this delightful little chat, we’ll be having the large box, not the smaller.”

“The duke will have you all thrown into jail,” the dowager half screamed. Her fingers were digging into Isidore’s arm like small talons.

“That he won’t,” Bartlebee said. “I’m happy to reassure you there. Where the Dead Watch go, nobody sees. That makes us above the law, as they’ll be happy to tell you in London.”

“No one is above the law!” Isidore snapped. If she could just keep the conversation going. Simeon would finish his letter. Honeydew would return. She took another cautious step to the side, dragging the dowager with her. She almost had her back to the ballroom door.

“Now if I murdered someone,” Bartlebee said, with that horrible mirthless grin of his, “I reckon you’d be right. A parish constable might knock on my door, if he could find it, of course. It’s such a temptation sometimes. All you’d have to do was tip someone into a pit, and they’d fall into a permanent sleep due to a sad, sad accident. Ain’t it a temptation, lads?”

Only Wiglet answered: “Ay!” Bartlebee was grinning, but his other man didn’t look as comfortable.

“You should all be ashamed of yourselves,” Isidore said, schooling her voice to a clear, high severity. “We’re paying you a fair and honest wage for the work you’re doing. And how do you repay us? By frightening an old woman half to death.”

As if on cue, the dowager groaned and sank against Isidore’s shoulder, though Isidore noticed that her mother-in-law kept tight hold of her jewelry box. Now the door was directly behind her.

Bartlebee stepped smartly forward, and she realized that she was going to have to give up the jewelry box, that all the jewels in the world weren’t worth one touch from his finger. She couldn’t turn around to open the door without letting go of the dowager, or letting go of the box.

Just then she heard a voice behind her, like a thread of sound. “Isidore.”

It was Simeon. The door at her back started to ease open. Bartlebee was reaching toward her, grinning; any moment he would see the opening door.

Without hesitation, Isidore shrieked “Now!” Then she lifted the box she held and dashed it to the ground at her feet. With an ear-splitting crack, it opened and jewels skidded across the floor.

The door behind her whipped back and Simeon leapt forward. He landed between his mother and the men, standing in the midst of a pile of dusty-looking necklaces.

“What is this, gentlemen?” Simeon asked. His voice was as calm as if he were conversing with Honeydew.

Isidore’s heart skipped a beat when she saw that Bartlebee was utterly unafraid. And his men stopped looking abashed as their eyes brightened at the prospect of a fight.

“It’s the duke himself!” Bartlebee said, delighted. “See, gents, he’ll know about the law of the land. He’ll know that we’re doing a loathsome job, and all we’re asking for is a bit of a treat. And as we just told the duchess here, we might not be able to finish the job if we’re not given something to lighten our labor.” He suddenly kicked Wiglet, who was on his knees, scrabbling amongst the jewels. “Hist now! There’s no need to act undignified-like!”

It all happened so fast that Isidore couldn’t follow it. One moment Simeon was standing perfectly still before her, and the next moment his foot connected with Wiglet’s jaw. He whirled, and Bartlebee’s head snapped back. He whirled once more, and kicked the third man in the jaw.

He turned to his mother. “I do apologize, Your Grace,” he said, his voice as tranquil as ever. “I was reluctant to use my fists given their lack of cleanliness. I hope my delayed arrival didn’t cause you any undue alarm.”

All three men were on the ground. Wiglet and the other were struggling into a sitting position, but Bartlebee just lay sprawled on the marble, mouth open and eyes closed. Unconscious, he didn’t look nearly as menacing. His jaw was narrow and his teeth jutted up like white turnips overgrowing their planting.

“Dear me,” Simeon said. “I do believe that Mr. Bartlebee may have suffered neck damage. It’s always a possibility with Eastern arts of defense.” He prodded Bartlebee with his foot and the man groaned but didn’t move. “He seems to be alive,” Simeon said, turning to the two men climbing to their feet. “As I believe he himself said, it’s so easy to kill people. I always have to remind myself not to strike too hard.”

“You’ll have to make a note of it,” Isidore said, keeping laughter and triumph out of her voice with an effort. Then she readjusted her hold on the dowager, who was still sagging against her, and skewered Wiglet and his compatriot with her glare. “You’re lucky the duke didn’t lame you for life after the way you frightened his mother!”

“Bartlebee will be dazed for a time,” Simeon told them. His tone was quiet, not at all triumphant. “I suggest you leave him here and finish the task you have at hand.”

Wiglet hesitated.

“Need I repeat myself?” Simeon’s voice was utterly calm, but Wiglet quailed as if he’d leveled a weapon at them.

He swallowed and then opened his hand. A dusky ruby rolled onto the ground and bounced once, rolling to a rest next to Bartlebee’s elbow.

“Are you second in command?” Simeon asked.

“Yeth,” Wiglet said. His lip was already swollen to twice normal size.