This could be very useful, the cat pointed out.
Nigel frowned. “But if I use them, they’ll know we were the ones that took them.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Let me think about this. If we use them, it has to appear that we had them before the real Nina appeared. Now how can I do this. . . .”
They all waited, Ninette holding her breath. Over the time that she had been here, she had seen Nigel say something about “thinking,” watched him close his eyes, then come up with something brilliant roughly three times. It had become apparent after the second time that he was not a successful impresario by accident, nor because he used his magic to make himself one. He was a shrewd businessman, with, when he needed to invoke it, the ability to see a way to do something that no one else would have thought of—or at least no one else would have thought of in as short a period of time.
The others all must have been used to this as well, since everyone, even Wolf, remained completely quiet. Traffic noise from the street below came in through the open windows, filtered slightly by the gold gauze curtains there that kept the insects out. A newsboy cried the latest edition from the corner, and that was when Nigel opened his eyes and smiled.
It was to Jonathon he turned.
“I need one of our smartest boys,” he said. “Two if you can manage it. They have to be clever, a bit manipulative and sly. Baker Street Irregulars, if you will.”
Jonathon grinned unexpectedly. “I know just the lads,” he said. “I use them myself as often as I can, and I thought—well, this is for later, but I thought we might put them in the act. I could do with a couple of apprentices.”
Nigel tilted his head to the side. “You’ve always said you didn’t need—”
“That was when I was going to be traveling about all the time,” Nigel interrupted, flushing. “I didn’t want to have to keep track of a damned boy on trains and boarding houses and strange theaters. But when this scheme of yours blossoms, we’ll be a repertory company. The whole theater will be keeping an eye on them. Never mind that now, you want Scott Merry and Stubbins. They’re thick as thieves, those two, and smart as they come. Scotty’s the older by about a year. What’s the plan for them?”
Nigel was already separating out the material into four piles. “I am going to want them to somehow sneak these into the files at the four major newspapers. I want it to look as if, when we first engaged Ninette, that I sent these publicity materials to the newspapers. By then, the whole brouhaha of her being found on the shore had died down, so this would have been by way of a reminder to them that she was a great dancer on the Continent.” He removed folders from a drawer of his desk and wrote Nina’s name, the name of the theater, the words Biographical Material, and a date on each of them, then filled each folder from one of his piles.
Jonathon shook his head in admiration, and Arthur beamed. “Brilliant!” the musician crowed. “And when we go to those papers to say that we have no idea where this imposter came from—”
“They will go to their files, find this, and be convinced we gave it to them long before this woman appeared.” Nigel beamed himself. It was an infernally clever idea. “Now, I’ll want the boys to put these in almost the right place, so that it’s logical to have been overlooked.”
“Let me get them,” Jonathon said, and took off. He returned with two boys somewhere between twelve and fourteen years old. One, taller, with black hair, was obviously “Scotty,” which meant the other, a smaller, darker boy with an innocent face until you saw the gleam of mischief in his eyes, must be “Stubbins.”
Nigel explained what he wanted, and, to Ninette’s astonishment, why he wanted it, although he didn’t reveal that Ninette was the imposter herself, nor that the materials were stolen.
“Now maybe this seems dishonest—” Nigel concluded, sounding doubtful.
Scotty snorted. “Bloody well it don’t,” he replied. “No reason t’hev given ’em this stuff before the big show, right, guv’nor? ’Cept now we gots this gel yappin’ ’bout how she’s the real Ma’mselle. An’ if we gives ’em the papers now, they says, ‘well, y’coulda just got all this anywhere! ’ an’ we’re still lookin’ bad. But if they gots the papers and thinks they gots ’em afore this gel shows up, then Bob’s yer uncle!”
“Ain’t dishonest,” Stubbins mumbled. “Jest puttin’ things roight.” He cast a sideling glance at Ninette. “Ma’mselle Nina’s one uv us, ain’t she? So we gotter take care uv ’er.”
“All right then!” Nigel said brightly. “Here’s the papers, and here’s a few shillings for you two—it will probably take all day, and you’ll need some luncheon, and money for the ’bus. Off you go! Report directly to me soon as you get back!”
Ninette smiled to herself, knowing that Nigel had given the boys at least twice as much as they needed, and had given them no deadline to meet. He had, in essence, awarded them with a bit of a holiday and the money to make it a rather jolly one at that. She felt terribly touched by Stubbins’ mumbled assertion that she was “one of them” too.
“Do you think they can manage it?” she asked Jonathon, who rolled his eyes and laughed.
“Those two? They mastered my cabinet in an hour, and they know more sleight-of-hand tricks than any boys their age should command. It is a good thing that they are fundamentally honest, because they could pick a man’s pocket while he stood there looking at them.”
“I expect the shillings will run out about dark,” Nigel said comfortably. “Expect them back then.”
Scotty scrupulously divided the coins between the two of them before they left by the stage door, and they both took a moment to gloat over the windfall. “Cor, Scotty!” Stubbins said with enthusiasm. “Think on it! There’s ices, an’ bullseyes, an’ Kendal Mint Cake, an’ catapults each, an’ we kin go to th’ Tower an’—”
“Job first,” Scotty said solemnly. “We gotter do this fast an’ smart. Like Sherlock Holmes’ boys!”
“Baker Street ’regulars,” supplied Stubbins, who read as much or more than Scotty did.
“Right. So t’ be smart, we shouldn’t oughta do the same thing twice. So how kin we do this four dif’rent ways?”
All the way to the first newspaper office, sitting up on the top of an omnibus, the two plotted and planned like the pair of old campaigners they were. Both had come to the theater off the street as crossing-sweepers; a place like a theater always had need of honest and reliable errand-runners, and the old fellow at the stage door had been directed to find a couple. Both took all their money home to share with enormous families; both were acutely aware of how lucky they were to be where they were. Master Nigel made sure everyone in the theater got fair wages, he didn’t demand a share of tips, and he regularly put things in the way of those that needed them. Whether or not he realized it, Master Nigel had engendered intense loyalty in his little fiefdom; there was not a man or woman in that theater who would not have stood between Master Nigel and a runaway elephant. Having been singled out for particular service made the two boys feel rather like a pair of King Arthur’s knights, right out of the panto.
This was made even more acute by the fact that the job was to be done for Ma’mselle Nina. Now, there were plenty of acts that had passed through the Imperial acting like they were royalty. Not Ma’mselle. She was, as Scotty put it, “a right’un.” Treated everyone fair, said “If you please,” and “Thank you,” never looked down her nose at anyone, and when she wanted something out of the ordinary, you knew there was going to be an extra penny in it for you. Everyone knew she was going to be the star turn when the Big Show got trotted out, but she never acted like she thought it was her due. Truth to tell, both Scotty and Stubbins were just a little bit in love with her. Who wouldn’t be? She looked like a little china doll, pretty as a fairy, and nice as nice . . .