Chapter Twenty-Seven
Violet fastened the necklace and tucked the charm inside her shirt. It wasn’t the only thing tucked inside her shirt tonight. Freddy Stanhope’s drawings were there, too, hopefully not getting too creased.
She wound the black neckcloth around her throat, shoved the ends down the front of her coat, and checked the sky. Almost fully dark.
Ten minutes later, Violet slipped out of her window. She flew over St. James’s Square, over Piccadilly, and swooped down to land on a roof high above Hanover Square.
She leaned against a chimney and waited to see whether Saint Abbishaw would creep into his father’s house, but what she saw instead was him slipping out through a side door. He hurried across the square, a valise clasped to his chest.
Violet waited for Wintersmith to em
