“It matters.”
“And what’s in it for me?”
Emil had anticipated the question. “The building’s right next to one of yours. You’ve got a vested interest in keeping your neighbors in line. Might be worth knowing who’s running a racket next door.”
They locked eyes. Nothing more needed to be said. Both men knew exactly how Gunn handled uncooperative neighbors—they didn’t stay neighbors for long.
Another pause. Then a shrug. “Fine. I’ll make a call. But no guarantees when they’ll arrive.”
Relief flooded through Emil’s chest. He rose, hand extended. “Thank you.”
Gunn didn’t take it. “Don’t you come knocking if this all goes sideways. You’ve used your favor.”
Emil let the hand drop. “I know.”
As he stepped out into the chill morning air, he had no job, no promise of forgiveness, and no idea what kind of welcome he’d find at Olive’s door.
But if nothing else, she wouldn’t be evicted. She’d have time. Space. Safety.
At least he could do that for her.
Chapter 27
Olive was washing the breakfast bowls when a knock rattled the door. Emil. Her heart leapt before reason clawed it back into place. It wasn’t Emil. It couldn’t be. Not only would he have had to ring the bell at the front door, but there was no reason for him to call at such an early hour. No reason to call at all. Most likely, it was a kind neighbor bringing up the milk from the stoop. Wiping her hands on a dish towel, she slipped from the kitchenette and opened the door. Mrs. Drake stood on the threshold, a paper clutched between her gloved talons.
“Miss Becket.”
“Good morning,” Olive said faintly. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“My dear husband has entrusted me with the task of delivering notices about the rent increase.”
Olive took the proffered paper and unfolded it. Her eyes skimmed the words, then the numbers. The strength drained from her legs, and a wave of nausea surged upward. She gripped the doorframe to steady herself.
“But this…” She forced herself to look Mrs. Drake in the eye. “This is nearly double.”
“It’s quite correct,” Mrs. Drake said primly. “It’s what the market commands. We’ve indulged your mother’s...situation for long enough. We have our own household to run, Miss Becket, and kindness, while fashionable, is rarely profitable. I’m sure you understand.”
Olive flicked a glance over her shoulder. Her mother’s faint voice echoed from the bathroom, where she was helping Robbie wash his face. They hadn’t heard Mrs. Drake’s arrival. Good. They mustn't. She would fix everything herself, as she always did.
“If you could just give me some time,” she said quickly, her voice trembling. “A few weeks. I’ll take on more lessons, but?—”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. The new rate is effective immediately.”
“I…I don’t have enough. Not yet.”
She gave Olive an appraising look. “Perhaps that young man who comes around could contribute. He certainly has the means for gifts, doesn’t he?”
Olive struggled to speak. “He won’t be coming around anymore.”
“What a shame. But really, dear, what did you think would happen, giving away the milk for free?”
Heat rose to Olive’s cheeks, but she bit down her retort. It would only feed Mrs. Drake’s appetite for shame. “I have ten dollars I could spare,” she said.
“Oh no, that’s not nearly enough.” Mrs. Drake pursed her lips and pretended to think. “There is another option, of course. The boy.”
“Robbie must stay in school.”
“I’m not a monster, Miss Becket. I didn’t say he should quit altogether.” Mrs. Drake gave her an exasperated look. “I’m offering a short arrangement until you’ve covered the difference. My husband’s masonry could use a strong pair of hands. Surely a few hours of honest labor would do him more good than loitering around the shops during school hours.”
