“No. He said she claimed to be fetching a package for her mistress. It was dismissed.”
“And his loyalty?”
“Proven. He knows the lines not to cross.”
“Should we confirm her name?”
“Not yet,” the leader said. If she’s what she claims to be, there’s no need to pique her interest. If not, she’ll come closer.”
“Curiosity,” murmured the first speaker, “is like rot. Left unchecked, it spreads.”
“And our long-term goals?”
The leader’s voice was low but commanding. “Order. Stability. But only through the hands we choose. These governments were not built for permanence. They were built for profit. We will give them both at a cost they do not yet recognize.”
“And when they do?”
“It will be too late.”
The others murmured in agreement.
“Sommer-by-the-Sea is small, but it has roots in shipping and the routes we need. The influence we can mold. The Seatongirl is a distraction, not a threat. And Seaton has nearly outlived his usefulness.”
“Wilkinson will be in place by the end of the season.”
A silence followed, thin, watchful, and calculated.
“I still question the wisdom of it,” came a new voice, sharp and clipped. “Wilkinson is too self-assured. He makes errors and covers them with arrogance.”
“He’s useful,” another replied. “He thinks he’s climbing the ranks. Let him. So long as he never learns who’s holding the ladder.”
The leader shifted slightly. “We’ve kept tighter men for less. If he fails to deliver the town’s ports, we’ll remove him.”
“And Barrington?” someone else asked. “He’s cost us two courier lines and a contact in the Ministry. His Brigade is becoming more than inconvenient.”
“Barrington won’t stop,” the elder rasped. “He’s a relic of another age, honor, duty, all that rot.”
“Should we pull out of Sommer-by-the-Sea?”
“No,” the leader said. “It’s already in motion. The girl, the debts, the docks. We’re closer here than most realize. Let them underestimate us.”
The candle hissed louder. Then, the light was snuffed, and the room returned to silence.
Across town, in a house full of windows and morning light, Mary-Ann sat with a teacup cooling in her hand, unaware of the meeting held in shadows or the ways in which her name had nearly been spoken.
Her chair had been angled just enough to catch the morning light, but it did little to lift the unease curling low in her stomach. The scent of toast and orange marmalade lingered in the air, untouched. A maid moved quietly in the background, straightening the silver at the sideboard. Across the table, a place had been set for her father, though he hadn’t yet appeared.
The tick of the longcase clock in the hallway marked each moment with practiced civility, but the silence between ticks stretched oddly this morning. She used to relish mornings like this, quiet and predictable, but now the quiet felt deceptive.
Lydia sat opposite her, sipping tea with calculated leisure. “Will your father be joining us?”
“Not this morning.” Mary-Ann didn’t elaborate.
“A shame. I was hoping he might be convinced to walk with us today. The weather is fine, and a little sea air does wonders for the nerves.”
Mary-Ann smiled, not kindly. “You may walk without me if you need some air.”
Lydia blinked, caught off guard. “Oh. I’d only meant, well, it might be more cheerful if we—”
