"I observe everyone, Grimsby."
"Scientifically and neutrally, as Your Grace mentioned several times. With increasing emphasis."
Alaric finally turned his head to look at his valet, who was already dressed and pressed despite the ungodly hour. "What time is it?"
"Half past four, Your Grace."
"Why are you awake?"
"Your Grace has been sighing dramatically every three minutes for the past hour. It seemed prudent to be available in case Your Grace decided to do something inadvisable."
"I don't sigh dramatically."
"Your Grace just did it again."
"That was breathing with emphasis."
"If Your Grace says so." Grimsby moved to the window, pulling back the curtain slightly. "The bakery appears to be active, if Your Grace is interested in that sort of information."
"Why would I be interested in the operational hours of a bakery?"
"No reason at all, Your Grace. I merely thought Your Grace might want to know, given your sudden interest in local commerce."
Alaric sat up, running a hand through his hair. "I should review the ledgers."
"An excellent idea, Your Grace."
"The irregularities won't identify themselves."
"Indeed not, Your Grace."
"Financial accountability is crucial for proper estate management."
"Absolutely, Your Grace."
"I'll start immediately."
"The ledgers are on the desk, Your Grace."
Alaric stood, walked to the desk, looked at the ledgers, then walked to the window. The bakery was indeed lit, warm golden light spilling onto the snow-covered street. He could see movement inside—just shadows, but one shadow moved with particular purpose and efficiency.
"The thing is, Grimsby, as the new steward, I should probably understand all aspects of village life."
"Very thorough of Your Grace."
"Including local businesses."
"Naturally."
"And their operational patterns."
"Essential information for estate management."
"So really, investigating why the bakery opens at such an unusual hour would be part of my duties."
"Your Grace's dedication to duty is admirable."
"It has nothing to do with Mrs. Whitby."
