“Yes. She was a foundling. If memory serves. I cannot seem to place her, or the order of events… but her mother, her mother was here this evening.”
The blonde woman with the sad face in the corner. It had to be her.
“I think I saw her earlier,” I said.
“I don’t remember seeing anybody like that,” Vic said.
“There was. Some situation or another. I cannot recall. Perhaps there was. Some monetary exchange for her child? The years have not been kind to me, and some information still escapes these walls, drafty as they are.”
“You investigate the girl, then,” I said, to Vic. “I’ll go ransack the Duke’s guestroom.”
Vic nodded.
“Be careful,” he said, and grabbed my hand.
It was a momentary squeeze, but it felt as if a thousand bricks had fallen down between us…
Chapter 8
The Duke was staying off the Pink Staircase, near the other guest rooms. I had slipped a skeleton key from the wait-staff, watching the present-Vic try his game out on the blonde soup girl. She seemed to be flattered, but also stonewalling him. Why did I feel a little twinge of jealousy watching him talk to her?
There was no time to be jealous of echoes. I scurried like a rat against the walls, avoiding other servants and party-goers, accidentally getting sidetracked into helping empty a bedpan. I knew it was only echo urine, but I still hated the smell of it on my hands and scrubbed the back of my fist under boiling-hot water for what felt like ages.
Finally, the coast was clear. A chime from the grandfather clock upstairs was resounding across the house, and I slipped the key from my pocket and into the lock during a broad bell chime, then fit myself in sideways and carefully closed the door behind me, leaning it to.
The Duke had travelled with most of his things. This wasn’t at all surprising. I found the books for Ar-Trem open on the desk. It seemed extremely suspicious. I opened the ledgers and paged through them. They were handwritten—clearly copied from something else, with no marks or bruises or scribbles. Everything seemed clean.
I stepped back and thought about this. Why would the Duke go to all the trouble of leaving a ledger out on the desk, where any servant could see it? He either thought we would be too stupid to read or knew that there was nothing incriminating in it. And if any of us had been sent by Tremblay, on recon… well, we might be stupid enough to just check and then leave, believing nothing was amiss…
I tore open his steamer trunk, heaving and hauling. Soon enough, I’d found a small black leather book in the bottom, wrapped in what looked like soiled laundry. I paged through it. There were dates—export amounts—locations dropped—and products sourced. If my shorthand was correct—and I knew it was likely—the metal trade had all but dried up, and the mines were nothing but money sinks. How, then, were the books so squeaky clean on the table?
There was a noise behind me, and I whirled, startled.
Vic stared down at me, a raccoon cap atop his head.
“How-dee, little lady,” he said. “What you got there?”
“I. Uh. I tripped,” I said. “Fell into the steamer, and everything fell out. I was just putting everything back.”
“Is that so?” he asked, and his voice was calming. I could feel something coming from him—that seductive glamour, that echoing pulse I could feel from Eddie, and I fought against it.
“I could use your help,” I said. My breathing was getting heavy. There was something to the way Vic was sauntering, the way he was staring at me, that was peeling my defenses back one by one. “Putting everything up.”
“I bet you could,” he said. “Why don’t you stand up and show me what you got clutched in your hand.”
“It’s nothing,” I said.
“I bet it’s a ledger, ain’t it,” Vic said. “A ledger showing what Duke Arden’s really up to.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I can’t read.”
“I watched you,” he said. “I watched you ever since I first showed up. A woman like you? She’s something special, I said to myself.”
“I’m just a servant,” I said. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“Me neither, darling,” he said. “I just want a kiss.”
I found myself standing upright, the steamer trunk forgotten, as Vic moved over to me. His hands—calloused, rough—grabbed my own, and he wrapped his arms around me. I could feel my body relax into his grip, and he moved forward, nuzzling my neck…
