Officially, Pretoria Rushforth was dead. Unofficially, she was the largest thorn in the Harren Guild’s foot, and many of the Continental Guilds as well.
“Victoria,” I lied to Mr. Stoke, citing her false name. “My sister Victoria. She intended to surprise me, it seems.”
“I see. Oh, I have something for you.” My employer raised a finger in sudden thought and fished a stack of letters from the pocket of his coat. His eyes were abnormally tight today, I realized. But perhaps that was fatigue. “I’ve one of these for you. I saw the postman on my way in. Wait a moment.”
He thumbed through the stack and produced a letter. A coy, but somehow false grin touched his face as he pointed to the top one. “I know this handwriting.”
The sender’s hand was angular and swift, elegant in awindblown way. There was no return address, but it was obviously from Lewis.
My heart lightened as I accepted it. “Thank you.”
“No matter. Best that those letters come here, away from your landlady’s prying eyes.” Mr. Stoke scratched at one cheek. “How is your Lewis, by the way?”
I paused, a little startled at the inquiry. Mr. Stoke’s definition of a private life was exceedingly broad, and he rarely inquired about my fiancé beyond logistics surrounding the artifact we had located for Lord Stillwell.
“He does his duty, writes his poetry and never sleeps. Same as always.”
“Is his poetry any good?”
“He’s Bronze, sir. I should hope so.”
“So long as he does not use his abilities to woo you.”
“He would never do that,” I assured my employer. Bronze Entwined, with the ability to imbue written words with uncannily visceral images and emotion, were often considered manipulative by humans. But as I said, Lewis would never manipulate me in such a way—not simply because such manipulation was beneath him, but because he had no apparent desire to woo me.
A frown ghosted onto my lips and I decided to change the subject.
“Sir, the box we retrieved last night, is it in the safe? Or did you take it home with you?”
“In the safe,” he said distractedly. His attention had been caught by another letter, but I could not read its typewritten face before he slipped it into a drawer. “Did you ring Lord Stillwell’s?”
“I will now,” I replied, glancing at the bookshelves. “May I examine the box? I saw it so briefly and I confess… I am curious.”
“As am I, Ottilie, as am I. But satisfying our curiosity would be inappropriate,” Mr. Stoke said, giving me a distracted but genuine, rueful smile. “The pay will be high enough to console us, I’m sure.”
“Of course,” I relented, unable to resist giving the bookcase one last, nervous glance. “I will make the call now.”
***
By the time the afternoon began to wane, my stomach was as empty as the pastry box and my head so full I thought it might rupture. I scrawled in ledgers with uncommon industry, posted payments and bills, and, desperate for more distraction, reorganized files in the dusty cabinet, dating all the way back to Stoke’s retirement from the Heddon Street Constabulary.
But my concentration was fickle, my mind flickering between Pretoria, the artifact, and my impending departure. Lewis’s letter sat next to my typewriter, waiting to be read in privacy this evening. I did not intend to leave, however, until Lord Stillwell’s man had come to retrieve the artifact and I had been paid.
Just the thought of the money made my pulse race. It would be enough. Finally, enough. There would be new identities for Lewis and I, and with them, new lives. There would be no more coalsmoke in my lungs or watching my kin hang from lampposts.
I would need to buy Hieronymus a travelling basket. I scribbled a note to myself to that effect and shoved it into my pocket.
I had quite forgotten about it again when, at six o’clock, Mr. Stoke poked his head into my office. “Ottilie, why don’t you go home early today?”
“Stillwell’s man will be here soon,” I reminded him.
“Yes, but you needn’t stay. I’ve asked enough of you over the last few days and you are clearly preoccupied.”
“I would like to be here. I can take notes,” I tried.I need my money.
“If there are notes to be taken, I’m sure I’ll manage,” Stoke said with amusement. “I should accustom myself to it, after all. You won’t be with me forever.”
For one petrified moment, I thought he knew. I thought he had figured out I intended to slip away, abandoning him without a word.
