“Sir…”
“Go home,” Mr. Stoke urged me, more gently this time.“I’ll see the artifact delivered safely. Also, you should know, I’ve decided to take a holiday. I’ll leave tomorrow and leave your pay in the safe. And I will ring your boarding house when I’m back in the city.”
I parted my lips to protest, but something in his eyes, something in his expression—there one second, gone the next—gave me pause.
“Is everything all right?” I asked.
“Of course.” Mr. Stoke laughed, a sound genuine enough to make the muscles in my shoulders relax. He spoke faster now, as if he had found his stride. “I doubt I’ll be back before the end of next week. After that, I’ve a few letters from potential clients we can peruse and see what we think.”
We. Anything I might say in reply was suddenly lost in a resurgence of guilt.
Rubbing at the corner of one tired eye, I finally nodded. “All right. Good evening, sir.”
“Good evening, Ottilie.”
A Note to the Reader:
Lord Stillwell and the Landsdown Relics
Eavesdropping on Mr. Stoke’s meetings with clients was something of a hobby of mine, and the day Lord Stillwell strode into the office, three months before my present narrative, was no exception. Thankfully, the council lord and old acquaintance of my mother did not recognize me as he passed my office—how could he, when he cast not a glance at Mr. Stoke’s homely secretary, in her simple shirtwaist and tweed?
Lord Stillwell had promptly sequestered himself in the office with the detective. At first there was laughter, a few comments about the weather and the click of lighters as they fell to their cigars. They knew one another from their youth, I gathered. A military connection, then. Mr. Stoke was deferential, but the ease of their conversation conveyed mutual respect.
Then came a stretch of silence, and Mr. Stoke’s deep voice rumbled, “How can I help you, my lord?”
I pressed my ear to the crack of the door, breathing softly and steadily.
“I hear you are adept at locating items, and have connections in The Sarre,” Lord Stillwell said. “As you know, I was forced out when the Seaussen and the rebels seized the colony. My home was pillaged—nothing irreplaceable, save severalantiquities I had recently acquired for my private collection. Rebuilding that collection is of the utmost importance to me. Most went to Seau before we sealed the borders again, but not all. Some remain in the colony, including the item which I would like you to secure.”
A rumble from Mr. Stoke.
Stillwell went on, “The endeavor must be discreet. And requires a certain… circumnavigation of more official channels.”
I heard the creak of a chair. “May I ask why?”
“Please trust me when I say it is better you do not.”
“I see.” Mr. Stoke’s tone was polite, but there was a dubious undertone I shared. Our occupation frequently necessitated treading the line of morality, but neither of us did so casually.
There was a rustle of paper and a further exchange of lowered voices. I held my breath altogether and managed to hear, “Five thousand, for its return.”
I covered my mouth to smother a giddy curse.
I ensured that I was out of sight as Lord Stillwell left, then hurried into Mr. Stoke’s office. He looked up at me, his eyebrows raised.
“You heard?” It was not really a question.
“Of course.” I cast myself down in the chair across from him with a rumple of skirts and reached for the paper on his desk. I scanned it as the detective spoke, noting a sketch of a simple box and a brief of the object’s history. “‘Numbered among the Landsdown Trove discovered by P. Landsdown in 1897 at the site of Keforey Sarre,’” I read aloud. “I’m familiar with the Landsdown Trove, but only in name.”
“A collection of artifacts, largely carved of Incarnate stone, Stillwell informed me,” Mr. Stoke said. “More valuable than diamond, aside from their historical value.”
“Then there is something inside the box, presumably carved of this stone?” I asked, glancing at the sketch again.
“Stillwell did not comment on that, but it would seem reasonable.” Mr. Stoke nodded. “Is Lewis still in The Sarre?”
“Last I heard, yes.”
“Would he be willing to help? I would prefer not to go to south, myself. I would be something of a fish out of water.”
