Maddie’s eyebrows shot up almost into her hair. Well. Miss Roseingrave knew worse words after all.
The girl’s bosom heaved with her fury—a sight Maddie secretly appreciated, modest though the beribboned neckline was. “He told me his father designed it for his mother, back in France. Before the Revolution—”
“—daughter of a comte, escape to England, et cetera,” Maddie went on. “It’s Mr. Giles’s favorite tale. And not a word of truth in it.”
Miss Roseingrave’s hands fisted and her eyes looked downright murderous. “I once asked you whether your lies or Mr. Giles’s were worse. I think I have my answer.”
“I have never lied to you.”
Miss Roseingrave’s mouth snapped shut.
Maddie folded her arms, smirking.
“Well.” Miss Roseingrave’s tone when she spoke again was more grudging than gracious. “You’re lying to other people, though.”
“That’s true,” Maddie admitted cheerfully.
“To what purpose?”
Maddie grinned. “Come up to the attic and I’ll explain.”
Because the house had stood empty the whole day, she warmed some cider in the kitchen. The drinks steamed in the cold air of the attic while Maddie and Miss Roseingrave slipped off their shoes and sat on opposite ends of the small bed. To further fight the chill Maddie brought out her two best coverlets, one for her and one for her sparrow: velvet piecework in a riot of colors, stitched by hand during the seasons when weaving work was scarce.
The girl stroked a wondering hand down the velvet pile. “These are lovely.”
“I’m very good with my hands, Miss Roseingrave.”
The girl blushed and scowled together. “It’s your tongue I am concerned about,” she said tartly, and blushed harder when Maddie chortled. “And you may as well call me Sophie.”
“Sophie, then.” The blush deepened, blooming from Sophie’s cheeks down into her throat. Maddie wanted to see just how far down she could get it to go...
No. Truth before seduction.
A swallow of cider for warmth and courage, then Maddie told Sophie all about Mr. Giles: the mistreatment of his workers, the bribes and the lies, every horrible secret of how he’d built his fortune. It was a bit of a test, if Maddie were being honest with herself: How would respectable Miss Roseingrave, tradesman’s daughter, react to this revelation about a man of her class?
She needn’t have worried. Sophie steamed nearly as much as the cup she held. It was almost fun, watching such a small person simmer in righteous fury. The tipping point for Sophie seemed to be that so many of Mr. Giles’s stories were so transparently,obviouslyfalse. “He isn’t even acarefulliar!” she hissed.
Maddie dissolved into laughter.
Sophie fumed. “I’ve been deceived by a very talented swindler, Miss Crewe. It was deeply painful and I’ve no wish to repeat the experience. But at least I could appreciate the effort and the artistry he put into his deception! Mr. Giles just cobbles ideas together however he pleases, no matter who he’s speaking to. It’s shallow. It’s insulting! It’s—it’s like he’s tied twine to a picture frame and I’m meant to pretend it’s a harp!”
“He doesn’t have ideas,” Maddie said. “He has scraps of cunning that he stitches together.” She snickered. “You prefer your lies well tailored, little sparrow?”
Sophie produced the most adorable imitation of a teakettle boiling over. “If you call me that one more time, I swear I’ll scream—”
Maddie’s voice was flat and final. “You’ve never screamed in your life.” She tilted her head, eyes gleaming. “We could change that, if you like.”
Sophie sputtered. Sophie grit her teeth. And just when Maddie thought she would surely stand up and flounce charmingly out of the room, her eyes flew to Maddie’s mouth and fixed there as she said bluntly: “Later. First I want to know: What is it you’re doing to stop him?”
Here it was: the secret. “We are selling Mr. Giles something that doesn’t exist,” Maddie said. “A new fabric nobody else has: a silk that can change hues if you put it in a special machine. He’s going to give us all his money in exchange for the whole supply—we keep the money, and he’ll be left with a pile of ugly silk and metal scraps, instead of the miracle he thought he was buying.” She shrugged. “It’s a swindle, like you said.”
Sophie’s brows rose. “And all this was your idea?”
“Not entirely.” Maddie’s fingers tightened around her cup. This next part she hadn’t even told the Weavers’ Library. “You are new here—has anyone told you the story of Jenny Hull?”
Sophie shook her head.
“She’s a local legend—except that she was real, too. Jenny Hull was a silk weaver here at the end of the last century. Transported for thievery—but she was only trying to steal back her own work.” Maddie swallowed. “From Mr. Giles, who’d refused to pay her properly for it.” She reached up and pulled her necklace over her head, then held it out for Sophie to see. “My mother tried to help her. She would have done anything for her, she told me. But the law came between them. Jenny Hull was sent away, and my mother died after Peterloo. She took a saber slash to the side, and it suppurated. They never saw each other again.”
