“I thought you were the muscle,” he argued.
Seraphina’s lips curved. “I’ll be the surprise muscle, but we’ll only use me if Umberto doesn’t cooperate.” She reached up to give the knocker another rap, pausing mid-reach when the door swung open and a man wearing a dark formal jacket thrown over his nightclothes took to looking down his very long nose at them.
“It’s the middle of the night,” he said in a clipped voice that held a distinct British accent.
Drusilla stepped forward. “And we apologize for the inappropriateness of the hour, but we have a matter of some urgency to discuss with Mr. Umberto Zambarello. You may tell him that Miss Drusilla Merriweather has come to call.”
The butler blinked. “Good heavens, you’re Miss Ottilie’s niece, aren’t you?” He presented her with a bow. “I’m Bentley, miss, your aunt’s former butler, but ... what are you doing in Chicago? Or better yet, what are you doing here and at this late hour?”
“I’ll be more than happy to have that conversation with you later, but for now, Bentley, if you could fetch Mr. Zambarello, I’d be much obliged, as I need to speak to him about another one of his employees.”
Before Bentley could do more than frown, the sound of slipper-clad feet came flip-flopping down the hall, Umberto coming into view a second later. He faltered ever so slightly as he caught sight of them, but then he was flip-flopping their way a second later, stopping directly in front of Drusilla.
“While I realize we parted on less-than-amicable terms the last time we spoke, Miss Merriweather, arriving on my doorstep in the middle of the night is an impertinence that’s inexcusable, especially when I’m sure whatever it is you want to speak with me about could have waited until tomorrow.”
“Of course it’s an impertinence, but one I was willing to make given the impertinence you directed my way when you sent your man to my castle tonight with the express purpose of trying to scare me back to New York.”
Umberto scowled. “What in the world are you talking about?”
“I really don’t have the patience to deal with you pleading ignorance, Mr. Zambarello. You know full well I’m speaking about Sneaky Pete.”
“Who?”
Drusilla crossed her arms over her chest, but before she could get another word out of her mouth, the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps drew everyone’s attention, and then a lady wearing a mobcap and a robe embellished with feathers came bursting into view. She stopped dead in her tracks, glanced toDrusilla, then to Rhenick, and finally to Seraphina, her gaze lingering on the blunderbuss in Seraphina’s hand before she marched over to stand directly beside Umberto.
“Do not tell me that you’ve been running numbers again and these miscreants have arrived in the middle of the night because they just finished a job for you, or are here to tell you that the job went horribly wrong,” the woman said through teeth that had taken to clenching.
“Now, angel,” Umberto began, “you know I’ve left gambling behind. I’m a completely legitimate man of business these days.”
Drusilla, to Rhenick’s surprise, released a bit of a snort. “Completely legitimate unless you take into account that you sent Sneaky Pete to my home tonight with the express purpose of breaking into it and then masquerading as a ghostly knight. Since you clearly did that to frighten me into leaving town, if you ask me, you’re not exactly finding complete success as a legitimate man of business. In fact, you might want to consider telling people instead that you’re an occasionally legitimate businessman. You might also want to extend the lady you just calledangelan apology, as I’m relatively certain you’ve been telling her some rather large fibs of late about your business dealings in general.”
Thirty-Four
It was quite telling when the lady Drusilla believed was Umberto’s wife began swelling on the spot before she rounded on her husband, her dark eyes flashing, which resulted in Umberto edging ever so slowly away from her.
“You promised me, Umberto, that you weren’t going to hire any questionable characters anymore, but if this lady has the right of it and you’ve been dealing with a man named Sneaky Pete—well, how much more questionable can you get when a person has the wordsneakyattached to their name?”
“I have never met a man who went by the name of Sneaky Pete,” Umberto argued.
It was difficult to refuse the inclination to snort again, but since she’d only just snorted a mere moment before, a second snort would be pushing the boundaries of proper decorum a little too far, even if she was facing some rather extenuating circumstances.
“While I understand your need for self-preservation, as this lady I’m assuming is your wife looks quite ready to inflict some bodily harm on you,” Drusilla began, “I have no qualms explaining the truth of the matter to her so...”
She nodded to the lady in question and took a moment to explain what she knew about Sneaky Pete, ending with, “Andthen your husband arranged for Sneaky Pete to infiltrate my aunt’s castle because he wanted to present you with your heart’s desire, which was being in possession of a competent staff.”
The lady shot a glance to Umberto, pursed her lips, then returned her attention to Drusilla before she promptly dropped into a curtsy. “I beg your pardon for not introducing myself straight from the start but as you deduced, I am Umberto’s wife, Elena Zambarello. You are, of course, Miss Drusilla Merriweather, who I have heard my husband muttering about of late, his mutters revolving around the notion he believes you’re an unreasonable woman who won’t accept a more-than-generous offer for your castle.” Elena drew herself up. “It’s now more than obvious that your unreasonableness was completely warranted, given that I’m getting the distinct impression something underhanded has been transpiring in regard to you—and something my husband has been a part of.”
She turned to Umberto. “You will now tell me exactly what you’ve been up to, starting with how it came to be that we, out of everyone in Chicago, ended up with Ottilie Merriweather’s staff.”
“There was nothing underhanded about how the Merriweather staff came to work for us,” Umberto protested. “I simply had a conversation with a man who was watching the Merriweather Castle’s front gate one day when Norbert, the usual gatekeeper wasn’t around. Although...” Umberto tilted his head. “Come to think of it, that man’s name might have actually been Peter, but he never mentioned the wordsneakyin our conversation.”
Elena’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you have gone to the castle in the first place if Ottilie Merriweather was out of town?”
“I kept checking in to see if she’d returned because I have more clients who want to build houses on North Lake Shore Avenue than available land, and I wanted to make her an offer that would be worth her while.” He held up his hand, forestallingwhatever it was Elena seemed about to say. “Before you take to chiding me about that, don’t think I was the only one stopping by the castle. There were a good dozen other developers who wanted her land, although the majority of them have given up their pursuit these days.”
“Ottilie Merriweather is rumored to be one of the wealthiest women in the country because she evidently inherited millions from her parents and grandparents,” Elena shot back. “Unless she’d allowed it to be known she wanted to sell, why would you, or any other developer, think she’d be persuaded by a financial offer to give up her castle simply because her land is highly desirable?”
Umberto waved that aside. “Ottilie Merriweather is rarely in town, and she’s an unmarried woman without children. Seems to me it’s somewhat selfish of her to own so much land when there are at least a hundred families who would gain a better quality of life if she sold to a developer. Just think how those children would benefit from getting out of the city smog and breathing in lakeside air instead.”
