Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Associates

Satrine

Scratching him under his chin, I carried Mr. Popplewell purring in my arms into the kitchens at the back of the house.

When I arrived, our cook, Mrs. Soames, looked up and smiled.

“Lady Satrine, how lovely.”

I sniffed the air and shared, “I’m accompanying Lord Remington to Le Cirque Magique tonight, and it is solely a testament to how wonderful he is that I go and thus sacrifice experiencing whatever it is you’re cooking for our dinner.”

She blushed.

“Mr. Popplewell tells me he needs chicken,” I informed her.

He purred louder.

“Lady Maxine was in here not an hour ago, getting him a bowl of cod,” she told me.

Mr. Popplewell hissed.

I looked down at the cat. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“Sssssisssy,” he replied irritably.

“You can wait until dinner,” I stated firmly.

He rolled huffily in my arms, leaped out of them, and after shooting me a baleful cat glare, with ginger-ringed tail held high, he waddled out of the kitchens on his white-booted feet.

“That’s the fattest cat I’ve seen in my life,” Mrs. Soames noted.

Down the hall, another hiss was heard.

Mr. Popplewell was not fond of being called fat.

I laughed softly and said, “I fear we do him no favors, spoiling him as we do.”

“I think a savvy but lost creature who has no home, when he finds one, should have everything he wishes for a spell. Don’t you?” Mrs. Soames asked.

I looked into her eyes and answered softly, “Quite right.”

She smiled at me.

I got down to the real business for being there.

“Is Carling in his office?”

“He is indeed, madam.”

I nodded and moved that way. “Thank you.”

Carling’s office was more a hidey hole/wine cellar/liquor storage, probably because the door was banded in iron and had a lock. His desk was shoved in amongst the mess, which included barrels and crates full of who knew what. It was likely Dad-not-Dad made him guard all of this, regardless of how stuffy and almost inoperable it made his office.

He was crammed behind said desk, poring over some papers.

“I daresay we can afford it if one of the staff feels the need of a glass of brandy after having a busy day,” I said quietly. “We hardly need an ironclad door.”

His head shot up right before he shot out of his seat.

“Lady Satrine!”

“Please, do sit,” I invited.

He didn’t, of course.

“May I come in?” I asked.

“It would be my honor to have your company,” he answered.

I really dug this guy.

I came in and made my way with some difficulty to the lone chair in front of his desk.

At long last, I wedged myself between some boxes and found my seat.

“I know my mother has been in here, Carling,” I noted as I sat.

He waited until I was down before he sat too. “She has.”

“And she hasn’t shared you should make it so there’s some air that you can breathe while you’re in it?”

He cleared his throat and stated, “We’re receiving bids to…alter some of the belowstairs. And the lady of the house wishes this seen to with all due haste.”

I sat still as a statue.

“We’re making it into a wine cellar and buttery,” he continued.

“I see.”

What he meant was, the dungeon Dad-not-Dad had down there for whatever reason he had it was being repurposed.

“It will be in the way during construction. There’s nowhere to put all of it until it’s done,” Carling said quietly. “And I’m used to it, milady. I can wait.”

“Of course,” I replied. “But could you, perhaps, use my father’s study in the meantime?”

Hs expression grew tender, because of my words, as well as what he was about to say.

“Lady Corliss suggested that same thing. You are both most kind, but it simply wouldn’t be proper.”

One thing Carling exceled at was being proper.

“Very well,” I murmured. Then said, “Though, this does segue us rather well.”

And surprisingly, it did, thank gods, because I had a plan, but I didn’t have a plan on how to broach it.

He appeared confused.

Damn.

As mentioned, I had a plan. It might come to nothing, but considering I had a man to look after, it was worth a shot.

I took that shot.

“Lord Remington shared that my father had access to some rather…colorful characters.”

Carling’s eyes widened.

I hurried on.

“I don’t know if word reached your ears, Carling…” I did know. Everything reached his ears. “But my intended had a spot of trouble last night.”

“I had heard something of this, milady.”

“Well, you see, he’s very strong, so you couldn’t tell this morning, but he was injured in the fracas. To the point a physician had to attend him last night.”

“My goodness,” he said with alarm.

“He’ll be fine…eventually.” I put more weight on the last word than was needed.

“Well, that’s good to hear.”

“He’s supposed to be resting.”

Carling said nothing.

“He’s not.”

Carling stared at me.

“Because he’s concerned about this matter, and he is rather a man of action.”

“He is that, milady,” Carling mumbled.

Yes.

He knew everything.

“And it has me wondering, if…perhaps…some of Father’s, erm…associates might know something of the foes my betrothed is facing so that, if I were to learn what they know, I can help him—”

I spoke no more as Carling bopped up from his seat, zigged and zagged through the barrels and crates, shoved his head out the door, looked this way and that down the hall, and then, with some effort due to its heaviness, he closed it.

He zigged and zagged back, sat down at his desk and leaned conspiratorially to me.

In turn, I leaned toward him, hopeful at this behavior.

But all he said was, “Milady, it’s my honor. Leave this with me.”

He sat back and spoke no more.

“Pardon?” I queried.

“I know precisely what to do,” he shared.

“And that would be?” I pressed.

“With respect, never you mind. Trust it’s in hand. Or it will be.”

“I…um, Carling—”

“I know his ways. I can handle this.”

“His ways?”

“Indeed.”

“Whose ways?”

He leaned forward again, so much farther, he was out of his seat and resting on his forearms on his desk.

“Your sire’s,” he whispered, and sat back.

“Carling—”

“Don’t think again of it.”

“Carling!” I snapped.

He shut up.

“You are truly the most wonderful houseman a house could have,” I announced.

His face went scarlet.

“And as such, I cannot put you in danger. Not only because I cannot, but also because, if I did, Mother would murder me. Therefore, if you’d advise, I will take care of…whatever I’m doing to take care of things.”

Ulk.

Lame finish, Satrine!

“I can’t allow that, milady.”

“Well, I can’t allow you to put your neck on the line either.”

He grew quiet.

I did too.

Impasse.

Bloody hell!

Carling broke it.

“We’ll work together.”

I felt my face beaming.

He grew stern.

“Milady, I won’t do this if you don’t have a mind that I know what I’m doing…and you don’t.”

I sat forward on my seat. “Oh, I’ll have a mind. I promise.”

He studied me.

And then he shared, “When your father would need some information, he’d send the hall boy with a note and the appropriate coin to some urchins in the Quarter. They would see to it that the request in that note was disseminated as it needed to be. We have your father’s stationery, though I assume everyone knows his current condition. That matters not. I’ll sign the notes in his stead. Anyone will think I’m acting on his behalf.”

Excellent!

However…

“Why would my father do this?”

Carling shrugged. “To learn what ships were docking in what ports in what cities and know what they’re carrying. To understand what was lost in a warehouse fire in Vasterhague before anyone else heard that word.” He took a breath, held my gaze, and continued, “To see to it that a rival took a fall or perhaps drank a hint of poison that might not kill him, but would make him sick, so milord could manipulate his dealings in a manner that was lucrative for himself, and the clients he’d guided to or away from these industries.”

In other words, Edgar Dawes was an even bigger piece of shit than we already knew he was.

“Right,” I whispered.

“We have one issue, milady,” Carling said.

“And that is?”

“Lord Remington’s guards are still here. And last night, another was added who, if I understood his movements correctly, his brief is to be an extra set of eyes on the alley, the street and the park.”

Yep.

There it was.

Carling didn’t miss anything.

And yep.

My man liked me a whole lot and went all out to keep me and my family safe.

“It would seem my fiancé has an adversary he’s taking seriously, and as such, it would seem our assistance is all the more urgent,” I remarked. “Although, I don’t know why the guards are a problem.”

“Some informants approach the house. It is rare, but it happens. And they will be sure to note your guard, and not approach.”

“I see,” I mumbled.

“We will share in our missive that we’ll set a meeting place, should someone have something they wish to say, and they are not to approach the house.”

I smiled. “Grand idea.”

“If someone should have something to tell us, you’ll need to pay for this, milady,” he warned.

“That won’t be a problem,” I lied, because we were rich as sin, Mom had a ton of money in Ansley’s safe, but everything was done on account.

If we had a coffee in a café, they sent word to Carling to pay for it.

If we bought a roll of ribbon to send to Madame Toussaint to add to a gown, same.

And so it went.

I didn’t have any money myself.

But I’d figure it out.

And anyway, Mom was always generous with my allowance, even when we didn’t have much.

I might not let her in on what was going on, but she’d float me some cash.

No problem.

“Let us go to the study for a piece of stationery, return and write this note, Carling.”

His lips curved up and he replied, “Yes, milady. Let’s.”