Was it before Celine’s time? And if so, who had taken the message from Lord Guthrie?
That is if the information had ever got to Lord Guthrie.
CHAPTER 12
Mr. Khaffar took a step back as Edward swung the two large ledgers round.
“Do I have to continue to wear these gloves?” He stretched his hands out in obvious annoyance.
“Not for your ledgers, Mr. Khaffar.” As fast as he could, Edward clattered down into the cellar and replaced the two ledgers with the others marked R. Mr. Khaffar’s books were at the start of the cellar near the stairs. Pulling out the six books that contained all of Mr. Khaffar’s dealings he walked unsteadily back up the stairs. Alasdair had obviously managed to return them to their normal holding place after the debacle at Rochester Castle.
Fanning the books out on the table he took a quick look. Just the names were written on the books, not Mr. Khaffar’s name. They each represented a line of Mr. Khaffar’s shady businesses. The first was the Pink Canary Club, and the brothel that it ran on the side, the second, an arms business in the East End, the third was a shipping business in the docks, and the fourth was a laundry. The fifth and sixth covered investments from profits and the holding company Edward had set up as a legitimate front business for taxation, grant reliefs, loans and dividend payments.
“I want to look at all of them.” Mr. Khaffar folded his arms. “You haven’t given me an update for a while, and I need to know if I am making any money from those so-called improvements you suggested.”
“All right.” Inwardly Edward sighed. All this work and whilst he had inadvertently found out the information Granwich wanted, it had been of no use.
He pulled the ledger for the Pink Canary Club towards him. “Two months ago, I suggested that you streamline operations. Instead of having separate girls at the front of the club and the back, you mix the two so that customers who take a fancy to the ladies at the front, can go with them into the, ahem, back.”
“The try before you buy strategy, you called it.” The words sounded strange coming from Mr. Khaffar’s mouth.
“Hmm yes. Profits are up by fifty percent. Half of the extra money is being passed to the holding company as interest on the investment loan the holding company made in the club, and the other half is being used to err, buy better quality wares.”
“Invest, improve, extract,” Mr. Khaffar said triumphantly.
“Quite.”
“Now then. The arms business is doing less well.”
Mr. Khaffar unfolded his arms.
“Yes—um. They failed to implement the improve part. They have unfortunately been burgled and one hundred pounds worth of stock has been stolen.”
“Burgled? They did not tell me! What are you going to do about it?” Mr. Khaffar glared at Edward.
“I am merely the numbers man, Mr. Khaffar, not the manager of the business. I would suggest you visit him to find out what happened.”
Mr. Khaffar grunted. “So what happens to the ledger?”
“The stock gets written off. I’m afraid the armory business will not be able to service the loan which the holding company gave it, so less dividends to release there.” Edward ran his finger down to the loans column. He glanced at Mr. Khaffar, whose dark face had become imperceptibly paler.
“My investor won’t be pleased.” Mr. Khaffar fists clenched.
“Yes, you’ve said that before. If you would just let me meet him, I could explain to him some of the irregularities that I came across from the previous bookkeeper and how we are now setting them to rights.” One of the worst irregularities was the drops of blood that were scattered amongst the ledgers. Edward closed his mind to the fact that it was probably the previous accountant’s.
“No!” Mr. Khaffar’s voice was almost a shout. “You can’t meet him.”
“Ah.” Edward licked his lips. “I will then place the dividend for your partner in the usual account at Coutts?”
“Yes.”
“They always say it is easier to find the man’s account with a name.” Edward held his breath as he fished for just a little more information.
Mr. Khaffar swung a hooded gaze towards him. “And yet you always find a way to get the money paid.”
“Yes. Of course.” Edward jolted as Mr. Khaffar banged him on the back.
“Now then. Where is that servant of yours? I could do with some of his gin that was sitting here. I think we ought to have a toast.” The change in Mr. Khaffar’s mood was remarkable.
“A toast?”
“To our amicable and very profitable partnership, my dear Edward. From what I have seen, I believe that we shall have a very long relationship together.”
Edward swallowed and smiled weakly. “I’m so glad you feel that way.” Slowly he got to his feet and searched in a cupboard for a glass. He poured a large gin for Mr. Khaffar and nothing for himself.
Mr. Khaffar looked him in the eyes for a moment and then picked up the glass with one hand, before picking up his sword with another. “To profitable business, whatever it may be.” Mr. Khaffar lifted the gin glass, and without looking away from Edward, downed its contents.
“Indeed.” Edward stepped back as Mr. Khaffar brought his sword down and dug into the center of the investments ledger with the point of the scimitar. He brought his face across the table.
“If I find that you have double-crossed me, Mr. Fiske, with any of these dealings, stolen from me, or included anyone else like you did with the Great Randolph, you will find yourself missing an arm.”
Edward watched in horror as the sword dug deeper into the paper.
Mr. Khaffar smiled, and put down his sticky glass on the Pink Canary Ledger. “And if I find that any of the information you tell me is not true, I will reconsider carving out your heart and serve it to your courtesan lover on a cold plate.”
Edward froze. Don’t worry, he wanted to whisper. She’s already done that herself.
“Do you understand me, Mr. Fiske?”
Edward nodded vigorously. “Alasdair, I believe Mr. Khaffar is leaving now.”
Mr. Khaffar shook his head. “No need to show me out. I know the way.”
Edward stood head bowed at the kitchen sink, as the sounds of Mr. Khaffar’s heavy footsteps sounded fainter and fainter down the hall and then, with a loud bang of the front door, vanished from the house. With deliberate movements he picked up a ewer of water that stood on the sideboard and poured it all into the sink, setting back the ewer with barely a sound. Slowly, methodically, he rolled his sleeves to the crook of his elbow and then plunged his hands into the ice cold water.
The sharp pain shot from his fingers to his midriff, the cold burning against his skin. He waited until he could no longer feel his fingers, and, removing his right hand from the sink, picked up a bar of soap and began to wash his exposed skin.
He still felt dirty. I built that ship to take a cargo. The things that he had said. That he knew of, that were in that ledger that belonged not to Lords Anglethorpe and Granwich, but to them, the Rochesters. Not the Great Randolph.
Pushing the soap between his fingers he opened his mouth and buried his teeth into the flowery fat of the soap bar. He choked as pieces of the soap shaved off in his mouth.
“Sir!” Alasdair pulled him by the shoulder away from the sink, holding out a towel. “By god it’s been a while since I’ve seen you so bad.” He shook his head as he pushed the soap from Edward’s hand and rubbed the towel roughly against his blue fingers. “I knew it was going to end badly when you got out them ledgers. Don’t know why you keep them when they upset you so much.”
“My father.”
“Your father, pardon me for saying, sir, was a very nice man.”
“But the things…”
“We have all done things that we regret, sir. If Old Lord Rochester hadn’t gone a bit…forgetful, then I’m sure he would have agreed to end things. Caught up with the times.”
&
nbsp; Edward turned to face Alasdair. Alasdair’s face blanched.
“I’m sure he would have done,” Alasdair reiterated. “He shook his head sometimes.”
“That was because he usually couldn’t find his favorite pair of stockings.”
“That is as may be.”
“I have had to clear up his mess.”
Alasdair sniffed. “I believe, sir, that there is a school of thought about this called customs.”
Edward turned away and poured a glass of the gin Alasdair had left. Taking a sip, he rolled the burning liquid around his mouth and spat it down the sink amongst the soap suds. The flowery taste of the soap in his mouth did not go away. “Customs?”
“Yes.”
“As in, it was once alright to have a slave and sell someone’s life because everyone was doing it, but now it’s not?”
“Yes.”
“But what about the common decency of man?”
Alasdair shrugged his shoulders. “Some are more enlightened than others. For example, sir, take cock fighting, a very popular sport. One day some might look upon that as cruelty to the animals.”
Edward blinked. He hadn’t ever thought about it in that way.
“Or that pugilism that you gentlemen find so interesting, men watching other men bashing each other’s heads out for a spectacle. Did you know that eighty percent of pugilists die before the age of thirty?”
“That is a high amount.”
“You know what I think?”
Edward shrugged his shoulders. He’d never yet managed to prevent Alasdair from telling him what he thought.
Alasdair continued, “One day, we’ll look at all of our food and decide that keeping animals just to eat them is cruel too.”
Edward laughed. “A man needs meat to live.”
Alasdair shook his head. “Ten to one that Mr. Khaffar don’t eat much meat. These people from the East don’t seem to want it.”
“It’ll be decades before that happens here though.”
Alasdair nodded. “Centuries I wouldn’t doubt, Mr. Fiske. Now then, would you like a steak for dinner tonight?”
Edward frowned. “No, thank you, Alasdair. I need something I can eat quickly. I need to finish the accounts for Mr. Khaffar.”
“Ah. Yes, he’s left a bag of coins in the front hall, Mr. Fiske.” Alasdair shivered. “Two days I’ve spent with that man dogging my footsteps. He had all sorts of questions about you. Whether you were an honorable gentleman. How many women you’d had. When did you first become friends with the courtesan Celine…?” Alasdair shook his head. “It should have seemed menacing but it only became so when he asked about Celine.”
Edward sighed. “She did shoot at him.” He eyed the coins at the door. “As usual, I will drop the money in at Coutts tomorrow.”
“Are you still trying to find out who his other investor is, sir?”
Did it really matter anymore? Lord Granwich now knew what was in the note, the mission that Edward had been charged with was closed, and there was no point in pursuing the investigation any further. He would have to finish off this period of accounting and then extricate himself from Mr. Khaffar’s clutches in as seemly a fashion as he knew possible.
“No,” he said tiredly. “I’m not.”
It was only when he settled down to go over the ledgers he realized that Mr. Khaffar had omitted to mention the fact that he, Edward Fiske, Mr. Khaffar’s accountant in the guise of Gunvald had already supposedly double-crossed and stolen from Mr. Khaffar. And Edward was still alive to tell the tale.
CHAPTER 13
Agatha, Lady Anglethorpe, poured Celine some tea and sat back in her chair. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon, Celine.”
Celine sighed. “I know.”
“In fact, I’m not certain how I feel about seeing you again so quickly.”
Celine leaned forward and rubbed a hand against her aching ankle before straightening and dropping her hand back to where it lay in the blood red lap of her dress. She was back to wearing red. Bella the dressmaker had taken the green dress from her and frowned at the stains on its hem before silently handing over the new red dress. Celine had tried to protest, but the only word Bella had uttered was ‘orders’. And the only person that gave the orders was Pithadora.
She wasn’t certain whether or not she appreciated the blunt as a jack hammer honesty of Agatha. “I really wanted to see Lord Guthrie, but they wouldn’t open the door to me.”
Agatha nodded and leant forward. “That family has been badly burned by people of your ilk.”
Celine looked up, but instead of malice, seriousness filled Agatha’s voice.
“Unfortunately anyone who is in reality something else than what they appear on the surface fills them with dread.”
“Um, so it’s not just that I’m a—”
“—a courtesan? Oh no. It’s the supposed courtesan thing they can’t get over.”
“Supposed?”
“If you think about it, they had an awfully bad run of luck. Lord Guthrie’s daughter was engaged to Charles Fashington, a supposed War Office man through and through, but he turned out to be having an affair with her father’s new wife.” Agatha laughed. “I don’t know why I’m telling you, you were the one to tell us at the time. I’ve never understood how you knew, but goodness it helped! Especially when it turned out the new Lady Guthrie was a spy—”
“But I am a courtesan!” Celine broke in. She didn’t want to be reminded of the time when she had disclosed what she knew about Charles Fashington, her first mark, to Agatha and Lord Guthrie’s daughter. It was around the same time as when she had realized that she would never win Henry.
Agatha folded her arms and leaned forward. “Pull the other one,” she said quietly.
Celine plucked at her skirts. If she didn’t continue the charade any longer, then she was of no use any longer to Pithadora. There would be no more missions. Her use to the society would vanish, and then she would be out on the streets, perhaps having to learn to do for real, the activity that she had feigned for years.
But then she could go to Edward and—
He would cast her aside with the same indifference as he had when she had kissed Bill Standish.
She looked sideways at Agatha. “How are things going with you and dear Henry?”
Agatha held her gaze.
Celine cocked her head on one side. “I could give you some advice if you like.” She licked her lips and dabbed a finger to her mouth. “Of what he really likes.” Celine’s rib cage tightened. She didn’t like doing this, she liked Agatha for goodness’ sake.
Agatha looked thoughtful, and then smiled. “That would be an excellent idea. I can never remember whether he likes lapsang souchong tea or green tea, or whether he has jam on his toast in the morning.”
Celine buried her head in her hands. “I didn’t mean about that.”
“With your excellent memory for detail,” Agatha continued blithely, “you must be a great asset to the Melinno Society. I’m surprised you are not running it from what Henry says.”
“What?” Celine looked up sharply.
Agatha’s gaze grew pointed. “Did you really think that I wouldn’t grill him on his previous associations before I married him? I am, after all, a woman of science, and I believe in evidence.”
“He didn’t know I worked for the Melinno Society.”
Agatha frowned. “Are you sure? He seemed rather well informed to me. He referred to the Society as a ‘necessary evil’.”
“All checks and balances in life are necessary evils.”
“Checks and balances? I’m not sure Henry referred to the Melinno Society like that—”
“Ahem.”
Celine looked to the door, her head spinning. Not a check and balance? Smythe stood four-square in the door. “Lord Guthrie to see Lord Anglethorpe, my lady.”
Agatha sighed. “I suppose it was inevitable. Cause and effect. I
really should stop studying the physical world and transfer my attention to the new science of psychology. I could have predicted that he would come over—”
Muttering, Agatha walked out of the room.
Celine stood as a footman entered, pushing a reclined figure in a wheeled bath chair.
“You!” the figure uttered hoarsely.
“Lord Guthrie.” Celine nodded. She licked her lips. “I’m sorry about Lady Guthrie,” she said quietly.
Lord Guthrie stared at her. His tall frame was thin, the bones of his jaw showing against skin slack with age. “Yes,” he said simply. “So am I.” He blinked at her. “It’s all about mad wives in the attics these days. No one seems to care if that means prison too.” He sighed. “You wanted to see me, but my daughter wouldn’t let you in.”
“You are right, Lord Guthrie. I wanted to ask you about a message from a few years ago.”
Lord Guthrie frowned. “A message? What kind of message?”
“I, I would rather talk to you alone if I may?” Celine nodded at the footman who hovered, concerned. Behind him, Henry leaned against the door jamb with his arms folded and a smile on his face. He bent over and whispered something in his wife’s ear which caused her to turn slowly pink. Celine looked away. She could have had that.
What had Henry said to Agatha?
“Go on, leave me, boy,” Lord Guthrie uttered hoarsely to the footman. He gestured to the door. “You too, Lady Anglethorpe. This is business.” The command in the old man’s voice was palpable. Lord Guthrie beckoned Henry forward. “Push me towards the chairs, Henry, and let’s see what Celine has to say.”
“I’m sorry to be such a bother,” Celine muttered, as Henry pulled back a low table to push the bath chair further in. Agatha flapped her hands and stalked back out into the hall.
“It’s not a problem, Celine.” Henry gave Celine a glance that caused her to blink. It was the glance that had made Celine fall in love with the man, a glance that used to cause a warmth to burgeon through her chest as though she was the only woman in the world. She blinked again as he turned the same look to Lord Guthrie. “How is that for you, sir?” He patted the older gentleman on the back gently. “Can I get you a rug?”
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