“You will not. I promise.”
“I am sure I taught you that you should not make promises you cannot keep,” she said sadly. Her eyes strayed to the flowers. She scratched her arm absentmindedly. She was a fine one to lecture him on promises.
“Father taught me one only should if the promise gained you what you wanted. Otherwise, they are not to be honoured.”
“Your father has his own opinions on promises.” She looked back to him, focused again. “What is it you want? Do you really have any idea? How long do you think you can continue on your current path?”
“As long as it takes, mother.”
“As long as what?”
“Until I am satisfied. I am going away. I have a residency at a theatre in Stoncastrum, not large, but not small either. Do not worry about me, I will not starve.”
“You need new clothes.”
“And I will buy them myself!” he said in exasperation.
“You are too proud.”
“I will not see you for a few months.”
“You will come to see me again?”
“I will. I promise. And that is one I can keep.”
She nodded, but he was losing her again. Her eyes returned to the flowers, and when he embraced her she was looking at them, he knew.
He took his leave. He looked back before departing. Already his mother had her sleeves rolled back, holding out her arms for the flowers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Second Queen of Morthrocksey Mill
BREAKFAST AT THE Morthrocks became less uncomfortable. There was little intimacy to it, but conversation was easier. Katriona made efforts with her appearance. Demion was a man, of course, and no more likely to comment on her appearance than notice it. But such things had a powerful effect on men that they were only dimly aware of, simple creatures that they were. Today she wore a high-necked gown, and anguillon rib stays that pulled her figure in, and sleeves that came to laced points looped over her index fingers. Her hair she had arranged every week by one of the best hairdressers in the upper Var-side Karsa. The effect upon Demion was subtle but pleasing. At first Katriona had pursued this course quite cynically, but lately she was not so sure, finding herself flattered by the compliments he paid her.
Demion spoke about this and that. Rarely about the business, but when he did Katriona made the odd comment, then the odd suggestion, then the odd insistence, until a habit of proper dialogue had become established regarding the mill. Initially reticent, she engaged more enthusiastically with him as he showed interest. Things were going better than anticipated.
That particular morning they discussed plans that Holdean had for expanding the manufacture of pots and pans—a very modest ambition, Katriona thought, but would not say. She must handle this carefully, she thought. Instead she made sensible, if equally modest, proposals.
“You are sharp!” said Demion.
Katriona stared at the food on her plate. She and Demion had been married nearly three months. She was delaying, she knew, in case he said no, and her life turned out to be exactly what her father had wanted it to be.
She could not abide that.
She came to a decision. If she did nothing, then she would never know.
“My father insisted that all his children had a solid grounding in all the necessary fields of learning so that any of us might run his business,” she ventured.
“A sensible man, a prudent one.”
“Then you will know that I have extensive instruction in bookkeeping?”
“Why, I suppose you must.”
Katriona felt belittled. His face held no trace of condescension, but her annoyance bloomed, she forced herself to speak calmly.
“I was wondering if I might take a look at the accounts? Holdean is awfully busy. I am sure I could be a great help to him.” She held her breath without intending to.
“Why do you want to see them?” he said. “They’re another thing I’m not very good at, I’m afraid. It’s my father’s misfortune I proved so useless.”
She hated this self pity. “You lived,” Katriona said.
“I did,” he said. He smiled, somewhat remorsefully.
“There is no need to be sorry,” she said. She had not meant to raise the ghost of Arvane between them, but her eyes prickled. “You cannot be sorry for being someone you are not.”
He breathed deeply and looked out of the window. The sky was flat and oppressively bright.
“The accounts. Very well.”
Katriona plunged on. “I really do think that if you would let me have a look at them, then I could offer something to the joint—”
Demion held up his hands. “Katriona, I am saying yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes! If you wish to look at them, I have nothing to hide. I’m afraid my debts are entirely visible.”
Disarmed by this easy victory, she found herself at a loss for words.
Demion wiped his mouth and stood, but he did not ring for their maids. He paced about, and went to the doors, placing his hands on the knobs. They were fine pieces. Demion’s mother had had a taste for pretty, elegant things. He opened the doors.
“I will have my copies of the latest ledgers brought.”
“I have already taken the liberty of examining them.”
Demion halted, his hands still on the doorknobs.
“I do hope you are not angry with me, husband. I must be occupied!” For all his reasonableness, she could not keep her frustration from her voice. “What am I to do all day while you are engaged with your friends? I cannot simply stay at home and mind the household. I am capable! I wish to see the company accounts. All of them.”
“I see,” Demion said. He looked as if for all the world he addressed his words to his mother’s doorknobs.
He closed the doors softly again.
“You know, you can drop this pretence. This deferring to me. I think I have an inkling of what you are about. I said I am no monster. I have no pride to cosset. I love drink and song and cards. If I could make the mill work for me, I would. If you have any ideas how that might happen, share them with me, please. Don’t be so coy.”
She was taken aback. She had not expected this.
“I am sorry?”
“I surprise you! I am glad.” A smile transformed his face and he returned to the table. “You see? You had your reasons for marrying me. Do you not think I had mine for marrying you?” He gave her a long, sad smile that moved her heart, just a touch, but it moved. “You’re born engineers, every one of you. Your father is a fool not to see it in you. We are married now. Do you know what to do, here, with this, to make my family’s—our—family’s industry shine the way it once did?”
She nodded, flustered. Surely it could not be this easy.
Demion knelt beside her. “Katriona, I have loved you ever since we were children. I know you do not feel the same way about me. I suspected that you agreed only to marry me so that you might find yourself a meaningful role, a chance to run the industries your father trained you for but kept you from.”
“I was a guarantee. If all my brothers had died...”
“But they did not. And here I am, a little inept, a little lazy, and I confess a lot in love with you. What an opportunity! For me, and for you.”
He dared take her hand. She let him. She looked down at him, shocked. His face was soft with good living, lined with too many late nights. His hair was thinning, and he was round in the belly, but there was a kindness and regard in his eyes that she had never noticed before. She felt ashamed with herself.
“You are not angry?”
“No.”
“You are not hurt?”
He shrugged. “I might become hurt. You are a sharp woman. Sharp knives are the best, but can cut those who wield them carelessly, as they say. I am resigned to that, should it come about. I am cleverer than I look, Katriona. I am a gambler, and not a bad one. It is, indeed, one of the few things I am good at. This is another gamble. I h
ave taken a risk, that if I give you what you want, then perhaps you might find your way to loving me as I love you. I am not Arvane, and I never can be, but I do have qualities of my own. Give me a little time, and you will come to see them.”
“You are serious about this?”
“Absolutely. You are your father’s daughter.”
Her face fell.
“I do not mean in that way! He is callous, you are kind. What I mean is that you are a Kressind, Katriona. Your father’s name is the byword for shrewdness. You are his daughter. I have three sisters. What men think about women is the utmost rot. I can never make this mill work properly. Unlike you, I have only my father’s vices, none of his qualities.” He held her hand tightly. “Tell me what to do, and let’s do it together.”
“Well,” said Katriona. She breathed out explosively, a sob and a laugh tumbled together. Her hand flew to her mouth, her face glowed with delight. “I have so many ideas!”
“I am sure you do.”
“But they are for later. First, we have to go over the accounts.”
“Can you tell me why this is so important? Holdean presents them to me twice yearly. “
“I have read them. They appear to be in order.”
“There we are. We have an outside accountant go over them. I see nothing amiss.”
“They appear to be in order,” she repeated.
Demion became quizzical. “What do you think you have found?”
She shook her head. “I... I’d rather not say until...” She cast about for the right thing to say. “Do you trust me?”
“I have chosen to. Is my trust misplaced?”
“No. It is not,” she said. “Then wait. It might be nothing, but...”
“It might be something.”
“Yes. Now, we will not know if there is something or nothing to this if I do not see the company’s original accounts.”
“Very well. Insistent. I like that. You always were forthright of character.” He laughed.
“What is so funny?” she said, laughing herself. A large part of it stemmed from relief, but not all. She laughed because he did, and took pleasure in the sharing.
“I am learning something from you already.”
“Then learn some more. We have to see them today. And do not tell anyone.”
“If that is what you recommend, my dear, then that is what we shall do.”
KATRIONA STRODE INTO the accounting office of the Mothrocksey Mill unannounced, Tyn Lydar at her heels. Tall windows let in weak autumn sunlight, but it was sucked away by the heavy wooden furniture and dark panelling that covered the walls. It smelled of polish, ink, dust, and old sweat. The three men who staffed it looked up from their ledgers in shock. Two of the three were seated on long-legged stools at high desks. The third was exalted over the others by his desk’s greater weight and the large carved canopy curled over it. This third wore a tall hat to denote his seniority as Chief Accountant.
“May we help you, goodlady?” one asked. He was pale, dark-suited in the garb of accountants. The Mothrocksey company arms and examination proof badge pins were heavy on his sash.
“Good day,” she said. “I am Katriona Kressinda-Morthrocka,” she began.
“We know who you are, goodlady.” The most senior of the Mothrocksey accountants came down steps from behind his desk. He spoke quietly and with an urgency that suggested he wished Katriona to lower her voice.
“I am here to see the accounts,” she said.
“You are in the right place,” said the man with a nervous smile. Delicate hands fluttered in front of his chest. “But I am afraid all requests to see the company accounts have to come from Goodman Holdean Morthrock.”
“You are Goodman Temosten?”
“I am. Chief Accountant to your husband, and master of these offices.”
“Will permission from my husband do?” She had anticipated such obstruction, and insisted her husband sign a letter of intent before she had left home. She produced this now.
Temosten took it, unfolded it, read it. “Certainly,” he said. “It certainly will.” He licked his lips. They were thin and bloodless. The other two accountants gaped.
“Get back to work, Gotreid, Medullan,” Temosten said gently. There was tension to his voice. He went to a cupboard and unlocked it with a key hung around his neck. Leather-bound ledgers lined shelves from floor to ceiling. “Here are the accounts, dating back some thirty years. If you wish to see earlier ledgers then we will have to take you into the archive.”
“Is the archive where you keep the company receipts, bills, invoices and the like?” she asked.
“Of course,” said Temosten. “Where else, goodlady?” He smiled at her unctuously.
She smiled back, genial but stern. “Then where else would I go? I wish to see all the raw materials, not the ledgers. Do not be concerned, I have already been over Goodfellow Morthrock’s copy of the accounts at Morthrock Hall. But, on second thoughts, bring me the ledgers too. It will be useful to have them to hand when I begin so that I might compare them.”
“A-all of them?” stammered Temosten.
“When did Goodfellow Horras Morthrock’s spirit go on?”
“Five years ago,” said Temosten. “Although I do not see why that is relevant.”
“I think you do,” said Katriona. “Bring those ledgers, and those for the year preceding Goodfellow Horras’s passing.”
Temosten stared at her. “Of course,” he said. He could say little else. “Might I ask what you intend?”
“You may,” said Katriona, who was enjoying herself. “I am to conduct an audit.”
“But why?”
“This is my husband’s company. I do not have to divulge my reasons. But I will indulge you. I am taking an interest.”
“An interest,” he repeated.
“That is correct.”
“You realise, goodlady, that we cannot help you. My department is understaffed, we are behind as it is...” he trailed away apologetically.
She smiled harder. “That is completely understandable, goodman. I am, however, adequately qualified to perform an audit.”
Temosten’s eyes widened.
“My father,” she said by way of explanation.
Temosten had not quite capitulated. “Very well, goodlady. If you could wait until tomorrow, I will ensure that...”
“Now,” she said. “I will see them now. When I leave this office, you will be leading me to them. Is that not so?”
Temosten bowed with stiff dignity, defeated. “As you wish, goodlady.”
KATRIONA AND TYN Lydar were led down a long corridor covered in a threadbare carpet. The building was cold, although winter was weeks distant. One of the junior accountants pushed a trolley full of the ledgers in front of them. Temosten led the way.
“Why are these offices empty?” asked Katriona. “Should there not be more than three accountants for a firm of this size?”
“There were,” Temosten said. “But Goodman Holdean had them discharged from employment. Times are not what they were.”
“It appears not,” said Katriona. She said nothing more until they reached the company archive. The other accountant would be on his way to warn Holdean that very moment.
Temosten opened the door to the archives. A shadowy room full of overburdened shelves awaited her. He bowed again, showing her through the door.
“Thank you, Goodman Temosten. You may go.”
He was surprised at that too. Katriona smiled inwardly. This was probably far from the day the accountant was expecting. “And leave the key,” she said. He pressed it into her hand reluctantly.
They went inside. The afternoon was wearing on. Night was not far away, and the towering bookcases and heaps of paper crowded in, making the place gloomy. Katriona lit a lantern. They brought in the trolley, and locked the door behind them.
The archive was in a terrible mess, and she experienced the prevarication of someone who, intent on a task, is brought to a sudde
n halt by the unexpected scale of it.
“I am intrigued, goodlady,” said Tyn Lydar mildly, “to learn what this is all about.”
“I will tell you, Goodlady Tyn Lydar, because it is you.”
“You do me a great honour, goodlady.”
“This is a man’s world, no matter the breed. We women must work in concert, or we will remain shut up in our drawing rooms. What concerns me, Tyn Lydar, is that Demion’s company was among the most profitable ventures in the entire city of Karsa before Horras Morthrock passed on. And now it is not.”
She surprised herself, how easily Demion’s name came to her lips.
“You suspect some mismanagement?”
“What do you think?”
“I cannot say,” said Tyn Lydar. A strange note crept into her voice. Katriona looked back at her. Lydar stared up, all innocence.
“You cannot say?” said Katriona, her eyes straying to the Tyn’s iron collar.
“That is exactly what I said.”
“Really now. Consider this, Tyn Lydar. I arrive here to find many workshops closed up, and yet according to my husband’s copies of the ledgers, the mill is consuming the same amount of raw materials as it was when all the workshops were open.”
Katriona held up her lantern. Weak candle light blended with insipid grey daylight. “The shelves get worse as we go in! Are they all this disordered?”
Tyn Lydar pulled at her sleeve, guiding her lamp away from a loose leaf of paper.
“Best be careful in here, Goodlady Kat.”
“This lamp has a glass cover.”
“Some things, goodlady, they are eager to burn.” Her eyes begged comprehension from Katriona.
“You are driving at something. What?” She held her lamp up. “No glimmerlamps, though we can afford them, such disorder!” She looked at sheafs of paper tumbling from files, at stacks of receipts punched through by dull desk spikes. “Nothing in its right place. Why are there no glimmerlamps? Has it always been like this?”
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