by Gwyn Cready
“Have you seen Undine?”
“Funny you should ask. I ran into her a minute ago. She said if I just kept on my path, I’d run into you, and here I am. I seem to be doomed to wander, abandoned and alone, from one bed of yours to another—not the worst fate in the world, mind you, but still a bit disconcerting. Why did you leave me this morning without saying anything?”
“I left you a note.”
“You did?”
“Aye. With Duchamps. Did you see him?”
Gerard frowned. “Yes. What did it say?”
“Nothing much. I’d awakened before dawn, of course—”
“Sailor, right? Landlubbers sleep.”
She smiled. “I wasn’t going to say it, but aye. And I saw a carriage on the dock. Abby and Undine had come. They needed me to help them, so I ran back up and dashed off a note. Duchamps promised he would deliver it to you discreetly.”
“Well, he certainly accomplished that. It was so discreet, I didn’t even notice getting it. So, what did it say?”
“Nothing, really. I’m the one who told you to be careful around him, ye ken? I said I was helping our friends, that I wouldna be long, and that when you woke up to go to the inn because I’d stop there before I went to the ship. There’s nothing in that to raise anyone’s interest.”
“No,” Gerard said. “Very odd.”
“Where was Undine going?”
“The Hollow Crown.”
“Shall we?”
He made a courtly flourish. “Lead the way.”
Thirty-four
“And that’s the story,” Serafina said with a sigh, “whole and complete, from the moment I made my way onto the ship until now.”
Not quite whole and complete, Gerard mused, thinking of the time in the crow’s nest.
“Does anyone have questions?” she asked.
Abby lifted a brow. “Just one. Do the two of ye ever sleep?”
Though Abby had directed the question to him as well as Serafina, he knew better than to weigh in. He sipped Kerr whiskey and examined the buckles on his shoes.
Duncan refilled Gerard’s glass, then carried the bottle to Undine and refilled hers. “The question is,” Duncan said, “what are Bridgewater and Hiscock hiding? Threatening bodily harm means you stepped on some pretty big toes.”
“That’s one of the questions,” Undine said, stepping toward the fire. “I have quite a few more. I’m so sorry I put you in danger, Serafina. Bridgewater has worked tirelessly to identify our agents and use threats to get them to betray other agents.”
“I’m just grateful you got out before he arrived. What did you find in Hiscock’s room?”
“A few letters, whose information will be helpful to the cause.”
Gerard said, “So Edward funds a voyage with the help of investors—Hiscock and Bridgewater—arranges with Thistlebrook to steal the cargo in order to get the insurance money to pay off the investors, and now presumably plans to sell the stolen cargo.”
“Aye,” Duncan said. “And Hiscock and Bridgewater have just learned the cargo has been stolen.”
“And that Serafina is curious enough about it to question Hiscock,” Gerard added.
“He doesn’t know who Serafina is except an unnamed colleague of Undine,” Abby said. “You didn’t tell him your name, did you?”
Serafina shook her head. “No. But ’twill be no challenge for him to find out. Especially if he questions Edward about a woman with red hair.”
And we can count on Edward not to take the gentlemanly route and deny any knowledge of you, can’t we? Gerard watched Serafina, her cheeks still flushed from the danger she’d faced. How patently unfair that a man like Edward Turnbull would have seduced you. In another time and place, you’d have laughed it off as a drunken mistake. Here, it’s your ruin.
“I don’t think Undine should stay at the inn,” Gerard said, though what he really meant was Serafina shouldn’t. The story of her time in Bridgewater’s room had been wrenching to hear, and he could tell by the look in her eyes she’d softened it for his benefit. “It’s not safe.”
“Bridgewater wouldn’t come here,” Undine said.
Serafina crossed her arms. “And in any case, Undine is quite capable of taking care of herself.”
“No one is capable of taking care of oneself when a man like that is involved,” Gerard replied firmly, “not even Undine.”
“She’s not going to run just because you think she should,” Serafina said.
“Duncan and I are entirely capable of carrying her out of here if we have to.”
“Whoa,” Duncan said. “Speak for yourself. I have a verra strong attachment to my balls.”
Gerard growled. “Then I can.”
“Thank you,” Undine said, breaking the locked gaze between him and Serafina, “for your excessive concern. ’Tis comforting to know you keep me uppermost in your hearts. Perhaps we do need to think about a new home—at least until I accomplish what I need to do at Hiscock’s dinner tomorrow.”
“You intend to go?” Gerard was stunned. Bridgewater would certainly be there, and he doubted even the presence of half the grandees in Edinburgh would dissuade such a man from whatever unpleasant act he might consider.
“Is your question addressed to me or Serafina?” Undine said.
Gerard spun in Serafina’s direction. “She’s not going,” he said flatly.
Serafina’s eyes flashed. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’d like Serafina to accompany Duncan,” Abby said. “I need him to be there, but he can hardly accompany me.”
Gerard caught Duncan’s flinch, though he covered it instantly.
“Abby, I would help you if I could,” Serafina said, pained. “But the truth is I dinna have a gown.”
The realization of her misstep washed across Abby’s face. “Forgive me,” she said quickly. “I have half a dozen here, and with that hair, you’d look wonderful in any of them. The emerald and pink comes to mind, though the azure silk would match your eyes. I thought you’d ordered a gown because of the parcel that arrived today.”
“What parcel?”
Abby pointed to a large paper-and-twine package inside.
Serafina gathered the parcel and read the note that was tucked in the twine.
“’Tis samples of muslin,” she said. “From Turkey. It’s from Edward. He says he knows it’s not much, but he’s giving me the only part of the cargo that wasn’t stolen by Thistlebrook and his colleagues. He says he hopes I can use it to make something lovely. The other hundred and sixty-six bolts are still on the ship, where I can claim them whenever I choose.”
While he keeps the money he’ll make selling the stolen merchandise, the three barrels of Madeira, and the nineteen riding crops? Generous guy.
“That was a kind gesture,” Abby said.
“By the man who stole her fortune?” Undine said, and Gerard cheered silently. “Are you out of your senses?”
Abby opened her mouth to protest, but Serafina shook her head. “Undine’s right. It willna make up for what he’s done. But,” she added with a smile, “’tis verra fine muslin. I can see right through it, and look at the striking stripes and patterns throughout. I’ve never seen anything quite as delicate. ’Twill make for some scandalous chemises. I should verra much like to give you and Undine as much as you think you might like.”
Duncan brightened visibly at this, and Abby said, “It’s stunning. I’m certain we can get this made into something lovely in time for tomorrow’s dinner, though I forbear to think what Duncan might do with that much encouragement.”
The corner of Duncan’s mouth rose. “Let’s just say, you shouldna count on seeing us much after the last glass of brandy.”
“What exactly is happening tomorrow night?” Gerard said. “And other than wearing the finest chemise, is th
ere a plan for navigating a party attended by a man who has threatened bodily harm to Serafina and Undine, another who drained Serafina’s fortune, at the home of a third who appears to be trying to ruin Scotland’s last hope of holding on to its independence?”
“If you think those three represent the biggest threats at the dinner,” Undine said with a smile, “you don’t know Edinburgh politics.”
“I don’t know Edinburgh anything,” Gerard said, frustrated. “But I do know I don’t want you or Abby or Serafina at such a place. Duncan’s tried to kill me twice in the last two days and I think even he should stay home.”
Duncan gave him a nudge with his boot. “You’re not getting sentimental on me, are you?”
Undine said, “Mr. Innes is right. Dinner tomorrow night will be like a giant powder keg with a lit fuse of indeterminate length. But if something is going to happen, I’d rather we be the ones making it happen. The things I’ll be working on are best left unsaid, but I know Abby and Duncan will be looking for support on the canal project, and I assume Serafina will be finding out what she can about the cargo.”
Gerard saw he was fighting a losing battle. If he couldn’t convince them to stay away, his next best choice was to be there to watch over Serafina. “What can I do to help tomorrow night?”
“Nothing,” Undine said.
“Nothing?”
“Your offer is kind, Mr. Innes, but you’ll be gone by tomorrow.”
“What?”
“Serafina has given us a full accounting of your actions together,” Undine said, “and you did exactly what you were called to do, which was aid her in attempting to claim the cargo. Your work here is done. And the herbs to take you back”—she pulled a packet from her pocket—“have already begun to warm. You will leave at dawn tomorrow.”
“I…well…” Gerard turned to Serafina, who looked equally surprised.
“You did exhort me to ensure the spell could be reversed, did you not?” Undine said to Gerard. “You were quite clear when you found me reading fortunes at the Squeak and Blade that while you had enjoyed your time with Miss Fallon, you had no intention of staying any longer than required.”
“I-I did say that, but—”
“Your exact words, if I recall, were ‘There’s not enough in this place to interest a turd-throwing chimp, let alone a man of more worldly tastes.’”
Gerard felt the room go cold and realized how wrong he’d been. “I was angry. I overreacted. I’d been dragged out of a perfectly comfortable bed—”
“Shared by a perfectly lovely woman,” Undine said.
“—and I jumped to a conclusion—a faulty conclusion—and I have since learned—”
“Stop,” Serafina said. “Gerard doesn’t owe any of us an apology. No one here except Duncan knows what it is to be torn from all ye ken and all ye hold dear. Who wouldn’t be angry to lose that? He has a job in his time and a promotion on the way, and a family, and a world in which people sail the sky in air ships. Why wouldn’t he want to go back?”
“Aye,” Abby said, regarding Gerard closely. “Why wouldn’t he?”
Gerard hardly knew what to say. Serafina spoke like his returning was a fait accompli. “There are incredible things here—the sausages at the Squeak and Blade, which is now the Squeak and Sizzle, by the way, pop to mind, as does Abby’s whiskey, at least when it’s unadulterated, and the view from St. Giles’s spire. And of course, though we’ve only known each other a few hours, I would add to the list the friendship each of you has been kind enough to offer me.”
Serafina’s smile froze, and he kicked himself. Friendship? You idiot.
“You’re very kind,” Undine said. “We will certainly miss your friendship as well.”
“Unless he has a reason to stay,” Abby put in quickly.
“Aye,” Duncan said, “do ye have a reason to stay?”
Gerard looked at Serafina, who fussed self-consciously with the muslin samples in her lap. He could hardly stay if Serafina offered no encouragement. And how could he stay in any case? It was Sunday now. The Brewer boards were on his desk for a final review. The partners meeting was tomorrow. His father was meeting him for dinner on Wednesday. There was a life that existed for him that wasn’t here.
“Well, I could certainly stay through the dinner tomorrow—or longer if you needed me.”
“Serafina?” Undine said. Abby, Duncan and Gerard turned.
“Aye, I think Gerard should stay to help,” she said. “He has proven himself to be quite competent.”
No performance review had ever pleased him more.
“I suppose I could try to slow the spell’s effects and buy you one more day,” Undine said. “Through the party then.” She tossed the packet onto the table next to the whiskey.
It’s settled then.
Gerard said, “If Sera is to accompany Duncan, and Abby goes alone, it looks as if I will have the honor of serving as your escort tomorrow, Undine.”
She chuckled. “I never appear on the arm of an escort. But you’ll make a very creditable manservant.”
Thirty-five
Undine left to see if her network of contacts had heard any news regarding the missing cargo and declined both Gerard’s and Duncan’s offers to accompany her. Abby was to use her own network of contacts to try to piece together as many of the names of those invited to the dinner as she could. Duncan was negotiating the terms for the last barrels of Kerr whiskey they were selling that week, which happened to be to Lord Hiscock for his party, and Duncan promised to gather whatever information he could from Hiscock’s steward in anticipation of the dinner. Gerard was happy to volunteer to accompany Serafina back to the ship to make arrangements for the muslin.
Gerard pulled Duncan aside in the hallway. “How much is a pair of earrings here?”
“They’re called earbobs, my friend, and it depends entirely on what you’re looking for.”
“Emeralds, I think, with that hair, don’t you? Or maybe sapphires.”
“Och. Out of your league.”
“I don’t know about that. I have a few shillings. But I don’t know what anything costs.” Gerard dug in his pocket and held out what he’d earned. “I want Sera to have something special for the dinner.”
Duncan’s brows went up, impressed, and he considered the stack of coins. “Pearls, I should think.”
Gerard thanked him and ran to catch up with Serafina, who was waiting for him outside.
As they strolled down the street, the dappled rays of the afternoon sun danced in her hair. She was the sort of woman for whom a gown—threadbare or threaded with silver—added little, and the confidence with which she walked hinted she would be just as happy in her skin alone. Even the dimmed light in her eyes, the result of her lost fortune, adding only a small note of melancholy grace to her beauty.
“The muslin,” he said, “is a respectable haul.”
“Do you think? At six shillings a bolt, it’s about fifty pounds.”
“How much is a ship?”
She laughed. “A small one? A thousand pounds.”
“What would you do with a ship if you owned one?”
“Bring goods to people who want them—olives from Livorno, rum from Barbados, lumber from Bergen—and do what I could to harass Scotland’s enemies.”
“How do you know what people want?”
“You don’t have to know. If you bring enough goods to market, they will sell eventually—most of them in any case.”
“What if I told you there’s a way to know more precisely what people want? And more important, that there’s a way to make them want to buy whatever it is you’re trying to sell?”
She looked at him through a stray orange-blond lock. “Is this what your advertisements do? Or are you a conjurer like Undine?”
“Bit of both, actually. People won’t buy what they do
n’t want. I don’t mean to say that, and anyone who thinks they will is a fool. But if you can present them with something they never realized they wanted, in a way that speaks to a desire deep within them, you can make them want that thing more than they thought they’d ever want anything. That’s the power of branding.”
“Branding? What we do to cattle?”
“Sort of. That brand establishes ownership, and that’s how branding started. But the branding I’m talking about is the value a customer imputes to a product, value that goes beyond the absolute value of the parts. The Stewart estate with their S brand raises cattle with a much finer taste than the MacDuffs with their McD. And you learn to look for the S when you’re at auction.”
“Aye,” she said, “but you make it sound as if I faint with desire for the Stewart roast beef. I can assure you I do not.”
“All right, how about this example. Tulips were once the object of great desire in Holland.”
“They were and are,” she said. “They’re quite beautiful.”
“And how much would you pay for a tulip bulb—to grow the most beautiful tulip you’ve ever seen?”
“A penny perhaps, though that would be a lot.”
“No, no, the most beautiful, breathtaking tulip you’d ever seen?”
“Och, two pence—mebbe. But I’d hate myself for it.”
“One summer in the early 1600s, certain tulips with exquisite color patterns began to be highly prized. By the fall of that year, merchants who displayed pictures of the tulips these bulbs would grow into were able to sell the bulbs even before they were in the merchant’s possession—just the promise of a future bulb. In a matter of a few months, the price of the most beautiful bulbs rose as high as fifteen thousand pounds.”
“What! For a shipload?”
“For a single bulb.”
Her face twisted in parsimony-fueled horror.
“But the mania ended six months later,” he said, “just as abruptly as it had started. The men who’d bought and sold their bulbs at the peak made fortunes. But the men who’d bought and held on…they lost everything. By the time the next summer arrived, tulips were back to their pre-mania price.”
