AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The carriage rocked to a halt.
“Shall I wait, sir?” the driver asked as I climbed out.
“Please. I’ll not be long.” I ascended the house’s wide steps, and by the time I reached the door, a doorman had already swung it open, revealing an opulent entrance hall and a grand, sweeping staircase.
“Your coat, sir?”
I shrugged off the garment and handed it over. “Thank you.”
Rochefort was of old money, generations upon generations made rich by land and the labor of those who worked it. The house had changed over the years, wings added. Part of it had burned to a shell and been rebuilt. Like the town it looked down upon, it had its legends. One such legend involved the lord himself.
“Milord will be right with.”
After being led to one of dozens of reception rooms, I warmed my hands by the fireplace and scanned the portraits of austere-looking aristocracy. I’d met with Rochefort the day prior, when he’d given me Devere’s eviction notice and instructions to hand deliver it. In truth, however, I hadn’t returned to Minerva for that task.
The true matter was far more delicate and required a profession I’d been perfecting in Massalia City for the past ten years.
“Ah, Mr. Anzio!” Rochefort swept into the room, wearing his riding clothes and boots. The man was in his midforties, although he looked more youthful than his years, with a splash of blond hair and brilliant blue eyes. He switched his cane to his left hand, pulled off his gloves, and offered his right.
I shook it, noticing how cold his fingers were from the ride.
“An early start for you?” he asked.
“When there is work to be done, I find sleep rather elusive.”
“Hm, yes, as do I.” He flung his gloves onto the sofa and rested his cane against the table. “Tea?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but he’d already rung the bell beside the fireplace. A servant appeared from a paneled side door as if by magic. Tea ordered, Rochefort urged me to sit, then rattled off some polite small talk regarding the unseasonably cold weather. “My mother always did say that a long winter meant the fae were displeased. Nonsense, of course!” He laughed so loudly the whole house must have heard him.
“Nonsense, yes. The older generations often attributed poor weather to mythical beings. Now we have science, which tells us it has more to do with shifting global cycles.” I smiled as Rochefort slowly blinked back at me.
“You’re a man of science, aren’t you? I almost forgot. How did you fare with Mr. Barella?” he asked, picking a leaf from his waistcoat.
“Rather as expected, I’m afraid.”
“One imagines such news was not welcome so soon after his father’s death.”
“Indeed.”
A maid arrived with a tray of tea. All conversation stalled while she poured for us. Rochefort’s gaze roamed the maid’s legs, and his smile grew.
He had a house full of staff and a wife few saw, bred racehorses, raked in the profits from a dozen tenant farmers and, from what I could gather, had enough money that one toy store late on its rent wouldn’t make a significant difference to his finances.
Still, he did not pay me to judge his lifestyle. Or comment on how he gazed at maids.
“Tell me,” Rochefort began as soon as we were alone. With his legs crossed at the knee, he bounced a boot-clad foot. “Your impression of the toymaker’s son?”
My impression of Devere had been complicated by our shared pasts. Rochefort didn’t need to know that. I wasn’t sure if Rochefort was aware I’d been born in Minerva or that I’d grown up just a mile away, down in the valley. It was unlikely. His world of riches was a thousand miles from my troubled upbringing.
“That is your forte?” Rochefort asked after I’d taken too long to answer. “Matters of the mind, as well as criminality?”
“That’s right. I’ve studied this subject extensively and my agency—”
“Then he’s capable of murder?”
“No doubt, but so are most men and women when presented with motive and means.” While I disliked Devere, I wasn’t about to condemn him without evidence, which seemed to be Rochefort’s preference. Pointing a gun at me did not mean Devere had killed his father. Although, according to Rochefort’s report, someone had. “I cannot make such an assumption after a ten-minute meeting. As I said when you hired me, this will take time. Evidence must be gathered. I’ll need to speak with Mr. Barella regarding his father and the circumstances of his death. Witness testimony—”
Some of the glee vanished from Rochefort’s smile. “What if I were to increase your remittance?”
