Chapter Ten
SORCHA TOSSED AND turned in her bed, fighting a losing battle. One thing she didn’t like about working with the Watch was the hours one had to keep. Starting work at sunset and returning home at sunrise put one at odds with the wider world. Giving up, she plodded downstairs to the sewing room.
Her sister, Orla, sat working on the hem of a robe à la polonaise in rose and lemon stripes. Unlike Sorcha, Orla had sandy hair and a penchant for floral gowns, as evidenced by her current garment which had been crafted from several shades of lilac.
She had a mouthful of pins and a well-rehearsed scowl. “Can’t sleep?”
“Too much noise outside. I swear you ask all the coachmen in the quarter to come down our road on purpose.”
The windowless sewing room sat at the rear of the shop, permanently lit by candelabra and several lanterns. Orla had wanted to work from the shop floor, with its tall, bright windows but the activity drew attention, which drew customers, and so she’d never been able to get anything done. The peace and quiet of the sewing room were, she often said, worth a little eye strain.
“I heard about the murder,” Orla said.
“Did you? How?”
“Word travels fast.” She tapped a newspaper on the table.
The Blackrabbit Courant had one story about the body of an officer of the Chase Trading Company being found under a pier. It also had yet another scathing article about the new head of the Port Knot Night Watch.
“Is it true? All that business about Mr Knight?”
Sorcha ran her finger down the paper. “Ah, most of it would be, now, yes. Now, this part is unfair. He doesn’t snarl like a tiger. He grunts like a bull. And, if anything, they’re understating how big he is. He’s as tall as a house and wide as a horse.”
“I really don’t want you working with that man.”
Sorcha rolled up the newspaper and slapped Orla on the head with it. “You just don’t want me working where you can’t see me.”
Orla took the pins from her mouth. “It’s only a matter of time before the people he used to work with come looking for revenge. Do you want to die protecting someone like him?”
“I don’t want to die at all.”
“Then stay here, where the only imminent threat to your life is Mrs Maunder finding out her dress isn’t ready yet. She sent word she wants the sleeves shorted which meant I had to draw it all out again.”
Sorcha lifted a brass sewer. “I’ll never understand why you don’t use this.” She turned a key on the top of the horological device. A needle held at the end moved up and down.
“Because I’m faster without it. Just because something is new doesn’t mean it’s better.”
Sorcha set the sewer down. It clicked and rattled on the table top, trying in vain to sew, until Sorcha slapped it silent. “You could always hire more people, you know.”
“I wouldn’t need to if—”
“Yes, yes, if I just worked here. I know, I know.” She smacked her on the head again.
The bell above the shop door tinkled. “Ms Fontaine, are you in?”
Orla sighed and looked to the clock on the wall. “She’s early.” She pushed the pins into a red velvet cushion and straightened her clothes, then put on her best smile and went to the shop floor.
Every wall in the Quick Tailoring shop held long shelves made of dark walnut and filled with roll after roll of fabric. Examples of hats in varying styles hung from beams overhead. The customer stood framed by the floor-to-ceiling bay windows on either side of the front door.
“Mrs Maunder, so good to see you,” Orla said. “I have your dress design right here.”
“Oh, splendid, you received my note.”
“Yes.” Orla guided Mrs Maunder to a Bergere chair by the window. “The one you sent last night. And the one you sent this morning.”
Sorcha wandered out from the sewing room, still reading the newspaper. She leaned on the shop counter.
“Now, Sorcha, when are you going to accept the offer of courtship from my Apricate?”
She didn’t look up from the paper. “From who?”
“Apricate. My youngest. He’s ever so fond of you, you know.”
“And it’s not like you have any other offers,” Orla said.
Sorcha tutted loudly and held up the paper. “This isn’t what happened at all.”
“What’s that, dear?” Mrs Maunder asked.
“The Watch was not plucked from the jaws of certain doom by the heroic soldiers of the Chase Trading Company. Who is this Hawksmoor person, and where is she getting her information from?”
“It’s what I heard happened,” Orla said. “Everyone was talking about it yesterday. Marjory Winkleigh told everyone in the market about it in great detail. Apparently, her husband saw the whole thing.”
“I heard the Watch were on their knees before the C.T.C. arrived,” Mrs Maunder said. “A little longer in the sleeves, I think, my dear. The weather is turning.”
Orla rolled her eyes.
“We weren’t on our knees,” Sorcha said, throwing the paper onto the counter. “Sure, you can’t believe a word they print.”
“Why ever not, dear?”
“Because the Chase family owns it! They won’t print anything that makes them or their company look bad. We had things well in hand. Vince would have sorted them all out in no time.”
Mrs Maunder’s eyes lit up. “What is he like? I hear he’s an awful brute. Ten feet tall with arms like tree trunks. Face all beaten and bent from a lifetime of fighting. Tattooed from head to toe without an inch of his flesh left unpainted, and strong as a bull with the passion to match.” She took a faraway look in her eye.
“Um, well, I don’t know about any of that, and frankly I hope I never do, but he’s not as bad at this rag makes out. And the greencoats have no business meddling in Watch affairs.”
“I don’t know where the Watch would be without them,” Orla said. “I dread to think what would have happened to you if they hadn’t been there.”
“The Watch wouldn’t have let anything happen to me.”
“They might not have had much say in the matter,” Mrs Maunder said. “What do we think about duck egg blue for the trim?”
“I think it would clash with the rose,” Orla said. “We should just let them take over looking after the town.”
“Who?” Sorcha asked.
“The greencoats,” Orla said.
“Thank you for the endorsement,” Sorcha said.
“She has a point, dear,” Mrs Maunder said. “The C.T.C. are better at this sort of thing. They fight battles all the time.”
“At sea! Not in the middle of a busy town! Are you saying you’d be happy to see uniformed soldiers with rifles marching through the streets?”
“If that’s what it takes in the immediate future to get the gangs under control. As a temporary measure, of course.”
“But it wouldn’t be temporary,” Sorcha said, throwing her hands in the air. “Once you let weapons like that onto the streets, you’ll never get rid of them. They have rifles so the criminals will start carrying rifles. Then every shop owner thinks they need a rifle. Then people start thinking they need a rifle at home. Then they start thinking they need to carry rifles when they go out. Before you know it, we’ll have running gun battles in the streets.”
“I think you’re exaggerating, my dear,” Mrs Maunder said. “Now, tell me, what do you think of lemon twill?”
IN A PRIVATE part of the Frost & Thaw tearoom, Agatha Samble sat with her back to an ornate rice-paper screen painted with lemon trees. On the other side of it lay the public part of Port Knot’s most vibrant entertainment venue, humming with people enjoying their evening out on the town.
Around her table, the council members and their guests chatted about the business of the day, while on stage a band played some dreadful modern music.
“I can ask them to play a different tune,” her husband said.
She laid her hand on his leg. “They must be due for a break soon. Besides, once he arrives, we’ll hear little else.”
All about the place were dotted horolistic animals in fantastic colours, calling and singing and performing for a largely indifferent audience. The whirring and ticking of their mechanisms drowned out by the well-to-do of Port Knot society dining and chatting amongst themselves.
Agatha became aware of a growing racket over the general din of the crowd. The server working the door of the tearoom arrived with Captain Godgrave and one of his lieutenants in tow. The Captain’s voice rolled across the room like cannon fire. On a shelf overhead, a clockwork penguin flapped its tin wings and squawked from an opening beak.
“Penguins don’t sound anything like that,” Captain Godgrave said to his lieutenant. “Not unless they’ve been shot, at least. Perty, do you remember the one I picked off in Angola? Two hundred yards if it was an inch.”
The server nodded to let him know his statement had been heard and entirely disregarded. Captain Godgrave straightened the cuffs of his best uniform coat and made sure his auburn hair was perfect. It was. As far as Agatha could tell, it always was.
He took his seat, smiling broadly at the other guests. “I didn’t realise we were late.”
“You’re not,” Agatha said. “We just wanted a chance to talk about you before you arrived.”
His lieutenant sat next to him. They’d met a handful of times since Captain Godgrave’s arrival on the island, and Rabbit had always found her difficult to read. She had a look of mild fright in her eyes at all times. Rabbit supposed being around Captain Godgrave all day would do that to anyone. The man could purr like a kitten or roar like a lion and give no warning as to which way he was leaning.
Still, there was something more to Lieutenant Hancock. Ah, that was it. Hancock. She must be part of the Hancock family from the Tangles. She kicked herself for not seeing it sooner. She had the soft brow, those shallow cheekbones of her infamous father. She didn’t appear glad to be back on home soil, but then sailors rarely did. They spent their time at sea dreaming of the land and their time on land dreaming of the sea.
Agatha introduced them both to Magpie, the minister for trade. A tall fellow with a dimpled smile and a cutthroat approach to business. Next came Badger, the minister for agriculture, effortlessly approachable and congenial. Their host, Fox, also happened to be the owner of the tearoom and the vibrant heart of Port Knot’s social life. “And I believe you already know Swan, Mrs Dorothea Chase.”
“Of course, we’ve met a handful of times,” Captain Godgrave said. “Good to see you, Councillor Chase. Sorry, I mean Swan.”
It always pleased Agatha when mainlanders followed the proper protocol for addressing a member of the Blackrabbit council. There were some traditions she would remain forever immovable on.
Fox’s companion, the dapper Mr Noss Quaintance, introduced himself before returning to his conversation with Agatha’s husband. The first course consisted of boiled mutton which Agatha found slightly too tough. Fox—Ms Clementine Frost—could always be counted on to provide wonderful company and she regaled them all with delightfully salacious stories about her clientele. Agatha turned positively pink at one tale involving a trouserless gin merchant, a musket ball, and an ill-advised wager.
Thanks to the glass walls of the tearoom, the harbour and the sea were in full view at all times. As the stars appeared in the clean autumn sky, Agatha’s head bubbled from the wine which was constantly being refilled. Her husband, Aldo, spotted the signs and refused further refills on her behalf. Courtesy prevented her from doing so herself, and she quietly thanked him for his intervention.
Fox swigged from a great goblet of the finest cut glass. She’d had as much as anyone else but it didn’t appear to affect her whatsoever. “We heard about your scuffle at the docks yesterday, Captain Godgrave. Quite the exciting event, I must say.”
“Poor old Vince and his Watch were somewhat outclassed,” Badger said. A wildly handsome man with long limbs and enchanting brown eyes, he’d caught James’s attention. That much was obvious.
“I’m certain Mr Knight would have handled the situation in time,” Agatha said.
“I cannot say I got the same impression,” Captain Godgrave said. He smiled at Agatha as he spoke, his eyes turning to crescent moons and his whiskers bristling. “If my troops hadn’t pitched in, things could have turned quite nasty indeed.” He used the last word in his sentences like daggers to stab his point into the listener. They were sharpened and driven with enough force to crack bone.
“What’s the sense in having a boorish lout on the payroll if he can’t even fight properly?” Badger asked.
Magpie pushed his empty plate forward. “We’re just lucky he didn’t help the smugglers.”
Agatha had expected Magpie, the youngest of the council, to be most in favour of her gamble with Vince.
“Vince helped himself to their wares,” Captain Godgrave said.
“What do you mean?” Agatha asked.
“Didn’t he tell you?”
“Mr Knight has authority in these matters. He doesn’t report every little thing to me.”
The table positively groaned under the bowls of fruit and sweets laid upon it. Captain Godgrave plucked a sugared almond and popped it into his mouth. “I wouldn’t call crates of muskets and ammunition in the hands of a man like Vince Knight a little thing.”
The council exchanged weighted glances with one another. Agatha set down her wine glass and stared at him. He hadn’t stopped smiling for the entire meal. Rabbit didn’t trust people who smiled all the time. It showed a flagrant lack of understanding about the world around them.
Swan, in her purple silk brocade dress, stood and raised her voice so everyone at the table could hear. “In light of the events at the docks, it’s the decision of the Chase Trading Company that our soldiers shall patrol the town during the hours of daylight. In recent weeks and months, we’ve seen the town slide into chaos, and I, for one, will not stand by and allow it to slide any further. Port Knot can ill afford to suffer from any more of the Watch’s failures. Captain Godgrave, I should like you to take command of this endeavour.”
He raised his glass to her. “I’d be delighted.”
Agatha’s wine-soaked mind raced. How very neat it all was.
“Do the rest of the council agree?” Swan asked.
“I wasn’t aware this was an official meeting,” Rabbit said. “And I without my mask.”
“Oh, it isn’t,” Swan said. “But then, it doesn’t need to be. The C.T.C. does not require Council approval to form its own Watch, especially considering it will operate only during daylight hours and thus will not interfere in the business of the Night Watch. Nonetheless, courtesy insists I at least ask my colleagues for their approval.”
Badger and Magpie nodded their answer.
Agatha turned to their host. “Well, Fox? What say you?”
“If this were an official meeting, I should be obliged to point out the people will likely resist attempts to patrol their streets and monitor their activities in this manner,” Fox said. “However, speaking as a private citizen, I would be grateful for a more robust show of force against the criminals who treat this town as their playground.”
Over dessert, guests moved about and mingled among themselves. Captain Godgrave held court, boasting about some sea battle against the French to anyone who would listen.
Agatha slid over to Swan. “Fortunate that Captain Godgrave happened to be in attendance so you could appoint him as the head of the…what shall we call it? The Day Watch?”
Swan cut into a slice of strawberry tart with her fork. “Sometimes events conspire to aid one.”
“I can’t help but wonder why he is here at all. On Blackrabbit, I mean.”
Swan laughed a little, not very convincingly. “There are plenty of C.T.C. captains in Port Knot at any given moment.”
“Precisely my point. You had plenty to choose from. What makes this one so special? Why did you summon him here?”
“Whatever makes you think I did?” She popped the fork into her mouth.
“Experience,” Agatha said.
Swan swallowed her food and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Captain Godgrave is here to brief the C.T.C. command about the rumoured sinking of a pirate stronghold in the Atlantic. We know a crew of pirates is sailing the Ivy, a stolen C.T.C. ship close to the heart of our organisation, and one Captain Godgrave served on many years ago. He attended the aftermath of the sinking, hoping to find some clues to the Ivy’s whereabouts.”
“And did he find anything?”
“If you must know, he did not. Is there anything else you’d like to know, Rabbit? Perhaps you’d like me to run down the expenditure of the captain’s journey? A full crew manifest, perhaps?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“I’m so glad to hear it. Isn’t this tart exquisite?”