Pinocchio Antiquariato

I. Head Butler's Letters

Unfortunately, with an uncharacteristically loud groan, he had further stewarding duties to attend to. Attending to his insensitive prick of a lord for example.

He headed to the Earl's office, finding the lord at his desk. The earl's face rested on his palm, his dark, unkempt waves tickling over his shoulders. The bastard had an obnoxious smirk on his face while regarding Allen with his sharp, ruby eyes.

The lord spun the woman's necklace round and round with his finger until the pendant came to a stop at his palm. He threw the chain across the room towards Allen, the links jingling softly against each other.

Allen rolled his eyes, catching the piece of jewelry with ease. "My lord, if I may—"

"You may not—"

"I presume this necklace barely cost half a shilling, yet you snatched it from the old woman's grasp. What use have you for a cheap silver chain?" Allen gingerly bit the edge of a chain link and frowned. "It's not even real silver."

The lord tutted, rising from his seat. "Monetary value does not measure the worth of an item, my good friend." He stepped away from his desk, a slight wobble in his steps. Was the man dressed in just his drawers?! "I acquired this simply because it mattered to her. It's a satisfying thing when you watch them weep over such a small thing..."

The lord glared at him.

"You look as if you've shat on a slice of cake and ate it," the lord accused.

"You are in your bedroom wear, Lord Mircea," Allen said dryly. "An earl should be dressed appropriately when communing with his people."

The earl snorted, lazily shooing him away as he rounded his table. "I've no need for propriety when addressing the common folk, Mr. Matthews. Now fetch me a gin and put that thing away with the others."

What a prick, this Lord Lucian Mircea was. Yet Allen bowed in obedience anyway. "As you wish, sir."

... ... ...

It was past eight in the evening when Marcel and Froilan returned. Allen had been waiting along with Mrs. Jen Ashfield, the Housekeeper, by the yard. It had become an evening routine where either he or the housekeeper would wait for the footmen outside when the weather was clear, or at the front parlor when it rained or snowed. Since most of Lucian's correspondents came in the late afternoon in secret, it was the servants' duty to send them off as discretely and as safely as they had come. Usually Mr. Rhodes was the only one to perform such a duty, but Marcel was new, and Allen sought to it that he was properly trained.

The March air was cold with the vestiges of winter, and it carried with it the songs of crows. From the corner of his eye, Allen could see the frown on the missus' face. Trouble, he presumed. Froilan never used his magic when it was safe.

The crows descended, feathers exploding into a torrent of black smoke until they revealed two men, spent from long hours of flying.

Mrs. Ashfield stepped up, regarding them with an accusing stare. Allen dreaded being on the receiving end of the missus' ire.

"And why are ye both in crow form?" She asked, crossing her arms sternly.

"I felt a very dark presence when we reached London, ma'am," Froilan replied in between huffs. "I could feel it watching us... had to... fly home lest we be discovered."

Mrs. Ashfield nodded in understanding. "Aye, good on you lad. Ye did right to use some magic to go home. Have ye made sure ye weren't spotted?"

"Yes ma'am," Froilan replied, popping up his collar with a smug expression. "They didn't call me Froilan the Smooth for nothing!"