♪ I'll give you my best side, tell you all my best lies
Yeah, awesome right? ♪
{Lorde—Homemade Dynamite}
EXPLICIT WARNING—for the song
How she kept her eyelids sealed for more than an hour, Harriet didn't know. And how her nightmares didn't consume her whole, she'd never understand.
When she woke, the sun didn't soothe her in its embrace; it hurt her. It brought back the horrid memory of what she'd discovered the night before, blinding and flashing before her like lightning.
Sir Eugene Thatcher employed slaves in his basement.
It was enough to inherit a corrupt business that traded in overpriced goods and extorted money from innocent inhabitants; but slavery was another matter altogether. Though not abolished in Europe, Totresia had banned slavery during King Edouard's rule. And King Antoine was firmly opposed to it, too.
If only Harriet had waited to send the laundry list of misdeeds to the King. Something like this would have had the jailers chopping Eugene's head off in a matter of minutes, and everyone would pay to see that spectacle.
More so when word gets out he smuggled these slaves from the colonies.
Those children's faces were engraved in Harriet's mind. Their sad eyes, their sullen, scarred skin, their tiny, malnourished frames, the rags their employer dared call clothing. What had Mrs. Banks done with them? What would Harriet do with them?
After dressing and dragging herself to her office, she sank in her chair and fought to stay awake. Every time she closed her eyes, those kids' innocent expressions plagued her. The vision of them hard at work, without a clue their captor had been arrested, twisted her stomach into tight knots. Their shock and awe at seeing her, the new lady of the house, completely unaware of their existence.
A knock on the door made her realize she'd been crying, so she wiped her cheeks with her sleeve. "Come in," she said, spinning the chair around to face the window, to let the sun dry her tears.
"Miss?" Sir Fletcher's familiar friendly tone almost tugged her mouth into a smile. She flipped back to the desk as he entered, garbed in gray breeches and coat, with a lavender undershirt that brought out the hazel in his eyes. "Are we disturbing you?"
The correct answer was yes, and yet the sight of Jacob always seemed to warm her insides. Even now, depressed and despaired as she was. "No, of course not."
The second person to enter the room stirred and drowned the slow fire burning in her core. "We apologize for not making an appointment," said Sir Newton, reds and blues adorning his figure.
Harriet had spent little time looking at him, but noticed now that he had the airs of a French general, like those she'd seen in portraits and drawings at the Academy. A tricorn hat in his hand, a silk sash slashed across his chest, covered in brooches and medals. A stiff posture and lips so thin they nearly molded into his face. As Eugene's chief advisor, why did he have so many decorations, and who accorded them to him?
"It is fine," Harriet motioned for them to sit, "I suppose I should get used to it."
Both men took their spots, and though Jacob smiled, something in the air bothered Harriet. There was a tension she didn't need to feel, considering how stressed she already was; but it didn't come from Jacob.
"Miss, I am sorry to say... but we are in debt." Sir Newton's voice was clipped, his words elongated as if talking to someone who didn't speak English. "What you did to denounce Sir Thatcher's actions was honorable, but... it will ruin us."
Ruin.
Of all the words he might have chosen—destroy, disrupt, harm, bankrupt—why was it the same as in Eugene's letter? She hated to dwell on such tiny details, and yet this perturbed her more than she wanted to admit. It brought the brewing in her gut to a boil, and prompted her to further scrutinize Sir Newton, hoping to comprehend who he worked for.
"I told our dear Oliver that you were aware of this issue," said Jacob, turning his smile to Sir Newton. It lost all its charm, appearing forced, giving off that I told you to be quiet look. "And that we would handle it soon, but we had other pressing issues—"
"—that I understand, I do, but if we do not act fast, there will be retaliations." Sir Newton scrunched his hat, wincing. "Certain cities are expecting these shipments that you hold on to... and until the King requests them, should they not go to those who ordered them?"
"So you suggest we ship off the contraband products my father has been—" she clamped her mouth shut before revealing too much.
Were they privy to her father's underground—literally—practices?
I do not think it is the right time to inform them.
Sir Newton shifted in his chair, his nostrils twitching. "I suggest nothing, My Lady, except that we figure a way to make money, and fast. This contraband is necessary to those who ordered it, and if we do not present it... I cannot say what will happen. Plus... we will not be paid if they do not receive it."
"Then we must come up with a means to make legitimate money," said Harriet, clasping her hands, resting her elbows on the desk. "How does one usually do that, Sirs?"
"Well... the advisors handle such things." Jacob cleared his throat. "They collect taxes, a percentage of crops and produce, oversee protection of the borders, and convene with the town's leader on a weekly basis. And in those meetings, they allocate income accordingly depending on what the townsfolk need. We split the leftovers between the advisors, as a sort of salary... and anything remaining goes to the Vidame."
"Your father," Sir Newton wrinkled his nose as he scratched his chin, "withheld more than his fair share. He also took more taxes, more produce, more of the luxurious items he set us out to collect. And we..." He fidgeted, averting his gaze as his cheeks flared with red, "allowed it, since he donated other goods to us. He provided for us, so we kept our mouths shut."
Harriet studied this man as he squirmed about in his chair. He had more knowledge than she'd anticipated, despite never being singled out on Eugene's paperwork. And yet... he didn't seem too comfortable with the way her father had run his affairs.
"Well, we have a new Vidame," she said, standing up, snatching her goblet. She wished wine was in its depths, but her cranium still rang with the after-effects of her recent copious drinking. "Which means... we need a new team, too. New advisors that will come up with authentic ways to provide for our townsfolk, without breaking the bank for us. I do not care for excess luxury, like my father did." She swallowed a few gulps of water and clutched the cup to her chest. "To keep us afloat, for starters, you may take all his obscure paintings and odd sculptures and sell them. Legitimately, mind you; nothing fishy, not anymore."
She almost smirked at the idea of seeing the horrific artwork carried out of her home. In time, she'd fill the walls with things she liked, like landscapes and flowers and portraits from their English ancestors.
"I know a thing or two about art and have connections with several museums in Totresia that would die to buy those." Sir Newton nodded, his redness dissipating. "Allow me to gather them up and voyage around to rid you of them. It may take a few weeks, but it will help... for now."
"Good. Have Mrs. Banks or Victoria help you—they are well aware which paintings I refer to." She jutted her chin at the door. "You may go; I would like a moment with Jac—with Sir Fletcher." She flushed, happy she'd stopped herself before speaking of Jacob as if they were longtime friends.
That would not look good.
Once Sir Newton departed and closed the door behind him, Harriet hastened to take the spot he'd vacated. "Jacob, I... have a special mission for you. Because you... are an outsider. Because you work for the Count, yes?"
Jacob stilled, but his breaths sped up as he gaped at her. "I... well... I am an emissary, in a sense, so yes. I work for both you and the Count."
"The Count is the father of my best friend, Esther. I have known him for a while and he is a reliable man. And that means... I can trust you, yes? Since you work for him?"
He bit his lip as he turned tomato red and lowered his chin. "My Lady, I am sworn to you as I am sworn to Rosford. You may trust me with your life." He scratched the back of his head as he dared to peer at her, filling her with peace, quiet, the solemn sensations she'd needed all morning. "What will you have me do?"
"You will put together my team of advisors." His eyebrows lifted and he opened his mouth, but she raised her hand, halting him. "But first... I wish for you to escort Sir Newton on his little trip. There is something... off about him, and I cannot put my finger on it, but I... doubt his intentions. Doubt his lack of a role in Father's plans."
Jacob shot up and grunted. "No. I would do anything, I would, but I refuse to... leave you. Oliver is pompous, I will give you that. But I do not think he is one of Eugene's friends."
"Well, I am not so sure. And I have guards, Jacob. Mercenaries at my service, remember?" She stood up too, her forehead level with his. Too close to him for comfort, she backed away.
"But money... is waning, Harriet. And they will know, they will smell it. And they will see Oliver taking the canvases down. Which will leave you vulnerable, and I will not have that." Jacob's arms seemed ready to fling forward, to wrap around Harriet and shake her into seeing reason. "But I can send some of my men with him. I trust every one of them, and could advise them to watch him closely. We will tell him it is for his protection, and with his ego," he scoffed, "he will devour that lie up without a problem."
Harriet pursed her lips, examining her options in her mind. And those options were slim, with outcomes that were unpredictable.
He was correct, as much as she didn't want to confess it. "All right... but in that case you will start your search for trustworthy men to advise me, yes?"
"Miss, I have been preparing for that since the instant you denounced Sir Thatcher as a fraud." He bowed, then took her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles. Her heart skipped a beat and heat rushed to her temples. "I will have a list for you soon, I promise it. And if there is any suspicious behavior from Oliver Newton, I will inform you of it at once."
As he took off, she understood at once why Eugene had never mentioned him, never scribbled his name among those he wished to see her marry.
He is too good and kind-hearted; which means Father abhorred him.
•••