The vulgar crowd always is taken by appearances, and the world consists chiefly of the vulgar.
— Niccolò Machiavelli
———
Lord Blackwood tilted his head with what might have been amusement. "An interesting proposal, young Leone. You believe your... familiarity with the staff might prove beneficial?"
I hunched my shoulders further. "I just thought... maybe I could notice if someone was acting nervous? Or strange? I've been trying to... to be better about paying attention to people instead of just..."
"My cousin has a point," came a new voice from the doorway, rich with that particular brand of noble confidence that could silence a room. Leo von Valerius stepped into the hall, his sapphire eyes taking in the assembled nobles.
Of course you're here, Golden Boy. Can't resist inserting yourself into every drama, can you?
"Young Master Valerius," Father's voice carried a note of surprise. "I wasn't aware you were visiting our estate."
"I was passing through and thought I'd pay my respects," Leo replied. "I couldn't help but overhear your discussion. A theft of such magnitude requires thorough investigation."
Translation: I smelled drama and came running like a moth to flame.
Grundy stepped forward, his shoulders hunched. He kept wiping his palms on his trousers.
"Indeed, my lord. Though I confess, I'm somewhat concerned about involving young Master Kaelen in such a serious matter. The servants might feel... intimidated by his presence during the search."
"I... I wouldn't want to make anyone uncomfortable. Maybe I should just stay here?"
"Nonsense," Leo declared. "If my cousin believes he can assist, then assist he should. Justice requires all available resources."
Blackwood nodded slowly, his calculating gaze moving between Leo and myself. "Very well. Though I confess, I'm curious about this sudden... civic responsibility from the Leone family's youngest son."
I let my face crumple slightly, as if the comment had struck a nerve. "I... I know I haven't been... that I've made mistakes. But maybe this is a chance to do something right for once?"
Leo's expression softened fractionally. "Redemption begins with small steps," he said, and I could practically hear the inspirational music swelling in the background of his internal monologue.
God, you really can't help yourself, can you?
"Then it's settled," Blackwood announced. "We shall proceed to the servants' quarters. Grundy, lead the way."
"Of course, my lord. I believe we should start with the kitchen staff quarters, as they would have had the most opportunity during the festival preparations."
And there it is. The opening move in your little chess game.
The procession to the servants' wing was a silent parade of power. Blackwood and Father led, their steps echoing with authority. Behind them, Leo and Lucius murmured to each other, a low conspiracy of the privileged. Lady Vivienne followed. I brought up the rear, perfecting my role as the family's stray dog.
Grundy moved ahead to "prepare" the areas we'd be searching.
More like making sure everything is in place for the grand reveal.
The transition to the servants' wing was jarring. The corridors narrowed, the tapestries vanished, replaced by bare stone. The air itself changed, growing thick with the caustic smell of lye soap, the watery scent of boiled cabbage, and the faint, ever-present odor of human sweat.
I caught sight of Lyra near the kitchen entrance and gave her a slight smile.
Grundy appeared from around a corner, slightly out of breath and carrying a copper tray laden with cleaning supplies.
Perfect timing. Almost like he was making sure everything was in place.
"The quarters are prepared for inspection, my lord," he announced, setting the tray on a nearby table. "I've asked the staff to remain available should you need to question anyone."
I positioned myself near the tray, close enough to seem helpful but not so close as to draw attention. The bottle of cleaning fluid was within easy reach, its cork slightly loose from recent handling.
Now for the delicate part. One chance to plant the seed.
Thomas Hartwell chose that moment to round the corner, his arms full of freshly laundered linens. He was a young man with ambitions beyond his station, the kind who noticed everything and forgot nothing. More importantly, he was the kind who harbored quiet resentments about being passed over for promotion.
Perfect. The exact weapon I need.
As Thomas rounded the corner, my internal clock started its countdown. Three steps... two... one... now. I turned, my motion a carefully engineered caricature of a startled fool. My elbow caught the bottle just right, sending it tumbling to the stone floor with a sharp crack. The pungent smell of cleaning fluid filled the air as the liquid spread across the stones.
"Oh! Oh no!" I exclaimed, dropping to my knees and fumbling uselessly with the broken glass. "I'm so sorry! I'm such a clumsy fool!"
Thomas immediately knelt to help, his trained servant's instincts overriding any personal feelings about assisting the family's least favorite son.
"This smell is dreadful," I complained. "It's almost as sharp as that cheap spirit Steward Grundy drinks. Gives me such headaches."
The words tumbled out in a perfect imitation of an entitled brat's thoughtless complaint. But I watched Thomas's hands still fractionally as he processed what I'd said. His eyes flicked toward Grundy, then back to the mess, and I saw the exact moment the seed took root in his mind.
There you go, Thomas. A nice little detail about your superior's habits. The kind of detail that might explain certain... financial discrepancies.
"Here, let me help with that," Lyra's voice came from behind me.
"Thank you," I mumbled, scrambling to my feet and backing away from the mess. "I'm sorry, I should have been more careful..."
Grundy hurried over. "No harm done, young master. These things happen."
But his gaze lingered on Thomas for just a moment too long, and I saw the footman notice that look. The seed was planted, watered, and already beginning to sprout.