Chapter 9
Before Tacey came into his life, Mercury took his meals in the exclusive company of his ghosts. When clients were at Aventine Manor, he ate his evening meals with them, doing his best to learn about them, earn their trust, and finalize trades. He’d never once felt alone at his own dining table.
He did that night.
“I cannot fathom your insistence on remaining here,” Mrs. Vann said.
If she’d brought her fan to the table, she would no doubt be flicking it furiously.
“London is so wonderfully diverting. You—and your ghosts—would have so many interesting things to do and see, and you could meet ever so many people.”
“It truly is an odd approach to business,” Mr. Vann said. “I know clients come to you, but think of how many more opportunities you would have for brokering exchanges if you were conveniently located.”
“Yes, it would be more convenient for potential clients.” Did they hear the slight emphasis on for potential clients? It certainly wasn’t more convenient for him.
“You must make the journey,” Mrs. Vann said.
“You absolutely must,” Mr. Vann added.
“While I did not dislike London the last time I was there”—that wasn’t entirely true; London came with risks, after all—“the benefits of remaining at Aventine Manor currently outweigh the benefits of going to Town.”
He took a bite of mutton, hoping doing so would signal to his guests that he was done discussing the matter.
It didn’t.
“Surely your ghosts would appreciate a change of scenery,” Mrs. Vann pressed. “You cannot deny them that, Mr. Raine.”
“It is in large part for the sake of those among my ghosts who severely dislike changes of scenery that I am remaining.”
“Is that fair, though, to those of your ghosts who are not prone to hermitry?” Mr. Vann posed the question as if asking Mercury why it was he kicked puppies or hurled insults at helpless old women.
“Why should they be held prisoner here because others in the house wish not to travel? That seems rather cruel.”
“Held prisoner?” He repeated the accusation quite calmly, though he was not the least bit pleased with it. “Have any of my ghosts told you that they feel that way about their residency here?”
“Well, no . . .” Mr. Vann hesitated only a moment. “But it stands to reason. If I refused to travel to London knowing my wife loves Town, she would be miserable, would she not?”
“And if she forced you to Town knowing you despised it, that would make you miserable, would it not?”
They didn’t seem to know quite what to make of that. And yet, it didn’t stop the pointed interrogation—he could think of no other way of describing the current “discussion.”
“So you simply choose who is miserable and who isn’t?” Mr. Vann asked.
Mercury took a slow breath, keeping hold of his patience.
“Were any of my ghosts to be truly and deeply unhappy because they never left Aventine Manor, I would discuss it with all the others, and we would find a solution.” He kept his words neutral, but he suspected his expression gave away his frustration.
“Thus far, a compromise among my specters has not proven necessary.”
“It must be difficult getting so many ghosts to agree on anything,” Mrs. Vann said, her tone more conciliatory than her husband’s had been.
He allowed a tight smile. “We always manage to find an answer.”
“How many ghosts do you have here?” Mr. Vann asked. “It must be at least a dozen.”
Even that query, which Mercury had been asked countless times, felt like an inquisition.
He chose a well-worn response. “Sometimes it feels like hundreds.”
“But it isn’t hundreds.” Mrs. Vann waved that off. “Not hundreds.”
“I suspect we wouldn’t be able to even move without passing through a ghost if there were hundreds,” Mr. Vann said. “There are likely not even one hundred.”
Mercury only smiled.
“But is it a dozen?” Mrs. Vann asked, wide-eyed. “Or a baker’s dozen?”
“Have you ever wondered about the origins of that phrase?” Mercury asked. “Did bakers used to struggle with accurate counting?”
Mrs. Vann blinked a few times, confusion tugging at her expression. Mr. Vann’s brows pulled, his version of the same expression.
Pearl was at the table—though she wasn’t eating; ghosts couldn’t eat—and answered the question Mercury had posed only as a distraction from the previous topic.
“There used to be significant penalties for selling baked goods that were underweight. Bakers would sometimes add an extra loaf as a safeguard.”
Mercury tossed the Vanns a broad smile. “There we have it. A learned ghost is a fine thing to have in one’s household. And ghosts who can move things, like the Violet Giant can”—he looked in that ghost’s direction, hovering near the windows—“are a benefit as well, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes.” Mr. Vann offered the response almost as a question. “In London—”
“You seemed to enjoy the game of lawn bowls,” Mercury said to the Violet Giant. “Are there other games you enjoy?”
“Cricket,” he said. “A favorite of yours.”
A favorite of yours. How did the Violet Giant know that about him? Mercury hadn’t told him. He knew he hadn’t mentioned it to the Vanns at any point.
“You and I have not met before?” Mercury couldn’t think of any other explanation that didn’t involve Phantomic memories.
“We have not.” The Violet Giant’s answer rang with the tone of one who fully understood why a question was asked and was a bit amused by the confusion that had inspired it.
He knew.
He knew that Mercury was trying to make sense of the Violet Giant’s knowledge of him, something he was certain went far beyond his name and favored pastimes.
“How could you two have met?” Mrs. Vann asked. “We have not passed through this area before, and you never go to London. Think of all the ghosts you could meet if only you would travel to Town.”
Mercury looked back over at the couple. Though Mrs. Vann wore her usual expression of flighty enthusiasm and Mr. Vann his ever-present display of slightly grumpy disinterest, something else flashed behind their eyes.
There was an urgency to their push toward London that felt too intense, too earnest.
“You seem to particularly wish for me to go to London,” Mercury said. “Are you concerned about my loneliness? Or is this concern for my business?”
Mrs. Vann’s smile was a little strained, yet he couldn’t identify the less-than-pleased emotion that was straining it. “I think everyone should go to London, Mr. Raine. Simply everyone.”
“I hope you will forgive our eagerness,” Mr. Vann said. “My wife’s enthusiasm for Town sometimes overrides her demureness.”
Mercury would not ever describe Mrs. Vann as demure.
“And I am not entirely unsuccessful in matters of business,” Mr. Vann continued. “I suppose I can be overly eager when I think I have good advice to offer.”
“And that advice is to take my business to London?”
“You really should,” Mr. Vann said. “Were we better friends, Mr. Raine, I would insist upon it. I would exhaust myself in attempting to convince you.”
“Do come with us to London,” Mrs. Vann said. “You simply must.”
Were we better friends. They weren’t friends at all.
And, before that evening’s meal, they had seemed only vaguely interested in anything to do with Mercury, his ghosts, or his residence.
Had they found themselves interested in one of his ghosts, as he’d assumed from the conversation he’d overheard, he didn’t think they would be this adamant about him leaving Aventine with them.
At the very least, they wouldn’t be this elusive about their reason.
“Why do you actually want me to go to London?” Mercury asked.
Those few of his ghosts who were present seemed to take note of the slight change in his tone from friendly, if impersonal, to slightly suspicious. The Vanns must have noted it as well; both of them grew particularly still.
“What is it you suspect us of, Mr. Raine?” Mr. Vann asked, a bit of tension in his voice.
“Nothing in particular,” Mercury said. “I am only trying to ascertain why you are so determined to see me make a journey to Town. As you have yourselves pointed out, we hardly know each other.”
Mrs. Vann rose with palpable dignity, necessitating that Mercury stand as well. Unlike his oversight in the drawing room the night before, her husband stood also.
“I suppose this is the thanks we get for being caring and friendly people.” She turned to Mr. Vann.
“We should probably retire for the night so we can make an early start.” Then, she turned her sights on Mercury.
“If you decide that we are not underhanded people with suspicious motives and see the wisdom in a trip to London, do join us.”
On that declaration she spun about and walked from the room, followed closely by her husband, who didn’t bother with any words of farewell. The Violet Giant remained. His eyes narrowed on Mercury, studying him. He didn’t look away or even blink as he disappeared through the wall.
Mercury didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
“Something about them is not as it should be,” Pearl said.
“I only wish I knew what that something was,” Mercury said. “Because I have the worst suspicion that it is something more significant than any of us realize.”