Chapter Two
Lucas awoke early the next morning, well aware he was not in his own bed, since his back displayed a tendency to ache as he pulled back the covers.
Edgar, who must have been waiting outside, immediately entered the room. “Good morning, Mr Lucas. I trust you slept well?” He rolled to the window and raised the blind. “It’s a lovely day.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.” Stretching and groaning, Lucas rotated his head on his neck. “I’d forgotten that my bed had so many lumps in it.”
“Time takes its toll, sir.”
Lucas heard the slight edge to the words. “I know, Edgar. I know only too well.”
“Let me set up your tray while you make yourself comfortable.”
“A tray? Damn, it’s been a long while since I had breakfast on a tray. Give me five minutes.”
“Of course, sir. You will find your robe behind the bathroom door.”
Edgar stepped back outside and brought in the food, walking to the small table and chairs that were already shining in the morning sunshine, and set the tray down with more care than strictly necessary, the small stack of gearcakes arranged with mathematical precision.
Their edges were crisp and golden, each one cut into a neat cog, the teeth interlocking just slightly where they’d been stacked.
A bowl of berry rivets sat to one side—blueberries and raspberries tumbled together in cheerful disorder—while a glass of fresh engine juice caught the light like liquid amber.
“I made your favourites,” Edgar said, not looking at Lucas who had come to stand beside him. “The ones you liked when you were small.”
The words caught him off guard. “I thought I’d imagined that,” he said quietly.
“You did not,” Edgar replied primly. “You insisted the gear teeth had to be even, or they wouldn’t work properly. You were very particular.”
Lucas smiled despite himself. “I still am.”
“Hmph. Yes. Well.” Edgar adjusted the tray by a fraction of an inch. “I suppose some things, at least, remain the same.” He reached across the table. “Your tea, sir. Just as you liked it...strong enough to be respectable, not so strong as to make you reckless.”
At that, Lucas had to laugh. “Edgar, you were always fascinating. Now I see you have become a marvel.”
“You are too kind, sir.”
Silverware clinked on china as Lucas ate his breakfast with an excellent appetite, finding his taste for gearcakes had never really diminished.
He finished the plate with alacrity, and poured himself another cup of tea.
“I have to confess that this isn’t quite how I imagined my return.
” He leaned back in his chair. “I wasn’t expecting to find you here, Edgar. I thought you long gone.”
The tickerkin raised his beak, and Lucas swore he would have sniffed scornfully if he could. “An error on your part, Mr Lucas. You know very well that tickerkins have always had a very strong sense of duty to their assigned family.”
“You’ve shown that very well indeed.” He thought for a moment. “What happened after I left, Edgar?”
“Chaos, sir. Utter chaos.”
“My brother?”
“Silas was already enamoured of the Forge. You and I both know he had no real desire to tread in your father’s footsteps, and I recall you mentioning that it was as if he had a second home.”
Lucas nodded. “Indeed, yes.”
Edgar paused. “Then the unpleasantness with the Wardens...it was a difficult time for us all.”
“I can’t begin to imagine.”
“After that, Silas almost disappeared. He lived and worked at and for the Forge. He has a gift for it, Mr Lucas. And I think it brought him stability. Then, of course, not long ago he met Lady Dorothea Renslow.”
“His wife now, yes?”
Edgar stared at him. “You received your invitation to the wedding, didn’t you?”
“I did.” Lucas shrugged. “I could not leave at that time, unfortunately. I did send something, though, didn’t I?”
“I wouldn’t know. Her ladyship took care of all that. And since I was here, I had little to do with the whole thing anyway.” He sighed. “I admit I was hoping that they would take up residence at Ashcombe Manor, but nothing would stop them both from settling into their Undercroft home.”
“And my father?”
“He’s now residing in Highcrest Vale, beneath the Argent Peaks.”
Lucas sighed. “He always had a soft spot for that place. He said he met Mama there, but I still think there was more to that story than we’ll ever know.
Anyway, I’m sure news of my return will percolate through the lower levels, Edgar.
I will pen a note to my brother, however.
If I might prevail upon you to ensure he receives it? ”
“You could use the PCE, you know.”
“I could,” agreed Lucas. “But I’ve never really trusted that system. In my line of work, one can never be too cautious.”
“I see.”
“No you don’t,” chuckled Lucas. “But that’s of no matter. Today I must send one or two messages elsewhere, Edgar, so you might ask the messenger service to stand ready. I assume we use the same one?”
“Indeed yes. The Ashcombe family has been, and still is, a valued client of Brasswing Couriers, and prides itself on several generations of association.”
“I’ll wager Brasswing’s not too unhappy about that arrangement, either.”
Edgar shot him a pointed look. “As you say, sir.”
“My bags...they arrived?”
“Indeed, sir. I took the liberty of unpacking and pressing some of your garments. You will find them in the dressing room.” He waved a wing toward a door off the bedroom.
“Excellent.” Lucas rose from the table and stretched. “Today, the adventure begins, Edgar.”
“And what adventure would that be, Mr Lucas?”
“I am hunting for crumbs, my lad. A specific kind of crumb. And to find it I have to talk to the right people.”
“Er...very well, sir...”
Strolling to the window, Lucas looked out at Arcvale, finding it unchanged overall, even though nearly a decade had passed. “Still so familiar,” he murmured to himself.
Then he turned to his tickerkin. “Edgar, I shall be attending an event this evening at Pembroke Hill. There will be someone there with whom I must speak, and I believe he will be expecting me. Can you polish up my clothing enough to make me respectable? I’ll be going to the.
..” He frowned. “What the devil was it again? Oh yes...the Yardley Memorial Evening. Whatever that might be.”
“I believe it is a charitable event, Mr Lucas. Dinner and some informal dancing. Something about renovating the old Yardley House, so that it can serve as a recuperative centre for orphans. A worthy cause.”
“If Yardley House is anywhere near the monstrosity in disrepair I remember, there had better be a considerable number of wealthy donors in attendance.”
“I believe some work has already been accomplished. Lady Yardley has been most diligent in her efforts toward bettering life for Arcvale orphans.”
“That’s nice.” Lucas shrugged it aside. “After I’ve dressed, I’m going to the study.”
“In anticipation of your intent, sir, I opened it up last night. It is ready for you.”
“I’ll say it again, Edgar, you are a complete mechanical marvel, and I cannot imagine what I’d do without you.”
Edgar managed not to roll his red eyes. “You are too generous, Mr Lucas. But then again, I can’t imagine what you’d do without me, either, sir.”
*~~*~~*
“Now, are you sure you have everything, my Lady?”
Verity sighed. “For the umpteenth time, Sprocket, yes. I really do have everything. Perhaps even a little more of everything, since I could swear I saw you tuck a vial of perfume into my reticule when I wasn’t looking.”
“Never hurts to be prepared, my Lady. If you must wear that dull grey gown, at least you’ll smell good.”
“And that will, I’m sure, encourage people to contribute to my cause,” she replied, with a grin. “Never mind. You’re taking excellent care of me as always, and I appreciate it.”
“Yes, my Lady.” The fox swished her tickerkin tail.
Glancing at the tall grandfather clock in the hall, Verity picked up her fur-lined shawl. “The aethercoach is ready?”
“Waiting outside, and running, so it should be warm for you.”
“Perfect. I have my reticule, my gloves, my shawl, and my speech. That is all I’ll need.”
“You look lovely, my Lady.” Sprocket nodded. “No matter what you wear you always look beautiful.”
Touched, Verity grinned. “You spoil me. Thank you. You know you don’t need to wait up...” She stopped herself from saying any more. “But I know you will.” And with that, she slipped inside the elegant carriage and closed the door.
“Yes, my Lady. I will. Have a good time...”
The aethercoach slid silently away as Sprocket waved her tail.
Have a good time? Verity had to chuckle as she settled herself for the ride to Pembroke Hill. She honestly couldn’t recall the last occasion that could be described as a good time.
She’d been successful, of course. Her charities were thriving, and that was an endless source of pride. But they did require work, and events like this evening’s were work. No question about it.
She would open the evening with a short speech—carefully crafted to loosen purse strings—after which a dozen girls, orphans themselves, would circulate with posies. It was a small touch, but often the difference between adequate and extraordinary generosity.
There would be dancing, a pause for supper, and then more dancing still, all designed to keep spirits high and competition keen.
Somewhere along the way, pledges would be signed and tucked into the basket beside the lectern.
By night’s end, the largest donor would leave with Albermarle de Montclair’s latest painting.
And good luck to him, thought Verity. She was not a fan of the man’s art but, as is the way of things, the upper crust of Arcvale had declared him to be the newest sensation, squabbling amongst themselves as to which of his works was his best.
Her gaze drifted out of the window. The sun was almost set, and this was the time when Arcvale became something unique and magical.
Soft rays of reds, oranges, and yellows splashed over magnificent buildings, doubled their impressive display by glittering from the thousands of windows, and left other places intriguingly shadowed.
It was, to Verity, the epitome of Arcvale. Stunning beauty, breathtaking architecture, and beneath? Growing darkness. How many citizens who lived below Level 3, or even Level 2, got to see a sunset in this way?
She was practical enough to accept it, but that didn’t mean she had to be in favour of it.
Sighing, she leaned back in the carriage and turned her mind to the upcoming event, rehearsing her short speech as the aethercoach silently sped over the sledways toward Pembroke Hill.
First the greeting, of course. “Hello everyone, and welcome to the Yardley Memorial Evening.” Somewhat ordinary, but there were few dignified ways to begin.
Then a brief word of thanks to their host, Alastair Pembroke, sweet man that he was. He’d laugh, blush, and wave any compliments away, but still... This evening—and more than a few others like it—would never have happened without his support.
After that, a few short paragraphs about the Yardley House roof, and how the generosity of the evening’s attendees would benefit the children now enjoying a safer, healthier life there.
She would follow with thanks—some public, some carefully understated—to those whose quiet generosity had made the greatest difference.
Verity was proud of what she’d accomplished over the past few years. Widowhood did indeed come with more than a few benefits, and she valued not only her independence, but the freedom it gave her to make her own decisions.
It also freed her to spend many hours each day doing what she loved most..
.delving into the world of finance. This was no hobby, this was a passion, and it had allowed her to vastly increase the assets and portfolio of Yardley House.
Contributions such as the ones she hoped to receive tonight, would go quietly into the account she had set up several years ago, and more than a little would be invested in various funds and ventures, all of which would result in a decent return.
As the aethercoach slowed, Verity straightened her skirts and prepared to begin the evening.
If she could only banish that niggling worry that was bothering her. Some of those financial numbers just weren’t right...