The Deathsniffer’s Assistant (The Faraday Files Book 1) (10 page)

“I don’t know!” Chris snapped. “Shouldn’t you have told me instead of just assuming I knew? I’ve never done this before! You, on the other hand, are quite―”

Olivia pointed a finger at him through the mirror. “Come to work. Right now. And do stop crying about it. Gods, that’s irritating.” She paused for a moment of thought, and then added with a sneer, “And if have you a problem with any of that, then I’ll happily go looking for a new assistant. One who doesn’t give me any shit.”

“My
sister
is―” he began, but Olivia was turning away from the mirror and the image was going unfocused and cloudy. His own reflection replaced it, and the brown glow became dull and inert once again.

He balled his hand and forced himself not to put his fist right through the mirror. This was ridiculous. How could anybody be expected to
deal
with such a person? One moment, he thought he could grow to respect Olivia. Maybe even like her. And then in the next, she was like a bat out of the three hells and his greatest comfort came in the fantasy of marching into her creepy little office and sacking himself.

Fernand’s words came back to him.

He breathed.

The key to any situation was self-control. He had to find his self-control, and then everything would be all right. He turned to Fernand and Rosemary wearing a rueful and apologetic smile. “Well, Rosie,” he said, pleased at how composed he sounded. “I suppose we’re going to have to postpone White Clover.”

Rosemary was, for once, shocked into silence. It was Fernand who replied. “Well, I’m sure the young miss doesn’t mind terribly, do you Rosemary?”

“…no,” Rosemary said faintly. “Of course not. That’s fine, Chris. I can wait.”

“Could you contact Rachel Albany for me?” Chris asked Fernand. He hated to put this on the man—he did enough as it was, but he couldn’t leave Rosemary alone. “I hope she’ll be willing to come in on a Healfday.”

Chris turned to look at himself in the magic mirror. He was overdressed for work, but there was certainly no time to change. “I just need to get my notebook,” he said to the mirror, as if Olivia could hear him. It would be a fine day, he told himself. Everything would be just fine.

When he was halfway up the stairs, he was stopped by Rosemary’s voice. “Chris!” she called. He stopped and turned. His sister looked up at him with wide blue eyes, something between fear and wonder swimming there. “Was that
her
?”

Not even that brilliant little scene could shake her out of her admiration of the woman. “Yes, Rosemary,” Chris droned. “That was Olivia Faraday.”

“I thought so.” Rosemary cast a glance behind her at the mirror. A furrow appeared between her brows and she twirled one of her artful curls around a finger as she stared. “…she made the gnome laugh when she yelled at you,” she murmured, a small smile curling onto her lips like a contented cat. “And he never, ever does.”

Christopher arrived up at Olivia’s office to find her standing at the curb tapping one foot. The dark professional gown from her image in the mirror had been replaced by a flamboyantly colourful piece, layered extravagantly in a style that hadn’t been popular since his mother had been a young debutante. Her hair, gloves, and shoes were all fitted into the same era as her dress, making it look like she had stepped out of a fashion plate from thirty years ago. She rolled her eyes and flagged a taxi as soon as he fell into place beside her. “Finally,” she said just loud enough for him to hear.

He kept himself under control. “Good morning, Miss Faraday,” he said politely. “I’m very sorry for keeping you waiting.”

Olivia growled and flung open the door of the cab. She climbed up inside, folded herself down, and gave him a jerk of her head to indicate the other seat.

Chris nodded cordially to the driver. “The val Daren estate, please.”

The cabbie pulled his pipe out of his mouth and took his time prodding around in the bowl. “Long way out of city limits, that place,” he drawled.

Olivia made a frustrated sound. “We’ll pay.”

The driver put his pipe back in his mouth and puffed on it leisurely until even Chris felt a twinge of annoyance. Finally, the man shook his head and extended a hand. “Going to need some upfront, for a run like that.”

“Oh, for―” Olivia snapped and bustled out of the hackney with her voluminous skirts flouncing. She reached into her handbag and thrust a handful of notes into the cabbie’s hands without counting. “Is that good enough, or should we beg, too?”

The man puffed on his pipe and the corner of his lip curled. “Aye, missy, that’ll be enough. Get your arses up in the car.”

The trip was considerably farther when they weren’t soaring over the city. Chris wished they were in that splendid winged carriage today, not only because of how fine it had made him feel, but because he could have used the vistas as a welcome distraction from the tense air in the cab. He watched the city go by in its most mundane of ways, and thought of witty, unflattering remarks he could throw at his employer.

And saying any of them would have been idiotic. Fernand’s dire words this morning couldn’t be ignored. He was a pauper, there were another six years ahead of him, and Olivia was paying him an absurd amount of money for clerical work. Apparently, Healfday mornings spent smelling death was part of the reason why.

He pushed up his specs and rubbed the bridge of his nose. She wasn’t going away, and whether he wanted to or not, neither was he. There had been moments in the past week where Chris had found himself fond of her. He had to focus on those times and get through these ones.

“It won’t happen again,” he said, not looking at her.

A long silence followed his statement. They turned from the clothiers’ district and down into one of the jewellers’ roads. Chris wondered if Olivia had fallen asleep, if she’d even heard his near-apology at all. Gods, that would be too cruel. He wasn’t sure he could say the words again.

But after they’d driven down three different streets, top to bottom, Olivia made a neutral sound and murmured, “I know it won’t,” and then, after a brief pause, “Your sister is lovely.”

The view changed from the claustrophobic streets of Darrington’s trade district to the rolling hills of its peaceful countryside. Chris turned to look at his employer and found her staring listlessly out her own window. “What are we doing today?” he asked. Encourage communication. Show interest. Six more years.

Olivia jumped, swinging her gaze to his. “I’m sorry, what?”

Chris repeated his question, adding, “I’m sure you have some clever plan. I’m just wondering if I can be let in.”

She raised her eyebrows then, and a bit of her usual delighted mischief crept into her expression. “Are you trying to proposition me, Mister Buckley?” she teased, fluttering her lashes. “It’s not going to work. I’m impervious to charming, handsome men, you see. And I’m at least ten years older than you.”

Any other day, that would have had him blushing and stammering, but he recognized it for what it was: a peace offering. “What a harsh refusal,” he replied, playing along.

“Sorry, but I have no choice. I know your type. Brass balls blunt, I have to be, or you never learn.” She drummed her fingers on the window ledge. “We need to speak to the daughter. Right now, that’s the most important thing.”

“Analaea?”

“Was that her name?” Olivia gave a dismissive shrug. “I’m wondering how
she’d
be affected by her father spontaneously becoming a devoted patron of the arts. She looked about your age, which means she was probably old enough to have known him before the change and after. Was she neglected by his sudden interest in young women? Confused by the change? Did their relationship deteriorate? Was she
jealous
, maybe?”

“That’s disgusting,” Chris said without thinking.

Olivia gave him a suggestive look. “Of the
attention
.” Chris looked away, embarrassed. “Or the other way, why not? You’d be shocked at how many daughters have
issues
in that vein.”

“Can we not talk about this?” Chris muttered.

Olivia gave a full-throated laugh. “You’re so easy to offend, Mister Buckley!” she said when she caught her breath. “Oh, we’re going to need to work on that.”

“Lady Analaea,” Chris persisted, desperate to change the subject. “Is that all you want to learn from her? Her relationship with the Duke?”

Talk about the case sobered Olivia and she took on a thoughtful pose, head cocked, brow furrowed. “No,” she said, then went quiet as the gears of her mind worked. “I want to know where her loyalties lie,” she said. “There’s obviously a rift in the marriage. Is the daughter loyal to the mother or the father? Or is she a free agent? Once we know, then we’ll know what we can use her for. And, of course, we’ll need to have her alibi for that night.”

That caught him off guard. “Do―do you think she might have done it?” It was unthinkable to him. There had been many times when, angry and young, Chris would have sworn on everything he believed that he despised his father and wished he’d die. But actually losing him had made it painfully clear no matter how little they’d gotten along, Chris never would have truly wished harm on him. The thought of anyone willing to do such a thing…

Olivia pursed her lips. “Maybe.”

“But―”

She shrugged. “Don’t think so much. I don’t rule people in, I rule people
out
. She’s connected, and that means she might have done it. Nothing personal.” She tapped a finger on the inside of her arm and then made a thoughtful sound. “But if I had to call Maris and tell her to arrest someone right now, just from my gut…” A small, toothy smile. “The Duchess.”

“She
is
hiding something,” he agreed.

Olivia shot him a surprised look. “What makes you say so?”

Suddenly flustered he’d given his unasked and uninformed opinion, Chris turned away from her and looked out the window. He squinted against the bright morning sun and was relieved to see the val Daren estate close enough to make out the flying buttresses. “Oh, look,” he deflected. “We’re nearly there.”

Olivia moved across her seat to join him at his window. He awkwardly tried to move his knees so he didn’t bump hers. It all felt terribly ungentlemanly. “So we are,” she said, sounding pleased. “Gods, this is a longer drive when you have to use the road, isn’t it? I wonder how much it costs for one of those winged carriages.”

“A lot,” Chris said ruefully, still bruised from his encounter with that particular price tag.

“A shame, that.” They turned down the long lane leading to the estate. “Why do you think she’s hiding something?”

He’d so hoped she’d forgotten. “I just…something in the way she talked,” he fumbled. “It always seemed like…” He shot her a look, his cheeks warm, hoping she would let it go, but her gaze was as intent as a hawk’s.

“Keep trying. I like to know what normal people are thinking.”

Normal people.
How very well said. “She just always seemed to be talking around something. I suppose? Skirting an edge. Using what she was saying…”

“―to hide what she wasn’t,” Olivia finished, and gave him an appraising look. “Well observed. Maybe you aren’t so dumb, after all, Mister Buckley.”

He held the door open for Olivia, letting her exit before him. She paid the cabbie, though not without an attempt to haggle and a few choice insults, and she didn’t exactly
hand
him the notes so much as throw them at his face. And then they were up the steps, ringing the faintly glowing bell and hearing the ice crystal sound of a singing fiaran. A plainly dressed servant ushered them in, bowed, and disappeared into the manor.

Olivia removed her old-fashioned hat and held it at her side. “Hello?” Olivia called none-too-politely into the empty foyer. “
Hello?
”

“I’m sure that maid went to inform the Duchess that we’ve…” A handsome young man stepped out of the hall and into view, and Chris trailed off at the sight of him. “Here, you see?”

Olivia marched up to him, holding her feathered hat before her like a dark age iron shield. “I need to talk to the Duchess,” she declared. “There’s plenty enough to do without wasting time standing here in the entrance way. I can’t believe she didn’t send me her winged carriage—do you have any idea how long it took us to drive out here in a hackney? Next time, I’m going to take a winged cab and tack that expense onto my fee. And another thing―”

“You’re wasting your time, Miss Faraday.”

Olivia and Chris both turned to see Duchess val Daren standing above them on the landing. Her gown was midnight blue with frothing white lace spilling from her cuffs and enclosing her long, elegant neck. Her hair was pinned and coiffed becomingly. She wore no hat or gloves, but she was, of course, not dressed for out of doors.

She ignored the both of them and focused her cold gaze on the slender young man. “
Mister Grey
was just leaving. Weren’t you?”

The young man’s gaze flickered between Chris and Olivia. “Are you the Deathsniffer?” It was difficult to tell which of them the question was directed at. Chris could only hope Olivia took no offense. “You’re trying to find what happened to Ana’s father, aren’t you? If there’s anything I can―”