Page 7

It was almost midday by the time the hansom cab Viggo had hired pulled to a stop in Belgrave Square.

The Georgian townhouse belonging to Lord Fairfax dominated the corner of the quadrangle, its grandeur asserting itself even among the distinguished residences of one of London’s most fashionable districts.

Viggo disembarked from the cab with Solomon and looked around the square.

An elegant carriage rolled past, lacquered wood gleaming in the sunlight and wheels clacking against the cobblestones.

Well-dressed ladies and gentlemen strolled along the iron-fenced central garden across the road.

A nanny supervised two children playing with hoops near the corner of the green space, their laughter carrying on the late autumn breeze.

Viggo’s face tightened.

Life here was as different from the slums of the East End as night was from day.

He turned to face the residence before them.

Three stories of white stucco rose against the crisp blue sky, the sunlight washing over the facade glinting off tall windows with dark ironwork. Stone steps led up to a portico flanked by classical columns and a black door with polished brass fittings.

Viggo adjusted his cravat as he and Solomon climbed the steps, still uncomfortable with the restrictive garment despite the quality of the tailoring.

Before leaving Nightshade, he’d changed into one of the new outfits he’d recently acquired.

Finn had teased him mercilessly about his appearance before he’d left the guild, causing Solomon to smack him on the back of the head.

Still, Viggo was conscious that appearing presentable would not only gain them easier access to Lord Fairfax’s residence, it would be acknowledged as a sign of respect towards a nobleman who favoured thralls.

“Remember, we’re here to gather information, not make accusations.”

Solomon grunted in acknowledgement. “I’m aware of the delicacy required, Viggo.” He’d also changed into his best shirt and jacket.

Viggo knew the outfit hid at least half a dozen weapons.

“Just ensuring we’re of the same mind,” he told his right-hand man. “Your temper has been rather unpredictable lately.”

“My temper is perfectly predictable,” Solomon protested. “It flares when I encounter injustice, is all.”

Viggo sighed as they reached the door. He raised the gleaming brass knocker and let it fall with a resonant thud that seemed to echo across the square.

The door swung open a moment later, revealing a butler wearing immaculate livery and an expression of polite inquiry. To his credit, he did not immediately ask them to go to the servants’ entrance.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. How may I assist you?”

“Mr. Viggo Stonewall and Mr. Solomon Barden to see Lord Fairfax,” Viggo stated, his tone brooking no argument. “We’re associates of Lady Hartley.”

The mention of Ginny’s name had the desired effect. The butler’s demeanour shifted subtly from dismissive to attentive.

“One moment, please. If you could step inside while I determine if his Lordship is receiving visitors.”

The foyer they entered was a study in understated opulence.

A crystal chandelier hung from a ceiling adorned with intricate plasterwork, the pendants casting prismatic patterns across marble floors so polished they reflected the antique console tables and the tasteful arrangements of fresh flowers atop them.

Solomon’s gaze swept the space, likely noting exits and potential obstacles should a hasty departure become necessary. It was a habit born of years spent navigating the treacherous waters of London’s underworld and one hard to get rid of.

The butler returned promptly. “His Lordship will see you in the library. This way, gentlemen.”

They followed him through corridors lined with paintings and antiquities that spoke of generations of wealth and taste. According to Nightshade ’s sources, Lord Fairfax had recently inherited the property from a wealthy, deceased relative.

The library was a warm and inviting space despite its splendour. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined three walls, the shelves filled with leather-bound volumes whose spines gleamed in the light from the tall windows. A fire crackled in a marble hearth, taking the edge off the autumn chill.

Fairfax rose from behind a massive mahogany desk as they entered. He was a tall man in his fifties with silver-streaked dark hair and intelligent eyes that missed nothing. Unlike many of his station, there was a lack of condescension in his bearing as he greeted them.

“Mr. Stonewall. This is an unexpected pleasure.” He shook Viggo’s hand and acknowledged Solomon with a courteous nod before gesturing to the comfortable chairs arranged before the fire. “Please, be seated. May I offer you a refreshment? Tea, perhaps? Or something stronger?”

“Tea would be most welcome, my Lord,” Viggo said, settling into one of the chairs. Its proportions were generous enough to accommodate his frame comfortably, a thoughtful touch that did not go unnoticed.

It was likely why Fairfax had chosen the library to greet them in rather than the sitting room.

Solomon relaxed a fraction as he took his own seat.

Fairfax nodded to his butler, who bowed and withdrew to fulfil the request for refreshments. The nobleman’s expression grew more serious once the door closed.

“I suspect this isn’t a social call. Lady Hartley mentioned you run an information guild the last time we met,” Fairfax told Viggo steadily. “I am honoured to be hosting the owner of Nightshade .”

“You knew?” Viggo asked, surprised.

A faint smile quirked Fairfax’s mouth where he stood by a chair. “Come now. Even you must be aware the gossip rags have been full of tales of your recent heroic achievements alongside Duke Ravenwood.”

Viggo’s ears grew warm. He glimpsed Solomon’s smirk out of the corner of his eye.

“Has something occurred that requires my attention?” Fairfax asked carefully.

“Yes,” Viggo replied. “We’re here about one of your footmen, Tom Simmons.”

A flicker of concern crossed Fairfax’s features. “Tom? What of him?”

Viggo studied the aristocrat. Fairfax was composed yet alert. Though his manner remained cordial, there was a tension in the set of his shoulders that suggested he already suspected the purpose of their visit, a fact Viggo found perplexing.

“His sister came to see us this morning,” Solomon explained. “She’s worried because he hasn’t returned home in two days.”

“I see.” Fairfax furrowed his brow and crossed to the window, his hands clasped behind his back.

He stood gazing outside at the square for a moment.

“My butler informed me yesterday that Tom had sent a note of resignation. I thought it rather abrupt, but not entirely surprising. The young man had seemed restless as of late.”

Viggo and Solomon exchanged a startled glance.

Fairfax turned back to face them, his frown deepening. “I must admit, I was rather disappointed. Tom has been an exemplary footman—punctual, diligent, and quick to learn. I had plans to promote him to valet for one of my guests next season.”

“When you say he was restless, what do you mean?” Viggo asked.

“He seemed distracted. I’ve known him a fair while now and he has not been himself.” Fairfax hesitated. “If I had to hazard a guess, he looked like he was afraid of something. I even questioned him on the matter, but he assured me all was well.”

Viggo’s insides knotted. A thrall had many reasons to be fearful these days.

“Did you keep the resignation note?”

Surprise briefly widened Fairfax’s eyes. “I believe my butler has it. I can have it fetched if you wish.”

“That would be most helpful.”

Fairfax crossed the room and pulled a bell cord. The butler reappeared. Fairfax instructed him to bring the note.

“May I ask why Nightshade is involving itself in the matter of a missing footman?” Fairfax inquired after the butler left. “While I appreciate the concern for Tom’s welfare, it seems unusual for your organisation to take an interest in such matters.” He settled into a chair opposite them.

A maid arrived with a tea tray before Viggo could respond. The service was silver, the china delicate and clearly expensive. The woman set it down on a side table and began pouring their tea, occasionally stealing a glance at Viggo and Solomon from under her lashes.

Fairfax smiled kindly. “It’s alright, Glenys. You can say hello to Mr. Stonewall and Mr. Barden if you wish.”

Glenys flushed as she put the teapot down. She curtsied awkwardly and greeted Viggo and Solomon with a shy, “Hello, sirs.”

Viggo stared after the maid as she scurried away.

“She’s another thrall in my service,” Fairfax explained.

“Oh.” Solomon scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “Do you have many in your service?”

“Half a dozen at this property. Many more in my various business enterprises.” Fairfax smiled. “I am in the process of hiring thralls for my country estate too.”

Solomon didn’t seem to know quite what to make of that.

“Pardon my frankness, but why?” he finally blurted.

“Sly,” Viggo warned in a low voice.

“It’s quite alright,” Fairfax murmured. He met Solomon’s gaze steadily. “I guess my answer takes the form of another question. Why not?”

Solomon frowned and opened his mouth to voice a reply.

Fairfax put his hand up and curbed his words.

“I know what you intend to say, Mr. Barden. That thralls are held in contempt by magic users. But I and others like Lady Hartley and Duke Ravenwood firmly believe that the magic we possess is nothing but an accidental virtue of our birth. We did nothing to deserve it and therefore cannot and must not wield it with arrogance. It is a gift that we should use to improve the fate of all mankind, not just those born with magical abilities.” His face tightened.

“To keep that power in the hands of a few is not only sheer madness, it is a guaranteed path to destruction.”

The nobleman’s statement startled Solomon and evoked the same feelings in Viggo as the night Evander had said almost the same words to him.

Admiration. Respect. Humility.

It took a strong man or woman in a position of privilege to look at the world around them and declare that they intended to do something about its blatant social inequalities.

They sipped their tea in silence for a moment, Solomon holding his cup like it was some kind of explosive device.

“Tom’s sister was quite distressed,” Viggo said finally. “She insists her brother would never leave without informing her of his whereabouts. They support their younger siblings together.”

Lines wrinkled Fairfax’s brow. “That does sound consistent with what I know of Tom. He spoke of his family often and with great affection.” He paused, swirling the amber liquid in his cup. “The timing is rather troubling, I must say.”

Viggo tensed. “How so, my Lord?”

Solomon leaned forward slightly, equally alert.

Fairfax set his cup down with a soft clink, his expression brooding. “I received word this morning about another possible disappearance. A young woman named Katherine Stoker—Katie, as she preferred to be called. A thrall of exceptional promise whom I’ve been sponsoring this past year.”