Tempest in a Teapot, page 10
“I’m interested in the cargo. I want to know what he was hiding in the crate.” They stood with their back to a row of carriages, waiting for Margaret to return. “I asked Mr. Steepe if he was familiar with your father’s press, and he wasn’t. I haven’t had a chance to press further. Has there been any interest yet?” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the shouting match happening down the road over the loading of luggage into a carriage. A husband and wife argued as another struggled to fit all her luggage into and onto the carriage.
“No. One other publisher is interested in buying us instead of investing, but they only want a handful of our stories and authors, the most popular ones. Everything else they will drop.” Her face creased in pain. “Some of them have great potential if another publisher would wake up enough to see it.” She ran her fingers over a hole in her sleeve. “But they want tried and true stories and already recognized names instead of investing in new ones. It is the way of the business, but it pains me to see it happen.”
“I understand. I’d be devastated if something happened to the bakery. I’ve grown used to seeing the same faces week after week. It would be awful to feel like we’ve let them down.” Plenty of them had relied on the bakery for their bread since before she’d been born. To watch the bakery end and not being able to do anything about it would be a nightmare.
Margaret stepped out of the crowd and rejoined them. “The Steepe ship is that large one on the end over there.” She pointed to their left. By the time they made it to the ship, the docks had started to empty with passengers streaming away on carriages and dock workers leaving for the day. Sunset lit up the sky in all shades of pink.
“Neither of you happen to know where to find a crowbar, do you?” Charlotte asked as she watched the sailors pile up cargo on the dock. She crossed her arms and glared at a man staring at them as he walked past, a newspaper clutched in his hand. The man turned his head forward. Charlotte grinned. “This is quite freeing.”
“There’s bound to be a crowbar around here somewhere,” Margaret answered, mischief gleaming in her eyes. “Want to crack a few crates open?”
The idea felt dangerous. If they got caught they would get arrested. “Let’s.” They roamed the area, searching for a crowbar. Then a loud crash shook the dock. A crate tumbled off a stack, the lid popping open as bags spilled out. Margaret scurried toward it with no hesitation, grabbing a bag. The nearest sailor didn’t notice until she was already running away.
“Get out of here street rat!” He threw his arms in the air.
She rushed back to them, panting by the time she reached them. “Here you go.” She held up the bag, and they all leaned forward. Charlotte held her breath as Margaret prepared to open the bag.
“Is it opium?” Mary asked. “I’ve heard all kinds of awful stories about the opium dens.”
Margaret revealed the tea leaves within and all their shoulders dropped in disappointment.
“Smells like Earl Grey,” Charlotte said as she sniffed the bag, the refreshing citrus notes of the bergamot too strong to miss. The smell reminded her of Mr. Steepe.
“Creamy Earl Grey,” Mary corrected. “Our father prefers it to regular Earl Grey. He likes the vanilla in it.”
“I don’t,” Margaret said. She leaned to the side and spit on the ground.
Her sister wrinkled her nose. “Really, Margaret. Just because we are pretending to be men doesn’t mean we need to act like animals.”
“Tell men that. Do you want to open another crate?” Margaret closed the bag.
“We’d have to open them all and there are too many.” Mary rubbed between her eyes. “In all honesty I don’t even know how to use a crowbar.”
Charlotte took the tea from Margaret and squeezed it. “There’s nothing hidden inside. Any other ideas?”
“There’s a pub nearby,” Margaret said. “It can get rough in there, lots of fights, but it is where all the sailors go.”
“And why do you know that?” Mary turned a stern eye onto her sister.
Margaret shrugged. “You probably don’t want to know.”
Mary threw her hands in the air. “We are going to need to have a serious conversation tomorrow. I worry about you.”
“Stop worrying. I can look after myself. If Charlotte wants to find information, we could trade the tea for information.” She turned back and forth until she decided on the right direction. “Someone might know something if we ask around.”
“Or we could buy them a drink and keep the bag.” Mary glanced back at the broken crate, but the sailors were already busy moving all the crates away from the docks. “No sense in wasting good tea on those who won’t appreciate it.”
“Come on then,” Margaret urged. “We shouldn’t linger too long after dark. I’d rather not have another encounter with a thief on the way home. The last one made off with my pocket watch.”
“A broken pocket watch you stole from a potential beau,” Mary amended.
“Whether it worked or not isn’t the point.” Margaret sniffed. “It was a good costume piece.” She marched on, leading the way. “The pub will be busy this time of evening. Perfect to ask around.”
Sailors and dockworkers crowded the pub. Charlotte couldn’t move in any direction without bumping into someone. They weaseled their way into a huddle in the corner of the room. The sour scent of sweat and alcohol clung to the air. “How do we go about asking about the Steepe cargo?”
Both women gave her mischievous smiles. Margaret pointed at a nearby table. “Go on over there and put your foot on the chair and ask if they’ve seen anything. Forget about being polite. Be aggressive. Act like you don’t have time for small talk and have more important places to be.”
“And whatever you do, don’t apologize,” Margaret added. “Women apologize too often.”
“Here.” Mary took off the necklace and put it around Charlotte’s neck.
“How do I sound?” She found it too easy to detect her real voice under the glamour, but Mary gave her an encouraging smile. “Go on and try.”
“Shoulders back, walk like you own the place,” Margaret whispered while Charlotte faced the table. She threw her shoulders back and sauntered on over to the table. She put her foot up on the empty chair and leaned forward. The men playing cards glanced up at her before returning to their game. “You gents haven’t seen any shady happenings that may be connected to a Mr. Steepe, have you?”
“Which one?” A gruff man with a chin full of stubble asked as he laid down a card. “The one who sells the tea or the one in the gun business? Johnny over there unloads their ships.” He jutted his thumb at the teen beside him.
“The second one.” Although the gun business bit was news to her. It suited him, she thought.
Johnny rubbed his chin. His large clothes hung from his lanky frame. “I’ve seen a lot of shady dealings, but nothing to do with the Steepes. Except for the street rat trying to steal tea today. An odd thing to steal that.”
“Not as strange as the prostitute who loves Johnny here.” The gruff man gave the lad’s shoulder a squeeze as he cackled. Johnny’s expression soured into a scowl. “Don’t talk that way about your mother.”
The third man hooted and slapped the table. “He’s got you there!”
Charlotte backed away from the table. The men barely took notice of her leaving as Johnny slapped down a card that sent the other men cursing.
“Nothing?” Mary asked.
“Nothing.”
“Margaret is trying that table over there.” Mary pointed to their left.
“Are you going to question anyone?”
Mary shook her head. “No. I’ll stick to observing. I prefer to watch than interact.”
“Isn’t that boring?”
“Not at all. For example, take that man at the end of the bar. See how he keeps looking toward the door and tapping his thumb against the bar? He’s probably waiting for someone, but who? I like observing the little day-to-day experiences. Helps me write my own characters and think about how to make them feel human.”
“That’s a good idea. I need to try that.” It must be one of Mary’s secrets to making her characters compelling. Like Lord Hollow. As soon as Twilight at Hallow Manor introduced him she couldn’t put the story down. She wanted to know more about his mysterious background and habits.
Behind the man at the bar, Margaret argued with a man at a full table. The man flapped his hand in the air at her. Then Margaret ripped the cards out of the large man’s hands and slammed them down onto the table. The other three men at the table stood.
“Oh no,” Mary said, pressing her hands together. “I should have warned you about Margaret’s penchant for starting fights.”
Chapter 9
The man whose cards Margaret had revealed jumped to his feet just in time for the man beside him to take a shaky, drunken swing toward Margaret. The punch connected with the side of the first man’s jaw, and he went crashing back onto his chair, the wood breaking under him. Charlotte gasped, and Margaret took a step back from the fight.
“We should go.” Mary darted forward and grabbed her sister’s arm, using it to yank her away from the fight. “What do you think you are doing?” Mary hissed.
“He was cheating! Someone needed to call him on it.”
“That isn’t our problem.”
The large man staggered back onto his feet to grab the man who punched him. He tossed him onto the table, sending cards scattering all over the place. Coins skittered across the worn floorboards. A cup fell, splashing whisky across the floorboards. Heads swiveled to look at all the noise.
“I bet the large man wins,” Charlotte said, caught up in the excitement. She kept glancing back to keep track of the fight’s progress.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Margaret said as she bent down to pick up a half penny that bumped into her boot. “All that muscle tires a man like that out too much in a fight. Someone fast and light on their feet can take advantage of that.”
“Then which one are you betting on?” Charlotte shoved her hands into her pockets to keep from clapping in delight as a smaller man jumped onto the first man’s back. Seeing a brawl was better than reading about one. As the large man flailed about, unable to get the other man off his back, she thought Margaret might be right about the winner.
“We should get out of here before this gets out of hand.” Mary pulled them both toward the door. The large man turned, falling backward onto the table beside them to pin the smaller man down.
“But I want to know who wins,” Margaret protested.
“Me too,” Charlotte said.
Mary let out an exasperated huff. “We are here to find out about Bertram Steepe’s dark secrets, not bet on pub brawls.”
Chastened, Charlotte nodded. “Right. It’s hard not to get caught up in the moment.” Mary was right. None of them could afford to get pulled into the fight. The harsh bite of reality let fear trickle in. Charlotte didn’t know how to punch let alone defend herself against a man stronger than she was. Somewhere to their left a glass smashed as a man let out a war cry.
Then an explosion rocked the air. The windows rattled. Everyone in the pub froze. A bell rang and all at once the fight was forgotten as men rushed outside. Mary kept a tight grip on Charlotte and Margaret as they followed the tide outside. Smoke curled up into the air off the Steepes' ship. The mast hung crooked and a gaping hole in the side almost reached the waterline.
“Is that shady enough for you?” Margaret asked. She grinned as she took off running toward the ship. Mary and Charlotte struggled to keep up with her. The warehouse and now the ship, it had to be more than a coincidence, but Charlotte couldn’t figure out what the aim could be. Away from the men rushing for the ship, a lone figure ran away from the docks. Like at the warehouse, the figure wore a suit, but in the gloom of twilight she couldn’t make out the details of his face.
“Over there!” Charlotte changed course. If she moved quick enough she could cut the man off, but his legs were longer than hers, his steps larger. She couldn’t keep up with his breakneck pace. The gap between them grew with each step. He reached a carriage and dove inside it.
“Stop!” Charlotte yelled. The carriage driver didn’t listen. The carriage pulled away, carrying the man farther and farther out of reach. She huffed, reaching out for the carriage and chasing it a few steps before giving up and doubling over, resting her hands on her knees as she huffed and puffed. Mary fared no better. She came up behind Charlotte a few seconds later gasping for breath.
“I’m not a runner,” she said as she sat down on an empty crate.
Charlotte straightened. “What are you sitting on?”
“A box I think.” Mary glanced down. “Yes, a box.”
Charlotte ushered her off and turned the crate over, peering inside. That same acrid, metallic smell from Bertram’s package made her nose twitch. The lid lay on the ground, the top sporting the same cracks too.
“I saw Bertram with this package the other day. This is what he wanted brought to the docks instead of Mr. Steepe’s house. I think the man we were chasing was Bertram.”
“Do you think that means he caused the explosion?”
“He may have planted something on the ship, but it’s my understanding that both he and Martin use it. I don’t see why he’d go after his own ship.”
“I thought those crates were only tea.” Mary rested her hands on her hips as she caught her breath. “Could it be an insurance scheme?”
“Maybe, but I don’t see how that could be worthwhile if he is hurting his business. Unless …” Men crawled over the ship like ants. The cloud of smoke drifted away on the wind. A yell went up and men scattered, the creaking mast splitting the air as it fell closer to the water.
“Unless what?”
“Unless he doesn’t mean to hurt his business, but his cousin’s. Though I can’t see why he’d take the risk, not when the last fire only hurt Bertram.”
Margaret finally caught up to them, holding aloft a piece of jagged wood like a trophy. “I found a memento from the ship. Everyone was saying the explosion must be sabotage.”
“A memento wasn’t necessary,” Mary said.
“No, but I wanted one. It’ll make for a great story to tell people.”
“This confirms he is up to something, but without proof it doesn’t help me.” Charlotte inspected the crate again. Nothing linked it to Bertram. She could be imagining things, desperate to hit back at the man causing her grief. And in the end he was right. She was a mere commoner and her courtship was doomed. She’d had her chance to confess and hadn’t. Mr. Steepe would be right to be cross with her when Bertram told him the truth.
“We should get out of here.” Mary shifted on her feet, glancing about. “If the bobbies start questioning witnesses, we’ll be found out. I hear trained investigators are good at spotting glamour.”
Margaret tucked the chunk of wood under her arm. “Father wouldn’t be happy if we got arrested. Especially you. You’re supposed to be the good one.”
“I can’t imagine why when I’m not the one sneaking out of the house at night. Don’t think I don’t hear you climbing out the window. The last thing I want is for you to wind up kidnapped by an opium den. You are tempting trouble to get you.”
Margaret shoved her hands into her pockets and headed down the road, expression glum. “Since when did this mission become about me? Did Charlotte find what she needed?”
“No.” Charlotte squeezed the bag of tea in her pocket. She felt guilty for taking it. “I think Bertram was the cause of the explosion, but I have no way to prove it. And with no proof, I have nothing to use against him.” There was nothing she could do to keep Bertram from telling on her. Perhaps she deserved it after not coming clean right away.
“Maybe you don’t need proof,” Mary suggested.
“What do you mean?” Charlotte fell in step beside her while they followed Margaret’s quick pace.
“There is a serial I’ve been reading about a detective similar to The Boy Detective. He wound up in a similar situation with no physical proof, but plenty of coincidences and eye witnesses. He pretended he had evidence to get the villain to confess.”
Charlotte considered the idea. Leading Bertram into a trap would be her only option with no proof. A tabby cat yowled and darted across the road in front of them, sending Charlotte’s heart racing. The earlier thrill of the brawl seeped out of her, fear creeping in with how menacing the dark streets looked. A thief could hide around any corner and they wouldn’t see them. They avoided the alleyways this time as they huddled close together. All the stories of murder and theft too close.
“I don’t know if such a tactic would work, but it may be all I have,” she said, trying to focus on her problem to keep the growing fear at bay.
“Is Martin Steepe worth fighting over?” Margaret asked. “He’s just a man. There are plenty of those around.”
“Not enough rich ones willing to court the likes of us,” Mary said.
Charlotte threw her hands up. “Why does everyone insist on reminding me of his money? There is more to a happy marriage than money.”
“Sure,” Mary said. “But a lot of money helps. That’s why all the love interests in popular romances are rich. There is a special kind of comfort to knowing you don’t need to worry about your next meal or the roof over your head.”
Margaret nodded. “If I have to marry and put up with a man, he’d better have enough money to make it worth my while.”
Charlotte smiled at the sincerity to Margaret’s words. “Martin is sweet despite his lack of social grace. And I like what he is doing with his own press. Making magic available to all is an honorable cause, and it is one less thing the nobles can hoard to themselves. I wouldn’t mind getting to be a part of that.”
Mary sighed. “You’re falling in love, how romantic.”
Charlotte stammered. Was she falling in love? The thought of Bertram getting his way made her stomach twist and pang with anger. “I wouldn’t go as far as to say it’s love. More like I’m starting to like him after our unusual first meeting. I like the idea of what could be.” None of her attempts at past courtships got very far. Most of the men remained uninterested in marrying yet, or quickly became enamored with someone else. None of them had given her the growing attention Mr. Steepe gave her.
