The Novelty Maker (3 page)

                "Another?" Cole asked, his mouth suddenly dry. He'd hoped they'd stop after the first, but apparently he wasn't that lucky.

                "Same courier." Harlowe stared at the paper for a moment, then finally thrust it towards Cole. "Susannah met him; she might be able to tell you more."

                "I'll talk to her." Cole tucked the page away without reading it; he'd have more than enough time to read it later, where he wouldn't have to school his expression to keep from giving away anything to Harlowe. He doubted his own affections towards Cole would go over well, given how Harlowe was reacting to the fake secret admirer.

                "Thanks," Harlowe said, and finally turned back to the music box. Cole took that as his cue to leave, heading back towards the front of the shop.

                A quick chat with Susannah provided him with the name of the courier's employer—Fleetfoot Messengers. It was too late to pay them a visit that night, but they were relatively close to his mother's house. He could visit her in appeasement, and then visit Fleetfoot's offices to see if they could give him any clues.

                *~*~*

                "Your brother said you were hit by a carriage." Cole's mother, the Lady Felicia Elliot, sat ensconced in her giant leather chair, its broad back spanning like wings behind her.

                "Dwight is a liar," Cole said, sitting down heavily in one of the chairs in front of his mother's enormous desk.

                "Dwight is many things, Cole, including
your
brother
," Lady Elliot said, pausing for emphasis, "But he is not a liar."

                "Stretcher of truths?" Cole offered, wondering at that strange pause. "What's wrong with Dwight?"

                Lady Elliot sniffed. "Of course. You don't visit enough, Cole, dear. He proposed to Miss Luxon last week."

                "Oh," Cole said, his stomach sinking. Dwight had had his eye on Elinor Luxon since they'd been teens. She'd never given him the time of day, however, and if Dwight wasn't doing something stupid and romantic like shouting from rooftops, she must have declined. "He seemed all right yesterday."

                Lady Elliot just looked at him, arching one brow.

                "… which doesn't mean anything," Cole said, sighing. Dwight was nothing if not a master of denial. "I'll stop by and make sure he's really all right, but he probably just wants to be left alone to sort it out on his own."

                "Nonsense," Lady Elliot said, waving her hand at him. "He most certainly should not be left alone, not after such a massive blow. Try to talk him into attending Lady Codd's garden party at the end of the week. Miss Luxon won't be in attendance, but there will be plenty of other ladies to distract him. You will be in attendance as well, Cole."

                "I believe my social calendar is full that day," Cole said, sliding into quick denial mode. A garden party sounded like the exact opposite of what he wanted to do with his day. It didn't matter what day it was, his day was booked. "I'll get Dwight to go, though. It'll do him good to get out and stop brooding."

                "Clear your calendar," Lady Elliot said, standing and sweeping out from behind her desk. "You haven't attended any parties in weeks, Cole. I appreciate you have your own interests—"

                "Mother," Cole interrupted. He knew that speech by heart; he didn't need to hear it for the hundredth time. "I think Dwight is more important than my social engagements, yes? What else do you think we can do to get him past this?"

                "Oh, very nice," Lady Elliot said, pausing by the corner of her desk. She smiled at Cole, the expression smoothing the severe lines of her handsome face. "Good redirection. You're not off the hook, young man. I know you're happy with your life as it is, but you won't be young forever, and you don't want the young lady of your dreams to wind up with another man, do you?"

                Cole hesitated, then shrugged. He might as well let her know about Harlowe. "I don't think that'll happen."

                "Oh?" Lady Elliot's smile softened slightly.

                Cole shrugged again, feeling a little awkward under his mother's knowing stare.

                "You haven't said anything to her," Lady Elliot said, clucking her tongue. "Cole…"

                "I don't … I don't know what to say, and I don't think …" Cole stumbled, then finally just said it. "I don't think he feels the same way."

                Lady Elliot was quiet a moment, then she clucked her tongue again. "Well, you won't know unless you say something, Cole. I know I didn't raise you to be a coward—"

                "I'm not a coward," Cole bristled, scowling. "Look what happened to Dwight, though! She said no."

                "Yes," Lady Elliot said, "and now he can find someone who fits him better." She stared at him intently. "Is this why you keep avoiding my parties, Cole?"

                "I don't like parties." Cole shifted slightly in his seat, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut. He didn't particularly want to have this conversation with his mother. What had possessed him? He could have kept on as he'd done before—ignoring his mother's attempts to set him up or get him to go to parties and sneaking off to see Harlowe whenever he could. 

                "You used to," Lady Elliot said. She brushed off her skirts, then pinned him with a stare. "Tell him, Cole. You'll feel better for it." She looked thoughtful a moment, but only added, "Visit your brother, and tell him to attend Lady Codd's garden party. No, you do not have to attend."

                "I can't anyway," Cole said. "I told you, I'm busy."

                "I believe you," Lady Elliot said in a tone that said the opposite. "I have an appointment in the city. I'm sure you can let yourself out."

                "Yes, mother," Cole muttered, shoving himself out of his chair and following his mother from the room. She disappeared into the house as he headed towards the front door.

                Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, Cole headed down the street towards the Fleetfoot Messengers' offices. Tell Harlowe? He really should, if only because Harlowe deserved honesty and it felt somewhat duplicitous to
not
tell Harlowe, especially in light of the letters. The letters could only be mocking, but what if Cole told Harlowe and Harlowe thought he was being cruel like the letters?

                It was a mess, and Cole didn't even know how he could tell Harlowe, even if there were no secret admirer letters. He'd told his mother he wasn't a coward, but that wasn't true. He was terrified of losing Harlowe, even as he wanted something more. 

                He'd deal with it after he resolved the letters, Cole decided. Perhaps he'd find some resolve along the way, though Cole very much doubted it. Perhaps he could write his own letter? Cole immediately dismissed the idea, remembering just how upset Harlowe had been after receiving the first letter. He'd figure it out.

                Cole paused, glancing around. Rolling his eyes at himself, he turned around—he'd managed to walk right past the offices. Retracing his steps, he reached the Fleetfoot Messengers' offices and slipped inside. It was quiet at the moment, with only one harried, middle-aged man sitting behind the desk sorting letters and packages.

                Wandering up to the desk, Cole waited patiently as the man shoved an entire stack of mail from the corner of his desk into a bin below. "Just a moment," the man muttered, picking up a small box and tossing it through the window behind him. There was another room back there, too dark and shadowed for Cole to make out anything other than a vague impression of clutter.

                The man finally looked at him, a frown settling between his brows as he surveyed Cole. "You'll be wanting a special courier? None of them are due back for a few hours."

                "No, actually. I had a question about who sent a particular package through one of your special couriers."

                "Oh." The lines in the man's forehead deepened. "I can't be giving that information out. Privacy is what keeps people using us."

                "Can you at least point me to the courier who sent it?" Cole asked, deciding that was probably his best bet. "I just need to know if there was something …" Cole paused, forcing an awkward smile to his face. "Well, something more to the message." That was vague, but with luck, the man would insinuate there was a chance one of his couriers had lifted something from a package. That wasn't unheard of, even amongst the better-paid special couriers.

                "When and where was it delivered?" The man asked, drawing open a drawer with a loud sigh. He pulled out a thick, leather-bound ledger and thumped it heavily on the desk.

                "Four days ago, to the novelty shop on the end of Cliff Road," Cole said.

                That earned him a suspicious look from the shopkeeper, but he threw open the book to a bookmarked page and started flipping backwards through the book. He paused a handful of pages back, running his finger down the cramped, spidery writing that lined the page.

                "No deliveries that day to Cliff. You sure it was us?" The shopkeeper peered at Cole over the top of his desk, scowling. "We get half a dozen a day who are looking for Foxfoot—"

                "No, he was wearing that badge, with the wings," Cole interrupted, tapping his shoulder to indicate the round badge the man had pinned to the front of his shirt. "Are you sure? There was another delivery yesterday, too, if that helps narrow it down."

                "Nothing went to Cliff yesterday. I worked it, I'd've remembered." The shopkeeper paused, then shook his head. "You're looking in the wrong place."

                "I'm not." Cole stared at him, then reached into his pocket and tossed a few silver coins on the desk. The shopkeeper's eyes followed the rolling coins, and he sighed again loudly, as though he was being put out by being offered a bribe. "Does that refresh your memory?"

                "No deliveries went to Cliff those days," the shopkeeper said, shaking his head. He didn't make a move to touch the coins, but he scowled up at Cole. "However."

                "What?" Cole asked, tamping down his impatience. The shopkeeper didn't answer, just dropped his gaze to the coins on the desk again. Cole barely refrained from rolling his eyes, and only because it was Harlowe did he toss another on the desk instead of collecting the two he'd dropped and making his leave.

                "We had a runoff. Josiah Ardish. Didn't turn up for work four days back, and I haven't seen him since. Not even to return his uniform," the shopkeeper reluctantly said, sounding none-too-thrilled about Mr. Ardish's disappearance. "I don't know if he's still doing deliveries, but he'd best not be doing it with that uniform any longer."

                "I'll let him know, if you know where I can find him?" Cole hoped it would be that easy, but the shopkeeper dashed his hopes, shaking his head.

                "If I knew where to find him, I'd've found him," the shopkeeper grumbled. "I had to do deliveries myself the other day. Me! Doing deliveries!"

                "Ah," Cole said. "Is there anything else you can tell me about him?"

                "Didn't know him well. He'd only just gotten the job." The shopkeeper looked even more sour about that. "If that's all—" the shopkeeper slid the three coins off the desk, depositing them in his pocket, "—I have work to be doing."

                "Thanks," Cole said, tossing another coin on the desk. He turned and headed out of the shop, listening to the shopkeeper mutter to himself as he made his way back out into the street.

                "You looking for Joe?"

                "What?" Cole asked, pausing as he shut the door behind him. A young woman wearing the Fleetfoot badge pinned to her vest was leaning against the wall next to the door, a smirk curving her dark-painted lips. She wore dark trousers, a bright white, billowy shirt, and a navy blue vest with silver-colored buttons. A leather messenger bag was slung over her shoulder, and she had a pretty face.

                "I asked if you're looking for Joe." She paused, then said in a sing-song, mocking voice, "Jo-si-ah. Joe."

                "Yes," Cole said slowly. "What do you know of him?"

                "He found another job. A
private
job." She grinned, flashing bright, even teeth at him. "You lookin' for a
private
courier?"

                "No," Cole said, knowing he should walk away. He didn't, though, and Harlowe owed him for this even if Harlowe would be the first to say he should walk away, that it wasn't worth it. "I'm looking for
Joe
."

                "Well, I don't know where he is." The woman shrugged, leaning back against the wall.

                "That's great," Cole said, deadpan. He started walking again, in no mood to play games, not even for Harlowe's sake.

                "I could maybe find out," the woman called after him, and Cole called himself every kind of fool for stopping.

                "Oh? And what would it cost me?" Cole asked, crossing his arms as he turned.

                "Ten gold," the woman said, one corner of her mouth quirking up in acknowledgement of the outrageous sum of money.

                Cole scoffed and reached into his pocket. Pulling out a gold coin, he tossed it to her. She jerked forward, catching it and for a moment looking surprised. Reaching into a different pocket, Cole pulled out his card case and pulled out one of his cards, which he stepped forward to hand to her. "Visit me there when you've found him, and I'll give you the remaining three gold coins."

                The woman laughed, but took his card. "Sure thing."

                Cole rolled his eyes, turning away from her and heading back down the street. Probably a waste of money, but who knew, perhaps she'd come up with something. It was better than going back to Harlowe with nothing and nowhere else to look.