Page 16 of Undercover with the Heiress
‘An indoors picnic needs a blanket,’ Felix muttered to himself. ‘And proper flutes. And little plates for pips and crusts.’
As Felix scurried out of view, Rosanna’s eyes followed him with curiosity before she fell back against her chair, laughing. ‘Your poor manservant has been starved for stimulation. I hope he doesn’t expect me to change into dining dress.’ She scooped up her glass and took a swig, then coughed and pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘Sweet mercy, it burns.’
Phineas sniggered as he poured his third dram. ‘That’s how it gets rid of the parts that hurt.’
Rosanna blinked fast until the moisture in her eyes cleared. She raised the glass again and tipped it back lightly. Her cheeks hollowed a little as she paused, thinking, tasting. Savouring. When she swallowed, her neck elongated with the action, revealing a supple stretch and grace. A man with less control might imagine kissing that neck.
Thankfully, he was a man with control.
With a satisfied swish of the glass, she settled back inside the chair, her eyes glimmering with the flush of inexperienced drinking. ‘All this time, right under our noses, you’ve secretly been a sneak. Why a bank? Why not work somewhere more exciting, like for the Crown or at Scotland Yard, as a detective? You could track down some proper criminals.’
‘Fraudstersareproper criminals. They may not hurt people like thieves or murderers do, but the damage is there just the same.’ Phineas shook his head when Rosanna raised an unconvinced brow. ‘Do you know how hard it is to pin cheats like Pennington down? Complacency is their weapon. Boredom is their weapon. Numbers are everything.Moneyis everything. It shows weaknesses, loves, priorities, indiscretions. You can learn almost anything about a person if you can trace their receipts.’
‘But people can write anything in a ledger. Do you know how many Mr and Mrs Jones and Smiths stay at the hotel? Even for a common name, it isfrightfullycommon. And a room at the Aster is not cheap.’ She took another small sip. ‘Truth be told, it’s a bit underwhelming. I thought we’d be posing at parties, then rifling through drawers looking for incriminating evidence.’
‘To begin with,wewill not be doing anything.Youwill be posing as a dutiful wife.’
‘Whileyouwill be a doting husband who cannot believe his good fortune—’
‘Andyouwill continue to work with your father because that’s the kind of progressive, open-minded husband I am—’
‘Because your salary is not nearly enough to keep a woman such as myself, and I must work to supplement your income—’
‘Because your father is oddly liberal, and because rich businessmen with home-grown empires and a healthy respect for society may indulge their daughters working aspirations so long as they remain useful and powerful and don’t tread on too many toes!’ Phineas inhaled with a small gasp as he reached the end of his outburst. No one got under his skin. Rosanna Hempel would not be the first. He took a slow sip, forcing calm into his demeanour. ‘I need you to look for names in the guest register. I’ll give you a list.’
‘And then I’ll search their rooms?’ She leant forwards again in her seat, and the light sparkle returned to her eyes. ‘Looking for clues—’
‘No! You will come home and tell me that they are staying or have in the past. I will take things from there.’
‘I thought life here might be a little bit more exciting.’ Rosanna sat back with ahumph. Alcohol-induced honesty infused each word. ‘But life will be the same, except I’ll be stuck with you instead of my family.’
‘Don’t you have excitement? Singing in the park. Riding your horse. Spending time with all those ladies you so desperately want to impress,’ he snapped. This was why he never drank, except at Christmas, ensconced before the fire with only Felix and Arley for company. Although this year, he would only have Felix.
Phineas shook his head. This year, he would have no one. He wouldn’t be on this bloody street anymore.
‘Interests and excitement are far from the same thing,’ she said. ‘You said I was in danger. What if that man comes after me, regardless?’
‘I suppose I could show you some tricks.’ Phineas set his glass aside, stood, and beckoned for her to do the same.
Rosanna leapt from her chair. She tensed and raised her hands as if waiting for him to strike, but at his chuckle, she lowered them and flicked him a contemptuous glance.
‘No need for dramatics,’ he said. ‘The first trick is simple: be dispensable. Forgettable. As nondescript as possible. Every group in society has codes. Basic marks of belonging, if you will. Don’t just dress like a clerk or a lady, or whatever you are trying to be seen as. Study their mannerisms and habits. All clerks carry an umbrella, even when there’s no sign of rain. All members of Miss Hartright’s singing troupe wear mittens. Never muffs. All members of Mrs Crofts’s society wear pastels, even though she wears black. Wilhelmina Hempel always has her children wear a touch of red, a habit the older children continue, although I doubt most of them realise they do.’
He nodded at the hem of Rosanna’s skirt. She frowned, began to object, then paused as she gathered a swathe of fabric into her arms which revealed a bright line of red stitching along the edge of her petticoat. She shook her skirts out again and planted her fists on her hips.
‘You say all this as if women do not spend their lives trying to blend in. I imagine every case in the country would be solved if you had a force of ladies on hand. What else?’
‘Listen to feet.’
She scowled at him, unimpressed.
‘On floorboards, on carpet, on the street. Different types of shoes make different sounds. A man with a limp sounds different to a woman who has been dancing all night, who sounds different from a tired maid or a man intent on harm. Knowledge is power. You can learn a lot about a person from how they walk and the boots they wear.’
She looked down, and he followed her gaze to the floor. Her stockinged feet poked from beneath her skirts, and when she wiggled her toes, they both giggled. The pair of them, total lightweights with drink. Barely a few glasses, and they were both foxed.
‘I have a hole in my stocking,’ she confided in a loud whisper. ‘What does that say about me?’
A soft vulnerability peeked from behind her fierce expression, coupled with a deprecating tug at her lips.
