Page 70 of Miss Delectable
“Why would we do that?”
“Because the tally is off by four hundred cases.”
“What?”
“The tally is off by four hundred cases, guv, as in cases missing. Somebody helped themselves to half your goods.”
Not half of Rye’s goods, not even half the goods he had on hand in London, but certainly a good portion of his profit. “Did Dorning take his order from the warehouse rather than the dock?”
“Bertie says not. He kept an eye on the unloading, lest somebody get light-fingered between the dock and the wagon.”
Bertie had doubtless kept an eye from some rooftop when he should have been practicing his penmanship.
“Why did Bertie take it upon himself to oversee the transfer of goods?”
Otter glanced about, and it occurred to Rye that the boy had purposely raised this topic on the street, away from home, andaway from the others.
“Somebody has it in for you, guv. We all know that. Dorning seems like a good ’un, but we hear things.”
Rye resumed walking. “What things?”
“Whispers. The Coventry has its problems.”
Ann worked at the Coventry, and thus Rye knew some of those problems. “The chef is an idiot. What else?”
“How did you know that?”
“You aren’t the only person with eyes and ears, Otter. Jules Delacourt is probably skimming from the pantries, if not the pantries and the wine cellar.” Would he steal from Rye in an attempt to protect Fournier’s interests?Vive la Franceand all that?
Somebody had certainly stolen from Rye. The warehouse, usually stacked to the ceiling with cases of champagne and other wines, showed a gaping emptiness near the sliding doors that opened into the yard.
“The thieves weren’t subtle,” Rye said. “They didn’t even try to hide what they’d done.” Warehouses were all too easy to steal from, and artfully rearranging the contents could hide the theft for a considerable period. These thieves had wanted Rye to notice the missing inventory immediately.
“Only the champagne was stolen?” he asked.
“Aye.” Otter ambled off between rows of wooden cases, his voice floating through the gloom. “The other vintages weren’t touched. Louis and I checked twice.”
“When did you check?” The warehouse was a cavernous structure, the better to keep the inventory cool. Rye had chosen a building distant from the wharves because wine preferred dry air and because the risk of theft was less.
Or should have been.
“We came here at first light, and no, your watchman didn’t see us. He were fast asleep, and anybody with a decent set of picks could have got past the lock on your barn door.”
“Fast asleep?”
“He’s old,” Otter said. “Older than you.”
Nicolas was one of Lucille’s many relatives and connections. His instructions were to sound an alarm if he detected intruders, not to put himself at risk over a few bottles of champagne.
“Fetch Dorning to me,” Rye said. “And fetch him now.”
Otter emerged from between stacked cases halfway down the row, something in his hands. “Found your sword, guv. Was lying atop a case of the merlot. Scabbard and all.”
Rye unsheathed the sword far enough to see the Goddard family motto.Cervus non servus, which translated to something likea stag forever free.
Unease uncurled in Rye’s belly as he set the sword against the remaining cases of champagne. “I did not steal my own inventory.”
“I know that,” Otter said, “but somebody made off with a powerful lot of your good wine, and that same somebody was in your study. The lads won’t like this.”
