“Just think! You’ll be living it up with this here Italian duke. Fine wine. Sunshine!” It was that trying-too-hard smile again.
With one finger, Peter pushed the envelope towards his boss.
“The commission, Alcott.” Jackdaw was getting red. “Did you see those numbers? Lucky for you that you know the language.”
“There’s other men who speak Italian,” Peter said softly.
The boss narrowed his eyes. “It was on your list. I already told the others, Alcott.”
“Things change. I am much occupied in London just now.”
“Well, Alcott, you just lissen to me.” Jackdaw leaned forward, elbows splayed across the desk. “People on my watch are dependable.Thingsdon’tchange. You got me?”
Peter shrugged. He didn’t want to make enemies, but he didn’t need this job. Not if Celia needed him here.
Now he wondered what Francis had learned to make Brennan suspicious, and if he, Peter, ought to be more careful.
The boss cracked his knuckles. “Your choice. You take this job, or you don’t get a salary. But let me tell you… you change your mind on me this time, and you won’t find another job around here again.”
Maybe it was a good time to leave. Peter ran through his investments in his mind. Couple more he could cash out, and if he made some improvements this year, they could probably live on the income from Avonleagh. He needed to make an expense sheet.
“I’ll track you down. And yourbrotherwon’t get a job here, or any other. Not your cousin, neither.”
Peter smiled and started to rise.
“Your sister, Alcott—how’s your sister doing? Ah. Aha.”
Hot. Cold. Anger. Fear.
“Shall I write to your sister? Visit your sister? Send my handsomest agent to—” Jackdaw made an obscene gesture.
Peter usually knew how to hide his feelings, but he was already off-kilter. Something must have shown in his face, for Jackdaw smiled. This was his real smile, slow and vicious.
“Is your direction in your file, Alcott? Heh heh, don’ worry. If you don’ take this job, I’ve got all the time in the world to figure out where your sister lives…”
“Aw, stowmarket.” Peter swung to his feet, let himself smile. “I never said I wouldn’t take the job.” God, just imagine the disaster if Jackdaw’s gang showed up at his father’s doorstep.
“Good thing.” Jackdaw stood too. “You work for me, you play by my rules.”
Peter didn’t play by his father’s rules, either. But he had spent years at war, and he’d done enough collateral damage to last a lifetime. Mrs. Pipperly would be the last; Elinor would not be among them.
Peter laughed. “No need to squeal like a stuck pig. I’ll start preparing the alias I used the last time in Italy.”
“And hurry up on the Pipperly report.”
Peter smiled, but could not fill his lungs with enough air. If he made this a fight, it would take down Elinor. And Celia. Jackdaw would not shy away from any leverage he could find. “Fine.”
He made it as far as the door, easy saunter, light on his feet.
“And Alcott!”
Peter paused, fingertips on the door frame, heart aching with bayonets of memory. Elinor curled up against him, her hair tickling his chin, as their fingers moved together across the page of the primer. She remembered her letters quickly, but was hesitant and stumbling to read them together in a word. The older siblings had all learned to read, quickly and before they were taught, and Peter hadn’t known how to help her. He’d done it anyhow; squashed down his own frustration and impatience, snuggled her in his lap and helped her practice. Over and over, progress so slow it seemed to creep backwards. We only have six weeks, he did not tell her, because she knew he was going back to France and everything would end.
“There’s a meeting at the Rose and Cabbage tonight. Eight o’clock.”
“What’s that got to do with Italy?” Peter chuckled. That sounded about right.
“Nothing. It’s just another little problem I have.” Jackdaw lumbered across the room. “And you’ll be there. As a good faith effort. Show how we like to work together.”
