Page 25 of A Bloom for a Blacksmith

Stella took her seat and frowned. “Are you considering membership in one of those clubs?”

He shook his head. “Even if I was, the waiting list is quite long, and the membership fees are exorbitant.”

“The price of exclusivity, I suppose,” she commented.

“When it’s time to find a partner to manufacturer these vehicles in quantity, I may have to reconsider.”

“I take it the type of investor you are looking for can’t be found at Gentleman Jackson’s?” she asked. The boxing saloon where Darius occasionally exercised was next door to Angelo’s Fencing Academy, which meant he could practice sword play there before pummeling a sparring partner. At least he followed John Jackson’s insistence that he wear gloves when he did so. Many of the pugilists fought with their bare fists.

“Doubtful,” Darius replied. “There are some men of money who fence at Angelo’s, though,” he added. He took another sip of his drink before he angled his head. “You were telling me about the flower girl.”

“Oh, yes. Iris O’Connor,” she stated. “She’s twenty-five and has worked for the Joneses for four years. She is the one from whom I buy flowers for the house. Oh, and that potted plant in your study, and the fig tree in the front salon.”

Ferguson appeared with bowls of soup, and he served them both before retreating to the butler’s pantry. A moment later, he returned with wine. When he was done filling their glasses, he asked, “Sir, may I get you anything else before the main course?”

“Bread,” Darius replied. “And don’t let Mrs. Crabbe claim there isn’t any because I could smell it baking whilst I was out in the workshop,” he claimed.

“Right away, sir.”

Darius turned his attention back to Stella. “This Miss O’Connor… you said she is not quitting the Joneses to work for you, so when will she work?”

“Late afternoons, when she’s done at the market,” Stella replied before taking a spoonful of soup to her lips. “Mr. Miller delivered another bookshelf today. As it happens, Miss O’Connor’s brother was a carpenter for Mr. Miller. He carved the trimming for the top edges of all the shelves that have been installed.”

“That seems quite a coincidence,” Darius remarked.

“Kismet, actually,” Stella countered. “In exchange for two hours a day of being my assistant, Iris is going to live above the bookstore. I offered it because she won’t be able to afford to pay the rent on the room she shared with her brother.”

Darius seemed impressed with the arrangement. “Has she arranged his burial?”

“That’s why she was at the bank. To withdraw money to cover the expense.” She told him the rest of what had happened to her there. Darius listened intently, his anger barely kept in check at learning what the bank clerk had done. “There had better be justice served,” he said. “Or I may have to—”

“A bobby was taking him away when Mr. Streater told us what had been happening. Miss O’Connor wasn’t the first to have her account skimmed by this cur.”

“One from Metropolitan Police?” he asked, his brows furrowed.

“Yes. The savings bank isn’t located in the City of London,” she reminded him. “So they aren’t served by the London Police.”

“Of course,” he murmured. “So… you trust this young woman?”

Her spoon halfway to her lips, Stella paused and nodded. “I do. She has been handling money—both at the flower stall and at the bank—for the Joneses. Do you think I should speak with them?”

He made an odd sound in his throat. “A little late, if you’ve already offered the position.”

“True,” she acknowledged. “Still, I feel as if I’m doing the right thing. Especially because, well, she’s paying for her brother to be buried.”

Darius suddenly sobered. “She’s not leaving it to the parish? Or selling the cadaver?”

Stella visibly shivered as she shook her head. “She said it would cost four pounds for the burial. Does that seem reasonable?”

He winced. “Well, her brother was obviously gainfully employed. Not a pauper,” he replied. “But with cholera as bad as it is here in the city, the graveyards are filling up fast. They’ve had to start new ones outside of the city. Mayhap she can get him a plot in Kensal Green.” He finished his soup and set aside his bowl. “When will Miss O’Connor take up residence above your shop?”

Stella set down her spoon and clasped her hands together. “I was hoping you and Mr. Thompson might be able to assist with moving her from her current lodgings. In a couple of days or so?”

Darius didn’t answer right away, his attention on something in his mind’s eye as Ferguson returned to remove their bowls and deliver their main courses. “You said she’s five-and-twenty,” he murmured, ignoring Ferguson’s sudden interest in their conversation.

Nodding, Stella said, “Yes. Quite pretty, too.” Her eyes suddenly widened, and she inhaled sharply. “Are you thinking the same thing I’m thinking?”

Darius barked a laugh. “Possibly,” he hedged. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We should introduce them first,” he added, grinning when he saw Ferguson’s eyes round in horror.