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“Maggie—”
“Ah, and there is he.” She sounded faintly joyous.
He, apparently, was the little figure in the distance, a small, fat figure coming down the block. He squinted at them, stopped short, then gave a little wave.
Maggie waved back. He started hurrying toward them.
Tension rose along the line between Tadhg’s shoulders. It took everything in him not to turn and run. “Maggie, truth, unless he stitches ships in that shop of his, we do not have time for tailors.”
“We are settling a debt.”
“A debt?” Eyes narrowed, he watched the pudgy merchant hurrying down the street toward them, waving excitedly, linen cap flapping in the breeze, his substantial belly bouncing merrily.
“Yes, he is my regrator. My broker. He often sends me commissions, for there are some who will simply not do business with a woman. Can you imagine?”
He made a noncommittal sound.
“But Edwin has no such compunctions. He cares only for coin. Indeed too much; he is a reprobate of the most terrible sort.” Maggie gave another little wave as the babbling merchant came nearer, calling out her name in an ever-increasing volume. “He pays only if and when he must. He is indebted to me for several past due bills, at midsummer, and also last Epiphany.”
“And how can a fat, thieving merchant help us?” he asked, eyeing the bubble of a man grimly.
“You shall see.”
“I give you one moment to shut him up.” He stepped back and allowed her take the fore. “Or I will.”
She patted his chest in an absent manner. ?
??Yes, of course. Now, just follow my lead.”
The fat merchant arrived in front of them, full of self-important bluster and an extremely loud voice.
Chapter Twenty-Six
MAGDALENA SMILED as the wealthy and well-connected Edwin Needleman arrived before them.
He took both her hands in his. “Mistress Magdalena, what a magnificent surprise. Magnificent. What brings you to our fair town?”
“That is complicated business.”
He beamed at her. “Business, is it? Not surprised, not surprised. I’ve long said your husband, and then you of course, following his demise, were the most accomplished tailors in all of Cîté de Rosé, and you are not even in Cîté de Rosé.” Edwin laughed heartily at his own jest, then patted his belly. “But then, everyone knows the hosen of Saleté de Mer are far and away the best, bar none. None of my other people can do the work as you do, of course, but especially the hosen.” He sighed at the thought of poorly-stitched hosen. “Uneven stitches, the material will not move as it must…” He clucked his tongue sadly. “No, only the stitches of Mistress Magdalena of Saleté de Mer will do—”
Tadhg bent his head and said softly, “Shut him up.”
Magdalena smiled brightly and began walking off, forcing Edwin to turn and keep pace with her.
“It is interesting that you mention the hosen, sir. Might we step into your shop? For I, too, have a matter of business to discuss with you.”
He beamed at her. “Excellent, excellent.”
“In your shop?” she prompted.
“Oh, yes, yes. It is here.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing to a door a few paces behind them.
Tadhg stepped forward. “Excellent, tailor. Let us go inside.”
His words were polite, but the undertone of menace brought Edwin’s gaze sweeping over. His smile faltered.
Magdalena smiled. “He is with me.”
