Midnight Jewel (The Glittering Court #2)(78)

She sauntered off, and my stomach sank. With everything else happening in my whirlwind of a life, I had never considered how choosing an older man might look to others. If I accepted the offer, it would be because it promised an honorable marriage with an interesting companion. I hated the idea of people thinking I was waiting for Rupert to die. I hated the idea of people thinking he was a na?ve old man who didn’t know he was being used.

Martha waved at me across the room, signaling it was time to go. As guilty as this revelation about Rupert made me, I would have to decide what to do about it later. Too many other matters sat higher on my list of priorities right now.

“What a lovely dinner,” Martha said as I joined her. “And such a splendid house! But these shoes are hurting my feet. It’ll be nice to get home and rest.”

“It will be,” I agreed, though I knew there’d be no rest for me. I’d promised to meet Tom for a job, and then I’d have to make sure I took Lonzo’s letter to Silas in time.

My night was just beginning.





CHAPTER 21


TOM’S JOB THAT NIGHT WAS A QUICK ONE, DEALING WITH a landlord who had plans to drastically raise rents in one of the city’s poorer wharf districts. Most of his tenants couldn’t afford the new rates and would be turned out on the streets. Tom knew several of the residents, and one of his own men even lived there. But, as he told me, our task went beyond that: “It’s just the right thing to do.”

I was inclined to agree when I saw the landlord’s opulent home, which was a far cry from the slums he charged so dearly for. We did our usual routine, subduing servants and clearing out as many valuables as we could find in the house. Tom made an abrupt flip from jovial to menacing, warning the landlord that we’d be back if the rents weren’t reconsidered.

“Will he listen?” I asked Tom, once we’d left. I always wondered if any of these threats ever actually did any good.

“Maybe. He looked like he took the message to heart. My guess is he’ll still raise it but not nearly so much. Saves face, gives him a little extra coin—hopefully keeps us away. And if he doesn’t do anything?” Tom shrugged. “We’ll find time to visit again.”

“It’s sort of an . . . erratic system.”

“It works, though, doesn’t it?”

“Sometimes,” I said. We’d returned to the city’s heart and were nearing the Dancing Bull. “But we pick and choose who we ‘punish.’ And there’s no consistency in how we deal with these people.”

“You don’t seem to mind dealing with them.”

“I don’t. I know they’ve all done something. But the problem with selective justice is that it’s, well, selective.” I thought back to Osfro and the bias against Lonzo. “Laws exist to make sure everyone’s held to the same standards and treated the same way.”

“You know as well as I do that even when you’ve got an ironclad set of laws, with people to enforce them—which this city doesn’t—there will still always be those who slip through the cracks. We deliver justice, my dear. Sometimes you have to operate outside the law for that.”

My father had always said the same thing to justify his actions. I often soothed myself that what I did with Tom didn’t go to my father’s extremes, but there was no question that I was treading in ethically gray areas.

Tom turned even more melodramatic than usual when I didn’t respond. “Oh, the agony you cause me. The pain. To suggest paperwork and procedure is preferable to me! You’re lucky my faith in you is so unwavering.” He handed me a gold coin. “And inconsistent or not, our system pays better.”

I pocketed the coin but said, “This technically belongs to some of the tenants he gouged.”

“Oh, we’ll make sure some of it cycles back to them. But first, we have another good deed to take care of.”

The urgency of writing Lonzo’s letter had hung over me all evening. “No more jobs. I can’t stay tonight.”

“It’s a deed, not a job.”

Most of the crew remained at the tavern, but Lesser Tom joined Tom and me in carrying heavy sacks gathered from the tavern’s subterranean storage room. From there, we traveled to a poor neighborhood on the city’s west side where I’d made deliveries before. The houses were older and run-down, the people lean and desperate. No one harassed us. Those we passed waved and offered greetings—to all of us.

We knocked on the door of a house belonging to one Mistress Smith. We usually brought our gifts straight to her for distribution. She knew who needed what in her community and was fair about spreading it around. Not even the most desperate would dare steal from her. She opened the door wearing a thin nightgown and a cap over her wispy curls. Despite the late hour, a smile lit her lined face when she saw us. She’d lived in this neighborhood longer than anyone and was a matriarch of sorts. Her diminutive frame housed a ferocious heart.

“Tom, Tom, and my lady,” she said. “Come in, come in. Let me make you some tea.”

Tom greeted her with a flourish of the cape. “No time to stay, I’m afraid. We just want to pass on a few gifts.”

She exclaimed with delight when she saw what was in the bags: fruit, something scarce and expensive this time of year. The hosts whose parties I attended had the means to pay the current exorbitant prices. I’d been served apple tart just last night. Many of the guests had pushed their dessert away half-eaten, claiming they were full. Thinking of that excess and looking at Mistress Smith now, I no longer felt so guilty about stealing the fruit. Besides, we’d actually taken it from another group of smugglers. Thieves stealing from thieves.