Who: Lou Parkinson and Arabella Ward What: News and gossip on the coin issue front, also Lou spills some beans that he was probably not supposed to spill When: Monday 19 February 1889 Where: Lou's office at Parkinson LLC Warnings: Discussion of homicide
People would tell you a little knowledge wouldn't hurt you. People were decisively wrong about this, though. Too little knowledge was often enough to get you into a lot of trouble. That was the problem with this coin business. he knew just enough to get himself, and possibly Arabella Ward and Dex Kessinger, in trouble. Kessinger was a dragon, though, and didn't need to be warned as quickly as Miss Ward, because she might be strange and fey, but she was also a vulnerable young woman who needed protection.
And this coin problem had just taken a turn where she, and he, might need protection. Which was why he'd asked her to come in, as soon as possible, because he wanted her in the bank where it was safe instead of going out there where someone might decide to kill two very mortal birds with one very nasty stone. She would be in his office in a moment, and he ought to be worried about the tea or something, and instead he was worried about dying.
Arabella ignored greetings and pleasantries, too keen to study Mr Parkinson, who seemed nervous and jittery, which were not traits she expected in a banker, nor had he seemed earlier in their acquaintance to be prone to them. He rose when she entered, assisting her with her chair before returning to his own. When she took her seat, she let the silence stretch between them, more interested in the quick movements of Mr Parkinson's hands and the way he smoothed down his clothing than in words.
When he seemed calm, or at least more so, her eyes moved back to his face, silently questioning.
"Please do sit down. I can send out for tea if you like, but I know you're a no-nonsense woman and don't care the social formalities. So I'll cut to the chase: I have some news and I'm afraid it's quite concerning." Lou came round the desk as he spoke so he was closer. Not that he expected Arabella to faint or any such thing, but he did feel awkwardly protective.
"I'm listening." Arabella thought this self-evident, and perhaps not the most polite reply she could have given, so she amended, "Thank you for your consideration and respect." After a brief pause, considering his pallor, she added, "Would you care for tea?"
She knew enough of social formalities, in theory and practice, to know they could be employed for a ritual purposes, to calm and focus the mind. Arabella wasn't certain how to give Mr Parkinson any further direction or purpose, unless she were to pretend to some weakness or need, and she suspected the effort would not be appreciated. He had shown her respect; she would do the same for him.
"I'll send out for some in a moment, thanks. But I'd prefer to keep this room closed for now," Lou explained. "I looked up the fellow in the Mint who recalled the issue of the coin you brought in. Herbert Cholmondley-Smith. It turns out that he passed away not long after that. But--when I enquired more closely, apparently it turns out that his colleagues believe, and apparently off the record, Scotland Yard believes, that it was not from natural causes. That he was murdered."
Arabella considered both what Mr Parkinson had said, and what he had not, what was implied from the closed door and Mr Parkinson's demeanor. "You believe this is related to the counterfeiting," she surmised, watching him for confirmation. "That it was foul play, as Scotland Yard suspects, and that...we are in danger, as you believed we might be."
That last was more of a guess, but he had feared for her safety from the beginning, and now it seemed he had been given reason. Arabella folded her hands in her lap to listen closely. "What do you believe we should do?"
"I don't know yet, but I wanted to speak to you first. Protective measures are definitely in order. But ... I'm worried that this is connected to, shall we say, the wider world. The so-called supernatural. And that while Mr Kessinger is in a good position to protect himself, that you may not be." He peered at Arabella as if he was expecting some objection, but sallied on anyhow. "Is there someone you could speak to about this, about being certain that you're safe from an enemy willing to kill inside the Royal Mint? Not your father, but someone with connections on that side of things."
Arabella stared at Mr Parkinson as though, as the saying went, he'd been graced abruptly with a second head. She had two choices, she realized--to ask him what he meant by the supernatural, so-called or not, or to pretend she knew, and see where he led her.
It took only a moment to decide on the latter.
"I am not well-connected, Mr Parkinson," Arabella told him, letting her voice lose a little of its directness and strength in an attempt to make a modulated appeal. "I live with my father, and I take on private clients, and attend talks when I can--but I belong to no societies or fellowships. Those are the domain of men, and I have no place among them."
There might have been a hint of censure in her voice at that last, but for the most part her voice was even and matter-of-fact. "Who would you recommend I speak to, to ask for aid? Are there any in that world who would provide help, should I ask for it?"
"We'll talk to Mr Kessinger, and--I know another gentleman who might be willing to help. And he's also in the House of Shadows. He won't thank people who are killing servants of the crown over an attempt to wreck the coinage. And he'll know who to discuss this with in the Night Watch, as well." The idea of bringing this to Mac was a relief. Mac would know what to do, and if Arabella Ward was a changeling of some sort, he'd be able to sort it out even if Lou couldn't, on his own. "Being the banker to the supernatural has its uses, at times." Lou's smile was awkward, but he could at least find it.
Arabella hardly breathed after Mr Parkinson's final admission, and while her thoughts clamoured for attention ('You'll want Mr Parkinson', the man at the door had told her, the first time she'd come, and Zipporah had said she had magic, as Zipporah did--had he known? What was the House of Shadows? Did it relate to the Shade? To Adrien Green? Who were the Night Watch?), she could not afford the distraction.
Her eyes were wide and unblinking when she risked asking, "What do you know of the supernatural, Mr Parkinson? Of...magic?"
Had Lou really completely misread this situation? Perhaps he had, but now Miss Ward was all tangled up with things and he felt completely responsible for that.
"More than a lot of mundane folks, I reckon, but not a lot. There are all sorts of different people about that mostly are believed to be myths: Sidhe, and werewolves, and vampires, and dragons. And more, but those are a few many people have heard of from legends. Not that the legends are true, but stories get distorted over time. They have their own House of Parliament, which is the House of Shadows, which works with the Queen to keep the peace, and the Night Watch is the equivalent of Scotland Yard. And there's much more to it than that, but those are some of the simpler things. And oh, yes, there's a newspaper, called the Shade. Which I read regularly.
"And things are much as they are among mundane folks, like me, and apparently you--but you were sent to me, so I've always assumed you weren't--but there's also trouble among them. There was a long war between werewolves and vampires that ended ... five or ten years ago, but a lot of them are very long-lived, so they think it's last week.
"Oh, and there are also human men and women who can do various forms of spellcraft: charms and such, or magical sigils, or many other things that most believe to be folklore. They straddle the mortal and magical worlds. Sort of like us, now. It's very big pond, and we're very small fishes in it. And that coin looks like the ripples are getting bigger and bigger."
Arabella blinked slowly. She felt wound up so tightly inside that she might burst, but kept her face impassive, listening and drinking it all in. Had she not recognized some words among the others--The Shade, for one--she would have simply thought him mad. But Arabella had seen many mad things in the past few months, and she wasn't ready to dismiss this as the ravings of a madman. Not entirely.
She needed to speak to Zipporah.
For now, however, she held Mr Parkinson's gaze with her own, thought of her blood changing alchemical reactions and drawing down Adrien's teeth, and said simply, "You were not wrong about me."
Her head was spinning, but she set the wealth of information regretfully aside to ask, "And who will protect you, in this pond of fishes? Will you be safe, if I have brought trouble to your door?"
She didn't take responsibility, exactly. He had made his own choices, and she had not acted maliciously. That the situation might be dangerous now was not her doing, nor his welfare her concern. But she did feel the compulsion to ask, in case he had no refuge of his own.
"I have friends, and I know things and I hold the keys to a lot of people's money, and that makes me useful. Also I know the risks," Lou said, trying to sound more confident than he actually felt. It was a relief to know that Miss Ward was, in fact, magical of some sort, even if ignorant. He could look out for his own skin more effectively than he could both his and Miss Ward's.
A small part of him reminded Lou that knowledge of a caitiff of some sort was power in itself, but he quashed that thought. She needed help, and was dealing fairly with him. He would do the same to her.
"I mean look at Swithin Valentine. He wouldn't give up on one of the Winter Sidhe after she told him to go away a time or three, and then the poor fellow froze to death. This is why you stay on the right side of powerful people, or at least don't harass them. The question is, who or what made those coins, and why did Cholmondley-Smith recall them, and who killed him? Because that could be all mundane business, but it feels like it's not."
Arabella wondered if Mr Parkinson had begun to ramble in his nerves, and whether he ought to have that tea, or perhaps a stronger drink than he would admit to having in front of a lady. "Are you saying that there has been another murder?" Arabella asked, trying to make sense of it all. "What powerful person might counterfeit coins? Could it be someone connected to a bank, or to the Mint?"
Those felt like questions he didn't have the answers to, or he would have already given them. Arabella switched her train of thought. "How can we find out? Will we investigate further?"
It was a qualified 'we', but for the moment, he had not removed her from the affair, and Arabella did not wish to be removed just yet.
Lou took a couple of long breaths to calm himself back to his normal state. Just because murder and mayhem were going on around him didn't mean he couldn't be civilised about this. "I think we--both of us--should take what we know to Mr Mac Ruadh, and let him advise us. And also call on Mr Kessinger. But I know how to reach Mr Mac Ruadh more quickly. Would that do?"
Arabella studied Mr Parkinson for a moment, unable to think of a way to calm his distress, and finally extended her hand for him to take, for her to squeeze, if he she wished.
"We will do as you wish," she told him, hoping she could be some reassurance, when she felt completely out of her depth. "We can go whenever you are ready, Mr Parkinson. And I will be at your side."
Lou, having recovered himself, or at least mostly so, smiled at Arabella and took her arm to lead her out.