Red Dog Conspiracy: A Noir Future Steampunk Crime Family Saga

The next morning, Amelia came in as usual, and over my morning tea, I watched her.

Why would she beat her son? Why would he think she hated him? Why was Peter not intervening?

The Golden Bridges had a disturbing article: Hart merchants were discussing a protest against the Hart Family for non-payment of bills. A spokesman for the Harts said the purchases were made without their knowledge or consent.

Could Charles Hart be in financial difficulty? At the Grand Ball, he seemed relaxed, even jovial. Why wouldn't he pay what he owed? What would it mean if his quadrant rose against him?

And Tony had spoken for them.

Tony seemed tired at breakfast, and he spoke little. I didn't ask about the events of the night before; he didn't mention them. He left after breakfast, telling me to run the morning meeting without him. But it was simple matter, just giving the staff their orders for the day. I sat and smoked for a while after he left. As I rose from the table, I decided to visit Dame Anastasia for tea, and hear her interesting information. Before the business with David Bryce, I called on her almost every week.

On the way down the stairs, I heard our chef shouting, "How can I work in this disorder?"

"If you would clean after yourself, Monsieur," a woman said, "the disorder wouldn't exist."

"Damnable woman!" Monsieur roared. I heard him stomp up the stairs to the courtyard.

I chuckled, recognizing the woman's voice. When I went past the kitchens, Anne — a sturdy brown-haired spinster in her middle thirties — winked when she saw me. Whatever disorder Monsieur might have detected in the kitchens, I couldn't see it.

After the meeting, I went to Pearson. "I have a situation I must discuss."

He followed me up to my study, closing the doors behind us. "How may I help, mum?"

I took a deep breath. "Pip Dewey."

Pearson's expression didn't change. "What about the boy?"

"I believe you know very well what. The child's situation is unacceptable. I don't know what has gone on, but —"

"You're correct, mum. You don't know what has gone on."

I stared at Pearson in surprise. He spoke gently, but his words bordered on insubordination. I turned away. "Who is it you fear, I wonder." The list was very short. "The boy may stay in the men's quarters, if he agrees, and a place can be found. If someone has concerns about the matter they may speak with me." I faced him. "Is that suitable?"

Pearson stood for a moment, his face unchanging. "That is quite suitable, mum."

"That is all." He turned to go. "No, wait. Someone needs to speak with his father."

"I'll do that, mum."

"Thank you, Pearson."

The door shut behind him.

At least I had done something useful today.

Pearson didn't seem to think Pip's abuse was worth notice. The people here ... none of this made any sense to me.

Shaking my head, I sat at my desk, surveying my calling list. I had sadly neglected my social duties during the past two months.

Most of the women I visited were cold, and I heard many a one call me foul names in secret — or even to my face — "Pot rag whore" being the kindest.

It amused me. Pot rag was a foul title, to be sure, but whore was the second highest calling someone in the Pot might have. Where they thought to give insult, I saw it as praise. But though they meant insult, I had to pretend I wanted to call on them. We held the quadrant. But if I offended the wrong women, it could cause their men to look elsewhere for leadership.

I collected my notes, the list I made a few weeks earlier, and the pile of cards left while I was ill, and began to sort it all. I didn't care about these women; they didn't care about me. Why did they play this game? Joe was right: everything these people did trapped themselves, confined themselves so that they could hardly move without causing offense. At times, I felt I could hardly breathe.

But Roy said I must do this. Molly and Tony agreed. I opened my calendar and set to work.

***

The afternoon was overcast yet warm, with a gentle breeze, so I walked the mile to Anastasia's home, my day footman Honor three paces behind.

This was new. I normally walked without escort so close to our home. But with the attack on Tony on New Year's Day and the events since, Tony decided I was to go nowhere unescorted.

Who was a fit escort confused me. No man seemed to be sufficient except family members or servants. Tony was driven almost to terror at my visit to the Inventor's Laboratory below our home, even though the Inventor himself accompanied me, an elderly man of the highest honor. Yet a young, attractive male servant walked behind me without arousing any comment. None of it made sense. And while Skip Honor was a pleasant enough fellow, his presence felt like another bar in my cage.

Dame Anastasia didn't mind Honor's presence; she asked her butler to show him downstairs for tea with the other servants. Then she brought me to her parlor and we sat. Anastasia collected clocks of all kinds, and they ticked merrily as we talked.

"Thank you so much for coming last night," I said. "I hope you enjoyed yourself."

She smiled. "Dinner was delicious and the entertainment lovely ... although I found your friends rather impertinent."

This irritated me when I remembered Gardena's tears. But perhaps Anastasia didn't understand the situation. "I'm sorry. I'll have to have you over again under a more pleasant environment."

"I would be delighted."

The maid came in, bringing us tea, small sandwiches, and thin slices of cake. "Will there be anything else, m'lady?"

"That will be all."

The maid curtsied and left, closing the door behind her.

I picked up my teacup. "How may I help you?"

"On the contrary, my dear, I have something to speak to you about which I hope you'll find beneficial."

She wore her signature necklace: twenty large round-cut diamonds in a chain, a teardrop dangling in the center. Rumor had it the necklace was worth tens of thousands of dollars; she had guards with her wherever she went. The diamonds sparkled in the sun as she talked.

She wished me to collect old debts from a list of men, which she handed over. "I hope you can do this in the next two weeks."

It seemed rather short notice for such a long list. "Is there a reason for the deadline?"

She nodded. "I didn't want you to hear about this from someone else. I'm moving to another city."

The news stunned me. "Moving away? But why?"

She waved her hand. "This all looks lovely, but I'm close to bankruptcy. The cost to mine these so-called miracle gems is enormous. Now that they are so popular, the mining company is charging me double. Even these improved prices are only covering my bills."

"But why move away?"

"Business these days ... it's just not what it used to be. I feel like I'm losing my touch." Her head drooped. "I'm getting too old for this. I need to think of my future." She gestured. "All this ... plus the Family fees every month ... I'm moving where I can live more simply."

I was seventeen years old. I stood next to Tony a second after the announcement of our engagement. None of the hundreds of people in the hall moved. Disdain, shock, and horror filled every face as they stared at me. Roy stood there, glowering at me as if it were my fault. My face burned with humiliation.

The elegant woman rose, gliding forward to take my hand. "Congratulations, my dear."

Dame Anastasia went to the mantle, where a bank lock-box sat. She set the box on the table, took a small key from her pocket, and unlocked it. After removing her necklace, she placed it in the empty box, locked it, and handed me the key. "Yours: a token of my esteem and gratitude for doing me this service."

I was astonished. "Surely I can't accept this for payment. It's too much. It's too much even as a gift."

"It's no gift! Well, yes, it is, somewhat. Payment and gift both. I'm an old woman; I have no real need for this. And I don't think I could sell it, even if I wanted to." She gazed at the box. "It was one of my most beautiful creations ... but I won't be able to afford guards for it when I leave." She paused for a moment. "It'll look stunning on you. The thought of you wearing this at some dinner or ball," she patted the box, "fills my heart with joy."

"When do you plan to take your trip?"

"As soon as possible. I have a buyer for the manor. I have to settle some business dealings before I can leave, but certainly within the next few weeks."

"Do you have to leave so soon?"

She gave me a fond smile. "You are a dear. But I'm moving, not dying; you and Mr. Spadros are welcome to visit anytime."

The maid came in with a fresh pot of tea.

When the maid left, Anastasia said, "There is another matter. Frank Pagliacci."

Finally, someone with information on that murderous scoundrel. A bit late, now he was dead, but her information might give me some clue as to how to approach the problem of Jack Diamond. "Tell me what you know of him."

She let out a breath, looking away. "I've been day-leasing my horses. It brings in some income. Two weeks ago, Frank Pagliacci leased a horse from me. He had done so before, and in the past, returned the horse in good order, so I leased him my best palomino. But he never brought it back. So I sent a letter asking for its return. He wrote a few days later saying it ran off."

A few days later?

"My men found the poor creature whipped almost to death outside a brothel in the Diamond Pot. The men there had bandaged its wounds and were taking care of it, but it's too hurt for me to sell for what I wanted."

I felt alarmed. "He leased the horse two weeks ago. And you received a letter from him when? The dates may be important."

"Let me check my records." She left for a few minutes, returning with a ledger. "He leased the horse January 30th —"

The day we rescued David Bryce.

The day I shot Frank Pagliacci.

"— I sent the letter to him on the first of February. He replied on the third."

I stared at her in horror.

Frank Pagliacci was still alive.