Jack repressed a grimace. Old Norwood had maneuvered him rather neatly there; he hadn’t exactly thrown Jack out, but Maldridge wasn’t where Jack wanted to be-he would rather have stayed right in Norwood Manor, just a few doors down from Seila. In fact, now that he thought on it, that might have been exactly the reason Marden Norwood had found an empty house miles away in the city for him. Jack could hardly decline the offer without seeming ungrateful or making it very plain that he wanted to stay closer to Seila than Norwood might have liked. “Again, my lord, you are too generous,” he replied. “I remember Maldridge; it is a very fine house indeed.”
The lord offered a small shrug. “If, as seems likely, you are the last of the Wildhames, then helping you to establish yourself here in Raven’s Bluff is the least I can do. Think of it as a temporary arrangement if you like, just until you are on your feet again, however long that takes. Perhaps tomorrow we can drive into town and have a look at the place.”
“Excellent,” Jack replied with feigned enthusiasm. “I look forward to it, Marden.”
“That’s a good fellow.” Norwood beamed brightly again, and clapped Jack on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s find you that breakfast.”
CHAPTER SIX
The fine old house of Maldridge stood on MacIntyre Path, just between Falyern Way and Turnhelm Street. The cornerposts featured weathered statues of stern knights; a short flight of stone steps led up to a grand front door of black zalantar-wood from the far south, carved in a sylvan scene of dancing nymphs. More of the expensive hardwood was used lavishly to trim and furnish the interior, which included a library, a study, a large dining room whose fine parquet had no doubt seen much use as a dance floor, kitchens, a wine cellar, and upstairs half a dozen comfortable bedchambers. Behind the manor there was a small walled garden with a fountain and a carriage-house. It even came with a small staff of its own: cook, valet, gardener, and a couple of rather matronly maids. The Norwoods were in the habit of keeping the place ready for use by noble relations, allied families from other lands, or other honored guests who found reason to spend a season or two in Raven’s Bluff; all in all, it was easily five times as much house as Jack needed.
Marden Norwood insisted that Maldridge was available for Jack’s use immediately, and no matter how much Jack demurred, he couldn’t avoid accepting the keys the same afternoon they visited the place. Seila lingered just long enough to give him a chaste little peck on the cheek under her father’s watchful eye, and then the Norwoods left Jack to “settle in and be at home,” as the old lord put it. Jack spent a rather restless night in the grand master suite, devising various schemes by which he might entice Seila to visit him without her father in tow, and finally fell asleep well after midnight.
When he rose the next morning, he found his cook waiting to prepare his breakfast and a selection of the city’s various handbills arranged neatly by his place at the table. “I might become used to this,” he said. “Eggs and bacon, my good fellow! And perhaps some Zakharan coffee, if we have anything like that in the house.”
As soon as he finished, his valet-a thin, balding fellow so short that Jack almost wondered if he were part halfling-appeared carrying a silver tray with a stack of envelopes. “This morning’s correspondence, my lord,” he said.
“Correspondence?” Jack replied. “Who would be writing me already?”
The valet inclined his head. “Mostly invitations to various social functions, and calling cards from some of the neighbors,” he explained. “Many of the well-to-do folk of the city are anxious to meet you, my lord.”
Jack frowned in puzzlement, wondering why, and then the answer came to him. “Ah, of course. Word’s got out that Lord Norwood considers himself in my debt. People are seeking to cultivate his favor through me.”
The valet gave a small shrug. “It’s not uncommon in your circles, my lord.”
“Hmm. Well, that might not be such a bad thing. I am anxious to make new friends in turn.” Jack peeked at the stack of cards and envelopes, recognizing some family names and utterly clueless about others. Clearly, he had some studying up to do. He glanced back to the valet. “What did you say your name was, my good man?”
“I am Edelmon, my lord.”
“ ‘Sir’ or ‘Master Jack’ will suffice, Edelmon. The first order of business will be a new wardrobe. Send for a good tailor and see if we can’t arrange to have some measurements taken and a look at some samples this afternoon. My tastes are refined, my standards high.”
“Very good, sir,” Edelmon replied. “I shall see to it.”
“Accept all but the most unseemly or inconvenient invitations; I am happy to make the rounds. Also, see if you can’t find an engraver or limner to draw up my own stationery with the Wildhame arms so that we can return our own calling cards and invitations as soon as possible.”
“Where might I find an example of the Wildhame arms, sir?”
“None exist in the current day. I will provide more specific instructions when it’s time for our engraver to begin work. Next order of business: I will write out a draft for one thousand gold crowns against the line of credit established for me at Horthlaer House. Have them bring over a small strongbox or coffer, suitably escorted.”
“That is a considerable sum, sir.”
“I will take good care of it, I assure you, but I feel the need to have some coin in my purse for sundry and minor expenses that may come up in the next few months.” Jack took a sip of his coffee, thinking for a moment. He’d have to come up with something for his house arms; perhaps something with a noble-looking stag would seem appropriate for Wildhame. What else was there to do? What he really wanted was to find an excuse to call on Seila as soon as possible, but that would have to be handled delicately. In a day or two he might be able to drive out to Norwood Manor by way of thanking Marden in person for the fine house, but the last thing he wanted to do was to appear desperate to attach himself to the Norwood household … or to stay out of sight so long that Seila forgot to think about him. “A letter,” he said to himself. “A friendly note with just the right touch of amorous overtones, a little audacious but not overbearing or saccharine.”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“Simply speaking to myself, Edelmon. Some paper and a quill, if you please. I’ve a note to compose.”
The valet bowed and withdrew, returning shortly with a stack of good linen paper, a quill, and an inkpot. Jack spent the next half-hour carefully composing a small thank you note to Seila, expressing his delight with the hospitality of the Norwoods and noting how much he looked forward to their next meeting. Then, with no easy way to further ingratiate himself with Seila or her father and most of the morning still ahead, he sat back to consider what other interests deserved his attention.
“I have always been ardent in pursuit of opportunity,” he mused, “but now I find myself virtually ignorant of what opportunities might be available in this day and age. What should I do with myself while my designs upon Seila ripen?” Idly he picked up the handbills and leafed through them. The first broadsheet led with a lurid tale of abductions in the alleyways of Mortonbrace, laying the blame at slavers scouring the city for drunk, homeless, or simply unfortunate souls to sell into slavery. The second handbill was occupied with an investigation of bribery and racketeering among the watch officers of the Pumpside neighborhood; the next reported on the deliberations of the Council of Lords, lamenting their inability to agree to a plan designed to combat the criminal influences in the city and making carefully veiled insinuations to the effect that some councilors might have an interest in keeping things in their current state. It seemed that he had returned to Raven’s Bluff in an age of unusual civic corruption; Jack smiled as he considered the bountiful opportunities that implied.