“Well, if I want such things, I should probably get back to work before I’m accused of sloth.” Alex waved goodbye with the silver tray and closed the bedroom door.
Chapter 4
Lila dried her dark hair, arranged it into a loose wave, and then donned her uniform. The black woolen trousers, white cotton blouse, and red officer’s jacket hugged her figure, yet stretched well enough for her to run or fight should the occasion arise. Her militia blackcoat, trimmed with red piping, went over it and skimmed her calves. Lila felt like herself again under so much leather, and she hummed under her breath while she finished dressing.
Tucking her trousers into her boots, she considered paging Isab
el. The leather could do with a bit of a polishing, but there was no time for it. Instead, she swiped a towel over her boots and called the job done. She then holstered her backup Colt at her hip, slid her officer’s short sword into the scabbard on the opposite side, and rammed her knife into a sheath in her boot. Before leaving, she glanced in the mirror one last time and brushed off the four silver stars on her collar.
Tugging on her black gloves, Lila descended the main staircase and passed through the main hall. It had been paneled in mahogany and adorned with crimson silk tapestries. The silver Randolph coat of arms hung on the wall, made by Jewel Randolph, painter, sculptor, and prime heir to the Randolphs. Portraits of the family surrounded it, spanning backward into the eighteenth century. The heirs’ crimson ball gowns had hardly changed much at all in that time. Neither had the men’s tailored coats and breaches.
Lila stepped deeper into the house and entered the morning room. It should have been called the room of windows, for three of its walls had been built of glass. The rising sun streamed into the room, casting beams of light on a table, heavy with platters of pancakes and syrup, eggs, bacon, toast, yogurt, and blackberries. A bottle of Gregorie and a pitcher of orange juice peeked over the food. A male slave stood in the corner, dressed in crimson breeches, tights, and a matching coat, waiting for instructions.
The chairwoman studied Lila. Her silver hair had been styled into a severe bun at the nape of her neck. Though the matron claimed the hue was natural, Lila knew it had been dyed. Most people likely assumed it, for the woman was only forty-six years old. The color matched her coat, which bore the family coat of arms in crimson thread. The silvercoat was cut more stylishly than Lila’s militia jacket, but it still retained a regal and military air, as did her high-fashion boots of the same shade. She wore a flowing sheath dress in crimson underneath, and her body had been liberally dotted with rose-scented perfume.
“Chief,” the chairwoman said by way of greeting, gesturing at the chair across from her.
“Mother. Isn’t it a bit early to discuss security arrangements for the Wabash Fundraiser?”
“Why would I summon you on your day off for that? Especially so early.” She dropped her gaze down to the proffered chair once more, hinting.
Lila sat and removed her gloves for the meal.
The chairwoman picked up a bowl and offered it to Lila. “Would you like some blackberries? Chef reminded me of how much you like them. They’re quite fresh.”
Lila took a few and piled her plate with more food than she really wanted, pretending an appetite. She tried not to wince around her injured tongue, still sore from where she had bitten it in the explosion.
“Leave us,” Chairwoman Randolph said to the slave in the corner.
He bowed immediately and left the room.
“You’re up early,” Lila said, stabbing at her pancakes, soggy with maple syrup.
“I could say the same for you. The explosion woke me, just as I’m sure it woke everyone in the city. Didn’t wake you, though, did it? You were already up.”
Lila schooled her face into blankness and sipped her orange juice. “What do you mean, madam?”
“What do you know about the disturbance?”
“Disturbance? That’s a strange way of referring to a gas explosion.”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me something that’s not already on the news, Lila.”
“Okay. There are about a dozen members of the Randolph militia assisting Bullstow at this very moment. I’ll know more when they return. That’s not on the news.”
“Good. What about your spies?”
“It’s still early yet. I’m sure they’re still out there. Spying,” Lila said, waggling her fingers. “I suppose yours have already reported in?”
“A few have. One told me they saw something rather interesting a few hours ago. What were you doing, sneaking through the tunnels under the estate at half past four this morning?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It had taken a great deal of money and cajoling to flip one of her mother’s best spies, but she had done it. Finally.
The fake alibi couldn’t have come at a better time.
“I checked the cameras, Lila. You snuck out. What were you all night?”
Lila picked up her glass and focused on the pulp that stuck that to rim. “What do you think I was doing, Mother? I was testing my people. I’m afraid Commander Sutton is the only one who can confirm it, though, for the rest of my people were in the dark. Supposing your spy is employed by the militia, they might have gotten a promotion for spotting me if they had come to me instead of you. I hope you’re paying them well enough to make up for that.”