Chapter Text
Patrick would not describe his elevated heart rate as nerves. Nor did he think anything of his tight grip on the ornate handle of his cane as he climbed the stairs to Eliza Scarlet’s office. It wasn’t nerves. It was anticipation.
He last spoke with Miss Scarlet in his hospital room two months ago, when she informed him the assassin’s bullet had been meant for the much more valuable target of Miss Scarlet herself. There was something rather chic about being a victim of an assassination attempt—more’s the pity the attempt on his life was simply a matter of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. His ego endured as much injury as his leg, in the end.
The cane was a small consolation. It was fashionable and gave him a genteel air he normally lacked but quite enjoyed now that he had it. And it was helpful, as his leg had not yet regained its full strength. It tired easily and still gave him trouble at night, when there was nothing to distract from a fierce burning sensation in his leg that would occasionally flare up. His doctor said time would take care of that, and Patrick hoped he was right.
The effort it took to climb the stairs momentarily took his mind off the nerves that were not nerves. But soon he was faced with the door to her office.
He had one shot to get her to agree, so he’d prepared for the meeting as though he was off to battle and came armed with a figure that would at least tempt her. The last time they’d spoken, she agreed to take cases from him. But working a case with him was not something previously discussed, and he knew the suggestion of that alone would irritate her before he even had the chance to give her the details—details that would, of course, also irritate her. He carried the case file with him, complete with newspaper clippings, knowing if he could pique her interest, he stood a chance of her agreeing.
Patrick was determined to put his best foot forward—which meant a little less charm and no flattery to speak of. She didn’t respond well to either. It wasn’t his fault he naturally defaulted to both when he needed something from someone, but he would need to show restraint to demonstrate he was serious about working with her on this case. It would not be easy. But Patrick would rise to the occasion, as he always did.
He tapped his cane twice on the door. Eliza invited him in.
It was his first time inside her office, and it was smaller than he imagined. He could take it all in just one glance—the large desk that took up too much of the room, the mess of paperwork atop it, the notes pinned up on a board. Behind her, a map of London, and even in the dim light he could see her penciled in corrections where the map was outdated. Her office had none of the careful polish of his agency, and he admired her for not thinking it was necessary.
His eyes landed on her—the top of her blonde head, really—as she was bent over her desk furiously writing. Her sleeves were rolled up, which was lucky considering the splotch of ink staining the cream of her forearms. The one and only lady detective at work was a sight. He smiled, genuinely.
“Good evening, Miss Scarlet.”
“Mr. Nash?” Eliza’s surprise was evident as she looked at the clock over her fireplace. “It’s outside my business hours, and you have no appointment.”
“Outside your business hours and yet here I find you, Miss Scarlet. In your office. Conducting business. Anyway, we both know in our profession business hours are a mere suggestion rather than a rule.”
She rolled her eyes at that but relaxed the grip on her pen. He could almost hear the metaphorical clock of her patience begin ticking down.
“May I sit?” he asked. Eliza frowned, but her eyes flickered down to his cane, where he was resting his weight. Her expression shifted, and she reluctantly motioned for him to take a seat.
“I am busy, so please make whatever this is quick. What can I do for you?”
Patrick did not let her rush him as he slowly sat down. He set his bowler hat on his lap and leant his cane against the desk before he clasped his hands together.
“I’m here to hire you for a case.”
Eliza’s eyebrows raised slightly. “Very well. What’s the case?”
He held out the green folder he brought with him to her. She opened it, lingering on the news clippings from The London Eye, a society paper.
“What’s this about?” she asked as her eyes skimmed over the documents.
Patrick leaned over and pointed to where he wanted her attention
“Third Annual Hospital Gala to be held at Morris Manor?” Eliza read aloud. “Lady Morris is hosting her annual invitation-only event raising funds for the Morris Charity for the Poor’s efforts to build a new hospital—What’s so interesting about this?”
Patrick pulled the older paper out from underneath the one Eliza was reading. He pointed to a small paragraph, nearly identical except for it was from the year prior.
“Lady Morris has hosted this fundraiser for her charity year after year,” he explained. “It’s exclusive, done over the course of three evenings at her estate. Gossip columns speculate attendees from the upper echelons of society, but never get very specific.”
“Philanthropy isn’t a crime, Mr. Nash.”
“Well, I’ve been looking into it—and I’m not the only one. I have it on good authority Scotland Yard is too—or was, before they became inundated with far more pressing cases. After two of these galas, you would think Lady Morris would have made some progress on this hospital. But there’s nothing. I couldn’t find anything—no permits issued; no contracts signed. Not even a public record of this so-called Morris Charity for the Poor. And not a single donor willing to share how much they’ve contributed. And Lady Morris herself? Reclusive and impossible to reach. No one has seen her in public for years.”
Eliza tapped her pen on the desk and chewed on her bottom lip. He tried not to let his pleasure show—she was intrigued.
“Fraud?” she speculated.
“At least. And the best way to find out for sure is to attend this event.”
“And you’ve managed to find a way in?” Eliza said. “What, will you be posing as a waiter?”
Patrick grinned. “I can do you one better. I have secured an invitation. Well, Mr. and Mrs. Foster, owners of an international textile enterprise, secured an invitation.”
Eliza arched an eyebrow at him. This was the part she would like the least, but he was still not thrown out, so he forged ahead.
“So, as you may guess, I’ve come to propose. I need a Mrs. Foster. And I can think of no better detective for the job.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m the only detective for the job.”
“I’ve hired female associates for just this sort of thing before. You can trust I’m not coming to you for lack of options, Miss Scarlet.”
“Associates? Is that what we’re calling them now?” Eliza countered with a smirk. He didn’t rise to her bait—only smiled at her implication as she tapped her pen on the desk in thought. She continued casually, as though it was an idle passing thought that had no risk of offending him at all: “I can think of nothing I’d like to do less than spend an evening as your wife, let alone three.”
Patrick chuckled. She was making this as difficult as he expected, and he liked nothing more than being right. “I thought as much, on that front. Which is why I want to discuss payment. I’ll pay you double your fee—”
Eliza scoffed and closed the case file and held it out to him.
“Good evening, Mr. Nash.”
“Treble, then.”
Eliza raised her eyebrows. “I’m not seeing how this is lucrative for you. Even if you uncover some fraud, there’s no client to pay you.”
“The headline alone will be worth it, if we do find something substantial. You can’t pay for the kind of promotion that comes with uncovering scandal. Or we’d have something of interest to give Scotland Yard, which can only be good for business. For both of us.”
Eliza glanced away from him as she considered his words. To keep himself from speaking, Patrick observed the yellow glow from the desk lamp flicker in the pale blue of her eyes. He was so concentrated on it, that when she locked eyes with him once more, he jolted slightly.
“I was recently told I was selling myself short,” she stated. “So, I increased my fee at the start of the month.”
Patrick knew she had increased her fee, but her mention of her reasoning unexpectedly filled him with a flash of—it wasn’t exactly self-satisfaction, but something more akin to pride. She once had the lowest fees in London, and it was hurting her business as well as his, and he told her so. She’d taken his words to heart. He hadn’t really expected her to do that, and his confidence rose.
“A wise move. The offer stands.”
“When?” she asked, looking back to the recent newspaper.
“We leave Wednesday, return Saturday.”
Eliza scrunched up her nose. It was a significant amount of time, but it was just one case, and she could earn more than she typically earned in the same number of days. He could see in her eyes she was making the same calculation but didn’t want him to know it. Patrick fought the part of him that wanted to emphasize how good of a financial proposition this was for her. It would only push her away from the answer he wanted.
“I want two-thirds of my fee in advance,” Eliza finally said. “And a bonus, if we make it to the papers, where you’ll give my agency its due credit, distinct from Nash & Sons.”
Patrick felt agency was a bit of a stretch for her operation, but he decided to make that point another time.
“Distinct credit in the paper, half the fee in advance, no bonus.”
“You’re mistaking this for a negotiation, Mr. Nash. I’m telling you my terms.”
His grin slipped out before he could suppress it. It delighted him that she proved as ruthless in business as he was. And right she was to try to take him for all he was worth. Afterall, Nash & Sons was doing very well at present. Scotland Yard’s backlog of cases was proving a boon for his agency, as they currently had contracts for over half a dozen cases. It seemed as quickly as his men could close a case, Scotland Yard had another for them, and certainly more money was flowing in than out.
And if Eliza could see the type of opportunities his agency could offer her if she worked for Nash & Sons on a permanent basis, the price was worth it. With this in mind, he stood and extended his hand to her for the third time in their acquaintance.
“I do believe we have a deal, Miss Scarlet.”
She eyed him for a moment before she accepted, her grip firm as she gave his hand a shake.
“Send the contract over first thing in the morning, Mr. Nash. Before I change my mind.”