can’t—’
‘Don’t talk rubbish. Here.’ She unclipped her obsidian brooch. Well, it was Quintus’s really, but…easy come, easy go. ‘This might sugar the pill.’
The girl’s eyes widened. ‘For me?’ She’d been given the odd sweetener from her mistress before, but never anything valuable.
‘One problem, though. It might be short notice for some of them, but do what you can, Melissa, and, failing that, bribe the buggers to say they’d double-booked and it was the other party’s misfortune, not ours.’
Hopefully at least one of them will put a spoke in the wheel of that Marcia trollop. Claudia closed her eyes and offered up a silent prayer to Minerva to be with her rather than with the linen merchant’s widow on this. Anything to outdo her! Twenty-two and inherited a fortune indeed. Well, it’s your own fault, she chided herself. You would pick Gaius. More fool you, because the linen merchant was older and had no living children, whereas Gaius had four waiting to inherit, didn’t he? Furthermore, she’d actually wished that spotty little gold-digger luck with the linen merchant. He was a grumpy old sod and a real tightwad, but now the boot seemed firmly on Marcia’s dainty little foot, the bitch. She sighed. It was too late grumbling. Wheels were in motion, there could be no turning back now.
‘What on earth are you babbling about, girl?’
‘I was asking about tumblers, madam. Do you want—’
‘What I want, Melissa, is for you to go away and organize it without pestering me.’ She jerked her head towards the house. ‘Go on, off you go.’
The girl’s fingers wrapped themselves tight around Quintus’s brooch as she ran off, leaving Claudia to scan the list in peace. When Gaius said his guests were important, he meant instrumental in furthering his business activities rather than any reference to the political hierarchy, though there was a healthy smattering of magistrates, prefects and the like. No less than seven, she noted, were punters. There was a heavy night ahead, then, questioning seven men without letting any of them—or Gaius—suspect a damned thing. Still, it was the sort of challenge she could rise to standing on her head and, if the truth was told, even enjoy. She’d track that maniac to his grave, so help her—though she’d be a lot happier if that damned Orbilio wasn’t so fly.
‘Quick as a coney he was, Drusilla, double-checking with the mercer’s porter about that wretched bale of cotton.’
The cat paused in her washing and cocked her head.
‘I could have kicked myself for that.’ Lack of foresight was not one of Claudia’s faults. ‘Or Junius. He ought to have thought of the porter the numbskull. And as for that little arab Orbilio winkled out—well!’
It was difficult to tell how much that obnoxious little snoop had believed her over in that stinking tenement. On balance, hardly at all, she concluded…but he couldn’t prove a bloody thing.
‘Come inside,’ he’d said smoothly, thinking he was about to crack this tough little nut at last, ‘I very much want to listen.’
Listen to what? Did he honestly expect her to pour out a startling revelation? Oh yes, I was passionately in love with darling old Quintus, but please, please, please don’t let my husband know or he’ll divorce me on the spot? Hardly. Whatever else he might be, Orbilio wasn’t gullible. Maybe he was expecting a different sort of admission? The-swine-was-blackmailing-me type of confession? Well whatever, he was completely hamstrung by the time she’d finished and it served him damned well right.
She’d wasted no time. The instant the door closed behind him, she’d spun round, wagging her finger.
‘Listen to me, you filthy little meddler, I’ve had it up to here with you. I do not own, and have never owned, a garment in that vile shade of green, and however much you paid that abject little tramp, it wasn’t enough. A bump in the Forum is not proof.’
‘Proof
‘Don’t talk rubbish. Here.’ She unclipped her obsidian brooch. Well, it was Quintus’s really, but…easy come, easy go. ‘This might sugar the pill.’
The girl’s eyes widened. ‘For me?’ She’d been given the odd sweetener from her mistress before, but never anything valuable.
‘One problem, though. It might be short notice for some of them, but do what you can, Melissa, and, failing that, bribe the buggers to say they’d double-booked and it was the other party’s misfortune, not ours.’
Hopefully at least one of them will put a spoke in the wheel of that Marcia trollop. Claudia closed her eyes and offered up a silent prayer to Minerva to be with her rather than with the linen merchant’s widow on this. Anything to outdo her! Twenty-two and inherited a fortune indeed. Well, it’s your own fault, she chided herself. You would pick Gaius. More fool you, because the linen merchant was older and had no living children, whereas Gaius had four waiting to inherit, didn’t he? Furthermore, she’d actually wished that spotty little gold-digger luck with the linen merchant. He was a grumpy old sod and a real tightwad, but now the boot seemed firmly on Marcia’s dainty little foot, the bitch. She sighed. It was too late grumbling. Wheels were in motion, there could be no turning back now.
‘What on earth are you babbling about, girl?’
‘I was asking about tumblers, madam. Do you want—’
‘What I want, Melissa, is for you to go away and organize it without pestering me.’ She jerked her head towards the house. ‘Go on, off you go.’
The girl’s fingers wrapped themselves tight around Quintus’s brooch as she ran off, leaving Claudia to scan the list in peace. When Gaius said his guests were important, he meant instrumental in furthering his business activities rather than any reference to the political hierarchy, though there was a healthy smattering of magistrates, prefects and the like. No less than seven, she noted, were punters. There was a heavy night ahead, then, questioning seven men without letting any of them—or Gaius—suspect a damned thing. Still, it was the sort of challenge she could rise to standing on her head and, if the truth was told, even enjoy. She’d track that maniac to his grave, so help her—though she’d be a lot happier if that damned Orbilio wasn’t so fly.
‘Quick as a coney he was, Drusilla, double-checking with the mercer’s porter about that wretched bale of cotton.’
The cat paused in her washing and cocked her head.
‘I could have kicked myself for that.’ Lack of foresight was not one of Claudia’s faults. ‘Or Junius. He ought to have thought of the porter the numbskull. And as for that little arab Orbilio winkled out—well!’
It was difficult to tell how much that obnoxious little snoop had believed her over in that stinking tenement. On balance, hardly at all, she concluded…but he couldn’t prove a bloody thing.
‘Come inside,’ he’d said smoothly, thinking he was about to crack this tough little nut at last, ‘I very much want to listen.’
Listen to what? Did he honestly expect her to pour out a startling revelation? Oh yes, I was passionately in love with darling old Quintus, but please, please, please don’t let my husband know or he’ll divorce me on the spot? Hardly. Whatever else he might be, Orbilio wasn’t gullible. Maybe he was expecting a different sort of admission? The-swine-was-blackmailing-me type of confession? Well whatever, he was completely hamstrung by the time she’d finished and it served him damned well right.
She’d wasted no time. The instant the door closed behind him, she’d spun round, wagging her finger.
‘Listen to me, you filthy little meddler, I’ve had it up to here with you. I do not own, and have never owned, a garment in that vile shade of green, and however much you paid that abject little tramp, it wasn’t enough. A bump in the Forum is not proof.’
‘Proof
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