"What suggestion was that?" She fluttered her eyelashes at him and took a step closer, as if inviting him into her confidence.
"He wanted me to send Fern to live at his house and tend to the sewing. He thought it would give us more room to work, and save time, running back and forth." Master Twilby gave Merrigan several sidelong glances. Almost as if he feared her.
"Splendid idea," she said, and fought hard not to burst out laughing. She hoped her face wasn't bright red from her repressed mirth. So unbecoming.
"It is?" The poor tailor's voice cracked, and he went whiter than his starching powder.
"That will support our decision to be discrete. If I live in Judge Brimble's household, no one needs to know that I am actually in your employ. Everyone will believe that I have been hired by the judge. He can let my credentials be known—entirely by accident, of course, because a man of his stature has no need to brag about the talents of those in his employ. No one will know that you put the judge ahead of the mayor, or that the judge is paying you for my services. In fact, providing for my room and meals will cut down on the higher fees I usually charge for my services."
She fought more laughter when Judge Brimble's mouth and eyes twitched at mention of "higher fees." She had pegged the man accurately. A miser about paying decent wages, but lavish with his own comforts. If he thought he was saving money by having her under his roof, that was his error, and made willingly.
"I'll leave the two of you to work out the final arrangements. Dealing with money is so tedious," she said, dropping a curtsey to them both. Merrigan was certain both men held their breaths as she swept out of the room.
Mistress Twilby burst into tears and flung her arms around Merrigan, after she told her what had happened. She found it rather irritating and slightly discomfiting when the woman insisted that she must have been "sent." Stuff and nonsense—she had made the choice. No one had made her come to this town. She was inflicting a little justice on Judge Brimble for her own satisfaction, and for the sake of the miller's son—she still couldn't remember his name. Merrigan still needed to find the man who had stolen the mill from him. He had done it with the help of the judge, so she was one step closer to her goal.
While it was lovely to have the gratitude of the Twilby family, being in the judge's household would make it easier to find the man who had taken the mill. When she had dealt with that cheat, then she could leave Smilpotz. Perhaps when she got out onto the main road, that alarmingly handsome Fae would be waiting for her, ready to grant her some much-needed and highly deserved help.
Everything was working out perfectly.
JUDGE BRIMBLE'S SERVANTS were suitably cowed, for the most part, from the moment Merrigan walked through the door, early the next morning. She arrived before there was enough traffic on the streets of Smilpotz for anyone to see her leave the tailor shop and walk to the judge's house. The household staff consisted of two overweight, pock-marked serving girls who seemed to find the floor fascinating; a bald, swarthy-skinned cook with a peg leg and eyepatch, who had the audacity to wink at her; an elderly, stiff-backed seneschal who looked down his nose at Merrigan; a pasty-faced clerk who looked like he should still be in school and not studying for the law under the auspices of Brimble; and two boys who saw to the stables and drove the judge's carriage. The house sat on the far edge of town and was large enough to impress Merrigan. Four stories tall, built of stone, the narrow window slits gave the impression the manor house had originally been a fortress.
She decided the judge was indeed too big for his britches as soon as the seneschal took her on a tour of the premises to find the perfect room to set up her workshop. He had entirely too many rooms for a man who had yet to find a wife and, according to town gossip, preferred to entertain in the largest tavern in town, instead of his own home. Half the bedrooms didn't have any furniture. The windows were shuttered and then sealed with waxed sheets of linen. They all smelled musty. The servants lived in the back of the house on the second floor, with plenty of room between them and the judge's living area. He occupied the front of the house on the first two floors, occupying a massive bedroom, another room twice as large for his wardrobe, a sitting room, an office, and a dusty dining room. One other room was of note, but as Merrigan learned quickly, he never really used it. The library sat on the second floor, spanning the office and the dining room below it.
Merrigan lost her breath at the sight of the library. Between the floor-to-ceiling shelves jammed with books, the thick curdles of dust over everything, and the knowledge of just what a perfect location that was to listen in on everything transpiring in the office, she wasn't sure which detail impressed her most. Or maybe it was the delight of seeing the seneschal go white when she declared she would use the library for sewing, and he had to have it thoroughly cleaned. Immediately. After all, when she had chosen all the fine cloth for the judge's new clothes, the material had to be handled in spotlessly clean surroundings.
The seneschal couldn't argue with her, because it only made sense to use the library. No one else was using it, as attested to by the curdles of dust that turned all the thick leather book spines the same drab shade of gray. The windows between the bookshelves provided
