ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴀᴄᴋᴇᴛᴇᴇʀ

Four | ʀᴏꜱᴇ

The noxious malodor had significantly less presence within the confines of Mr. Mercer's study, and Rose found that she could once again breathe and think unencumbered. For that, she was grateful. This entire situation reminded her of a game of chess, and as such, she needed to keep her wits about her.

Rose looked down at the dainty teacup and matching saucer in her hands. It surprised her that Mr. Mercer had served her himself rather than having his housekeeper do it. Her parents, her mother especially, would never have stooped to anything so pedestrian. This observation alone would have been adequate cause for feelings of instant kinship toward Mr. Mercer, if it weren't for Rose's sneaking suspicion that he was simply anxious to dismiss Eleanor. Almost as though he were remiss to converse with Rose in front of her.

...But why?

Observing her host as he indulged in his immodest glass of liquor, Rose took a polite sip of her spiked tea. It was good. Very good. Eleanor knew how to brew and steep tea to perfection, and the whiskey was — even to Rose's novice palate — clearly top shelf.

Returning the cup to its saucer, she silently scolded herself. Now was not the time to be distracted by the impressive window-dressings of her host's presentation. There was a mystery to solve. Still, etiquette dictated a certain amount of polite smalltalk be made before any important topics could be breached.

A small framed photograph situated on the corner of the desk caught her eye. The image faced Mr. Mercer, but from her vantage point, Rose could make out that it was a picture of a woman. A woman with blonde hair.

“Have you a sister, as well?” Rose asked, her tone amicable. She motioned to the photograph. “How many siblings in all?”

Mr. Mercer leaned forward and grabbed the framed photo, pointedly setting it face down on the surface of the desk. “I have a sister, aye. Is that why ya came here? To ask after me family?” He fixed Rose with a cold stare. “Thought ya had questions about your friend. The Russian.”

Rose frowned at his abrupt delivery. Well, if he was going to be outright rude, she'd get right to the point.

“Yes, I have questions,” she stated, all semblance of polite subtlety gone. “To begin, when did you last see Dmitri?”

“The last time I saw him up and about?” Mr. Mercer clarified. “Yesterday afternoon.”

“Yesterday afternoon?” Rose repeated. She frowned. “Your housekeeper also mentioned she hadn't seen him since yesterday. Is there someone here who would have seen him more recently? Someone who may have spoken with him?”

Mr. Mercer took another drink, then set the glass aside. He laid his hands across his torso and laced his fingers. “Not that they would've noticed. The members of my staff are here to work, Miss Sinclair, not chat amongst themselves.”

“I'm aware that your employees are here to work, Mr. Mercer.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. But the staff members of a large manor always talk amongst themselves, whether or not their employer is privy to such idle gossip.”