Chapter 402: A Return to Mercer’s Row II

Chapter 401: A Return to Mercer’s Row II

Lyria’s POV

Bridget covered a laugh.

"I do not know how Margery will feel about that."

Neither did I.

"It is g-good to see you, H-Helen," I said, a genuine smile spreading across my face.

Her expression softened immediately.

"It’s good ter see ye too, sweetheart."

She squeezed my shoulders gently before stepping back and looking at me properly.

"Look at ye. Black ’air. Didn’t fink I’d ever see the day." She shook her head with quiet amusement. "Proper job, I’ll give ye that much."

I smiled.

"I d-do not think I have e-ever seen m-myself like this either."

Helen chuckled.

There was genuine approval in it. She had apparently decided that whatever else might be said of the disguise, it had at least succeeded in its principal purpose.

Her attention shifted toward Duke Thorncrest.

"’Oo’s ye, then?"

"Xander," Duke Thorncrest said smoothly.

Helen looked him over with an examination that was not especially subtle. Her eyes moved from his hair to his altered features before settling upon his face.

For one brief moment something in her expression suggested she was not entirely convinced.

Then she shrugged.

"Right then. Xander."

If she knew who he truly was, she gave no indication of it.

Her gaze moved to Bridget and Brayden, who introduced themselves in turn.

Helen nodded to each of them.

"Right. Good."

She glanced toward the stairs.

"Now, are ye all comin’ in, or are ye plannin’ ter stand ’ere blockin’ me stairs all evenin’?"

Before any of us could answer, she took my hand and began moving.

"Come on then. Place is just fillin’ up."

She paused after only a few steps and glanced at me.

"I’m sorry, luv, but Brianna’s asleep. Won’t be seein’ ye tonight. But she’ll be right excited when she ’ears ye came."

I nodded.

Helen looked at me thoughtfully for a moment.

"Now. What shall I call ye t’night?"

"J-just Iria," I said.

Helen stopped.

She stared at me for a moment and then gave a soft, flat laugh.

"That’s a dead giveaway, that is." She shook her head. "Ye always used that name when ye came ’ere, an’ now ’alf the capital knows who ye are. Ye can’t use it."

She considered me.

"Jacob’ll know straight away. Olly too."

She tapped her chin once.

"’Ow about Lizzy?"

"L-Lizzy?"

"Yeah." She nodded. "’S common enough. Unless they take a proper close look at yer eyes, they won’t fink twice about it."

"Alright," I said. "I am L-Lizzy for t-the night."

Then a thought occurred to me.

"Will it n-not seem strange, entering t-this way? Perhaps w-we ought to use the m-main entrance."

Helen waved her hand dismissively.

"Don’t worry yerself over that. Some patrons come in this way by mistake. I leave it open, so it ain’t unusual."

I frowned.

"W-why do you n-never lock it?"

Helen only smiled and offered no answer.

Which was, I thought, considerably more suspicious than any explanation would have been.

She collected our cloaks and carried them toward her office. When she returned, she gestured for us to follow.

We descended the stairs together.

The noise of the tavern grew louder with every step.

Voices overlapped beneath the low ceiling. Laughter burst from one corner and was answered by another table. Glasses clinked. Chairs scraped across the wooden floor. Someone called loudly for another round while a patron nearby complained with equal volume that his drink had been watered.

The smell of ale hung thick and warm in the air.

This was not a place concerned with polished silence.

Nobody lowered their voice merely because someone new had entered. Nobody waited to be formally introduced before speaking. People argued across tables, laughed without restraint, called to one another from opposite ends of the room, and conducted conversations that seemed to belong to everyone present simultaneously.

And yet there was an order to it.

Helen was the mistress of the establishment, and her word carried weight that required no announcement. The patrons might tease her, complain to her, or attempt to negotiate with her, but they obeyed her all the same.

She led us toward a corner table.

It did not matter though, every head had already turned.

The laughter did not stop entirely, but several conversations faltered. Eyes travelled over our clothing.

Jacob, seated at the bar with a glass in hand, was the first to speak.

"Oi, ’elen! ’Oo’re the new faces? Never seen ’em before."

Helen turned toward him.

"Visitors."

"Visitors from where?"

Helen gave him a flat look.

"They came ter watch the competition an’ stayed a moment longer ter see the capital."

Jacob narrowed his eyes.

"Where’re they from, then?"

Helen planted her hands upon her hips.

"Where’re you from, Jacob? An’ why’re ye grillin’ me customers?"

A few patrons laughed. Jacob raised both hands in mock surrender.

"I’m a customer too, ain’t I?"

"Aye, ye are." Helen pointed at him. "But I don’t grill ye, do I?"

Jacob lowered his hands.

"No."

"Then leave off."

She swept her gaze across the room.

"An’ that goes fer all of ye. Any of ye sends me customers away wiv yer nosy questions, I’ll ’ave yer ’eads."

A wave of laughter moved through the tavern.

Nobody appeared particularly frightened by the threat. They knew Helen well enough to understand that she was considerably more likely to throw someone out than to make good on anything more dramatic.

Olly, seated beside Jacob, fixed his attention upon me.

"What’s yer name, then, lass?"

I kept my voice steady, making a deliberate effort not to stammer for if I did, the disguise would come apart far more quickly than any alteration to my features could compensate for.

"Lizzy." I gestured toward Duke Thorncrest. "And my companion is Xander."

Olly nodded, considering the name.

"Lizzy." He said it once more as though satisfied with the sound of it. "Fine name."

His mouth curved into a grin.

"An’ what d’ye fink o’ the competition, then?"

I tilted my head.

"I am quite enjoying it."

"Aye?"

Jacob turned in his seat.

"An’ ’oo’s yer favourite suitor?"

Several nearby patrons leaned in with interest.

I paused. I did not have one per se.

I gave a measured smile instead.

"May the best man win."

Jacob laughed loudly.

"That’s one way o’ not answerin’ the question."

Olly grinned.

"She’s got ye there, Jacob." He took a long sip of his ale. "’Ere, me — I’d say Duke Aurelgrave’s the best o’ the lot."

I glanced toward him.

"Why is that?"

Olly shrugged, though there was nothing careless in it.

"There’s just somefin’ about the man. Proper gentleman, ’e is." He gestured with his glass. "An’ ’e should’ve won ’is sparrin’ match quicker if ’is opponent ’ad just accepted defeat like a proper gentleman ought ter."

Brayden, who had been quiet until that moment, nodded firmly.

"I admire the Duke as well."

I turned toward him, mildly surprised.

"Do you?"

"He is a man of principle," Brayden said. "That is not as common as it ought to be."

Bridget rolled her eyes but said nothing.

Olly gave him an approving look.

"See? There’s a man what knows what ’e’s talkin’ about."

A patron further down the bar leaned back in his chair.

"Duke’s kind, too. Not a bad word’s been spoken about ’is territory since ’e took over. That means somefin’, that does."

Another patron nodded in agreement.

"Did ye see ’ow ’e fought ’is opponent?" He shook his head in admiration. "Didn’t look troubled at all."

I smiled faintly.

"I had not considered it from quite that perspective."

Then another voice joined from somewhere near the middle of the room.

"Rather than Duke Aurelgrave, I’d say Duke Thorncrest meself."

Xander’s attention sharpened immediately.

He leaned forward slightly as a round of drinks was set before us, his expression carefully neutral.

"Why is that?" he asked.

Then, before the patron could answer, a voice from somewhere near the bar began singing.

"Twinkle, twinkle—"

He lost the tune almost immediately.

A second patron joined him regardless.

Within moments, several voices had taken up the terrible rendition, each one apparently determined to make it worse than the last.

The tavern erupted in laughter.