Page 79 of Unmasking the Diamond
Luca offered his most diplomatic smile. “I was hoping to speak with Mr. Dawlish.”
“He don’t want to talk to ye.”
“Is he expecting me?”
The man spat onto the ground at Luca’s feet. “No, but I can promise ye he won’t want to.”
Luca opened his mouth to reply, but Rupert stepped forward smoothly. “That’s unfortunate. I was hoping to discuss a business venture with him.”
“What kind of business venture?” the man inquired.
Rupert reached into his coat pocket and drew out a gold coin, letting it gleam faintly in the gray light. “One that should only be discussed privately with Mr. Dawlish.”
The man’s eyes narrowed, then darted to the coin. After a tense beat, he snatched it from Rupert’s gloved hand. “First door on the left.”
“Much obliged,” Rupert said pleasantly.
Luca followed him inside, the stench of unwashed bodies and chemicals slamming into him at once. The air burned his throat. Women and children sat in rows at long tables, dipping candles and molding soap. Their faces were pale, lifeless; their hands red and cracked. Not one of them looked up.
“This is a soap and candle factory,” Luca murmured, his stomach tightening.
Rupert chuckled. “Your powers of deduction never cease to amaze me.”
Ignoring him, Luca moved towards the corridor on the left and knocked on the first door.
“Enter,” came a voice—flat, sharp, and impatient.
Inside, the office was cramped and sour. A tall, balding man sat behind a cluttered desk, his stomach pressing against the edge. Papers and ledgers were stacked in teetering piles, and the faint odor of lye lingered in the air.
“Who are you?” the man demanded.
“Mr. Dawlish, I presume?” Luca asked.
“You presume correctly. Now, who in the blazes are you?”
“I am Lord Luca Dexter, and this is?—”
“Mr. Erickson,” Rupert interjected.
Luca shot him a sidelong glance but said nothing. “We have a few questions, if you’d be so kind.”
“You can ask whatever you want,” Dawlish said, leaning back, “but that don’t mean I’ll answer. I’ve work to do.”
“I’ll be brief,” Luca said, keeping his tone steady. “I was hoping to inquire about your mother.”
Dawlish’s expression darkened. “What did that old bat do now?”
“Pardon?”
“Does she owe you money? Because if she does, I’m not paying her debts.”
Luca blinked. “No, nothing like that. I was merely hoping to learn where she might be residing.”
“Not my concern,” Dawlish spat. “Good riddance to her. That woman was nothing but trouble. Now, if that’s all?—”
Rupert spoke up. “Are you married, Mr. Dawlish?”
“No,” Mr. Dawlish said, impatiently. “Why?”
