From Lies (2 page)

"If you say so," Rafe said with a shrug, but already his mind was churning. If he could save his sister, there was no reason he couldn't save his step-sister. He had six months to plan.

By the time they reached the marketplace, Rafe was back in the backseat, the blanket spread beneath him and an apple in his mouth as he threw an orange peel over the side of the cart. Several of the villagers glared at him, casting sympathetic looks Greta's way while she steered the cart toward the edge of the first row of shops.

Appearances
, Rafe reminded himself as he climbed from the back of the cart,
were everything
.

"Do you have the list?" he asked, then took a loud bite of apple, crunching obnoxiously.

"Yes." Greta reached into her pocket and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper.

He snatched it from her hand with a look of contempt before striding off toward the second best shoemaker.

"Um… Rafe?"

Rafe turned to her, affixing a look of outrage on his face, one he'd practiced in the mirror and before Greta until she'd deemed it true. "How dare you," he hissed, watching from the corner of his eyes as several villagers recoiled, some of the men looking ready to start a fight.

"Oh." Greta looked sheepish before remembering her part and donning a face of fear. "I'm sorry. Lord Rafe."

"You will be." He turned away, continuing as before toward the shoemaker. "Go do the cook's shopping. I have business to attend."

"Yes, Lord Rafe."

He could hear Greta shuffling away and knew her shoulders would be hunched, her lower lip wobbling as she went first to the baker. If the owner was there, he'd sneak her a loaf of herb bread, fresh from the oven. If it was his wife, she'd bustle Greta into the back while her daughter made sure to bundle everything up safely and ply Greta with warm, filling food. If it was their son, he'd try and flirt. Rafe knew because Greta told him, and because he'd seen for himself how that family adored her after she'd saved their youngest from a river.

Rafe shook that terrifying memory off and entered the shop, looking around the dark interior. He'd been in a few times, the most recent when the stable boy had needed a new pair of shoes after being caught out in the rain while running an errand for the stable master. Rafe's mother had wanted to make sure the expense of the shoes had been kept to a minimum, but Rafe had made sure to pay the man in secret to provide the boy with a tough pair of shoes. Not that anyone would ever know what he had done.

A soft grunt had Rafe turning, inclining his head slightly at the sight of the old shoemaker, who quirked an eyebrow. "Good day, Duncan. I was wondering if you could make some dancing shoes? Fit for a royal ball."

One of Duncan's eyebrows climbed into his grey hairline, the unasked question clear on his face.

Rafe coughed, a flush stealing over his features that he hoped was hidden in the faint lighting. "For Greta," he whispered, looking at the man imploringly.

Duncan knew at least part of the truth, how Rafe's attitude toward Greta was an act, but he didn't know the whole story, so he didn't completely trust Rafe. Which was fine with Rafe since the old man had no tongue to speak with and his writing was barely legible.

Duncan huffed out a breath and waved his hand for Rafe to follow. They always conducted their business in the backroom, away from prying ears and eyes. Even Duncan's apprentice didn't enter the back when Rafe was visiting. Rafe was grateful for the secrecy Duncan allowed him. They settled at a table with blank paper and several pencils between them, and Rafe went to work explaining what he wanted while Duncan jotted down the words. With that settled, Duncan began to sketch the shoes, Rafe interjecting a change at one point. Once everything was finalized, Rafe asked, "You don't mind giving my instructions to the dressmaker and jeweler?" Duncan gave him a look that told Rafe the kind of idiot he was, and Rafe smiled. "Thank you. Let me know what the total is and I shall pay it."

Duncan snorted at him but nodded all the same. They had done this a few times before when Rafe had needed something without letting the whole town know it was him providing gifts for Greta and the rest of the staff. His mother had yet to figure out who it was, though she believed it was somehow Greta, though where Greta would have gotten the money had always eluded everyone.

With that settled, Rafe bowed slightly to Duncan before leaving the shoemaker's. Glancing at the darkening sky, Rafe chewed his lip as he took out his mother's list. It was long and would take a bit more time than he liked to accomplish. There was little chance they'd make it home before the rain hit. Sighing at his misfortune in this endeavor, Rafe went in search of Greta, hoping to get the dressmaker's done.

When he walked into the bakery, he saw the eldest daughter pulling fresh rolls from the oven and no sign of Greta. Chances were she was in the back, but the question was how to get her out without having to make a scene. He was growing tired of playing the bad guy, his nerves running thin. Luckily, the daughter saw him, her eyes growing wide as she looked at him. He quirked an eyebrow at her and felt a small pang of unease when she dashed off into the back, nearly dropping the rolls she'd just removed in her haste.

Sighing, Rafe turned, and was glad to see Lord Shaften walking down the street with his youngest child. Perfect timing if ever there was. Casting a quick glance toward the back, Rafe left the bakery and strode toward Lord Shaften.

"It is good to see you so well, Lord Shaften. And your children, I hope, are all in good health?" Rafe smiled at the child huddled next to his father's leg.

Lord Shaften laughed, a sound that seemed to come from deep within his gut. "Yes, yes, everyone is doing well. And your family?"

Rafe smiled, giving a small chuckle. "My sister, Raquel, is still wishing she could find a husband and settle down to have children, but my mother…" Rafe shrugged his shoulders, giving Lord Shaften a look.

The lord nodded his head, and Rafe did believe that the man understood. "Yes, yes. Everyone with eligible children is talking about that ball. I am, of course, expected to attend, but I don't know what I shall do with my children, though I've been informed it would be lovely if they were to attend."

Rafe grinned. It had taken much maneuvering to bring up his sister in past conversations, and now this would be perfect. "I'm certain my sister would be more than happy to assist you at the ball if you find yourself in need. She's nervous as it is to be meeting those of such a high station, and I imagine having children nearby to occupy her would help ease her nerves greatly."

"Yes, yes. Children are good for easing one's nerves, but I'm afraid my children won't know her and would be disinclined to stay near her." Lord Shaften appeared genuinely saddened by this, and Rafe knew his careful words over the past year since he'd heard a group of old women discussing how the Lord Shaften needed a new wife were beginning to work.

"Well…" Rafe let himself trail off, hoping he looked consternated.

"Hmm, what is it?" Lord Shaften looked at him curiously.

"I was just thinking… but it was a foolish thought." Rafe waved his hand as if swatting the thought away.

"Oh, come now. You can't leave an old man waiting in suspense."

"You, sir—old?" Rafe snorted. "I would think us all old if you were such."

"You flatter me. But, please, tell me your thought."

"Well." Rafe looked at the child tucked against Lord Shaften's leg and bent down to eye level with the boy. "How would you feel about meeting my sister? She loves children, and I believe she needs to get out of the house. She'll be attending the ball that's coming up, and I know she'll be grateful to have a dance partner she knows. Would you be willing to accompany my sister to the ball?"

The child looked between Rafe and his father. Rafe carefully watched Lord Shaften from the corner of his eyes, nearly whopping in delight at the small nod Shaften gave his son.

The boy looked back at Rafe and nodded. "Okay," he said in a small, childish voice.

Rafe could almost hear the squeal of his older sister as she clasped him close at the prospect of being near children. Their mother was a fool to try and change that aspect of Raquel. "Thank you." Rafe held out his hand for the child to shake, smiling warmly when he felt that tiny hand in his own. "I will escort my sister to your home…" He waited for Lord Shaften to pick a time, not wanting to seem conniving.

"Will next week, midweek, work well for you?" Lord Shaften asked as he settled a hand on his son's head.

"I will arrange it," Rafe said, and rose, releasing the boy's hand from his own as he extended his hand to Lord Shaften. "Next week."

"Yes, yes." Lord Shaften smiled wide as he shook Rafe's hand.

They said a few more pleasantries before Lord Shaften bid him good day. Rafe stood there a moment longer then turned and headed back to the bakery, glad to see Greta standing at the counter waiting for him.

"Quickly now," Rafe said and pivoted on his heel to head back out the door. "We are going to the dressmaker's next."

He didn't wait for her, just strode across the cobblestone path that constituted a road. When he made it to the dressmaker's he turned, his stance stiff while he waited for Greta to catch up. She was practically jogging as she made her way to him, and Rafe wanted to tell her to slow down, he'd wait.

Appearances.
That traitorous part of himself whispered, the one that had told him as a child he couldn't defy his mother. He wondered if it wasn't that part of himself that was slowly strangling him in his sleep, causing him to wake cold while the moon still hung high in the sky.

The soft panting breathes Greta released dragged him back to the here and now, and he walked into the dressmaker's, his footfalls heavy as he moved across the well-worn wood. The dressmaker, an older woman with white streaks in her hair who was getting ready to transfer her shop to her apprentice, a young gentleman who had a way with lace, glared at Rafe as if he'd dragged something foul into her store.

"Yes?" Her old voice was raspy, a thread ready to snap.

"My mother has bid me inquire if you still have my sister's measurements from the last time we were in." He made it sound less like a question and more a demand. Based on the sneer she gave him, he'd succeeded.

"No." Her answer was clipped as she turned away, going back to telling her apprentice something Rafe couldn't hear.

He nearly cheered in joy. This fit into his plans better than he could have hoped. "Then you will use her," he took Greta's arm in a firm yet soft grip and tugged until she moved forward, "to take new measurements." He turned away from their gaping mouths and gave Greta an apologetic look. She simply watched him in confusion. "I shall return after I have set up an appointment with the tailor." He didn't wait for a response before he left the shop, breathing deep while he moved down the cobbled road and strode briskly into the tailor's. At least this was one location he'd never had to take Greta and put up his act.

He greeted the tailor warmly, taking a seat where the man indicated. He watched while a young boy was fitted in a smart outfit for his coming seventeenth birthday. The boy chatted excitedly to the tailor about what he would do with the new responsibilities his age would afford him, and Rafe had to wonder if he'd ever been that excited for a birthday.

Rafe looked back, remembering his own seventeenth and how he'd finally be able to drink spirits, take an apprenticeship if he'd wanted one, join the service if that had been his preferred leaning, but he hadn't done any of that. He turned his gaze to the window, shutting out the nattering of the excited boy. His seventeenth had been a solemn affair, a time when his mother had been too busy attempting to make friends out of her circle of influence, his sister had been sick with a terrible cold, and none of the staff had seen fit to offer a kind word. Even Greta, sweet, kind Greta had been busy. His birthday had passed in silence, his memories of cruel words all that had kept angry, ashamed tears at bay.

He startled at the loud noise of the boy hopping off the podium to walk around, stretching the fabric to make sure it fit right. At least he was no longer surrounded by his memories. Rafe smiled at the boy when he turned toward him, complementing the lad, and receiving a wide grin in turn. It was only a few more minutes before the tailor was ready for him, quickly confirming Rafe's measurements which hadn't changed that much. They discussed what he'd wear—something relatively plain, even if his mother had strictly written he should pick something bright, since that was the fashion, and the tailor apparently agreed with her—and when Rafe would come in for his first fitting.

Not long after Rafe left the shop, the first few raindrops began to fall. He made his way quickly to the dressmaker's, glad he arrived just before the rain fell in earnest. When he opened the door, he heard a few notes of laughter, then it was cut off, a deafening silence ringing through his ears. He turned his nose up at the group, Greta looking apologetic behind the stiff forms of the dressmaker and her apprentice.

"It's raining," he declared, as if they could not hear the pounding of droplets crashing into the roof. He watched the apprentice roll his eyes. Rafe forged on. "I will need an umbrella once our business has been concluded here."

"And if I don't have an umbrella?" the old dressmaker asked sickly sweet.

Rafe curled his lip in distaste, something he didn't have to feign, at the old woman. He was a customer, and no matter what she felt toward him, she should still act with manners instead of hostility. "Greta." He waited for her meek response. "I believe the tailor has an umbrella. Go fetch it and inform him that I shall repay him for the kindness."

Greta rose to follow his order, but the dressmaker snarled, snapping at her apprentice, "Go get an umbrella." Her hostile gaze never left Rafe's face.

Rafe refused to be baited and stared at the woman blandly. It didn't matter what she thought of him, though he might have to begin looking into the other dressmakers in the area. They might not produce clothing as fine as this woman, but they would certainly treat him better, especially if he decided to let this little encounter spread. It wasn't truly like him to do that, but this old woman was being too rude to ignore. He might even have to tell Duncan to change the dressmaker he should go to.