"Sarah! Wake up..."
My eyes were hazy, my dream shattered abruptly by a familiar and warm voice. Through my blurry vision, I saw my friend, Abigail.
She was the personal attendant of Lady Beatrice and had been living with me in the same quarters, as I was also a personal maid, though more of a companion due to a special arrangement I had been offered.
Abigail seemed to know a little about it, or perhaps she had guessed. She had been serving Lady Beatrice for years, if I recalled correctly, five years. Five long years as an attendant and mentor to her.
"I am up..." I muttered.
Pouting with a strange smile, she said, "Then leave the bed."
Abigail had a peculiar way of expressing her discontent. She would smile, but only her left cheek would move. It was odd, yet endearing at the same time.
She was a brunette with captivating yellow-amber eyes, wide and shiny like gold in the sunlight. Her skin was slightly reddish from allergies, and her face was adorned with freckles near the bridge of her nose. She was striking, even more so than some of the noble ladies I had encountered on the train.
After getting ready, I headed towards Lady's Beatrice room, she had a meeting today but for some unfortunate reason, the other party has been unable to come, so today, her schedule was at random and free.
I scurried up to her room, knocking twice, until a voice called out from the other side, "Come in."
Lady Beatrice was signing some documents, and as I entered, she closed them. I caught a brief glimpse of the papers, some bonds, perhaps bearer bonds.
I bowed as I greeted her with a good morning. Speaking to a noble required courtesy, even if I was just a country bumpkin.
She nodded as he acknowledged my presence, but before I could ask her what she wanted from me, she spoke.
"Today, I was supposed to meet Mr. Morgan, the industrialist, investor, or whatever he likes to call himself," she said.
After a brief pause, she continued, "Find clues about his whereabouts. I'm certain this man didn't just postpone the meeting, I believe he encountered some unforeseen accident."
"Why me?" I asked.
"Don't you want to be useful to your employer? You might as well lose your job if you question it," she said, standing up and walking towards the window with a sigh.
There was an uncanny fear in her heart, though she hid it well. I had felt it before, so I knew, she was burdened by the weight of ambition, worried for what the future might hold.
On my way, I ran into Abigail and told her I might not be back tonight. If I didn't return, she didn't need to wait for me. I had some errands to run for Lady Beatrice and work that required my assistance.
I returned to my room, a little frustrated, but she was right. I needed to prove my worth.
As I made my way down the hallway, a guard appeared in front of me just as I was leaving the hotel. He handed me a stack of papers and gave a brief nod before walking away. I quickly skimmed through them, they contained information about James Morgan, the man whose whereabouts I was tasked to investigate. It was clear these came from Lady Beatrice.
I muttered under my breath, "She could have given it to me herself..."
I took a carriage to Javier's Horseshoe Inn, a favorite dining spot of Mr. Morgan.
While riding, I browsed through the paper about James Morgan, which read:
James Morgan, aged forty-seven, is an established industrialist and investor residing at Kingsmen Manor, known publicly for his successful ventures in steel and rail contracts and his influence in political and commercial circles. Records indicate that while he maintains the appearance of a respectable gentleman of industry, he engages in clandestine gambling activities concealed from his wife, frequenting establishments such as the Silver Spoon Club, where his presence has been noted on multiple occasions. Observations further reveal discreet meetings with shipping magnate S. Pinkersons and unexplained visits to Grand Trust Foundry, with unconfirmed reports suggesting financial entanglements involving a loan broker operating out of East Dockside.
His profile presents a man of meticulous appearance and calculated dealings, whose dual existence in business and vice has begun to reveal strains beneath the surface of his reputation.
"Red hair paired with black eyes, a striking combination that renders him easily recognizable even from a distance, a peculiarity that betrays his efforts at discretion," I muttered.
The carriage stopped on the uneven cobblestones, and I stepped down into the morning air. A thin mist drifted along the street, clinging to the wheels as if it did not wish to rise. Ahead of me stood Javier's Horseshoe Inn. In daylight it looked worn and tired, its paint peeling and its crooked sign hanging by rusted iron.
Still, I knew the place held secrets, and if James Morgan had been anywhere, this was where to begin.
I pushed the door open and entered. The inn smelled of stale smoke and spilled spirits. The floor creaked beneath my boots. A few men slept with their heads on the tables, their cards and coins scattered before them. Light forced its way through the narrow windows and caught the dust in sharp beams. The barkeep swept with slow strokes, his eyes heavy but alert.
What an odd place for a tycoon to stay, I thought. Could this be a meeting spot? If so, the ledger might be registered under one of the other party's names, leaving no trace of Mr. Morgan. And what if Morgan never even used his name, let alone his real one? I might have miscalculated...
Or so I thought.
I asked him for water, though my attention was elsewhere. On the cold hearth, I spotted a scrap of paper. It held figures and initials, nothing clear, but it seemed like part of a ledger. I noted it mentally and moved on.
Nearby, two fishermen murmured softly. I caught Morgan's name and listened closely. They mentioned he had arrived during the night, quiet and tense, and vanished without exiting through the front. His carriage, they added, remained still until dawn.
Voila! Of course, someone like Mr. Morgan could never truly remain anonymous; the locals clearly knew the rich tycoon was Morgan. Now, I can move on to checking the rooms.
I paced the room until I reached the back hall, where a door with a sturdy lock caught my eye. The worn marks on the wood revealed it had been opened and closed frequently. Clearly, whoever used it intended to stay out of sight.
Though the day had just begun, I already knew Morgan's trail was here. His presence lingered in this place, and if I wanted to follow him, I would have to go beyond what the innkeeper permitted.