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Chapter Twenty-Six: Gull Street
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2026-11-06 20:10:10
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REBORN WITH A SYSTEM: Why does my target wants me. Chapter Thirty-One: Table Fourteen
Lexi’s window was shut by the time Eliza looked up again. Just a curtain moving, like nobody had been there.She stood with one foot in the car and her hand on the door until Han coughed.“Miss Sinclair?”“Forgot my scarf.”“You’re wearing it.”“Then something else.” She got in.Rex had been doing laps around the dashboard since the window closed. She could tell because he kept passing through the same spot. “We could stop her,” he said. “It’d take five minutes. You grab the phone, I make a fuss…”“Nobody can see you.”“I’d make a fuss on the inside.”“No. Let her.” A lamp post went by, then another one. “Leonard thinks he’s getting a secret off Lexi. So I’ll give him one.”“A fake?”“A good one.”She spent twenty minutes that evening on a note, and it was harder than it sounded. Too neat and it looked planted. Too messy and it looked like a child wrote it. In the end she tore it in half and dropped it in her wastebasket at the Sinclair house, where she’d gone to pick up scripts, and
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Madam Tan rang at six, before the birds had finished complaining.“I owe you a correction,” she said, with no greeting at all. “I did the sums in my head all night. I said the following winter. It was not the following winter. It was five winters later, which is when Mrs. Blackwood died.” A sniff. “Thirty-five years makes a liar of anyone’s memory. But I went down to the cellar at Merrin and Cole with a flashlight and a very bad temper, and the old staff files are still there.”Eliza sat up in bed. Beside her, Rex had burrowed so deep into the pillow that only one ear showed. “And?”“Marta Layne. Employed three weeks, dismissed for suspected theft on the twelfth of November. There is one other note in the margin, in pencil. A hospital reference. St. Brigid’s Foundling Home, January of the following year.” A pause. “A boy.”“She had a son.”“She had a son, and she did not keep him. Someone wrote a name in the register and then crossed it out, so thoroughly that the pen went through the
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Madam Tan’s flat smelled of beeswax, black tea and a very good stew, and it was the first place in the Empire where Eliza had seen Julian Hargrove look like a man who might survive the week.He sat at a scrubbed oak table in an enormous cardigan, with Pickle’s head in his lap and a bowl in front of him the size of a hat. Beside him stood Odile, the cook, six feet of woman with a shaved head, forearms like fence posts and a broken nose she wore like a medal. She was ladling stew with the grim concentration of a person who had been told to feed someone and meant to be obeyed.“Eat,” she said.“I’ve had two bowls.”“Eat.”Julian ate.“She used to box,” said Madam Tan, coming in from the study with a magnifying glass on a ribbon round her neck. “Heavyweight. Twice a champion. She retired when she hit a man and he stayed hit.” She sat. “Eliza. You look dreadful.”“I had breakfast with the Blackwoods.”“That would do it.” She poured tea into three cups without asking. “You brought something
REBORN WITH A SYSTEM: Why does my target wants me. Chapter Twenty-Eight: Breakfast with Gideon
Gideon Blackwood was the kind of man who made a dining room feel like a courtroom with better china.He rose when Eliza entered, which nobody had warned her about. He was tall and silver-haired, in a charcoal suit that fit like a polite lie, with the same gray eyes as his son and none of the same weather in them. His smile was warm and entirely unhurried. He took her good hand in both of his, held it a second longer than courtesy required, and said, in a low pleasant voice, “Miss Sinclair. At last.”“Mr. Blackwood.”“Gideon, please. I never learned to answer to the other one.” He drew out her chair. “Xavier tells me nothing. It’s one of his finest qualities and the despair of my life.”“I don’t tell him nothing,” said Xavier, from the opposite end of the table. “I tell him what he needs.”“Which is nothing,” said Gideon, comfortably, and sat.It was a smaller room than the glass room, paneled in pale wood, with a table laid for six and a view of the east garden, where Ames was kneelin
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“Well?” said the phone.Eliza looked at the cracked screen for a long moment. On the floor, one thug groaned and tried to roll over, and Julian helpfully patted him on the head with the atlas.She typed with her good thumb.Found him. Sunday’s fine.The reply came at once. Bring him to the usual place.“What’s the usual place?” whispered Rex.“I don’t know.” She turned the phone off and slid it into her sock. “Which is why we’re not going.”She rang Madam Tan from Mrs. Fenn’s ancient black telephone at twenty past eleven. It rang nine times. When it was answered, the voice at the other end was cool, clear and entirely awake.“Orsolya Tan.”“It’s Eliza Sinclair. I’m in a bindery on Gull Street with a banker’s son, a beagle and two men who need a doctor. I need somewhere safe for the boy tonight.”A pause.“Which banker?”“Hargrove.”“Ah,” said Madam Tan, with a depth of satisfaction usually reserved for good wine. “I’ll bring the car.”She arrived in forty minutes in a fur coat and car
REBORN WITH A SYSTEM: Why does my target wants me. Chapter Twenty-Six: Gull Street
“Is there anything you’d like to tell me?” Xavier had asked, and Eliza had looked him straight in the eye and said, “Pickle needs a bath.”It was not her best work. It had been delivered with a perfectly straight face, which was the only thing to be said for it.He had studied her for the length of one slow breath, and then he had nodded, once, and told Han to find the best veterinarian in the Empire and have the beagle brought to the kitchen by noon. He had not asked a second question. He had simply gone downstairs with the air of a man putting a very large and interesting file in a drawer he intended to open later.“That was a refusal,” Rex had said, as the door closed.“It was a bath.”“It was a declined Clause Nine, in spirit.”“It wasn’t a clause. He only asked.”“He’s going to remember.”“I know,” said Eliza, and spent the rest of the afternoon pretending to learn lines.At twenty to ten that night, the east wing was quiet. She stood at the back of her wardrobe in dark trousers
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