"Figure out?"
Eloise looked at the two men, confused — and then recognized them.
"Mr. Keynes? Mr. Wilson?"
The grocery store owners from Cambon. Both of them. Standing in the Blissbury drive looking ready to do each other genuine harm.
Upon spotting Eloise, both men had the grace to look briefly embarrassed. Then they immediately rounded on each other again.
"Here comes Miss Eloise! Now the sergeant will hear about your brazen lies!"
"Ha! Look who's talking — not a trace of conscience left, and still so bold in front of Miss Eloise!"
The tension snapped back between them like a drawn bowstring. Eloise, momentarily forgetting about her letter entirely, stared.
"Why are you both here? What's happened?"
They had never exactly been friends. Their shops sat directly opposite each other in Cambon, and their morning greetings had always carried the particular warmth of two people who would very much prefer the other's premises to catch fire. But they were both owners of establishments that had passed through generations, and they both understood the meaning of professional dignity.
They had never descended to this before. And certainly not at Blissbury.
Ryan came to stand beside her.
"The summer ball order."
"The order?"
"I looked at last year's list — yours and Mr. Severton's — and placed a supplementary order with the Cambon grocers. Meat and spices, mostly." He paused. "Both orders ended up at the same shop."
Eloise understood immediately.
Mr. Keynes had a relative who was a butcher — his meat was fresher, the selection broader. Mr. Wilson had a contact at Port New — his spices were unmatched in variety. For years, Blissbury had ordered accordingly: meat from one, spices from the other. Both men had standing relationships with the estate and took considerable pride in them.
And now, somehow, both orders had arrived at Mr. Keynes's shop.
"Knowing full well that the order had come to our shop, he accepted it without a word and kept quiet! He intended to take the whole lot for himself!"
"What nonsense! I assumed both orders were meant for us — we have a years-long relationship with Blissbury! Naturally I thought the increase in quantity meant an increase in trust!"
"Then why was the shop name torn from the order form? You tore it off yourself to cover your tracks!"
"It arrived torn! I had nothing to do with it!"
They surged toward each other. Ryan stepped between them and caught both men by the collar, one in each hand, and pushed them firmly apart. They stumbled back like men who had expected considerably less resistance from one soldier.
Both went still.
"Enough."
At Ryan's quiet voice, they straightened their coats in sullen silence. They understood perfectly well that further quarrelling in front of Blissbury's manager would not serve them. And Sergeant Thornton's grip had made a compelling argument of its own.
Eloise pressed two fingers to her temple.
She had a reasonable idea of what had actually happened. Mr. Keynes, upon realizing that a second order had arrived at his shop, had made a decision. Whether the name had been torn before or after that decision was a question no one would ever answer honestly.
"Why not simply place a new order?"
Ryan exhaled.
"Because they then both insisted that you and Mr. Severton had personally promised to increase orders exclusively from their shop this year. And at that point the matter became impossible to untangle."
"What?"
Both men stepped forward at once.
"Miss Eloise — last year you said yourself that our shop always carries the finest quality goods. You mentioned that perhaps this year you might order additional items from us."
"You said the very same to our shop, Miss Eloise. When I mentioned finding new suppliers, you told me you'd always rely on us for meat."
Eloise closed her eyes briefly.
*Polite words. They were simply polite words.*
Ryan glanced at her with an expression that said, quite clearly, *your problem now.*
---
"Mr. Palmer — might I have some paper and a pen?"
---
One hour later.
"I trust you'll both fulfill the new orders exactly as written."
Eloise smiled pleasantly at Mr. Keynes and Mr. Wilson, who stood clutching their respective order forms with expressions that were not entirely satisfied but not entirely miserable either. They studied the papers, bowed to Eloise and Ryan with something approaching good grace, and turned toward their carts.
They threw one last sharp look at each other. Then both carts moved off simultaneously toward Cambon, each driver apparently unwilling to let the other have the road.
Eloise watched them until they disappeared.
*Clap. Clap. Clap.*
She turned. Ryan was leaning against the doorframe, applauding slowly.
"Masterfully done."
He meant it. He had watched the whole thing with genuine admiration.
Eloise, paper and pen in hand, had called both men to stand before her like students before an examiner.
*"Let's establish the facts. Last year, we ordered the following from Mr. Keynes—"* and she had listed everything from memory, precisely, without pausing. Then she had turned the same attention to last year's errors: the lamb ribs delivered short, the wrong cut of veal, the delay on the smoked fish. Mr. Keynes had tried to explain each one away. He had not succeeded.
She had done the same with Mr. Wilson. The bridge in the neighboring village. The supplier from New who had been unreliable. The spice order that arrived a full week late and forced Mrs. Parker to improvise. He too had offered explanations. They too had not quite held.
*"Given all of that, I have decided to reconsider the arrangement this year. Any objections?"*
Neither man had dared raise one.
They had both left with orders identical to the previous year — the only difference being that the new manager had increased the total quantity by ten percent, which softened the blow considerably. And before signing, Eloise had mentioned, very pleasantly, that depending on the quality of this year's delivery, she might consider consolidating next year's entire order with a single supplier.
The speed with which two men who had nearly come to blows now raced each other toward Cambon told Ryan everything he needed to know about whether that remark had landed.
"Anyway — thank you. You didn't have to come."
"Think nothing of it. Though, while we're here—"
*The letter.* She straightened her spine.
"Ah, yes. Since you're here, I have a few more questions about the ball. Come through."
Ryan turned and walked into the house before Eloise had properly formulated her approach. She pressed her lips together and followed.
---
The library table had disappeared under documents.
A single glance confirmed they were all ball-related. Eloise moved to the table and began answering his questions as he asked them — standing at first, then without quite noticing, sitting, and then somehow the two of them were side by side, leaning over the papers together.
"Wait — the silverware inventory from last year—"
"It should be here somewhere—"
Both of them reached for the same corner of the table at the same moment.
Eloise's hand arrived first.
Ryan's hand came down over hers.