Free ARC: The Buried Life by Carrie Patel

Whoever has it knows what we know.”
    “A third of what we know.”
    “More or less. But does it contain the location? That’s the real question.” Ice and liquid chimed again as Hollens took a drink.
    “No.”
    “Did you see his copy? Are you sure?” Hollens asked.
    “No. But Ruthers is, and he gave it to Cahill. If you’re unconvinced, I’m sure you could speak with him yourself.”
    Jane waited through a long pause. When Hollens spoke again, it was with the forced coolness that a man of his standing reserved to mask extreme distaste. “If you’ve already spoken with him, I’ll take you at your word.”
    Their voices faded beyond Jane’s hearing. Pressing still closer to the corner, she picked up the conversation again.
    “…nothing but a fluke. You will see to that, won’t you?” asked Hollens.
    “It is what I do.”
    “Good man. You’ve proven yourself on many occasions, and you know how we rely on you. Now…” Hollens cleared his throat, and the men spoke in whispers that Jane had no hope of overhearing. Moments later, Lena returned with another bundle of suits and Jane’s payment. Guilty and startled, the laundress stifled a gasp, but Lena did not appear to notice that her attentions were focused elsewhere.
    “The first one has a drop of wine on the front, and the second is frayed at the hem. Councilor Hollens will need them by Wednesday.”
    Before Jane could respond, a muted thump and a cry of surprise sounded from deeper in the house. Lena’s eyes followed the direction of the noise, her lips parting in a small sigh. “Wait here.”
    Jane murmured in assent and, with the bundle in her arms, turned back into the hall. It was not until she nearly collided with someone that she looked up.
    Shrouded in a spicy-sweet smoke and leaning against the wall just outside of the sitting room was a tall, broad-shouldered man whom she presumed to be the stranger she had heard conversing with Hollens. Dressed in a loose-fitting black dinner jacket and idly smoking a cigarette, he was the embodiment of upper-class carelessness or middle-class coattail-riding. Even for an informal house call, his manner in the councilor’s home was cavalier, which led her to suppose the former. His jacket was a size too large, his ascot hung askew around his neck, and his pants were wrinkled. She then noticed that he was watching her with interest, his dark blue eyes shining behind black, chin-length hair. She blushed.
    “Red becomes you, my lady.”
    Jane hesitated, thinking that there wasn’t a scrap of red anywhere on her dress or jacket, but she took his meaning and felt another wave of heat flood her face.
    The stranger smiled. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Roman Arnault.” Arnault pushed away from the wall, facing her.
    “I’m the, ah, laundress.”
    “I’m sorry?”
    Jane blinked, more uncomfortable than ever. “The laundress. I wash clothes for Councilor Hollens. Specialty items, mostly, since he has a staff, but…”
    “I didn’t catch your name.”
    “Oh! It’s Jane. Jane Lin.” Her fingers dug into the bundle in her arms.
    Arnault gave her the kind of smile that looked as if he must have practiced it many times before. He peeled one hand from the bundle and kissed it. “A pleasure to meet you, Jane Lin, laundress.”
    He said her name slowly, as if trying it out. Jane flicked her gaze downward, noticing his hands and their clean but trimmed nails. After a few moments, he followed her eyes to the cigarette between his fingers. “Cloves,” he said, holding it up for her inspection. “Care for one?”
    “Oh, I wasn’t… no, thank you, Mr. Arnault.”
    “A lady of modest habits.”
    Jane had found that when whitenails and their ilk chose to make pronouncements on her station, bearing, or character, it was best to offer nothing but the tacit confirmation of a small smile, which she did now.
    Arnault’s mild tone kept what came next from sounding like a rebuke. “Miss Lin, do I look like a