A married couple stood outside 2 Kirk Street, with a coachman and a bodyguard behind them.
Both were well-dressed members of high society. The man wore a four-piece suit, and the head of his walking stick was a horse's head carved from solid wood. The lady's long dress looked plain, but its silk was anything but ordinary. Every pearl in the necklace around her neck was the same size, glowing softly in the morning light.
When they saw Arthur open the door, the couple bowed and greeted him in unison.
Their etiquette was so precise that it might have been measured with a ruler.
Wealthy, literate, and trained in the ways of high society, including etiquette, but not nobility-if they were nobles, they could not have come to him so openly.
Much less cried for help.
Noble "honor" would not permit it.
Besides, nobles had their own ways of resolving trouble.
"Hello, Mr. Credos. Sorry for disturbing you!"
The gentleman transferred his walking stick to his left hand and extended his right.
Arthur briefly shook his hand, then let go.
But the calluses on the man's palm had been unmistakable.
Arthur glanced at the man's clothes again. His pressed four-piece suit was immaculate, but no longer new. The walking stick in his hand bore even clearer marks of age; it would have taken at least ten years of use to achieve that effect. The veins standing out on the back of the hand gripping its head betrayed his inner turmoil, yet he was still doing his utmost to restrain himself.
He had worked hard to get where he was, possessed a resilient character, and knew how to keep himself calm.
A first-generation merchant who built his own fortune rather than inheriting it?
As Arthur speculated, he stepped aside and gestured