4075.104 · April 14, 1755 AD
The Currency of Whispers
In the Emporium's workroom, irons smooth silk whilst secrets smoulder beneath the surface. Agnes Fraser knows what Moira MacKenzie knows—and Moira knows everything. When Lady Drummond arrives with a guest who is decidedly not her husband, Elspeth glimpses the true currency that flows through these elegant halls. Some secrets are merely scandal. Others are dangerous enough to kill for. Learning to tell the difference may be the most vital skill she ever masters.
The grandfather clock chimes the hour, and Elspeth Stewart startles so violently she nearly drops the silk threads she has been sorting.
Two hours into her new life, and already the Emporium's masks are slipping. Agnes Fraser speaks of Moira MacKenzie's uncanny knowledge—how the proprietress knows about the Stewart family's disgrace, about debts called in and a father dead beneath the weight of secrets he could never share. Every surface in this workroom bears scars and stains that tell stories: ink spilled during all-night labours, marks that seamstresses refuse to explain, scissors said to be enchanted by hands now generations dust.
Then Lady Drummond sweeps in with Lord Ashworth on her arm, and Elspeth learns her first lesson in the Emporium's true trade. Half of Edinburgh knows about Lady Drummond's admirers. That is gossip. The real secrets—those the seamstresses never speak of, not to anyone, not ever—are something else entirely.
As Elspeth presses fabric smooth and watches the other women work with careful, guarded eyes, she begins to understand: in this place, discretion is not merely valued. It is survival.
And someone is already watching to see if she can be trusted.
