Lady Abigail Taylor.
She wasn't exactly known for her striking beauty, but she was pretty enough and possessed a charming cheerful demeanor.
Still unmarried at twenty two, she was considered a bit of an old maid in the world of nobles, but Lady Abigail didn't seem to much care. She had loyal friends and a secure position in her parents' clothing-selling business.
On the other hand, Viscount Winthrop was both ugly and sour.
He was in his late thirties and usually looked more like a walking jewelry display than a human.
When people like him, always craving and never satisfied, meet people like Abigail, the embodiment of sunshine, their fragile egos tend to snap.
The shattering of the Viscount's ego began the day he decided to shop at a small clothing store that had been quickly gaining popularity across the capital. (All thanks to Lady Abigail's sweet smile and natural business sense… which her father took credit for, of course.)
Abigail and Winthrop's first interaction was unpleasant to say the least, (I mean, look at the man's ridiculous size and horrendous fashion taste! What on this planet could possibly satisfy him?!), and Abigail ended up suggesting that the Viscount leave the store.
Now, did Abigail make the right call in kicking that bumbling fool out of her precious place of business?
Absolutely.
Was the entire mess that followed 100% the fault of the few other patrons in the store who couldn't hold back their giggles when Lady Abigail did so?
No doubt.
Anyway, Viscount Winthrop reacted as any disgusting man would, and began targeting Abigail and her family's business in pursuit of some sort of revenge for his damaged 'dignity'.
By the time Lady Abigail came to me, her father was threatening to evict her from the clothing business and force her to get married instead. Needless to say, the man had been entirely convinced by the Viscount's sloppy schemes that business was no place for a woman and Lady Abigail could only benefit her family by marrying well.
It's fortunate she came to me when she did.
Though her position in her family had become shaky, it was still hers.
And I was going to do everything I could to ensure she got to keep it.
Using all the information she brought with her about the Viscount, including his periodic personal verbal attacks against her, I was able to immediately pinpoint one big illegal hole in the man's own livelihood.
You see, I'd already known that the Winthrop Viscounty was suffering financially—as did any moderately informed person. Therefore, Mr. Walking-Jewelry-Display himself was practically advertising his shadiness by his extravagance.
And based on Abigail's stories—the places the Viscount approached her and the timing—it was pretty easy to find out where all his extra cash was coming from.
The docks.
Once I'd locked onto my target, it was time for me to gather my own evidence (or create some, if necessary). The Viscount was so slimy that I assumed I'd have no problem gathering a few key pieces, setting them in front of the right authorities, and giggling happily with Lady Abigail Taylor over some tea while she made her final payment.
Ah, it's true, having a client come to me with such detailed and verifiable information right off the bat certainly makes my job easier. In that sense, I suppose Lady Abigail's gossiping ways were to my benefit as much as detriment (please refer to the incident two weeks ago where this woman practically handed my identity to Count Graye).
Not wanting to waste any time on the Winthrop case, I set a watch on the docks immediately. Which turned out to be myself since funds were a bit tight and I had some extra time on my hands with the delaying of the Graye case.
Lady Luck had not completely left my side, however, and I struck gold only three days into my watch.
I had positioned myself strategically on the far end of the docks but mostly out of the way. While observing the quiet lapping ocean and occasional passerby, I hummed and swung my trousered legs while rubbing the pillow stuffed in my shirt to look like a large belly.
The idea was to look unassuming and harmless. Somebody not going out of their way to hide, but not exactly trying to be noticed either.
A bum. Basically, I was posing as a bum.
Now, I know it may not be one of my more exciting disguises, but the average street bum is one of my go-to characters. No backstory is required, and nobody ever thinks twice about another bum sitting in the shadows. It's the closest thing to invisibility a person in this world can achieve.
And just as it had always succeeded in the past, that night at the docks was no different.
While I sat, swinging my legs and humming, I witnessed the entire thing.
A mysterious ship pulled up to the second west-most dock, the ancient masts creaking as it slowed to a halt alongside the thick planks.
No sooner had it landed than a wagon of swarming men rolled in from seemingly out of nowhere and began rapidly unloading and reloading goods.
Dressed in dark colors, the wagon men and ship crew all worked together silently before the wagon pulled away and the ship retreated back into the dark mists of the bay. The whole show took less than an hour from start to finish. But most importantly, I saw the only thing I needed to bury Viscount Winthrop.
A book.
Well, a log, to be more specific.
Discreetly, it had passed between the wagon leader and ship captain, each jotting a few lines.
No doubt, that book contained the records of years' worth of illegal trade. If such a thing was released to the public, the old nobles would have no choice but to take legal action against the Viscount.
I was already practically salivating at the thought of The Viscount's glorious demise. The only issue was that the book had been left with the captain when the shady ship set sail.
But that gave me just enough time to concoct the perfect extraction plan.