Chapter 174 - 173: Pat Pattison and His Lies

"A tip," Eleanore repeated slowly, the words sitting bitter in her mouth. "That’s it. Someone handed you a name, and you printed it as fact without a single question asked."

Eleanore had asked about the recent article that tainted her name again. It was a tip too. This was frustrating. Someone was so adamant at ruining her name that she was almost creeped out by it.

"It wasn’t quite that simple—"

"It’s exactly that simple, Mr. Pattison." Her voice stayed level, but there was an edge to it now that made him flinch. "You took an anonymous claim from a woman, who talked nonsense, attached my name to a murder, and published it as truth. No investigation. No verification. Just ink on a page and my reputation left to absorb whatever came after."

Pattison’s jaw worked silently for a moment before he managed, "It was an unknown noblewoman. She reached out through a letter, said she had information about Lady Barbra’s death, said it came from someone close to the situation. I had no reason to doubt—"

"You had every reason to doubt it," Eleanore cut in. "That’s the entire job, isn’t it? Verifying a claim before you print it as fact. Instead you took the easiest, most damaging version of events and ran with it, because a dead woman and a scandalous duchess sells more papers than the truth ever would."

He didn’t have an answer for that, mostly because there wasn’t one that would make him look any better.

"And even now," Eleanore continued, quieter but no less sharp, "sitting here, having just admitted you printed something you never confirmed — you’re still doing it. Still writing about me. Still shaping whatever story sells best without bothering to ask if it’s even remotely true." She leaned back slightly, something cold and tired settling into her expression. "You haven’t learned anything from this, have you? You’re just afraid of the consequences this time."

Pattison flinched at that, the accusation landing harder than anything that had come before it, precisely because it was true.

"The woman," Eleanore said, moving on before he could attempt some hollow defense. "Do you at least know her name?"

"Verbena," Pattison said quickly, clearly eager to offer something that might ease the pressure bearing down on him. "That’s the name she signed the letters with. I don’t know if it’s real. I never met her — everything came through couriers, different ones each time. But she mentioned once, in passing, that she frequented the eastern district, near the old chapel row. That’s all I have. I swear it."

Eleanore studied him a moment longer, weighing whether there was anything more worth extracting, before finally rising from her seat. "That will do for now."

Relief flickered across Pattison’s face. Premature, as it turned out, because Victor pushed off from the doorway at that exact moment, expression carrying none of the mild patience it had a few minutes ago.

"One more thing," Victor said, stepping closer, and Pattison’s relief curdled instantly back into fear. "Before you get too comfortable."

"I told you everything I know—"

"I believe you," Victor said, almost pleasantly, which was somehow worse than if he’d sounded angry. "This isn’t about what you told us. This is about what you write next." He leaned down slightly, resting both hands on the table, bringing himself level with Pattison’s terrified face. "You’re going to stop printing rubbish about the Duchess. All of it. Every half-sourced rumor, every anonymous tip, every convenient scandal that happens to land on her name. If I see so much as her name misspelled in your paper again without it being something you’ve personally, thoroughly verified, I will come back here. And I will not be nearly as patient as I was in that alley."

"I understand—"

"I don’t think you do yet." Victor’s voice stayed calm, almost conversational, which made the words that followed land with considerably more weight. "Let me be clear. The next time your name is attached to a lie about her, you won’t be losing your job, Mr. Pattison. You’ll be losing fingers. One at a time, starting with whichever one you use to hold your pen." He straightened back up, the pleasant tone never once slipping. "Do we understand each other now?"

Pattison had gone completely white, nodding rapidly, any pretense of composure entirely abandoned. "Understood. Completely understood. I’ll verify everything. I’ll retract the old articles, I’ll print a correction, whatever you need—"

"Good." Victor straightened his cuffs like he hadn’t just threatened to dismember a man, and glanced toward Eleanore, some of his usual easy demeanor sliding back into place now that the matter was, apparently, settled. "Shall we?"

Eleanore gave Pattison one last long look, not quite pity, not quite satisfaction, something more tired than either, before turning toward the door. "Eastern district," she said. "Near the old chapel row. Let’s find out exactly who Verbena is, and why she wanted my name attached to a murder she clearly knows more about than she should."

---

The house on chapel row was smaller than Eleanore expected for a woman who’d once carried the title of noble. Narrow, sun-faded, the kind of place someone retreated to when they were trying very hard not to be found. Which, evidently, was exactly what Verbena Mallory had been doing.

The door opened at Victor’s knock, a thin, sharp-featured woman peering out through the gap, and the moment her eyes landed on Eleanore standing just behind him, every trace of color drained from her face.

"No," she breathed, already stepping back, already reaching to slam the door shut. "No, no, this isn’t—"

She didn’t get the chance to finish. Victor’s foot was already braced against the frame, and a heartbeat later Verbena had abandoned the door entirely, bolting through the narrow house toward what Eleanore assumed was a back exit. It took Victor all of four seconds to catch her, one hand closing around her arm and hauling her firmly back through the front room without so much as raising his voice.

"Let me go! I didn’t do anything!"