Invitation

The Teucher commercial branch in Helmarte had outgrown its skin.

Six months earlier, it had been a quiet agency on the corner of Highgate Circus, handling iron rail shipments and foundry contracts for the southern mines. Now, the ground floor was packed with people.

When Ernest and Eleanor stepped through the double oak doors, they were met with a wall of sound: the clatter of typewriters, the ringing of service bells, and the steady murmur of well-dressed men arguing over delivery schedules.

In one corner, a young sales clerk was using a cutaway brass model to show three country gentlemen how an epicyclic gear worked. At the main mahogany counter, two clerks were writing out receipts for bank drafts, while an older woman in a silk pelisse was sternly asking whether the carriage could be ordered with green cushions instead of black.