She took a deep, ragged breath, trying to regain control. She scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing grime across her cheek, but her posture straightened. The timidity was still there, woven into her very being, but beneath it, a core of resilience, of fierce maternal devotion, asserted itself. She looked up, meeting his gaze directly, her dark eyes shimmering with unshed tears but holding a newfound resolve.
"Yes," she whispered, the word thick with emotion but unwavering. "Yes, Young Lord. I… I accept. Thank you." The gratitude poured off her, raw and potent. "Whatever you need, I will do it. I swear. And… and discretion. You have my word."
"Excellent," Lloyd said, allowing himself a genuine smile this time. Relief mingled with satisfaction. He had his first recruit. "I knew I could count on you." He straightened up, his tone shifting back to business. "Right then. Your first task."
He glanced meaningfully towards the half-butchered carcass hanging nearby. "You handle these daily, yes? Breaking them down completely?"
"Yes, my lord. It is my primary duty."
"And you are… proficient?" he asked, already knowing the answer but wanting her to confirm it. "Despite your appearance, you have the strength, the technique?"
A faint blush touched her cheeks, but she nodded firmly. "My father taught me well, my lord. Before… before the plague took him. He said I had the knack. I can manage a full carcass alone, yes." There was a quiet pride in her voice now, acknowledging her own unusual skill.
"Good," Lloyd nodded, satisfied. "That proficiency is key. For this first stage, I need a specific component you likely discard or send off for crude rendering." He saw the confusion return to her eyes. "I need fat, Jasmin. Beef fat. Tallow."
Her brow furrowed. "T-tallow, my lord? The… the rendered fat?" Why on earth would the Arch Duke's heir want barrels of common tallow? Was he planning to make cheap candles? Lubricate hinges? It made no sense.
"Precisely," Lloyd confirmed crisply, ignoring her unspoken questions. "As much as you can gather over the next few days without raising alarms or causing shortages for the kitchens. Collect the raw trimmings during your usual work. If possible, render it down yourself – cleanly. Find somewhere discreet to store it. I need clean, good quality tallow. Can you manage that?"
Jasmin stared, utterly bewildered by the request but clinging fiercely to the promises made. Tallow. Collect tallow. For triple wages and her mother's health. It was bizarre, nonsensical, but the Young Lord had been specific, emphatic. And he knew about her mother…
"Yes, Young Lord," she said, the confusion still evident in her voice but overridden by determination. "I understand. Collect the beef fat. Render it cleanly. Store it discreetly. I… I will do it."
"Excellent," Lloyd repeated, clapping his hands together softly, projecting enthusiasm. "That's the first step. I'll be in touch within a few days with further instructions and to arrange collection. Remember," he leaned in slightly again, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "absolute discretion, Jasmin. No one needs to know you're collecting fat for me. Let them think… whatever they like. Just do the work."
"Yes, my lord. Discretion," she promised again, nodding firmly, her eyes wide but resolute.
"Good girl." He gave her another encouraging nod, then turned sharply, striding away before the curious onlookers could muster the courage to approach him or bombard Jasmin with questions.
He walked quickly back through the bustling kitchen, ignoring the renewed stares and whispers that followed him like ripples in a pond. Let them wonder. Let them gossip. Phase one was initiated. He had secured his source for the base ingredient – tallow wasn't ideal for luxury soap, but it was readily available, cheap, and perfect for initial experiments in perfecting the saponification process before he invested heavily in expensive oils. Jasmin, with her unexpected skills and desperate motivation, was the perfect operative.
Now, for the tricky part: lye. Sodium hydroxide. Alkali. The chemical counterpart to the fat. Essential for the reaction, but dangerous if mishandled, caustic if left unreacted. He couldn't just buy it; it wasn't commercially available here in purified form. He'd have to make it. Traditionally, that involved leaching water through wood ash, a slow, imprecise process yielding potassium hydroxide (potash lye), better suited for liquid soaps. For hard bars, he needed sodium hydroxide. Could he derive it from salt and limestone using some crude electrolytic process? Maybe. Risky. Explosive, even.
Or… maybe there was another way? Another resource within the estate he could leverage? His mind raced, sifting through chemical possibilities, logistical challenges. The soap business wasn't just about luxury goods; it was rapidly becoming a crash course in applied pre-industrial chemistry and covert operations.