Chapter 21
“Attack him where he is unprepared, appear where you are not expected.”
We emerged in the vestibule of the theater, and I searched the gilded room until I found Edmond on the far side, pulling his stumbling father down a discreet hallway.
“Mr. Hawke!” I called out. He didn’t hear me, so I called louder. But the sound of the music from within the theater drowned out my voice.
Mrs. Sweete and I hurried across the room, but Edmond and Mr. Fletcher had disappeared behind a door at the end of the hallway.
When we caught up, I pushed the door open, only to find myself in what appeared to be a storage room, crammed with boxes of feathered costumes and dusty props.
Standing in the center of the room were Edmond and Mr. Fletcher, mid-argument.
“—had an agreement,” Edmond said sharply. “You would leave England and not return.”
Mr. Fletcher scoffed. “Your mam and I had an agreement too. She didn’t honor it either.”
“Do not so much as mention my—” Edmond’s voice fell away when he saw me standing in the doorway. “Helena? You shouldn’t be here.”
“Helena, is it?” Mr. Fletcher said, his voice slurred. He licked his cracked lips and stumbled toward me, his arms extended. “C’mere, love, and give me a proper greeting.”
Edmond blocked Mr. Fletcher with his arm. “Do. Not. Touch her.”
Mr. Fletcher lifted his hands. “Don’t like others playing with your toys, eh?”
Edmond turned to me, his every muscle taut. “Leave, Helena. Please. I know how to deal with this man.”
“Deal with me? Hah!” Mr. Fletcher hacked a dry cough. “You think you know so much, don’t you, Eddie? With your fancy schooling and all those numbers in your head. But you’re nothing but dirt. You could bathe in gold, but it won’t hide what you are—the bastard son of a whore!”
Edmond’s eyes darkened. His stance shifted, as if he were a predator about to leap, and I quickly took a step forward before he could say or do anything he might regret.
“Mr. Fletcher,” I said quickly, “where did you get that watch?”
The ragged man glanced down at his chest, where the gold chain was clipped to a button. His brow shot up, and he hastily shoved the exposed chain back into his vest.
“None of your business,” he muttered.
“Helena—” Edmond pleaded, but I held my hand up.
“I believe that is your watch, Edmond.”
“My watch?” Edmond blinked, his hand going to the silver chain on his chest.
“I noticed you haven’t worn the gold one since my first encounter with Mr. Fletcher.”
Edmond stared at the gold chain that was still visible despite Mr. Fletcher’s attempts to conceal it. “I thought I’d misplaced it, but—” He blew out a disbelieving breath and shook his head at the man who was once his father. “You never fail to surprise me.”
“It ain’t yours,” Mr. Fletcher sneered. “I bought it last week.”
“And the blue and white Wedgwood vase?” I asked, testing my theory further. “Did you buy one of those last week too?”
Mr. Fletcher’s face turned a satisfying shade of sickly white. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
“Vase?” Edmond asked. “What vase?”
“There was a lovely classical vase in your parlor, right on the end table. But when I came to call on you, it was gone.”
“So were the silver candlesticks,” Mrs. Sweete added.
“Really?” I gave her a proud grin. “Your skills at observation never cease to amaze, Mrs. Sweete.”
Edmond narrowed in on Mr. Fletcher. “You broke into my home and stole from me?”
Spittle flew from the man’s lips as he shouted, “If you weren’t going to pay me my dues, then I had to get ‘em some other way. It ain’t stealing if it should have been mine to begin with!”
Edmond drew a slow, measured breath. Mr. Fletcher recoiled, stumbling backward under the weight of Edmond’s glare.
“This is…” Edmond stepped closer, looming menacingly over Mr. Fletcher, “...excellent news!”
Edmond threw back his head and laughed—actually laughed. Mr. Fletcher lost his footing and plopped onto an old crate, looking up at Edmond in shock.
“It is?” I asked.
“Yes! This is brilliant!” Edmond clapped his hands together with a wide smile.
“I foolishly believed that if I paid you enough, you’d leave us for good.
But you always kept coming back with more threats.
It wasn’t something I could take to the constable without revealing my past. But breaking into my home?
Stealing from me? Oh, the constable will love hearing about that. ”
“You can’t prove I took anything!” Mr. Fletcher shouted. “I don’t even have ‘em anymore! I sold ‘em!”
“Everything but the watch that’s currently on your person,” I said. “Quite an incriminating accessory, don’t you think?”
He sneered. “You won’t find the rest of it!”
“Ah, but if there is one thing I know,” Edmond gave Mr. Fletcher a knowing look, “it’s numbers. And numbers always leave a paper trail. I will find whoever you sold my things to, and you’ll finally be behind bars—where you can no longer torment me or my mother.”
Mr. Fletcher spat on the ground at Edmond’s feet. “You’re a bastard.”
Edmond stood a little taller. “Yes, I am. But at least I can say my real father died serving his country, as opposed to the man standing before me now, who steals from his own son.”
The door opened behind us, and Mrs. Sweete appeared with a tall man in uniform. I hadn’t even realized she left to retrieve the constable. But, as always, Mrs. Sweete had impeccable timing.
“Is this the man you’re accusing of theft?” the constable asked, pointing. Clearly Mrs. Sweete had already filled him in on the details.
Mr. Fletcher stumbled to his feet with a snarl. “Don’t you be pointin’ at me, you blasted scurf!”
“That man is Amos Fletcher,” Edmond said. “That watch he’s wearing is mine, inscribed with EJH—Edmond James Hawke. It’s one of many items he stole from me.”
“He gave ‘em to me!” Mr. Fletcher barked. “He’s my son!”
Edmond’s expression hardened. “I am not related to this man in the slightest.”
Mr. Fletcher’s eyes went wide just before the constable grabbed him. Mr. Fletcher tried to pull himself away, but he was too drunk to do anything but writhe.
“By witness testimony, I place you under detainment for the crime of theft,” the constable said.
“That boy ruined my life!” Mr. Fletcher cried out. “He owes me! He owes me!”
Edmond turned to the constable. “I would appreciate a certain level of confidentiality associated with this case, if you would, sir.”
The constable nodded. “I’ll need to question the three of you in the near future, but I’ll see to it that it’s done with the utmost privacy.”
“Thank you, sir,” Edmond said.
We watched the constable remove a raging Mr. Fletcher from the room, not speaking until the door had fully closed behind them. I looked at Edmond. He stood taller, as if a visible weight had been lifted from his shoulders. His eyes were closed as he took in slow breaths.
I turned to Mrs. Sweete. “Would you mind standing guard in the hall for a moment?”
Mrs. Sweete glanced between me and Edmond. Observant as she was, she must have seen the determination behind my eyes, for she sighed, then quietly left.
Edmond opened his eyes at the sound of the latch shutting. “Helena?”
“It’s all right,” I assured him. “Mrs. Sweete will keep watch for us, and she will return immediately if I call for her. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Sweete?” I motioned to the door as three affirming knocks sounded. “See? She’s still chaperoning.”
Edmond sighed and sat on a box of what appeared to be powdered wigs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He looked tired, more so than ever before.
I sat on the trunk next to him. “Are you all right?”
“I can’t believe that just happened. Years—decades—of torment from that man… all over in an instant.”
I placed my hand in the space between us, leaning closer to him. “Isn’t that a good thing?”
He abruptly stood, putting distance between us. “Unless there’s anything else, I will wish you goodnight and return home to make a full record of what was stolen. Please give Cranford my apologies for not giving a proper farewell.”
“Edmond, wait—”
“Good night, Miss Weston.” He reached for the door, but I touched his shoulder, just above where he was injured. It made him wince, and I quickly removed my hand.
“You called me Miss Weston again. What happened to Helena?”
“It is arrogant of me to assume I can call you by such a familiar name.” His hand tightened around the doorknob. “And terribly ill-mannered.”
Ice flooded my veins. “How much did you hear?”
He turned his head so I could see his profile. “Enough to know that you were merely trying to evade Miss Pratt’s prodding. But let’s face it—it’s the truth. I am arrogant and ill-mannered. You have aptly and succinctly diagnosed my flaws.”
“Edmond,” I swallowed a thick lump in my throat, “I didn’t mean it.”
He held up his hand. “You have every right to your opinion, Helena. I will not fault you for it. Besides, you’re right about me. I’m not a gentleman, as much as I pretend to be one.”
I took a step closer to him. “When I first saw you, and you recoiled from me, I did think you were arrogant and ill-mannered—and a host of many other negative qualities.”
“If you’re trying to reassure me, it isn’t working.”
Another step. “But as I have gotten to know you, my opinion of you has… shifted. I was wrong, and I don’t admit to being wrong often.”
“You don’t have to do this, Helena.”
“I would also add that you are terribly unobservant.” I flashed him a sly smile. “I mean, really, Edmond. You truly didn’t notice your things were missing? From your own home? Mr. Fletcher could have stolen the rug out from under your feet, and you’d never know.”
He shook his head, and I took a final step, close enough that I had to tilt my head up to meet his gaze. “It’s a good thing you’re handsome, Edmond, because good sense does not appear to be among your many other talents.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “You think I’m handsome?”
“Don’t let it go to your head. Your good looks did nothing to protect you against thievery.”