Chapter Thirty-Three
Benjamin was sitting behind his desk, working through some murky account books.
He would have to find a new manager for the Trident’s Hull, the pub he owned down by the docks.
As Charlotte had discovered, the current manager seemed to be skimming funds from the establishment and covering it with the purchase of cheaper, poorer quality ale.
Benjamin almost admired the man for covering it up so well, or he would have, if he could have mustered up any feeling besides the empty, numb indifference that had settled over him that day three and a half weeks earlier when Elsie had burst into Elysium a day before her own wedding, brandishing a scrap of paper in her hand.
He had read Charlotte’s letter to Elsie as a curtain of detachment descended over him.
Elsie had prodded him, likely hoping for some dramatic reaction to the news that she had thought must mean devastation for him.
But surprisingly, he had felt nothing—no sorrow, no heartbreak, just a detached realisation of inevitability.
He had looked up at her and asked in a cool voice, “And what am I supposed to do with this? The letter is addressed to you, not me. If she had wanted to inform me of anything, she would have written to me instead.”
Elsie had stared at him in disbelief before railing at him until she wore herself out and declared him impossible. After that, she had stormed out of his club.
Since then, he had gone about his business in a highly productive haze.
His accounts had never been so scrupulously ordered, and the club, the Trident’s Hull, the silk warehouse, and his three roadside boarding inns were all doing superbly.
On top of that, he had only had to resort to blackmail once to sort out a small supply chain issue.
In a strange, unresonant moment of clarity, Benjamin realised he had become a legitimate businessman.
His entire empire could run smoothly and profitably with no need for him to throw his weight around.
It might have been a hollow victory if he could bring himself to feel anything at all.
Upon their return from a comically brief wedding trip to the coast, Elsie and Elkington had stopped by Elysium to inform him and Wells that they were returning to Edinburgh to finally launch Elsie’s school for girls.
As a newly minted duchess, she now had enough backers to get the endeavour fully underway and was eager to venture back.
Elsie had asked to borrow some paper to send out a correspondence—they were already packed from their travels and did not want to dally long in London.
“I am writing to Charlotte to tell her we are returning to Edinburgh. I would like to see how she is faring.” Elsie had spoken to the room at large, but Benjamin knew it was directed at him.
The attempt was almost amusing because whenever he heard Charlotte’s name, he could never make out a single word after that for the ringing that took up in his ears.
Today, he sat alone in his office, with only the ordered files of documents and the rattle of the Elysium day crew working through the halls below to keep him company.
He looked back down at the Trident’s Hull ledger.
Perhaps he would not strip apart the pub’s manager as he normally would.
The idea of settling the score and exacting retribution held little charm for him now.
He could just sack him. Or even allow the blighter to stay on, if only to see what kind of scheme he cooked up next. That might be entertaining.
Benjamin scrubbed a hand over his face. Christ, but he was tired. Tired of all this. What was it worth anyway?
“Sir?” Boyd’s crackling voice caught his attention from the door.
“Yes, Boyd? What is it?” Was that a glimmer of hope in his voice? The prospect of anything to break this monotony he had fallen into was enough to have him sitting forward and waving the boy in.
“There is news from Laurens.”
At that, his ears did prick up. Laurens was one of the young street youths whom Benjamin employed to be his eyes and ears around London.
The Master of London’s Secrets could hardly maintain his position without a vast network of invisible informants.
Laurens specifically had been stationed outside the Deering household for nearly a fortnight.
Deering’s behaviour had grown more and more erratic after Benjamin called in his markers to collect the Earl of Elford’s remaining debts and warn the baron off the family.
Finally, the baron had locked himself up in his townhouse and stopped leaving altogether.
From what Benjamin’s plants could discern through the household staff, the man seemed to be very nearly mad.
“What news?” It was as if he were waking from a fever, seeing the world again in growing detail.
“He sent a letter.”
“A letter?” Already rising from his seat, Benjamin fell back into the chair with a thump. What was the importance of a mere letter?
“Yessir. It was franked express. Maxim got a look at it too.” Maxim was another street urchin he had stationed outside the royal mail offices. “Express to Edinburgh, he said.”
Benjamin felt his blood freeze. Edinburgh. Deering had sent a letter to Edinburgh.
“You okay, sir? Yer white as a ghost.”
Benjamin vaulted out of his seat and ran past Boyd into the hall. “Summon the Duke of Wells at once, Boyd,” he shouted over his shoulder as he tore through Elysium.
∞∞∞
When Charlotte arrived at the address Elsie had given her, she was surprised to find Helen answering the door after her knock. The young girl grinned up at her, revealing a new gap in her front teeth, surrounded by a haphazard smear of what looked to be raspberry jam on her rosy cheeks.
“Well, aren’t you a charming butler?” Charlotte said.
Helen giggled and then shrieked when Elkington appeared behind her and swooped her over his shoulder like a sack of flour.
“Good evening, Lady Charlotte. Please come in. You will have to forgive us for the informality. It is Gordon’s birthday, and Iona makes a point of giving all the help the afternoon off to celebrate the occasion. She claims it should be a national holiday for all the good Gordon does.”
Assuming Gordon was the household’s butler, or possibly the housekeeper, Charlotte found herself admiring Elsie’s Aunt Iona even more than she had upon their first meeting.
“Papa! Let me down!” Helen laughed as she thumped ineffectually at Elkington’s back.
His face lit up at the endearment, but he did not respond to Helen or set her down.
Instead, he turned back to Charlotte and gave her a pleasant smile.
“Edinburgh truly is a spectacularly Gothic city, do you not find, Lady Charlotte? I swear I hear ghosts moaning and shrieking behind me at every turn.” At that, Helen let out another girlish squeal, and Elkington spun, a look of patent horror on his face. “Do you see?”
Charlotte could not fight the grin that spread across her face and instead had to hide behind her hands, hoping—to the upside-down child—that she looked terrified rather than amused.
“I have long heard tales of the spooks and banshees roaming through the wilds of Scotland. But since my arrival here in Edinburgh, I must admit to feeling an otherworldly presence. This house in particular seems to be desperately haunted.”
Elkington smiled and winked at her, and Charlotte could understand how he had cut such a swath through London and the continent before being snared by Elsie.
He had a delightfully unstudied charm about him that made one feel simultaneously part of an inside joke and also like one was delightfully impressive to him.
“Right then, Lady Charlotte. You ought to carry on to the parlour while I hunt down and vanquish this demon. I would not want to upset the ladies’ sensibilities with such ghoulish mischief.”
He nodded her toward the door down the hall and then turned and bounded up the stairs, a giggling, shrieking Helen still slung over his shoulder.
Charlotte smiled as she walked the short distance to the already ajar door.
She had been rather apprehensive about coming here tonight.
She worried that the collision of the past she had left behind with her new future would be off-putting at the very least, and heartbreaking at the worst. Being here now, though, she realised that had been foolish on her part.
The Wylde-Burke family was warm and open and did not conjure more memories of Benjamin than already occupied her every waking moment.
She was no different here than she was in her modest rented room or when she was tutoring the McFadden boys in history and mathematics.
And just like those places, she would be able to hold herself together just fine.
Charlotte’s confidence faltered as she stepped into the room, and Elsie looked up from a journal, her face transforming into kind, friendly concern.
She would not be able to hold herself together if Elsie did not stop looking at her like that soon, as if she knew all the pain Charlotte was holding welled up inside her and would help her mop up the mess if the dam broke.
“Good evening, Charlotte. How happy I am to see you!” She stood with almost no discernible awkwardness, though Charlotte caught her placing a protective hand on her midriff.
It was likely almost time she would start showing, and from there, if Charlotte’s stepmother’s experience was anything to go by, it would quickly become impossible to hide what was likely to be a six-month wonder.
Judging by the warmth and love that radiated from the couple, their joy would be unmarred by any resulting scandal from their miraculously short pregnancy.
“How happy I am to see you, as well.” Charlotte was surprised by the truth of the words.