Chapter Twenty-Nine
The walk to Brighton’s tiny legal district was a quiet one, but Jasper felt every crunch of gravel and rustle of brittle autumn leaves.
He wasn’t carrying a pie this time. Instead, he got to fill his grip with Libba’s own, and despite the several sidelong glances they got from Lem and Malcolm, she did not falter in providing the tether.
He didn’t even realize until they’d turned onto Church Street that several of the troupe had fallen into step with them.
Had Libba called them along? Had she announced the monumental thing that was about to happen? Or had Lem told them before Jasper had arrived?
He did not know.
But the French nun was there. The dandy was there. And Rhys appeared in his periphery, swaggering in the half-asleep gait of a man who’d been awakened before it was time, and he was eating the damned pie.
“Rhys?” Jasper said, startled, puncturing the silence. “Where did you get a spoon?”
Rhys looked up, a smear of berry compote tinting his lips, and blinked. “My pocket? I’ve another one. Do you want?”
Jasper only shook his head and kept walking.
Harcourt’s office was in a plum position, right where Church Street dissolved into the Lanes, alongside the town hall and the historic courthouse.
Jasper could see it from the approach, and he could see Harcourt too, his silver hair glinting in the afternoon sunlight as he escorted the Templeton-Raths out onto the pavement.
They saw him.
Of course they saw him.
And his full coterie of chaos.
Libba’s hand squeezed his as John Templeton-Rath lifted his own to wave.
“Wave back,” she suggested. “Be polite. No reason not to be at this point.”
Jasper sighed and looked down at her. “I’ll do you one better,” he said, lifting her hand and kissing it.
Then he released his grip on her and trotted ahead, closing the gap between himself and his doom.
Absurdly, he was entirely certain that the reason he was running into this now instead of waiting was because he didn’t want any of them to see Rhys eating their pie. Somehow, that was one insult too far. Jasper could only tolerate so much.
“Brighthelm, actually,” Mr. Harcourt was saying pleasantly. “Brighthelmstone. It’s a mouthful. The city is quite old. I suppose if you live long enough, you’re entitled to a new name. Oh. Good to see you again, Mr. Townsend.”
Jasper gave him a weak smile, nodding to him. “I’ve brought you your next appointment,” he said, gesturing behind him to the theatrical coterie and Malcolm. “I understand congratulations are in order.”
Harcourt’s lips twitched, his brows rising. “They are, indeed.”
“Oh?” said Mrs. Templeton-Rath, turning with evident interest. “For what, may we ask?”
“Ah,” said Harcourt, blinking a few times. “I’ve discovered I have a son. His mother and I lost touch many years ago, back when I was practicing in London, and unfortunately, she died before she could tell me of his existence. He has finally found me.”
“Oh, gracious,” said Miss Templeton-Rath, covering her mouth. “But that’s incredible! How very sad and very inspiring all at once!”
“You must introduce us,” Mr. Templeton-Rath said.
“Erm,” Jasper put in, his cheeks flaming. “You’ve already met him, I’m afraid. He’s just there. The tall one.”
The family looked over, so slowly, Jasper was half-convinced time itself had slowed down.
“But,” said Mrs. Templeton-Rath, frowning, “that is Mr. Lem. He is not from London.”
Jasper nodded and released a heavy gust of breath. “I have some things I need to talk to you about, Mrs. Templeton-Rath. But we must not interrupt this important moment between the Harcourts. If you wouldn’t mind sitting with me in the square? Or perhaps we should retreat back to your home?”
The lady’s expression sharpened, her eyes passing over Libba wearing distinctly English fashions alongside the others.
He hoped she had not noticed the pie.
“The square is fine, young man,” she decided. “Lead the way. Again.”
He nodded and turned on his heel, finding a pair of iron benches alongside the first two of the Lanes and leading them there, his heart thundering in his ears.
The group, he saw, waited until he had taken them off before they approached.
He could feel several pairs of eyes on him, but he remained focused on those benches.
He watched them until they were under his fingers and he could fall into one, finding it exactly as comfortable as an executioner’s block ought to have been.
He opened his mouth and took a breath, preparing to speak.
But it was Miss Templeton-Rath who spoke first, her voice still gentle but firm. “Ayo was right,” she said, turning her head to look at her parents. “She wasn’t who she said she was.”
Mrs. Templeton-Rath held up a hand to silence her daughter, her gaze locked firmly on Jasper. “Mr. Townsend?”
“Princess Xandine,” he said with resignation, “is Liberty Lennox. She is an actress of some renown and a lifelong friend of mine. She agreed, at my behest, to play a character we have long used to charm tourists and sailors, to help me stand out to you amidst the competition for your favor. She was … compelled by me, to be honest with you. It is my fault.”
Mr. Templeton-Rath was squinting, his brow wrinkled up. “But why? After that business with the cats, you were already ingratiated.”
Jasper shifted, clearing his throat. “If you recall,” he said through the full body retraction that was currently working its way up from his toes, “I had already started the gambit by that point.”
“Mr. Townsend,” said Mrs. Templeton-Rath, her expression flat.
“This is very disappointing. You ought to have had more faith in your own value from the jump. If you had simply introduced yourself to us that day on the wet dock, it would have been enough. No other aspirational young men even did that much.”
Jasper winced and nodded.
“But now,” she said, her mask cracking with the tiniest frown, “I’m afraid you’ve created a foundation of mistrust. And that really is a shame, you understand, because we had already discussed hiring you on to run the forwarding office.”
He nodded. “I have accepted that I have permanently tainted our business dealings. Any final motions you need from my end to sever things cleanly, I am happy to provide.”
“Why bring us to that barrister?” Mr. Templeton-Rath said, clearly still baffled. “You knew it would give the game away if we so much as mentioned your false princess, surely? Not to mention her … her bodyguard?”
“I …” Jasper hesitated, shaking his head. “You know, I think I did know that. I think I wanted it to be over, one way or another. But it had to be me telling you in plain speech, not a revelation from too many uncomfortable coincidences. I created this mess. It is mine to live within.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Templeton-Rath with a sniff. “That is something, at least. You have honor, Mr. Townsend. You just need to trust it, in the future.”
He gave a queasy smile and a nod. “Hopefully, I still have one. I understand if you ensure that I do not.”
“Please,” said Mrs. Templeton-Rath, waving her hand. “I am not vengeful, as a rule, unless someone truly merits it. In the end, no actual harm has been done to anyone other than you yourself, Mr. Townsend, and perhaps that young woman you dragged along with you.”
“And her friend,” he added. “Lem got pulled into this too. I’ve got a lot of atoning to do, I think.”
“Perhaps,” said the older woman. “You understand that the forwarding office is now out of the question, I expect? Yes, I can see that you do. But perhaps in time, we can move past this on a personal level. We do like you, you know. We liked her too, if she is anything like her faux princess.”
“She is much like her,” Jasper confessed with a dry chuckle. “At my request.”
“I did think she seemed quite a bit different between the first and second meeting,” Mr. Templeton-Rath muttered.
“Yes,” his daughter echoed. “Ayo was right.”
Jasper silently was thankful that Miss Ayomide Rath was not present for this revelation, simply for the reason that she had apparently anticipated it.
“Is there anything at all,” he said, “that I can do to make this up to you?”
The Templeton-Raths glanced at each other, seeming to share the question silently between themselves.
“One thing,” said Miss Templeton-Rath, blinking at him. “Tickets.”
“‘Tickets’?” he repeated, baffled.
She nodded. “To Romeo and Juliet. It is the least you can do.”
“Ah, yes,” said Mr. Templeton-Rath, chuckling. “We already know those two can act like the Devil himself. Now allow us to see it on neutral terms. Capital idea, my dear.”
“Tickets,” Jasper repeated, a bit dazed and numb. “Yes, I can do that.”
“Excellent,” said Mrs. Templeton-Rath, standing and popping her parasol open above her head, like an abrupt, ferocious white mushroom cap. “It is a start. Good day to you, Mr. Townsend.”
“Good day,” he replied.
And he sat there for a good while, watching the three of them until they faded over the horizon.