Page 42 of The Secret Identity of the Lord's Aide
The rest of the newspaper staff was completely silent and still. Bess opened her mouth, then closed it again, unsure of what to say or where to turn. She slid her fingers across the pay cheque before her, praying Marvin would leap forward and take it before she really thought of something to say.
For, if tempted, she knew she could become the “L.B.” brimming within her. It was in her nature.
And since the death of her fiancé and the disappearance of her father, she’d kept her lips pressed together tightly. She’d kept a low profile.
But if provoked …
She wasn’t entirely sure what would happen.
“Give him his cheque, Bess,” Irene said, her eyes smouldering. “The contract has been ended for a great deal of time, Marvin. It’s time for you to take your leave for good.”
Bess’s head swirled. She shot the pay cheque out onto her desk. Marvin ambled forward, gripped it and then hobbled towards the door. He took a final look at Bess, sneering. “I always thought you were a little bit stupid, Old Bessie,” he said. “Never thought you had a comeback in you. That was how your father and that Conner walked all over you.”
Within seconds, he’d disappeared out the door. Bess hurried back towards her chair, falling onto it. Immediately, Peter rushed forward, gripping her upper arm and waving towards Irene. “We need to get her some water,” he called.
Irene disappeared into her office for a moment before returning with a goblet of water. She placed the water to Bess’s lips, but Bess immediately reached for it, shaking her head. “No, no,” she sighed, sipping it. “Don’t worry about me. He just. He just …”
“He was a complete imbecile,” Irene cried. “Absolutely, remarkably horrible. I can’t imagine a worse man in the world. I’m sorry I ever hired him.”
“Don’t worry,” Bess said, gazing up at her friend. “Really. Now, he’s gone. He’s gone for good.”
“Bringing up that nonsense about your past, as if it matters at all …” she said, trailing off.
“Please. Just bringing up what he said will only bring pain.” Bess sighed. “It’s truly best to just pretend … pretend he wasn’t here.”
Irene pressed her lips together after that, and then took a step back from Bess’s desk. Peter brought his skeletal hand around her upper arm and helped her up, looking up at her with expectant eyes. She was his ticket to a better life, yet perhaps he sensed that she needed him just as much as he needed her.
“We’ll be heading home, now,” Bess told Irene.
But Irene shook her head. “I can’t stand to be in this office a moment more. I’m coming along with you.” She turned her tight, rail-thin and tall body back towards her crew of writers, scowling. “And if any of you think the way our Marvin does, then I think you should see the door. This isn’t your home. You’re not welcome here.”
And with that, she hobbled out the door, expecting only Bess and Peter to follow along behind her. They did so, exchanging glances. It seemed the evening was off to a volatile start.
Chapter 20
Lord Linfield and Lord Beauchamp’s carriage stumbled to a halt in downtown London, mere minutes after departing the mansion of Nelle, Everett’s lost love. Both Lord Beauchamp and Lord Linfield nearly fell from their seats in the carriage, so quick was the stop. Lord Linfield called up to his carriage boy, wondering what had gone wrong.
“It’s one of the horses, My Lord!” the boy said, flashing back his damp face towards Lord Linfield. It was ruby red with cold. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her. Let me get off and check.”
Lord Linfield and Lord Beauchamp exchanged glances as they felt the boy sidle down to the ground. With a shrug, Lord Linfield said, “Hate to have the boy out there alone in the cold.”
Both men stepped into the bleary cold, marching towards the front to find the carriage boy upon his knees, inspecting the shoe of the horse on the right. She was a regal beast, jet-black, with a single white diamond between her eyes. Lord Linfield’s father had been a frequent user of this horse—one he’d called simply “Blackie.” Perhaps the horse was up there in years, now. Nearing twenty. Lord Linfield couldn’t be sure.
“What seems to be the trouble?” Lord Linfield asked.
“Just a few stones stuck in her foot. The stable boy on schedule before me, he was meant to change her shoe.” The boy trailed off, pressing his fingers into the dark holes of her hoof. “It’ll take me a right minute to get all these out, My Lords. Please, hop back in the carriage. Warm yourselves up.”
Lord Everett shrugged, pointing towards the corner of the road, where a restaurant gleamed beneath streaks of rain. “Why not grab ourselves another pint, Lord Linfield, while we wait? I could do with a bit of stew, as well. We’ll grab your boy something while he works.”
Lord Linfield agreed, rubbing his palms together with the chill. As they walked together, hurrying towards the restaurant, he realised they were perhaps only a block or two from the offices of The Rising Sun. He imagined Lady Elizabeth sitting at her desk, sweeping her quill across the pages, that little wrinkle of concentration forming between her eyes. Did she speak aloud the words she wrote for him to ensure they sounded right in the air? He imagined her whispering to herself: his words upon her tongue. He shivered, not realising how much he missed her until this very moment.
As if part of a dream, he heard his name through the drizzling rain and diverted his eyes towards the sound, hunting through the crowd of people.
“Lord Linfield!”
Everett heard it, as well, and turned with Lord Linfield. Suddenly, Irene, the woman who owned The Rising Sun paper, emerged from the crowd, waving her hand. She flashed a bright smile at both Everett and Nathaniel, and then reached back through the crowd to grab someone. She then yanked the hand, then arm, then full body of Lady Elizabeth out of the crowd after her. Lady Elizabeth gave Lord Linfield a sheepish grin before turning her head fast towards someone else, a younger boy of perhaps 13 or 14. The boy was skeletal and big-eyed, almost fearful in the midst of such a crowd.
“Lord Linfield, I felt sure that was you!” Irene called, marching directly towards him.
