Chapter Nineteen

T ension hung thick in the air, ripe with the scent of confrontation, as Edward Waverly, a member of the despicable Revivalists, driven by fervent ideology, advanced upon them with dangerous intent.

Edward, his face twisted in zealous anger, brandished a crude weapon—a makeshift cudgel fashioned from a piece of discarded loom. His eyes glinted with fanatical conviction as he raged against the perceived transgressions of Thatcher’s play. “You thought you could corrupt women with your blasphemous words!” he bellowed, his voice reverberating through the chamber. “To think, that you would pen such heresy and spread it like a plague!”

Thatcher, battered and bruised but appearing undaunted, countered with equal force. “I merely sought to tell a story, to explore the human condition, to provoke thought and discussion.” Though he still wasn’t entirely sure which play they were talking about. One of his…or Lottie’s? The play everyone thought was his.

Simms suddenly moved with practiced precision, positioning himself between Lottie and the Revivalist. His eyes bored into the zealot. “I’ll not let him harm you, my lady.”

But Lottie, her fiery spirit unbroken even if shaken, spoke up in defiance. “Your beliefs about the natural order of the world are outdated and oppressive. Women are not inferior, and men like you will no longer dictate our lives!”

“Good God, what is this heresy?” With an enraged cry, the Revivalist lunged forward, swinging his crude weapon. A fierce struggle ensued.

Lottie’s quick thinking saved them all from the brink of peril. She seized an abandoned sack of flour, sending its contents billowing into the air like a powdery veil. The chamber was thrown into disarray, visibility reduced to mere inches. Amidst the choking cloud, Thatcher and Edward stumbled and grappled with one another, their movements erratic and disoriented.

Simms, waiting until the perfect moment, then managed to disarm the Revivalist with a swift and calculated strike, rendering the man defenseless.

As the flour settled and the chamber grew calm once more, Lottie stood victorious but weary. The Revivalist, his fervor extinguished, lay defeated.

It was in the aftermath of this confrontation that they learned the true motivation behind the man’s rage.

Simms got him talking.

The servant had a way.

Edward and other Revivalists had taken issue with a character in Lottie’s play, one that challenged the conventional notions of male superiority and the subservience of women. The character’s defiance had struck a chord with the Revivalists, prompting Edward to confront Thatcher and prevent him from further “corrupting” women’s minds.

“This play you’ve penned, Goodrich, it’s nothing but a cesspool of wickedness and defiance! You think you can just spew these vile words and turn women against their rightful place? You’re mistaken if you believe I’ll stand idly by!” Edward’s voice shook with anger.

“I penned this play to explore the depths of human emotion and challenge the norms that bind us. It was never meant to harm anyone,” Thatcher replied, his voice steady and firm.

Edward’s eyes blazed with righteous indignation. “Harm? Harm, you say? You dare to suggest that your words, your poison, aren’t dangerous? Women have been obedient, virtuous, and content with their place in society for centuries, and you seek to upend it all with your devilish fantasies!”

Lottie butted in. “We women refuse to be oppressed any longer! Your beliefs about women’s subservience are outdated and unjust. We demand equality and respect.”

“Equality? Respect?” Edward’s voice dripped with disdain. “You women should be thankful for the protection and guidance of your husbands and fathers. You’ll bring ruin upon yourselves with your foolish notions of independence.”

“Our world is changing, Edward, and it’s time we acknowledge that,” Thatcher replied, his tone growing weary. “We must move forward, embracing progress and equality for all.”

Edward thrashed his head, yelling, “Progress? Equality? I’ll have none of it! Men are the rightful rulers of this world, and no amount of your seditious words will change that. You’ll all be held accountable for your treacherous beliefs!”

“Your narrow-mindedness blinds you to the potential of a more just and inclusive society. Women won’t be silenced, and we won’t back down.” Lottie’s voice was steel.

The exchange continued, heated and impassioned, as each side defended their beliefs with unwavering determination. The clash of ideologies echoed through the air.

Amidst the fervent argument, Thatcher believed they had quelled the Revivalist’s anger, but was gravely mistaken. As the tension in the room seemed to simmer down, Edward seized a moment of opportunity. With a sudden burst of rage and a primal scream, he lunged at Lottie, his hands outstretched in a menacing grip. “ Die, bitch! ” he roared.

Simms moved with lightning speed. He snatched a pointed piece of old loom from the grimy floor and drove it into the Revivalist’s ear, the long shard penetrating Edward’s skull with a gruesome finality. A guttural cry escaped his lips, but it was cut short as his body went limp and crumpled to the floor.

The room fell into a chilling silence.

*

Lottie stared wide-eyed at the lifeless form of her would-be assailant, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. Her heart thundered in her chest, and she felt a strange mixture of terror and gratitude wash over her. Without Simms’s intervention, her fate might have been far bleaker.

She was struck by the profound impact her words had unwittingly wrought. She had never intended to incite such a violent response; her aim had been to shed light on the struggles and aspirations of the human spirit. And yet, here they three stood, survivors of a harrowing encounter with a man whose fanaticism knew no bounds.

Thatcher, his face drained of color, approached Lottie with a mixture of concern and relief. “Are you all right?” he whispered, his voice barely audible in the eerie quiet that enveloped them.

She nodded, unable to speak, her gaze still fixed on the corpse. Simms, his hands trembling, withdrew the bloodstained piece of weaving loom, his grim expression revealing the gravity of his actions.

In that blood-smeared chamber of the old flour mill, they were confronted with the consequences and perilous depths to which some would go to defend their beliefs. Edward Waverly, whose misogynistic convictions had driven him to violence, now lay defeated, a grim testament to the power of conviction, the fragility of life, and the lengths to which one could go to protect their crazed beliefs.

“We should go now,” Lottie whispered, needing very much to be elsewhere.

*

They made their way back to Rhodes Theatre and sent Simms to alert the authorities. Before he left, Lottie turned to him. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“I don’t need thanks for that.” He waved her off.

Lottie nodded, understanding. “Now, listen carefully. You must go to Bow Street headquarters and find my brother, Captain Catamount Castlebury. Tell him everything that transpired tonight. Make sure you don’t omit any details. Tell him where the mill is located.”

Simms nodded. “Of course, Lady Lottie. I’ll do as you say.”

She continued, her voice firm, “You must stress that we were threatened and attacked. Tell him about the body in the flour mill and that the man who’s now deceased was a Revivalist. This could be a matter of utmost importance. You must impress upon him the need for secrecy and discretion. We don’t know who else might be involved.”

“I’ll find him, and I’ll make sure he understands the gravity of the situation. You have my word.”

Lottie smiled gratefully, touched by Simms’s loyalty and commitment to their safety. “Thank you. Please, go quickly. We’ll be waiting for your return.”

With that, the servant hurried off into the night, leaving Lottie and Thatcher to grapple with the aftermath of their harrowing encounter. They made their way back to the main stage of the Theatre, leaving behind the gruesome scene in the abandoned flour mill. As they stepped through the theatre’s backstage entrance, they were met with a flurry of concerned faces—actors, stagehands, and Rainville himself.

He rushed forward to meet them. “Lottie, Thatcher, where have you been? We were beginning to fear the worst.”

Lottie, still shaken by the night’s events, took a moment to compose herself. “It’s a long story. There’s a body in an abandoned flour mill on the outskirts of London.”

Rainville’s eyes widened in surprise, and he exchanged a quick glance with Thatcher. “A body, you say? Are you both unharmed?”

Thatcher stepped forward. “We’re unharmed, but it’s not a pleasant sight, I assure you.”

Rainville nodded. “Revivalists?”

“Revivalists,” Lottie and Thatcher agreed.

“Shite. I’ll tell Catamount.”

Before they could stop him to tell him that alerting her brother had already been done, Rainville hurried off down the lane.

The actors who had been waiting anxiously approached. One of the leading actors, a tall, distinguished man, spoke up, his voice filled with concern. “What happened? You both look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

Lottie exchanged a glance with Thatcher, silently deciding that some explanation was warranted. She took a deep breath and began to recount the harrowing events of the evening, from the Revivalist’s appearance to the violent confrontation in the mill. The actors listened in stunned silence as she spoke, their expressions growing graver with each passing moment. It was a tale that defied belief.

When she finished her account, there was a heavy silence, broken only by the distant sounds of Rainville’s hurried retreating footsteps.

The actor, clearly shaken, spoke up. “This is madness, absolute madness. What kind of man would go to such lengths over a play ?”

Thatcher chimed in, “An extremist, blinded by his own beliefs. We were fortunate to escape with our lives.” They had decided not to tell them who the madman was. They’d all find out it was Edward soon enough. The shock could be dealt with then.

The other actors nodded in agreement, their faces etched with concern. It was clear that the gravity of the situation had left a deep impression on all of them.

As they waited for the authorities to arrive, Lottie found herself at the center of a tense and somber atmosphere. The events of the night had shattered the illusion of her safety, reminding her that she was not immune to the dangers that lurked in the shadows of London’s streets.

*

Thatcher took Lottie’s hand gently. “Lottie,” he began, “I owe you a profound apology. That day, when I took your journal, it was a terrible violation of your trust, and I can’t express how deeply sorry I am.”

Lottie’s gaze met his, her eyes showing a mix of surprise and uncertainty. She listened intently, appearing unsure of what to expect from his confession.

“I not only took your words,” Thatcher continued, his voice trembling with remorse, “but I took your work, your brilliance, your heart and soul, and I claimed it as my own. It was a despicable act, one that I deeply regret.”

He turned to the actors and a returned Rainville. “I must also confess that I’ve been struggling with writer’s block for some time. Lottie’s journal was a beacon of inspiration that I couldn’t resist, and I deceived you all by presenting her work as mine.”

Rainville’s stern expression softened as he listened, considering Thatcher’s admission. The actors exchanged glances, their expressions of surprise and sympathy.

Thatcher continued, “I know my actions have caused harm, not only to you, Lottie, but to all of you who have worked tirelessly on this play. I don’t expect forgiveness, but I promise to make it right. Lottie, I will give you the credit you deserve for your incredible contribution to our play, and as the true writer of my last work.”

Lottie’s eyes welled up with tears as she listened to his heartfelt apology and confession. Christ, he felt vulnerable. But she needed it. Deserved it from him. She nodded, her voice choked with emotion. “Thank you. I appreciate your honesty.”

Rainville stepped forward. “Thatcher, you have much to atone for, but your willingness to set things right is a step in the right direction. We will work together to give Lady Lottie the recognition she truly deserves. But know that trust, once broken, takes time to rebuild.”

Thatcher nodded. “I understand, and I’m prepared to face the consequences of my actions. From this moment on, I will be honest and transparent in all matters.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with his remorse. The theatre was filled with a profound silence as he stood before the gathered company, the pale lamplight casting long shadows across his face. In that stillness, the crackling tension of the past moments began to dissipate.

With that, the tension in the theatre eased, and a collective sense of resolution filled the space. It was a turning point, a moment of redemption.

*

Lottie’s heart swelled with a mixture of emotions as she watched him. She had expected to confront him, to be met with resistance and defensiveness, but his heartfelt apology had caught her off guard. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that she hadn’t seen before, and it tugged at her heart.

His voice had quivered with sincerity, every word a testament to the depth of his remorse. It was as if he was laying bare his soul for all to see, not just admitting to taking her journal but to the theft of her talent and passion, to the very essence of her creativity. She could see the weight of his actions bearing down on him, and it was clear that he genuinely regretted his choices.

The faces of the actors in the theatre were a mosaic of reactions. Surprise, empathy, and a glimmer of hope danced in their eyes. Thatcher’s revelation had unveiled a man who was flawed but capable of self-reflection and change. The fragile threads of trust that had been severed were now being carefully rewoven, strand by strand.

Rainville’s gaze was fixed on Thatcher as if he were seeing him in a new light. He clearly understood the significance of this moment, that it was a turning point for their collaboration and for Thatcher himself.

As Thatcher vowed to give Lottie the credit she deserved, she found herself overwhelmed with gratitude. She had spent years striving to make her voice heard, to gain recognition as a talented playwright, and now, through his apology, Thatcher had offered her the acknowledgment she had so longed for.

Her teary-eyed nod of acceptance conveyed her appreciation, and she felt a glimmer of hope that their partnership could be based on trust and genuine collaboration.

“Well then,” Rainville said, “if we’re to move forward and create the masterpiece we aspire to, let’s do so with Lady Lottie’s brilliance rightfully acknowledged.”

The actors broke into spontaneous applause. They appreciated a story, and this one was better than any they had ever performed on stage.

Thatcher, though visibly relieved, held his gaze on Lottie. The mixture of vulnerability, sincerity, and determination in his eyes spoke volumes, as he confessed to taking her journal.

Lottie, now more certain than ever about her own emotions, met his gaze with a soft, knowing smile. Her heart ached with a renewed affection for this complex man who had walked through the fire of his own mistakes and come out the other side with a promise to right his wrongs.

As the applause and shared feelings of unity filled the theatre, Lottie brushed her fingers against Thatcher’s for an instant, igniting a spark of connection that she could not deny. It was as if their hearts, once divided by secrets and misunderstandings, had found a way to beat in harmony, setting the stage for not only a magnificent play but also a new chapter in her own story. One she was very much ready for.

With the weight of secrets and deceptions finally lifted, Lottie found herself standing amidst a supportive and hopeful audience of her peers. Every single one of them knew of her writing skill. And they cheered her on.

Blast it all, but it felt amazing!

“Lottie, I want you to know that I’m not just apologizing for my actions, but for the way I allowed my own insecurities and pride to stand between us,” Thatcher said.

“I’m not without fault either. I allowed my own fears to cloud my judgment. I should have trusted you more.”

He reached out and took her hand in his, and she felt the warmth of his fingers against her skin. “Perhaps we were both too proud for our own good. But now, I want to make things right, and not just in our collaboration but in everything. I want to be honest with you, Lottie.”

She squeezed his hand gently. “And I with you. Thatcher, there’s something I haven’t been entirely honest about.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

She took a deep breath before continuing, “I’ve harbored feelings for you, stronger than the collaboration we’ve been sharing. I’ve fallen for you. Completely and utterly.”

A sweet smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “You’ve just described the very feelings that have been taking root in my heart as well. I love you.”

The world around Lottie seemed to stand still, as if it were holding its breath in anticipation. Two stubborn souls who had weathered a tumultuous journey had finally reached a place of mutual understanding, honesty, and love.

In the theatre where they had once clashed, they now stood together as a united force, ready to embark on a new chapter, personally and professionally. Lottie just knew their love story was destined to be as dramatic and captivating as any play they could ever write.

As Lottie’s lips met Thatcher’s once more in a sweet, passionate kiss, their fellow actors and Rainville burst into cheers and applause. It was a moment of celebration and triumph, not just for Lottie, but for their entire theatrical family.

Lottie pulled away from their kiss, her smile as bright as the stage lights, and she knew that from this point onward, they would face the challenges and joys of life together. Her collaboration with Thatcher had led them to a love that transcended the boundaries of theatre.

“I love you, Thatcher Goodrich.”

“I love you, Lottie Castlebury.”

Time to script their own future, side by side.