31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

A lex leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose as he let out a weary sigh. The day had been frustrating, and he felt no closer to solving the mysteries of Mary's past. Across from him, Richard sat with a tumbler of brandy in hand, his brow furrowed in contemplation, his cravat discarded and shirt collar falling open.

"It's as if she vanished into thin air," Alex muttered, his voice laced with exasperation. "Every lead we've followed, every acquaintance we've spoken to, has yielded nothing but dead ends."

Richard took a sip of his drink, his gaze fixed on a distant, invisible point. "It's almost too convenient, isn't it? A woman of her background, a commoner with no connections or means, simply disappearing without a trace?"

Alex nodded, his jaw tightening. "Precisely. And this supposed marriage to a Lord Jacque Blanchet – I've never heard of such a man, and my connections in France have turned up nothing."

"Perhaps the name was a ruse," Richard mused. "A fabrication to add a veneer of respectability to her tale."

Leaning forward, Alex rested his elbows on the desk, his fingers steepled before him. "And yet, Henry seemed genuinely confused when I broached the subject of his supposed stepfather's name. If Mary had been deceiving him as well, one would expect the child to be better versed in the lie."

Richard swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his expression pensive. "True, but children are easily misled, especially at such a tender age. Who's to say Mary hasn't been feeding him a carefully constructed narrative all these years? Besides which," he said, using the toes of first one foot and then the other to pull his tall boots off, "it's not as if it's easy to get information out of France right now."

Alex fell silent, his mind churning with possibilities and doubts. He couldn't deny the connection he felt with Henry, the inexplicable bond that had formed between them during their brief encounter. However, the nagging questions surrounding Mary's past continued to plague him, casting a shadow of uncertainty over the entire situation.

"We need to keep digging," he finally said, his voice resolute. "There are still avenues to explore, contacts to be made. I won't rest until I have the truth, no matter how unpleasant it may be."

Richard nodded, downing the last of his brandy. "Then we press on, brother. The truth is out there, waiting to be uncovered... even if it means we might have to delve into London's underbelly."

Richard's words hung in the air, their weight pressing down on Alex as he considered the implications. He knew his brother was right – if they truly wished to uncover the truth about Mary's past, they would need to delve into the murkier corners of society, the seedy underbelly that Alex had long ago turned his back on.

"You make a fair point," he admitted, his voice tinged with reluctance. "Though I confess, the thought of revisiting those haunts fills me with a certain... distaste."

A wry smile tugged at the corner of Richard's mouth. "Come now, brother. Surely you haven't become so staid and respectable that the mere thought of stepping foot in a tavern fills you with dread?"

Alex shot his brother a withering look, but there was no real heat behind it. "It's not the tavern itself that gives me pause," he said. "It's the memories, the spectre of the man I once was – reckless, self-indulgent, with little regard for the consequences of my actions."

Richard's expression softened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Alex, you've come a long way since those days. The man you are now, the man you've become – that's the person who matters, not the ghost of your past."

Alex held his brother's gaze for a long moment, feeling a swell of gratitude for Richard's unwavering support. With a slight nod, he said, "Very well. If you truly believe it's necessary, then make your inquiries. But tread carefully, brother – we know not what dangers may lurk in the shadows we seek to illuminate."

A familiar glint of mischief sparked in Richard's eyes. "Have no fear, Your Grace," he said with a roguish grin. "I shall be the very soul of discretion."

Despite himself, Alex couldn't help but chuckle at his brother's bravado. "See that you are," he replied, his tone laced with fond exasperation. "I should hate to have to come and rescue you from whatever trouble you inevitably find yourself in."

***

T he pungent aroma of stale ale and pipe smoke assailed Alex's senses the moment they stepped through the weathered doorway of the Horseshoe Tavern. He wrinkled his nose in distaste, his gaze sweeping over the dimly lit interior with a mixture of revulsion and reluctant familiarity.

"Ah, just like I remember it," Richard quipped, clapping a hand on Alex's shoulder as he strode forward, seemingly oblivious to the dingy surroundings. "Doesn't it just fill you with a sense of nostalgia, brother?"

Alex shot his sibling a withering look, shrugging off Richard's hand. "Hardly," he muttered, his voice tinged with disdain. "This place is as disreputable as ever."

Richard merely smiled, unfazed by Alex's disapproval. "Perhaps, but that's precisely why we're here, is it not? If anyone knows the truth about our elusive Mary, it'll be the denizens of this establishment."

Grudgingly, Alex had to concede the point. As much as he loathed revisiting the seedy underbelly of London's tavern scene, he knew Richard was right. If they hoped to uncover the truth about Mary's past, they would need to delve into the shadowy corners frequented by those on the fringes of society.

"Very well," he said, steeling himself with a deep breath. "But let's make this quick. The sooner we find what we're looking for, the sooner we can leave this wretched place behind."

Richard's grin widened, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. "Your wish is my command, Your Grace," he said with an exaggerated bow.

Before Alex could respond, Richard had already turned and begun weaving his way through the crowded taproom, greeting familiar faces and exchanging boisterous banter with the regulars. Alex followed in his brother's wake, his jaw set in a tight line as he studiously avoided making eye contact with anyone.

Having found a table in a back corner against a wall so that he might see without being easily seen, Alex settled in to watch the shifty crowd. He had purposefully dressed down for the occasion, opting for a plain brown jacket that was a little worn at the elbows, and trading in his perfect, starched white cravats for a patterned kerchief tied about his collar. It was his usual disguise from when he would come "slumming" in the days of his misspent youth.

Richard returned with two glasses of dark liquid and automatically offered one to Alex. Alex accepted the glass of sloe gin from Richard's outstretched hand, his fingers curling around the familiar vessel with an easy familiarity that made him frown. As he raised the glass to his lips, the rich, fruity aroma assailed his senses, transporting him back through the years to a time when such simple pleasures had been the extent of his ambitions.

The first sip was like a punch to the gut, the tart sweetness of the liquor flooding his mouth and awakening a rush of long-buried memories. He could almost see her again, that sly smile playing about her lips as she leaned across the battered table, her eyes sparkling with mischief in the flickering candlelight. Mary.

A rush of nostalgia brought back buried emotions.As quickly as the sentiment had arisen, it was smothered by a wave of revulsion – not necessarily for the woman herself, but for the squalid surroundings that had once been his world.

Alex's gaze swept over the dimly lit taproom. He could never imagine Rosalind in a place like this, her radiant beauty and gentle grace a stark contrast to the coarse vulgarity that permeated every inch of the establishment. Her innate goodness would have made her stand out, even in a burlap sack. A muscle twitched in his brow as he forced himself to swallow another mouthful of the sloe gin, the sweet liquid now tasting bitter on his tongue.

Alex felt a twinge of annoyance as Richard's elbow dug sharply into his ribs, jarring him from his morose reverie. His brother's gaze was fixed intently on a nearby table, where a grizzled old man nursed a pint of ale, the liquid slopping precariously over the rim with each tremulous motion of his gnarled hands.

"Isn't that old Bert?" Richard murmured, his voice a conspiratorial hush. "The ferryman who used to row Mary across the Thames to your place?"

Alex's eyes narrowed as he studied the man's weathered features, the tobacco-stained shirtfront, the patched and threadbare coat. Despite the ravages of time and hard living, there was an unmistakable familiarity about the slumped figure that stirred distant memories.

"You're right," he said at last, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. "That's Bert, all right."

Without waiting for a response, Alex drained the last of his sloe gin and pushed to his feet, striding across the taproom with purposeful strides. Richard fell into step beside him, his expression a mask of eager curiosity.

As they approached, Bert raised a bleary eye in their direction, his rheumy gaze struggling to focus on the newcomers. "Wha' d'ye wan'?" he slurred, swaying unsteadily in his chair.

Alex pulled out a neighbouring seat and lowered himself into it, his movements slow and deliberate. "We're looking for information, Bert," he said, his voice a low rumble that carried an undercurrent of quiet authority. "About Mary Blackwood."

At the sound of that name, Bert's eyes seemed to clear momentarily, a flicker of recognition sparking amidst the drunken haze. "Tha' wench?" he spat, his tone suddenly venomous. "I ain't got nothin' t'say 'bout 'er, 'cept she's the reason I spent the las' year rottin' in Newgate!"

The words hung in the air like a slap, sending a ripple of shock through Alex. He exchanged a startled glance with Richard, then turned his attention back to the ferryman. "What do you mean?" he demanded, leaning forward intently. "What happened, Bert? Why were you in prison?"

But the old man had already slumped forward, his forehead colliding with the sticky surface of the table as a guttural snore rattled from his throat. Alex swore under his breath, frustration and bewilderment warring within him as he studied Bert's insensible form.

Alex felt suspicion as he observed Bert's unconscious state. The ferryman's words, laced with bitterness and recrimination, had struck a discordant chord within him, hinting at a darker truth lurking beneath the surface of Mary's carefully constructed facade.

With a grunt of disgust, he shoved himself to his feet, the chair scraping harshly against the rough-hewn floorboards. Richard, sensing his brother's sudden shift in demeanour, rose as well, his expression one of curious concern.

"You suspect something, don't you?" he murmured, falling into step beside Alex as they wove their way through the crowded taproom toward the exit.

Alex said nothing, his jaw clenched tightly as they pushed through the battered doorway and emerged, blinking, into the bright afternoon sunlight. It was only once they had put a few paces between themselves and the disreputable tavern that he finally spoke, his voice low and tinged with a hint of grim foreboding.

"I don't know what to suspect," he admitted, raking a hand through his hair in a rare display of agitation. "But Bert's words... they suggest there's more to Mary's story than she's letting on."

Richard nodded, his brow furrowed in contemplation. "She did seem to vanish into thin air for a time," he mused. "And if she was the reason for Bert's incarceration..."

His voice trailed off, but the implication hung heavily in the air between them. If Mary had been involved in some unsavoury dealings, perhaps even criminal activities, it could shed new light on her motivations for resurfacing after all these years.

A muscle twitched in Alex's jaw as he digested this unpalatable possibility. Could the woman he had once loved, the mother of his child, truly be capable of such deceit and wrongdoing? The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, a gnawing sense of disquiet coiling in the pit of his stomach.

Before he could dwell further on these troubling notions, Richard spoke again, his tone infused with a renewed sense of purpose.

"There's one place we might be able to find some answers," he said, his gaze flicking meaningfully toward the mouth of a nearby alleyway. "Follow me."

Without waiting for a response, Richard turned and started off, his strides confident and unhurried. Alex hesitated for a heartbeat, torn between a desire to unravel the truth and a lingering reluctance to delve too deeply into the unsavoury underbelly of London's criminal element.

Ultimately, his need for answers won out. With a heavy sigh, he squared his shoulders and set off after his brother, his footsteps echoing against the cobblestones as he followed Richard into the shadowed depths of the alleyway.

The dank, fetid air of the rookery assailed Alex's senses as he followed Richard deeper into the maze of narrow alleys and cramped courtyards. The air was thick with the stench of unwashed bodies, stale urine, and opium smoke.

All around them, huddled figures lined the filthy streets, their haunted eyes peering out from beneath tattered shawls and threadbare coats. Gaunt, hollow-cheeked children darted between the shadows, their tiny hands outstretched in a perpetual plea for charity. Alex's jaw tightened as he steered a wide berth around a ramshackle opium den, the sickly-sweet fumes wafting from its open doorway like a noxious cloud.

"Charming locale, isn't it?" Richard quipped, his tone laced with dark humour as he navigated the treacherous terrain with an ease born of long familiarity. "Brings back memories, doesn't it, brother?"

Alex shot him a withering glare, his lip curling in a sneer of disdain. "Hardly the sort of memories one wishes to dwell upon," he bit out, his voice edged with distaste.

In truth, the squalid surroundings stirred echoes of a past he'd long since turned his back on – a time when the rookeries had been his haunt, their seedy underbelly a refuge from the suffocating expectations of his noble birth. He reveled in their anonymity, immersed in the rush of vice and debauchery.

That life, those choices, had ultimately led him to Mary.

The thought sent a pang of unease lancing through him, a flicker of doubt igniting in his mind. What if Bert's cryptic words hinted at a deeper truth, one that cast Mary's motivations and actions in a far more sinister light? The very notion left him with a bitter taste and a sense of dread.

Before Alex could dwell further on these troubling notions, Richard came to an abrupt halt, his hand shooting out to grip Alex's arm in a vice-like hold. "There," he murmured, his gaze fixed intently on a nearby doorway partially obscured by a tattered canvas awning. "That's the place I was telling you about."

Alex followed his brother's line of sight, his brow furrowing in confusion as he studied the nondescript entrance. "You'll need to refresh my memory," he said at length, turning a quizzical look on Richard. "What is this place, exactly?"

A grim smile tugged at the corner of Richard's mouth as he launched into an explanation, the words tumbling forth in a hushed rush.

"A few years back, there was a rather audacious theft that made the rounds in certain circles," he began, his voice pitched low to avoid attracting unwanted attention. "A young woman, posing as a new lady's maid, managed to infiltrate the household of a wealthy gentleman here in London. Within a week, she and her accomplices had made off with the bulk of the poor wife's jewellery collection." Richard paused for dramatic effect. "They eluded the watchmen by rowing across the Thames."

Alex's eyes widened fractionally as the implications of Richard's words sank in. "And you believe Mary was involved in this scheme?" he demanded, his tone edged with a mixture of incredulity and dawning suspicion.

Richard's smile deepened, taking on a feral edge. "It would certainly explain her sudden disappearance all those years ago," he murmured. "And if she employed similar tactics to gain access to other households..."

His voice trailed off, but the unspoken accusation hung heavily in the air between them. If Mary had indeed been part of an elaborate criminal enterprise, it cast her recent reappearance – and her claim of having Alex's child – in an entirely new light.

"She could have been using me as a means to gain access to information about other households," Alex realised with a start. A muscle twitched in Alex's jaw as he digested this unpalatable possibility. Could the woman he had once loved, the mother of his child, truly be capable of such deceit and wrongdoing? The thought left a bitter taste and a sense of unease.

Richard put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, and then beckoned him through the doorway.