Chapter 10

10

"Mama-san," Andrew said in a low voice to his mother, when he found himself alone in the inn with her. "Lily and I are taking a trip to Bristol tomorrow."

"Oh?" She perked up at this, eyes twinkling. "A trip to Bristol? Together? Tell me more."

"Ah…." There were many things he should tell her, he knew. Starting with perhaps, Lily found a record of your marriage; I stole it from her, and now I'm trying to lead her astray.

That would sit well with his mother, surely. Andrew internally rolled his eyes.

Her eyes sharpened. "You're embarrassed at the purpose of the trip."

Andrew shrugged.

"You don't want to tell me."

"It's a surprise," Andrew finally said.

"Will the surprise be a grandchild?" she asked sweetly.

"Mama!" He turned away and threw the kitchen towel over his face. "It's been a matter of days! We haven't even had time to do anything!"

"Does it take more than minutes?" she said in too-sweet tones. "We both know what happened before she left."

Andrew yelped. "How the devil do we both know that? I never told you."

"I wasn't sure," she replied with a barely suppressed smile. "Until just now, when you confirmed it."

Horrifying. The entire concept was horrifying. Andrew squeezed his eyes shut.

"I like her," his mother mused, indifferent to his suffering. "I went to visit her with the girls, you know."

"Did you?" Andrew asked weakly.

"She promised to be patient with you while you sorted out your feelings."

"Mama!" His entire being flushed scarlet with embarrassment. "Why would you say that? She's going to think I like her."

She pinched the back of his neck. "Are you a child?"

"The next Earl of Arsell has yet to take his place! His family has not become less violent. What am I supposed to do, take a wife and have children, knowing that if they discover my existence, we must all uproot ourselves, flee the country, and hope we're not discovered again? My existence is a threat to anyone associated with me. Why would I ruin the one perfect friendship I have to tell her about feelings I cannot do anything about?"

She just shook her head. "You know the answer to that better than I will."

"We are in danger," Andrew reminded her. "I cannot have…whatever it is you think I could have with Lily. Please. Stop. Don't try to matchmake this."

Her jaw set mulishly.

"Mama-san," Andrew said. "I mean it. Don't. It is hard enough for me, to…" To feel the things he did, and to be relegated to the scoundrel who snuck into her bedchamber at night to steal from her.

"My boy," she said softly. "You are wonderful. You are lovable. You care so much about this world."

"Ugh. Gross." He made a face.

"You delight in making people happy," she said.

"I know, I know." He shook his shoulders out and moved away. "I am essentially perfect. You needn't tell me."

"You are not perfect," his mother said gravely. "You give yourself the bare minimum, and it is hard to watch as a mother."

"What do you mean?" Andrew joked. "I meet minimum standards. What else could a parent wish for?"

"A mother always wishes for more."

"I don't need more. I have enough. I don't need to be acquisitive." Andrew looked away. "Why? So that I can trade more coins for fewer things I actually want? That sounds like a fool's game. I have no interest in playing."

He had made his decision long ago, when he'd been told the tale of his father. That man had traded Andrew's amazing mother for boredom and wealth, and Andrew knew at that moment he wanted to be the exact opposite of everything his father stood for.

His father was an earl? Well, fine. Andrew was going to be common. He was going to be the commonest commoner that ever had commoned. His father owned land and took rents from everyone around him? Good. Andrew was going to start a seed exchange and give away plants and seeds until he was blue in the face.

"Andrew. Listen."

"No." Andrew shook his head. "I don't want more. I want fewer: fewer backs broken, fewer bellies empty, fewer people who cry themselves to sleep. The world would be a better place if people wanted fewer instead of more."

"Andrew, we are talking about Lily."

"I know." His voice shook.

He wanted Lily. He wanted Lily so much. It felt like a deep yearning in him, one that he'd only been able to ignore because she'd been on the other side of the world for so long. He wanted a world where she was his—or rather, he was hers.

He wanted to be able to go with Lily to Bristol—just the two of them—and have it be a sweet trip to the ocean for pleasure.

But Andrew didn't want more . He wanted fewer: in this case, fewer women trapped and at the mercy of powerful men, the way his mother had been.

"Lily…" Andrew let her name linger on his lips. "Lily has always known what she wants, and it's never been me. She'll take care of herself."

"Hm." His mother looked skeptical. "Take good care of her in Bristol. And when it comes to love? Don't send her on a fool's errand. You're better than that."

"I think this is a fools' errand," Lily whispered.

Andrew jumped, his mother's words from yesterday still echoing in his ears, before he realized that Lily wasn't referring to any of his actions ; she was talking about the chain of events that had led them to this small office in a large warehouse.

They'd arrived at the sprawling office of Bristol's shipping master at midday after an extremely early start and two separate trains. They'd asked where logs were kept in the shipping master's front office; they'd been directed to a desk on the second floor. From there, they'd been sent to the basement. At that location, a man had shivered and told him that he wouldn't dare disturb the logs. There would be Mr. Callum to answer to.

That name had been spoken in hushed, almost fearful, tones.

The dreaded Mr. Callum was to be found in a distant warehouse, fifteen minutes removed at a brisk walk, he was told.

But here they were. Mr. Callum looked normal. He had the kind of indeterminate light hair that, in the dim light of the office, could have been white or blond or a light brown. His age seemed impossible to settle upon. He was dressed in brown clothing, and he dusted off his hands as Andrew and Lily approached.

"What can I do for you?" His voice was quiet, almost diffident. Andrew had no idea why Mr. Holman had been so reticent to give any answers about logs or books.

"I'm looking for a logbook," Andrew said. "I was told to come here by Mr. Holman in the office of records request."

Mr. Callum straightened. "If there's a dispute about pay, it must be lodged with the shipping master. I will have words with Mr. Holman. He simply does not respect the process." His quiet speech grew more firm. "We cannot give out logs to all and sundry who ask. Those logs are a sacred record."

"Sacred," Lily repeated, bemused.

"Absolutely sacrosanct!" Mr. Callum placed a firm hand on his desk. "If one sailor has a genuine issue with pay, others will as well. Mark my words. That's how it works. What happens if we don't keep control of the chain of ownership?" He shook a finger. "Alterations, that's what happens. Alterations and lost logs and unfairness!" He blinked, as if remembering himself, and subsided back into a semblance of modesty. "Right. Which ship did you want the log from? You might as well tell me before I tell you that you can't have it."

"It's not a recent one," Andrew said. "It's an old logbook. I want it for…" What reason could he give that did not let someone else know he was an earl?

"For his parents' marriage," Lily put in. "We're looking for, um…"

"We're looking for purposes of sentimentality," Andrew finished smoothly.

"Oh?" For some reason, Mr. Callum's expression lit up at this. "You mean…an archival log? Those are always so fun! How delightful . I'm guessing you need 1875, 1876?"

"How old do you think I am?" Andrew said, and before the man could answer with something appallingly young, went on. "The captain submitted his official log in 1868."

"1868!" Mr. Callum paled. "Not 1868. What month?"

"November."

A hand flew to Mr. Callum's mouth, as if he'd just received the worst news in a month. "What day?"

"Captain Jeremiah Lund of the Superior arrived on the third." Lily told him.

The man looked as if he had been felled like a tree. "No. Not that. That means he must have submitted his official log no later than…the fourth." He said this in low, hushed tones. Slowly, he set his hand on his heart.

"Must he have?" Andrew queried.

"Of course," Lily said. "Logs must be submitted within twenty-four hours."

Andrew turned to her. How on earth did Lily know that? Had she become a logbook expert? Knowing her, she probably had.

"I see you know your logbooks," Mr. Callum said with an approving nod. "It would indeed have been submitted by the fourth. And it would have been warehoused in temporary quarters on the twenty-third, not to be moved into permanent storage until the monthly removal in December, which means that it has…" The pause was so dramatic, that even Andrew found himself leaning forward for Mr. Callum's whisper. "It has fallen."

"Fallen? Fallen where?" Andrew looked around. "Can it be picked up?"

Lily elbowed him in the ribs. "Shush," she murmured. "This is serious."

"It has fallen," Mr. Callum intoned, "to the Great Logbook Fire of 1868."

"Oh, no." Lily's eyes widened. "How awful. Were a great many logbooks afflicted?"

"One thousand, seven hundred, and twenty-three," Mr. Callum told her.

"That sounds…" Andrew looked upward, trying to think of something that would work. "Very bad."

It was also unsurprising. Andrew knew that news of his mother's marriage had been suppressed. A vast logbook fire sounded like the perfect trick to hide evidence.

Mr. Callum no longer seemed to be present with them in the office. "It was a Monday," he told them. "Cold and damp and wet. Not the sort of day you'd imagine would be the day for a fire."

"I suppose you don't have it, then. Ah, well. Never mind."

Lily poked him in the ribs.

"I can remember it as if it were yesterday. First, the scent of burning paper. Then…" He paused, waiting. "But surely you don't want to hear this?"

Andrew tried not to look too suspiciously eager. "The time is passing. When is our train, Lily?"

"Shh." This was to him, in a hoarse whisper, then: "Go on, Mr. Callum. We are all ears."

The man needed no further encouragement. "Then, a cry went up. ‘Fire!' I could feel my bowels turn to water."

"What an astonishing amount of information in that one phrase, which perhaps we did not need to hear."

Nobody was paying attention to Andrew any longer.

"I knew what it meant." Mr. Callum's lip curled into a snarl. "It meant that Kenneth was out smoking by the temporary logbook storage again. I'd warned him over and over. ‘Kenneth, it's paper and leather. Kenneth, they'll go up in an instant, and we are tasked with their safety.' But Kenneth." Mr. Callum wiped a tear away. "Kenneth never did listen. He was once my…" He shook his head. "My dearest friend. But by the time I arrived, the fire had spread. One thousand, seven hundred, and twenty-three logbooks fell to Kenneth's perfidy. And I was left with no choice but to sack him."

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Lily said. She sounded genuine.

How did she sound so genuine?

"The sorrow is mine." Mr. Callum pressed his hands together as if in prayer. "The logbook you seek was one of the ones destroyed. Destroyed by my own failure in putting friendship above duty. It should never have happened."

Poor Kenneth. Andrew strongly suspected that he'd been wrongly accused. The Great Logbook Fire of 1868 had undoubtedly been started by Andrew's paternal relations.

Andrew clapped him on the shoulder. "You did your best, man."

This earned him a faint, pained look. "No." Mr. Callum stood. "If only I'd been watching Kenneth. He said he wouldn't do it again, and I trusted him. But the logbooks should have taken precedence. I failed them. Kenneth asserted up through his sacking that he'd not lit a cigar within a mile of the premises. I knew the truth of him. He smoked incessantly at home. He must have done so while here."

Lily shook her head. "What a shame."

"I told him: some day, we're going to need those. Now it's some day, and here we are."

"There, there." Lily patted his shoulder. "You did your best. I'm sure of it."

"Can we buy you a pint?" Andrew asked.

Mr. Callum rubbed at the corner of his eye. "That's very kind of you. But I'm on the job, and Kenneth has shown the dangers of indulging in even the smallest vice while at work. I can't look away." His voice grew bleak. "I can never look away."