by Abigail Agar
“Anyway, Inspector Brock is always there for me. I know that I should not trust him, considering how long his investigation is taking. But I really do think that he is a good man and he will solve this. He will figure it out,” Rachel said.
Georgiana couldn’t bear it anymore. The last person she wanted to talk about was Inspector Brock.
“We should not speak about him,” was all she could manage to say.
“The Inspector? Whyever not? What has happened? Is there something that I do not know? Oh, Georgiana, please tell me what it is,” Rachel said.
“It is just…it is that he did something very…oh, I do not know,” she said, exasperated.
“Are we not friends?” Rachel asked.
“Of course, we are friends,” Georgiana replied.
“Then you must tell me. What is it that he has done? How has he hurt you so deeply? I do not normally see you like this and it bothers me that you are so upset,” she said.
She was still so hurt. Why could she not let it go? Was she really that petty?
She had known a woman once, someone from society, who had told her that frivolity and pettiness often were intertwined. It was rare to find one without the other.
Was that Georgiana? Was she someone who could not let go of her own pettiness because she thought she deserved something that did not belong to her?
Perhaps she was just entitled.
Still, it bothered her that anyone might think that.
Particularly if it was Inspector Brock.
“I am very angry at him, Rachel,” she said, adding nothing more.
“Why? What did he do?” Rachel asked.
“Would you believe that he questioned me? Not like before. Not like when he did not yet know me and he thought that, perhaps, I was making something up about your disappearance. This is recently. This was even after we found you and we knew that you were well,” Georgiana said.
Rachel nodded with empathy and compassion in her eyes. She placed a comforting hand on Georgiana’s.
“I…I wish that it did not hurt so badly,” she said.
“Why does it hurt? You know, he was probably just trying to do his duty. He did not wish to leave any stone unturned in his efforts to find out what has happened and who sent me away. I assure you that he was only trying to do right by you after you insisted that he look into all of this for me,” Rachel said.
Georgiana looked at her, searching Rachel’s eyes for the truth.
As Rachel was trying so hard to justify his actions, guilt weighed heavily on Georgiana’s shoulders. She should have thought about these things before.
Well, no, that’s not true. She already had thought about these things. The only problem was that she had chosen to be victimized by them.
“I…I understand,” Georgiana said.
But, before she could say anything more, the well inside of her rose up. Her eyes could not hold back the tears anymore and her throat could no longer choke back the squeak of emotion that she felt coming over her.
No, it was terribly difficult to hide what she was truly feeling.
So, instead, she burst into tears.
“Georgiana? What is it?” Rachel asked, smoothing Georgiana’s hair in a motherly fashion.
“I know that it is terribly silly, but I like him so much. More than I have ever cared for any other man. Love, perhaps. I-I think I do love him,” she said.
The confession felt like such a relief. Georgiana was overwhelmed to be able to finally confess the feelings that she had.
Why had she been silent about this for so long? She could have felt this freedom long before if she had only let herself. Instead, she had been too frightened to be honest with anyone and she had locked her elf in a prison of secrecy.
“You love Inspector Brock?” Rachel asked, her voice devoid of judgment.
“I think I do. The fact that he does not trust me is so painful. I know that I am silly, foolish even, for being so overcome by him, but he is unlike any other man that I have ever known,” Georgiana said.
It was so difficult to confess these things, even to Rachel.
Still, it was a relief. It was a relief to share that she might be in love with him, that she cared so much for him. But the fact that he did not trust her was agonizing.
Why couldn’t he just understand her? Why did he have to question her motives?
She would never have been so insistent about this case if she was the one who had sent Rachel away. And yet she loved him.
“You know, Georgiana, it really was something that he had to do. He cannot treat you differently. I have thought that he looked at you with a sweetness in his eye, but I did not understand what was behind it until now,” Rachel began.
“But now that you have told me your feelings, perfectly without secrecy, I can tell you that I think he cares for you too and you should not give up hope. There may yet be a chance for the two of you. Whatever he must do in the name of duty, let him do. The rest is for the both of you to be happy,” she said.
Rachel’s words were comforting. She sounded as though she really meant them and it was exactly what Georgiana needed to hear.
If there was hope, if there was still a chance, she didn’t want to give up. She wanted to keep trying to make things work. But she did not want to be a fool.
If there really was no help, the last thing she wanted was to try to find it. It was idiotic to look for something that wasn’t there. Nor did she want to waste time doing so.
“Thank you, Rachel. Thank you for understanding,” she said.
“And thank you for pushing my case. If it were not for you, I might still be living with my terror and nothing more,” Rachel said.
As she made her way home later on, Georgiana’s thoughts were clouding everything.
She could not look at any direction without seeing something that bothered her.
And yet, it was all to make up for the fact that she was confused about what to do.
When she arrived home, she went to her room. Once there, she saw a letter on her bed.
Georgiana picked it up. She stared at it for a moment, unsure who would have written to her.
Could it have been the person who was threatening Rachel?
She was frightened as she opened it. Frightened that it might be someone wanting to threaten her. Frightened that it might be someone wanting to tell her to stay away from her dear friend. Frightened that it might be someone telling her to stay away from the Inspector.
Once she unfolded the letter, Georgiana began to read.
Her heart began to pound. A smile danced upon her face. She had not expected this.
The script was written neatly, cautiously and carefully. It was clear that he had taken a great deal of time.
There was so much kindness in the letter. Certainly justification, but she understood that.
Inspector Brock truly wanted her to forgive him. It was clear from the letter that he was being perfectly genuine and that he was filled with only the best of intentions.
His words were lovely. A balm for her soul.
Georgiana read the letter through again and again, finally settling on the bed and resting her head against the wall.
If this was how he felt, if this was really what he thought of her, maybe she had been overreacting after all. Maybe things were going to be all right.
She had to believe that. If it wasn’t true, if he didn’t think this way about her, the way that she had read it, nothing was going to make her feel better.
Nothing would settle her soul.
Chapter 34
Turning the pages of the books, Hamish felt as though he had just been going in circles.
How many family crests did he have to go through before he was able to figure this out? How many times did he need to look through these books before he settled on an answer?
The ring that Miss Smithfield had been given was still as mysterious as ever.
Hamish had hit a wall every time he had tried to
find the owner. Repeatedly, he had spoken with friends and officials. People who should have been able to identify it.
Yet, still, no one had any idea as to whom the crest belonged.
He realised that it must be a very small family name. Whomever it belonged to, they could not have been a very large family or it would have been easier to find the ancestry, both their lands and their given names. It would have been far more convenient if this crest belonged to a family of great fame.
It appeared, however, that it did not.
Instead, Hamish had failed on every side to find even the smallest hint of who this crest belonged to and he was near enough to giving up.
Why would he continue to waste his time? Perhaps Miss Smithfield’s case had nothing to do with the ring aside from the value of the gold itself.
As he went through the sixth book in his stack, Hamish suddenly jumped up from his seat.
The chair slid backwards. He was astonished. He had begun to give up hope that this was even a real crest.
But there it was. Right in front of his eyes. Clydemoor.
So there was a family name attached, after all. There was actually someone behind all of this and Hamish had not been wasting his time!
As he read about the family in the book, he saw that they were, indeed, a very small group. He was, however, able to try and track down the ancestors.
Hamish switched to another resource entirely.
He began making his way through a census of the nobility.
The name was not among it. However, he did find another book that gave him information as to the family’s ancestral lands.
“There it is,” he said to himself.
Hamish stood and rushed from his office and out to speak with John.
“Tell me, where might I find out the current living heirs of a family name? And those who might be in London in particular,” Hamish asked.
“I would expect that you would have to go to the records office on Moreaux Street,” John said.
Hamish grimaced. He was not a fan of Moreaux Street, nor the other bureaus who were often corrupt and filled with all manner of bad interactions.
Of course. Of course it would be at another government office.
Hamish grabbed his jacket and left straight for the office so that he could track down what had happened to the ancestors of this family.
Once he arrived, he was met with a rather unpleasant gentleman.
“Yes?” the man asked, looking him up and down as if appalled by him, somehow.
“I am here to look through some of the records. I need to track the living members of a particular family,” he said.
“Oh. I see. Well, I am afraid that I cannot help you. Family records are for searching only when it is the heir seeking a right to reclaim their status for the remittance of an inheritance,” the man said, clipping his words in an irritatingly rushed way.
“Well, I do have a very important case to solve and I need to know about a family,” Hamish said, showing his identification card.
The man looked at it, squinted as if trying to discern the legitimacy of it, and sighed.
“I cannot possibly know that you are meaning to do what you say you are here to do,” the man said.
“Why else would I have come?” Hamish asked.
Perhaps you are seeking to steal the inheritance of another man,” the man said.
“Why would I go through all of this in order to do something like that?” Hamish asked.
“Well, I can hardly speak to that. Only, I know that there are often men who come here with ill intentions and I am not at liberty to allow such a thing,” the man said.
“I have come here to do no such thing. I have only pure intentions. I am intending to learn why a young woman was cast away from the home at which she previously worked. Please, you must understand how horrible it was for her to be left out in the cold as she was, without anyone to aid her,” Hamish said, aware that he was embellishing the story a bit for the sake of garnering pity.
“Well, that is sad. But I cannot know that it is true,” the man said.
Hamish was frustrated. He couldn’t understand why the man was not being more helpful. After all, it was his position to do so.
Hamish was from the police and was asking to look at these records. How was it that he was being denied?
“Must I show you my identification card again? I have told you and I shall tell you again. I am here because I am trying to help a young woman. She is in a grave situation and I need to see to it that she is well looked after,” Hamish said.
The man sighed.
“I have nothing more to tell you,” he said.
“Is there anyone to whom I may speak?” he asked.
Just then, the man looked behind himself and down a long hallway where there was, indeed, another man putting away a few stray papers, seemingly cataloguing them.
“Remain here and I shall go and speak with someone on your behalf. But I do not recommend that you should get your hopes raised. We rarely allow people in who do not belong here,” he said.
Hamish tried very hard not to roll his eyes, but stayed in place just the same, as the man had instructed for him to do.
A few moments later, he was back, leaving the other man in order to tell Hamish what had been decided.
“He says that you are allowed only an hour and that if you remain longer, you may be banished henceforth,” he said.
“I work for the commonwealth. You may try to banish me, but I can assure you that it will do you no good at all,” Hamish said, pushing his body forward and past the man, rushing down the hallways until he found a marker for the records he was searching for.
Finally, he was able to make his way through.
Hamish began going through the records as quickly as he could. He was looking everywhere for names that begin with the letter C. As he continued to search, he finally stumbled upon the name.
Clydemoor.
He began searching through the list of ancestors, and descendants.
When he got near the end of the list, he found a final name.
Mr. Virgil Clydemoor.
That had been the man who had owned the ring.
But Hamish knew nothing about this man. He had never heard the name before and there was no explanation as to how William Reid could have gotten the ring.
None of it made sense. What was the time? What was the link between William and this man?
As Hamish continue to read, he wanted to learn everything he could about Mr. Virgil Clydemoor.
Virgil Clydemoor, deceased.
Died under suspicious circumstances. Said to have been intoxicated before falling into the water at the docks.