Fall from Trace

by Rebecca Connolly

  Alex couldn’t breathe and could barely see, desperate to kiss her and desperate to flee.

  He couldn’t kiss her. He stroked her cheek once them stepped back, averting his eyes.

  “I should go.”

  “I loved you, Alex,” Poppy whispered, as if the words alone were agony.

  He closed his eyes briefly, then turned back to her, letting her see the pain in them.

  “I know, and I never would have left you if I’d had any choice.” He blinked and felt himself straighten, turning from her and forcing himself to inhabit a role he already hated. “I shouldn’t have indulged in a world that no longer exists. It was foolish to pretend we were the same people as before, and it’s not fair to you to continue on like this.”

  Her pained gasp lanced him in both lungs, but he forced himself to keep moving, gripping the door handle and wrenching the door open.

  “Alex…” Poppy pleaded, her tears now clear in her words. “Please.”

  “I can’t,” he insisted, pausing at the door. Slowly, he shook his head. “I’m sorry.” He lifted his chin and strode out the door, heading straight for Branbury, giving Stanton a brisk nod as he passed, but not waiting to see how the servant and operative responded.

  It wouldn’t matter, anyway.

  “Alex!” Poppy called, crying in earnest now.

  He barely glanced behind him, his step slowing, but he didn’t stop.

  Couldn’t stop.

  Wouldn’t.

  He returned his attention to Branbury, praying his cousin and Fritz would have a better opinion of him than he did of himself.

  Then, he would turn his attention to Parkerton, the title, and the house, and get on with his life.

  It was the only thing left for him now.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “And then I find out that she’d been there before me, not only asking the same questions I had, but with the same punishments I usually engage in for preliminary interrogation! And she did it well!”

  “And you loved her right then and there, did you?”

  “Well, probably, but I didn’t admit it.”

  Alex grunted and picked up yet another broken chair, tossing it out of the open window. Or what had once been a window. They’d kicked out the few panes of glass remaining, all of which had been broken in some way, and removed the frame as well, leaving a gaping hole in the shape of a perfect square in the wall, which was ideal for sending broken pieces of furniture through to crash to the ground below.

  As of this moment, five chairs, one table, one chest, and half of a settee had embarked on a journey through that hole. How there had only been one half of a settee to be had was still a mystery.

  Three days they’d been at work setting Parkerton to rights, if such a thing were possible in its current state of disaster. They hadn’t even begun actual repairs of anything yet, as there was still far more to clear and clean first. What wasn’t riddled with dust, moth holes, and some creature’s teeth marks, was broken, breaking, or damaged beyond mending. It had occurred to Alex at least seven times that it might go better if he burned the entire place to the ground and started fresh.

  He hadn’t told Gabe that, as his cousin had volunteered to work beside him until it was done, but he was quite sure his cousin would have agreed with him. Alex hadn’t said much as they’d worked, nor had he taken the time to explain to Gabe why he was no longer staying at the cottage or working the farm. He’d only stayed at Branbury the one night, and since then had opted to find a moderately clean patch of floor somewhere at Parkerton for his rest. Not that he was resting much, or at all, but he made a show of it at times.

  When he did sleep, the nightmares raged at him as furiously as they ever had, more memory than imagination. Every now and then, Poppy made an appearance in them, which terrified him more than the usual ones did. Only last night, his cousin had shaken him awake from one such, though Gabe swore Alex had been incoherently screaming, so he had no idea what the subject of his nightmares had been.

  There was a small mercy in that.

  It would have been better for Gabe to remain at Branbury, and Alex had told him so multiple times, but Gabe was adamant that he would remain with Alex as long as necessary. Alex wasn’t sure if it was fear of losing him again or protective instincts, but he was secretly quite grateful.

  He’d had enough of being alone in his life.

  Today, for some bizarre reason, Gabe felt the need to talk incessantly, which was quite unlike him, and it was beginning to grate on Alex’s nerves. Not that he didn’t wish to hear about his cousin’s wife, who by all accounts was a remarkable woman and rather perfect for him, but he didn’t particularly wish to hear about anything at all. His ears were still too full of the screaming of his nightmares for anything else to be particularly pleasing.

  Wherever his reticent and surly cousin had gone, he wanted him back.

  “And what did Eagle say about your marriage proposal to his long-lost daughter?” Alex asked as he picked up a tarnished mirror, cracked to an extreme degree, and tossed it out of the window, the crash on the ground oddly satisfying.

  Gabe paused in his dismantling of the bannister of the stairs and frowned slightly.

  “Do you know, I don’t think we asked him… I’m fairly certain I never even asked Amelia; we just decided to do it, and he showed up at the appropriate time and gave her away.”

  Alex rolled his eyes and turned to the windows, where the drapes hung askew, their tattered and torn fabric looking as rough, worn, and useless as he felt. He grabbed the fabric and pulled hard, the rod and drapes tumbling to the ground with bits of plaster.

  “It astounds me that he didn’t murder you.” Alex coughed as he spoke, waving away the plaster dust that enshrouded him.

  “Oh, he might have done if she’d been in his life,” Gabe informed him as he swung his large mallet at the bannister again. “But as I was the one who found her and discovered the connection, and reunited them, he was rather keen to give me whatever I wanted.”

  Alex choked as he pulled the other set of drapes and rod down, showering himself yet again with dust and debris.

  “Knowing you as he did, I’m surprised he didn’t just pay you for your efforts and bar you from her presence,” he said when his choking subsided.

  Gabe chuckled even as he grunted with the effort of another swing of his mallet into the railing, the wood splintering in every direction.

  “Amelia wouldn’t have allowed that. She’s a terror when she doesn’t get her way.”

  “God help your children.”

  The dust finally clearing, Alex balled up the fabric and tossed it down to the growing mass of furniture and furnishings no longer fit for the purpose they had been intended. It was an impressive heap, and they hadn’t even gone through the bedrooms yet. He paused, leaning against the wall, wiping the perspiration from his brow and sighing heavily.

  “Why are we doing this again?”

  His cousin tossed a few of the stair spindles at him with a grin.

  “Because you’re Lord Parkerton, and you’re supposed to live at Parkerton Lodge, which is a bloody mess.”

  “So,” Alex grunted, “our only option is to clear and repair it?”

  “And improve it,” Gabe agreed with a firm nod. “Maybe by demolishing the entire east wing.”

  “What?” Alex cried. “Why?”

  His cousin raised a thick brow of derision. “Don’t you remember the east wing? Ugly, drafty, and smelled of Aunt Ethel.”

  Alex frowned, jabbing a finger at his cousin. “You visited me once when we were ten. Uncle Parkerton wouldn’t let you come after that.”

  “Because I tried to demolish the east wing…”

  That drew a snort of reluctant laughter from Alex, and he shook his head as Gabe set the mallet aside and came towards him.

  “Come on, cousin,” Gabe said, tilting his head towards the back stairs, which were in far better shape than the front ones. “We need a reprieve and a b
everage, and luckily for you, I know where we can get both.”

  Alex followed without much enthusiasm.

  “Did I leave brandy in the study before I died or something?”

  “You know us better than that,” Gabe responded with a dark look, though there was amusement in his countenance. “We consumed it in your honor when we searched the place.”

  “Destroyed it, more like,” Alex muttered as they ventured outside, wincing at the bright sky.

  “The brandy or the house?” Gabe laughed at his own jest, but Alex didn’t feel the need to.

  Besides, it wasn’t that amusing.

  “So where are we going?” Alex asked, exhaling roughly. “I’m not dressed for much.”

  “Don’t have to be,” Gabe told him, shrugging without much concern. “We’re headed into the village and down to the Red Goblet, where we should be able to down several of them.”

  Alex glanced at him curiously. “Red goblets?”

  “It’s their signature drink,” Gabe said with a nod. He clasped his hands behind his back and strolled like a dandy. “I don’t know what they put in it, but it’s a new favorite.”

  “Oh lord,” Alex groaned. “You’re talking about signature drinks. You, who would drink the drippings from a pan if there were enough alcohol in it.” He shook his head in disgust. “Signature drink, indeed. I’m ashamed of you.”

  “Keep that up, and you’ll be a shade of your former self,” Gabe grunted with a slap to the back of Alex’s head.

  Alex jerked away with a scowl, though he quickly smirked.

  “Oh, there’s my cousin after all. Pleased to have you here.”

  “Shove off.”

  Once, Gabe’s demonstration of sour behavior would have made Alex smile in appreciation. Now, he just grunted at it. Whether the change was significant or not, he couldn’t have said. He simply found nothing to smile about in it anymore.

  Soon enough, they were in the village with all the locals bustling about, busy with the market and the arrival of the postal cart from Northwich. No one paid them any mind, which Alex was especially appreciative of. Eventually, he would be known as Lord Parkerton and never be permitted to wander the streets of Moulton without drawing the attention of those with scheming ideals and the desire to climb the societal ladder, as it were.

  Never mind that Lord Parkerton wasn’t even on said ladder, the effort would be made.

  At the moment, however, he would be vaguely familiar to anyone that had been at the dance or the blacksmith’s, but they would undoubtedly forget his name, as Turner was an unremarkable surname of no significance.

  The sounds of the village filled his ears, drowning out his thoughts, which was a blessed relief after the storm they had been of late. His eyes cast about the streets without much effort, glancing over faces and details with a dismissive air. It was a relief to notice nothing, to allow his mind to wander as it would, and to hardly exist but for faint thoughts. He’d been thinking, feeling, and experiencing far too much of late.

  “That was an excellent nab,” Gabe muttered, nudging Alex hard.

  Alex jerked and looked at his cousin. “What?”

  “That boy just nicked something from the grocer.” Gabe nodded towards a lad of perhaps twelve who was making his way down the streets without any sort of haste.

  Alex looked closer at the lad, his brow furrowing. He was dirty and threadbare, but there was nothing waifish about him. He skipped a step and matched the pace of the lady in front of him.

  “Nicely done again,” Gabe praised under his breath.

  What? Alex blinked at the lad, not seeing anything that had changed, then glanced at his cousin. “Again?”

  Gabe chuckled and clapped Alex on the back. “Keep up, cousin. There’s a lot going on in Moulton today.”

  Was there? Didn’t seem to be anything of interest, apart from the usual activity of a village in the middle of the day. Bartering over prices, crying children, horses whinnying… Nothing but the everyday sounds of Moulton, and its everyday characters behaving normally.

  “Oh, ho ho, his wife isn’t going to be happy,” Gabe scoffed darkly. “For shame, Master Grocer… A bit on the side, eh?”

  Truly bewildered now, Alex looked at the grocer, expecting some blatant sign of infidelity, but only seeing the grocer smiling at an older woman inquiring about the apples, her utterly bored daughter standing nearby looking longingly towards the dressmakers.

  Alex turned to Gabe in exasperation. “What are you doing?”

  “Didn’t you see it?” His cousin frowned at him.

  “See what?” Alex demanded, truly lost now.

  “Did you see the secret letters?” Gabe prodded, his brows knitting together. “The criminal hiding by the mews? The man pretending that he hadn’t been up all night drowning in ale?”

  “Gabe!” Alex stopped and shook his head wildly. “I’m not seeing what you’re seeing! I’m not catching any of this.”

  Gabe had stopped just a pace or two in front of him and now turned to face him, expression unreadable.

  “You ought to be seeing this. Noticing it, at least. It’s second nature for people like us. We were doing this even before we were spies.”

  “It’s not in my nature anymore,” Alex told him, embarrassment and irritation rising in equal measure, “and I’m no longer a spy.”

  Before Gabe could say anything more, Alex turned on his heel and strode away, heading out of the village as fast as his feet could carry him without drawing attention to his haste.

  It was, perhaps, juvenile to storm off in this situation, but there was nothing for it. He did not want to see the disappointment on his cousin’s face, or sense just how far he had fallen from where he had been. He was unable to make it through the night without almost screaming himself awake, and he was supposed to spot a pickpocket in the middle of a snatch?

  How could no one see how far he had come since his escape and leave it at that? Why did everyone want him to go beyond that and be exactly the man he was before? This was the man he was now. This broken shell of a man who saw only what was on the surface and could barely look at himself in the mirror. The one who shook during thunder and feared being alone as much as he craved it. The one who flinched at an accent and only felt comfortable when he was working himself to the bone.

  This was Alex Sommerville. There was no Trace anymore.

  Parkerton Lodge loomed before him suddenly, a crumbling façade of a once fine structure. It was imposing in its deterioration and needed no other way to ward others off but to exist.

  Rather like him.

  “I have good news!” Fritz called when he saw Alex approaching the house. “I came by to tell you, but you were gone.”

  Alex glared and moved to the pile of debris from their clearing, reaching for what might have been salvageable and what was not, tossing each into a respective pile.

  “Well, I’m here now.”

  Fritz was undeterred and cheerfully joined in the task.

  “Indeed. I’m pleased to inform you that you are now officially back from the dead.”

  “Huzzah,” Alex muttered as he tossed a piece of carved wood into a pile.

  “There are great advantages to being alive, you know,” Fritz told him, reaching for a demolished painting. “For one, it will allow you to obtain the funds to fix this place up.”

  “That would help.” Alex pulled the fabric of the draperies from the pile, shaking them out.

  “Correction,” Gabe announced as he strolled up. “That would change everything.” He snorted loudly and looked the house up and down. “It’s going to take a fortune to repair this eyesore.”

  That was true, but for some reason, the comment felt more like an insult directed at him. He knew Gabe hadn’t meant that, but the sting remained.

  “And for two,” Fritz went on as though Gabe hadn’t said anything, which was fairly typical where Gabe was concerned, “it allows you to come back and work for the League without any trouble
whatsoever.”

  Alex paused as he reached for another length of drapery. He heard Gabe wince aloud. He had a good reason to.

  Slowly, Alex drew himself up to give a cool look at one of the most powerful men in England, and his former mentor in many ways.

  “Come back?” he repeated in a carefully stiff voice.

  For a spy, Fritz was hopelessly dimwitted at times.

  “Yes, to come back to work.”

  “Fritz,” Gabe warned softly, all amusement gone from his tone.

  Alex kept his eyes on the taller man. “I’ve told Cap I’m not coming back.”

  Fritz nodded, not at all surprised, and his expression showed understanding. “Not until you’re ready, naturally.”

  “Perhaps not ever, Fritz,” Alex told him, his hands clenching into fists.

  His friend saw the motion, and his eyes flicked back up to Alex’s.

  “You can go into training, Alex. We’ll give you all the time that you need, all the training and help you need, and before you know it…”

  Alex’s expression darkened, and Fritz trailed off when he saw it, his brow furrowing despite his hesitation.

  “Alex?” Gabe prodded warily.

  Tremors had begun to course through Alex, legs and arms quivering, spine tingling, and it was all he could do to keep still where he stood.

  “Do you think I am in any state to return to my old life, Weaver?” he spat. “With my diminished stability and rusted instincts? With my inability to sleep without nightmares and my weakened mental capabilities? You want me to go back into training as if I were merely inexperienced and in need of education?”

  “Alex,” Gabe barked.

  Fritz and Alex ignored him completely, locked in a glaring match with each other, a test of wills Alex refused to lose.

  “I only ask that you consider Cap’s suggestion, Trace.”

  “Don’t call me that,” Alex spat.

  Fritz’s dark gaze never wavered.

  “Give yourself some time. You have all the resources we can offer at your disposal, and we are more than willing. You are one of us, Trace, and we would love to have you back.”