The Crimson Inkwell

by Kenneth A Baldwin

“I don’t know. I haven’t spoken with him for weeks,” and I explained the outbreak at the restaurant. “Anna might dismember me if I were to marry him now.”

  “And what about that detective fellow? You get a look in your eyes about him I’d recognize anywhere. Your mother looked like that once about me, you know.”

  “I’m engaged,” I said, blushing.

  “You’re not married,” he replied. “And if you’re in love with someone else, you don’t have much an excuse to stay engaged.”

  “Even if it’d break his heart?” I asked.

  “He’s not a child, Luella. He’s a grown man. He’ll be alright,” he said.

  I wasn’t sure I agreed. Byron was so deeply invested in me. At his age, I might be his last hope for a family.

  “Don’t underestimate a man’s ability to fall in love anew.”

  “How did you know I was thinking that?” I asked. He stood up to go. “You’re leaving already?”

  “It’s nearly morning. Keep up the stories, Luella. Whatever is working now, don’t stop. Lean in. Writing can be so magical, can’t it?”

  Meanwhile, Langley’s Miscellany enjoyed wild success for several weeks in a row. Rebecca brought back tidings of significant earnings at Langley’s, although I was still waiting to see this reflected in my paycheck. I had nearly forgotten about Mr. Stringham’s eviction threat. He hadn’t come back to bother us about though, and I had just paid what little more I could for the month. Hopefully that was enough. I dreamed of moving with Anna to a better flat or even a house of our own. If I kept this up, I’d certainly merit the income. But, to increase my wages, I had a feeling I would need to speak with Byron, something I was not yet prepared to do, especially since Anna had not relented her grudge one iota toward him.

  Perhaps a house of our own would be unnecessary anyway. Who knew? Maybe she could effect a miraculous turn with her suitor. There was no point in upgrading our housing if we would be changing our living arrangement anyway.

  Which led me back to the heavy weight that was home life. Anna’s condition had not improved, although she had met with Jacob on a few occasions. I took her mood after these meetings as a poor indicator of any progress. Whenever I asked her about him, she simply broke down and cried. I quickly decided that no news was bad news, and knowing my sister, I would get an earful once something positive developed. Sadly, I wasn’t optimistic. I hoped they would smooth things over on their first meeting after that dinner. If they couldn’t… it wasn’t promising.

  It didn’t help that Anna had used this occasion to dive headlong into an increased measure of affection for him. She begged forgiveness when they were together. She plead with him to forget the incident, promising she would make him happy. She started spending what little allowance she had on gifts for him. It was heartbreaking. His family came from wealth. What did a poor-quality vest or watch mean to him?

  Meanwhile, in a similarly pathetic way, Byron berated me with apology letters, delivered through Rebecca. To be honest, I didn’t even read them all the way through. After the first one, they seemed rather repetitive. He had been drinking. He wasn’t thinking straight. It wasn’t his place. If we could just talk in person, he could explain himself… He was groveling, and it made me embarrassed. Besides, he was just saying things I knew already. His apology letters tried to explain things away by stating the obvious, as if some illumination of the facts would inspire a change of heart. If this behavior was depressing from Anna, it was emasculating from Byron.

  At the bottom of each of these letters were the words,” Won’t you come back to the shop?” By this, we both knew he meant, “Is the engagement still on?”

  Naturally, I couldn’t return to the shop until I knew my answer.

  The more time I spent away from Byron, and the more time I spent with Bram, the more I became convinced that a life apart from Byron was not only possible but inevitable. How could I explain the boundaries that separated us? My sister would not have him a member of the family. I felt I could forgive him for his behavior at the restaurant, but the damage to my affection was irreparable. Prior to that evening, Byron had been an innocent supporter of everything I stood for. He was without blemish for which I could fault him. That reputation endeared me to him, but wasn’t a slip up like the one at the restaurant inevitable? Now, I fell asleep thinking about jokes Bram had told me or hypothesizing what it would be like to be escorted by Edward to a party, putting my hand on his strong arm, the guest of a police lieutenant.

  While Bram and I had been busy coming up with stories and playing with magic, Edward was hard at work fighting gallant battles against the hordes of dark villainy our city could throw his way. Rebecca was always ready to tell me his latest accomplishment, and often, as if on cue, he would walk into the room right as she finished. The effect was not lost on her listener. Whether I had just heard about him thwarting a robbery in-progress, catching a pickpocket, or being the perfect gentleman with a grieving widow, Edward seemed less and less mortal every day. What made matters worse, he dropped all his other tasks and paid such close attention to me whenever we were together. It made me feel like the only woman in the world.

  I longed for a means of getting to know Edward outside the police station. How would he behave in more casual settings? How was he as a companion at dinner? Did he ever take a break, or was he always on duty, trying to unearth criminals from their dark hiding places?

  “Why don’t you just ask him to lunch?” Rebecca said as she flew through keys on her typewriter. I learned that she spent much of her time transcribing handwritten police reports. Our occupations weren’t all that different in that regard.

  “Just ask him?” I sputtered. “I won’t even start on the lack of propriety you’re suggesting.”

  “Please, just stop. The lady who hasn’t spoken with her fiancé in weeks is suddenly concerned with proprietary.”

  “I can’t just ask him.”

  “Ask who?” Sergeant Cooper’s voice interrupted our girlish back and forth. “What are you two yammering on about?”

  I stood, mouth open, searching for a good response. Rebecca, ever eager to push me into action, took it on herself to get him involved.

  “Ms. Winthrop is trying to work up the courage to ask a young man to lunch,” she said.

  “Rebecca!” I blushed deeply.

  “Rebecca?” Cooper said. “I should have known you two would fall in thick as thieves. You better not be sharing sensitive police information with this reporter, Ms. Turner.”

  “Sergeant, you insult my professional sensibility if you think I value friendship over truth and justice.” She smiled at him, and I wasn’t sure if she was mocking him or speaking honestly.

  At that moment, Edward strode into the room, his jacket unbuttoned, hat underarm, pretty as a picture.

  “Ms. Turner, Ms. Winthrop,” he greeted us with a nod. “A pleasure to see you again.”

  For some reason, my awkward silence stretched on, and I couldn’t seem to string together a “nice to see you, too.” Instead, the four of us stood there for what seemed like a half hour, until Rebecca finally flashed a set of suggestive eyes to Sergeant Cooper.

  “What? Oh. Oh! Really? Oh,” he blurted out, trying his best to commit to an episode of throat clearing. “Lieutenant, it’s a good thing you’re here. Ms. Winthrop needs to, erm, interview you.”

  “I do?” I interjected with a pointed glare.

  “Whatever she would like. Ms. Winthrop, you know that you have my most sincere candor,” Edward said, with a concerned smile. I tried to shoot a venomous glare at Rebecca, but she just kept working her eyes at the Sergeant.

  “No, no. Not here, I’m, uh, tired of reporters cluttering the station. The poor woman must be hungry. Why not… er… take her to lunch or something.”

  “That is completely unnecessary—”

  “It would be an absolute pleasure,” Edward said, putting his hat on with a laid-back tilt. Sergeant Cooper looked inexpressibly uncomfort
able, fingering the brim of his hat like a nervous schoolboy and smiling as awkwardly as the first time he asked me if I was there to report a missing person. Rebecca was doing her very best not to burst out in a fit of laughter.

  “She would make excellent company for a lunch break, if she is willing,” Edward said. He offered me his arm, and before I could register what was happening, he was leading me out of the station, my hand on his strong arm. I turned back in time to see Rebecca peering around the hallway corner after us, a joyful scream exploding out of her eyes.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The Hound and the Bear

  EDWARD INSISTED THAT I choose where to go for lunch, and blanking entirely, I spat out the only place that I could think of: Doug’s Fish and Chip Pub. Immediately after it came out, I regretted it. Doug and I had worked up an amiable back and forth, but I had never gone there without Rebecca. For some reason, I wasn’t sure that bringing a police officer with me on my first solo trip was the best idea.

  “I didn’t even know this pub was here,” Edward commented with an air of admiration. “And I pride myself on knowing the city quite well.” He smiled at me sweetly. His comment subtly illuminated the daily grind he must encounter. I heard about the story-worthy escapades, but he must go through a great deal of tedium between moments of excitement. That was a comforting thought. So long as I was more interesting than his daily tedium, then he couldn’t consider the lunch a complete loss.

  I was in my own moment of excitement just being out with him like this. I couldn’t sort out how I felt. I wanted to smile and hide all at once. I didn’t know how I was going to eat; my stomach was in all sorts of knots, and I was suddenly very conscious of my posture and figure. On top of it all, I was worried to be taking Edward to an establishment like Doug’s. With any luck, Doug wouldn’t be there today.

  I knew it was a vain hope. Doug likely slept in that pub. In the past couple of weeks, Rebecca and I ate there a handful of times. I continued to fret about my personal dynamic with the proprietor. In the best scenario, I imagined my friendship with Doug would be similar to having an older brother. So, was this like taking a man to meet my older brother. To make matters worse, he was a police officer. Was I being unfair suspecting Doug wasn’t exactly bosom buddies with many policemen?

  What was I thinking? At least, I was being honest with myself. I was struck with him. Rebecca would be thrilled.

  To make matters worse, I had told Bram I’d be meeting him that afternoon to work on another story. My lunch date with Edward was an absolute surprise. I was sure to miss that appointment with Bram, and there was no way to reach out to him to reschedule. I wasn’t eager to explain to Bram that I had skipped out on him because I was at lunch with the Steely Detective. I was already hiding Bram from Byron. Now, I was hiding Edward from Bram. What a mess. Maybe I was more beautiful than I gave myself credit for.

  I was also hiding Bram from Rebecca. I had never told her about him. My courage failed me when I related all of my other troubles, believing that my rendezvous with a strange man alone may have been too much for her good opinion of me. Now, we had such a good friendship blossoming, I didn’t want to strain it by making her think I was crazy. How would I explain to her why I continued to go back to spend my afternoons with him? How could I explain the magic pen to her? She would never believe it. What would she believe in its stead?

  “Is this the place?” Edward asked. We had just reached the pub, its old, well-kept wood sign swinging as usual on its post above the door. It read a generic “Fish and Chips” with an artful fish drawing.

  “It is,” I said. He led me in, confidently pushing the door open. Doug’s waiting staff immediately recognized me and started toward me with friendly greetings, but when they saw Edward’s uniform, they checked their warmth. They sat us at my usual table.

  “They seem like a friendly wait staff. I’m curious though, Ms. Winthrop, how did you happen across a place like this?”

  “Rebecca introduced me, actually.”

  “Ms. Turner? I should have known,” he laughed. “What’s good here?”

  “The fish and chips,” a deep voice behind him boomed. Doug towered over us, his usual imposing figure at work. He must have skipped combing his beard that morning because it looked more unruly than normal.

  “Makes sense,” Edward said, unfazed. “I’ll take them. And whatever Ms. Winthrop would like as well.”

  “I thought it was you, Luella,” Doug said. “You must be a witch.”

  “A witch?” I asked, my heart rate rising. Could Doug know about the magic? “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ve transformed my lovely Rebecca into a pretty policeman,” he said, gesturing to Edward. Hopefully, no one noticed my blank expression of relief. I was getting paranoid.

  “You two know each other?” Edward asked.

  “Doug owns the pub,” I explained. “And, he’s a good friend of Rebecca’s.”

  “You own the pub?” Edward asked. “She’s a beauty, sir.”

  “Don’t call me sir. I’m Doug Tanner,” he said. I was having a difficult time determining whether they were about to fight or join in a manly handshake.

  “Mr. Tanner, then,” Edward continued. “I’ll withhold my handshake until after I’ve tried your fish and chips.”

  Doug belched out a menacing laugh. “Three orders coming up, then.”

  “There are only the two of us,” Edward protested.

  “I’m not sure you know who you’re having lunch with,” Doug replied as he turned and headed back to the kitchen. Edward shook his head.

  “Seems like a rough character.”

  “I quite like him,” I said. “He’s a self-made man, raised this place back from the dead. I don’t know many men with the same type of resolve.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, Ms. Winthrop. I think men need to be a little rough. Not with their loved ones, mind you, but it’s not a soft world, and I think a man should know how to set his feet and know how to lick it,” Edward said, smiling. “I want to say the pub is great. But, it really comes down to his fish and chips.”

  “You’re withholding judgment of a man until you taste his food?”

  “Food comes from within,” he countered. “Judging by the cleanliness and the style of the place, I think he’s likely a good man, but you can’t know until you’ve tasted a bit of his heart.”

  I grimaced. “Fish and chips and heart. Suddenly, I’ve lost my appetite.”

  We both laughed. Mine sounded ungraceful. His sounded like a good reading of Longfellow.

  “Forgive me, Ms. Winthrop,” he said. “I’m not the writer at the table. You could have said it more elegantly, I’m sure.” I smiled at him.

  “You’re too kind. Please, if you would, call me Luella.” He returned my smile.

  “If you wish. It’s a much more beautiful name than Travis Blakely.” His comment caught me off-guard. I hadn’t been giving my pen name much thought lately. With Rebecca turning in my stories for me, I hadn’t even signed my stories now for a couple of weeks, trusting Byron would add those particulars. After all, he had suggested the pen name in the first place.

  “How did you come up with your pen name?” he asked.

  “Travis was my father’s name,” I said. “Blakely was the last name of the author of the first book I learned to read.”

  “Your father must have been a great man.”

  “He was a factory worker. Nothing grand.” I could almost see his weary eyes after a day at work. I was so little. I never understood why he looked so tired, but he was never too tired for me.

  “His daughter’s character speaks on his behalf,” he said. My character. Did I merit such a compliment?

  “Well, what about your parents?” I asked. The conversation grew too much about me. I already knew that Edward was a polished gentleman. I wanted to know him more deeply. There had to be a human being under the Adonis statue.

  “My father was deeply dissatisfied that I joined
the police force,” he said, eyeing his glass. “He wanted me to inherit the Thomas family business.”

  “Which is?”

  “Banking,” he said with a grim sigh.

  “You sound ashamed.”

  “It’s a fine business to be about. Many might consider it a dishonorable occupation, but I think that’s unfair. It’s just… I always thought my father could have been more. When have you ever heard of a banker changing the world for the better?”

  “I suppose it depends on what the banker might finance.”

  “Even if a banker does finance a charitable cause, it’s because the numbers are sound. It’s a profession that encourages a cold-hearted logic.”

  “Is that why you became a policeman, to change the world?” I asked. He looked out the window toward the river.

  “If you ask my father, I joined the police to spite him. If you ask my mother, I joined to send her to an early grave.”

  “I’m asking you, though.” He turned to me. Was I picking up a shade of frustration. He looked as though he searched for words.

  “Do you think the city needs the police,” he asked finally.

  “After the stories I’ve written about you, I’d say so.”

  “Then how could I sit back and let others bear the risk?”

  He looked like a bright-eyed retriever, sitting there, erectly postured and filled with mastered energy. He was so pure, so valiant, I had a hard time believing he was sincere, but there was no trace of the liar’s smile on the corners of his lips. He possessed the visage of a man who would die for his ideals or, more daringly, live from them.

  “You are the bravest man I’ve ever met,” I said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. I didn’t think about it; my hand just seemed to move on its own before I could stop it. He looked at it and squeezed back, sending my heart into a mild hurricane.

  “There are some things in this city worth defending,” he replied, his eyes locking on mine like magnets. I could only hold his gaze for a few seconds before clearing my throat and pulling my hand back. He nodded with a smile that made me forget my name.