by Amy Cross
"Merely to let you know that Lady Red is concerned by your lack of contact." He pauses for a moment. "Since the death of Ms. Marchant, you have been rather quiet."
"I have been busy," I tell him. "Other matters occasionally intrude, but I shall be in touch with Lady Red when I have something to report. As yet, I am not sure whether Elizabeth Cavendish is ready to play the game. As soon as I have decided, Lady Red will be the first to know. Until then, if she wants to know more, perhaps she should come and see me in person." I take a deep breath. "Perhaps you would like to come in and have a drink? I feel we should get to know one another a little better."
"Thank you for the kind offer," he says, "but I'm afraid I must be going. I really just came to deliver Lady Red's message." Turning, he walks carefully down the steps, before glancing back at me. "I hope you'll understand, Mr. Blue, that I'm still new to the game. I don't know the etiquette yet, so please forgive me if I seem a little abrupt at times."
"Of course," I say. "Good night." Closing the door, I pause for a moment in the dark hallway. It seems Lady Red is attempting to send me a gentle reminder of her power. She has clearly begun to get the new Mr. White on her side, which means she is perhaps considering making a move against me. If that is the case, I shall have to be on the alert, especially while I try to work out the allegiances of the latest member of our little trio. The politics of the game can become murky at times, and it would not do for me to leave my back unguarded.
"Will the lady not be joining you tonight, Sir?" asks my man-servant Martin as he shuffles through from the kitchen.
"No," I say, walking toward him and pausing while he takes my coat. "It will be just me tonight, Martin."
"Very good, Sir," he replies. "And will you be requiring drinks in the study?"
"Yes," I say. "I'm afraid I shall be up for quite some time. I have to think over my options."
Fortunately, Martin knows better than to ask any more questions. He makes sure I have my whiskey, and finally he retires for the night and leaves me to sit alone in the semi-darkness of my study. I feel as if the shadows are closing in; since the failure of Sophia Marchant, it is as if Lady Red has begun to lose faith in me. The game demands new players on a regular basis, and as Mr. Blue I am constantly forced to find fresh girls. We each have our burdens, but I feel mine are particularly great at present. I was so certain that Sophia would be a successful candidate, and her death made me look like a fool. With a trembling hand, I raise the whiskey glass to my lips and reflect upon the fact that Elizabeth Cavendish is likely to be my last chance. If she fails, I too shall fail, and the price of failure is clear. The game feeds on death.
Elly
Today
"I was sorry to hear about your Dad."
"Yeah."
"He was a pretty cool guy."
"Yeah."
"He used to come into the shop where I worked and buy cotton candies."
"Huh."
"We used to chat about shit, you know?"
"Yeah."
"Elly, are you okay?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"You just... Are you crying?"
"What?" I say, immediately wiping my eyes. I swear to God I was not crying, unless it was out of sheer boredom. I've been sitting in this cafe for almost an hour now, listening to Rob prattle on about this and that. Rob's a guy I used to know at school, and we hung out sometimes back in the day, but I've barely seen him for the past five years and we have absolutely nothing in common anymore. He just keeps talking and talking, and I just act like I'm listening and occasionally I check my watch, wondering when it'd be polite to leave. The really sad and pathetic thing is: I don't have anything better to do.
"Sorry," he says. "I just thought I saw a tear."
"I've got an eye infection," I say, which isn't true at all. The problem is, ever since I found out about my father's death, I've been crying in slow motion. It's like I'll randomly shed a tear in the morning, and then another in the afternoon, and maybe another in the evening. I wish I could get them all out at once like a normal person, but apparently I can't be so lucky. The weird thing is, I don't even notice when it happens. I'll just be doing something, or talking to someone, and then they'll mention it, and it's a total embarrassment.
"I had an eye infection once," Rob replies. "It stung like a mother-fucker."
"This guy's a jerk," my father's voice whispers in my ear. "Why are you hanging out with a jerk?"
"Huh," I say, taking a deep breath. Although I'm being polite, I'm inwardly cursing the moment I bumped into Rob and agreed to come and get a cup of tea with him. I guess my defenses were down, and I didn't have time to come up with an excuse. I was supposed to be running some errands in town for my mother, but that plan's been shot to pieces. I mean, I'm glad to be distracted from all the talk about my Dad's funeral, but I'd rather be sitting here with anyone except Rob. I've always found him to be a little creepy, and although he's kind of cute, he's totally directionless and random. Not my type at all. "So what are you doing these days?" I ask.
"Not a lot," he replies. "Just working on some projects."
"Ooh, a big-shot," my father whispers.
"Got a job?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "I'm looking, but it has to be something pretty flexible. The band takes up a lot of my time, and we might be going on a bit of a tour some time, so I can't really be tied down by a nine-to-five schedule."
"Uh-huh," I say, remembering Rob's band from the last time I saw them. I think it's safe to say that the likes of the Rolling Stones and Coldplay don't need to be too worried about the competition. "So you're living -"
"In my parents' house," he says, smiling. "I know, it's kind of sad, but I figure in this economy it's the best option. Besides, they mostly leave me alone, so I get to do what I want. It's not like one of those weird situations where everyone's in everyone else's faces." He grins. "It's not like I'm in the basement. My room's on the first floor, like a normal room."
"Cool," I reply, and there's an awkward pause.
"So what are you doing tonight?" he asks. "Me and some other guys are playing at an open mic night at the King's Arms. You wanna come out and see some of the old gang?"
"I wonder what Mark's doing tonight?" my father whispers. "Wouldn't you like to find out?"
"Come on," Rob continues, smiling. "It'll be fun."
I take a deep breath. The old gang? The last thing I want to do is go to some lousy local pub and see a bunch of old classmates who spend their time just sitting around in this crappy little part of London. The King's Arms was our hangout for a while, and I guess it was fun at the time, but do I really want to go digging through the past? On the other hand, I desperately need to get out of my mother's house for a few hours tonight, because she's been driving me crazy over the past twenty-four hours. I guess I'm stuck between a rock band and a hard place.
"Maybe," I say eventually.
"Definitely maybe?" he asks with a smile.
"Definitely maybe," I reply, sipping from my tea. "I can't totally promise, 'cause my mother's been going insane over the past couple of days. It's like she has this need to come up with a never-ending stream of little jobs for me to do. The funeral's not even until Monday." Glancing at my watch, I see that it's already close to midday. "Right now," I continue, "I'm supposed to be picking up some stuff from the supermarket, and then I have to go to the dry-cleaner, and then I have to take my father's library books back. You don't mind if I get going, do you?"
"It's fine," he replies, but I can tell there's something else on his mind. "Elly, I hope you don't mind it if I say this, but..." He pauses. "If you want to open up, I'm here for you."
I stare blankly at him.
"I mean," he continues, fumbling for the right words, "if you want to talk to someone about the things you've been going through, I'm a good listener."
"Okay, but -"
"You know my Dad died, right? When I was younger. So I guess maybe I kind of know what it's like."
I take a deep breath. He's just trying to be sweet, even if it's coming across as a little clumsy. "Thanks," I say, appreciating the intent if not the actual words. "I really have to get going," I continue, "but I'll try to come tonight. I really will. It might be fun to see the King's Arms again." I check my watch for the thousandth time. "I really have to get going."
"I can help," Rob says with an eager smile.
"No thanks," I reply. "I'd rather just get on with it alone. It'll be faster, and I really want to get home. I'm starving."
"Well then," he continues, "why don't you let me take you some lunch?"
"Really," I say, accidentally banging the table with my knee as I stand up. Damn it, I just want to get out of here. "Thanks for the offer, but I'm good. I'll definitely try to come to the King's Arms tonight, though. Just for one drink. Deal?"
"I guess," he replies, getting to his feet and enveloping me in an unnecessary hug that lasts a little too long. Damn it, he's about as subtle as a brick as he squeezes us together; I almost expect to feel a little bulge in the front of his trousers, but thankfully I'm spared that sensation. "It's good to see you again, Elly," he says, squeezing me tighter. "It's been too long. I've missed you."
"Me too," I say, finally managing to extract myself from the hug. I haven't missed Rob, of course. In fact, I haven't even thought of him since I left for Bristol three years ago. "See you later," I add, forcing myself to be polite. With that, I turn and hurry out of the cafe. As soon as I'm outside, I walk quickly along the street, convinced that if I look back I'll discover that he's following me. He just has that kind of sad, puppy dog kind of attitude that makes him seem totally desperate. Eventually I summon up the courage to glance over my shoulder, and I see to my immense relief that there's no sign of him.
"Thank God for that," my father's voice whispers.
"You're not helping," I reply, still looking over my shoulder.
"And you're not watching where you're going," he says.
"What?" I say, just as I turn to look ahead. At that moment, I'm knocked to the ground as a person walks swiftly around the corner and slams into me. I land hard, scraping my hand on the pavement, and it takes a moment before I can work out exactly what happened. Shocked and out of breath, I look at my hand and see that I've scraped away a patch of skin.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry," says a female voice. I look up to see a middle-aged woman standing over me, wearing a striking red dress. "I wasn't looking where I was going at all," she continues, reaching down and helping me up. "Totally my fault."
"I'm fine," I say, feeling a few bruises but nothing too bad. "I wasn't paying attention either. I was looking back."
"Are you sure you're okay?" she asks, looking worried. "You took a hell of a tumble."
"Really," I reply, smiling. "I'm totally fine."
"Let me see that," she says, grabbing my hand and inspecting the scrape. "I'm so sorry. That looks absolutely awful."
"I'm fine," I say.
"Bullshit," she says. "You're shaken. You simply must let me buy you a drink to make it up to you. I know the most perfect little wine-bar just around the corner. I was heading there anyway. Won't you let me treat you?"
"It's fine," I say again.
"One drink," she says with a smile.
I stare at her. Something about this situation feels kind of strange, but I guess maybe she's just being a little over-friendly. "It's not necessary," I tell her, "there's no -"
"Please," she says. "Even if it doesn't make you feel better, it'd make me feel a million times less guilty. I mean, I was walking so fast, I could have broken your neck."
I sigh. To be honest, the idea of having a random drink with a random stranger is... actually kind of appealing. Anything to get out of going straight home, and I guess I can just tell my mother that there were loads of queues in all the shops. Realizing that I could use a good drink after the boredom of my conversation with Rob, I decide I might as well accept the woman's offer. I mean, she can't be more boring than Rob, can she? "Sure," I say. "If you insist."
"I do," she replies. "Totally. My name's Alice, by the way." She reaches out a hand for me to shake. "I promise, I don't go around bumping into people all the time. I'm usually so careful." Taking me by the arm, she leads me back along the street. This is certainly not how I expected my trip into town to develop, but to be honest I feel kind of liberated. Anything's better than running endless errands for my mother, or sitting in a cafe with Rob, and at least this way I get to talk to someone who has no idea that my father died. In some strange way, this feels like the perfect distraction from everything that's been going on lately. Still, it's pretty weird to see how keen Alice is to hang out. If I didn't know better, I'd swear this feels like a set-up.
Edward Lockhart
1895
"Salisbury is a fool," says Sir Henry Constantine as we walk down the steps outside the club. "He thinks the world will take no notice as our naval power is diminished. He thinks Russia and France will stand by and watch as we turn our attention elsewhere, but he is mistaken." Turning to me, Sir Henry raises his cane in the air as if to reinforce his point, almost taking my eye out in the process. "Mark my words, Edward. We shall be overrun within the year unless we reinforce our position within Europe!"
"Salisbury won't win the election," adds Sir Addison Cotteringham, who has followed us out to the street. "The old man will be irrelevant by autumn."
"We need our fleet to remain strong!" Sir Henry roars, turning to him and swinging his cane through the air in such a fashion that Sir Addison has to duck out of the way. "The next generation will curse our names if we allow our greatest strength to be undermined."
"Then it seems no-one in Westminster can satisfy you," I tell him. "Perhaps you should run for Prime Minister yourself."
"Don't think I haven't given the matter some thought," Sir Henry replies as he puts on his gloves, ready to climb up into his carriage. "I'd do a damn sight better than the fools in power at the moment. I should certainly -" He pauses as something catches his eye along the street. "Good Lord," he says, squinting, "am I imagining things, or is there a woman running toward us?"
Turning, I see that he's right: a woman is indeed running in our direction. She looks to be wearing rather fine clothes, but she has the general manner of someone who has quite lost her mind, and I see with some alarm that she is coming straight toward me. No sooner have I thought to react, than she is upon us and - without pause - she grabs my arms and starts to shake me violently.
"Where is she?" the woman screams, tears running down her face. "What have you done to her?"
Trying to pull myself free, I look over at Sir Henry and Sir Addison for help, but of course they just stand and stare at the screeching harpy.
"What is the meaning of this?" Sir Henry shouts.
"I have no idea who this woman is," I splutter, still trying to extricate myself from her grip.
"Where is she?" the woman screams, having clearly lost all control of her faculties.
"I have never seen you before in my life!" I say to her. "Now unhand me at once!"
"Not until you tell me where she is!" the woman shouts. "As God is my witness, I will beat the truth out of you if necessary!" With that, she drops to her knees and starts weeping uncontrollably, while still clinging to my arms.
"How extraordinary!" Sir Henry says, dumbfounded. He steps forward and uses his cane to try swatting the woman away. "Get out of here!" he shouts. "Shoo!"
"I can assure you," I say, as I see a policeman hurrying toward us, "I have never seen this woman before in my life, and I have no idea what she is talking about."
"Arrest this woman!" Sir Henry shouts to the policeman. "She is quite insane."
"Come on, M'am," the policeman says, trying and failing to pull the woman away from me. "These gentlemen are just trying to go about their business without being harassed."
"He took her!" the woman shouts, pointing directly at me. Tears are rolling down her face
and she looks to be in a terrible state. "This man took my daughter away! She's gone!"
"I have no idea what she's talking about," I say to the policeman. "Can you please get her to leave us alone?"
Using a little more force than I would have thought necessary, the policeman grabs the woman by her shoulders and drags her away from me. Weeping and moaning in a highly emotional manner, she's still trying to get free from the policeman's grip. "He took my Sophia and now she's dead!" she shouts. "He won't even tell me where he's put her body! I saw her go away with him last week and she hasn't been home since! Make him tell me where she is!"
"I'm sorry, Sir," the policeman says, obviously rather distressed by the situation. "I'll get her out of here. I imagine she's escaped from one of the mental asylums nearby."
"My name is Geraldine Marchant!" the woman shouts. "My husband is Sir Robert Marchant! I just want my daughter to come home! Make this man tell me where she is!"
"This is all nonsense to me," I say, my heart racing. "I have never heard of this woman before, or her daughter."
"I can prove it!" the woman shouts. "I can prove that this man was the last person to see my poor dear Sophia alive. I have sworn statements from three separate people who saw them together on the night she disappeared."
Fortunately, the police officer drags the woman away, clearly under the impression that she has lost her mind. However, I cannot help but feel that this particular problem will come back to haunt me; after all, it is entirely understandable that a woman would seek to uncover the truth about her missing daughter. While I cannot admit the truth to my companions, I have no doubt that everything the woman said is true. It seems that Sophia Marchant's disappearance has perhaps come back to haunt me.
"The state of the world today is shocking," Sir Henry says, standing next to me as we watch the police officer attempt to restrain Mrs. Marchant. "That a woman would think she has the right to assault an upstanding gentleman in the middle of the street is absolutely unthinkable. I cannot possibly imagine what she was going through her mind."
