by Kelley York
Sid returns to the horse where Crane is waiting. She says something to him and he shakes his head, hands her the reins. He pauses a moment, scowl…and then turns to march over to us with a purpose.
I expect him to give an awkward goodbye, perhaps prodded by Sid telling him to mind his manners. Instead he comes to a halt before us with a severe twist to his features.
“You two should go home,” he says. “Go home and tell James Spencer and William Esher to keep their heads down and watch their backs. They’ve already got in the way once and I can’t promise they’ll make it out if they do it again. Same goes for the pair of you.”
That was not at all what I expected. Preston tenses, shoulders squaring. “That sounds like a threat.”
Crane frowns. “It’s not a threat. It’s a warning. The Order is bigger and stronger than all of you combined. This isn’t a game.”
“So you’ll leave us with that vague and mysterious explanation and no answers to any of our other questions,” I say softly. “If that’s all we have to go off of, you know perfectly well we cannot be satisfied with that.”
He shoves his good hand back through his hair. Sighs. “Christ. Tell them… They know me. We’ve met.”
A frown tugs at my brow. “So you’ve said. When? Where?”
“Buckinghamshire.” Crane pauses, mouth pulled thin. “I was working undercover in the household of Lord Claude Wakefield, keeping an eye on someone.”
Preston’s eyes widen. “The Reverend?”
“The Reverend.”
“Then you’re the one who assaulted the bobbies and set him free, weren’t you?” Preston bristles, taking a half step forward.
Nathaniel doesn’t so much as flinch, doesn’t skip a beat. “I did. I broke him out, and then I killed him.”
That takes the wind right out of Preston’s sails. “What—why?”
“Because he knew more than he should have,” comes the easy reply. “Which is precisely why I’m not telling you more than that.”
Crane turns away, returning to Sid and their horse. He accepts her help getting into the saddle, letting her handle the reins.
Before they leave, he looks back at us one last time with a curt nod. “Take care of yourselves. And each other.”
CHAPTER 31 – PRESTON
It’s too quiet without them here. Less tense, less worry about waking with a gun in my face, and yet…
Still too quiet.
We linger for another week. The physician visits to clear Benji for travel, though he’s instructed to take it easy. I’m given a bottle of salve and some pain medication as well for the trip.
Even the night leading up to our scheduled departure, we still haven’t a clue where we’re going. Or, at least, I don’t. I’ve patiently waited for Benji to think it over.
We visit Drake’s beach one last time to watch the sun set. Benji chases the tide in and out, collecting shells and stones and odd circular husks that Cora calls sand dollars. He admires each and every one, but never keeps them. Instead he places them in patterns and shapes or words upon the sand, where they will no doubt be swept away by the next high tide. Leave it to Benji to find such joy in fleeting beauty.
I watch him in fascination as he takes extra care with the shells tonight. He seems at home in this place, with the ever-present breeze ruffling his hair, the way the sun has left the crests of his cheekbones pink. This weather, the ocean, the beach and sand…it suits him.
After he’s compiled the shells—in the shape of horse today—he joins me higher up on the beach where I’ve sat upon a massive felled tree trunk. He plops down into the sand at my feet, dusting off his hands.
For a few minutes, we merely watch the sun sinking beyond the horizon, before he says, “I think we ought to return home.”
Honestly, I expected as much. After everything we’ve been through, he’s got to be exhausted. Homesick. Even I am, a bit. I miss my family.
But it was the principle of the thing; I wanted him to say it. I wanted him to tell me what he wanted, and of course I will oblige without complaint.
“Back to Boston, then,” I say, reaching down and sliding my hand through his hair. “Maybe we can find more of that pie you liked.”
Benji tips his head back to peer up at me. “I only mean, we ought to return home to tell Spencer and Esher and Miss Bennett what’s happened. They might need our help. We could write a letter, but what if it doesn’t make it?”
My eyebrows arch. “Help them… Even after all Crane said, you want to get further involved in all this?”
The look he gives me is patient. “Do you for a moment think Spencer and Esher will refrain from investigating just because they were told to?”
Esher would. In a heartbeat, I think. But— “James wouldn’t, I have to agree.”
“And are you satisfied with not seeing this through?”
“Not in the least,” I reluctantly admit.
“Then they’ll need help. As much as I would rather not get involved in such dangerous activities, I’ll not leave our friends to deal with such things alone, either. Nor Miss Bennett.”
I slide my fingers along the soft slope of his jaw. He leans into it, presses his cheek into my palm.
“Right then. We go back to Whitechapel; we deliver the notes and information to Aunt Eleanor. We help to do…whatever it is they need us to do. And then what?”
“And then…” Benji pauses, turns his head, presses a kiss against my palm. “And then I thought we might see Italy. Or China. Australia?”
My mouth threatens to curve into a grin and I fight it back. “You want to keep travelling? What happened to settling down, laying roots somewhere?”
I can feel his smile against my skin. “I did not say we have to travel forever. We’re young. We have our whole lives ahead of us. Who’s to say our roots need to be laid down where we were born?”
“You’re certain? This is what you want and not what you think I want?”
Benji takes a deep breath, straightening back up to return his gaze to the horizon. “You know… I was so scared to leave home. I’ve been scared to do a lot of things. I was afraid to deal with ghosts. I was afraid of telling you how I felt. I was absolutely terrified at the idea of living life without Mother there to always ensure things were good and safe.
“But I’m not a child anymore. I want to be someone Mother would have been proud of and I think I can do that best by being with you, by seeing the world. By not being ashamed of who I am and what I’m capable of.”
Never have I been prouder of Benjamin Prichard than I am at that moment. Not that how he was ever bothered me, but he’s right. I can’t fix everything. I can’t always protect him. Hell, I’ve proven that I can’t always protect myself, either. I feel I’ve watched him grow from the quiet, shy boy I met at Whisperwood into the sweet, brave man sitting before me now. Gentle and soft, yes. But not helpless. Not meek.
Funny. I never thought it possible to love him more than I did the first time I realised my feelings. And yet here we are.
I must be silent for too long, because Benji glances back at me. “All right?”
“Quite.” I slide off the tree trunk to join him in the sand, where I can properly slip an arm about his shoulders and press a kiss to his temple. “Home. And then…the world.”
Benji laughs, soft, quiet. Presses his face against the curve of my throat. “You are my world, Preston.”
EPILOGUE – JAMES
“Ophelia, you really must come here before dear William sees you and has a fit.”
From the rooftop, Ophelia licks her lips and peers over at me, disinterested. With a flick of her tail, she stretches her long legs out before her and…lies down.
Of course William would have a cat that is as difficult to deal with as him and I combined.
With a sigh, I heave the window further open and begin the careful process of crawling out of it and onto the roof. The slope of it makes this tricky, as does the fact that it’s rained all
bloody day, so the damned thing is slippery. Not that Ophelia seems to care. Really, I think she’s quite fine crawling all over the way she does, but it stresses William immensely and a stressed-out-William is not something I care to have. The lower his stress overall, the better. Especially while he’s doing his best to remain off his medication.
I inch away from the window, grimacing when I must release my hold on the frame to lean forward and grab the cat. Thank God Ophelia doesn’t dart away as she sometimes does, as though this is some kind of game to see how close she can get me to falling and breaking my neck. I scoop her up one-handed and drag her to my chest, where she promptly begins to purr.
“Bloody cats,” I mutter, carefully crawling my way back inside. “Why couldn’t we have found a dog? I wouldn’t have to rescue a dog from rooftops and trees.”
“No, instead you’d be explaining to me why everything in the house was chewed up,” William says.
I nearly tumble the rest of the way into our bedroom. He’s seated at the edge of the bed, watching me in quiet amusement. Ophelia squirms free from my grasp and all but throws herself into William’s lap, acting the perfect angel.
“How long have you been there?” I ask.
“Since I watched you wriggling yourself through the window out there.”
“You could have said something.”
“I was enjoying the view.” He scratches behind the cat’s ears fondly. I must say, for however much of a headache she can be, she brightens dear William’s day. Even when his mood is poor and melancholy has its hold, he still gets up to ensure she’s fed every morning, and she seems to sense when he needs her there at his side. Every night, she sleeps at the foot of our bed. Usually, we wake with her on the pillows between us.
I refuse to admit that perhaps I am, just marginally, a tiny bit fond of her.
With a sniff, I shut the window and fold my arms across my chest. “Your feline is a demonic entity.”
“So are you, and yet I keep you both around.” He lifts his free hand. In it is a piece of paper. “Two telegrams just arrived.”
“Oh, I do enjoy mail.” I start to reach for it and note the peculiar look upon his face. Almost immediately, I step back. “...Who are they from?”
“One from Miss Bennett about a job.” He holds it out, but with the other, he hesitates. “And your mother.”
That…is not mail that I much enjoy. At all. Ever. Mother’s letters come infrequently and when they do, they’re normally stunted and aloof, or else lecturing me about not coming home for a holiday or birthday or special occasion. I haven’t been able to bring myself to return. I’ve no interest in seeing their new home with my uncle still there.
And I cannot—I will not—get past the fact that he still gets to be a part of this family while I have been all but ostracised and pushed away. I’ve not even seen my parents since graduation.
It would be easier if they’d just let me be. Let me enjoy my new home and life with William. I don’t need any of them.
I incline my chin, debating, then take the gram from Miss Bennett and turn to head for the door.
William sighs a bit, shoos the cat from his lap and rises to follow me. “You ignored the last two, sweetheart. What if it’s important?”
“There is little my mother could want from me that I would care about right now. If it’s that important to you, you read it.”
I do not mean to sound so cold to him, but this is still a subject I prefer to avoid. William chooses to keep in at least some contact with his own family, even when their letters upset him. I have no interest in hurting myself in such a fashion.
He dogs my heels all the way downstairs to the kitchen, where I fully intend on stealing a biscuit or two that he baked yesterday. William lingers in the doorway, watching me as I lean against the table and consume my treat while opening the letter from Miss Bennett.
It is, of course, regarding work. Two more clients interested in our services. Both local, which is good. Although the money from our Buckinghamshire case was much appreciated and needed, I am doing my best to go easy on poor William’s nerves.
“Someone in Limehouse says the ghost of their dearly departed grandmother is puttering about and causing problems,” I muse. A little old lady ghost. That ought to be entertaining. “Oh, this one looks interesting… A coroner near Hyde Park is having some odd occurrences. Bodies moving about or going missing, shadows, voices. That sounds right up our alley, doesn’t it? Miss Bennett says he’s been by twice this week asking after us.”
Silence.
I glance up, cramming the remainder of the biscuit into my mouth. William’s got the other telegram in his hands, open now, but his eyes are on me, wide and uncertain.
My stomach sinks and suddenly the food in my belly feels uncomfortably heavy. I know that look and I do not like it. It means nothing good. I want to march right out of the house to avoid hearing whatever it is that is about to come out of William’s mouth.
I swallow hard and brace myself.
“Sweetheart,” he begins in a tone so achingly gentle it’s enough to break my heart. “Your mother requests you home immediately. Your father has passed away.”
FROM THE AUTHORS
Another book done, and what a journey this one was. 2019 threw a lot of obstacles our way and made finishing book three difficult. We’re sorry it took so long. This next step in the Dark is the Night world is a big one and introduces some big players for what’s to come.
We always make sure to thank our betas in this, but this time, we have to give them major props. Not only did they do an incredible job, but they did it around the holidays and on a super tight deadline. Karen, Kristin, Kaye, Shannon, Pidge, Jada, Beedoo… You all are amazing. It doesn’t matter how much work goes into a first draft by the authors. If it weren’t for amazing betas and editors, books would seriously suck.
Another special shoutout to my amazing editor, Natalie. Again, working on a tight deadline over the holidays and snagging every little thing that got missed through all the other various rounds of edits. She helped to put the final shine on this story that it needed.
And, always, thank you to our readers. All of you allow us to continue on this journey with James, William, and their friends. Happy New Year. Let’s make 2020 a good one.
