Author's Notes
(~)
As promised, after Thanksgiving update! I need a vacation from my vacation. It was pretty stressful, and this chapter kind of reflects that. But I wouldn't have even made it to this point if it hadn't been for Lynne and Prince of Elsinore. You should go thank them if you enjoy this chapter because they've both been stupidly encouraging and I love them to bits.
( ~)
The Fall of Adam:
Cruci(a)tion
(~)
Breakfast that next morning was a painful affair.
For Gilbert, it was largely because his grandmother didn't seem to believe in breakfast nook chairs with cushioning. For Ludwig, it was because the butler kept giving him what could only be called knowing looks. Ludwig could have sworn he saw the man smirk once or twice, but he convinced himself of his own paranoia and dismissed his fears.
Both their plates remained more or less untouched. Gilbert was acting not at all like himself to anyone but Ludwig, for whom the shy, furtive glances were now welcomingly familiar. The gentle touches to his knee and hand underneath the table were making it difficult to concentrate, and he was terrified of letting the least amount of emotion evince the dénouement of the previous night. But he had woken with Gilbert naked in his arms, their bodies still pressed together and Gilbert's scent surrounding him. Reality had slowly pried them apart as they woke but Ludwig could still feel the beating of a foreign heart against his own. Feel the breath against his ear and hear muffled cries ringing in his head.
It had not been perfect. Few things were and when decorum was violated without practice the feeling of uncertainty was enough to account for more than a few twinges and remonstrations. There was no magic of painlessness, no total absence of stilted and awkward conversation. But Gilbert had finally laughed and it wasn't a laugh at him but at how shy and scared they were and that had been what banished the demons. He'd been so unbelievably happy. Even through the fumblings and roughly hewn caresses and the joy of having the young lord submit to him so completely Ludwig could hear that laugh still. The utter joy it evoked in him. The sweetness of its timbre and his head and heart were so full of the simplicity of devotion that it took all he had not to throw himself at Gilbert's feet or sweep him off of his and pin him to the wall and kiss him until they were both flushed again with that capricious daughter of lust.
The children were too excited about visiting the Tower to notice, thankfully, although Gilbert's grandmother was suspiciously quiet. She only once prompted Gilbert to eat, and when his response was less than enthusiastic she stayed her hand when normally she would have gently thwacked him upside the head.
A gentle touch to his shoulder startled Ludwig out of admiring the slight bruise he could see peeking out from underneath Gilbert's sleeve. He glanced at Eliza who was staring at him with an impishly amused grin on her youthful face.
"Oh Ludwig, you're so distracted! Have you heard a single thing I've said?"
Ludwig could not help but blush at the childishly accusing voice, and he shook his head in apology. Eliza let out a great sigh and then said primly, "Grandmama wants some time alone with Gilbert today. It's our last day here, you know, and as you've been too busy hiding in the library to properly see anything at all I have decided to make you one of my charges today."
Ludwig blinked.
"…I beg your pardon."
Eliza merely smiled and patted his head.
"I promise to get you home safely," she said, her voice saccharine and simpering enough to make Vash snicker under his breath.
Ludwig couldn't even dredge up the irritation to shoot the young boy a glare. All he could do was nod and silently curse the fact that their last day of freedom would be spent apart. The heat from Gilbert's glare he could feel rolling across the table was evidence enough of the young lord's similar displeasure, and when they excused themselves to their room Gilbert burst into a full blown tirade.
"That she-witch knows this is our last day! What nonsense is this about needing to discuss 'affairs of state' with me? She's making it sound liked I'm the bloody king. Nothing I have to discuss with her is that pathetically ostentatious," he ranted, pacing fitfully across the small room.
Ludwig sat down in a chair in front of the fire and watched the young lord seethe, his own disappointment not easy to conceal.
"The timing could be better," he said quietly, his lips quirking up into a very slight smile. "But you know that if left to our own devices all we would not leave this room for the better part of the day. Even your cousins would start to suspect some sort of foul play."
"Let them suspect what they want. They're all too inhibited to come anywhere close to guessing the truth," Gilbert said dismissively, waving his hand. He paused mid-stride and glanced at Ludwig out of the corner of his eye. His pale cheeks slowly grew red and he shifted a bit, clearing his throat.
"I… the maid has already turned down the bed," he said, suddenly looking anywhere but at Ludwig. "You did take care of things, I hope."
"Of course," Ludwig said, snorting a bit at the younger man's sudden silence. He stood and moved to Gilbert's side, his hand lightly trailing down the lord's back as he leaned down to murmur quietly, "But some evidence is not so easily rid of."
His fingers brushed against a bruise he knew was there hidden underneath Gilbert's high collar. Gilbert had the decency to look abashed and he swallowed heavily before mumbling, "As if I would want to be rid of such a thing. I asked you to leave it, after all." His eye twitched. "Although now I am regretting some of my more spontaneous requests and actions, largely for reasons of pain and secondary humiliation."
"You have nothing to be ashamed about," Ludwig gently chided, pressing a kiss to Gilbert's cheek before heading over to the wardrobe to start packing. "And I hope you don't tarnish the memory with your insecurities."
"I am most certainly not insecure," Gilbert huffed, sitting down on the bed in a bit of a sulk. "But you weren't the one grov—being made to grovel and beg like some sort of salacious whore. Honestly, farmhand, where have you been hiding that domineering side of you? You've only been so kind or so cruel as to show me glimpses before but after yesterday I hardly think anyone would doubt you were born to the wrong class. You should be a military general or at the very least some sort of sadistic executioner. As if there were any other kind."
Ludwig's hands faltered for a moment as embarrassment suddenly took hold of him as well. It was true that last night a certain side of him had come to the forefront that he had not been expecting. But it was one that Gilbert, apparently, had been, if the way he begged and cried out for him were any indication.
"A pity I was born to a cobbler, then," he finally managed to say, picking up the fallen suit and packing it carefully away.
"A cobbler? Is that so." Gilbert leaned forward, interest obviously piqued. "You hardly ever talk about your family, farmhand. Is it because they are as unextraordinary as you initially appeared to be?"
Gilbert dodged the suit coat that was flung at him, a predatory look in his eye.
"Oh dear. Worse, then," he said sympathetically, sliding off the bed. He moved to Ludwig's side, taking the older man's hand in his and pressing a teasing kiss to the palm.
"Would a bit of incentive loosen your tongue?" he purred, glancing up at Ludwig through his pale lashes.
Ludwig's fingers curled at the bit of contact, but a steely expression had cast a shadow over him and it was not so easily effaced.
"With this one topic I'm afraid your charms have little effect," he said quietly, offering Gilbert an empty smile. "I would prefer my family and my past to stay where they are. They don't deserve to touch you."
Gilbert's slightly put-out expression softened at that, and with a little sigh he stood on tiptoe to give Ludwig a kiss.
"You make it so vexingly difficult to stay irritated with you," he said, brushing a strand of hair off of Ludwig's forehead. "Even when I want to be a complete prat and throw a fit as is my right as a lord and teenaged boy."
"I promise to break something of yours and you can scold me all you want, then, if that would help alleviate any pent-up brattish tendencies," Ludwig promised quietly, relaxing a bit at the kiss. He bent down to return the favor, his hand resting on Gilbert's shoulder and squeezing gently before he reluctantly moved away.
"Your cousin will be coming to fetch me soon," he said quietly, finding himself unable to take another step. Gilbert was looking forlorn yet irascible again, and it was difficult to fight the instinct to console him.
"I suppose she will. Nosy thing," Gilbert finally sighed, sitting down on the trunk and picking off a label that had once read 'New York' but had since some time ago faded considerably. He winced and clutched at his lower back.
"I swear to whatever deity is left that will still turn a sympathetic ear towards me that next time you will be the one so mangled and contorted," he muttered, casting Ludwig a sour glare.
Ludwig couldn't help but laugh even as his reluctance to leave tightened its grip around him. He knelt in front of Gilbert and kissed his hand, murmuring softly against the pale skin, "You are more than welcome to make good on that oath when we next find ourselves enough alone to make it feasible."
Gilbert's eyes widened slightly and he stared at Ludwig in confusion before he hesitantly spoke.
"I… I assumed that last night's… arrangements would reflect the norm," he said.
"There is no such thing as far as we're concerned," Ludwig dismissed, reaching out to gently grasp Gilbert's chin, tilting his head side to side to inspect him. "What norm could we possibly be betraying that we have not already smashed to pieces and defenestrated quite soundly."
"De- defenestrated oh Lord," Gilbert laughed, his hesitation seemingly forgotten as he patted Ludwig's cheek. "It's so endearing when you throw your improved lexicon at me. Like a goat learning to waltz. A more quaint and charming picture I couldn't devise."
"You're too kind," Ludwig said blandly, wincing when Eliza's voice drifted up the stairs.
"Ludwig, darling duck! Are you ready?"
He sighed and gave Gilbert one last kiss before covering the young lord's ears and calling out, "I will be with you in a moment, Eliza!"
"Call her 'my lady' you pompous swine!"
Ludwig rolled his eyes and muttered more to himself than anything, "Roderich has found new bravado. This is not a change that bodes well."
"Today should be a fun excursion for you, then," Gilbert said, gently prying Ludwig's hands away from his ears and leaning up to give his cheek a kiss. He wrinkled his nose and ran his thumb along Ludwig's jaw line.
"You need to shave. Quite badly. It's astounding the depths to which your depravity has dragged you. Neglecting hygiene…"
"You're one to talk," Ludwig teased, nuzzling Gilbert's jaw and kissing the completely smooth skin. "Your skin is like sandpaper. How dare you."
"It is not!" Gilbert protested, pushing against Ludwig's shoulder slightly. "Believe me, I wish it were. There's something wrong with me. When my father was my age he had a beard, complete with beehive or something if the pictures of his obscenely large facial hair growths are anything to go by. And without some sort of beard or – I feel so…" He wrinkled his nose. "Juvenile."
"It just matches your personality," Ludwig said sympathetically. "Maybe if you –"
He ducked the pillow flung at him, and with a little chuckle he stood and headed into the bathroom to shave as Gilbert wanted him to. He could hear the children downstairs throwing a fit of excitement, and in his distracted hurry the razor dug a bit too deeply and drew blood.
"Farmhand – oh for heaven's sake."
Before Ludwig could so much as grab a towel, Gilbert was staunching the slight trickle of blood with his tie, a look of slight vexation his face.
"Whatever am I to do with you," he grumbled, genuine worry in his voice.
"My apologies, my lord," Ludwig said quietly, his gaze softening as Gilbert fussed over him and patched him up. The young lord pointed to the rim of the bathtub and barked, "Sit."
Ludwig sat.
Gilbert whipped up some more shaving lather and brought the tools over to the edge of the tub, carefully sitting on Ludwig's knees before starting to spread the lather on the older man's face.
"Pretty soon I'm going to have to be dressing you as well," he muttered, smoothing the brush over Ludwig's upper lip. "And please don't talk. I don't want to accidentally slice open an artery."
"With the lather brush?" Ludwig murmured, earning himself a gentle hit upside the head and a furious glare before Gilbert resumed working.
"You're very lucky I have a saint-like disposition towards the lowly bred," Gilbert muttered, carefully tilting Ludwig's head to the side to start shaving his face. "And a steady hand and a well of infinite patience."
Ludwig wisely said nothing, but he rested his hand on Gilbert's knee and squeezed gently to let him know he was listening. Red eyes flicked to the side to catch his for a moment before focusing on the razor once more.
"Eliza is starting to suspect, I think," Gilbert said quietly, wiping the razor on a towel to clean it before gently running the blade down Ludwig's throat. "Whether my grandmother tipped her off or her nasty intuition did, I don't know. But I believe that's why she's being so dogged about you taking them out today. She'll corner you and badger you until you let something slip because you have a weakness towards women that I personally find rather baffling."
Ludwig sighed through his nose and closed his eyes. He had noticed Eliza fixating on them a bit more than usual. Their strange living arrangements during this trip most likely weren't helping assuage her suspicions, but he'd be damned if he gave in to a little girl's disquisition. Lady of the house or not, she was still a child, guileless and ready to give into any explanation even remotely cogent.
"And no ready argument available, I see. Shameful," Gilbert murmured, a teasing smirk on his face as he finished up with the shaving and set the razor aside. He gently wiped the rest of the later off of Ludwig's face and gave his cheek another kiss.
"Much better," he said, grabbing Ludwig's chin and tilting his head back and forth to examine him, mimicking what Ludwig had done not minutes before. "Now when you're lying to my cousin you'll look a good deal more convincing. I doubt she would have swallowed any explanation coming out of the mouth of such a lazy sod who couldn't even bother with a proper shave."
"Charming as always," Ludwig muttered, returning the kiss. He raised an eyebrow at the young lord and gave his knee another little squeeze. "Where on earth did you learn to do that, though? I know your father goes to the barber to get his shaves…"
"Ah, well…" Gilbert's ears turned slightly pink. "Kirkland, actually. There was a period of time where he demanded we all learn to be self-sufficient, should anything happen to the estate and we be reduced to the middling classes. I can even sew a button. Horrifying, I know, but Father approved of the lessons and sad as it is they have come in handy every once in a while."
"Goodness, what a show-off. I had no idea you were possessed of such talents," Ludwig teased, pushing himself to his feet while still holding on to Gilbert. He turned and pushed the younger lord's back up against the wall, capturing his lips in another kiss. Their last day of living as strangers in a large city and they had to spend it apart. The bitterness was unbearable – far more than he had anticipated and he had to stop the kiss before long as Gilbert's quiet, pleading words were making it difficult for him to keep his senses about him.
"No, love, we can't," he said quietly, to assure himself of his position, his breathing still slightly labored. He ran his thumb over Gilbert's swollen lips, unable to resist kissing them again to silence the younger lord's curses.
Ludwig stepped away from the wall, Gilbert's legs still wrapped around his hips and the young lord still grumbling about the unfairness of it all.
He carefully sat down on the bed and detangled himself from the lithe limbs, smiling at Gilbert and receiving only a sulk in return.
"Your grandmother will scold you if you approach her looking like that," he gently chided, pinching Gilbert's cheek.
"I don't care," Gilbert said childishly, tugging a pillow to cover his face. "I don't want you to go."
"It's only for a day," Ludwig laughed, tugging his shirt on and buttoning it properly before grabbing his coat. "And your cousins and I will have some mild fun, and when I get back this evening we'll have one last night together and it will be even more wonderful for having waited."
He tickled the soles of Gilbert's feet, expertly dodging when the boy lashed out with them.
"Temper," he gently warned, pushing himself up and giving himself one last look-over in the mirror before heading towards the door. He paused just before leaving, turning to glance over his shoulder. One red eye was peering up at him from under the pillow, and after a bit Gilbert slowly sat up, a heavy scowl still on his face.
"Don't let Eliza boss you around too much," he said, his red eyes looking everywhere but at Ludwig. "She can be awfully conniving."
"Noted," Ludwig said quietly. "But I promise not to say anything you wouldn't want me to."
Gilbert gave a terse nod and then said politely, "I'm going to continue sulking now, but please don't think of this as any indication of my waning affections."
"I love you too," Ludwig said, giving the young lord a little salute before stepping through the door and shutting it carefully behind him.
As he headed downstairs, the din from the children's cavorting grew exponentially louder, and he briefly wondered if taking some aspirin in advance wouldn't go amiss. Before he had a chance to procure some, however, Eliza had latched onto his arm and dragged him towards the entry way, babbling at a thousand words a minute about the day's itinerary. Vash was his usual quiet self, hanging around the back of the group, while Roderich was in full pout, his childish lips pressed together and his blue eyes narrowed behind his glasses. Ludwig tried to smile at him, but the boy just turned away, his slight shoulders tensing. Ludwig let out a quiet sigh and turned his attention back to Eliza. He'd tried. That was all that could really be asked of him.
When the butler opened the door for them, the look on his normally stolid face was surprisingly sympathetic. Slight trepidation pricked at Ludwig's heart, and he thought longingly of aspirin and his room and Gilbert and how easily it was to quiet him and how difficult it was to deal with children when two thirds of them seemed to loathe you and the remainder intent on sussing out every last detail of your necessarily private life.
The cab ride to the Tower was, however, surprisingly pleasant, and by the time they reached their destination the newness of the place and morbidity of its history took hold of the children enough to allow Ludwig to relax slightly. He paid for their tickets and a private tour (as per Gilbert's grandmother's request), and he spent the majority of the afternoon in silence, only responding to direct questions or comments pressed upon him by the children. In one of the torture chambers, however, Roderich grew frightened and started to cry, and when Ludwig attempted to comfort him all he got in return for his troubles was a tiny fist in his eye, fueled by embarrassment.
Eliza spent the rest of their time there with Roderich's hand firmly in her own, which seemed to cheer the boy despite the fact that she was constantly lecturing him and Vash was insisting on critiquing Roderich's punching technique. Ludwig left the children for a moment in front of a display and stepped outside to nurse his eye. A Roderich scorned was a furious beast. The skin might even bruise enough to be noticeable, and Ludwig had to take several deep breaths to keep his temper under control before returning to the children and ushering them out of the Tower.
The rest of the day was spent in a rather sullen silence, despite Ludwig's best efforts to keep Eliza from being irritated with Roderich and, more importantly, to keep from saying things that would make Roderich want to punch him again. His eye was hurting and women were staring at him a bit too long, so he had the unpleasant feeling his eye was already a bit black and blue.
When they finally returned back to the townhouse, Ludwig wanted nothing more than to head upstairs and nap until supper time, but when he made for the stairs a hand on his arm stopped him. He turned to see the butler holding out a small envelope, blue eyes fixed on him.
"For you, Mr. Schmidt. Telegram."
"A telegram?" Ludwig repeated like an idiot, but he was honestly shocked. He'd never gotten a telegram outside of army correspondence in his life, and it was the wrong sort of paper for it to be from the regiment.
He cautiously took the envelope and, following the butler's silent prompting, headed into the study, shutting the door behind him. He took a seat in front of the fireplace and carefully opened the envelope, skimming the contents of the letter quickly. There wasn't much there.
A MAN BY THE NAME OF ELDRICH STOPPED BY THE HOUSE [STOP] HE WAS INQUIRING ABOUT YOU TO A RATHER ALARMING DEGREE AND SO I SENT HIM ON HIS WAY AT WHICH POINT HE BECAME BELIGERANT [STOP] HE INSISTS ON SEEING YOU TOMORROW AND HAS BEEN BADGERING MY STAFF [STOP] I EXPECT YOU TO DEAL WITH THIS IMMEDIATELY UPON YOUR RETURN TOMORROW [STOP] KIRKLAND [STOP]
Ludwig's hands began to shake and he quickly shoved the paper into the fireplace, watching it burn with no small amount of satisfaction. But when the bits of char were blown up the chimney he was left feeling cold and anxious still. He pushed himself to his feet, pacing up and down in front of the mantle place, hands shoved in his pockets and his eyes fixed on the ornate rug covering the hardwood floors.
He felt like a child again. Which would follow since the last time he had heard that name he had been one, hiding in his room with his brothers and listening to it screaming through the house, enough to rattle the windows and shake the boots piled up at the front of the door.
Ludwig sank into the couch, pressing his hands against his eyes as he fought to keep the name from wrapping its stinking claws around him. It was only his father. Only a man, only a poor, depraved man whose hand he hadn't known for so long, liver spotted with age now, most likely, and not strong enough to grasp much of anything.
But how had he found him. Who had told.
The sneering faces of several of the staff appeared before him, and earlier still his commanding officers who always had their suspicions about the fake little family he'd construed to act as fodder when questions came his way. It could have been any of them. Either a do-gooder or an ill-wisher and there was no way of knowing unless he directly asked the man himself but even the name held such power over him, that stupid name embossed on the small sign outside of their house where he used to run his fingers over the brass, the one thing he'd been able to read growing up poor and stupid with fingerprints on his wrists.
He was a grown man now. Nearly thirty and still he could feel the cold letters underneath the pads of his fingers and smell the gut rot.
Ludwig fought back a childish sob, terror starker than anything the war could bring nailing his heart still against his ribs, the muscle struggling to move and only pulling the metal in deeper until he could hardly breathe.
A quick knock on the study door broke through the plummet and he quickly pulled himself together.
"Ludwig? Are you in there?" Gilbert's curious voice rang out. "Oxenman said you've sequestered yourself away which really is quite selfish of you and I have half a mind to leave you sulking in there for the rest of our little trip."
Ludwig let out a shaky breath, glancing around in hopes of spotting a mirror hidden in some corner so he could see just how miserable he looked, but the walls where lined only with tapestries and maps.
"Yes, I'm here," he said, wincing at his choked voice. He cleared his throat and spoke again before Gilbert could comment. "You're welcome to come in, although I'm afraid my mood has taken a turn for the worse."
The door immediately opened and Gilbert came sauntering inside, the picture of affected disinterest. He closed the door behind him and moved to sit next to Ludwig on the sofa.
"Eliza told me about – oh that little tosser I am going to kill him," Gilbert hissed, grabbing Ludwig's chin to get a better look at his eye.
Ludwig allowed the manipulation, closing his eyes in a sorry attempt to hide his more recent activities. But Gilbert knew him far too well, and in a slightly bemused voice the young lord said slowly, "I know a punch hurts, Ludwig, but he's only a child. Is it really worth crying over?"
Ludwig's eyes flew open in surprise, and he stared at Gilbert, slightly dumbfounded, before he laughed quietly and shook his head.
"No. It's… far from painless but as you said he is a child," he said quietly. "Had it been Vash I might be out for the count but Roderich is only just learning how to throw his weight around. And I've had m-much wor—"
His throat seized up again and he fell silent, not wanting to fall apart in front of Gilbert. They had seen each other completely exposed, and yet there was still that careful emotional distance Ludwig wanted to maintain that gave him a sense of autonomy. Stubbornness and insurrection of the lower classes.
Gilbert snorted quietly, but the lines around his eyes were tight with worry. He cast a wary glance towards the door and then pushed himself up to press a gentle kiss to Ludwig's cheek, just underneath his battered eye.
"The Ox beast also said something about a telegram…" he hedged, long fingers pushing back Ludwig's hair. "Is that why you're all… poofy? In the facial region, I mean. Nothing… nothing demeanor wise…"
Ludwig remained quiet for some time, the fireplace ashes choking his thoughts. Finally he gave a curt nod. There was little use hiding anything from Gilbert. He was a ferret, almost as bad as the staff when it came to uprooting things that Ludwig struggled to keep entombed.
Gilbert sat back on his haunches, gnawing worriedly on his cheek.
"May I read it?"
Ludwig shook his head and gestured to the fireplace.
"Oh."
Gilbert's tone was slightly annoyed, but from worry or honest vexation Ludwig couldn't tell.
The study fell silent again, the crackling of spent logs in the hearth swallowing up the slight shifts in posture, movement of throats and aborted thoughts.
"You won't tell me?" Gilbert finally ventured, subdued and slightly hurt.
"I can't," Ludwig said quietly, his heart breaking from the young lord's voice alone. He knew that if he looked at him he would cave, his childhood spilling from his lips like a torrid, rotten mass of shame and humiliation and as much as he loved Gilbert with every fiber he possessed, it was not enough to save him from that sole mortification. Not yet.
For a moment Gilbert looked murderous in a childishly hyperbolized way, skeletal fingers twitching as they no doubt longed to wrap themselves around some poor soul's throat. The anger and hurt in his eyes was enough to make Ludwig flinch away, and that seemed to get Gilbert's attention once more.
"Oh, Ludwig, please don't look at me like that," he said desperately, any vicious intent vanishing without a trace. He moved closer to the older man, movements stilted and unsure as he stroked Ludwig's damp cheek. "I'm only worried –"
"And angry that I am keeping something from you," Ludwig said quietly, too tired to sound accusatory. "You don't need to lie, Gilbert. You're a horrible actor."
Gilbert pressed his lips together in a thin line, but all he said was a light, "I am a wonderful actor, everyone tells me so. At least all the people I pay do."
"Please, my love, just… let it go," Ludwig said, giving the younger man a slightly pleading look. "I don't even know yet if there's anything to worry about and regardless I won't be able to even address it until I'm back at the manor. There's no use –"
"How can you tell me to let something go when it has been the only thing to reduce you to proper tears since I met you?" Gilbert said, his voice clipped once more. He pulled away, a cruel look on his face. "I have told you every precious thing about me, and the one time when I might actually need to know something, I—"
Ludwig pressed his hands against his face, too battered already to properly deal with Gilbert's outburst. To have the one person he trusted upset with him in that moment cut too deeply. Abandoning him now would be horrible of him, so all he could do was hide in plain sight and hope to God that Gilbert had the decency to let him be.
"You can't even look at me," Gilbert said in disbelief, and Ludwig could hear his anger building. "Ludwig, stop – why are you acting like this?! What was in that telegram?"
Strong hands wrapped around his wrists and tugged them away, but Ludwig kept his gaze stubbornly averted, even when Gilbert grabbed his chin again to snarl into his face.
"What was in there that you don't want me knowing?! Some secret affair? Have you been filling some comely woman in on my affections for your own amusement? Is there some illegitimate child somewhere you've been all but selling yourself to me in order to provide for? Are you dying?! Is England at war?! What, Ludwig, just tell me!"
Ludwig swallowed heavily, trying to let Gilbert's words slip by him, but each one tore a bit at his resolve. Gilbert didn't trust him. He didn't trust him enough to let one simple telegram go. Even if it was fueled by love or worry his insecurities were twisted and dark and all the little jokes Gilbert made about him not leaving and his orders not to look too long at women, not to talk to them too long or entertain their affections were so incredibly shallow and transparent. The young lord was just a stupid, jealous little brat when Ludwig needed him to be the man who challenged him and cared for him as equals, not this hissing, feral housecat ready to claw his eyes out the moment he showed weakness.
Ludwig pushed himself to his feet, ignoring Gilbert's sudden, stunned silence.
"I'm leaving."
Gilbert sucked in a sharp breath, and Ludwig glanced at the younger man over his shoulder.
"I'll be heading back to the manor tonight. I trust you can take care of the children on your own, my lord?"
"Ludwig, this isn't funny," Gilbert snapped, standing up as well and moving to block the older man's way. "I would ask that you drop the feigned submission act immediately, unless you really want me to act like your proper master."
"I will leave the tickets for the train tomorrow on your nightstand, my lord," Ludwig said, his voice even and distant. "I am sure your father will understand the need for my haste. Good day."
He pushed his way past Gilbert, easily breaking the young lord's hold when Gilbert made a grab for his wrist.
"Ludwig!"
Ludwig pushed open the study doors, ignoring the snarled words at his back.
"Ludwig stop – just stop, dammit and listen to me! Lud—"
The study door closed, muffling Gilbert's voice.
Ludwig ignored the butler's stare and headed to the second floor to finish packing his things. He had only brought a small bag, not wanting to take up too much room that could have been used by the family's luggage. After washing his face he made his way back downstairs, stopping only to apologize to the butler, who promised to see the children safely onto the train and to telephone ahead to let the manor know he would be arriving early.
His duties taken care of, Ludwig left, walking the ten blocks to the station rather than hiring a cab. The streets were crowded during the rush hour, and he had to wait for quite some time before he was able to buy a ticket. Luckily the train was leaving in fifteen minutes, and before he had time to doubt his decision he was seated in the normal coach, listening to the squabbling family next to him to keep his mind occupied. Every now and then a small crack would form and a word or a thought would leak through. Gilbert's sneering face, seven letters on a page, quiet heartbreak in his love's voice when the door had shut. The final, pleading tone of one witnessing the consequences of a poorly planned outburst.
Ludwig pressed a hand against his face, feigning exhaustion to hide the stinging against his lashes. The spat with Gilbert was at least keeping his mind in the present, giving him anxiety enough to drown the seven letters waiting for him somewhere in the manor village. Kirkland at least had the presence of mind to not offer the man a place to stay at the manor, and for a moment Ludwig felt the relief of gratitude towards the competent butler. He hoped he would be able to remain in his good graces even after abandoning his charges.
Golden light streamed through the windows, its comforting warmth enough to send Ludwig into a fitful sleep. He awoke only several minutes from his station, and had to hurry to get his things together in time to disembark.
He was unsurprised to find, when he stepped off the train, no coach or cab waiting for him. The manor was a good ten miles from the station, and just as he was about to make the trek on foot, he spotted a familiar flower delivery carriage. He stopped to talk to the man, and was relieved to discover that he was indeed delivering flowers that evening for some party the earl was hosting the next day. Ludwig paid the man a few coins for a ride, thankful that they also bought the man's silence.
An hour later the carriage pulled through the second set of manor gates, and Ludwig disembarked, offering the man another quiet thanks. The carriage trundled down the road and turned towards the gatehouse before disappearing around a bend. Ludwig watched it go and then made his way to the back entrance of the manor where they brought in the coal and (increasingly less and less) the oil for the lanterns and other shipments. It was late enough at night that the kitchen was all but deserted. Mrs. Peeters was sitting at the table with a lone candle, looking over what appeared to be expense reports. She glanced up from her work when Ludwig entered and offered him a small, tense smile.
"We heard you would be arriving home early," she said, closing the ledger book and pushing up her glasses to rest atop her plume of graying hair. "And about your eye, which looks very painful, by the way. The earl was not very pleased to hear you'd left the children in London, but Mr. Kirkland was quite adamant that this was for the best, and that seems to have soothed his lordship's ruffled feathers. As did Roderich's shameful actions. He understands you'll be wanting some time alone."
"I am truly sorry," Ludwig said, averting his gaze. "It was irresponsible of me, regardless of the reasons behind my actions." The candlelight made the woman's features look especially odd, and to his tired mind she swam in mirages, dizzying to look at.
"I know you are, and so does the earl, deep down," she said gently. "But that man comes by every morning and kicks up such a fuss… we really will be grateful to have you here so we needn't deal with it a fourth time."
"A fourth time?" Ludwig repeated in utter surprise. "He's been here that long?"
"Yes, I'm afraid so," Mrs. Peeters said with a little sigh. "The first day he was relatively polite, but the second and third he became slightly… forceful. Requesting to speak to particular members of the staff and so on. I finally had to have one of the younger boys gently oust him from the kitchen. We thought of calling the police on harassment charges but Mr. Kirkland rightly pointed out that if indeed the man were your father you might not appreciate his ending up in a holding cell."
"Honestly that might be the best place for him," Ludwig said, a bitter note to his voice.
The kitchen fell silent before Mrs. Peeters pushed herself to her feet and moved to gently take Ludwig's hand.
"While I cannot speak for the rest of the staff, you will always have Mr. Kirkland's and my support," she said gently. "Whatever may come of it." She hesitated a moment and Ludwig felt her slim hand tremble around his own, but she seemed reluctant to put voice to her thoughts.
"Mrs. Peeters, what is it?" Ludwig finally had to ask, curiosity forcing his tongue. "You seem shaken."
She faltered only a moment longer and then gently patted Ludwig's hand.
"The rumors have continued to fester during your absence," she said. "And I am afraid that some of your father's statements have only fueled them. To be honest, you arriving home separate from the children will help that particular aspect in the eyes of the rest of the staff. Not that their opinions are worth much – particularly Alex who has grown positively beastly while you've been away. He's taken to his duties with a turgid air about him that is absolutely insufferable. Thank goodness the earl is too kind to notice but the rest of us have been casting him more than a few wary glances."
"I see," Ludwig said quietly, too exhausted to dwell long on that particular worry. "And am I to resume my duties as normal tomorrow?"
"Providing wrangling with the man claiming to be your father does not take too much time, yes, I would very much appreciate if you would," Peeters said, a fatigued look taking hold of her. She gently patted Ludwig's arm and then picked up his suitcase for him.
"But you have had no doubt a very tiring day, and tomorrow will no doubt only further weary you. To bed with you, young man."
Ludwig's lips quirked upwards in an empty smile.
"I think I'm a bit too old to fit that description," he said, but Peeter's merely waved her hand and snorted. "Hardly. You may have fought in the Great War but some of us remember an even earlier time before all of this electricity and automobile nonsense."
"You yourself are far too young to be talking like that," Ludwig gently teased, the older woman's maternal presence a great comfort to him. He let her carry his bag, and spoke quietly with her about the manor's financial affairs. By the time they reached his room he had calmed considerably, and after wishing the head of house goodnight, he cleared his mind and quickly set about readying himself for bed. Once under the sheets and with a cold press over his eye, however, his thoughts slowly clawed sleep away from him. It wasn't until the moon was low in the sky that he was finally able to drift off into an uneasy rest.
Ludwig was awoken by the sound of raised voices outside his window. He quickly moved to peer out through the glass and was relieved to see it was only a few of the gardeners having a spat about the roses. The sun had not yet shown its face. Ludwig blinked his dry eyes and wished very much that he could simply go back to bed. The children's train wasn't until the afternoon, which meant that he wouldn't see Gilbert until late that evening, if at all.
With the reluctance of a man with one foot on the gallows steps, Ludwig slowly set about getting ready for the day. It was strange to have to wear his pressed suit and tie again. He'd gotten so used to being able to wear more casual outfits while in London. It took him a moment to acclimate himself once more to the stuffy wardrobe, but by the time he was washed and shaved he had slipped back into his old habits. The bruising around his eye was hardly noticeable any longer thanks to the cold press.
As soon as he left his room, the smell and noises of breakfast downstairs wafted up, setting his stomach growling despite the nervous knots it was twisting itself into. He listened carefully, but the one voice he was most concerned with was thankfully absent. After pausing to wish a few of the maids a pleasant morning (their responses were far too saccharine to be normal) Ludwig headed downstairs into the kitchens. There was a mad rush, and Ludwig recalled the purpose of last night's flower delivery. Another party, then. One he would most likely have to attend to.
He quickly grabbed a plate and what food he felt he could stomach, all the while aware of several sets of eyes on the back of his head. Alex and his gang, no doubt, seated at the far of the table and talking too loudly for such an early hour. Ludwig took his normal seat and ate in silence, ignoring the stares as best he could
Finally he was directly addressed, Alex's voice full of obsequious charm.
"Good to have you back, Ludwig. Your job is so easy I feared I was growing soft from having to hold your position while you were away."
Ludwig raised his head and spared Alex a glance. The man was smirking fit to burst, a self-satisfied air about him that set Ludwig's teeth on edge. Ludwig merely nodded in response and said a polite, "Happy to help," before returning to his meal. Alex seemed not in the least bit fazed by the slight dismissal, and chatted on amiably as though he had every right to.
"I assume you're back early because of the bit of unpleasantness with the man… oh damn, whatever was his name. It's on the tip of my tongue."
He fell pointedly silent, but Ludwig refused to take the bait. He finished his food, struggling a bit to keep it down as Alex spoke again, the utter glee in his voice enough to make any man sick.
"He's been stopping by the same time every day. In just a few minutes, actually. And he always asks about you." Alex let out wistful little sigh. "I wish my own father cared as much about me, but he's maintaining our house in Leeds. It must be nice to have a father so woefully unemployed he can spend days on end inquiring after his miscreant son—"
"Alex, don't you have some silver that needs to be polished?" Kirkland's reedy voice interrupted the groomsman's ramblings.
Alex smiled at the butler and said politely, "Terribly sorry, Mr. Kirkland. I was merely informing Mr. Schmidt of his visitor."
"I think he is well apprised of the situation already, thank you, Alex," Kirkland said in a clipped tone, raising one bushy eyebrow at the group at the end of the table. They all reluctantly stood, casting Ludwig curious, excited, and even apprehensive glances as they passed. Ludwig's gaze remained firmly fixed on his plate as he carefully cut his fruit into miniscule pieces. So forced was his concentration that he didn't even hear Kirkland approaching, and started slightly when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"I trust you will deal with this incident in a way that will not bring further suspicion upon you, Mr. Schmidt," Kirkland said, the slightest hint of concern coloring his words. "I do not want this kind of thing happening in my area of jurisdiction again. Family matters and other private affairs should stay as such."
"I understand," Ludwig said, pushing himself to his feet and giving the older man a grateful smile. It was a bit forced and Kirkland raised his other eyebrow.
"You look terrible," he said bluntly. "After you have sent that ruffian on his way, please do try and relax. This house cannot afford to have you working at anything but your best."
"I will," Ludwig promised, struggling a bit harder to hide his weariness.
"Very good."
Without another word Kirkland turned and made his way into the kitchen, and a moment later Ludwig could hear his chastising tone berating one of the scullery maids. Poor girl.
Ludwig placed his tray in the kitchen window and glanced at the clock. It was ten past five. If he came every day like clockwork as Kirkland implied, the hour was upon them already. Already Ludwig could hear ghostly steps on the gravel just outside the kitchen door, smell the odor that clung to his clothing and hung about his person like a fetid cloud announcing his presence.
There came a polite two raps upon the door, and over in the kitchen the maids grew quiet.
Ludwig's shoulders tensed and he fought to hide a wince as every pair of eyes slowly fixated on him. But he found himself unable to move, his hands still gripping the window counter, his eyes still fixed on a small, unsightly knot in the wood, wondering absently, increasingly fanatically if he could somehow wipe it out by taking sandpaper or a plane or an axe to the surface.
Two more knocks sounded, and a moment later Kirkland's reedy voice.
"Mr. Schmidt. If you would please welcome our guest."
Ludwig shot the man an anxious glare, forgetting for a moment that he was addressing his superior. But Kirkland's order had broken the paralysis, and forced his body to move with a volition that was not his own. He watched his hand close around the latch, dimly felt the press of metal against the pad of his thumb.
The door swung open, and standing on the porch, dressed in a suit and tie, was a tall yet visually unremarkable man of about fifty. He had graying hair about his temples and square glasses slightly hid his watery blue eyes. He wore a cap typical of his class that hid his short cut blonde hair. His build was similar to Ludwig's, and although the years had atrophied his muscles slightly, he bore evidence of a youth spent more in violence than in literature or leisure – calloused fingers, full cheeks, and a slightly crooked nose. He met Ludwig's eyes with an even stare of his own, and his thin lips pulled back into an excited grin.
"By God it's true," he said slowly, staring Ludwig up and down. "Lookit you. Inna suit n' everythin', hair all slicked back proper like, jus' like when you run away."
With a loud burst of laughter, Eldrich clapped his son on the shoulder and pushed his way inside the kitchens. He called out in a thick, syrupy voice, "'ello again, ladies! An' oh, Mr. Kirkland, lookin' especially sharp today. I'll take the usual if's not too much trouble."
Ludwig was too stunned to move initially, the suit and tie conflicting sharply with his long-held image of the man. He heard the kitchen maids reluctantly preparing his father a cup of coffee, felt Kirkland's eyes on the back of his neck, and suddenly the gentle clink of a porcelain cup for his father grew too much to bear.
With a few quick strides Ludwig closed the distance between himself and the elder Schmidt, the man somehow towering above him despite his being seated. Ludwig opened his mouth to lambaste the man, to demand to know how he'd found him at all, to say something of the thousand words he'd penned to himself every night in his youth. But as in all moments when it truly mattered, the words scattered from him.
Eldrich raised an eyebrow in anticipation, a curious smile on his weathered face. When nothing came, he kicked out a chair with the ball of his foot and then raised his mug.
"Good stuff they serve 'ere," he said lightly, one ragged fingernail scratching along the smooth surface of the porcelain. "Jus' the right amount of sugar. Sit down an' 'ave a cup. Won't 'urt you none."
Ludwig found himself sitting down, his back ramrod straight and his eyes fixed on a point a few inches above his father's left shoulder. The strings were already wrapped around him once more, and it was quickly becoming impossible to move without at least a subtle nod of permission. He could feel the maids staring at them through the small window into the kitchen, and much more blatantly, the rest of the servants from the door into the dining room. Even Mrs. Peeters was there, her gray bob of hair sticking out in the crowd of onlookers. Eldrich seemed content to pretend as though they didn't have an audience. He leisurely sipped his coffee, an odd drink of choice for him, and tapped his finger upon the table in a little leisurely dance.
Thankfully, it was Mr. Kirkland who broke the affected comfortable silence.
"Mr. Schmidt, as much of a joy it is to have you in my kitchens, I believe there was something you wished to discuss with your son," he said politely, his green eyes fixing on the elder Schmidt before slowly shifting to stare first at the kitchen staff and then at the rest gathered around the doors. The younger maids quickly tried to busy themselves, but several of the older staff – Alex chief among them – took their time averting their interest. Again, Eldrich didn't seem to notice or to care. Instead he merely laughed and clinked his cup against Kirkland's pocket watch.
"Stickler for time, eh, Kirkland?" Eldrich elbowed Kirkland in the side, and the older man hid a grimace behind a practiced façade of apathy. "Shoulda called you rabbit. Y'know, that rabbit wot was always checkin' 'is watch in that book with the Chinese caterpillar."
"I am familiar with the reference, yes," Kirkland said dryly, casting Ludwig a steely glare. "I will leave you to it, then. Please do not take too long, Mr. Schmidt. You will be needed presently."
With that the butler left as well, shooing several maids out with him.
Ludwig remained silent, his shoulders tensing slightly now that he had no one left to act as any sort of buffer. His skin felt clammy and cold, as though it were dying from the outside in by mere exposure to the man in front of him, calmly drinking his coffee and chatting idly about the weather in a pretentious, unnatural way crafted to suit the tie choking his neck.
"….an' it's much colder in 'ere than I thought it'd be. Aren't these lord types supposed t' 'ave better heat n' such? Radiators an' wot not. But 's really not the case—"
"Are you here about my mother?" Ludwig interrupted, desperation making him find his voice at last behind the bile in his throat. His voice was clipped from a horrible combination of necessity and nerves. "Is something wrong with Bastion or Jens? Some funeral or will I need to attend to?"
Eldrich let out a gut-busting laugh and then drained the last of his coffee. He set the cup down hard enough to chip the edge, and when he spoke it was with all the dismissive indifference Ludwig remembered from his childhood.
"Emelie's fine. Shrill as ever. Yer brothers are fairin' well too, though they're still in Africa somewhere or out near Jerusalem, forget which. 'aven't seen nor 'eard from 'em in nearly two years. Tho accordin' t' Martha down at the Blackstone, Bastion's got a bastard son wanderin' about. Looks just like the two 'o ya, same blonde 'air n' everythin', but my guess is the bitch just wants t' trap 'im. Fine catch your brother is. Risin' ranks faster than a whore falls in love with the poppy."
"Then why are you here?" Ludwig asked sharply, interrupting whatever else might have come pouring out from between his father's teeth. "Why in God's name have you spent all this time and money and harassed my employers just to have a talk with me? What could possibly be of interest enough—"
"Jesus almighty they got you talkin' like them too!" Eldrich laughed. Still his blue eyes flashed with the dark jealousy found in men who watch top hats stroll by from underneath their messenger caps. "All proper like stuffy Kirkland."
"I've talked this way for years now, and had you bothered to keep even the slightest bit of contact with me instead of showing up unannounced and uninvited on my doorstep you would have known that," Ludwig said icily, his hands curling into fists. "Not that I would have welcomed contact from someone like y—"
The kick to his chair didn't catch him by surprise, but the force behind it did. He fell heavily against the table, his chair clattering to the ground.
Eldrich's blue eyes stared at him from behind the cut crystal.
"Tone, Ludwig," he said, his voice oddly quiet. "Won't warn ya twice."
Ludwig picked himself up, his cheeks ruddy with anger and childish embarrassment.
"My apologies," he said, righting his chair and sitting down again. He rested his hands in his lap to hide how badly they were trembling.
The elder Schmidt regarded his son for a long moment, and when he spoke again he was brusque, all business.
"You're a good deal keener than I thought you were, growin' up with your brothers," Eldrich said, leaning back in his chair. "'Course they was geniuses. You looked a right moron next t' 'em. 'S not your fault. Some're just born better."
Ludwig waited for his father to continue, but there was a pensive look on the older man's face that indicated a preoccupation with something that would require Ludwig to arrest his attention once more. He swallowed heavily and braced himself before asking as politely as he could, "And may I ask what brought about this changed opinion?"
Eldrich gave an ungainly snort and fixed Ludwig with a pitying stare.
"Maybe I oughta reassess that," he said lightly, and then gestured around the kitchen. "'Ow long you been here, then? Three months? Six? Can't be more'n 'alf a year. I'dda known about it long 'fore then otherwise. Long enough t' ingratiate yourself among these upper types, at any rate. Seem very fond 'a ya. Willin' t' risk th' embarrassment of a man like me sittin' pretty in their kitchens jus' t' speak with ya."
Eldrich suddenly leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees.
"Nice t' see you learned a bit o' wot yer mum an' I tried t' teach ya. Bastion n' Jens… they're too proper. Moralists. Incredibly borin' the both of 'em. But you…" He grinned and brushed his thumb against his nose. "Knew there was somethin' different in ya, Ludwig. Same thing's flowin' through my veins. So wot's it, then?"
Ludwig could only stare at his father, honestly at a loss.
"What's… what?" he asked quietly. "I'm afraid I don't –"
"Don't play the innocent. I know wot it is yer up to," Eldrich said sharply, leaning forward a bit more. "I 'ear you're 'specially close t' the young lord. 'Nough 't make the rest o' the staff get all uneasy like. But they're all piss poor dumb an' short sighted. They don't got the brains you 'n I were blessed with by the Lord above. Smart. Real, real smart t' make them uncomfortable enough t' stay away. Gives you a better chance."
"A better chance to what?" Ludwig asked, starting to feel caged. "For God's sake please be straight with me—"
"The con, boy," the elder Schmidt said in hissed exasperation. "Might be shrewd but you're terrible at playin' th' liar. Makes me wonder 'ow you've lasted so long."
Ludwig stared at his father in disbelief. Eldrich sat back, a smug look on his face.
"An' there it is. Thought you could keep somethin' like this from me, eh?" He laughed quietly. "You may be smarter 'n some, Ludwig, but I'll always best ya. You known that since you was a kid. Learned it good an' learned it for life."
"You think I'm… I'm conning them," Ludwig repeated quietly. "To what end?"
"To wot – Wot else?" Eldrich said slowly. "'E's a earl. Been listenin' about – 'is son's supposed t' marry 'is cousin or somethin', 'an when 'e does 'e'll come into an 'ell of a lot. 'Least that's the word 'round town. An' even th' baker knows yer his favorite. Be easy t' win 'im over, learn a few of the 'ouse secrets, maybe even extort somethin' if you wanna follow through with those sodomist rumors. Somethin' like that'd kill a man as high station as 'e is." Eldrich's eyes flashed with amusement. "I'm assumin' you've 'eard them, right? Gaw, the things these people think yer capable of doin' t' just a little boy. Sickenin' t' 'ear, but useful. Dunno if you planned it like that, but if you did, gotta give credit. Not a route I'dve personally taken, but still viable."
"That's quite a story you've concocted, but even if it were true what is it to do with you? What do you want," said Ludwig, his voice shaking very slightly. "If it's money I'll pay it. I'm assuming that's all that it could be, considering I've never heard you talk this long to get anything else, save maybe a drink or t—"
Without warning Eldrich stood up and slugged him right in the temple. Above the hairline so the bruising wouldn't show.
Ludwig grabbed onto the table to keep from being knocked to the floor again, blinking stars out of his eyes as he stared up at his father towering over him. The elder Schmidt shook out his mortar hand and carefully slid it in his pocket. His blue eyes were cold as they fixed on Ludwig's face.
"I don't warn twice, Ludwig," he said quietly. "An' I want in."
Ludwig immediately shook his head, panic dulling the fear and pain and making him react instinctively.
"Never," he said quietly, the word lacking impact as his voice wavered. "You aren't getting near –"
"I want in, or those lovely little rumors will reach th' good earl," Eldrich calmly continued, kicking Ludwig's hand off the table so he could sit down on the very edge and stare into his son's face.
Ludwig met his father's eyes, a frenzied fear taking hold of his insides and clawing against his skin.
"You can't," he said in a panic, struggling to focus on his father. "The thought of the earl listening to a drunkard like you is ridiculous."
Eldrich pressed a hand against his chest, a wounded look on his face.
"Drunkard? God above, the slander. Such calumny against yer own father," he said mournfully. "Every livin' soul in this 'ouse knows me. Knows I only take a sippa coffee 'fore shufflin' away t' look for my prodigal son. An' even if that disassembly fails. Well."
Eldrich leaned forward and gently patted the side of his son's head, right against the swelling spot under his skin.
"You know by now, Ludwig. I don't work alone." His smile grew. "An' there's plenty in this 'ouse who'd rather see you dead than alive. Sad thing for a father t' 'ear. But good for business."
He pushed himself up and fixed his tie.
"You 'ave a week. Either you let me in on this little scam, get me some sorta job 'ere, don't matter wot, so I can keep an eye on this little operation, or those rumors gain a hell of a lot more credulity."
He stared down at Ludwig once more, all traces of humor gone from his expression.
"You forget, Ludwig," he said. "I've seen th' way you look at th' others. Yer commandin' officers' reports. Yer diaries from when you was a kid. I'd be a fool t' come all this way with no concrete evidence. An' all it takes is a little seed. Planted deep. The young man – or girl, not givin' away my 'and so easy – who's been fillin' me in 'ere. They already tilled th' soil. Won't take more than a letter, I shouldn't wonder. An' I know you've seen wot happens t' men like you who're caught, Ludwig. Nearly pulled the trigger yerself just t' keep hidin' like the crafty snake you are."
Eldrich smiled once more and clapped his son on the shoulder.
"One week. Since we're establishin' a family business, I figure I'll be lenient when it comes t' th' timetable," he said genially, doffing his cap. "Good t' see ya, Ludwig. I'll take my leave."
The elder Schmidt picked up the chipped cup and slid it into his coat pocket before heading towards the door, whistling softly.
Ludwig's gaze remained fixed on the table, his shoulders trembling slightly. The click of a latch echoed through the empty room, and he was alone.