Thanks for reading and as always, each review is greatly appreciated! Now, has Anthony made any progress?
His spirits low, Anthony sighed wearily, readying himself for what was likely to be another day of futile searching for Edith. A fortnight had passed since he'd arrived in Boston. Two weeks with nary a sign of his sweet one. Briefly, during that time, the baronet had even considered packing it in and returning to England thinking, perhaps, he'd taken on a challenge he was incapable of seeing through. Boston was a huge sprawling metropolis and a background in military intelligence didn't seem to serve quite as well as one might think when acting alone in a strange city with no contacts.
No, the older gentleman had eventually resolved, failure was not an option. He'd wronged the young woman twice already there would most definitely not be a third time. It wasn't as though time were an issue, he had months to spare, the rest of his life in fact. Other's had been taking care of all his financial and business affairs while he'd simply hid away at Locksley and they could continue to do so. It certainly wasn't urgent he return to Yorkshire due to social obligations, he was an outcast. No, he would see this to the end even if the end meant to his dying breath.
He'd begun his quest by inquiring at the more upscale hotels, showing Edith's picture to employees, asking if she might be a guest. Of course, as Anthony had expected, he'd received no cooperation whatsoever because, as the baronet well knew, it was against hotel policy to divulge any information concerning guests to strangers. In addition to employee reluctance, hotels were in abundance in Boston so the older gentleman switched tactics, painfully aware that without a near miracle, his next efforts would prove equally unproductive. And so, the tall blonde began visiting each branch of The First National Bank, a task which had earned him the same dismal results except for a faint glimmer of hope he'd felt at one particular location. Anthony was sure he'd seen a brief flash of recognition cross the face of the young lady whom he'd approached and shown Edith's photograph. It was an expression he'd learned to read from his years of interrogating prisoners during the war. While many had resorted to brutality in an attempt to gather information, Anthony hadn't the stomach for it preferring instead to study a detainee's mannerisms, facial expressions etc. Still the young lady insisted she'd never met an Edith Crawley, Chetwood, or any English woman for that matter.
So now, relying on his instincts, Anthony was, for the third consecutive day, keeping watch over that particular bank's entrance from across the street. The baronet had alternated his time between the various shops, bookstores, cafe's, and the like desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of Edith, all the while attempting to appear inconspicuous which was bloody hard to do for a man of his stature. At the moment, he was settled at the bar of O'Leary's pub and ordering a whiskey began his watch.
"Plannin' a heist are ye?"
"Excuse me"
"I asked if yer plannin' to rob our fair bank there lad" grinned a bearded fellow of about sixty-five.
"Goodness no!"
"She must be a right fine lass then" the gentleman, seeing Anthony's sling, extended his left hand. "Rory McCarthy."
"I never said anything about a lass either" Anthony retorted, eyeing the man warily before returning his gaze back across the street.
"Ye didn' need ta. Seen that look plenty o' times in me life. 'Specially bein' in this business. What's yer name son?"
"Anthony" the tall blonde hesitated, "Anthony Strallan."
"I've seen ye loafing about these past few days. Wondered when ye'd grace us wit' yer presence."
"Have I been that obvious" Anthony sighed.
"Yer the talk o' town" the old man chuckled, "well, the neighborhood I 'spose. Jus' wanted to let ye know yer welcome here for as long as ye have need" he winked as he shuffled away. "And, good luck to ye."
Anthony was nursing his second whiskey when a taxi pulled to a stop in front of the bank, the tall blonde paused, his glass mid air as a familiar head of coppery curls emerged from the back of the cab.