Raffles.

I went to Thames Ditton.

That was where Bunny had moved; a quiet, cheap, simple little suburban cottage down by the river; wholesome and healthful and dull. It hadn't been difficult to find. Bunny never was terribly good at hiding his tracks. I hunted him down with ease.

I shouldn't have done it, I know. Justifications I had aplenty: I still owed him money; I had some books of his; I wanted only to ensure he was safe and secure; I wanted only to know that he was recovering and that he was quite well; I wanted only to know he was fine without me. All of these things were true, of course—that was what made them so dangerous as excuses. But the real crux of the matter, the real motivating factor behind my villainous behaviour, was really far simpler, and far less defendable: I missed him. That was it, that was all, that was the heart of it. I missed him, and I wanted to see him. And God forbid I don't get what I want.

I had thought it would be easy enough not to think of him whilst I was away. There was nothing I could do about him leaving, after all; he'd left and that was the end of it. Why dwell? Why dwell, indeed, when there was cricket to play, and quadrilles to dance, and people to flirt with, and diamonds to steal? Why think of Bunny when he was nothing more than one pleasant thing in a world filled to brimming with pleasant things? I had plenty else to do, and I did them with a vengeance, staying away for weeks at a time, touring through the counties and attending countless parties filled with interchangeably beautiful people, and playing some of the best cricket of my life. It should have all been so easy.

Suffice it to say that it wasn't.

And so I went to Thames Ditton. I swear down, I only meant to see him. That was all, honour bright. If I could only see him, that would be enough. If I could see that he was well, that he was happy, that he was moving on as he had intended, that was all I needed. That was all I needed, I thought, in order to do the same myself. I'd had no real closure, that was all. If I could only see him—

I didn't intend on speaking to him. I certainly had no plans in mind to win him back! Bunny had left; more the better; I would do nothing about it. That much I had by then reconciled myself to—and rightly so. I had watched for weeks, months, as Bunny's health had deteriorated thanks to me and the life I had all but tricked him into. I'd stood by and watched as his already fragile nerves were put through the wringer day after day, and I'd selfishly allowed it to continue. It was his choice to stay, I had told myself. I never forced him into anything. I never coerced him.

True enough—and not enough. There are more forms of influence than brute force and outright lies. I'd enticed him by offering him affection. I'd manipulated him by offering him a way out of his troubles, even whilst encouraging him to get into more of them. He was never cut out for the criminal life. Bunny may have carried on the path to damnation of his own free will, but I'd handed him the map, and I'd held out my hand. I wasn't blameless. I'd protected him as much as I could—as much as I could, that is, without offering him the ultimate protection of leaving him well alone.

And so, if Bunny could leave me, he should leave me; God knows I would never have been good enough to willingly leave him. Still, now that he had, I had no desire to stand in his way. I wasn't such a villain, yet.

...I only wanted to see him. To set my own mind at ease. To get him out of my head. I didn't intend for him to ever know I'd been there at all.

And, in my defence, the first two times I went down there, he didn't.