"I don't know how I reached this place,
So far from heaven, so far from grace.
And I want to give in to the pressure,
'Cause I feel like the city's got the better of me.
I'm so tired of all this searching.
Do I, do I, do I, do I
Go home to nothing or stay out for more?
Give in to someone or lock down my door?
Or drown all my shadows, drown them like before?
Drowning shadows once more…"
"Drowning Shadows" –Sam Smith
Chapter Forty-Five:
"Looks abandoned," Margot murmured, gazing fixedly through the car window as they drove up to the manor. She was feeling sad, in an anxious sort of way. Usually it felt good to come home after a long time away, like a relief. Even when she'd returned home in a wheelchair, just another wounded veteran with her knee torn to pieces, she'd been relieved to be in a familiar place.
This time, though, all she could think about was the pile of problems that she'd left behind. It felt like they'd grown out of control, just like the neglected grounds they passed on their way in.
"Well, it has been a while," Alfred pointed out as he pulled up to the garage and parked the car. The garage door was old and had to be opened manually. Margot watched as he stepped out and started to push the large door aside.
"I thought you hired a caretaker while we were gone," she commented, opening the trunk and starting to remove the luggage. Bruce quietly joined her and began to help unload.
"Yeah," Alfred replied, slightly breathless, straining as the door stuck. "Stan. You know him; he's done the odd job here and there."
"Doesn't look like he did much for the grounds," Margot pointed out, glancing pointedly at the wilted snapdragons in a nearby planter.
"He mostly looks after the house," puffed Alfred. The stubborn garage door finally gave way with one last heave, and he added in a low grumble, "I really ought to grease this door." Glancing up, he caught sight of all the luggage resting on the driveway and sighed. "You could've waited till I pulled the car in, you know."
"We weren't sure you'd get that door open," Margot teased.
Even Bruce, who'd been quiet and stoic during the entire trip back, seemed amused.
Alfred, on the other hand, was less than amused by her quip. "Maybe you should grease the door," he retorted in a low voice as he lifted a suitcase in each hand.
"Not me." Margot shook her head with a smile. "I'm just the gardener."
Alfred had turned away by then, but she suspected he was rolling his eyes.
They took the luggage inside, leaving it by the table in the kitchen. It required two trips—they'd been gone for several months.
"Well, that should be the last of it," Alfred sighed when they were finished, swinging his bag from his shoulder and onto the back of a chair. "I'll put the kettle on. There's nothing like a sweet cup of tea to make home feel like home after a long trip away, hey, Master Bruce?" He immediately sloughed out of his overcoat and draped it on the back of the chair as well.
Margot thought he was talking a lot, more than usual—as if the sound could fill the emptiness of the house. She'd almost forgotten how spacious it was.
Bruce didn't seem to be listening, quiet as he took in his surroundings, familiar but cold. It was almost as if part of him still expected to turn a corner and find a friendly face waiting for him. Every time he left, coming back the house was just another reminder of how empty it was. His parents died again every time he returned home.
At least, that's what Margot thought.
"You all right?" Once more, Alfred's voice broke the stillness.
Bruce turned, facing his butler with a look of concern that was well beyond his tender years. "Were we right to leave, Alfred? Stay away all this time?"
Margot sensed a serious conversation coming, the kind of father-son or butler-employer talk that was best done in private, and she was about to make an excuse and duck out when Alfred cast a look in her direction.
"Well," he said in a serious voice, his eyes twinkling mischievously, "Considering the appalling sight of the topiary, I should say absolutely bloody not."
Margot shot him a dirty look. "Oi, mate," she imitated his own gruff voice, "I don't go peeking around in all the drawers, getting on your case for all the silver that's gone unpolished while we've been gone."
Alfred turned to her. "Maybe you ought to do a little more peeking into drawers, treacle."
She was about to retort when Bruce interrupted, solemn and stoic as ever.
"Alfred, you know what I mean."
She could see the butler sigh, his shoulders droop for a moment, before he steeled himself and approached the boy. "I know you know why we left," he told Bruce.
Margot watched curiously. Alfred was standing close to Bruce, shoulders back, hands clasped behind his back, like a soldier at an inspection. It was an unconscious thing, something that happened after years of training and drilling. He did that though, every time he confronted Bruce about serious matters. He got in close enough to pull the boy into a hug, or clap a hand on his shoulder, but rarely did he ever do that. He always seemed to stop just out of reach, reverting right back to his stiff military stance. There was no question that he cared for the boy, loved him like his own flesh and blood, but even now, he still struggled with showing that affection outright.
Almost as if he thought he shouldn't; it wasn't his place, even after all the long, strenuous hours he'd put into looking after the boy.
"We had to leave," Bruce agreed quietly after a moment.
"You're nervous about tomorrow, aren't you?" Alfred noted, gazing at the boy with that piercing look that seemed to be able to divine his thoughts.
"Yes," Bruce admitted.
"Well, you wouldn't be human if you weren't," he replied, practical as ever.
Margot leaned up against the wall, smiling slightly to herself as she watched. Never one to butter up the truth with tiny little lies or trivial comforts. If things were going to be difficult, Alfred Pennyworth was not the man to say they'd be easy, just for the sake of bolstering a young man's courage.
"So," he continued, pointing towards the door, "Why don't you go through there, take a pew, pop your feet up, and I'll see about that lovely cup of tea. All right?"
Margot saw a small, tentative smile warm Bruce's face. He knew his butler cared deeply, in his own way.
Still, the boy's footsteps seemed heavier than normal as he made his way from the room.
She was quiet, staring fixedly at the floor, unmoving while Alfred puttered around the kitchen. After a few minutes, while he was waiting for the kettle to boil, he murmured, "You're suspiciously quiet."
"What's tomorrow?" she asked, glancing up.
"Master B wants to address the board at Wayne Enterprises." When Margot frowned, he added in explanation, "He's trying to suss out that secret council, the one that supposedly runs Gotham."
"Right." She nodded. "He thinks they're connected to the company." Frowning, she asked, "Do you think it's safe for him to pursue them like this? Some shady council of people who want to stay hidden? You think they'll like him poking around?"
"And you think I can stop him?" Alfred scoffed.
"No—" Margot began.
"You're bloody right, I can't," he responded heatedly. "No, all I can do is stay on him like a bloody shadow and pray to God I can protect him."
Margot reached out, touching the butler's worn face, smoothing out the creases of worry. She thought she could see a couple of new lines, despite their long break away from the city, away from the investigation that was Bruce's constant obsession. "Hey," she whispered encouragingly, "You're doing all you can."
"Let's hope it's enough."
He'd leaned into her hand, and she took that as an encouraging sign. She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his. They hadn't kissed in what felt like a long time, despite what she'd said about nothing changing. It still felt good, she thought, despite everything. He lingered for a moment before pulling away, murmuring something about watching the kettle so it wouldn't boil over.
Margot didn't stop him. Somehow, despite her own feelings, that brief kiss had felt more like an obligation of his than a show of affection from him.
That's why, after a hot cup of tea and a light dinner, she was surprised when Alfred stopped by her room that night. She'd expected him to disappear to his own rooms, avoid what was an awkward situation.
At first, he'd seemed willing enough to go along with Margot's plan to call off the engagement, to take a step back. But that was the problem. What she saw as a step back, he seemed to see as an obstruction that needed removal. To Margot, it was like returning to familiar territory, stashing a complication in a box and shelving it until she could deal with it. But for Alfred, that wasn't an option. A problem was something to address immediately and fix as quickly and completely as possible.
When he appeared in her doorway, she was a little worried that fixing was what he intended to do.
"How are you?" he asked, leaning on the doorframe, giving her a tired smile.
"All right. Tired," she replied.
"May I?" He gestured towards her, asking permission to enter.
Margot nodded. "Yeah," she said, moving over a little to make room for him on the bed. He didn't join her, choosing to sit in a nearby chair instead.
She waited for him to say something, but he didn't speak at first, fastidiously uncuffing his sleeves and rolling them up, pocketing his cufflinks. In the silence, Margot could hear faint scratching beyond the ceiling, the scrabbling of tiny claws in the attic.
Alfred noticed her glance upwards.
"Rats," he said quietly. "Seems like they moved in while we were away."
"I don't blame them," she answered with a shrug. "It's cold outside."
He nodded, shifting uncomfortably. "Still, I'm not sure how much sleep we'll get tonight, not with them scurrying around up there." The man frowned, his lips pursed. After a moment, he growled, "They could be amassing a small army for all we know."
Margot scoffed softly. "A rat army would be the least of our problems."
She meant it jokingly, but she saw Alfred tense visibly at the remark. They'd done quite a good job at avoiding problems over the past few weeks, since Margot had told him not to give her a new ring.
"Sorry," she apologized. "I didn't mean—"
Alfred raised a hand to stop her. "I know," he reassured her. Glancing around the room, he asked, "Are you sure you're all right? I can't get you anything?"
"I'm fine," she told him, wanting more than anything to tell him he could join her, keep her warm, commiserate with her about the rats all night long. If they weren't going to get any sleep anyway, they might as well make some noise of their own.
Just as she was about to say something, though, Alfred stood. "I'll let you rest then." He glanced through the window and added, "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
"The board meeting?" she asked, hoping he'd stay just a moment longer.
He looked at her, a wry smile playing on his lips. "No, it'll be a long day for you. That topiary won't trim itself."
"Thanks," Margot retorted through a grimace. At least he could still tease her. That gave her some small amount of hope, even as he crossed the room to leave.
He paused for a moment as he reached the doorway and glanced back. "I have another project to take care of tomorrow, if you want a respite from working out in the cold."
"Rat extermination?" she guessed tentatively. "No, thank you."
"God, no," he chuckled. "We'll hire someone to do that. I'm having a new security system installed tomorrow. You should stick around. It would be good if the two of us both knew how it works."
Margot didn't have to ask why the butler wanted a new security system, though the idea didn't really make her feel any safer. At best, it would give them a couple of minutes' warning, if an intruder wasn't careful enough to avoid tripping an alarm. In fact, she was fairly certain that even Bruce could outsmart the system; it probably wouldn't stop a determined criminal. Most likely, it would be Margot tripping it herself in the middle of the night, on her way to the kitchen for a drink.
She didn't voice her thoughts, though. She just nodded. "All right. Goodnight, Alfred."
He reached for the light, turning it out. "Goodnight, Margot."
The next morning was gray and cold, with a steady drizzle of rain that was so fine, it might have just been mist. It was the perfect sort of day to stay inside with all the lights on, drinking hot tea and reading a book.
Margot thought wistfully of doing just that as she prowled through the grounds, making mental notes of what needed to be done, her collar pulled up around her ears.
She'd been up early, before the sun, though that was no large feat so late in autumn. Tempted to relax, make a hot breakfast, have a late start, instead she'd simply dressed and gone out to work without so much as a piece of toast for breakfast. Glancing up at the manor, she noticed lights on—Bruce and Alfred were already awake and preparing for that board meeting.
Maybe it was the weather, or just the fact that she was back in Gotham and had to face reality again, but Margot felt a peculiar sense of unease. It only got worse as Alfred pulled the car around, letting Bruce in and driving out towards the road. She waved, and Alfred waved back, but it was a distant sort of farewell.
Once they were gone, she turned toward the east side of the manor and regarded her old nemesis, the wisteria, with a sigh. It was brown and overgrown, covering the windows with its vine-like branches.
"Hello, you," she said, pressing her hand to the knotted, twisted wood. Something sharp pricked her hand, and she pulled back with a grimace, seeing blood. "Thanks a lot. Nice to see you again too," she growled. It didn't even faze her that she was talking to a plant. She did that all the time. In fact, she'd sort of missed it while she'd been away.
She hadn't missed the wisteria.
"I'll be back for you," she warned it, trudging her way back to the gardening shed to find her shears.
It was nearly noon before Bruce and Alfred returned. She heard the car pull up, caught a glimpse of the familiar black gleam of Alfred's town car before it disappeared behind the house. Well, it was time for a break, she thought. She could do with a fresh change of clothes anyway; they were soaked through by the misty rain, which had only just let up.
She found both Bruce and Alfred in the kitchen, Bruce with a large stack of pancakes that seemed to have just been placed in front of him.
"How did things go?" Margot asked from the doorway, stepping out of her boots to avoid tracking mud across the floor.
"Our young Mr. Wayne here carried himself quite well, didn't you, Master B?" Alfred replied with a proud smile.
Bruce flushed a little and ducked his head, as if he could avoid the butler's praise. Instead of responding, he took a large bite of pancake.
Usually not one to avoid an opportunity to tease, Margot thought she'd do the boy a favor for once and change the subject. "Smells good in here."
"Care for pancakes?" Alfred offered.
She nodded and took a seat next to Bruce, taking the mug of hot coffee that Alfred handed to her. He slid a couple of pancakes onto a plate for her, and Bruce nudged a small pitcher of syrup her way.
"I'll get you a towel," Alfred said.
Margot opened her mouth to protest, but he was already gone.
"Sounds like you gave the board a thorough what for," she noted, turning to Bruce. "Otherwise Alfred wouldn't be so proud of you."
The boy smiled slightly. "I did what was necessary," he responded modestly.
"It's weird," she admitted, "Seeing you so grown up." Eyeing his plate, she added with a soft laugh, "Although you still cut the crusts off your pancakes. Don't see how that helps, really. Technically the whole pancake is a crust."
That got a little laugh out of him. "It is not," he protested. "And anyway, yours are practically floating away in all that syrup you've drenched them in."
"True," Margot agreed, turning back to her own breakfast.
Alfred returned after a moment, warm towel in hand. Margot had come to appreciate the butler's habit for throwing towels in the dryer for a few minutes. As she wrung out her hair, Alfred remarked, "You could wear a hat, you know. Or a decent coat."
Margot grimaced. "I like this jacket, thank you, and I hate hats. I'm fine."
The butler simply shrugged and sighed, turning to a sizeable pile of mail that was waiting on the counter. He started to sort absently through the letters, separating them into different stacks. Margot picked up a booklet of coupons and let out a soft scoff.
"You'd think people would realize they hardly need to send these here. I can't imagine the two of you couponing much."
Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you'd like to use them."
She flipped to one of the last pages and noted, "Well, they are running a special on crossbows at the superstore this weekend."
The look the butler shot her made her laugh. "Don't worry," she reassured him. "I'm not in the market. For now."
Alfred ignored her pointedly. After a moment, he tossed a letter at her. "For you. Didn't know you had anyone to write you."
"I don't," she murmured, but there it was, her name on the envelope. It felt heavier than usual, and there was a lump in one corner, as if it contained a small object.
"Who's it from?" Bruce inquired, glancing at the envelope.
Margot shrugged and showed it to him. "No return address."
"You should open it," he encouraged her.
"Hand me that knife over there."
She was about to open it when the buzzer for the front gate sounded. Somebody had entered the grounds.
Alfred checked the time on his watch and let out a soft curse. "It's the security consultant." He glanced up at Margot. "Are you coming?"
"Yeah," she replied, remembering that she'd agreed to come help figure out the new security system. She stood and stuffed the letter into her back pocket, where it remained forgotten until later that night, when she was undressing for bed.
It fell out of her pocket, and she stepped on it, letting out a groan of pain when something sharp stabbed her foot.
"Damn it, that hurts," she cursed through her teeth, bending to pick up the envelope and stumbling towards her bed, where she sat.
Tearing the envelope open, she pulled out what looked like a single slip of paper. Unfolding it, she read in large black letters:
WE KNOW WHAT YOU DID
Pulse racing, she tipped the envelope over and something dropped into her lap. Her eyes went wide, her hand trembling as she picked it up.
It was her engagement ring—the first one—the one she thought she'd lost when she'd fallen into the river.
Panicking, Margot stood and limped to the fireplace, tossing both letter and envelope into the flames, holding her arms around herself as she watched the paper twist and curl and slowly burn to black. Shivering, she rolled the ring between her fingers, biting her lip until it bled. When she was sure the letter had been destroyed, she opened the drawer of her bedside table and placed the ring far in the back.
How could anyone know what she'd done when even she didn't know? She couldn't remember anything from those four days she'd been missing. She only recalled falling a long way, and then waking up on the bank next to that horridly bloated corpse.
For all she knew, she'd killed that man.
She went for the door, seemed to think better of it, and retreated. Twice more she did that, until finally she seemed to bolster enough courage to leave the room.
Margot found Alfred in his sitting room, sitting comfortably in a chair and scanning the paper. She half considered slipping away before he noticed her in the doorway, wondering how she could ruin what seemed to be a relaxing night.
Before she could make a decision, he glanced up, his eyes regarding her over the edge of his paper. "Margot." He folded the newspaper up and dropped it on the end table. "What is it?"
She hesitated, finally breathing out, "Alfred, can we talk?"
"You all right?" he asked.
"Yeah," she replied, unable to keep her voice from shaking. Her mind was spinning, reeling with all the possibilities. What if whoever had written that letter knew more than what had happened on the river bank? What if they knew about her side job as an assassin? What if they turned her into the police?
Something held her shoulders firmly—Alfred. She hadn't noticed him rise, much less approach. He held her gaze, his eyes filled with concern. "What is it?"
Margot shrugged. How was she supposed to explain everything to him when she could barely talk? "I…" she trailed off hopelessly.
Alfred touched her face, sensing her reluctance. "Give me a minute," he suggested. "I'll just pop downstairs and make certain the alarm's set. Then we'll settle down for the night, and you can tell me what this is all about."
Margot nodded. She could probably use a few moments to gather herself.
He seemed perplexed and worried. "Can I bring you something? A warm cuppa?"
She shook her head.
"Right. I'll just be a moment."
She sat on the edge of his bed once he'd left, waiting for him to return, trying to figure out what to say. Groaning, she collapsed and tucked her face deeply into one of his pillows. She missed that smell, that feeling of intimate familiarity. She just wanted him to hold her, to tell her she'd be safe.
She was tired of being strong and brave.
Alfred certainly was taking his time. Or maybe it simply felt like she'd been waiting a long time. How long had he been gone? She heard something clatter faintly downstairs, a muffled shout that was abruptly cut off.
Rising to her feet, Margot quickly descended the stairs, making her way to the study. She passed a sensor at the bottom of the stairs and noticed that the alarm didn't go off. The system hadn't been set yet.
"Alfred?" she called. "Bruce?"
No answer.
Something was definitely wrong.
She pushed herself into a stumbling, limping run, still calling out. "Bruce! Alfred!"
Nothing.
The light in the study was out, but the fire that dwindled in the fireplace cast a warm glow over the room. She noticed a lamp lying on its side, several picture frames and vases knocked from a mantle. And there, stretched out prone amid the debris, lay Alfred.
Margot's breath left her.
She stumbled towards the man, checking for breath, for a pulse. "Thank God," she gasped, feeling his vitals still strong. He was just unconscious.
Glancing around, she shouted, "Bruce!"
Nothing.
"Bruce!"
She stood on shaky legs and searched the room, but the boy wasn't there. She was about to check the rest of the manor when something fluttered on the edge of her vision. The gauzy drapes flapped gently in the breeze from the window. It was open.
Pulling the drapes aside, Margot pushed the window farther open and peered out into the darkness. In the planter just below the sill, mashed into the soft dirt, she saw a set of large footprints leading away from the house.
Somebody had entered the manor uninvited, knocked Alfred unconscious, and Margot suspected that the mysterious intruder had taken Bruce.
She heard a faint groan from behind her and whirled around to see Alfred stirring.
"Alfred!" She limped to his side, kneeling beside him. "What happened? Bruce is missing! What the hell happened? What do we do?"
The man held up a hand, wincing and shaking his head slowly. He looked up at her, meeting her gaze with his. "Bruce is missing?"
She nodded. "What do we do?"
His face was creased with concern, his shoulders bowed. "What can we do?" he asked with heavy dismay.
"Well, there's got to be a trail we can follow, some lead. Did you get a good look at your attacker?"
"Look, some shadowy bloke comes in, knocks me clean out, and steals away with Master B, and all this just hours after he makes a challenge to a secret cabal."
"So they have him."
"I assume so," he agreed, adding hopelessly, "but there's nowhere to look, Margot. I don't even know where to begin looking."
"Then let's call the police," she suggested.
To her surprise, Alfred shook his head again. "Let's not escalate things just yet."
She looked at him in utter consternation, unable to believe what she was hearing. "What?"
"Look," he explained, "that fella had a blade on him this long—" he held up his hands to show her "—but he didn't kill me, though he very well could've. The fact that I'm still alive makes me think they don't want to kill him, or else they would've done it already and left us all for dead. Why go to the effort of moving him? Leaving me alive if they were just going to kill him?"
"So what do we do then?" Margot demanded anxiously.
Alfred sighed and ran a hand over his hair. "We wait, and if by morning he hasn't returned, then we go to the GCPD with everything we know."
She had to admit it was a sensible plan, but she couldn't make her feelings agree. "Damn it," she cursed. "Why did we have to come back?"
Alfred shook his head. "I'm asking myself the same question."