It was mid-afternoon when they finally crossed over from dirt paths and onto the cobblestone roads of Saint Denis. Arthur led the way, Charlotte following, then Mary-Beth and in the back, Mr. Trelawny. The day had stayed clear and dry, but clouds threatened to overtake the sun as the hours passed.

Despite the cheery weather's attempts to lift her spirit, Mary-Beth hadn't felt like herself ever since the fire at Charlotte's house. Through most of the traveling, she'd fallen into her own weary thoughts of self-pity. Of most concern to her, she hadn't had a snippet of inspiration all day and she feared its absence.

Trelawny filled the silence of the ride with tales of his traveling exploits from the most life-threatening to the ridiculously fantastical. Despite the allure of the stories, Mary-Beth's mind kept drifting off and Charlotte seemed to be listening with only half an ear, nodding on occasion.

Arthur probably couldn't hear most of Trelawny's rambling or he was actively ignoring them. She couldn't tell because Arthur had made the silent decision to hardly speak to any of them. He was on edge, periodically wiping his palms on his pant legs and running his gaze along the road as if he expected another ambush.

Mary-Beth sincerely hoped that wasn't the case again and she felt safer when they reached Saint Denis. She was no stranger to death, but never had she seen so many people she cared about killed in so short a time span and...maybe...it was starting to get to her. She wouldn't say she was as far gone as Molly had been, but she was starting to understand better the factors that led to Molly's erratic behavior.

Most of the others had been in high spirits after defeating the bounty hunters and reuniting as a group again. But they rejoiced while Mary-Beth grimly accepted her return back into the fold. She hadn't left to be rebellious, despite Miss Grimshaw's vitriolic accusations.

It all seemed lost now, but she was away from the camp for the day, so it was easier to deceive herself into believing her dreams hadn't been shattered. Not only had Herr Strauss died in that fire, but so too the rising spark of opportunity.

As their horses clattered at a trot down the lane, Arthur slowed and called back to Trelawny, "Where's this lawyer friend of yours?"

"Ah." Trelawny's face brightened. "An easy enough find, dear boy. Mr. Pierre has an office above the shops on Frontier Street, across from the prodigious Guillard's."

"Where's that?" Arthur asked with a hint of impatience.

"Above an ice cream parlor."

"'Above an ice cream parlor'?" Arthur repeated in disbelief. "What the hell kind of back alley contact is this fella?"

Trelawny admitted, "He isn't a well-known name in the city as of yet, but I assure you, Arthur, he knows his way around insurance companies and the courts. And his expertise is ideal for our purpose as he seeks to assist the less fortunate."

"A do-gooder lawyer?" Arthur shook his head. "Sure. I'll take your word for it."

"Head for the bank, Arthur." Trelawny poked fun, "I know you can find that conveniently enough."

Their pace slowed as they traveled on Milyonne Ave and the streets grew more populated. They took a left onto Frontier Street, a trolley chiming as it glided past, full of passengers. When they reached the courthouse, Arthur had them slow while he jumped from his saddle and claimed the hitching posts.

Trelawny stopped next to her and offered to assist her down, but Mary-Beth dismounted without his help. Beside her, Charlotte hadn't moved from the saddle and she was eyeing the ground warily.

Since Trelawny had proceeded to hitch their horses, she asked, "Arthur, can you help Charlotte?"

Mary-Beth thought it the simplest of requests, but Arthur glanced at Charlotte briefly before looking away and saying with reluctance, "Sure."

He took position at the side of Charlotte's horse and finally met her eyes under his brimmed hat. "Did...you want my help, Mrs. Balfour?"

The question fell oddly on Mary-Beth's ears. The way he asked it, there seemed to be a double meaning, as if he were speaking of a more serious matter than simple courtesy.

"If I may," Charlotte replied, just as formal, just as focused, and added, "If you wouldn't mind."

He provided her a brief instruction on the easiest way to lower herself, yet stood close, one hand steadying the saddle as Charlotte clumsily dropped to the ground, but still managed to land on her feet.

Arthur laid a hand on her elbow, balancing her next as he asked, "You alright?"

"Yes." Charlotte lifted her eyes. "Thank you, Arthur."

Static tension clung to the air as their eyes met, the couple caught in each other's mesmerized stare.

Arthur broke from Charlotte in an abrupt manner and cleared his throat. "Don't mention it."

He distanced himself by hitching Charlotte's horse, his movements agitating enough that he had to take a moment to calm the horse.

Charlotte frowned his way as Mary-Beth came up beside her and said playfully, "I ain't never seen Arthur so flustered. Somehow, you got him all tongue-tied."

"Hmm..." Charlotte studied Arthur just out of earshot, thoughtful. "I don't think it's me who's causing that."

"Then who?" she asked with curiosity since it was plain as day what she'd seen. A spark between them that had awoken her creative mind from its slumber.

From the sidewalk, Arthur called to them gruffly, "Come on. Let's get movin'."

The four of them started walking, her and Charlotte side by side, following Trelawny and Arthur as they were led down the street. Trelawny swung into a casual discussion of the history of the Theatre Raleur.

When Arthur didn't engage, Trelawny asked him directly, "Will you be rendezvousing with the mayor straight away?"

"What? No." Arthur cleared his throat. He shot a backward glance at Charlotte. "Business with him is usually done...after hours."

Arthur always got squirrelly around Charlotte when they got to talking about some of the questionable jobs they did, which Mary-Beth didn't understand. If she wanted to run from them, she'd had plenty of opportunity and better reasons before now.

Arthur stopped walking and tilted his head down the road, where the bank sat on the corner. "I'm heading over to the Grand first."

It was at that point Mary-Beth realized she'd been so eager to leave camp, she hadn't asked the full purpose of this trip. She knew Trelawny had some scheme to get Charlotte back on her feet. But why was Arthur heading for a hotel?

Arthur said, "Where you reckon we should meet up?"

Trelawny surprised her when he suggested, "How about my house? You remember how to get there, Arthur?"

"Sure. We'll meet back there then." Arthur suddenly pointed to her. "Don't get into any trouble. We ain't in town for any cons."

"Of course, Arthur," Mary-Beth said agreeably. She'd learned the hard way the street kids around here were horribly territorial.

"Charlotte." Arthur hesitated, as if he had too much on his mind and couldn't decide what exactly he wanted to say to her. He eventually settled on, "Good luck."

Charlotte murmured, "Same to you."

Arthur addressed Trelawny one more time before he left. "Once your business is done, get the girls to your place safe."

"You have my word, dear boy."

Arthur nodded and turned from them, striding off on his own mysterious mission. Full of curiosity, Mary-Beth had half a mind to follow him.

"Let's not dally, ladies." Trelawny swept a hand to the path ahead. "We should be able to catch Mr. Pierre before he leaves for the day. Though I daresay the boy lives at his office."

Mary-Beth automatically followed, but realized they'd only be sitting around in a stuffy office for what could be hours and that served no interest to her.

As they passed a park with a horseman statue, Mary-Beth stopped and blurted, "If you two don't mind, I'm going to wait for you out here."

Trelawny didn't object as Arthur would have, if he'd been there. "Not at all. Enjoy the city and its many splendors, miss."

"Don't stray too far, Mary-Beth," Charlotte cautioned.

The two continued on while Mary-Beth turned around. A man trumpeted the national anthem outside the entrance of the park, attracting the attention of a few city dwellers.

She entered the little area full of lush foliage and flowers, following the roundabout of the statue, in search of a seat. All the benches were occupied, but there was a space left open next to a gentleman engrossed in his newspaper.

She approached him and asked, "Is this seat taken, sir?"

He didn't lower his paper nor try to look at her, his face absurdly obscured by the news. Only a top hat poked out from the top.

"Not yet," he responded in a deep, placid tone of voice. "It's yours for the taking."

Mary-Beth sat, smoothing down her skirts and withdrawing her journal from the satchel she'd brought. Since the fire at Charlotte's, she was determined not to leave it behind. She'd taken down some notes during their brief stay at Willard's Rest, but they were lost now, the ideas up in flames before she could properly ponder over them.

The reminder had her briefly uplifted mood souring. She'd been so sure her luck had been turning for the good for once. Leaving Lakay with Charles was supposed to be have been her leap of faith. Mary-Beth had felt safe, optimistic and believed she'd taken a step in the correct direction.

It was all such a pity because Charlotte had told her she knew how to reach the right connections for her, but now everything had changed and it felt selfish to bring it up.

The peace Mary-Beth sought in making this trip to Saint Denis was no longer in sight. Mary-Beth dreamed of so much more than being stuck at camp all day. But those dreams had been shattered and her time wasted. Was her failure inevitable?

Miss Grimshaw always said she was worthless. Maybe she was right.

"Drawing a blank, miss?"

Startled at being addressed, Mary-Beth looked to the man she shared a bench. He'd folded his newspaper neatly onto his lap and his attention was focused solely on her. She blinked at him. "Pardon me?"

"I've noticed you've been sitting here for several minutes, pen in hand, but you haven't written down a single word."

His voice continued in a deep, smooth and inviting way. His face was unmarked by scars, as she expected from a gentleman, but there was an edge of sorrow under his well-kept dark mustache. The rest of him was dressed impeccably, a clean elegant suit with a shimmering black tie, gray vest and the top hat to complete the outfit. He couldn't be much older than her, but his eyes bespoke of age and knowledge.

Mary-Beth realized she'd been staring and finally answered him, "I've a lot on my mind."

"Perhaps you can ease it by sharing your burden."

Mary-Beth looked to the sky and blew out a breath, ready to deny him. But the inviting nature of a willing listener enticed her to confess, "Well, recently, I was ready to start a new life, but all my plans fell to pieces before they could even get off the ground."

His dark eyes entranced her, peculiar and engaged. Pools of unfathomable depths. "What's stopping you from forging new plans?"

She sighed. "Everything was already aligned so perfectly."

"Do you wish all to be handed to you?"

Mary-Beth smiled with good humor. "Well, it would sure make life a lot easier, wouldn't it?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Raw opportunity is missed by most people because it's usually disguised in overalls and appears to be work."

That idea spoken aloud sounded familiar to her, but she couldn't place it. Had she read it somewhere? Other questions were entering her mind now that she'd gotten her burden off her chest. Though this man's manners had been nothing but impeccable thus far, it unnerved her that she'd so quickly opened up to him without worry of consequence.

"I'm sorry I didn't ask this sooner, but do I know you?" Mary-Beth asked boldly.

"No," he said definitively. "Yet, it is common for most to think so."

Perhaps he did have one of those inexplicably recognizable faces. She wanted to believe that to be true, because there was something about him she found familiar, yet not in a comforting way.

Before she could think on it more critically, he told her, "In the meantime, I know what it is you seek and I may have a path for you."

"You do?" she asked in surprise, his claim baffling her.

"You seek the recognition of an accomplished author."

"Because of my journal?" She fluttered her hand in embarrassed denial. "It's just a few doodles. Nothing more."

"The ink staining of your fingers belies the frequency of your true passion for it."

She curled the fingers that had betrayed her and tucked her sleeve down, feeling a flush creeping over her cheeks.

"A friend of mine needs some help." He stood and from his jacket produced a business card with a flourish that rivaled Trelawny's showmanship. "And I think the task will suit your purpose."

She reached to take it, but he pulled his hand back a moment and warned, "The choice to follow this lead is valid only for today."

"Alright..." Mary-Beth accepted the card, feeling the weightiness of it without fully understanding the reason for it.

"Remember, all I offer is a path, Miss Gaskill," he informed her. "It's you who decides how to take it."

She studied the card. A white, embossed frame surrounded the lettering scrawled in neat, elegant script. 54 Courtenay Street.

Then it sunk in that he'd called her by name when she hadn't introduced herself. She stilled. "How did you—"

The gentleman was no longer in front of her. Mary-Beth cast her eyes around and spotted him, no longer facing her as he casually strolled away, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Hold on, sir. Sir!" Mary-Beth stood, intending to give chase, but her journal slipped from her lap and onto the pebbled path. She scrambled to pick it up as someone passed in front of her, nearly stepping on it.

When she managed to look up again, the mysterious gentleman was gone. She looked down at the card again. She knew better than to accept tips from the odd person in Saint Denis, but the curiosity of it all tempted her.

Arthur's warning not to get into trouble thrummed in her ear. While she'd made foolish choices in the past, instinct told her this was worth investigating. After all, she needn't jump into anything. She could be cautious. She could at least discover what sort of business was at the address on the card.

Across from the park, the trolley's bell rang and the conductor called, "Boarding! Milyonne, Courtenay and La Marque."

To Mary-Beth, it seemed a serendipitous call, a last invite to a promising future. Hope, dimmed and dying in her heart only a moment ago, surged through her soul full force. She could still decide her own life path. And what was life without a little risk?

Decided, Mary-Beth packed away her journal for safe-keeping, lifted her skirts and hurried towards the stopped trolley, determined to uncover her next opportunity.