you could have my heart (and i would break it for you)
-or-
be gay do crime
By: Aviantei
The Adventure of the Missing Young Woman, Act Three:
"no one's left to save you now (kingdom come is falling down)"
It took a week longer of meeting Robson at the bar every other night for him to make a much more concrete move. As they'd suspected, he was methodological in the way that he increased the pressure encounter after encounter, and Jameson made sure to act enthusiastic about it, made sure to insinuate that he wished to experience more. And then, after what had seemed like a near eternity of waiting, Robson had said, "Next time, I'll take you someplace special," and that had been the key they were waiting for.
(Just how much his pace had to do with the regular other marks Jameson had peppered upon his skin by William was impossible to prove without a control group, but Jameson had enjoyed himself, so that was what mattered, now wasn't it?)
The operation time was then set: the upcoming weekend, which was in four nights' time. They'd been planning for such an outcome, so there was no need to scramble to put together a plan, instead just putting the finishing touches upon the ongoing preparations that the brothers Moriarty alongside Fred had been putting together while Jameson executed his role.
However, there was still one vital element that had yet to be solidified, which was why they'd invited Carol back to Moriarty Manor to discuss the details.
"I see," Carol said upon hearing the summary of their investigations. While the upcoming operation with Jameson would be the final piece of evidence they needed, everything so far pointed to Robson's involvement in taking women for his own—and even with his exact intents obscured, it wasn't a pretty picture. "Still, that you haven't found any sign of Alice yet…"
"We'll know in four days' time," Jameson said, not even having to fake the confidence of his words. "There's very little doubt that wherever Robson takes me, it'll be in a similar situation to what happened to Miss Alice. And since we'll have our group keeping an eye on matters, we'll be able to trace things back to the source." It was all going to be over soon enough, and Jameson both wished for a successful operation and could tell he would relish every last moment of giving Miss Alice's captors what they deserved.
Carol, on the other hand, seemed to be deep in thought, judging by the way she was staring right through Jameson. No, wait, he'd misinterpreted that: she was staring at him, but in a way that seemed like she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing.
Jameson couldn't blame her in the slightest. If someone had ever tried to tell him they would kill Stratford and all the rest for his sake, he wouldn't believe it, either.
"I understand that waiting isn't something you wish to do," William said, continuing the conversation, "but this is the most effective option we can muster. Without tearing the problem out by the roots, Miss Alice could become a target again in some form of retaliation, and then we'd be back where we started." Even worse, they might be in a position where they had no possible way of knowing someone else was hurt and missing.
I know we cannot save every last person upon this earth, but to not even try whenever the opportunity is there…
Well, if Jameson hadn't viewed the situation from such an angle, he wouldn't have been involved with the Moriartys' grand plan, now would he?
"No, I understand," Carol said, her voice much calmer than Jameson had been expecting—or perhaps it was that her voice was much hollower. In her lap, though, her hands were trembling, be it with a sense of rage, of fear, or of both. "I understand where you're coming from, so I'm not about to argue with you. Still, isn't what you're doing risky?" she asked, looking at Jameson. "If anyone should be using themself as bait, it should be—"
"Miss Carol," Jameson said, attempting to keep his words the proper balance of kind yet forceful; he was not as successful as he would have liked to be, but it would have to do, "are you capable of fighting? Of defending yourself if something goes wrong?" Carol had stilled, her brow furrowed in a way that proved she didn't like the implication but had no way of arguing whatsoever. "I am not saying we wouldn't protect you, but there's no need for you to risk yourself that way whenever you should instead be focusing on what you'll do once we've found them all."
As things stood, the fate of Robson and his accomplices was already decided.
Now it's just a matter of ironing out the details.
"I want them gone," Carol said, not even pausing to think about it. "Each and every last one of them who preys on us…I want them gone." For all such threats to disappear was impossible in such a short amount of time, and the three of them in that room knew it. However, that was nowhere near enough to dissuade any of them from their ideals, their rage, their vengeance. "That's what you're all planning to do, yes? Make them disappear the way you did those human traffickers back at the beginning of the year?"
Considering how close she'd been to the situation, it was no great surprise that Carol had figured that much out. William, used to such matters in a way Jameson had yet to become, nodded. "Yes, that's right. At this point, even if you didn't ask us for such a thing, that would be the outcome we'd choose. Such men…cannot be handled within the scope of the law."
It was a cruel fact, but a true one, nonetheless. Even then, Jameson knew, that if Carol asked, if she and Alice chose to show mercy, William would find a way to make that happen—he'd already explained it was more than possible to use the Moriartys' influence to make an arrest take hold, and all the more so if they passed Jameson off as a well-bred lady and used his "kidnapping" as an excuse.
There were ways to make almost anything happen, it seemed.
"Then I want them dead."
Carol was not choosing mercy.
"I want them all dead," she said, her voice filled with a smoothness that—while not as refined as Maryanne and Lucy's—would do plenty to lure a customer to her bed for the night. "If they want to treat us like objects, I won't show them any sympathy in return. And for hurting Alice…" No matter what other reasons Carol listed, that was her true motivation, and Jameson didn't blame her in the slightest. "I want to be the one to do it." Jameson hadn't expected anything less of the matter. Still, it was always better to receive a clear confirmation rather than assume when it came to such a delicate matter. "I don't care what his reason was; that bastard took Alice and tried to make her his—what? His bloody toy?" Carol's rage was almost near identical to Jameson's, which just cemented William's desire to see the case through. "I'm killing him, with or without you. Is that clear?"
"Believe you me, we want the same thing," Jameson said. Perhaps it was beyond presumptuous for Jameson to speak for everyone in the group, but they'd supported the operation thus far, so there was little reason to suspect otherwise. Besides, Jameson wouldn't stand for such a thing in any event, so it wasn't a lie to say that Carol wouldn't be alone. "That's the point of this meeting—to determine how much of a role you want in the matter and then how we can make that happen."
"You do understand," William asked, remaining far calmer than Jameson could manage to be, "that what you wish to do is a crime, yes? That the act of murder is something frowned upon by the law and morality alike?"
"If the law and morality allow for something like this to happen, I don't want a damn thing to do with them."
And there, the long-awaited piece for William to finalise what version of the plan they were going with.
"Very well. Crime Consultant, James Moriarty is on the case."
The days following the crime consultation with Carol were so ordinary that Jameson might've been convinced he had dreamed up the whole affair were it not for the lingering rage inside his bones. It had been the same for when dealing with the regulars, as well, that the wait for the plan to commence was the hardest to endure, because it meant that it would all be over soon, but not soon enough.
Of course, if such issues could be solved in the blink of an eye, the world wouldn't be as flawed as it was in the first place.
And so Jameson did his best to focus upon one thing at a time. Getting up in the morning, getting dressed, helping Louis prepare breakfast—and so on and so forth. They were simple things, the steps that had come to make up Jameson's every day, but there was a certain comfort in such routines, and it was one Jameson was grateful for. Besides, to act as if nothing about his days was different would be false.
There was, after all, a fourth person in the house to cook for that week.
Fred had been given permission to use one of the guest rooms, the one across the hall from Jameson's. Whether permitting him to stay was out of a sense of general kindness, practicality for his assistance in the case, or a matter of maintaining secrecy, it was unclear, and Jameson would have had no trouble believing it was from a mixture of all three across the brothers Moriarty. Regardless of the rationale, the boy was in the manor, on occasion called upon to assist with tracking Robson's movements, and that was enough to include him at mealtimes, even if he remained quiet unless someone addressed him outright. Even so, Fred seemed to be the rare sort where such standoffish behaviour felt comfortable, rather than awkward, so there were no major issues on that front.
But whenever Fred wasn't working, eating, or sleeping, Jameson had come across him with a near one-hundred percent encounter rate in the library.
At first, Jameson had thought that the boy was interested in the space because it was quiet and large enough that there was little chance of being pulled into interactions; Albert, as he'd been with Jameson, was more than social enough to tire anyone out. But upon their third encounter, Jameson had come across Fred with a book in his hands, a rather uncharacteristic look of concentration upon his face.
He can read? Jameson thought, feeling more impressed with the boy than he already had. In Jameson's case, he'd never been given much of an opportunity to learn anything beyond what his own name looked like until he'd been taken to Aldborough Manor, and he'd been lucky to even learn that much considering not many women at the boarding house could read, either. As for Fred's case… Hm, judging by how hard he's concentrating, it must not be easy for him. Maybe he's trying to put it together with bits and pieces? Lacking William's overall skills of deduction, that was the best guess Jameson could muster, though it wasn't like he needed to figure it out from a mere glance.
Asking would do just fine as a substitute.
"Good afternoon," Jameson said, and Fred tensed and jumped at the suddenness of being addressed. His eyes darted around the shelves, and a visible amount of tension drained out of his shoulders upon recognising Jameson. "Apologies for disturbing you. I just noticed you and wanted to say hi."
It took several long seconds before Fred managed to say, "…Good afternoon."
Jameson smiled, walking over to the armchair across from the one that Fred had nestled himself in. "Are you reading?" He inclined his head towards the volume in Fred's hands, the angle making it difficult for him to check the title. "You're more than welcome to whatever you like. Heaven knows we have plenty of books waiting for someone to enjoy them." At the very least, each and every volume on the shelves had been read by or was in the process of being read by a resident of the house, so the collection wasn't just a mere vanity piece like many other nobles', but that didn't mean they had time to be giving them all attention on a regular basis.
It was a bit of a romantic notion, but Jameson thought something like an interested reader must've made books very happy.
"I can't…read very well," Fred said, his cheeks tinting the slightest bit pink; it was the one sign of embarrassment on his otherwise unchanged face. "I just know a few letters, but I thought if I looked at some of the others, I might be able to figure it out." And there was that little hint of a frown again, which Jameson assumed was a show of frustration. "…It's harder than I thought."
Jameson nodded in understanding. It was a helpful skill, and a straightforward process once you got the hang of it—but getting the hang of it in the first place was often where the trouble started to arise. Making matters worse, it was the type of thing that seemed to be easier to learn the younger you were in many cases, so for people like them, who hadn't had the opportunity in the first place at that age, it became even more complicated.
"I had a hard time with it myself," he said. He didn't remember much of the specific lessons anymore, but he did remember it taking a while before he'd gotten the fundamentals down, which made learning anything else an even more frustrating experience. "It does get easier the more letters you get a hold on, though. If you want, I could show you some…"
By the time Jameon could think better of offering such a thing, the words were already out of his mouth, but he felt a small rush of embarrassment, nonetheless. For one, Fred might even want any help; for two, even if the boy did, it was questionable whether Jameson was good enough to provide it. It had been so long ago that he didn't even remember what it was like to piece together which letters meant which sounds, how they all blended together into words, not when the skill had long since become second nature. William, no doubt, would be a much better instructor—such a thing was his job, after all, even if the subjects were different—but Jameson would still try, should Fred ask for it.
"I…think I would like that." The admission seemed to embarrass Fred enough that he ducked his head into his shoulders, almost like some kind of small animal running away back to its burrow. Jameson was struck by the urge to pinch the boy's cheeks, but he held himself back. "I know you're busy, though, so if it's too much trouble…"
"Nonsense. I offered because it's not going to be trouble at all." All things considered, it would be an excellent way to make the days pass until the operation, which Jameson was grateful for. "I can't spend all day on it, but I can manage a couple of hours here and there. And since you already know some letters, we don't have to start from scratch." Jameson glanced about, trying to remember where he'd seen a particular volume upon the shelves. "I think if we get a few simple books, you can have something to practise with when I'm busy. Oh, and some paper and a pen as well." For Jameson, being able to try out the letters he was learning had helped him a lot during the process, so he didn't want Fred to miss out should he learn the same way. His plans set, Jameson nodded. "I'll be right back, okay? Don't go anywhere."
Fred didn't say anything in response, but, once Jameson ran all about to gather supplies and came back with his arms full and a tea tray bearing snacks, the boy was right where Jameson had left him.
Jameson might have been wrong, but he thought that Fred had the smallest of smiles upon his lips.
Knowing what he was about to be responsible for doing that night, Jameson would've thought to do nothing for the day, just to ensure he was rested. Louis had even insisted that Jameson take his day off from chores that day, which was fine in theory aside from the fact that it meant Louis would be tired before going on an all-nighter, and they might've been able to reach a compromise were it not for one key factor:
Cecil was also coming over to visit.
It had not been an intentional plan by any means. But just as Jameson's own schedule had regular invitations to attend to—somehow, despite it being midsummer, the nobility wasn't yet bored of flitting through each other's residences—so did Cecil's. In fact, he had even more to contend with, seeing as his family seemed intent on finding him a fiancée, so there were very few gaps where their schedules overlapped, the afternoon prior to the operation being the best option for some time to come.
And so Jameson had invited his friend in, showing him around a bit before they made their way to the backyard where Louis had set up afternoon tea.
"Oh, what a lovely yard," Cecil said, admiring the area. Jameson hoped that would be the case; he, Fred, and Louis had gotten a whole workout ensuring that the grass and bushes were tended to well for the sake of Jameson's social engagement. "It feels nice and comforting, too. Almost like the rest of the world doesn't exist around here…though I do think it could do well with some more flowers."
Jameson chuckled. "I thought you might say such a thing, but I'm afraid it hasn't been possible for us to maintain them. I ask that you make do with the flower arrangement I picked out for today." In addition to the afternoon tea spread Jameson had prepared for Cecil's visit, there was a vase containing a few flowers: yellow roses and chrysanthemums of the same, both of which were signs of friendship. While the arrangement wasn't anywhere as vast as the bouquet he'd ordered for William, it had still made Cecil's eyes sparkle. "I'm not sure if it will surprise you, but Lord Albert isn't one to insist on staff labour, so hiring a gardener hasn't quite happened yet." Nor did Jameson suspect it would so long as it was just the four of them living in Moriarty Manor, but that was neither here nor there.
"A bit unfortunate for my interests, but I suppose it's understandable. I didn't realise before that you didn't have much in the way of staff, though. Does that make matters difficult?"
"On occasion, but it's never anything too distressing." Since the Moriartys didn't host large gatherings like many others did—even in the height of the social season, they'd focused on attending events rather than planning them—they didn't have much to worry about in that regard. "Louis is excellent at managing the house, and it's even enjoyable at times to handle some of the chores. In fact, I'm the one that prepared our tea for today, so I hope you enjoy it."
"You?" Cecil's eyes had gone wide, and Jameson couldn't help but feel a bit subconscious, but he decided not to back down, nodding his confirmation. "Even the sandwiches and the muffins?"
"Yes. Baking can seem complex, but the basics are simple whenever you get down to it." There had been centuries of time for people to conduct trial and error on what were the best ways to prepare everything, and Jameson was just following their insights. "I tried it to keep myself busy once, but I've come to enjoy it a lot. So just like you, I have an unconventional hobby as well."
"Amazing," Cecil whispered, and the look of admiration on his face suggested he meant it. "I'm no good at such things—or, rather, I've never tried. And I doubt that, even if I wanted to, my father would approve." It was just in bits and pieces, but Jameson could tell from what all Cecil had said that his father was very invested in the idea of concrete roles for men and women, which just sounded exhausting. "Before we came to town for the season, he was starting to become much more agitated with me helping tend to the garden, insisting the work wasn't something I should care about whenever I haven't even managed to find a wife yet."
Jameson didn't bother to hide his own exasperation at the concept; Cecil could no doubt use the empathy. "Heaven forbid you wish to spend your time on something that makes you happy. I know in my case, I'd be much more concerned if my partner didn't have something they cared about." In any event, he found William's own enthusiasm for mathematics endearing, as well as the time he spent with his other idle pursuits—their shared enjoyment of the piano was a fine example.
Of course, I'm not so certain that I meet my own standards… Or so he would've thought if the table before him wasn't proving him wrong with the combination of food he'd enjoyed making and the tea set he'd picked out for himself.
Piece by piece, Jameson was becoming a real person, or at least closer to one.
Cecil nodded along, Jameson's assessment making perfect sense to him. "I think I can agree with that. Though speaking of preferences in partners…" Any traces of melancholy upon discussing his family were gone, instead replaced with a near glittering excitement. "The bouquet. You must tell me how it went! I've been anticipating hearing the news ever since the delivery date came and went."
Jameson didn't doubt that, not for a second; Cecil had found even the process of ordering the flowers exciting, not to mention selecting the blossoms and explaining their meanings to Jameson. The end result of all that effort must've been a matter of great anticipation, even if it wasn't for Cecil's own romantic interests.
"I was successful in giving them, though the timing was rather poor." Cecil's lips quirked into a frown, and Jameson swirled the tea in his cup as he tried to piece together the best way to explain the situation. Putting aside the matter that his—lover? The word almost felt too intimate—William was a man, there were numerous other things he couldn't confess to Cecil, no matter how close a friend he was becoming. "The day the flowers arrived, another important matter came up, so I wasn't able to make as sweeping of a gesture as I wanted." Jameson hadn't had any disillusions about turning it into a romantic outing, but he'd at least been looking forward to the prospect of using the bouquet as an excuse for some rather involved intercourse.
Then again, William offered that to me anyways after dealing with Robson, so it's not as if I can complain about one missed opportunity… And yet Jameson couldn't help but regret it. His appetite for William had yet to fade at all since their first tryst, which was both reassuring that everything Jameson had gone through hadn't broken him in some fundamental way, but also concerning. I mean, at this rate, I might never be satisfied…
Cecil at least seemed to share in Jameson's disappointment. "That's too bad. I was hoping to hear something passionate came as a result of all that work." He sighed, tracing a finger along one of the chrysanthemum blossoms. "Was it at least appreciated, though? I suppose not much would be more traumatic than giving such a gift and having it be turned down."
I know the case with Miss Alice is stressful, but I don't consider this gift an imposition at all.
I appreciate it and you, Jameson.
"It was well received," Jameson said, confident of that much. Were they in any other situation, things might have gone further than those simple words, but Jameson considered them precious all the same. Besides, William still had the vase upon his desk, so that was evidence plenty that Jameson hadn't overstepped anything. "I shan't say I'll make it a regular thing, but if I ever do decide to gift flowers again, I would love to have your assistance, my friend."
And looking the happiest he'd been since his arrival, Cecil said, "You can count on me!"
It was around sunset that Jameson at last subjected himself to the thorough costuming that allowed him to pass for a lady. Given the natural shape of his body, he didn't need to do too much in that area (aside from not wrap his breasts as he was accustomed to on a day-to-day basis), but none of that changed the fact that women's outfits could become very complicated very fast, and all the more so whenever one was trying to dress to impress. The previous nights, he'd made sure to look attractive, yes, but it seemed that the appropriate response of a woman (who was unaware of the truth of the matter) to take the invitation to "somewhere special" as an opportunity to put on her very best.
Jameson hated everything about it. The layers of petticoats, the lace scratching at his neck, the frills at the end of the sleeves. It was a lovely dress, would be wonderful on anyone who wanted to wear it, but to Jameson? To Jameson it was all too like the gowns that Stratford had shoved him in, and the touch of makeup that Albert helped him with was almost enough to make Jameson vomit down his front, ruining all his hard work.
The success of the operation was counting upon him, though, so Jameson swallowed it all down and made sure not to look upon himself in the mirror whatsoever. When it came down to it, he knew that if he complained, William would adjust the entire plan to accommodate for him, and that was far kinder than Jameson could even imagine. And while it was nice to imagine not having to go through with it all, the alternative was leaving Miss Alice with Robson even longer, and that was unacceptable.
Once Jameson's anger kicked back in in full force, he stopped having space to feel anything else.
Though Robson's promise was to take Jameson somewhere new and interesting, they met at the same bar as usual, though, unlike usual, Robson was there before Jameson arrived. The man ordered two drinks before Jameson could even say anything, and Jameson understood just how calculated of a move that was. Get the victim tipsy before—
Well, before whatever it was he was planning on doing.
Jameson couldn't think of any good endings to that scenario.
But for the beginning of their encounter, Robson was polite enough, engaging in the same inane small talk that Jameson had encouraged the past few weeks; the talk of his business dealings, the gossip amongst his social circle all threatened to slide in one ear and out the other; Jameson had to concentrate far more than he'd expected to be able to reply at the appropriate times, though at least he was able to use his spaciness to make it seem like the alcohol was doing its job as he swayed a little in his seat and landed with his head upon Robson's shoulder.
"Done already, love?" Robson asked, though, if he'd paid any sort of attention the previous nights that they'd met, he'd know that even Jameson's low tolerance was higher than that. "Or I guess you're just eager, hm? Alright, let's get you into a carriage for the night, shall we?"
Jameson gave some sort of demure response that he couldn't quite hear in his own ears and let Robson pay the tab before leading him outside. The night was still warm, overall pleasant, and Jameson was already imagining what it would be like in William's arms. At least with how the plan for the night was going, there would be no need to go to bed with Robson again, but even leaning against him was starting to feel like too much, and that feeling intensified as the man's hand found itself upon the cinched line of Jameson's waist.
Robson didn't do more than that in the carriage, though, giving instructions to the cabbie for the same usual townhouse that they'd gone to before. That could be a problem, since they were hoping to finish things that night, but it wasn't as if there weren't ways to coerce information from people whenever they were under the threat of immediate harm.
Not that complying would do a damn thing to save him.
Not whenever that night they were being followed.
Fred had been assigned the role of the main scout, and he'd send lantern signals from the roof to alert Louis of where to take the carriage holding both of his elder brothers. Jameson didn't see the young boy whenever he glanced up to the rooftops, but he had every confidence he was there.
The good news was that Robson seemed to be a bit more on edge than usual, and that meant his advances in the carriage were minimal, which Jameson wouldn't dare to complain about. The dress itself was torment enough, the lace feeling itchier than usual, but Jameson focused on regulating his breath along with the weight of the now familiar knife tucked within his skirts. Killing Robson before they could get any manner of information out of him would be a waste, but it was still comforting to know he could defend himself if need be.
Robson would still be plenty capable of talking so long as Jameson didn't injure anything vital, now wouldn't he?
Jameson didn't end up needing to use that option, though, the carriage arriving at its destination before the two of them disembarked, Jameson ushered through the door he'd been taken through so many times. However, instead of being led towards the bedroom with immediate haste, Robson took Jameson to a sitting room that he recognised from his canvasing of the place on a previous night.
"I know I said that we'd do something special tonight, but I'm afraid some complications came up." Not enough complications for him to have mentioned so earlier, so it wouldn't be worth it to delay the operation. "Scheduling these things has become harder, I'm afraid." Jameson took the seat he was gestured to, making sure to sit like a proper lady whilst keeping his expression set in faint confusion. "But I promise, it will be worth the wait."
You have been, the dark glimmer in his eyes seemed to say.
As if Jameson was helpless.
As if he didn't know what was coming.
Jameson couldn't hold back his chuckle. "You're funny," he said, and Robson looked at him as if he wasn't sure what he was seeing. It was just as well. "I should thank you. You went ahead and led me right where I wanted to be."
"Yes, that is what we agreed upon." Robson, of course, still didn't get it, and he instead moved to wrap his arms around Jameson's shoulders from behind. "You've been so receptive…I've been wanting to give you a special treat. You see, I know not many other men would be willing to fulfil your desires, but there are more than enough if you know where to look. It will have to wait until tomorrow, but I'll be able to introduce you to them then."
All of that confirmed their suspicions that several people were involved in the incident, which solidified the entire matter; every little extra bit of discomfort Jameson had put himself through had been worth it. "Is that what you told Miss Alice?" Robson blinked, the confusion upon his face genuine to such a degree that it wasn't that he was surprised Jameson knew that name, but instead he didn't recognise the name at all. Jameson scoffed. "You're atrocious. The young woman from Whitechapel, with dark hair and deep blue eyes? The one you spent two weeks with before she went missing?" That was enough for Robson to realise whom Jameson was talking about at long last. "I shouldn't be surprised, considering you didn't even bother to learn my name, either. But that doesn't matter."
"Because you're not going to get the opportunity to hurt anyone again."
Robson whirled around, finding Carol at the door, nothing but pure contempt on her expression. William was behind her, his own expression that flat mask he used whenever dealing with those they'd decided to punish. He wasn't the main event, though; just a backup for the true fury Carol was about to unleash upon the monster that had hurt and taken her friend without so much as learning her name.
Jameson didn't feel sorry for him.
"What's going on? Who are you people?" If the situation were less precarious, Jameson might've done nothing but sit back and watch, but he couldn't afford to do so, not with Miss Carol present and unused to such affairs. Even so, Jameson didn't bother to stop Robson from taking a few steps towards the door. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but this is a private residence. You can't come in here—"
"Why not?" Carol asked, her voice snapping through the air. "Because it's improper?" The sound of her step forward echoed throughout the room. "Because it's against the law?" Another step, the look upon her face unforgiving. "I don't want to hear any of that from someone like you."
To her, nothing could be more insulting than hearing excuses for why Alice had been taken. Jameson was certain.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Robson said—and yet the strength of Carol's glare was enough for him to stumble a few steps back. Grasping for any sense of normalcy he could muster, Robson looked to Jameson. "Is this a prank of some sort? If you had friends you wanted to invite along, then all you had to do was ask, not pull some elaborate—"
Jameson did nothing more than tilt his head. "I wouldn't look away from her if I were you."
Even with a silencer attached to the firearm, Jameson felt the gunshot echo all the way to his bones.
Robson hunched over himself, grasping at his side where the bullet had struck. When discussing the plan, Carol had agreed to wait to kill Robson until they got more information from him—though it wasn't like they could expect an amateur to take a killing shot outright. Carol had the gun grasped in both of her hands, and, while her arms were shaking from the kickback, her expression was steady.
It might be harder to ask her not to kill him outright, Jameson had thought beforehand, and his opinion hadn't changed once they were in the middle of it.
So he moved, taking advantage of the moment to knock Robson off his unsteady legs and restrain him, just the way he was taught: arms held behind his back, Jameson's body weight keeping the rest of him down as he sat on the man. He did not spare any pressure from pushing down on Robson's new wound, the blood seeping into his layers upon layers of expensive skirts. William had moved closer, but he didn't see any need to interfere with Jameson's work, which seemed to be a sign that he'd done a good job.
That Carol had pressed her gun against Robson's forehead doubtless helped matters, though.
"I suggest not attempting to spew any falsehoods right now," William said, his own firearm catching the light as he trained it upon Robson. His expression was dispassionate, though Jameson could see the under rumblings of a much deeper anger inside him. "We know that you're not working alone, and we know that you and your comrades are responsible for a great number of women disappearing—though not without gaining a series of several bruises and bitemarks upon their person first."
Jameson himself was a prime example of that, and he shifted his weight, just to remind Robson that he was there. "You weren't intending on letting me go after tonight," he said, the careful breakdown of the situation adding more to Robson's fear as it sunk in that his little secret operation wasn't so secret anymore. "You were going to pass me around to others—perhaps even give me to the highest bidder. And then you were going to dust off your overcoat, head back out into the night, and do it all over again."
"And what's so wrong with that?!" Robson said, which was the precise incorrect thing to say with the trio of people surrounding him in that moment. "Plenty of men have unsatisfying wives, just to keep up face—and they'll pay good money to get what they want, too. We used to have connections to a group that worked in Whitechapel, but they went dark back in winter, so we decided to start doing it ourselves! You have a problem with that?!"
For all that he'd worried about Carol's ire, Jameson hadn't considered that it might be a struggle for him to hold back from killing Robson before they got what they needed. Lucky for him, he was able to live vicariously through Carol, who was seething with a volcano's worth of rage.
"You piece of shit," she said, pushing the gun up against Robson's forehead and causing all his bravado to melt away into a whimper, "where is Alice? Did you already sell her to someone? Give her back! She's not—we're not some goddamn toys for you to play with!"
"I would suggest," William said, "choosing your words with care." The safety on his own gun clicked off, an intentional move calculated for Robson to realise the exact level of danger he was in. "For the crimes you've committed, you will not be leaving here alive tonight; that is not up for debate. However, when it comes to the exact level of pain you'll experience beforehand…well, when it comes to those you have wronged, I cannot make any promises unless you cooperate and tell us what we wish to know."
It was a false promise, and a cruel one at that; from everything he'd seen, Jameson had no doubt that Carol would make Robson suffer, regardless. But he also knew that, above all else, her goal was to save Alice, and that wasn't something that would be possible without Robson's information. As for how far she'd go to get that…
One look at her was more than enough to understand the absolute lack of mercy she'd show to anyone who dared to stand in her way. And so—
In a trembling voice, Robson confessed the names of his accomplices and the address of his base of operations.
They were the last words he ever spoke.
It was impossible to tell how long the carriage ride was to their next destination since time felt as if it had ceased flowing at its natural pace long ago. Later, Jameson would reflect that such sensations seemed to be the norm in the midst of an operation, but he had none of the state of mind to consider that in the moment. All he could do was bounce his leg in a futile attempt to control the blazing sparks of energy and rage that wished to burst out of every last corner of his body.
Robson may have been dead, but there was still work to do.
Of immediate concern was locating Alice, and they wasted no time in heading into the carriage, giving Louis the address before they took off. Albert and Fred were also with them, just in case they needed the extra manpower; there was no guarantee the hideout would be empty when they arrived. William was the sole one to remain behind, his goal to rearrange the murder scene into something that couldn't be traced back to them, his quick intellect necessary to handle any unexpected elements that might have occurred in the process.
The building itself was a rather unobtrusive townhouse, the sort that many nobles who lived outside the city had in their possession. It was pretty enough, with even a couple of large potted plants near the entrance to substitute for any front yard. Louis took their carriage across the entrance, all of them locking the building in their sights, then continued down the road and to the back side, where it would be much easier to enter without catching the attention of any neighbours who just might happen to wake up in the middle of the night and glance out the window.
In a perfect crime, they couldn't afford to make any sort of mistakes.
If nothing else, the townhouse was dark, which meant anyone inside would no doubt be asleep—should there be anyone there at all. The pessimistic part of Jameson's mind couldn't help but worry there might be a trap waiting or that Robson had lied before taking his dying breath, but the presence of a lone guard near the back entrance suggested they might be onto something.
"I'll go," Louis said, taking the point position. They'd parked a block away and approached the house on foot to cover their tracks, but it was still a large ask to expect five total people to go unnoticed. Louis was already gone without waiting for permission, his movements swift as he knocked the guard out, then dragged him out of the way to restrain him.
Carol was beyond antsy through the whole process, and Jameson hadn't the slightest idea how she was able to will herself to not rush off as Louis did his role, as Fred went ahead to help scout. Albert stayed behind with both of them, just in case any sort of emergency cropped up, but the road and night were quiet, not a single thing present to distract them from the wait. Alice was supposed to be in there; they were so close to finishing what they'd first been asked to do, and Jameson was beyond ready to bring it all to an end, even if he knew it wouldn't be over, not until every last one of Robson's accomplices were eliminated as well.
But rescuing Alice would be something.
Minutes passed, and then Fred gave a signal from one of the windows that it was safe to go inside. Right from the start, there was a tinge of something in the air that made Jameson grimace—not from the scent, but from the atmosphere. It was doubtless a feeling based on the knowledge of what the building was used for, rather than any sort of intuition, but that didn't mean Jameson had to like the place whatsoever.
As it turned out, the guard outside had not been the sole one, but the couple that had been inside were now unconscious upon the floor, so Jameson stepped over them as they all split up to search the rooms, Carol sticking close to Albert. The first floor was for the most part dedicated to the usual amenities like a kitchen and dining room, but the upstairs had a handful of bedrooms.
Some were unlocked and empty.
Others were shut up tight. Fred had managed to swipe the keys, and so he focused on unlocking all the doors while the others pushed them open. The first door Jameson ended up with had a woman in the room, dozing in the bed, and she didn't stir upon Jameson's quiet entrance. Not wanting to scare her (he knew he would have been terrified at any sudden intrusion in the dark), he kept his approach quiet, but the light colouring of her hair already confirmed that she wasn't Miss Alice.
The locked door and the bars upon the window made it clear that she was in a similar situation, though, and Jameson was certain that the other locked doors would yield much of the same results.
Three total closed rooms, and two others…
Jameson dug his nails into his palms about the same time as there was a cry of surprise from down the hall. Fearing the worse, Jameson drew his knife within a second, but the sight of Louis and Albert not in immediate combat positions helped to relax him. They were both standing by the same door, with Carol nowhere in sight, and Jameson could take a solid guess at what was happening by that much alone.
"Did you find her?" he asked, walking as fast down the hall as he could muster without making a racket.
Albert nodded, and was about to say something whenever Carol's voice called out, "Sh-she's breathing, but she's hurt!" Bracing himself for a sight that would make him feel sick, Jameson clenched his fists and stepped into the room. Carol was by the bedside, and a woman that could be no one but Alice was upon it, her eyes shut and bruises all over her skin. She didn't appear to be bleeding, which was a plus, but there was just so little solace in such things whenever clear abuse was evident. Carol was taking sharp breaths, tears spilling out of her eyes in panic. "What do we do, what do we do? If she's not okay, there wasn't any point—"
As far as Jameson was concerned, there was always a point to eliminating those who would harm others, but Carol didn't need to hear that now, not when there was a fresh emergency at hand. "Deep breaths," Jameson said, maintaining his composure out of sheer willpower. It was easier, he found, to keep his calm whenever someone else was on the verge of pure panic; had Arthur felt the same way in that dark room illuminated by the blinding light of a camera flash? "I know you're worried, Miss Carol, and you have every right to be, but that won't help Miss Alice right now. You said she's breathing, yes?" Carol, unable to muster more than whimpers of distress, nodded. "Then we can take care of her. I know a doctor. We'll take her there. Fred, can you hear me?" The boy stuck his head around the doorway. "I need you to run a message to the address I'm about to tell you for Dr Burnett. Tell her it's an emergency and Jameson Liam Verity is taking someone to her clinic. I'll pay her whatever she wants, just make sure she comes. Lord Albert, I need you to help me as well. Louis—I know it's a lot to ask, but can you help the others here?" With a nod, Fred was gone from sight, and Jameson rubbed circles into Carol's back. "We need to get moving, Miss Carol. Can you stand?"
"I-I…" She took a breath, one not anywhere near long enough, but it seemed to have steadied something inside her, regardless. "Yes. I should be able to walk on my own." There were still tears shining in her eyes, but Carol managed to push herself to her feet, though she didn't stray one inch from Alice's side. "If she isn't alright after all this, I'll kill him again."
"That's the spirit."
If she could use that rage as fuel just until they made it somewhere safe, everything would be alright.
With Albert's help, it was a simple matter to get Alice out of the room without too much aggravation of her condition, and soon they were off in the carriage, Albert taking advantage of the late hour to go much faster along the roads than usual. Part of Jameson couldn't help but regret leaving Louis behind with so much work, but he couldn't stand to stay behind nor would he be able to get Alice into the clinic on his own. Jameson added learning how to drive a carriage to his never-ending list of things that would make him more useful during operations.
With each and every bump against the cobblestones, Jameson couldn't help but wince. Thankfully, Carol's attention was so focused upon her friend that she outright missed the breaks in his attempt at remaining composed.
She needed someone in the situation to be calm and in control, even if it were just an act. Jameson was happy to play that role if it helped her maintain her hope, even if that meant he couldn't feel his fingers for how tight she was gripping his hand for support.
Arriving at the clinic did just so much to help alleviate the tension, since they weren't anywhere near out of the woods. Dr Burnett did handle her work with pride, so her home was close to her practise, meaning that it didn't take them long to get in. It was also a testimony to her dedication that Dr Burnett didn't make any remarks for being woken up at such an hour, instead directing Albert to follow her back to an examination room while Jameson and Carol were left in the lobby without much to do than worry.
"If you wish to talk about anything," Jameson said, breaking apart the silence, "I am glad to listen." Carol turned to Jameson, looking rather unimpressed with the offer, but he didn't let that stop him. "If you also want me to talk so that you have something else to focus on, then I can do that as well. And if you wish for me to remain silent, I will remain so. I just…" He held back the sigh threatening to well up inside him. "I wanted you to know that, Miss Carol. That's all." From there, it would be up to her to determine the sort of support she wanted.
For a long time, Carol didn't say anything. In fact, if she hadn't given a slight nod, Jameson might've worried that she hadn't heard him at all. But since she had, he didn't have any intention of pushing her more than necessary. At the very least, from his perspective, there was something relaxing about a clinic lobby in comparison to night after night of unsatisfying sex.
Once the matter was all settled, Jameson was going to take the longest bath he could stand to be in, and he had every bit of confidence that he could stand it for a very, very long time.
"…Alice and I," Carol whispered, even her quiet tone beyond audible in the empty lobby, "haven't known each other all that long." Jameson adjusted in his seat, sitting taller so that it was clear he was listening. "We met just a few months ago. I'd been sent out to do some shopping, and she was doing the same. I don't even remember how we got to talking just…that she started it, and it didn't bother me." Jameson hummed in acknowledgement. It reminded him of how he and Jim had met, though Jameson was certain neither of them had ever been trusted with more than the bare minimum of coin their mothers could spare. "She's sweet. And warm. And it's nice to talk to her. But is…all of that enough of a reason for me to be this worried for her?"
Unspoken: Is that enough of a reason for me to have killed for her sake?
For many, it would have been a difficult question to find an answer to. After all, killing was considered a sin in the eyes of God, and such teachings were common, even in the slums where it felt like no deity would ever bother to touch. But for Jameson, it had never even been the slightest bit in question: so long as no one else would save him, he would do it himself—and the same applied to saving other people. And when it came to something as grand as William's ambition to change the world for the better, Jameson had even less qualms about it all.
"Miss Carol," Jameson said, not having anywhere near the guts to admit his true thoughts on the matter out loud, "I'm not going to tell you how to feel. But if you feel that worried, then you feel that worried. It's as simple as that." In his peripheral, Jameson noticed Carol looking to him, but he didn't outright meet her gaze, instead continuing to look at the painting on the opposite wall without looking at it at all. "Our emotions are not always rational, nor do they need to be. If they followed a set of logical outcomes, we would be machines, not human beings." Instead, they were alive, with all their flaws and all. "In the eyes of the law and morality, I may be wrong, but I do believe that there are some things that are worth killing for."
Erasing someone who dared to harm others was one.
Protecting someone you cared about was another.
Carol met both of those requirements without any room for debate.
"Let me ask you this," Jameson continued, at last meeting Carol's hazel gaze, "do you regret it?"
"No."
"Then that's all there is to it." Of course, if she had regretted it, that would have been fine, too. There were just as many ways to handle the situation as there were people, and Jameson had no intention of shaming Carol for how she was feeling. "Then again, maybe that answer will change down the line. Maybe it won't. But it's done, and all we can do now is use the opportunity we've been given to move forward."
"And what about you?" Carol asked. "Do you regret what you did to help?" Jameson hadn't expected the question to be turned back on him, and his gaze must have reflected as much, since Carol sighed before continuing, "You made yourself bait for him. You let yourself get hurt. That's not…an easy decision for someone to make." Carol glanced down at her hands in her skirts, a conflicted expression forming. "I didn't expect you to go that far, is all."
"Is it that surprising?" Jameson asked, not getting it at all. Carol gave him a disgruntled look, and Jameson shrugged as he stared up at the ceiling without seeing much of anything. "Say, Miss Carol, you work at Miss Penny's boarding house, right? Not just as someone who manages the front desk?"
"Yeah, what of it?"
"So would you consider it worthy of being surprised if you had played the bait instead of me?" While her lack of combat training meant that Carol had never been a candidate in the first place, if Jameson hadn't been there to take on the role… "Would you have expected anyone to not think you were capable of doing something like that?"
Carol harrumphed. "I suppose not." She was a prostitute, after all; most people wouldn't have batted an eye at her willingness to use her body to get what she wanted. Of course, that was a faulty assumption, one built upon the stereotype of how polite society viewed such women, but that didn't change the fact that most people who didn't bother to get to know Carol well wouldn't have batted an eye. But in Jameson's case…
"It's the same for me," Jameson said, and Carol whipped her head towards him. Jameson didn't bother to look her in the eye. "I'm not someone you should bother thinking of as above such things. In fact…" No, Carol didn't need to be burdened with everything Jameson had gone through, not whenever after the consultancy was done they would go back to being passersby in each other's lives.
But if I'm already a whore, what's anything like that even matter?
Maybe Carol understood the implication of his words; maybe she didn't. Jameson wasn't concerned either way. At the end of the day, he'd been able to save someone, despite or even because of how filthy he was, and that was more than enough for him.
Carol, on the other hand, didn't look anywhere near as satisfied as she grabbed the front of Jameson's dress and made him look at her.
"I don't know what you've been through," she said through her scowl, "and I'm not gonna ask you to go and spill your guts to me. But I will tell you that what you did—how you helped me get Alice back—that means something. And I'm not just gonna sit here and listen to you act like it isn't worth a damn thing." The sound of footsteps approached from further down the hall, and Carol half-shoved Jameson away as she released him. "So thank you."
Jameson didn't even get the chance to come up with a response as Albert stepped into view. "Dr Burnett says it's alright to come inside now," he said, and Carol was on her feet in an instant, already rushing towards the back, though she couldn't have known where she was going. Then again, with everything she'd just said, Jameson felt as if Carol would have been capable of finding Alice on the other side of the globe should she be pressed to do so. Jameson stood, waving Albert on to guide Carol while he followed along at a much slower pace.
A few minutes later, they were all arranged in the room, though Albert and Jameson lingered back by the door so as not to get in the way. Carol was on her knees by Alice's bedside, clasping her friend's hand as if in prayer.
"It's bad," Dr Burnett said, not sugarcoating things as usual, "but it's not impossible to recover from. She's abused, yes, but whoever did this must've known their limits." In other words, Robson and his group had enough experience in just how much someone could take while still leaving them battered.
"Disgusting," Jameson said with venom, though that was just a mere eighth of the true distaste he was feeling in that moment.
Monsters who brutalised others to the point of breaking were one thing. But those who knew enough to extend the amount of suffering they could put someone through—
Devils didn't even begin to describe them.
"Is she going to be able to recover?" Carol asked, her voice still hard but trying not to break in half.
The wrong words at the wrong time might be enough to shatter her apart, but expecting Dr Burnett to hold anything back would be a fool's errand, Jameson thought. "It won't be an easy road, and I can't say how well she'll be in the head once she wakes back up. But as for the physical parts…she'll be able to go out and about her days, at any rate. The chance of her ever bearing children though is pretty much nil."
Everyone seemed to wince. Jameson wondered if Alice would ever be able to stand letting someone else into her bed. He'd been able to, but he assumed he was the exception rather than the rule.
Still, that she was alive to start to choose how she'd navigate the world instead of dead was something worth noting—now it was just a matter of whether Alice would consider it a blessing or not.
"I'll treat her, of course," Dr Burnett continued. "I'm not about to abandon someone in front of me who needs it."
"And what about money?" Carol asked, that tight tension back in her shoulders. "Alice is from the slums; she can't afford that."
"We'll cover it," Albert said, not even hesitating to volunteer his own pocketbook once again. Carol looked to him, that faint awe tinting her expression again. "Whatever it takes to help her get back to as close to a normal life as possible—the Moriartys will take care of whatever fees you have."
"I'll contribute as well," Jameson said. He'd been the one to drag them into the situation in the first place; the least he could do was handle any related expenses. In fact, he'd later discuss with Albert about covering all the cost himself, but it wasn't the time nor place to start what would doubtless be a long debate. "You don't have to worry about that, Miss Carol." Carol still seemed to be in the throes of disbelief, but she nodded. "Whatever you need to help her, Doctor."
For her part, Dr Burnett looked a little exasperated, but it was hard to get a good look at her face whenever she was still so focused upon her work. "I'm not a fan of the way you all seem to think I would extort someone in need, but that's neither here nor there." She spared a glance to Carol. "Don't you worry, girl. I'll handle everything as well as I can. The rest will be up to her when she wakes up."
And while the words weren't filled with any unnecessary platitudes, that was still at last enough for the dam inside Carol to break as she allowed herself to cry with relief.
While they left Carol and Alice behind in Dr Burnett's care, there was no rest for them throughout the rest of the night. By the time Jameson and Albert returned to the townhouse where they'd found the kidnapped women, Fred had already run to pick up William, who'd done the work of arranging Robson's death to appear as a suicide, and the two of them were helping Louis secure the hideout. Said work involved further restraining the handful of guards, as well as waking up the other captured women to assure them that they were safe and free. It was fortunate that none of them had been injured as much as Alice had been, though that in part seemed to be because none of them had been gone as long as she had, though one other woman had mentioned that she'd been given time to heal since she was about to be presented as merchandise.
While it wasn't true across the board, Jameson had found that most sadistic men tended to prefer doing the harm themselves.
With all of them working together, they were able to get the women to the safety of Dr Burnett's clinic, just to make sure everyone was alright. The doctor had sighed, but she'd called in some of her nurses to help with the work, promising a hefty bill to end up at Moriarty Manor in the coming days.
But none of that mattered as much to Jameson as what they were going to do next. Between Robson's admissions, the documentation they'd found in the hideout, and some extra coercion upon the guards, the names of those leading the operation were clear. Whenever they shared the information with Carol, she'd scowled at the length of the list, though she didn't respond with the immediate ire Jameson had expected.
"Right now, I'd like to focus on helping Alice," she'd said, looking at her friend in the clinic bed. The nurses had reported that Carol had moved from Alice's side just to use the restroom and freshen up; anything like eating or sleeping, she'd done in the chair, outright refusing to leave the room. "That said, I still want them gone." She'd offered Jameson a smile more beautiful than any other expression he'd seen on her before. "Can I trust you all to take care of them in my place, Lord Verity?"
And so, their next targets had been set.
They would all be dead within a fortnight.
"Sounds like you've been having fun sticking your nose into all sorts of trouble again. Isn't that right, boy?"
After some negotiation, Jameson and Miss Penny had come to an arrangement that they would meet up at least once a month in person for a meal, with the conditions being that Jameson wouldn't drag her out anywhere extravagant, which was fine by him. They did still, of course, exchange regular letters, but, most of the time, Jameson found himself looking forward to their meetups.
The meetup in question, however, had left him with mixed feelings as he was sure to be on the receiving end of a lecture, and Miss Penny was not one to disappoint. Given that Carol was under her direct care, she'd heard plenty about the recent exploits, and that was more than enough grounds for concern.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were a trouble magnet. You end up learning about these incidents, then you refuse to let them go, putting yourself at risk all the while. If I thought it would do anything to stop you, I'd give you one good whack for your troubles."
Jameson smiled, though the expression was rather nervous. "I appreciate you knowing me well enough to show restraint, Miss Penny."
"Don't you go trying to act all innocent to make me let me guard down. I pretty much raised you, boy, and I haven't forgotten your tricks." So she said, but Jameson knew it still softened her mood; he would at least resolve not to exploit it too much. "To think we'd end up with such an incident so close to the one before, though. I know we're easy prey down here and the slums, but operations like that tend to take time to start up."
Given her long experience in her line of work, Jameson trusted her word on it, and William and Albert had said much to the same effect, hadn't they? "Based on what Robson said," Jameson said, "this group were once customers of the traffickers we handled before." Miss Penny's expression indicated she didn't think it was an unlikely theory, which was at least something. "William and the others found some evidence that suggests these men were getting paid as well." It was a much more secure paper trail than what had been the case with Harriss, though, so there wasn't any sort of breakthrough they'd been able to figure out.
Miss Penny's frown was deep. "And let me guess: You plan to do something about it."
"I understand I may not be able to, but if I can, I'm not going to sit around and do nothing." Not whenever he had the chance to be able to change things for the better. "Miss Penny, I wanted to talk to you about that. I'm…sure you've noticed, but William and the others do things like this often. They're trying to change the world for the better by stopping those who can't be stopped by any other means, and I want to help them."
Before, outright admitting such a thing had seemed like inviting trouble. Miss Penny was, all things considered, the closest thing that Jameson had left to a mother, and he knew very well that the feeling was mutual. When one took that into consideration, there was every chance she'd ask him to stop what he was doing.
After all, most mothers couldn't stand the thought of their child putting themselves into danger.
On top of it all, that was one of the milder risks. Revealing the full extent of their circumstances could, in the worst-case scenario, lead to Miss Penny exposing their plans. If that were to happen, it would make achieving William's beautiful dream impossible right out the gate. With so much at stake, Jameson should have at least discussed the matter with the Moriarty brothers in advance, but he hadn't, for one simple reason:
If it means protecting those who live under her care, Miss Penny is willing to do whatever it takes.
"Miss Penny," Jameson said again, as if repeating her name was some sort of secret spell that would make it so she wouldn't argue him down, as if a few words were capable of holding that much power, "I want to do everything I can to help people. I…may not have had the easiest time getting to where I am now, but I've made it to a place where I have the resources to do as much as I can. If it means protecting people—eliminating evil like that, I don't mind getting my hands dirty."
Not when it didn't matter, not when he'd been tainted for so long he couldn't remember a time when he'd ever been otherwise.
"I want to ask you to help me—help us," Jameson said. Miss Penny didn't interrupt, waiting for a full explanation before giving her answer, her expression severe yet contemplative. "So many people pass through the boarding house, no matter which type of customers they are. But often they underestimate women like you, thinking they can say whatever comes to their minds with no consequences. Not to mention that because you're in the East End, more often than not, people here fall victim to crimes that never see any resolution." Those were all things that Miss Penny had known long before Jameson was even born, but putting all the cards on the table was a necessity when it came to negotiations. "I want you to please help us as our eyes and ears."
The Moriartys couldn't find everyone in need of help—that was part of why they were working on changing the system rather than slapping bandages over individual problems—but that didn't mean they couldn't save whoever they came across. And if Miss Penny, Miss Carol, and the others could help, then they'd be able to do that much more good.
Miss Penny held his gaze for a long time, refusing to give any ground. Jameson couldn't afford to look away, either, but the nervousness made it difficult to even not blink. Once more, he was feeling like the little boy who'd gone and made a mess of someone's laundry a few streets down and was in the middle of a lecture, despite knowing he'd never be able to lay claim to such innocence again.
In the end, Miss Penny didn't give in at all—but she did heave a long sigh.
"Nothing I can say will convince you otherwise?" she asked, and there was something sad in her eyes. It was the first thing to make Jameson feel guilty ever since he had started working with the Moriartys.
It just didn't make him feel guilty enough.
"This is the path I want to walk, no matter what," he said, feeling the same way as he had whenever William had asked him if he was certain. It would not be an easy path, nor would it be a happy one. It would make him look upon the horrors of humanity, and it would leave him all alone once the road was over. But even with all that—
I can't imagine myself anywhere else.
"You always were like this," Miss Penny said, almost to herself, and Jameson tilted his head in a silent question. "Oh, never you mind, boy. If you're going to run around whether I give you my blessing or not, it's far better for me to be involved. But if you're asking my help, that means we're going to be business partners in a way. You can't go around hiding things from me anymore." Jameson's heart almost stopped, worried for a second that she somehow knew about everything that had happened while he'd been at Aldborough Manor, and— "When you're getting into something, let me know. You don't have to tell me what if it's not necessary, but I want to know when you're working on an operation. At least then I'll know when to worry about you, instead of worrying all the time. You don't do that, and it's no deal."
Jameson nodded, the lump in his throat persisting. "I promise I'll let you know. It may be obvious, but we're in the middle of hunting down those who took Miss Alice right now. And there's…" Jameson's own case, the crime consultancy that had started it all, the one that was him taking vengeance for every awful thing he'd been through. "There's another long-term case we've been working on. All the culprits are nobles, so it's taking some time, but that's something we've been involved with, too."
Miss Penny nodded, taking the details in. If she noticed that Jameson was omitting important information, she didn't call him out on it. "Alright. Then we'll be your eyes and ears."
More than joy that he'd completed a successful negotiation, Jameson felt nothing but a pure, cascading relief crashing into him, like a waterfall hitting the rocks below. "If anything is going to put you all in danger, I promise we'll take care of it right away," he said, and that was one promise he would never dream of breaking.
"I know you will. But Jameson," Miss Penny said, reaching atop the table to take his hands; Jameson could have sworn her hands were so much bigger before, "whatever you get involved in, please just stay as safe as you can. That's all I can ask."
"Alright, Miss Penny. I promise."
Their meal and negotiations complete, Jameson escorted Miss Penny back to the boarding house, exchanged some small talk with Carol at the front counter, and then got ready to return home. It would take a bit of a walk for him to get anywhere where he could call upon a carriage, and it was a bit inconvenient to do so with the summer sun shining down, but the benefit of dressing more to the location meant that he wasn't in as many heavy formal layers as usual.
"I assume you were following me since I left the manor this morning?" Jameson asked once he stepped outside.
"I'm sorry," Fred said, looking smaller than usual.
"I wasn't berating you. In fact, I still find it impressive." Yes, Jameson didn't have anywhere near as much experience as the Moriartys did, but he'd also suspected Fred might try to do such a thing, so he'd been on the lookout, and yet he hadn't noticed him. He gave Fred a reassuring smile and ruffled the boy's hair. "Just because you came and asked for my help with Miss Carol doesn't mean that you've used up my assistance. Whatever it is you want to talk about, Fred, I'm glad to do so."
Fred's answer was a nod, as Jameson had expected it would be, and then there was a stretch of silence (or as much silence as one could get on a street with people out and about), as Jameson had also expected it would be. He didn't mind. Fred was careful with his words, suggesting careful thoughts had come before them, and rushing would do neither of them any good.
"I'm sorry," Fred said again, pressing on before Jameson could tell him not to once more, "for listening in on your conversation." That was an unexpected revelation; Jameson hadn't noticed at all, and he wondered if the Moriartys would have been able to do so were they present. "I wanted to know more about what you've been doing, so I could understand it better…and I want to help you all. With cases like Miss Alice's and the human traffickers from before. I…
"I want to help you all."
The declaration was simple, but that did nothing to diminish its power. Fred was still young, his frame still small, but Jameson was able to see that determination in his eyes: a bright and pure light that still believed in a better world, despite everything he'd seen so far.
"It's not going to be easy," Jameson said, and Fred nodded. "This could take a long time." Another nod. "But if you wish to help…I'm certain we'd be glad to have you, Fred."
It wasn't as if the arrangement was without concerns. For one, Fred was still young, and he'd be putting himself in danger were he involved—but at least with the proper training he'd be in much better shape. Not to mention that it wasn't as if he'd be safer back on the streets with nowhere to go. If he were willing and able, then Jameson had no right to stop him.
Fred had opened his mouth, but no words came out, as if he'd prepared a further argument but now didn't need to use it. After struggling for a few moments, he at last asked, "Are you sure?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" Fred had asked for what he wanted; Fred had found a cause he wished to stand behind. To deny him that much after what he'd just asked of Miss Penny would be the utmost form of hypocrisy that Jameson could muster. And so he offered out his hand to that boy and said words so similar to the ones William had said to him: "Welcome, Fred.
"Together we're going to change the world."
[Author's Notes]
Fred has officially joined the team!. I'm sure Canon will eventually contradict all of this, but this is a timeline where Jameson exists so *shrug*. I love writing Fred content, so we'll have more of that coming up!
Thanks extensively to Tanuki_ii and 0cha for the comments since last chapter! Every single bit of love for this story and Jameson makes my heart super warm; thank you thousands of times over.
We've also wrapped up this mini arc, but Carol and Alice will be out and about throughout the story. I just cannot let anyone be a side character, whoopsie...
Also, this month is Jameson's birthday! I'll be posting an extra chapter in addition to the usual schedule to celebrate. Beta Noiz is a saint for agreeing to help me clean up these bulky chapters, so send them your thanks as well!
Title of the chapter is from Arrested Youth's "What You're Made Of."
Next time: His Fourth Bow, Act One. Please look forward to it!
-Avi
[2 November 2024]