"What do you mean, he might be at Grantham House?"

"Precisely that," Rosamund retorted as she reclined in one of the armchairs in her sitting room. The cup of tea on the side table beside her was still steaming hot. That fact she had to learn the hard way a minute ago when she burned her tongue trying to prolong having to talk about what she had seen out and about earlier. Something told her that Robert had his reasons for having the hallboy send her away like that despite being home. It would all be perfectly easy to understand once someone bothered to fill her in on what happened; she was sure of that. But for now, it was all just very odd.

"Well, is he or is he not there? Because if he is, then I do not see a reason to dawdle around here," Mary gave back in exasperation. She had just sat down opposite her aunt but was leaning forward now, ready to bolt up and leave in a heartbeat.

"I'm telling you, I am not sure."

Matthew stood behind Mary and placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to mollify her with this simple, calming gesture. "That's still not a reason for you to bite your aunt's head off, dear."

Rosamund only nodded her head in benign sympathy at Matthew. It was nice of him that he tried to mediate, but at least on Rosamund's account, there was no need to. She knew that Mary was stressed out and worried given Robert's seemingly sudden disappearance, and she was not unaffected by this extraordinary situation, either. She had been worrying away since her niece had called the night before. This was all so out of the ordinary, unlike anything that had ever happened before, and her visit to Grantham House earlier in the day had only added more puzzling questions to her already quite extensive list. With a sigh, she began to relate all that had transpired.

"I was there at around noon and a hallboy came to answer the door. He must be new, seemed quite a young chap and I have never seen him there before. When I asked after Robert, he reacted so weirdly. At first, he did not reply at all, and then he told me to wait because he had to go and check, refusing even to let me inside to wait in the hall. It all made no sense; he should know if the owner of the house was there or not, should he not? Even if he is just a hallboy. Anyway, he returned a few minutes later, telling me nobody was home. He seemed nervous, as if he was hiding something, but I couldn't very well push past him inside. So I left again. Only when I stood on the pavement across the street did I think I might have seen someone standing behind one of the library windows up above. It might have been Robert, but I am not entirely sure," she explained evasively, even though she was sure it had been her brother whom she had seen up above. There was no point in getting Mary's hopes up. If he hadn't wanted to talk to his sister that morning, then he surely would not welcome his daughter with open arms, either.

"That's it. I'll go there now and see for myself." Even before she had said that, Mary tried to get up, but Matthew's hand on her shoulder kept holding her back and seated firmly in the blue armchair.

"No, Mary. You are not going anywhere," he said quietly but with determination.

It earned him an unnerved look over her shoulder. Couldn't he accept that she was worried about her father and wanted to find him as soon as possible? Sitting around here and listening to her aunt's vague answers would not be overly helpful in finding him. And he had already brought her here to London anyway, so what was with the hesitation now?

Rosamund then looked at the pair, concern and curiosity creasing her brow in equal measure. "Would someone please fill me in as to why my brother is missing in the first place? I cannot imagine, even for a second, that he simply decided to go away without telling anyone for no reason. I know my brother. And this is not the type of behaviour he is prone to showing."

Mary almost winced at the sound of her aunt's tone. It was pretty reminiscent of Violet's signature snark, only Mary had not been prepared to find herself subject to it all the way up in London.

"Here's what we will do," Matthew stated, rounding Mary's chair and coming to a halt again next to his wife, his back facing the door. Both women were looking at him expectantly until he finally elaborated. "Mary, you will tell your aunt all that you told me last night. It is unfair that we sent her out today when she is still in the dark about everything that has happened and led us here. While you do that, and I imagine it will take you a while, I will go to Grantham House and check myself. I am the heir, and the hallboy will have to let me in. He might not have known that Rosamund is Robert's sister, after all. But he cannot argue with this."

Begrudgingly, Mary agreed and watched her husband scurry out of the room while her aunt looked at her, not-so-patiently waiting for her to begin the proposed explanation.

To say Matthew was getting impatient would be an understatement. He had been standing outside in the dense and smog-filled air for over ten minutes now, and it was not a great feeling to know others were clearly eyeing him suspiciously as he waited at the top of the stone stairs. Finally, the new hallboy Rosamund had mentioned came back to the door and let him in. Hurriedly, Matthew followed him inside and immediately looked around the entryway and up the staircase while he handed over his hat and smoothed down his hair. He waited for the boy to send him to any of the rooms, but he never did, and so Matthew impatiently asked a few seconds later: "Now, where is he?"

"Who do you mean, sir?"

"Come on, lad. You know fully well that I am talking about His Lordship. Don't play coy with me, and tell me where I can find him so I can get him home on time for dinner." Matthew's impatience was growing stronger and stronger by the second. He quickly realised that even his mild temper had its limits.

The hallboy looked at the ground ashamed, mumbling: "But His Lordship ordered me to tell everyone who asks after him that he is not here. He does not wish to be disturbed. I am sure he won't like me making an exception for you, sir."

"And I am telling you to take me to him, or I will search the entire house until I find him on my own. It is your decision, but be aware that you will have to find new employment elsewhere if you don't tell me where he is right this instant." Matthew was not a man of ultimatums and threats, but he found this had already gone on for far too long. But he was not looking forward to possibly having to search the entire house only to find his father-in-law, wherever he was hiding, either.

"He retired to his dressing room a little less than an hour ago," the boy said. Far less sure of himself and much quieter, he added: "But please don't tell him I told you, sir. He is very irritable right now."

Usually, he would have lectured the boy on what was proper and what was not; him saying that his employer was in a bad way certainly was anything but appropriate, even to this middle-class lawyer from Manchester. However, a look into the boy's face told Matthew that he was terrified even though he did not seem to be of the naturally timid sort. He could only wonder about the mood his father-in-law was in. He would never do anything unbecoming, least of all to a child — and the boy was indeed just a child in his eyes — but his tongue could be quite sharp and his temper capricious.

Matthew's hardened expression mellowed and he placed a hand on the boy's slumped shoulder. "I will not tell him, I promise. You've done well, boy. Now go down to the kitchens and have some supper. I don't think you will be needed now."

With a grateful and relieved smile on his face, the boy scurried to the baise door and vanished behind it as quickly as he could.

When Matthew reached the top of the stairs and stood before the dressing room door, he paused briefly, contemplating again whether he should do this. Then he remembered what Mary had told him about the past few weeks. The thought alone that Robert had seen the need to go away at all was enough to reignite his determination, and with new vigour, he pushed open the door without knocking first.

The room was dark, not a single light aglow inside. And it smelled of old, cold smoke and alcohol and sweat. It was an unpleasant mixture of scents, quite unfortunately so, especially in a room as quaint as this. It took a while for his eyes to grow accustomed to the low light, and still, he could not make out enough of the interior to see Robert.

"Go away, I have not rung the bell," his voice sounded from somewhere inside. It was hard for Matthew to understand what he said, so slurred was his voice and so aggravated the tone. But it was undeniably Robert's voice. That realisation elicited a tiny, relieved sigh in Matthew. Their frantic search had come to an end at last. But something told him that finding Robert had been the easier part of this journey. Convincing him to go back home to where it all had happened would be a much greater feat to accomplish.

"I know you have not rung the bell, but I will not go away either."

"I said, go away!" Robert repeated, this time sounding even more enraged and outright brutish.

Even though it surprised him that Robert had this in him when he mainly had known him as such a benign man, this still left Matthew quite unimpressed. He was there on a mission and had not been so harsh to the poor boy downstairs for no reason. In the dark, he fumbled for the light switch on the wall beside him. When he found it and light finally flooded the room, he was horrified to see the state it was in.

Clothes were strewn across the room, and an open leather suitcase was discarded on top of the bedding, along with another black tie and some handkerchiefs still nestled inside. The lamp that originally belonged on the nightstand lay next to the bed, the glass lampshade broken into a thousand pieces, burying a small stack of books in a dangerous pile on the floor.

"Robert," he started as his eyes darted around the room, trying to see where his father-in-law was.

From somewhere behind the bed, Robert then slowly stood up. Or rather, he tried to while holding tightly onto the bed frame. It took him a while, but eventually, he was in an upright position facing him. Still, even though he was holding on to the wooden frame as fast as he could, he was swaying precariously from left to right. His expression was dark; Matthew had never seen this sort of look on him, just like he had never heard him speak in such a manner before. Seeing this, he suddenly understood why that poor boy downstairs had seemed so intimidated.

"Who let you in?" He slurred as he tried to round the bed without letting go of it for even just a second. Which was just as well, he might not have stayed upright had he let go. "Was it that kid? Oh, he can go and find new work in the morning," he growled, the words barely graspable as he got closer.

"No, he won't do any of that because you will not fire him for doing what we are paying him for," Matthew said decisively. "But you will come with me now, back to Belgrave Square. We have been worried sick and looking for you for far too long already. And you need to be among people, clearly."

At this, Robert only scoffed and almost tripped on his feet at the same time.

Matthew fought the urge to go to him and help him to sit on the bed. More mellowed, though, he said: "Please, Robert. Mary has been looking for you for days, and Rosamund is worried. Plus, I'm sure that Cora will want to know you're saf-"

"Don't!" he boomed, his already concerningly dark, hostile expression darkening even further.

If Matthew didn't know better, he'd have said he saw Robert's eyes briefly glaze over in a look of violent rage he had never seen before.

"Don't you dare say that! You know nothing," Robert spat. "She has made it perfectly clear she wants nothing from me, so I am giving her what she wants. And now leave, before I throw you out!"

Something told Matthew he had better listen and leave, even though Robert was physically not in any state to do anything substantial, as soon as he had to let go of bed.

This was not the benign father-in-law he knew and had come to admire ever since his life turned upside down many years ago. This was a drunk, an angry man who had been disappointed and sent away maybe one too many times.

As Robert slowly swayed even closer while holding onto the bed, Matthew raised his hands in defeat and backed out of the room.

For a minute, he stood there looking at the white door, aghast. What was he to do now? He couldn't leave him here alone in such a state. He also couldn't stay, not with the way Robert was behaving. Dilatorily, he walked down the stairs and into the small library to think. What was he to say to Mary? She would want to come and try talking to him herself, which was obviously not a good idea at the moment. Or at least until he had slept most of it off.

He should have been more surprised to find the decanters empty and a few crystal glasses missing when he entered the library and passed by the liquor tray, but he had seen Robert. The only thing that could ever turn his father-in-law into the person upstairs in the stuffy dressing room were copious amounts of alcohol consumed in a very short period of time.

Silence once again reigned over the room with an iron fist when the door closed behind Matthew. But the light was still on, and Robert saw the state the room was in. His eyes followed the trail of clothes strewn about when he realised just how wobbly and unstable his legs were. The adrenalin that had rushed through his body when Matthew had announced himself was waning, and so were his vigours and concentration. He tried to sit down on the edge of the bed, but much to his annoyance, his suitcase was still there. In an angry huff, he yanked it off and threw it on the ground, the tie and handkerchiefs inside joining the rest of his clothes on the wooden planks to his feet.

He sat there, his shoulders slumped, looking ahead while the room spun around him. When the spinning had subsided at least somewhat, he looked around himself.

There were the once neatly folded clothes he had tardily thrown inside the suitcase before dawn had broken the day he had left. There were the handkerchiefs he had packed in case he had to cover up his emotions on the train by feigning a runny nose should someone else share his first class carriage. And there were his travel boots, still caked in mud from his rainy walk down to the station as the sun was set to rise over Yorkshire, hiding away behind dark rain clouds.

Out of nowhere, he felt incredibly hot, and his shirt seemed to be sticking to his skin underneath his jacket. Getting up and staying upright had been more challenging than he had realised; the beads of sweat that had broken out on his brow had gone unnoticed.

It had been a wonder in and of itself that he had managed to dress himself well enough that morning, but now it was time for him to undo all that hard work. Shakily, he shrugged out of the jacket and tried to place it on the suit butler standing in the corner, just within his reach from the bed. Much to his annoyance, though, it quickly slipped off and ended up in a heap on the floor. His cufflinks had never been adequately secured, partly due to a lack of skill and also — mainly — due to the last effects of the whiskey he had consumed the night before.

All of which made it all the easier for him to roll the shirtsleeves up. Still, he felt unnecessarily and uncomfortably hot in the small room. Maybe an open window might help, and so he tried to get up. And failed. Inelegantly, he dropped back down onto the edge of the narrow bed.

But now there was the mirror in front of him, his pitiable reflection staring straight back at him from a few feet away. This feeble excuse of a man, he almost didn't recognise himself.

Unshaven. Dark circles under his eyes. Just a shadow of himself, a shell of a man.

Only he wasn't alone. She was there, too, standing behind him next to the bed and looking over his shoulder. Almost as if she was staring into his soul. And she looked so beautiful.

He smiled. That was all he did for a few seconds. The swaying ceased, and the room stopped spinning around him. All because she was there with him.

"Oh, my darling," he whispered, tear-stricken. Then he tried to stand again and stumbled forward towards the looking glass. He stretched out his hand, expecting to be able to touch her, to feel the fabric of her dress underneath his fingertips. She looked so real, as if he could simply reach for her cheek to caress it gently the way he had done when she was younger.

But he was in for a disappointment. Instead of touching fabric or her soft skin, all he felt was the sensation of the cold sheet of glass beneath his fingers when he reached in. As quickly as the smile had appeared on his face, it vanished. His vision was still blurry, but now that he had come this close to his reflection — their reflection — he saw clearly that she was not smiling back at him as he had previously thought and hoped. No. She was staring at him, her eyes hard. Unrelenting. Cold.

"I should be with my daughter and husband, you know it. I shouldn't be here."

"No, no," he whimpered. His fingers, despite only feeling the chill from the glass, tried once more to graze over her cheek so lovingly. He wanted her to look at him like she always had, with such adoration and affection. He had never seen her look so cold, so heartless, not even when they had fought after he had refused to let her marry Branson. Even then, there had still been love left for him in her eyes, but not now. Not anymore. A tear rolling down his reddened cheek, he pleaded, "If only I could change it. Come back to me, please."

"It's your fault. It's all your fault, Papa. And you know it."

"Please, darling. I never meant for this to happen. I never meant for you to die. I only ever wanted what was best for you."

He tried to focus. If only he could concentrate enough, then maybe she could be there with him for real. Maybe -

"It's your fault."

"No, enough of that!" he retorted, panic beginning to take over. This was not his daughter.

She would never speak to him like this. She was headstrong but never cruel.

"You killed me, Papa, and you damned my daughter to a cursed life without me. She will never know what a mother's love feels like."

"Enough, I said!" he shouted. In a sudden surge of rage, the hand that had previously tried to reach out for her hauled away from the glass, only to forcefully reconnect with it a split second later.

He heard it happen before he felt it. That cracking noise upon impact, followed by more, much more quiet cracks. The clatter as the single sheet of glass burst into hundreds of little shards littering the floor. And then he was suddenly not staring at himself any longer but rather at an old board of wood where the mirror used to be.

Trapped in a daze, he took a step back, the fragments that once made up his reflection now crunching underneath his shoes like snow after night frost.

And then the ache set in. First merely dull and throbbing, it quickly grew and he felt this sharp, shooting pain radiate through his right arm and from there through his body. And it felt warm, warm and wet. Involuntarily, he slowly looked down and saw bright red blood trickling from his knuckles and fingers, dripping onto one of his starched, white shirts that was already dotted with deep red spots amid the tiny glass fragments as he stood there. In shock at the sight, he tumbled back another step and fell onto the mattress when his heel hit the wooden bedframe; his sense of direction and coordination diminished once and for all. Now, as he looked up at the ceiling, his hand aching unlike anything he ever bore witness to before, the room around seemed to be spinning again. Even faster than before, or so it felt, at least.

The door to his left inching open was the last thing he saw before the lights turned off again

at last.

But despite the darkness, he still heard it. As quiet as it was, he still heard it.

"Robert."

"Where is he? Where is my husband?" she asked frantically. She all but stormed into the entrance hall of their London home, followed closely by her eldest daughter and her sister-in-law.

A boy had let them in; he seemed more than mildly confused by everything that happened that day as he watched them walk in, the door handle still in his hand. It was all so highly unusual. This was not what he had expected when he had applied here for this position earlier in the summer, even though it paid pretty well.

The ruckus in the hall coaxed Matthew out of the library to see who had gained entry. It more than surprised him to see his mother-in-law standing there, dressed in black from head to toe, her skin even paler than possibly ever before. Her wide blue eyes darted around as if she could see him if she only looked for him hard enough.

"Matthew!" Mary exclaimed when she passed her mother and briskly walked towards him while he only stood there, simply too stunned to speak at the sight before his eyes. "You had barely gone and left Belgrave Square when a cable reached us that she would arrive on the 6 oclock train, asking to be picked up from the station. We came here immediately. She has been in such a frightful, desperate state the entire time," she whispered in explanation when she stood next to him.

All he managed to do in response was nod slightly, too surprised by the turn this late afternoon had taken since he had left Belgrave Square.

"Cora, why don't we all go ahead into the library at first? That's where Matthew was up until now. It'll all be alright in the end, dear," Rosamund tried to mollify her, putting a gloved hand on her sister-in-law's upper arm.

Cora shied away from Rosamund's touch. "No, I want to find my husband now. I need to see him."

"Come to the library first, please. Neither you nor he are in any state to talk to anyone, let alone each other," Matthew replied.

"No, you don't understand. I need to see him. I am the reason he left and came here in the first place," Cora almost shrieked, her entire body shaking from all the pent-up inner turmoil.

"Cora, believe me. Now is not a good time-"

They heard the clang, faintly. Their heads whipped around to look up the stairs, waiting for more sounds to reach them. But it remained silent.

Cora was the first to jump into motion and hurry up the stairs, far too fast for anyone to stop her.

"Robert."

He heard a whisper. It was a voice he was most familiar with. And yet he doubted she was there. It was surely just his mind playing tricks on him. There was no other way.

"Wake up, darling. Please."

There it was again. Her voice, quiet and pleading. It was like a mirage, only he was not

imagining an oasis in the desert or a ship on the horizon at sea. No, this was her voice his subconscious was conjuring up for him.

"Is everything alright?"

Another female voice, this one younger, speaking in very hushed tones. He knew it well, too.

And then he heard a rustling sound followed by light footsteps on the creaky wooden floor.

"Yes, everything is in order. He's asleep; I'll wait here with him until he wakes up. You can all go back."

"Mama, I don't think that is a good idea. You've heard what Matthew said. That hallboy was scared of him, and he seems to have had a lot to drink."

"I'll be fine."

"Then at least let me in and wait with you. I don't want you to be alone now."

"No, Mary, you will go. I will wait for him to wake up, and we'll talk. There's no need for you to worry."

"But Mama…"

"No, and now go."

The door closed with a soft thud, followed by a chair being hauled across the floor, and then there was silence.

"Oh, Robert," she sighed quietly.

But he heard. He needed to wake up. Her voice soothed him, it was like a balm for the soul, but he didn't deserve that. Not even in dreams should he feel so at peace, not after what he'd done. Not after what he had taken from their family, what he had taken from their daughter.

Some reality would do him wonders; he needed to return there, his subconscious convinced him. He needed to face reality, the one in which he had smashed that mirror. That was the kind of life he had made for himself; that was what he should be getting used to. That was where he belonged instead of here, seeking comfort in his dreams.

He tried to move, but there was this sudden pain coursing through him that caused him to stop stirring immediately. It wasn't just his hand any longer, although that was for sure where part of it stemmed from. It was this sharp, stinging pain in his right hand he had felt before he fell onto the bed. But now, he also felt like his skull was being drilled into, the sensation not at all unknown to him. He had felt this dull and throbbing pain before after the odd night spent playing poker with a few other noblemen in his youth, but perhaps never quite this bad.

Nevertheless, he had caused this pain himself as well, so he tried to keep moving. However, all he managed before he heard the voice again was a deep and pained groan.

"Robert!"

He groaned again, this time at the sudden noise.

This time, quieter, softer, she repeated: "Robert."

Even just the low flicker of light emanating from a candle on the nightstand was enough to send another surge of utter discomfort through him when he finally forced his eyes to open.

He saw her. She had not been a figment of his imagination unless he was still dreaming. She was truly sitting there at his bedside in a chair she had pulled up.

Joy. Relief.

And then disappointment. Anger. Regret. Resentment.

He felt it all when he realised she was there. Despite what her presence meant, these destructive emotions gained the upper hand, and for a second, all the misery his body was in seemed pushed to the side, discarded like a newspaper from last week.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice low, resembling more of a growl.

"I came to look for you. You've been missing for days already."

"You wanted me gone. Made that perfectly clear. So I went away, and now you're following me? Go away. Go back home."

"Not without you."

She stretched out her hand to touch his arm, but he jerked it away just before her fingers could touch him. It was painful, the now deep red shirt wrapped around his hand a stark reminder of what happened earlier. But he rather wanted to feel that immense physical pain than the emotional that would follow feeling her hands on him.

The rejection stung and Cora could barely keep that from registering on her face, but she swallowed her disappointment. It was true, she had sent him away.

"Please, Robert, let me at least look at that," she pleaded, gesturing towards the arm he now held close to his chest. "I just quickly wrapped it around, but I'm sure there's a shard still in there."

"I don't care, and neither should you. Now go, I need some peace and quiet."

Just looking around and seeing the dancing shadows on the wall was enough to make him feel utterly nauseous.

"You can riot and fuss all you want; I won't go. I will stay right here until you have slept it off. We need to talk, Robert, you know that just as well as I do."

"I wanted to talk. For weeks, I tried and tried again. You made your point clear, and I agree. This, this right here, this is what I deserve." Suddenly, all the anger he felt inside dropped from his tone and was replaced by sheer melancholy. "We don't need to talk. You go home and let me stay here, that's what's best for everyone."

Her caring gaze scrutinised his face as he lay there, half-shrouded in shadows while the flame cast a warm, flickering glow on his cheek and brow. Then she bent over and blew out the candle, causing the room to fall into darkness again, just as he had before Matthew came in.

Determined, she whispered into the dark surrounding them. "No. We do need to talk, but you need to sleep first. I will be here when you wake up, I promise. And then we can go home."

It was a good thing the lights were off. That way, he couldn't see her trembling hands wiping away these treacherous tears rolling down her cheeks. His insistence over the past weeks had given her hope that it was not yet too late for a reconciliation, and she had clung to that the entire day. But now that she was with him again, all that was left for her to do was hope that she had not taken too long to get there. Physically and, more importantly, emotionally.

Hope, though, was a fragile thing; she knew that. Just one wrong word or one wrong turn and it was gone like the flicker of the candle she had blown out. And she hoped she had not extinguished this delicate flame just yet, even though it certainly felt like that.

Given the darkness, Cora couldn't see how torn he felt about her being there, either. In a way, this situation was all he had wanted. For weeks he had prayed for her to allow him near, to talk to him. But now that he had the opportunity, he wasn't sure if he could handle it. He wasn't sure if he even wanted to handle it.

Before Robert got to contemplate the situation any further, he fell back into blissful darkness, escaping the pain that had become overpowering and all-encompassing.