“I don’t know,” Morgan said, “but I don’t like it. I think I’m going to put on the mask myself, go down to the East End, see if I can find out anything else.” The idea appealed to him greatly. Ever since Anne’s death, he’d been looking for a purpose.
“I’ll do it,” Adrian asserted quickly. “You don’t know the sorts of places that you’re talking about. You’d stick out like a sore thumb.”
Morgan bristled at his brother’s tone. “If the both of you were able to pull it off, then I’m certain I can, too.”
They exchanged a look, which made him even angrier. He knew what they thought, that he was weaker than them, more sensitive, that he’d never had to go through the pain and suffering they had. He supposed that his behavior when Anne had died had only solidified their opinions of him. However, he was bloody sick and tired of them coddling him and treating him like he couldn’t handle things.
How hard could it possibly be, after all?
Lucien sighed. “I don’t think this is a good idea. What if it truly is Winters, and the whole point of it is an attempt to draw us out? You could be walking right into a trap.”
“It could be the police. Perhaps they’ve put someone else on the case, someone who won’t be as willing to look the other way as Inspector O’Brien,” Adrian asserted, looking worried.
But all their warnings just made Morgan want to do it even more. Ever since Anne had died, he’d felt adrift, unable to concentrate, unable to move on with his life. He’d lain awake most nights, simply staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the fact that Anne wasn’t beside him, trying to forget how many nights he’d left her alone.
“I’m not going to give you the costume.” Lucien sat back in his chair and took another drink as though that was the end of it.
“Do you think that will stop me?” Morgan asked with a bitter laugh. He had, after all, been the one to design the cursed thing. His artistic streak was probably what made them think him less than a man. Winters had told him as much before he’d destroyed all of Morgan’s art supplies and paintings a few months before the incident on the castle roof. He hadn’t painted again for years after that.
Adrian shook his head. “I just don’t think anything good will come of it.”
“I need to do this,” Morgan said, imploring them to understand and wondering why it was suddenly so important to him. When he’d walked in here ten minutes ago, it had been the furthest thing from his mind.
Perhaps it was the challenge. Perhaps it was the fact that they’d told him that he couldn’t. Perhaps he just needed something to fill the long, lonely hours of the night.
Adrian sighed. “Well, if you’re dead set on doing it, at least let me give you some pointers.”
Morgan gave his brother a quick smile, realizing as he did so how long it had been since he’d had a reason to smile. “Thank you. I’d appreciate it.”
Lucien still looked uncertain, but he didn’t argue, and for that, Morgan was grateful.
Chapter Two
Fiona took off hereyeglasses and eased back in her chair, gingerly sticking her feet up on the only clear spot on her battered desk, which was covered with ledgers and receipts. Exhaustion pulled heavily behind her eyes, and she wanted nothing more than to make her way to her small bedroom in Brookhaven’s attic and sleep until she had to be up at the crack of dawn to help Cook make the children’s breakfast.
Every minute of her day was filled with making sure that the orphanage ran smoothly, that each child got a little attention, and that the finances were in order. Long after the children had gone to bed, she remained here in her office, going over the books until she went cross-eyed. She worried so much that her wealthy benefactor, Adrian Strathmore, would stop funding the home. Therefore, she scrimped and saved, struggling to give the children the best life she could, while still managing to put away some money for a rainy day.
