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Chapter Fourteen
Edward read the letter that Charles had sent him for the fourth time that night. His thoughts consumed him and he found himself unable to sleep at night. He only had one thought. He had found Ariadne—
He could see her again. Charles was right. She had affected him in ways he never thought possible in such a short time but whatever he felt for her didn’t seem that it would die out so soon.
When he made it to breakfast the next day, he was unable to stop himself from yawning at the table. His mother noticed. “Didn’t you sleep well last night?”
“I was up reading,” he said. It wasn’t a lie. He had spent the better part of the night reading up on socio-economic texts written within the last ten years to get an idea of what he had missed as he had clung to his old notions in the past. The authors were not just Cambridge- or Eton-educated, but people who had explored the Continent and colonial India to get an idea of how people of different strata of society co-existed together. He had a lot of potentially enlightening thoughts which he had then proceeded to jot down on his notebook to ponder over later.
“You should take care of yourself, Edward,” the Duchess said sternly. “You overcame a difficult situation and only because you got lucky.” His mother knew the truth but like his father absolutely refused to acknowledge Ariadne. Edward had realized something from the behavior his parents exhibited. Rich people ignored the poor because they either saw them as something inconsequential or as a threat. Silencing them seemed to be the only course of action left.
“I know, Mother. In fact, after breakfast I plan to take a stroll in St. James’s Park,” he lied. It was only an excuse to throw his father off his trail. During breakfast, the Duke rarely spoke but Edward knew his father kept track of every conversation happening at the table and beyond. He was a great politician and had won every single issue of debate he had fought at the Parliament. That didn’t come by playing nice with people.
After Edward was done with his eggs, he excused himself to his room where he asked his footman to bring him his walking stick and hat. Since St. James’s Park was only a few minutes away from his home, and since Edward was in the habit of making such leisurely strolls through the park, nobody suspected otherwise.
“Where to, Sir?” the coachman asked him.
Edward handed him the piece of paper that Charles had sent to him. “This.”
“Sir this is a general vicinity. Not an actual address,” the coachman said, looking unsure. “And I don’t think you should be headed down there anyway.” He looked down at Edward’s fine clothes. He was wearing buff pantaloons and a soft-green overcoat.
“It’s all right. I’ll be fine,” Edward reassured him but the coachman didn’t look too convinced. “I’ll pay you double the fare. Just drop me where I need to be.”
The greed for the extra coins seemed to propel the man into action and the hack set off toward his intended destination. He didn’t know what he expected to find, but as the streets changed and the neighborhood became rougher by the second, with crumbling property and choked drains, Edward began to doubt himself. He hardly remembered what he had seen during his night stroll before he was ambushed, and even so, the hack seemed to have taken another path altogether.
A few minutes later the coachman deposited him by the side of the road and Edward was growing more and more skeptical by the second. He did remember Ariadne’s flat. He had made sure to note it when his father had escorted him outside but now he couldn’t see it anywhere.
Thankfully the rain had stopped but he had to be careful to avoid the pothole-filled streets that were now caked with mud. Despite himself, he started to get little flashbacks of the night he had been stabbed. It wasn’t a pretty thought. After a few minutes of aimless wandering when it was clear that he wasn’t going to find Ariadne’s flat on his own, he stopped a man who was pushing a cart in front of him.
“Can you point me toward an address?”
“Why should I ‘elp you?” he retorted back. Edward blinked in shock at the man’s rudeness but reminded himself that he wasn’t in Mayfair anymore and people led different lives here. He was no one here.
“I will give you two coins,” he said. He was careful not to direct the man’s notice at his reticule. He had already made that mistake before and that had ended with him getting robbed.
“Make i’ ‘hree.”
“All right,” Edward said. “This is all I have, but I’m going to give it to you anyway.” He handed it to the man who pocketed it just as fast.
“Can you tell me where Ariadne Davy lives?”
“Wha’ do you wan’ wi’h tha’ girl?” the man asked curiously.
“I want to thank her for saving my life. I just can’t seem to remember where she lives.”
The man nodded and then pointed down the street. “I don’ knah ei’her. Bu’ you’ll find ‘er a’ ‘he studio.”
“Studio?” Edward asked. The man smirked at him as if he was part of a secret Edward wasn’t. Before he could ask him any more questions, the man picked up his cart and started walking away from him. Edward frowned after the man. What an odd way of answering. What on Earth could he mean by that? But whatever it was, Edward was determined to find out.
He started walking toward the direction the man had shown him and sure enough, he came across a rectangular shed that someone seemed to have built hurriedly and rather shabbily over an abandoned lot. Curiosity made him draw closer as he had never seen an establishment like this before. The wooden door was ajar so Edward walked right up to it. There must be someone inside.
It occurred to Edward that this is probably where Ariadne was employed. She hadn’t told him what she did to bring in the monies for her family, but Edward could imagine her as an assistant to whoever ran this small studio. He knocked on the door but nobody answered. He waited for a few moments, not wanting to be impolite, but finally, his patience wavered and he strode in.
Edward looked around the studio. The room seemed to be mostly filled up with junk. Some of it was covered in sheets, while old machinery peeked out at the edge. The strong smell of grease and something else sickly sweet invaded his nose. He immediately took out his handkerchief and covered his nose.
He explored the room, touching the various machinations with his fingers. Dust and grime came away in his hand. Lords, how could Ariadne possibly work here? She was probably responsible for taking care of this place and so far she didn’t seem to be doing a good job.
As he drew further into the room, Edward realized that he wasn’t alone. A pair of breech-covered legs appeared below what looked like a square apparatus. Someone was fixing it from under and whoever it was had dainty feet.
