Page 49 of The Wallflower Manifesto
“You haven’t left him in jail?” she exclaimed, the sun bouncing off her eyelashes as her eyes widened. “Abe!”
“Jail?” he repeated dumbly. “What are we talking about?”
“The Runners! They arrested Mr. Aiden on the night of Dot’s party. He’s awaiting trial!”
“Oh, for the love of …” He looked away, in the direction of Bow Street, then back at Millie. “Of course they bloody did. That poor old man.”
“Well, you have to go get him out!” she announced. “You should have been doing that instead of looking for me this morning! He’s been held for days now.”
Abe grimaced. “It won’t be that simple. If he’s already been charged, chances are good he’ll have to await his judgment in custody. They won’t let him go because a disgraced ex-Runner waltzes in and says they have the wrong man.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why not?”
He gave a humorless little chuckle, shaking his head. “Many reasons, Millie. Truly, the only thing I can likely do for the man at this point is find the actual culprit.”
She pursed her lips, disapproval clear on her face. “But you have a great deal of investigative information. Anyone who reviews it will be able to see that he is not the culprit.”
“I havesome,” he replied with a shrug, “and a lot of my conclusions rely on speculation.”
“Oh, pishposh,” she shot back, shaking her head. “You explained it well enough to me that I immediately understood.”
“You are far more intelligent than the average lawmaker in London, Millie,” he replied in complete earnestness. “My files are made for me, not legal review. My conclusions can be written up, I suppose, but again, they are largely speculative.”
“Then write them up and give them to whomever is speaking in his defense. Then throw your focus into finding the true villain,” she retorted, as though it were the simplest conclusion in theworld. “This is far more important than my social standing. We can’t let an innocent man be thrown to the wolves.”
“All right,” he said, holding his hands up. “All right. I will handle Mr. Aiden. But don’t think for an instant that this matter with your letter is less important somehow. I want to be kept abreast of any development. I am at your disposal if I can help in any way.”
“Yes, of course,” she said with a wave of her hand.
He caught the hand, pulling it into his chest until she was focused on him with the appropriate level of seriousness. “I mean it, Millie,” he said firmly. “I want to know that you understand.”
She hesitated, visibly surprised. After a moment, she nodded. “Yes, fine,” she said with a nod, “we will balance these two matters as though they hold the same weight, if it pleases you.”
“It pleases me,” he said, pushing himself to stand and pulling her with him. “And so do you, Millie Yardley.”
She blushed, the corners of her mouth twitching up as she lowered her gaze. “Go on, then,” she said, removing her hand from his grip to give him a little shove at the shoulder. “Go save the world.”
He grinned back, accepting the shove and falling into a crisp bow. “At your pleasure,” he answered, if only to make her laugh, before he was on his way.
His work was cut out for him, of course. Chances were slim that an elderly man whose career had never progressed past footman for hire had secured any manner of legal representation, nor the reserved finances required to find some.
There was nothing to gain in telling Millie that. He’d much rather sort out the impossible than burden her any more than she already was.
When he looked over his shoulder before being swallowed by the crowd, she was still standing in front of the bench, smiling. She had her hands on her hips and an affectionate cock of her head as she watched him go.
Silas Cain’slaw office was generally a rather sedate place. Often, the only sound that hit Abe as he walked through the front door was the ruffle of documents or perhaps a curt order from Cain himself, rapidly swallowed up by the strictly professional air that filled these rooms.
Today was different.
Cain’s voice booming, “A toast!” and the roar of approval that followed from the assembled law clerks was so alien that Abe almost turned around and left, assuming that he’d wandered into the wrong building.
Even after pushing forth and finding the assemblage of men he was used to, Abe had the distinct feeling that he was seeing something he shouldn’t.
“Murphy!” shouted Silas Cain upon seeing him. “Come in! Join us in congratulating our Mr. Cresson.”
“Oh, that isn’t nec—” Cresson began, but cut himself off with a sheepish grin at Cain’s sharp glance. “Thank you, sir.”
“What is all this?” Abe asked, happily accepting a small glass of whiskey from a clerk who, honest to God, might have been fifteen or fifty, but nothing in between.
