Page 81 of The Ambiguous Enigma of the Hunted Lady
Kenneth had barely listened to a glint of any of it, and merely kept cheering the Marquess along with more flagons of ale. He became quite aloof and bubbly as he finished his third flagon.
“But what of yourself?”
“Hmm?” Kenneth squinted.
“I did not think you to be in London. How is you have come to my door?”
“I did not know it was your door.” Kenneth joked, setting down his flagon. “I was searching for someone.”
“Who might that be?”
Kenneth realized that he had just let slip the nature of his time in London. He had meant to keep it secret, for he did not know who he could trust, nor did he wish to discuss the matters of his heart with the Marquess.
And yet, he sat there after three pints of good ale and heartbroken and full of rage and anxiety, Kenneth told the Marquess everything there was to tell.
The Marquess listened intently for some time, and he did not once interject as Kenneth rambled on.
At the end of his confession, Kenneth felt a fool to have shared all of his secrets. Although on Winchester's face before him, he did not see the judgment that he had so expected.
Instead he looked pensively at Kenneth, as if he were weighing a great number of factors against each other before speaking.
“Well then.” he said at last. “Whatever are we doing in here?”
“Pardon?” Kenneth only blinked in his haze. It was not the reply he was expecting.
“I say!” The Marquess exclaimed, leaping up to his feet. “Never before have I heard such a tale of the heart!” The chair fell over backward behind him as he struggled for a pause to maintain his balance. “You cannot give up hope now, man! We must find this Riphook and bring him to justice!”
“Bring him to justice?” Kenneth challenged. “I cannot even say I know where he is, let alone what he looks like.”
“From what you indicate,” Winchester went on, “he must be a person of high standing, mustn't he? The thugs in the market, you say they acted as if you were their employer.”
“It's true.” Kenneth chewed his lip. “And yet, we cannot go about accusing every man of social standing that appears suspicious.”
“Certainly not.” Winchester huffed. “We should pay a visit to Judge Roberts.”
“The magistrate? You don't suppose he has any sort of inkling?”
“He is sworn to uphold the law of God and Country, is he not?”
“Only when he is paid to do so.” Kenneth snorted. “And he will not take a case, paid for or not, unless he is assured of its success.”
“Well.” Winchester retorted. “We cannot know anything inside this establishment, can we? Let us be off! Out and on our way and see this magistrate ourselves.”
“Right you are!” Kenneth stood, feeling his confidence renewed. The positive reinforcement supplied by the Marquess of Winchester had done immeasurable things for Kenneth; not only had his actions been validated by someone of his social standing, but by someone who truly cared for his emotional health, and so, Kenneth knew again that he would prevail.
The two of them walked out onto the street, and Winchester locked the door behind them.
Night had fallen in earnest, and the oil lamp posts glowed out through the encroaching darkness all around them. They walked two blocks to St. James’s Square, where Kenneth had left his horse.
As they stood in the square beside the great fountain under cover of night, a nearby commotion caught their attention.
There were people there, Kenneth could see them now, barreling out of the south entrance.
There were four or five of them, rushing, chasing after one another, and at their front was Leah.
“It can't be.” Kenneth whispered, turning towards the procession.
“This is uncanny.” the Marquess muttered, suffering from apparent deja-vu.
