The Flower Seller ( WAYHAUGHT)

Chapter 14

Nicole's father wasted no time in approaching Lord Blackwood, oblivious to the danger in which he was placing his daughter. Blackwood could be utterly charming to those not privy to his secrets, entertaining the likes of the Earl of Beaufort and other members of Parliament without ever revealing the darkness within. To reveal that darkness would have those who witnessed his wicked actions label him a bastard, which he was in every sense of the word, a label entirely justified given what he did to those who death welcomed through his hands. Blackwood, his soul charred, burnt out of his body through unspeakable deeds.

How many women had he killed? As many as fifteen, maybe more. The exact number hardly mattered to him anymore, their deaths merely part of the rituals he and his fellow occultists participated in. By Blackwood's reasoning the sacrifice of a virgin was an act of mercy, a necessary act.

Blackwood seemed quite taken by the idea of meeting the Earl's daughter. He had heard her looks got her noticed, that and her distinctive hair colour. He too wasted no time in inviting Nicole to dine with him at the Houses of Parliament. A glamorous woman on the end of his arm was always welcome. His only concern was her age, surprised if she was such a beauty why she was not married, at the very least betrothed. Still, it was of no real importance to him. There was no desire on his part to make an honest woman of her.

Nicole slipped into The Grapes, keeping to the edges while another fight was in progress, two thick-necked men thumping each other repeatedly, those watching too caught up in the action to notice her moving towards the back stairs. Once in the room she set about the task of going through Sherlock's work on his desk, searching, searching for anything to help her understand his thoughts behind the words in his notebook.

She needed to know why his mind had turned to her, beyond the obvious of being part of Blackwood's social class. If she sat herself down, if she asked herself what brought her back to this godforsaken place, she might say to see Sherlock's own hand outlining his need for her talents, her ability to slip through the shadows, hide in plain sight, move unseen among others. Watson's warning had done little to deter her, nor Waverly's. Nicole knew it was cruel what she said to her, cruel but necessary, doing what Sherlock had done to her all those years ago. This was between her and Sherlock, believing his great mind had seen more, seen she was his salvation in a case that had slipped through his fingers once before. He would not let that happen again, nor would she.

Her fingers sifted through the stacks of papers, his furious writing, his observations, his theories, all there. It was no use, without Sherlock to guide her it could take weeks, months even to get to the truth, time she didn't have. Vanity wanted her to solve the case on her own, capture Blackwood, to the delight of Sherlock, have him congratulate her on doing what he had not.

Which brought her back to why Sherlock had chosen to lock himself away in Limehouse to figure out a new approach to this case, if that had been his intention. She knew of his fits of depression, she knew if he didn't have a case to fill his time he had a habit of going in search of other forms of stimulation. She also knew a case like this would chew on his insides, have him absorbed to the point of starvation, his mind focused on working out how to trap Blackwood.

Why had he not infiltrated the secret society? she wondered, continuing to scour his desk. Why had he not simply broken in, searched the Temple for incriminating evidence? It wasn't past Sherlock to do something illegal if he felt it served a purpose. Maybe he had. Maybe that's how he came up with the idea of putting her life on the line for the sake of the Temple.

For the sake of the Temple. Those six words jarred against her mind. He wants to sacrifice me for the sake of the Temple. Why? The words would imply he wanted the Temple of the Four Orders to remain intact. Why?