Fool For You [2]

Chapter Four

There was something deeply unsettling about the York Institute; whether it be the darkness that seemed to cling to every corner, or the Head of this worn-down church. Perhaps it was a culmination of the two. One thing was for certain: this place did not hold the same homey feeling of the London Institute. Rosalie Gray felt less than welcome here, and she would be glad to leave as soon as possible. Only an insane person would wish to linger about here; in a place where clearly no one was welcome. Aloysius Starkweather truly was as awful as Charlotte had made him out to be. The old man said nothing as he showed everyone to their rooms; he motioned to the doors and grumbled in annoyance as he meandered away. It would appear that he decided to let the four bicker amongst themselves for who claimed what room. Not that the dreary rooms were anything worth fighting over. "Does anyone else have the distinct impression that Mr. Starkweather did not intend on allowing us to stay?" Tessa asked with raised brows, her eyes flitting over Will, Jem, and Rosalie.
"I think he doubted that we'd show up at all." Will said.
"He is just very set in his ways." Jem shook his head, his silver eyes trained on Tessa. "He, like many others, see Charlotte as an unfit Head of Institute-"
"I can think of no one better for the job." Tessa frowned deeply.
That was certainly true, and everyone knew it. But there was just one problem in the Clave's mind. "That may be true," Rosalie chimed in, her tone thoughtful. "But Charlotte is a woman, and this is a man's world. Charlotte being in a position of power is undoubtedly viewed as a threat."
"Rosalie is quite right." Jem nodded in agreement. "But this is a conversation for another time. I believe it is time for dinner."
By the time they arrived downstairs, dinner had in fact been served. Yet Rosalie couldn't help but scrunch her nose at the food in front of her. If one could even call this food. It was some form of stew; a very dark, peculiar looking stew. More peculiar than the food was their host who had yet to show for dinner. Rosalie quickly surveyed the room, ensuring all servants had left before leaning forward. "Is this Starkweather's attempt at getting rid of us?" she murmured.
"What?" Will chuckled, a glimmering smile forming on his lips. "Is the food not up to snuff?"
She kicked him under the table. Hard. "Do you not find it the least bit odd that he has not come down for dinner?"
"It is a bit strange." Tessa admitted from her seat beside Rosalie. "A host that does not attend his own dinner..."
"I wouldn't come down if I were him." Will mused, swirling his pool in the stew placed before him. "I would likely fast if I had to live here."
"Manners, Will." Jem said, glancing over at his parabatai. "Starkweather may show little respect for us, but we are doing this for Charlotte. So, behave yourself."
Rosalie bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing as Will glared down at his food. A quick glance to her left, and she could see Tessa doing the same. Perhaps it was a blessing that Starkweather had yet to come down to dinner; it gave them time to sit around and talk. Time to joke. Who knew when they would have the opportunity to do that again; the search for Mortmain often ran them ragged. All of the searching and chasing down leads left little to no time for them to just spend time together. Rosalie could not recall a single conversation that did not pertain to Mortmain, Nate, or the automatons. But for just this one night, they talked of other things. Things that inspired laughter. Endless amounts of laughter. Tonight was one that Rosalie would cherish for as long as she lived; she would always remember the happy feeling that settled over her.
But the time for laughter and easy-going conversation came to an abrupt halt when the hulking figure of Aloysius Starkweather finally appeared. He grunted out a greeting before taking his seat at the head of the table. He placed a box on the table, capturing everyone's attention. "Charlotte will be glad to know I've caved to her demands." he muttered. "I searched my archives all day and half the night."
So that was where he had been; going through all the records stored in the York Institute. Rosalie focused more closely on the box nestled on the table, straining her eyes to read the initials that had been carved along the top. Her heart leapt with excitement. This was indeed what they had been looking for. Tessa's fingers twitched, and Rosalie could practically see the thoughts in her head. She felt the same inclination to snatch the box and pour over its contents. They owed Charlotte Branwell; bringing back any small lead was the least they could do for her.
Starkweather took a sip of his wine and recoiled, remarking about its disgusting taste before opening the box. He rummaged through it and the sound of crinkling paper resonated through the air. No one spoke as he pulled a few sheets of paper from the box. "What we have here is a request for Reparations on behalf of two warlocks." he explained while reading over the words written along the page. Rosalie had half a mind to snatch it from him and read it herself. "It was filed by their son, Axel Hollingworth Mortmain," he went on, his tone riddled with disinterest. "But the odd thing is warlocks are barren-"
"We know that." Rosalie said, unable to stop herself.
"What Miss Gray meant to say is that this son was adopted by the Shade's." Jem said smoothly.
The dark look on Starkweather's face was a clear indicator that Jem should not have said that. His lip curled in what Rosalie decided was disgust. "Shouldn't be allowed." he mumbled, more so to himself. But they all heard it.
Rosalie's blood boiled. They had no time to listen to the ramblings of an old man. She opened her mouth to say precisely that when Jem cleared his throat- a clear warning. Apparently, Will would not be the problem here. It appeared Rosalie claimed that position for herself with her inability to keep her emotions in check.
"Is there anything in there pertaining to potential whereabouts?" Jem asked. He spared Rosalie a brief glance, silently reminding her to control herself.
The short answer to that question was no. There was nothing that could lead them to wherever Mortmain may be hiding. The articles Starkweather held information about the two warlocks. Especially the father, John Shade. Starkweather explained how the Clave had grown suspicious of the warlock, believing that he had the Book of White. Rosalie tuned him out after that, only deigning to listen when questions were asked. "A small enclave slaughtered the two warlocks." she heard Starkweather.
"And what of the child?" Will leaned forward in his seat, hands braced against the table.
"No trace of him at the house." the old man shrugged. Useless. Positively useless! "We assumed he was dead until this turned up." he motioned to the papers splayed before him. "Even his address-"
That put everyone on alert. "Address?" Will's eyes brightened ever so slightly. Finally, there was a sliver of hope that Mortmain could be found. And Rosalie knew that he would cling to that small sliver. They all would. "In London?"
Starkweather shook his head. "Right here in Yorkshire." he said, placing the papers back into the box. "Ravenscar Manor.