Victorian Boy || l.s. ✔︎

CHAPTER XII

A/N: The painting above is of Saint Sebastian (a hint of what's to come in this chapter...)

The Warwick forest was dark and vast, as unknowable as the bottom of the sea. Yet, in its gnarled fist of branches lay the key to Louis' guilt or innocence.

Bulletin de l'Académie Imperiale de Médecine Vol. 8.

Harry had to find it.

If pages six to eleven were intact, that meant Louis hadn't started the fire. If they were ripped out, it was almost certain that he had.

It was dawn. Harry brought strips of ribbon to tie to the trees so he wouldn't get lost.

He wandered around for hours trying to retrace his steps from the night of the storm, but all he could remember was Louis' red cloak billowing in the wind.

Harry hopped over a log and came across a mound of earth that looked familiar. It was a large fox den, only partly visible.

He kneeled down and brushed away the dead leaves and twigs.

As he peered inside the entrance, a small, furry head popped out.

"Oh! Pardon me, Mr. Fox! Wrong den."

The animal tilted his head and gave him a sly look, not unlike Duke of Warwick. Harry was so charmed by the creature, he reached out to stroke its fur. And, not unlike Louis, the little devil bit him.

"Ow!"

He ended his search shortly thereafter. It was almost noon and he was getting nowhere. He headed back to his bedchamber to prepare for the afternoon's sporting event: Archery.

As he stepped into his rooms and removed his calfskin gloves, he noticed a note on the floor that someone had slipped beneath his door.

Meet me in the garden.

Harry's breathing quickened. He read and reread the five words over and over. Meet me in the garden. Meet me in the garden. Meet me in the garden...

He went to the mirror and fixed his curls. His cravat had come loose on his walk so he retied it and added a pearl broach for a touch of ornament.

Then he dashed down the grand staircase and across the rotunda to the drawing room. He flung open the French doors and weaved in and around the bloomless garden, scanning the juniper for that familiar flash of red.

There was no one there.

Then he felt a tap on his shoulder.

He swiveled around and his face fell.

"Lady Silcox."

"Were you expecting someone else?" She frowned.

"Yes—I mean, no—I mean, I didn't know who to expect."

She was in a mauve frock, and fur-trimmed pelisse, though it was unseasonably warm. She took his arm and they walked through the barren garden as she described what every dead flower looked like when it was alive. She talked a lot but Harry was grateful because he had no idea how to entertain a lady.

"Ivy climbed these walls before the fire. Louis never replanted them," she said wistfully.

"What are your thoughts on the fire?" Harry asked. "Do you believe it was an accident?"

Her dark eyes lit up. She was thrilled to be asked her opinion on so serious a subject.

"I'm not a gossip," she said, as she proceeded to gossip, "but Lady Finnes was staying at Warwick days before the fire and she heard someone having an awful row with Louis' father in the parlor room."