Symphony of Lilacs

47. You're Ridiculous

The clerk behind the stack of papers gauges through his wintry spectacles, keen of the footsteps echoing on the tiled floor. My footsteps. One name and only one revolves around my name over and over again, begging to find a connection to the papers attached to it. Adelia Maleece.

"May I be of some assistance, sir?
Carl Linking, by the way." The clerk takes out a hand, which I shake with mutual necessity.

"James Rylands, Mr Linking." I tip my hat at him, which covers my now dark hair. "I am Mr Percival Knightley's secretary and am here on his behalf. Mr Knightley used to be a client of your bank." In a fluid sweep, I wave at the hall that gleams off scorching light onto its ebony furniture.

The clerk adjusts his spectacles and says, "I do remember a Knightley from many years ago... Does he happen that one who is now head of Knightley Industries?"

Last I checked, there weren't a dozen Knightleys running businesses for almost three decades now.

Wordlessly, I pull out a few pieces of paper, ones with Father's signature and details written. Ones that make Linking blink and search through the bank's records.

During my years with Uncle Arnold, I acquired means to disguise myself for the cases. The most common was applying silver nitrate onto a wig to darken it, a shade very similar to what the real James Ryland has. A shade that hides my blond hair with the help of the top hat. The abandoned chapel proved to be particularly beneficial for such experiments and hidings.

After some time, Linking finds the appropriate documents. Picking the through the myrids of papers in the name of checking, I pull back my raising brows, my blinking eyes, all in favour for a neutral façade.

The very last record in this bank only has ten thousand pounds... Even Isabelle's current inheritance is more than that. The first transaction is Father's current account was fifty thousand pounds... But what secrets did Percival Knightley and Dannoso Maleece to share such an amount?

Despite all of this, I find a grin creeping at the corner of my lip. A grin that feels so satisfying, so full of triumph, and yet not my own. It feels more like a reflection, and yet I can't stop it. It's too electrifying, like the rumbling of a storm ahead.

"You act as though my father and I are an arsenal of secrets."

Edmund laughs. "That's because you two are."

Borrowing copies of the records, I place them in a bag at my bag. The lambent light from outside seems to form blisters on my very hands. Several questions tying them together with thorns.

Who are you, even? Matthew Knightley, William Sterling, James Rylands? Who?

That manipulated dream was so much more than a fictional reality.

After hiding the copies and wig, I went back to the hospital. All the thoughts becoming my shadow.
The manipulated dream about my father and Dannoso Maleece proved to be so, so much more than a fictional reality.