Baker and Jones Ch. 05

The train cars are taller than she expected, or so they felt from standing on top of them. The ground didn't seem as though it could be that far when she was down there, but now that she stands above it seems treacherous. She keeps to the center of the roof, walking as slowly and quietly as possible. There is a gap between the car she was currently on and the one closer to the balcony, so Annette forces herself to take a deep breath and steady herself. She leaps across it, easily clearing the distance but landing with a heavy thud against the metal. The sound echoes out across the yard, and in a moment of fear she quickly drops to her knees and lays down in the center of the roof, hopeful that she would be invisible from the ground if an officer came to investigate.

A few tense breaths pass with no sign of the guards and she rises again. The leap to the balcony is worse; she'd have to jump a few feet out and at least a foot up to stand a chance at gripping onto one of the banisters, and then she'd have to manage to pull herself up. It was the sort of thing she might have gleefully attempted as a young kid, full of the invulnerability of childhood, but in the dark, in the rain, as an adult... she stops to ponder the option before her.

Does this case truly mean this much to me? She wonders. It wasn't as though she was a detective. Annette could easily return home and never worry again about anything other than her usual duties and the occasional investigatory errand with Cordelia. And yet, something inside her balks at the suggestion of quitting. It feels important. Not just for Mary Rosen or the satisfaction of solving a murder.

Annette feels that combative, rebellious side of herself that has so often quarreled with Pullwater push forward. She was tired of being the perfect woman. Even when she was forced out onto the streets she couldn't even bring herself to find employment at Elenore's Gallery, despite their offers. Somehow Pullwater's lectures bore deep into her soul and made her feel as though there was a holier way to be homeless, convincing her that there were some things she should never do. Pullwater, if she were present in this moment and bearing witness to Annette atop the car, would scold her to descend immediately. The thought provides all of the necessary motivation to continue.

She leaps forwards, throwing her arms desperately around the nearest metal pole of the balcony and clinging on for dear life. Her feet swing forward and leave her dangling above a twenty-foot drop, and she's quickly overcome with panic and adrenaline. She closes her eyes and grips the banister as tight as she can bear, but quickly realizes she can only hold on for so long. The muscles across her arms and upper back are already straining with tense complaints.

Annette first attempts to pull herself up directly, only to realize she lacked the strength needed to complete the task. She only rises a half foot before losing her resolve and nearly falling. Instead, she swings a leg out as far and high as possible, trying to hook an ankle onto the platform. She nearly succeeds, only to have the sole of her boot slip from the water pouring down, causing her to panic and tighten her grip once more. Her second attempt is more successful, sliding for a brief moment before narrowly locking her foot in place against a further banister. She heaves herself upwards, using the remaining strength in her arms and the added muscles in her legs to crawl upwards, awkwardly shuffling under the railing and plopping down onto the balcony itself.

Fuck... she mutters internally, laying down across the grated metal floor and trying to catch her breath. Annette's hands tremble, bouncing slightly with each pounding beat of her heart. But the feeling soon washes into a glimmer of pride in her accomplishment. She rises, feeling a soreness in her muscles as she finds her footing, and glares at the balcony door before her. Moment of truth.

She extends a nervous hand to the door handle, grasping it timidly and resolving that if it were indeed locked, she would find some way to break in, damn the consequences. She turns slowly, holding her breath as it lazily revolves... it opens. She lets out a sigh of relief and steps into the darkened room.

Bembrook's body has been removed, much to Annette's relief. The detective must have been at work cleaning up the scene, as the room looks politely restored. She fiddles around the room, hunting for a small light to use without any luck. She sighs and pulls a small candle from her breast pocket, along with a match, grateful she had the foresight to procure one for this very reason. It takes a few swipes against the paper before the match lights, but thankfully the rain had yet to douse its capacity to light. She ignites the candle and holds it out before her face, slowly moving her way through the room in search of the second page.

Annette scrambles to remember the specific places the Cordelia had either searched directly or commissioned Annette to search, but the memory is too foggy to recall. Instead, she searches Bembrook's desk, trying to deduce where he would store personal correspondence. She pulls open drawer after drawer without success, eventually turning her focus to the nearest cabinets and shelves. Luckily enough, the crown's detectives hadn't yet removed his files, and it seems as though the office has been mostly kept intact.

She eventually locates a promising pile of papers tucked away in a small standing table on the far side of the room. It contains a small, tiny drawer, fit for letters and small items, and was the sort of item you'd easily ignore. She pulls open the compartment and finds a small knife, a letter opener, and is relieved to see a stack of opened correspondence. She rummages through it quickly, scrambling to make out the words of each enough to recognize the handwriting.

A noise sounds out across the empty factory below and Annette freezes in place, heart suddenly racing. She waits for a tense breath, trying to pinpoint its origin. Another quickly follows it, a quiet thud on metal, followed by another, and another. Someone was coming up the stairs. She blows out the candle in her hand and throws it into the drawer, snatching up the entire stack of letters and racing onto the balcony.

She wonders for a moment if she might be able to hide on the balcony until they depart, but the idea is quickly dashed as she realizes the door had a pair of windows and the balcony was hardly large enough to completely hide herself. It wasn't a guarantee, but if they looked in her particular direction for more than a second or two they would see her. She shoves the letters deep into her breast pocket and gulps down her fear, throwing a leg over the railing and glaring down at the train car below.

The drop looks far worse from this angle, and as the second leg swings over and she grips the railing behind her, Annette can feel herself trembling. With the rain pounding down around her, she wouldn't be able to hear the sound of the door to the office opening, and the fear of being caught forces her bravery out of her. She leaps down to the nearest car, hopeful that she'd be able to arrest her momentum quietly.

She underestimated how slippery the roof would be from the rain, and as her first boot lands onto the car it immediately slides. Annette tumbles, falling and landing hard onto her side, sending a massive crashing thud across the trainyard around her. There's no chance the sound wouldn't be heard by police on patrol, or even whoever just entered Bembrook's office. Indeed, a second after she lands a burst of light shines out above her, illuminating the office as the visitor strode inside. Annette scrambles to find the nearest ladder, only to realize there wasn't one on this car; she'd have to make the leap again and risk another loud bang giving away her position.

Instead, Annette makes a worse decision. She creeps towards the edge of the car and attempts to lower herself down the side of it, hoping the fall wouldn't be nearly as far as she feared it might be. But, before she can even make the choice to lower herself, her hand slips and sends her plummeting down to the graveled floor below. She lands hard on one leg and feels a burst of pain shoot through it, falling down onto her side and feeling her body smack into the rocks beside the track. She lets out a low groan, regretting her decision.

The fear of the cops nearby reignites her flight, and Annette pulls herself up from the ground, wincing as she places weight on the particular leg. She rests a hand on the side of the car to steady herself and releases a long breath, forcing herself to push through the pain. She breaks out into a careful jog, hoping to vacate the area as quickly as she possibly can with her stolen papers, desperately pleading to the tiny version of God she would allow herself to believe in that the letter she needs was now tucked safely away in her pocket.

- — -

Annette trips up the steps of 167th Mill Street, grumbling through the cold and through the pain. The rain had ceased about ten minutes prior, prompting her to throw a curse to the sky for its wretched timing. She fumbles her key into the door's lock and stumbles inside, shutting the door behind herself and collapsing down onto the ground, wet, tired, aching, and exhilarated.

"So you've decided to return," Cordelia's voice calls out from the dining room and Annette's heart sinks. She was supposed to be gone for at least another hour.

"Yes, Miss," Annette calls back, trying to hide the weariness in her voice.

"Where did you go, so late in the night?"

Annette is quiet for a moment, thankful Cordelia couldn't yet see her in the foyer. She wonders if there is any way to hide her stolen outfit, to sneak upstairs and throw on a dress. Her eyes scour the nearby coat rack to see if it might somehow house something suitable, but it doesn't.

"Out thinking about the case, Miss," Annette says simply. She'd rather inspect the papers before telling Cordelia. She would never be able to bear the look in her owner's eyes if she had taken such a risk for nothing. "I quite like the rain."

"I take it you had an umbrella?"

Cordelia's voice is light and playful, and Annette is surprised to find her joking. Perhaps she had a few drinks and was in pleasant spirits? Maybe that would make revealing Annette's deception less deplorable.

"Yes, Miss," Annette laughs lightly. "Though it did little good, I'm afraid."

"Are you sitting on the floor, Miss Baker?"

"I am," she exhales. "I... it appears I may have sprained my ankle."

Annette hears the sound of a chair scraping against the wood floors and drops her head. Cordelia gingerly walks out of the room and steps into the foyer, gazing down at the injured servant before her. Annette looks up, grimacing, and watches as Cordelia's face flashes through a quick presentation of emotions.

At first she appears sympathetic to Annette's pain and overall condition, though the expression is soon after replaced with vexation, then frustration, back to curiosity, and ending somewhere around amusement.

"I do believe I am doubting your story, Miss Baker," she says at last. Cordelia drops into a casual squat, hovering over Annette. "Might I inspect your leg while you tell me how you've come to be drenched in rain, injured, wearing what appear to be my clothes, and looking somewhere between excited and frightened?"

"It wasn't a lie," Annette chokes out as Cordelia slips the boot from her foot. She groans as the leather leaves her, feeling a new pain shoot out across the limb. The adrenaline had carried her from the railyard, but now that it was leaving her system she could feel the pain throbbing with each heartbeat. "You're not mad?"

"I'm not yet sure I have reason to be, Miss Baker," Cordelia replies simply.

"I stole your clothes," Annette confesses, flinching and preparing to be scolded.

Cordelia smirks, removing Annette's wet sock. "They fit you rather poorly."

"I quite like them, actually."

"I am curious as to why a thoughtful walk required such costuming," the detective says. "Did you believe my abilities somehow reside in the fabrics I don?"

"No, Miss," Annette smiles.

"Then out with the story, Annette, and we'll see if you will require any further discipline than a swollen ankle."

Annette nods, removing her grin and staring down at the floor. "I was studying the documents after you left, and I found a suspicious letter."

"Mary's? She's not the killer, I assure you. She's not the sort."

"It was affixed to the back of hers," Annette explains. "It seemed to imply that Bembrook was muscling in on a noble's land claim, and the gentleman then threatened him in response."

"Quite typical behavior from their sort," Cordelia shrugs. "Who was it from?"

"I'm not sure, the second page was missing. Though it referenced Trenchton Hall," Annette winces as Cordelia carefully pokes at the swelling, inspecting her response to the touch.

"Trenchton Hall..." Cordelia furrows her brow. "Is that the Brimwell family?"

"I couldn't recall, Miss."

Cordelia pauses, thinking to herself for a moment while her energy shifts. When she speaks again, her voice is slow and deliberate. "And did you attempt to recover this missing page?"

Annette sinks back into herself, nervous. "I... I did, Miss."

Cordelia takes a long breath, releasing it slowly. "And you felt you might convey more authority by wearing trousers," she guesses. "Please tell me you didn't attempt to speak with anyone."

"I did not."

"And please tell me you scoped out the scene, saw that it was guarded, and went home empty-handed to report your findings to me..."

Annette winces, "... I... I did not."

Cordelia sits back down onto the floor, holding her hands to her face. "Annette..."

"I'm sorry-,"

Cordelia raises a hand to silence her. She sits in the quiet for a few moments, shoulders rising and falling with careful breaths. "Do you have the letter?" Her tone is quiet, with a fearful apprehension hiding below.

Annette reaches into her soggy coat and pulls out the stack of papers she's collected. Some of them appear to be a bit damp, though thankfully they appear to be mostly intact. "I truly hope so," she whispers.

Cordelia takes the stack from her and sets it on the ground beside them. She is quiet for a long time again, though now she spends the silence staring down Annette, eyes peering deep through her. She sighs. "You won't go along with a plot to prompt a murder confession, and you won't give a horrible man a playful smile for compliance... but you'll sneak past the police to break into a crime scene?"

"I leapt from a train car onto the balcony and back again," Annette says quietly, a little proud of herself.

"Explains the ankle," Cordelia huffs. "What am I to do with you, Annette?"

"Perhaps you should inspect the letters before you decide."

Cordelia shakes her head. "Do you have a spine or don't you?"

"Miss?"

"Do you have a spine or don't you?"

Annette furrows her brow. "I thought you would be angry with me."

"Answer my question, Miss Baker."

"I'm not sure," she replies quietly.

Cordelia closes her eyes for a moment before reopening them. "I... I can't keep hoping you do, Annette."

"I don't understand."

The detective shakes her head and shifts her body over to the nearest wall, leaning back into it and staring up at the ceiling. "Stop getting my hopes up."

"You aren't making sense, Miss Jones. I don't understand what you mean."

"First you aren't afraid of me," she explains, folding her hands tightly into her lap, "and then you're even clever enough to solve a case. But then... then you can't stomach the confrontation, and once again I'm frightful to behold. And then, you stake your entire position out for some woman you've just met and you have a backbone again, only to fold when the moment requires you to manipulate an idiot with a smile."

She tilts her head to the side, her voice wishful and filled with emotion as she continues. "And now you've gone and done something reckless, and clever, and frightening... and you've even succeeded." Cordelia's eyes flick over to Annette, who watches quietly, unsure of what to make of her words. "I need you to commit, Annette."

"Commit to what?"

"If you wish to be Penny, be Penny," she waves a hand dismissively. "But you're so close to being Annette that I can't bear it. And this," Cordelia grabs the stack of letters and points them at her, "this is what Annette is capable of."

"It almost sounds as though yo-,"

"Just pick one and be done with it," Cordelia frowns. "I've no stomach for being disappointed further."

Cordelia rises from the ground, bringing the letters up with her. She paces for a few steps as Annette stares at her, unsure of how to reply to her words. "Excellent work, Miss Baker. Good night."

She nods politely, turning from Annette and rising up the staircase, quickly ascending out of sight and leaving her behind to think.