Baker and Jones Ch. 07

Annette rouses in her bed to the sound of loud knocking at her door. She sits up suddenly, pulling her heavy eyelids open and feeling her body race with adrenaline. She halts for a breath as the grasping tendrils of sleep fight her efforts to wake. A quick glance to the window outside confirms that the sun has only just arisen, and she grumbles at the early hour.

A moment later, the door swings open to reveal Cordelia, an impassioned grin splashed across her lips. She strolls a few steps inside, turning to gaze about the room while Annette rubs her eyes and allows the shock to wear off.

"Good, you're up," Cordelia puffs, throwing her hands onto her hips and beaming.

"Difficult to sleep when you've improvised a break-in," she grumbles.

"I've never really been in here before," Cordelia muses, her eyes flicking around to soak up the space. "Not since I've had you or Penny, anyway."

Annette twists her feet towards the ground and rests her head in her hands, massaging the sides of her face. "Perhaps I could arrange a tour at a more respectable hour, Miss Jones?"

"Come now, I've waited for the sun to arise! That's far more reasonable than I could have been, all things considered," she rebuts. "Get dressed."

Annette yawns powerfully, feeling a stretch in her jaw. "Have you been awake all night?

"I don't need sleep," Cordelia confirms.

"You are tremendously disgruntled when I wake you most mornings," Annette grumbles. "I'm not sure you can with great confidence consider yourself pleasant to rise."

"Get dressed," Cordelia commands again.

Annette drops her head down to stare at her nightgown, then rocks her head to the side to stare at the doorway. "Am I to expect supervision as I do so?"

"Oh," Cordelia pips. "Right." She turns around, showing her back to Annette to give her privacy. Annette gripes internally that she didn't just leave the room, but stands and retrieves a basic dress and shirt from her closet. She throws them on quickly, reveling in the pleasant cool air of the early morning.

"Now, why have I been so disrupted at this ungodly hour?"

Cordelia turns around, still grinning delightedly. "I withheld telling you last night after the ball, as you appeared tired and unenthusiastic..."

"Is this so different from my present state?" Annette deadpans.

The detective ignores her complaint. "There's been a fire," she declares, ending her sentence there as though it supplied all of the necessary detail to continue.

"A fire...?" Annette sighs. "It's a very large city, Miss Jones. There's likely a fire somewhere every day."

"It's more than that, Annette," Cordelia scoffs, throwing her hands back onto her hips. "Have a little faith in me."

"Yes, of course," Annette restrains the urge to roll her eyes. "And why must I be likewise interested in this specific fire?"

"Six dead, unknown source, 8th Street Textile Factory."

"You believe it's arson," Annette deduces.

"Yes."

She pauses, standing from the bed and stretching. Another yawn overtakes her, and when it passes Annette looks at Cordelia sympathetically and says, "We're already investigating this whole situation with Bembrook's murder, and we've still never determined if there's a way to hold his company responsible for Henry's death. It feels rather neglectful of us if we ignore both of those to pursue an arson case that will surely be handled by the crown."

Cordelia is quiet for a moment, though her eyes flick around the room excitedly. She tucks her hands behind her back and paces in the tiny room, turning quickly on her heel with every lap.

"Do you know that feeling, Annette?"

"Feeling?" She furrows her brow.

"You know the one, I'm so sure that you do."

"Like all humans, I've a multitude of feelings. Sleepiness, for example."

"Coy," Cordelia smirks. "Never change, Miss Baker."

"I endeavor to remain static, Miss."

Cordelia waves away Annette's snark, returning to a more serious expression, "What did you feel when you stumbled across Lord Brimwell's letter?"

"Curiosity, I suppose."

"It's more than that," Cordelia asserts. "Curiosity doesn't often drive people to jump from train cars. You felt it, didn't you? The feeling."

Annette doesn't reply, so Cordelia nods and returns to pacing, excitedly gesturing with her hands as she speaks. "It's this itch, this bubbling excitement," she explains. "It's consuming, all-encompassing. It's so abundantly necessary." She runs a hand through her hair and restarts. "My mind is never quiet, Annette. It's constantly buzzing and speaking and arguing and thinking all at once, all of the time, always. It's maddening. The only times it's silent enough to feel peaceful are when I'm boxing, having sex, or feeling the feeling."

"I... how does this relate to the fire?"

"I feel it."

"The feeling," Annette completes.

"There's something about the fire that I know is related. I just know it," Cordelia shakes her head, trying to explain. "It's not intuition, it's not guesswork. There's something in the back of my mind that has detected an anomaly, some sort of clue, and I must uncover it."

"How can you know something without knowing it?"

"You're the one raised by nuns," Cordelia rebuts, "you tell me. Perhaps I'm some sort of saint and don't know it yet."

Annette giggles. "If you're a saint then the rest of us must be holy indeed."

"I could be a saint," Cordelia mutters defensively.

"I'm quite sure," Annette smirks. "Does your Saintliness require breakfast before dragging me along to poke around a fire?"

"Eggs over buttered toast," the detective replies in a quiet voice. "And tea."

- - -

At an initial glance, the 8th Street Textile Factory appears wretchedly dirty and industrial, even discounting the damage from the fire. It's a four-story brick and iron building with heavy walls and a dark roof, tucked away on the very edge of the factory district of Bellchester. It appears designed as though to blend in with the nearby apartments, but it is far too industrial for its deception to be believable. One of the corners of the building has caved from the fire damage, sending rubble down into the street, and while the rest of the factory is structurally intact, it's charred and singed.

Annette pokes around in the rubble as Cordelia argues with the crown investigator at the scene, demanding to be allowed to inspect it. It's been more than a few minutes since they've taken to shouting explicatives at each other, and it seems clear that the two have some form of history together, though its nature is impossible to tell. By Cordelia's third highly specific insult about his wardrobe Annette is convinced they've either been rivals for some time, have some sort of romantic or sexual history, or both.

"-tweed upon your ass!" Cordelia cries out with a villainous grin. "I'm quite sure that even your undergarments are argyle and so far up your-,"

"Are you quite finished, Miss Jones?" The investigator grumbles. "I've already given you an answer and repeated it until such a point it seems to have lost its meaning. I'll ask you once more: please leave."

Cordelia bounces on her toes, looking much like she might soon test his aptitude in boxing. Annette shakes her head and relents from inspecting the rubble strewn about, walking over and saying, "Perhaps it is best if we leave, Miss Jones."

"Absolutely not," Cordelia declares.

"Might we have a word?"

Cordelia scowls at her as though to test her resolve, but eventually gives in. She allows Annette to pull her out of earshot of the investigator.

"If you are going to scold me-," Cordelia begins, only to be interrupted by Annette.

"Let me handle him," she states.

"Handle him? Handle him!?" Cordelia lowers her brows, causing tiny disapproving wrinkles to form on her forehead. Her voice drops quieter. "Do you think you could?"

"He was stealing glances at me the entire time you yelled at him," Annette recounts. "Yes, I can handle him."

"You don't like doing that. You hated smiling for Bembrook."

"If I'm to have any peace in our home from your fretting, you need to get inside and investigate," she crosses her arms over her chest. "This is preferable."

"I'm not fretting," Cordelia grumbles. Annette raises a knowing eyebrow, daring the detective to double down. Cordelia's face softens. "Very well, Miss Baker."

"Good," Annette nods, taking a breath and quickly formulating her plan. "Slap me."

Cordelia's hand flies through the air and strikes Annette's cheek far harder than she had anticipated. She'd thought Cordelia would want to question the plan, try to understand why Annette had made the request, and that she might have a moment to steady herself before the impact. Annette doubles over, throwing a hand to the side of her face and breathing heavily, feeling the stinging sensation throb for an agonizing few moments before slowly residing.

"I'll not be talked to in such a way!" Cordelia shouts, ensuring it's loud enough that the investigator can hear her. "Take a walk, Miss Baker, and reflect about your words and your place. Your full punishment will be awaiting you at home." She drops her voice low, barely above a whisper. "I only need fifteen minutes."

Annette nods, and Cordelia strolls away, turning a corner and surely devising a strategy to enter the factory from some back entrance. Annette takes a moment longer to recover, then timidly walks over to the investigator.

"Miss Jones has asked me to apologize on her behalf," Annette tells him, pretending to hold back tears from the slap. "And that I must apologize for causing you to witness my misbehavior that is unbefitting of my position."

"I'll not accept her apology, if it's all the same to you," he replies firmly, glaring at the direction Cordelia had departed to. His face softens as he turns his attention to Annette. "Given her temper, I cannot imagine your behavior was truly unkind. An apology is not necessary, Miss."

"Thank you, Mister..."

"Calgar," he supplies, inclining his head.

"Miss Baker," Annette curtsies in response.

"I sympathize with your ordeal," Calgar states, gesturing at her collar and then looking back towards where Cordelia had previously been. "I don't envy you returning home to face her continued ire."

"I thank you for your kindness," Annette replies, smiling weakly. "She can be quite brutish in these moods."

"What punishment might you be awaiting upon your return?"

"She likes to draw punishments out over time. Sleep deprivation is a favorite of hers," Annette mutters, wishing she could have stayed in bed a while longer this morning.

She shifts into polite small talk with Calgar, who seems eager for the distraction. She wonders briefly if he was dreading returning to the sight of the burned bodies inside, and empathizes. Once Annette asks him about his interests and he mentions cricket, Calgar goes on for some time on the subject and it hardly requires any conversational effort on Annette's part, save for the occasional nod. He's clearly passionate about it, and while the passion is endearing, Annette can hardly fathom a less interesting subject matter. She's almost relieved when Cordelia's boot kicks down the front door from inside the factory and calls out to her.

"Annette, I require your assistance!" she calls out, gleeful that the door had given way from the force of her kick.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Cordeli-," Calgar begins, ripping his hat off of his head and throwing it to the ground.

"Coming, Miss Jones!" Annette replies, smiling politely at Calgar. "Could anything be less interesting than cricket?" she mutters to him as she strolls away.

"I could have you both arrested for trespassing," he threatens. Cordelia ignores him, snorting and heading back inside. Annette follows her lead, leaving the frustrated investigator behind to accept his defeat.

Inside, the factory is humid and smokey, and while the fire has long since died out, it's still uncomfortably warm within. Annette lifts her dress to step over the mangled remains of some machinery that has bent under the heat, following Cordelia up to a small staircase in the back of the room that leads to the second floor. They turn the corner and suddenly Cordelia's hands fly onto Annette's face; one hand thrown over her eyes and another on her shoulder.

"Miss Jones-,"

"You'll thank me later," Cordelia says quietly, using her hand on Annette's shoulder to steer the servant towards a destination. "I can't fathom you'll keep your composure at this sight before us."

Annette gives in to Cordelia's direction, scrunching up her nose at the rank smell of burnt machinery, rancid smoke... and scorched flesh. She feels a horrifying tremor shake down her spine, which Cordelia seems to notice, and the detective gently increases the pressure on her grip to comfort her.

"Lift your leg here," Cordelia directs, tapping her shoulder. "Wide step."

"... and what am I stepping over?"

Cordelia is quiet for a moment as she guides Annette's step. "I considered telling you it's simply a machine. It's a body. Samuel Yamhill, if I'm not mistaken."

Annette gulps back her disgust, stepping past the body and allowing Cordelia to lead her around another corner and down a corridor. "... so you've brought me to observe the crime scene but you'll not allow me to see it? What sort of test is this?"

"Not a test, Miss Baker," Cordelia says gently. "I'd rather you not lose your breakfast."

"You could have left me outside," she mutters.

"I require your assistance with another matter," the detective answers. "Turn here."

They enter a smaller room off of the corridor, where the air is far less rank with the smell of burnt bodies. It seems to be some sort of storage closet, and Cordelia finally removes her hand from Annette's body. It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darker room, but when she does, Annette gasps at the sight of another body laying against one of the shelves.

"Christ," Annette coughs, turning away for a moment. "A warning would be appreciated."

"Take a look at him," Cordelia directs. "What do you notice?"

Annette takes as deep of a breath as the wretched air will allow her and steadies herself. She turns back to study the man's body, eyes flicking over his form and pushing past the discomfort of once again being so close to death.

"He isn't burnt," Annette observes.

"Correct."

"How did he die, then?"

"Guess."

Annette looks around, noticing that the door seems to have been broken upon entry. The lock remains active, but has been bent from the force of a blow against the door. "Did you do this?"

"It was locked," Cordelia shrugs.

"Hold on," Annette shakes her head. "You only had fifteen minutes, and rather than studying the obvious deaths in the main room, you instead turned down a side corridor and kicked open a supply closet?"

"I had a hunch."

"That cannot be how a hunch works," Annette scowls. "There's no rationality to such a decision."

Cordelia stares at Annette for a long moment, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back into the doorframe.

"What?" Annette's eyes flick over her form defensively.

"Who trained your mind this way?" Cordelia asks casually. "Have you always been so inquisitive?"

"Miss Jones," she sighs, pointing a hand down at the body, "there is a man dead before us. Might we focus on that task instead?"

"None of the investigators I know think the way you do," Cordelia muses. "They're all so narrow-minded and clear-cut and overconfident. But you..."

Annette turns away, returning to the task of studying the body and ignoring her. "Smoke," she says aloud. "This man died from inhaling too much smoke." She takes another glance around the room, then strolls out into the hallway. Looking down the corridor opposite from the way they came, Annette notices a door at the end of it, and she strolls down to inspect it. A quick turn of the handle reveals that it's locked. She considers attempting to kick it open, but decides against it.

Instead, Annette takes a deep breath and strolls back towards the main room, steeling her resolve for the expected sight of burned bodies. She preemptively locates her feelings of shock and disgust and horror and buries them down, summoning forth a focused neutrality in their place. The initial shock is still upsetting, but she manages to stifle it, turning instead to briefly inspect the corpses.

Annette's mind buzzes quickly as she works, and she feels as though her focus is intensified beyond its normal ability. Little details keep popping into her awareness as she looks, and it's as she's kneeling down over the final body that a small realization overtakes her. She returns to Cordelia in the supply closet, who remains casually propped up against the doorframe, waiting for her.

"And what have you noticed, Miss Baker?"

"You said there were six deaths."

"I did," Cordelia's voice lingers, excited to see Annette's mind at work.

Annette points to the man in front of them. "He is number seven. The crown investigators didn't find him."

"The question remains: how did I find him?"

Annette crosses her arms over her chest, swaying on her feet as she thinks. "The door down the hallway is locked... so this man possibly thought that this room would protect him from the fire... but why didn't he just return to the main room...?"

"Why indeed?"

"The fire was worse there," Annette guesses. "Too dangerous to go back?"

"What else is different about this body?"

Annette looks him over once more, suddenly noticing the difference in his attire. "He's in work clothes. The others were in business suits. Why would so many businessmen be in one room in a factory?"

"A different question, Miss Baker," Cordelia redirects. "Why would a singular worker be in the factory at night on a Friday?"

"He wasn't supposed to be here..." Annette supplies. "So he wasn't just afraid of the fire, he was afraid of the bosses seeing him?"

"It's possible."

"So he hid in this closet because it was his only option, and succumbed to the smoke instead of the fire." Annette paces for a few steps, moving out into the hallway for another moment before stepping back inside. "So that's how you found him."

Cordelia smiles, chuckling to herself.

"What?"

"Annette Baker isn't a Kerish name," Cordelia recalls.

Annette groans in frustration. "What does that have to do with anything right now?"

"Everything," the detective pushes off of the frame and stands over her. "If Annette Baker can't be your birth name because you're Kerish and it isn't... how did I know you were Kerish?" Annette glares at her, confused, so Cordelia continues. "If this man hid in this closet because he wished to escape the fire and his bosses, and we know this was his motivation because we've found him and pieced it together..." She leans forward, trailing off to allow Annette to finish the thought.

"... it still doesn't explain how you knew he was here," Annette answers.

"It's bigger than that, Annette."

"How so?"

"You're thinking like I do," her eyes light up excitedly.

"I don't follow."

"But you do!" Cordelia steps away, gesturing enthusiastically with her hands. "Well, you don't. Come to think of it, they're not entirely the same point at all-"

"Miss Jones," Annette grumbles.

Cordelia stops and grabs Anntte by the shoulders, leaning in to meet her eyes. "The point I wish to capture is this: you understand."

"I understand?"

"You understand."

Annette frowns. "I'm not sure that I do."

"Oh, but you do."

"I don't."

"Don't you?"

"Stop it!" Annette huffs, storming back into the hallway and leaning her back against the wall. She drops her head into her hands and massages her temples, letting out a long and tired exhale. "Just... just say whatever it is you're trying to say so we might be done with this place."