Baker and Jones Ch. 12

I forgot to inform you during your last visit that amongst the cases I am presently working on, I am actually conducting the investigation given to me by Lady Deveroux at our dinner. It has been an unusual endeavor, reporting to such titans of business as Benton & Hayle, but I have found the work strangely refreshing; insomuch as it is simply a novel experience. I have never conducted such an inquiry as this, and in my efforts to infiltrate Pemberley Exports I cannot help but wonder if this is how you felt in infiltrating the Mallets. I shall endeavor not to be converted to the cause of Pemberley, as you were with the Mallets, the greatest of reasons being that in so doing, I would likely make us enemies.

I have never seen a thunderstorm like that of the other night. I keep returning to my rooftop, armored by the naive hope that perhaps there will be another storm, just like it. Perhaps you would join me to witness that spectacle as well. In the meantime, I look forward to your next visit, and I will earnestly hope that it is sooner rather than later.

Yours,

truly,

Cordelia

"So..." Marian sits forward. "What does it say?"

"I... a great deal."

"Did she mention when the two of you...?"

Annette blushes. "In a roundabout way."

"What will you say when you write her back?"

Annette lays back into the bed, clutching the letter to her chest and staring up at the ceiling. A part of her wondered if she had dreamt their whole last encounter, and she'd spent every night the last week wondering if she'd made a horrible error by kissing Cordelia. She didn't even fully know why she did it... it had just felt right, or necessary, or... or...

She shakes her head. "I'm not sure. I think I'm still surprised she isn't angry with me."

"So she enjoyed it?" Marian pokes her arm. "Are you going to go be with her?"

Annette sighs, a sound somewhere between longing and directionless. "She implied that she would welcome it again."

"Oh, don't be daft and just go to her!"

Annette smirks, rolling her head over to face Marian. " And leave you behind?"

Marian rolls her eyes. "Wilcox is more than sufficient for my heart, Annette, you know that. He's a romantic, and unbearably charming. I'll not be languishing away on my lonesome without you."

Annette smiles and nods. "Do you think he'll propose soon?"

"God I hope he does," Marian plops back into the bed next to her. "Between the two of us, we've almost got enough to buy out the remainder of my contract."

"Will you have money to survive afterwards?"

"We'll go stay with his family in Kestol," she closes her eyes, almost as though picturing it. "He even says there's a few folks there from the colonies, too. I'm not sure which colonies, but perhaps we'll be fast friends."

Annette bobs her head in agreement, and returns to staring aimlessly at the ceiling. She pulls the letter closer, trying to sort through the jumbled mess of things inside of her chest.

"Oh, just go to her," Marian groans.

"I've not yet completed my work here."

"How forward."

"I meant with the Mallets," Annette flicks her. "Though I'm still happy to tend to you as well."

Marian rolls over and stretches her arms out wide. "Just promise me one thing."

"Alright."

"Ensure that she courts you," Marian tells her. She raises a finger to accent the point. "A proper courtship. You deserve nothing less."

Annette scoffs. "You know women like me don't get to-,"

"If there's anyone who could find a way," Marian grins, "it's Baker and Jones!" She giggles, then rolls over. "Make her court you."

"She's not one to respond well to demands placed upon her."

"I suspect she may be more amenable at the present time, especially towards the present company."

Annette shakes her head, smiling as well. "Is Wilcox the romantic, or is it simply that you are?"

"I don't see why it cannot be both," Marian rebuts. "You deserve to be courted, especially after the nonsense with your noble fling."

"It wasn't a fling-,"

"Annette," Marian sighs, "do you know how many noblemen and women have promised to steal me away from this place; to have me for real, damn the consequences?" She raises her eyebrows at her, daring Annette to guess. Satisfied with Annette's silence, she adds, "and do you know how many have followed through?"

Marian gestures to the room around her, raising her own hand to fiddle with the edges of her collar.

"I concede the point," Annette mumbles.

"Make her court you."

- - -

It's another brisk night, and Annette can already feel Marian complaining about the cold. She glares up and down Bennt Street, watching for any signs of movement or cause for alarm. Content at the quiet of the late night, Annette recounts the plan to the two alongside her.

"That's hardly a plan," Marian grumbles, her arms pulled tight across her chest.

"I'm aware," Annette shrugs. "It isn't my plan."

"So you'd do this differently?" Her head cocks. "Let's just do that plan, then."

"I don't have my own plan."

Marian trills her lips and blows out a breath, watching up and down the street. "Well," she sighs, "I'm sure that if you did it would be an improvement upon this plan."

"I agree," Partick nods beside her.

"Thank you," Annette pats his shoulder. "Now, shall we get this over with?"

"If we must," Marian mumbles.

"Please, let us know if anyone is coming."

"I'll just be shivering in the meantime," Marian shakes her head, breathing onto her hands to accentuate the point.

Patrick pips up innocently, "You can have my coat."

"I'm terribly allergic."

"To... to coats?"

Annette grins. "To acts of chivalry. Let's go."

She ducks away onto the street, moving alongside the shadows and hunting down the address, written on a small scrap of paper in her hands. Sure, she'd visited the location with Jarl on Failinis' orders to scope it out, but there was no sense in taking chances. They move silently through the streets of the wealthier neighborhood, eventually stopping at the largest mansion on the block.

Annette finds a particular bush on the rear side of the house, just beside an alleyway, and carefully shimmies behind it, locating the small hole carved out for her in advance. She drops down, crawling underneath it and finding herself in the spacious backyard of the home, with a large field of grass bordered by marble sculptures and trimmed hedges. Patrick follows behind her a second later, groaning softly from the tight fit, but the two of them quickly dart towards the house, angling for a small door that was typically used for the servants of the home.

The inside of the home is somehow more ridiculous than the outside, sporting dark oak walls and golden-framed photos along every hallway. It's difficult to move quietly amongst the marble floors, and it's likewise a struggle to resist the urge to stop and gawk at the various displays of frivolous wealth. Every small cubby or nook has been set up as a viewing location for some form of art, and it's difficult to imagine this is a home rather than a museum or gallery.

"Nice house..." Patrick whispers, glaring up at a long tapestry that fills an entire wall.

"Well... collars pay, apparently," Annette mutters.

"I knew Mister Wemberley was rich," Patrick muses, gazing around the room, "but this... I could be content with this."

"I'm not sure that's how this works," she whispers back.

"I could be a successful businessman someday," he quips back, a twinge of defensive pride in his voice.

"I meant being content," Annette sighs. "I don't think the Barons ever get that feeling."

"Real grim, Red."

She rolls her eyes. "Let's just find him and get out of here."

They ascend the massive central flight of stairs, working their way towards the master bedroom at the far end of the right hallway. Annette peaks the door open, confirming he was indeed in bed, and shuts the door.

"You've got the cuffs?"

"It'd be easier to just knock him out."

She snorts. "You're most welcome to try."

She opens the door again, tiptoeing their way inside. Patrick creeps up towards the bed, preparing to strike Wemberly, when suddenly a woman in the room shrieks. Wemberly bolts awake just in time to dodge Patrick's strike, and leaps out of bed. In a panic, he charges away from him, only to be cornered against the far wall by Annette. The woman shrieks again, and when Annette looks to her left, she sees a young woman wearing a collar around her throat shaking in fear.

"It's alright," she lowers her hands, trying to calm her. "We're not here to hurt you."

Patrick nods to her as well, though remains close enough to stop Wemberly from fleeing. "Do you want to get out of here? We can free you."

"Mallets?" Wemberly croaks nervously."

"Ye-,"

"Don't answer that," Annette scolds Patrick, still focused on the young woman.

"H-have you come to kill me?"

"No."

"You want money? I have money."

Annette sighs. "We don't want your money."

"Mallets," Wemberly concludes gravely. He takes a long breath, then sits down onto the floor, resting his back against the wall. "I was wondering if you would turn up after your escape, Miss Baker."

Annette's spine tightens as she hears her name. "You remember me?"

"I never forget a face," he shrugs. "I had higher hopes for you."

Patrick spits at his feet. "You're coming with us."

"Why?"

"You're our prisoner now."

Wemberly chuckles, his chiseled and proper face shifting into a pleasant but bemused smile. "I wasn't aware that the Mallets took prisoners."

Annette alerts from a motion at her side, and she ducks as the young woman leaps at her. She's easy enough to side step, and Annette quickly has the woman's arms pinned to her sides as she continues fighting.

"Elaine, please don't," Wemberly pleads, his voice stern and sure.

Elaine looks at him and relents. Annette softens her grip on the woman, and lowers her head, trying to meet her eyes. "Elaine, do you want your freedom? We can get you out of here."

Elaine shakes her head and a disgusted look crosses over her face. "Why would I go anywhere with you?"

"We can help you," Annette asserts, releasing her. "You could be free of him."

"She doesn't want that," Wemberly cuts in.

"I'd rather hear it from her."

Elaine summons up her pride and echoes him, "I don't want to leave." After a moment, she furrows her brow and glares accusingly at Annette. "I love him."

"And I, you, dear," Wemberly affirms.

"You can't love someone you own," Annette glares at him.

Wemberly smiles and shakes his head. "You were always so disciplined in the collarhouse, Miss Baker. Even at your lowest you resolved to maintain your dignity. I'm sure it served your owner well."

Annette scowls and turns to Patrick. "Gag him."

"Cordelia must be so distraught to lose your assets."

Patrick stops just short of Wemberly, kneeling just before him with a scarf raised to gag him. "Cordelia?"

A shiver descends down Annette's spine, and she suddenly feels her mouth grow dry watching Patrick's confused expression.

"Miss Baker is an escaped collar," Wemberly tells him.

"Her owner's name was Simon Billings," Patrick frowns. "The Deacon."

"I had the papers for her transfer to Mister Billings for scarcely an hour before I received word of her escape."

"He's lying," Annette says quickly.

Wemberly shakes his head. "I can produce the documents, since you seem so intrigued, dear fellow. They're just in my office down the hall."

Patrick turns back to Annette, and she watches the pieces arranging themselves in his mind. "Red?"

"He's lying," she repeats.

"Is he?" Patrick frowns.

"I assure you I'm not," Wemberly leans in, sensing an opportunity to pit them against one another. "Bind me. Check the paperwork. I'm quite thorough in my dealings."

"Ignore him," Annette directs. "We need to leave."

Patrick's brow furrows deeper, and he looks back at Wemberly. "Who's Cordelia?"

"Cordelia Jones," he answers. "The Detective."

"Detective?" Patrick's voice washes with offense.

"Patrick, we need to leave, now," Annette nudges.

"I'm thinking."

"Yes, Miss Baker," Wemberly's sly smile meets her, "give him space to develop his own conclusions. He seems a bright fellow."

Annette takes a breath and resets. "Fine, my real owner was Cordelia. I can explain later, and I will, but we need to get him out of here."

Patrick ponders for a moment, and for an agonizing breath it's impossible to understand what he may be thinking. But he nods slowly and grabs Wemberly, bringing his hands and dragging him onto his feet. "Fine."

Annette shares a look of gratitude with him, then turns back to Elaine. She offers her hand to the woman, but Elaine simply steps back and shakes her head. Annette sighs and follows Patrick out of the room and onto the first floor, but just as they reach the final steps, a loud crash sounds out from the front door. Annette pulls Patrick to the side, and they drag Wemberly down the hall to the servant's side door, scrambling out into the back yard.

"What was that!?" Patrick whispers, his voice raspy and panicked.

"Police, I imagine," Wemberly chokes out, satisfied.

"Gag him," Annette orders.

They push Wemberly through the small hole in the fence, relieved he seems willing to comply enough not to be harmed. Annette follows last, and just as she bursts out through the bush and into the alleyway, Marian turns the corner, sprinting to find them.

"The police are-,"

"Here," Annette stops her. "We know. Which way is the best way out?"

"They're about to completely surround the block," Marian pants.

"Shit."

Marian takes a moment, then drops her shoulders and says, "Get Wemberly out of here. We'll cause a distraction."

"We!?" Patrick glares at her.

"Just-,"

He points a finger at Annette. "She lied. Her real owner was a detective!"

"We've bigger problems," Marian groans.

"You knew?"

"Patrick."

"She could be a spy! She could be reporting back about us!"

"Patrick," Annette sighs, "Please, just trust-,"

"No!"

"Then trust me," Marian pleads.

"No," Patrick backs away from them. "No, you're both in this together." He shoots a dirty look at the both of them, then dashes away down the alleyway.

Annette feels her stomach drop, sure that he would out her secret to the rest of the Mallets. "We need a plan," she mumbles.

"Aren't you worried about him-"

"Later," Annette frowns. "Follow me."

Annette pulls Wemberly along with her, down through a small side path in the alleyway, bursting out onto a single street over. She quickly gathers her bearings, and makes a snap decision.

"The police will be crawling over this area. We'll need to find a place to lay low for a while," Annette closes her eyes for a moment. "There's no way we can make it all the way back."

Marian turns in circles, trying to sense where they were. "I don't recognize this district."

"I know a place nearby... it's over a couple blocks." She takes a breath. "Ready to run?"

- - -

Annette's hands shake timidly as she pours the tea from the familiar kettle. She allows it to steep for a nervous breath, then sets the cup onto a saucer and places it on the counter. In the room over, the living room, she hears Marian readjusting Wemberly's bindings to keep him secure.

Cordelia takes the cup from the counter and leans up next to Annette. Taking a sip, she says softly, "Your friend seems nice."

A trickle of guilt passes through Annette. "She is."

"How'd you meet?" Cordelia asks, and Annette's face quickly flushes. "I'm only teasing," the detective smiles, "I recognize her from the Gallery. I figured you probably were sharing the company of one of the workers there."

"Right," Annette mutters.

"What's your plan here, Annette?"

Annette leans forward and rests her forehead onto the door of the cabinet, feeling the countertop gently press back into her abdomen. "I've no idea," she whispers.

"Come now," Cordelia faces her. "You're far too clever for me to believe that. Walk me through what you've worked out."

Annette sighs. "Patrick is going to expose my lie to the Mallets, and Jarl will surely use this against me. He's been looking for a reason to distrust me and I just handed it to him. Wemberly will corroborate the story when I bring him in anyway."

"So you may be burned in their eyes."

"And now I've involved you in it-,"

"Thank you, by the way," Cordelia smirks.

Annette shares a frustrated glance with her. "And if Wemberly ever escapes or testifies, it won't just be me who goes down. You'll be incriminated, too. I shouldn't have come here, I ruined it all."

"And so you have," Cordelia sips her tea.

"Thanks," Annett grumbles.

Cordelia resets, shaking her head. "You're brighter than this," she insists, her voice full of assurance and a confidence that Annette worries is misplaced. "Let's craft our way out of this. How do we contain this damage? Can we stop Patrick?"

"Doubtful."

"Can you maneuver against Jarl?"

Annette grimaces. "Even more dubious."

"Well," Cordelia takes a sip, "that leaves Wemberly as your savior. Time to negotiate."

"Why would he bother?" Annette groans.

"He's a businessman; it's all part of the trade."

Annette takes a breath and nods, relenting and accepting Cordelia's guidance. "I'll need leverage," she mumbles.

"Bargain for his life?"

"I'm not going to kill a man," Annette scowls.

Cordelia sets her tea back down onto the counter. "Does he know that?"

Annette pauses, pushing her head back into the cupboard, and agrees. She gazes down at her hands, clenched into fists against the countertop, and watches them slowly grow white. She feels a looming dread inside.

"It will be alright, Annette," Cordelia shifts a little closer. "I'm sure of it."

"I've fucked it all up."

"Chin up, the game's still on," Cordelia bumps a knuckle on her shoulder. She sits in the quiet with Annette for a moment, then gently adds, "It's good to see you."

"I wish it were under better circumstances."

"Nonsense," the detective glimmers, "I wouldn't have it any other way. You're easily clever enough to think your way out of it."

Annette sighs again. "My mind feels so scattered... would you do it?"

"I'm quite sure that you have the capacity to-,"

"Would you?" Annette begs.

Cordelia thinks for a few breaths. "No."

"Please."

Instead of answering, Cordelia slowly and carefully pulls Annette away from the countertop, wrapping her into a gentle embrace. She rests her hand on the back of Annette's head, politely moving her braid to the side, and allows Annette a few moments to breathe.

"I have no doubt in my mind," Cordelia whispers into her ear, her voice proud and reassuring, "that Annette is more than capable of thinking her way through this. Now... where is she?" She pokes her softly.

Annette smiles weakly. "She's here."

"Excellent, I cannot wait to see what she devises," Cordelia nods. Her fingertips hover gently above Annette's skin, as though unsure if she's allowed to touch her. "Take a breath. Give it a moment. It'll come to you."

"... thank you."

Annette allows herself to be buried in the feeling of Cordelia's shirt and vest, smelling the scent of pine that was so characteristically Cordelia. She squeezes the detective a little firmer, feeling as though the ground was slowly settling underneath her, though the jitters of fear remain ever present.

Cordelia lifts her head away, and raises a hand to Annette's chest, placing it just over her heart. "Your heart is beating so fast," she marvels. "Are you frightened?"

"Very," Annette mumbles back.

"Of what?"

"Losing it all," Annette sighs. She feels something else linger underneath, the same feeling she felt on the rooftop, and the one that joined her as she read Cordelia's letter. "And..."