Oh, very well. I can see you tapping your foot impatiently at me. I’m not fooling you, am I?
I always write my articles so that I disappear. The words are about the hospitals and the inmates, the streets and the streetwalkers. If I reference myself at all, I talk about the false persona I invented to do the investigations. To everyone in the world, I can pretend that all those things happened to someone else.
Everyone but you. I may give false names and false backgrounds, but the things I’ve reported have always happened to me. You may find it bewildering that I’m still willing to take it on.
But to me, knowing that you know, that there’s one person who knows I’m not truly fearless…well, that makes it bearable.
Just don’t tell my brother.
Yours,
Free
Edward thought a long while before responding.
May 28, 1877
As I don’t believe in sending letters filled with treacle-like sentiment, I feel as if I should…send you a puppy or something.
Alas. I don’t know if puppies keep when sent through the mails—and I doubt they’d pass through customs these days.
It’s too bad you aren’t a pirate, as you’d once planned. That would make puppy delivery far more efficient. I’d bring up my own ship next to you and send you an entire broadside of puppies. You’d be buried in very small dogs. You’d be far too busy with puppy care to worry about anything else. This is now sounding more and more invasive, and less and less cheering—and nonetheless I have yet to meet anyone who was not delighted by a wriggling mass of puppies. If I ever did meet such a person, he would deserve misery.
Do not doubt the power of the puppy-cannon.
Edward
P.S. If there is no puppy attached to this message, it is because it was confiscated by customs. Bah. Customs is terrible.
After that, it was impossible to pretend he was not corresponding with her.
June 3, 1877
Free—
I don’t know what you mean. I do not resort to the ridiculous to avoid talking about feelings.
My God! Look behind you. It’s a three-headed monkey!
Now, what were we talking about? Ah, yes. You were telling me that Rickard was circulating a modified bill. Let me play devil’s advocate to your outrage: Even if only some women vote, it will prove that the sky can still remain firmly attached to the heavens and will forestall the worst doomsayers of the lot…
There was no point lying to himself now about what was happening. He’d done a terrible job of walking away from her, and look what had happened. Now he was no better off at all. There was no future in this though. What was he to do, tell her the truth of who he was? Let her know that his brother had been the one who caused all her problems, and then ask her to be his viscountess? She’d hate the prospect.
It was the chance that she might not say no that most shook him.
He was disgusted with himself when he began to look for a buyer for his metalworks.
June 10, 1877
Free,
I don’t feel qualified to advise you on answering your brother’s worries. I understand his concern, but you don’t have to listen to him. You only pay attention to him because you love him. This is what happens when people love you: They start annoying you.
Next time, if you wish to avoid this, try to poison your sibling relationships at a much younger age. It works wonders, I’ve found.
Yours,
Edward
June 21, 1877
Free,
Yes, I did manage to wrap up that bit of business I had mentioned before. As for the other thing—yes, I do have a younger brother. He’s my only living family. If you must know, he’s the one who told the British Consul in Strasbourg that I was an impostor. Suffice to say, I don’t think you would like him.
The only reason you are writing to me about my brother is because yours has gone on that elaborate trip. Tell me more next time you write. Is he in Malta yet? And when was he supposed to be back—August?
Edward
P.S. You are only proving me right. Love. Aggravation. Once again, they go hand in hand.
Edward sighed and looked up from the letter. He was dillydallying. But what was he to write instead? I was born Edward Delacey, and my brother burned your house down. I was born Edward Delacey, and I could be Viscount Claridge if I mentioned that fact in England.
He couldn’t bring himself to tell her. He couldn’t walk away. He didn’t want to claim her under false pretenses. But if he ever told her the truth…
I was born Edward Delacey. Marry me anyway?
Ha. There was no point even thinking about the matter.