CHAPTER 202: CHAPTER TWO HUNDRED AND TWO

The carriage rocked gently as it moved through the dark, gaslit streets of the city. Inside, the air was thick with a tension that was far heavier than the plush velvet of the seats. Lord Burton sat rigidly, his gloved hands clasped tightly on his knees, his gaze fixed on the shifting shadows outside the window. He was a man drowning in a decision he had made days ago, a choice that had felt necessary in the moment but now felt like a lead weight in his soul.

Across from him sat Baron Edgar, Delia’s grandfather. The old man’s face, though lined with age, was alight with a fierce, determined energy. He leaned forward, his eyes, still sharp and clear, trying to catch Burton’s evasive stare.

The memory of his conversation with Augusta played over and over in Lord Burton’s mind, a tormenting echo.

~ • FLASHBACK • ~

They were in the advisory council room, after one of the regular meetings. Augusta sat at the head of the long, polished table, a queen upon her throne. She had summoned him, and he had come.

"Baron Edgar had a meeting with me a week ago," Lord Burton said, his voice lower than usual as he leaned forward. He felt like a conspirator, which, he supposed, he now was. "He is not as unwell as you have made him out to be, Baroness. He is sharp. He wanted to know how he could help Delia."

Augusta’s calm expression shattered. Her eyes turned to cold, hard chips of ice. She placed her hands flat on the table, her voice a low, dangerous hiss. "And you are only telling me this now? Why didn’t you tell me on time, Lord Burton?"

Lord Burton flinched at the anger in her tone. "I-I didn’t think she would truly be fighting for the establishment with you," he stammered, the excuse sounding weak even to his own ears. "I thought it was just a young woman’s fleeting anger. I did not realize it would come to this."

"You thought wrong," Augusta snapped. She took a deep, calming breath, her mind already working, twisting this new information to her advantage. She was not one to dwell on mistakes, only to exploit opportunities. "So he wants to help his precious granddaughter," she mused. She looked at Burton, her expression now purely calculating. "He sent another letter to meet you, you said. What is your plan? How did you handle it?"

"I have not replied yet," Burton admitted.

"Good," Augusta said. "Because there’s something I want you to do for me. Something that will solve this problem permanently." Her eyes narrowed. "I have been looking for that damned old man for a while now. I need him found. And I need Edgar silenced before he can interfere. You will help me with both."

~ • FLASHBACK ENDS • ~

The memory faded, leaving behind the cold reality of the rocking carriage. The Baron was speaking, his voice pulling Burton from his guilty thoughts. The carriage had slowed, coming to a stop in a dark, unfamiliar lane, far from the well-lit thoroughfares they had been traveling.

"Lord Burton, you told me there would be a way," Edgar said, his voice tight with frustration. He gestured around the dark, enclosed space. "You said you would help me. Why won’t you tell me what it is?"

Lord Burton finally forced himself to meet the old man’s gaze. He saw trust there, and it felt like a hot searing iron against his conscience. "Well," he began, his voice sounding hollow. "I can try to cancel the request for the conservatorship over your affairs, but it seems the process is quite complicated. It requires witnesses, doctors..." He let his voice trail off, hoping the vagueness would be enough.

It wasn’t. Baron Edgar was not a fool. "Then I will make it simple," the old man declared, his eyes flashing. "What if I show up at the council and investors meeting myself? What if I walk in there and blow everything up? I will show them all that I am fine, that nothing is wrong with me. Let everyone see for themselves, right there in the meeting. They cannot deny the evidence of their own eyes!"

A wave of pity washed over Lord Burton, quickly followed by a cold spike of fear. He sighed, a long, mournful sound. "I’m sorry, Baron," he said, the words feeling like ash in his mouth.

Edgar’s face clouded with confusion. He leaned closer, his brow furrowed. "What are you sorry for?"

Before Burton could answer, both carriage doors were wrenched open at once. The sudden violence of the act was shocking. The quiet, confined space was flooded with cold night air and the menacing silhouettes of two large, roughly dressed men.

"What is this?" Edgar asked, his head whipping from one side to the other. His eyes finally landed on Lord Burton, who had shrunk back into the corner of his seat, his face a pale, terrified mask in the dim light. "What is the meaning of this, Burton?" Edgar demanded, his voice a mixture of confusion and dawning horror.

There was no answer. One of the men lunged into the carriage. Rough, calloused hands grabbed Edgar by the arms, his old-man’s strength no match for their brute force. He struggled, a cry of outrage on his lips, but it was cut short as a thick, coarse sack was forced over his head.

The world went black. The rough fabric scratched at his face, smelling of dirt and dampness. He was plunged into a terrifying world of suffocating darkness and muffled sounds. He felt himself being dragged, his fine shoes scraping against the floor of the carriage and then the rough cobblestones of the lane. He shouted, but the sound was a useless, muffled cry inside the sack. He kicked and fought, but their grip was like iron.

Inside the carriage, Lord Burton squeezed his eyes shut. He did not watch. He could not watch. He listened to the sounds of the struggle, the old man’s desperate, muffled shouts, the grunt of the men as they hauled him away. He heard the sound of another carriage , the clatter of hooves on stone, and then a door slamming shut.

Then, silence.