The girls felt like they were living under martial law confined to the house and the increased guard. They longed for a return to the previous month or even the days before Gus had met his tragic end. Gentleman callers still came in steam coaches and masks, but it was growing impossible to work until Nicholas made his arrangement. Now the watchers were thinning or pulling back as the invisible hand of Underby worked its influence.
The atmosphere of the establishment brightened now the worst seemed past them. Nicholas did not relax his vigil yet, there were still undesirables keeping an uncomfortably close watch, but it was time for him to fulfill the second term of his bargain.
A steam coach arrived at the unmarked brothel late in the evening. It deposited a masked gentleman who disappeared quickly inside, and the driver waited for two passengers who needed to depart in a hurry. The feline stepped out in her red corset ensemble and into the steam cart haltingly, aided by one of Nicholas’s escorts. She appeared subdued and haggard, lacking the confidence she had displayed before the brawl.
The coach sped towards the Bucket as Beryl wondered what Underby desired from their meeting. She did not believe the gentleman intended to make her disappear for Nicholas’s sake, but what might they have told each other? She stared at her skirt until they arrived at Thunderclap Hall.
Descending from the coach, the feline realized she’d never given a second thought to the structure above the Bucket. At least, she had never considered what might lay within its walls. After knocking, a girl in her mid-teens, plainly dressed and slightly mousy in appearance answered the doors.
“Good evening,” Beryl greeted her with enthusiasm in her voice that did not match her mood or body language. “I’m here to see Mr. Underby. Tell him it is his appointment with Beryl.”
The girl nodded meekly, offering no introduction in return as she accompanied the black cat to the third floor. Beryl ignored her surroundings as she followed, focusing instead on the meeting ahead. At the top floor the lass knocked on the door. Without a word she opened it before running off leaving the cat alone with the tall, imposing figure of Mr. Underby staring outside the window of the empty room.
“Hello, Mr. Underby,” Beryl shut the door behind her, granting them privacy.
Her host turned towards her slowly, his deep voice sounding amused. He watched as those who had struggled to keep up with the steam wagon tried to hide. “Quite an entourage you command, Arnold.”
Beryl blinked then tilted her head at his choice of names and words. She was hardly something that could give anyone commands, “You must have me mistaken for someone else, Mr. Underby…”
“Oh yes, how careless of me,” her host smirked as he studied her quietly, “You’ve adopted Beryl now. My sincere apologies.”
“Yes, one might see it that way,” Beryl was surprised by his cordial approach given what he knew. She had expected him to be demanding, impatient, threatening, but he was being almost charismatic. Feigned or not, it would be unwise to spurn his hospitality. She moved closer slowly to speak easier, but kept a respectful distance. “And you’ve called me here to discuss that and?”
“Straight to the point,” Underby commented offhandedly. “An admirable trait. Tell me… Beryl… what is the game you are playing at here?”
“It’s not a game, Mr. Underby. And I’m afraid that I can’t share the details with you..” She kept her tone respectful and deferential. However, she knew that would not satisfy him.
“No? A secret endeavor is it?” Underby seemed unperturbed by her refusal. He continued matter of factly, “But of course it is, these things always are. As I’m sure is no surprise to you, I’m aware that Mr Lighthouse was elected representative of the urchins, and was discovered to be less than dependable. I am also aware that you have taken his place, at least nominally.
“He what?” Beryl was surprised at the litany Underby provided for her. He thought the urchins had picked Emerson for their adult liaison? Myrtil and the others told her he couldn’t be trusted and even asked Beryl to spy on him shortly after the interviews. Where had Mr. Underby gotten his information? Outloud she responded,“That’s odd.”
“It is unimportant,” Underby waved a hand at her shocked response, mistaking the cause behind it. “Because of this, I have assumptions about your current predicament. Will you volunteer to fill in details, or will I need to search for answers elsewhere?”
“I would rather you did not attempt to discover them on your own,” She replied evenly, eyes downcast as if in defeat. His current information was off the mark, but on the right course. If he delved deeper using his resources he may uncover secrets the urchins would not want him to know. “I suppose that means I will have to tell you something to satisfy you.” Beryl paused a moment before rising again, “Perhaps you could tell me where you heard I took Emerson’s place?”
Underby shook his head lightly, “No, this is not an exchange.”
“Very well,” She was more curious than anything. Underby was usually well informed…had the urchins laid a false trail or had Emerson been their choice and ruined it in the first week? She would consider that later, but for now, “What do you want to know, Mr. Underby?”
“Just what I asked,” Underby maintained a pleasant attitude, but his voice took on a slight edge having to repeat himself. “What is this all about?”
The cause of it all then. She had informed several people already, so one more would not hurt. “Several people suspect Mr. Nicholas of an old murder that has mostly been forgotten. Some who were wronged don’t care he might be innocent. They are willing to shoot him, and his men, in broad daylight and call it justice.”
Underby nodded as he listened, but betrayed no emotion as she explained the situation. He would know about Gus, and perhaps this offered him some context. Finally he posed, “You care whether or not that happens, why?”
“I normally wouldn’t Mr. Underby,” Beryl responded truthfully as she shrugged. She had previously considered allowing Fly to shoot Mr. Herding as an easier solution more than once. “But, someone else cares very much.”
“Who?” Underby asked, the lamp light from the window illuminated his outline and cast shadows along the walls and his features.
She shook her head, even if she wanted to, “I cannot tell you that.”
“Certainly you can,” Underby intoned warmly. “We are old friends.”
We are? She wondered in genuine confusion for a moment. He’d begun by calling her Arnold, but it was true they’d had few altercations in the past. Either way she decided not to contradict his sentiment. “I meant that, I cannot betray the one who gave me the order, Mr. Underby.”
“No?” He tsked quietly. “You speak as if you cannot trust my confidence.”
“Let us say the one who did cares very much, and did not know what they asked of me. This,” Beryl gestured to her attire. “Would not have been my first choice to investigate. Besides, I am not sure of your current connection to Mr. Nicholas.” She looked up at Underby, studying him as she laid out what had concerned her this evening, “I must wonder what you already told him when you set up our meeting.”
“He doesn’t know we are acquainted, if that is what you are cynically hinting at,” Underby assured her.
“No,” Beryl shook her head. With Underby’s connections, and as a bar owner, it would have been little surprise to Nicholas if he knew the feline. But if he had shared her past, “I was more worried I would need to explain about my ‘dead brother’ Arnold.”
Mr. Underby slowly smiled as he placed his hands behind his back, “You are an amusing creature, Beryl.”
“I’ll take this as a compliment, Mr. Underby,” she replied quietly. “As it is…what do you intend to do with that knowledge…or what do you want of me in exchange for not speaking?” The familiar could not imagine he wanted nothing in return.
Underby responded without concern, “I like to know what is going on in New Babbage, and I knew you would not be in this position by mistake.”
Beryl silently disagreed with that last thought, instead replying, “Of course. Knowledge is power, Mr. Underby?”
“Mm, yes,” He nodded as he turned back toward the window. “Something like that. Good luck on your mission.”
“Yes. Thank you, Mr. Underby.” She glanced towards the door, but did not feel she could take her leave. Turning back towards him she asked, “Am I free to go then?”
He answered without turning back to face her, “Oh yes. The waif will show you back downstairs.”
“Thank you,” She felt free to depart now. She wondered if that was Underby himself, or her latest promise that made her feel the need for permission. It was an unpleasant consideration either way. She opened the door and considered their polite encounter, knowing it could have gone much worse. The familiar also felt she owed him for revealing that information about Emerson, even if it was false or mistaken.
After some consideration she turned back, “I hope you’re getting a good cut from Mr. Herdings profits for your efforts.” Underby slightly turned his head but did not face her. “Did he happen to mention I was the one who suggested he should speak to you?”
He stoically gazed out the window, but she could tell he had blinked by his reflection. Finally he replied, “He did not.”
Beryl descended the stairs without another word, leaving Underby to consider her motivations on his own. She adopted a more defeated look as she rejoined her minder at the entrance of Thunderclap Hall. It was only a few more days until the thirty-first, and Diamond celebrated her birthday. For better or worse, things would conclude that fateful evening…
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