Dear Future Husband

32. I Can Help You

31 December 1891

Maximilian hurried through the streets, pulling his overcoat closely closed as the wind threatened to whip his hat from his head. Chill December snows had fallen, and some of those flakes swirled around his feet now as he walked quickly, toward the warmth of a house that would never quite be home.

"Excuse me, sir, may I have a halfpence to buy a bun?" a boy said, accosting him outside the baker's shop. "Please, good sir, I haven't eaten in near a fortnight."

He recalled another time when he might have been the one begging. What did it matter, then, to give so little when he had so much now, even if that money had been won nefariously? "Here you go, lad."

"Thank you kindly, sir!" The boy took the shilling that was offered and his green eyes widened. "Please, sir, this is too much!"

"No, no, not at all," he said, remembering his own time on the streets, no matter how brief it may have been. "Just don't let anyone take it from you."

"Certainly not." He scurried off toward the warmth and delicious aromas emanating from the bakery in his patchwork clothes, causing him to sigh and hurry faster toward the tall, rickety house he shared with Edgar.

Sometimes, Edgar would disappear for days at a time on mysterious business–likely to keep up appearances at Wakefield and Sons–and other times, he would bring back a girl or two who would vanish before the sun came up. Then other times, still, he would stagger back, drunk, but at least he had stopped laying hands on Maximilian since he had grown to be a few inches taller than Edgar and had learned from the other men in the gang how to defend oneself with a knife.

"I'm home," he said, his voice echoing throughout the empty house. Maximilian caught himself, unsure of why he had said that. This drafty place wasn't home, anyway.

There was nobody there. Edgar only brought in a maid once a week to dust and tidy the furniture, but other than that, the house would be empty if Edgar was not there. He didn't keep a full-time staff on at the house, which made sense for two reasons. First, most people claimed the house was haunted, with many nearby residents claiming to hear screaming and howling on nights when the moon was waning. Second, Edgar simply had a mistrust of anyone who stayed at the house when he was not there. Since most of the members of his... organization had at one point or another infiltrated one of the great houses as a servant to lift valuables or important information, this fear made sense. Once one knew how the world really operated, they could never quite trust anyone again.

Maximilian shucked off his overcoat, which had been painstakingly mended many times by candlelight, having learned the necessary stitches from a neighbouring seamstress who also happened to stitch up many members of the gang when a doctor was unavailable. He shuddered at the thought. Now that he was taller, it would have to be replaced soon.

He boiled the enormous kettle of water necessary for a warm bath and by the time that the tub was full, his arms were aching. When he had lit a fire in the fireplace and was clean enough, having scrubbed the dirt from beneath his fingernails and the back of his neck, he settled in on his rickety bed for an afternoon nap before supper with the Flynns. The events of the past days rushed through his mind.

This Christmas had been dismal. He had attended Mass at midnight before going out the next day and feeling even Christ might be able to do nothing to absolve his sins even as he stole from a man who would not miss the money. Though he knew in his mind it was not true, that God's grace was perfectly sufficient for his crimes, it was difficult to make his heart believe it.

"Quit moping, Maximilian," he spoke out loud to himself, staring at the ceiling. His hair damp from the bath, he rubbed at it with a fraying towel. Shutting his eyes, he did his best to clear his mind of all thoughts before he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Over time, the custom of supping with the Flynns had become a weekly occurrence that Maximilian anticipated with great delight. It was on a snowy night at one of these dinners when Redmond brought up the subject of Maximilian's profession.

"It may come as a surprise to you, but given my line of work, I can help you, Mr. Walker." Redmond Flynn steepled his fingers beneath his chin. "You needn't work for this man... this Mr. Wakefield, anymore if you don't wish to."

"But the issue, you see, is that..." He sighed. "Edgar has threatened me. Even if I leave, he would not harm me, but he has told me under no uncertain terms that he would cause a fire at... at the Wakefields' house. It could kill his very own brother, Gideon Wakefield, and his wife, not to mention their daughter, Daisy."

"A truly despicable man," Redmond said, shaking his head. The look on his face was grave. "I have no doubt that he would carry through with it. Men like him never make it far in life without resorting to committing a plethora of crimes along the way."

"What am I to do, Redmond?" he said, putting his head in his hands and staring at the Oriental carpet in the gaps between his fingers, at the scuffed wingtips of his shoes. He was seventeen years old and he felt certain that he had come to the end of his rope in life. "How can you help me?"

"I would like to propose a venture that is highly dangerous, and would be extremely lethal if anyone were to find out about your involvement in it, but at the end result, were we to succeed, would be that you gained your freedom. What do you say, Mr. Walker?"

"I would say that I am intrigued," he responded. "You have nothing to do but to explain this venture, and I think I shall find myself accepting your offer, Mr. Flynn."

"Very well, then. What I propose is that you become a sort of spy. My investigation company, in a joint partnership with Scotland Yard, has been making a concerted effort against Edgar Wakefield and his unsavoury associates for many years. However, all our attempts at planting a spy or effecting successful espionage against him have failed, because he does not trust any of the new members. You, however, would be a very valuable asset to us. You could report back to us his movements, and no one would be the wiser. Eventually, we would be able to catch him in the act, he and his accomplices would be arrested and you would–"

"I would be free of the man," he said tasting the words. He rolled his shoulders back as though a weight had been taken off of them. "Free at last. Oh, what a splendid idea, Mr. Flynn! I do thank you for bringing it to me."

"Does that mean you accept? I must warn you, Maximilian, that the life of a spy does not come without its risks in addition to its rewards," Redmond said. "You will find yourself in many perilous situations."

"I would do anything, I assure you, to see that man brought to justice." He stood from his seat, placing his hands on his hips. "I accept your proposal, Mr. Flynn."

"Then from this day forth, let us be... partners in crime doesn't seem the right word," he said. "Let me write to Lord Winthrop of this–"

"No," he said. Although he would be eternally grateful to the man for restoring his faith in God and in himself, he did not want Samuel Winthrop's good name to be involved with this, if even a hint of scandal touched him. If he was quite honest... He wanted Rosalie to stay out of it as well. He wanted her to stay safe. "I mean, erm, I will tell him myself when the time is right."

"Of course, your life would be at great risk from this. The decision is yours." Redmond shook his hand before dusting off his trousers. "From this day forward, then, I am afraid our meetings must be far briefer."

"Yes," he said, nodding despite the sting of pain that ran through him at the thought of no longer being able to keep in frequent contact with the Flynns. "That is only the reasonable proposition."

"I know this will hurt both of us, as Flora will greatly miss you, but it will hopefully be a temporary separation that we have to endure." Redmond dropped his hands to his sides, a grave expression on his face. "Farewell, Mr. Walker."

"Farewell, Mr. Flynn." With a heavy heart, he turned and left the Flynn household.