Darkest of Times [Albert J Moriarty] - Moriarty the Patriot

Act 6, Scene 2 - The Days After

The night is still —too still. Dark clouds hang heavy above London Bridge and Big Ben, rain gently pattering down.

But thunder begins to roll in, soon to disturb the eerily quiet city; it's quite literally the calm before the storm.

Tucking the brim of his top hat down, William marches up the staircase, his cane in one hand, his handkerchief in the other. He pats away at the blood spatters on his neck.

The floorboard inside the parlour room creaks and William approaches the room carefully. His gloved hand nudges the door open.

Inside the room and sitting on the sofa is Eleanor, the side lamp lit beside her. She's dressed in a dark red dress, her hair loosely pulled back off her face with a few strands hanging down.

"Oh, Eleanor," William breathes.

Her head spins to look at him, eyebrows raised. "Hi William, I didn't mean to startle you."

"You're fine," He assures her.

"Are you okay?"

"This?" He motions to the blood stains on his neck. "I'm fine. It's not my blood."

A chilling silence fills the room and he wanders over to the coat stand, placing his top hat on the hook and sliding his cane into the holder.

"Where's Albert?" He asks.

"He had an emergency to attend to," She tells him, gazing out the window at the full moon. "He'll be back shortly."

Turning on his heel, William pours himself a tumbler glass of whiskey. He holds out the glass bottle in her direction. "Care for a drink?"

A hand on her stomach, she answers awkwardly. "No, thank you... Spirits give me an awful hangover."

William huffs a low laugh. "I see. I'll drink it to celebrate on my own."

"Celebrate what?" She asks as he takes a seat on the sofa opposite her.

"Albert told me about the proposal. Congratulations are in order." He raises his glass and sips at his drink.

"Thank you... But this doesn't seem like the time to be celebrating." Eleanor purses her lips.

William raises his brows. "Why do you say that? Because of the state London is in?"

"Not exactly that..." She folds her arms, looking down at the floor. "I just hope this is all going as you planned."

A heavy silence fills the room again and William clears his throat.

"You surprise me, Eleanor," He swirls his drink around the glass. "That evening you confessed to knowing about us being the Lord of Crime, I really didn't expect that."

"Because I seemed so clueless?" She asks. "That was the whole idea."

"If you don't mind me asking," William begins. "I know Albert has told you about our parents, but what are your parents like?"

She huffs a laugh. "My mother is a nightmare. I wouldn't say I hate her, but I certainly don't want to have much to do with her. Everything is a test, whether it's trying to push my buttons about what I'm wearing, or when I would meet a man, it all seems to test me. We look almost nothing alike, except for our eyes. I'm always told our eyes are the same."

"And your father?"

A smile creeps onto her face. "My father? He's my hero. He's someone I can always turn to and he's shaped me into the person I am today. He's always on my side— well... except for right now."

William sips his drink. "He was there at Westminster the other day, was he not?"

She sends him a curt nod. "We both watched from afar... I felt so helpless."

"You've helped us, you needn't worry," William tells her.

"I don't regret helping, I truly don't. I said that I wanted to help and I promise I will..." She lets out a lofty sigh, raising her hands to cover her forehead. "But it's hard when my father disapproves as much as he does."

"It's understandable," William places his glass down. "But your job is done, all I require of you is to stand by Albert's side and support him like I know you will."

Lowering her hands into her lap, her chin drops. "I want nothing more than for London to become equal and for your plans to conclude. It will all be worth it."

"It's taken quite some time but the final act is almost here."

Flicking open his lighter, William motions to the cigarette in between his fingers.

"Do you mind?"

Eleanor shakes her head and he places it between his lips, inhaling, lighting the end and tucking his lighter back into his pocket. He exhales out a cloud of smoke.

She sighs. "William, is all this necessary?"

"What do you mean?"

"The killings, I mean... You're making yourself out to be a heartless killer, but you're not really."

Lowering his hands with the cigarette between his fingers, William stares down at his palms. "They're stained red."

"Does it trouble you?" She leans forward on the sofa cushion. "To kill these people?"

"That's a loaded question. If we're pricked, do we not bleed? If we're tickled do we not laugh? If we're poisoned, do we not die? And if we're wronged, do we not seek revenge?" William questions.

"Everyone is cut from the same cloth?" She infers from what he's said. "I believe we are equal, but I don't think that everyone is as black and white as that."

He shakes his head. "Of course not. Some people feel pain stronger than some, others laugh so hard they cry, while some shed no tears, not even of compassion. Others experience trauma that sticks with them and will carry through into their adulthood. Some can never forgive you for doing wrong in their eyes... I've learnt this tonight..."

Rushing around the coffee table between them, Eleanor crouches in front of him and takes his hands in her own.

"William, I know you seek some resolve in this time of need. But don't carry this burden alone." She pleads.

Stubbing out the end of his cigarette in the ashtray, he stands up from the sofa. Eleanor watches as he wanders over to the window, swirling his whiskey in the tumbler.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I alone will take the fall for my crimes." He tells her, his voice shows not a sign of sadness, but that of contention. "The Lord of Crime was always to unite the nation, not tear it apart."

"What will happen of the Lord of Crime?"

He sips his drink. "The Lord of Crime will die, that's always been my plan. Death, a necessary end to this scheme, will come when it will come."

"And your hands? Stained of blood?" She rises to her feet, folding her arms in on herself. "When will your guilt be gone?"

Shaking his head, a chuckle escaping his lips, he turns to face her. The moonlight bounces off his pale complexion.

"I am in blood. I'm in so deep that I'm wading my way through, soon to be swallowed up. But my bloodied hands will clean once the plan is executed."

"I see..." She nods weakly.

However, Eleanor fears that all the oceans in the world wouldn't be capable of cleaning William's hands of blood, or worse, be capable of washing away the guilt.

-

-

-