Leavitt Stafford and the Awful, Terrible, Not Very Nice Plan.

Chapter the Twenty-Eighth: The Florist Once More

It was Leavitt's second week of absence from church, and he was terribly aware that he could not continue such absences for a third time. After all, there is a certain point at which even the most oblivious individual begins to grow suspicious, and he could feel that he was growing perilously close to such a point. Particularly, he thought to himself, as he had been spied by Magnolia and Montague that Wednesday.

Today, Leavitt had informed Marjorie that he felt rather unwell, but that he must speak to Rupert later that day, lest he lose his position of employment. "I made an unfortunate blunder on Thursday," he explained, "and so I must speak to him. You must understand, Rupert is not a forgiving man..."

Of course, Marjorie knew that Leavitt was being untruthful about his blunder, but what more could she do? She would have to search Leavitt's belongings, as she said she would do as she had spoken to Montague, but this simply wasn't the way to prevent him from committing whatever crime he planned at that moment. And so, as Marjorie made her way to church, she left Leavitt behind.

As Leavitt applied his eyelid oil and transformed himself into Marigold, he mused over the plans for today. Of course, he would speak to Rupert, and he would most likely arrange further courting, but his attention had turned towards discovering the current residence of John. He certainly lived in the town, for he laboured nearby, but his absence from the church suggested that he lived in a different area of town. And, knowing the brazenly humble mask of the man who had stolen all the affection which Leavitt deserved, he would have surely surrounded himself with the common man, thus eliminating the need for Leavitt to search about the more proper households. But despite this, there were a great many houses to search about, and so it may take an ever so terribly long time to search...

There was also the issue of Magnolia, Montague, and their orphan children to attend to, and how he could kill them without arousing suspicion. The Elixir Mariani poisoning had been a great deal easier, since he was not familiar with his victims in the slightest, but as for Magnolia, Montague, and the children... no, he would be a prime suspect, and he would have to flee immediately, should he attempt to murder them. The matter would have to wait until he had seen his brother imprisoned.

Out of the window Marigold climbed. She would be ever so busy that Sunday...

-

After church, Rupert once again returned to the florist. He had been in more cantankerous spirits than usual since Leavitt had sullied the prestige he had been crafting as the greatest doctor in the entirety of Great Britain, and Marigold's untimely departure from the opera had not helped matters in the slightest. But alas, he could not allow her to leave, for he would marry her, and he would tame her and make an excellent housewife of her!

Pulling out his handkerchief as the torrents of nasal mucus once again poured forth from his nostrils, he stepped into the florist. It was certainly a relief to know that Marigold hadn't too much care about how much his nose spouted whilst surrounded by flowers, but it did not give him a particularly favourable appearance. And besides, he feared that Marigold no longer cared for him...

"Hello, Rupert," enticed Marigold. "My oh my, you seem particularly captivated by flowers. I would never have expected this from a man, let alone from a man of your sort."

Rupert turned as red as a tomato in its prime. "No no, Marigold, this is not why I come to the florist! I come here for quite a different purpose..."

Marigold stepped towards Rupert and lifted his rough chin, a smirk upon her countenance. "And what would that reason be, Rupert?"

"What do you think my reason might be?" Rupert began to move towards Marigold's lips in such a manner that it really ought to have been considered obscene (indeed, it was considered obscene for two men to kiss one another at this time, but nobody aside from Marjorie and Leavitt knew of the true identity of Marigold). Unfortunately for him, yet another sneeze ambushed him and caused foul saliva to land upon Marigold's elegant visage.

Marigold grimaced. "At least sneeze in a handkerchief, you dirty man."

"I'm terribly sorry. Heavens, it is as though the flowers of the world are waging a battle against my nose! I can scarcely control my sneezes around them!"

"Well for goodness sake, sneeze away from my face! Surely you, as a doctor, know better than to spread miasma about?"

Rupert cast his eyes upon the floor, humiliated that a woman could have bettered him in an argument. All he had meant to do was make a romantic gesture, but his ruddy nose had instead decided to instigate an intolerable itch! No, he must regain his pride somehow...

"Leaving already, Rupert?" enquired Marigold as her lover seemingly began his journey towards the door.

"No, of course not. I have not yet fulfilled my task, and what sort of gentleman would I be if I could not so much as carry about this one paramount task?" As Marigold browsed the flowers, Rupert seized a bouquet of roses and concealed them behind his back. "Once I decide upon a course of action, I carry out that action." He crept towards the owner of the florist and silently placed some coins before him.

Marigold ceased her scowling and instead began to simper. "And what might that course of action be?"

"My course of action," Rupert beamed, "would be this." He gifted the flowers to Marigold, and the cantankerous beauty rewarded him with a kiss upon the lips. He pulled her towards himself, and the kiss intensified, which, it must be said, is rather nauseating to consider the particulars of. After all, why would any sane individual wish to kiss Dr. Rupert Stephens? Oh good heavens, it brings shivers down my spine to imagine!

The owner of the store looked at them as though he were watching a hippopotamus defecating, though out of politeness, he did not utter a word of protest.

As Rupert at last pulled away from Marigold, nasal mucus momentarily connecting their countenances, he told her, "It's a terrible pity you didn't allow me to escort a beautiful woman like yourself home; I would have treated you like royalty, as any gentlemen should."

"You disgusting man," Marigold grimaced, wiping the snot away, "and you must understand that I am quite capable of escorting myself home. You may take me to the opera, but I'm afraid I must insist that you allow me to return home alone."

Rupert blew his nose again. "But Marigold! A true gentleman would never allow his sweetheart to return alone, especially not in the darkness of the night!"

"That is quite enough," Marigold insisted. "I haven't all day to stand about arguing."

Rupert sighed; he realised that Marigold possessed too much stubbornness to accede to such demands, and so he must wait until the two met again outside the florist before he insisted once more. However, before they could do so, Rupert must arrange to meet her elsewhere. "Very well," he surrendered, "I shall argue no more, though I must pose one question: would a lady as beautiful as yourself be so kind to meet me again?"

Marigold began to simper again. "Only if you do not insist on escorting me home..."

"Excellent! Shall we go for an evening stroll in Hingboro Park? Of course, I would take you for a stroll now if I could, but I am a terribly busy man. Perhaps, rather than me escorting you home, you could accompany me as I return home..."

"That sounds much better, I must say." Marigold leaned towards Rupert and gazed at him with seductive eyes. "What time were you considering, may I enquire?"

"Would six o'clock this evening be acceptable, Marigold dearest?"

"Of course, but please refrain from sneezing in my face again." Beneath the mask of Marigold, the particulars of how Leavitt would extend the absence from his household began to trouble him. After all, Marjorie may already possess great suspicions with regards to his activities, and an absence greater than that which he had already informed her of would most certainly arouse greater suspicion than that which it was probable had already been aroused. How the devil would he explain matters if he returned at such an absurd hour as he most likely would? And would Rupert discover his secret? Oh, Heaven forbid...

He must return home after searching for John and fabricate an excuse of some description. The question was what the excuse would be. Would the excuse be a plausible one? Could he... pretend that he must take a train northwards in order to negotiate the spread of Rupert's fame across the nation through the opening of additional surgeries? Would Marjorie believe such matters, or would this appear dubious?

"Marigold," enquired Rupert, blowing his nose for the third time, "are you quite alright?"

"Why, of course I am," insisted Marigold. "Why the devil would I not be?"