The House of Beardsley

Chapter Twenty-four

The truth was, I had no plan with how I was going to find out anything about Adam Beardsley, or even get an audience with Robert Miller Thompson—that is, on the hopes that he would even be willing to talk to a stranger and young Orient girl.

I had looked up where Bellport was (it was only a three hour train ride away) and decided it was fine to stay there until noon. As for an excuse, I told Clo and Beth that on my day off I wanted to return to my orphanage and visit the place.

Saint Agatha's Orphanage was in Porcshire, which was so far they probably haven't even heard of it, so it was fine.

That Sunday, I dressed in my best clothing, my grey coat and blue hat, and had my black boots scrubbed to the point they shined. I also tried braiding my hair and putting it in a bun behind my hair to look older. While I didn't exactly look older, it was better than my usual two pinned up braids.

Buying the ticket and riding there was easy, but finding the directions took some time. Since I always lived with the rule of not asking strangers for help with directions, I circled the town for nearly twenty minutes.

While I was there I also noticed how different Bellport was from Ravensborough. As it was a port city, it was full of people from all places, and even if they were fair-skinned, they spoke in foreign tongues, or with accents. It was truly a market, with people hollering how cheap and good their products where in every street and corner. In fact, I was surprised that Adam Beardsley had a friend who lived there, because it didn't seem like a place that the wealthy went to. It smelled of fish and saltwater, the people were dressed in rags, and orphans ran about.

When I finally found 40-10 Ashby Street, my teeth were chattering from the cold.

I appraised the building in front of me: it was a tall brick red building made out of, well, bricks, and had a black iron sign that said "Thompson Eyeglasses".

Eyeglasses? Did Lord Adam Beardsley come to such a far town just for a certain eyeglasses store? Did he even wear glasses? None of his sons did, but that's beyond the point.

Bracing myself, I opened the door and heard the familiar ring of bells as I stepped in.

The store was empty. There were a few charts and posters on the walls and tables, as well as glass cases with glasses in them.

It was a neat and tidy store, maybe pretty high class, but still not something I'd expect a Beardsley to go to.

"Who is it?" A girl suddenly walked out from the back of the store. She was pretty, a young and lithe girl with long brown hair done up loosely in a coiffure. When she saw me, she frowned. "Do you have an appointment or are you making one?"

"No, I'm—I'm not here for that," I said, finding it hard to speak.

"What? You're not here for glasses?" She leaned on one hip and crossed her arms. "We don't do charity, and this is an eyeglasses store. If you don't need anything, get out."

"Wait—" I said, but I was cut off by a man who came out of the back of the shop too. He had on working clothes, and in his gloves hands were small screws.

"Paula! How many times have I told you to fix your attitude?"

"Papa! It's a Chinese!" the girl said, pointing an accusing finger at me. "They never do business, all they do is try and get odds and ends for free."

"Paula!" The man turned to me. "I'm so sorry for my daughter. She is young and ignorant. Is there anything you want from us?"

I looked at the man. He was old, grizzled grey and hunchbacked, and yet when he spoke to his daughter I could sense the love. I smiled.