black_wolf (black_wolf) wrote in shadowlands_ic, @ 2017-08-13 23:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | bertie eden, lucien swinton |
Who: Lucien and Bertie
What: Bertie is made aware of recent developments
Where: The offices of the Night Watch
When: 9 August, 1888 [Slight backdate]
Rating: G
Lucien wanted, quite badly, to be home with his wife.
That summarized it in a nutshell.
This entire business was vast, and messy, and at the same time, it kept hitting far too close to home for comfort. The revelations kept coming in waves, each one in and of itself overwhelming, and he suspected he had yet to fully process Peter’s involvement and his father’s unnatural death.
The fact that it was all possibly linked to a larger conspiracy was simply icing on a rather awful cake.
But he was a touch more seasoned than he had been the last time he’d been dropped headfirst into the deep end of the pond, and this entire venture had taught him some rather hard lessons in loyalty -- and where his priorities were.
Right now, they were squarely back at Black Park, where he very much wanted to go, and possibly stay for a good century, but that wouldn’t do anyone much good.
The Night Watch had, thank God, adhered to his requests for a temporary silence for the sake of the Fosters, and had kept it over the days of the full moon, which he was grateful for. And when it came time to sort out the next steps of a plan that, frankly, he was making up as he went, he’d made a rather quick judgement call, and requested Eden to be the liaison on this case.
He was junior, and beyond green, and it would, no doubt, present a certain degree of awkwardness, but he’d shown both discretion and persistence in regards to his suspicions about his father, and had done reasonably good work in France, and at this point, Lucien had a very short list of trustworthy people who would have the interests of Black Park in mind.
And, damn it all, Matthew had a good opinion of the lad.
Bertie knew very well that something had happened, something that no one was talking about, and it was driving him half-mad. He thought it might just be what they had discovered at Black Park, passed up the ranks and away from trainee investigators, but he couldn't be certain, and for once even Jamie couldn't find anything out. There were no conversations where Jamie could hear, no cases carried tantalizing through the space he occupied--or if there were, Jamie wasn't telling, and Bertie couldn't believe he'd hide it.
And now Lord Black was here, had been here for some time, closeted in the chief investigator's office, and Bertie was about to bite his nails to the quick fretting about whatever might be happening that he didn't know. It was nearly enough to drive him to Mal, knowing that Mal could only hold out against Bertie for so long and would eventually yield.
Nearly. But not quite.
The office door opened. "Eden," Orwell barked, and Bertie practically leapt to cover the distance between Orwell's office and the desk he'd been sitting at--which belonged to Cavendish, but it had a better view of the office door than Bertie's own. He tripped over a chair along the way, nearly tipping head-first over the desk it caught on and sprawling onto the floor, but he managed to catch himself and staggered upright again with only a slight limp from where he'd banged his hipbone hard into the corner of the desk.
"Lord Black!" Bertie exclaimed, breathless from pain and eagerness alike.
Orwell gave him a deeply unimpressed look and stood up from his desk. "You keep a respectful tongue in your head," he warned, low-voiced, as he paused by Bertie in the doorway. "And no wild goose chases."
Then he left, closing the door behind him, and suddenly Bertie was here, with whatever-it-was he hadn't been able to get into, seemingly now inside it.
A beat late, far later than he normally did when he wasn't dazed by mysteries and secrets and burgeoning bruises, Bertie turned his head to the side to bare his throat and cast his eyes respectfully down to the stone floor.
“Mr Eden,” Lucien replied, feeling every inch of the last week as the bright-eyed trainee came careening into the room.
But the immediate display did reduce the nearly constant urge he had to pinch his nose when in Bertie’s presence, and reminded Lucien why he’d made the call he had. Say what you will as to his motives (motives Lucien, apparently, was more than willing to exploit at the moment), the intrepid young investigator seemed bound and determined to serve.
He sighed, and took a sip of his now mostly cooled tea, and looked over at the young man with as much patience as he could muster.
“Before we dive in,” he said, setting down the teacup mildly, “I would like to express my thanks for your work in France, and your inquiries into my father’s death. My cousin and Matthew both relayed your efforts favorably, and that is, in large part, why you’re here today. You are…” he frowned a little. “You are, of course, already familiar with a portion of…” he waved his hand. “...everything that’s been going on,” he said, in an encompassing gesture.
Bertie looked up to meet Lord Black's eyes, startled. "Yes, my lord," he replied at once. He'd been a little disappointed that everyone else had insisted on delivering news to Lord Black whenever Bertie came up with something, which left him with no excuse to make his own report. He hadn't expected the recognition, which normally left a warm glow in his chest when coming from one of the Black Park wolves--not least the alpha.
The subject, however, and the reminder that unpleasant business was still going on, present tense, kept Bertie sober. That and the word choice, 'a portion', which meant there was more that Bertie didn't yet know. He kept his voice level, and tried to slow the immediate leap of his heart when he asked, "Has there been some news, Lord Black?"
“You could say that, yes,” Lucien replied, frowning. “And I believe it raises more questions than it answers, but at the very least, we have a fuller picture. There was a second attempt directly before the full moon. Unsuccessful. Mr Sayers shot him before he could harm anyone,” he said, his eyes meeting Bertie’s briefly.
He knew the two young men still had a rather strong draw towards one another, but that they’d done their best to keep their distance since Malcolm’s engagement (and his subsequent suggestion that it would most likely be best). He allowed for a beat or two before plowing forward, the sip of tea he took too cool to wash away the sour taste in his mouth.
“As he died, the attacker called out the name of a former packmate, Peter Foster, as the wolf to blame. Peter left to fight at Cornwall, and his sister Katherine had recently left the pack upon my engagement to then Lady Stanbury for personal reasons. You of course know the three younger Fosters,” he added mildly. “The story itself is no end of convoluted,” he added, “and some is of a rather… personal nature,” he said, with a frown, “but the long and the short of it is that Peter was recruited to fight at Cornwall, and then coerced into helping attack my friends, my reputation, and my person, with his family’s safety held over his head as he lost a personal desire to do so.”
At the very least, he pondered, there was one bonus to all of this -- there’d be a limit to the number of people who knew so many personal and sordid details of his pack’s inner workings, his childhood friendships exposed for the frauds they were, the pettiness of it all, his failings to keep the loyalty and friendship of people he’d trusted.
“But that’s not quite why you’re here,” he said, with a frown, trying the tea one more time before setting it on the table. “Peter discovered that he was part of something bigger -- the wolf he’d been working with had a superior, who now wanted Peter in charge of what he’d been doing, was going to make him work on a new assignment, and we believe there’s evidence of a greater conspiracy, the extent of which we do not know just yet. He’s offered to work to discover the source to clear his name, and to protect his family. The details are here,” he said, sliding a slim folder across the table.
“I know it’s a great deal to take in,” he said, quietly, “but I very much hope you appreciate the delicacy of the situation, the need for discretion as we learn more of this possible conspiracy.”
Bertie had so many questions that he had to bite his tongue to keep them all in, his eyes dipping to the folder at Lord Black's fingertips. He wanted to ask if Mal was all right--it sounded as if he'd been unharmed physically, but after his military service, Mal had returned with some complicated feelings regarding firearms. It couldn't have been easy for him to shoot and kill someone, even in defence of his alpha.
The alpha came first, however, so that was where Bertie focused his questions. "Foster is in custody now, my lord? And have you been given additional protection by the Night Watch, if there is indeed a conspiracy and you are still in danger? Do you believe...?" Bertie carefully bowed his head, hoping not to give offense by offering his obvious submission. "Could Miss Foster have left your pack to join the conspirators, as a part of their plan? Or to achieve a new position, perhaps near another target? I beg your forgiveness, Lord Black, but it seems to me the timing is...suspect."
“Foster’s struck a deal with Lord Balinbroke on my request,” Lucien replied, his mouth twisting. “In the interest of national security, he’ll be working for the Crown to uncover further details of the plot, and his work will insure the safety of his family and their continued good name. And Katherine…” he frowned. “Mr Sayers and myself went to her, and discovered she’d been held against her will and injured in order to provide intelligence of my whereabouts. I believe she is wholly innocent in the matter, and was horrified and angered at her brother’s involvement.”
He paused. “Mr Eden,” he said, looking wearily over at the young trainee, “I am walking the finest of lines at the moment -- and while Mr Foster’s actions were nigh on unforgivable from a personal standpoint, the safety and reputation of his family, as well as the greater duty we are now burdened with to discover the fullness of this conspiracy outweigh my own desire for vengeance. The Fosters need to be protected, but quietly. My and my wife’s safety is also a point of concern, but due to the publicity, it is more than understandable and would raise less suspicion. Peter Foster’s involvement in the latest assassination attempt needs to be kept out of the papers so that he can uncover what he is able to. And, indeed, this entire affair needs to be limited to a few eyes and ears -- those who can be assured of their discretion, because, God help me, the number of people I can trust at the moment is in short supply, and we have no idea how deep this conspiracy goes.”
Bertie's eyes widened slowly with dawning understanding, his stomach sinking. "Lord Black," he began carefully, hoping he had misunderstood, and then forced himself to stop, pressing his lips closed. Priorities--there were more important things to address. Tilting his head slightly, Bertie swore, "I will protect the safety and reputation of the Black Park pack with all my life, by my oath as a member of the Night Watch."
It was more than that, but the tie Bertie felt to the pack wasn't his to claim. It was nothing but a wish, and a connection to Mal that had been severed with Mal's engagement.
Only then, with his heart beginning to pound and his throat tight with unhappiness, did Bertie finish his earlier question. "My lord, are you asking me to...protect Peter Foster?"
A werewolf who had attacked Bertie's alpha. Who had injured him, who had upset the pack, who had turned on his own. Lord Black had been his packmate, and his alpha. Bertie would rather spit on him than defend him. If he'd had claws, and fangs, he might have wanted to do more than that.
But Lord Black was the alpha, and true pack or no, Bertie was his to command.
“His identity as a spy, yes,” Lucien replied, “and the sanctity of the information he will provide in confidence so that only a key few should know it. But he is more concerned with the physical well-being and reputation of his family, as am I.”
He paused a little at Bertie’s oath, at his expression, and he reached for the tea again, more to have something to do with his hands than anything.
“I have been made rather painfully aware in the last few days,” he said, carefully, “that there are times when I expect too much of those around me. And I realize that I am placing you in an awkward position, Mr Eden, especially after my request for you to keep your distance, which you have done. I am aware that there are… limits, and I do not wish to…” he paused, frowning. “My intention is not to demean you, nor to make you feel as if you are indebted. You’ve gone above and beyond already, truly. And I…”
He did pinch his nose just then.
“I have also learned that it is rather necessary at times to trust my instincts,” he added, quietly, “and while I have asked a great deal of you, more than I should have any right to ask, when you say you’re willing to serve yet again, I believe you.”
Swallowing his immediate protest was as difficult as biting his tongue, but Bertie managed to wait until Lord Black had finished before he replied. "It is my privilege, Lord Black," he said quietly, as he had when Lord Black had first appeared in this office, less pleased then with Bertie's appearance in his affairs.
Bertie shifted his weight then, nervous energy reemerging, unable to keep still for very long even when it was for matters of grave importance. "Besides memorizing the file, is there anything I can do for you right now? To whom should I report? To you directly, or to Chief Inspector Orwell...?"
“At the moment,” Lucien replied, with what may be the understatement of the decade, “there is a great deal we do not know, and the situation is evolving. I believe Chief Orwell will inform you regarding the day-to-day, and you may be involved in whatever security will be arranged for the Fosters, but myself, Mr Sayers, or Lady Black may need to call on you, and quickly, for purposes of passing along information to Chief Orwell or provide assistance for some other… unanticipated challenge that may arise. And Katherine and Peter Foster will need to be aware of your status as a potential liaison as well.”
He frowned. “Discretion is the word of the day, Mr Eden,” he said, “and I would not have you taking unnecessary risks -- and while your initiative thus far has been admirable, there is far, far more at stake than some unanswered family matters -- I would prefer you keep lines of communication clear with your superior regarding your actions, for your safety and the success of this venture.”
In other words, Bertie translated, he was being brought back into line. No more wild goose chases, Orwell had said, which Bertie suspected meant weekend trips to France and small group excursions to Black Park.
He couldn't ask whether or not that meant the ban on seeing Mal had been lifted, or merely relaxed--he suspected the latter, but it hardly mattered, in the face of the reason why. Bertie only hoped that Peter and Katherine Foster should have no reason to contact him, because he was not nearly so concerned about their safety, yet, as he should be.
Still, orders were orders.
"I understand, Lord Black." Bertie took the folder he'd been offered, and hesitated a moment before saying, "You may depend upon me. I won't disappoint you."
Lucien stood, and nodded. “Mr Eden, I appreciate your assistance in this matter. Thank you.” He frowned, doing his best to recall the names Matthew had passed along, and failing utterly. “And please extend my thanks to your friends, as well,” he added, extending his hand.
Bertie smiled a little at that, and resolved to linger on the steps near Jamie as soon as Lord Black had departed to discreetly pass on his words. He would mention it to Gabriel, as well, who had been unflinching of his support. Even if Bertie could no longer share details of this case, he could convey thanks for services already rendered.
"Thank you, my lord, I will."