When Theodore was a young boy, perhaps around five or seven he could not recall which, he was brought by his mother to the City for the first time, and to Grovecross for the first time.
They had not come by train since his mother despised trains, considering them to be too loud and too inelegant for a lady of status to ride in. Instead it had been via long ride in the coach, that Theodore could barely remember outside of being bitterly bored to tears the entire time.
But what he did remember was the end, when the door was opened and his mother had gently shook him awake.
Even as the mighty grey towers of industry, with their steel ribs and soot-laden winds, had risen throughout the City, Grovecross had stubbornly remained low and green. Part of this may have derived from how Grovecross was the original home of Grovecross Church along with its expansive cemetery (the church had been moved centuries ago). Three other churches, and the Cathedral of Sphacelate, also claimed territory and graveyards in Grovecross. Ancient laws from before King Edwin the First had required the area of Grovecross to hold land in commonality, with untouched trees to ensure a population of deer for hunting. This grove had long vanished, but additional laws had ensured each land-owner was required to hold half an acre for cultivation. These laws had not vanished.
So Theodore could recall, on that day, seeing the lush well-tended gardens lining the street on either side. His mother would point to the houses and name their owners. Old gentry families, mostly, although more than handful were wealthy merchants buying homes whose owners had no one left to hand it off to.
Yet some of these half-acres stood in stark contrast to what was behind them. Squalid buildings of creaking wood and brittle bricks, piled together and tightly clustered. These were the tenements where workers had come to live, to either get to their jobs further in the City or to work for those grand houses and shops with their lush half-acres.
“See that, Theo?” His mother had whispered. “That is where they have sent our blessed people.”
Rotwood itself did not have half an acre to itself, but enough to be relatively enclosed from the rest of Grovecross, surrounded by tall robust trees that provided constant shade over the pathway towards its door.
He opened his eyes only when the carriage came to a stop. Then he sat up straight, watching as the door opened and footmen helped the two ladies out. He unfurled his fingers to look down at the short bit of blue-grey ribbon.
“Sir, will you come?” Miss Marsh asked.
“In a moment, my legs are a tad stiff,” he replied.
“Yes sir,” Miss Marsh bowed her head, then took Olli’s hand and the two walked towards the doors of Rotwood.
Rotwood was not very aptly named, being neither rotting or made of wood. But it seemed that decay had still done its best to leave a mark on it. The stone was a moldering grey, corners had been overtaken by lichen and ivy. No matter what was done, the shingles barely held to the roof, and even from his spot he could tell the windows were highly caked with dust.
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“S-sir?” Mister Burke stuck his head into the carriage. “Did your knees lock up again?”
Theodore experimentally moved his leg, “no.” He placed the piece of ribbon in his jacket pocket where he then pulled out the letter from Captain Rourke. “I want you to look at this and tell me what you reckon.”
Mister Burke took the letter carefully and opened it. He looked at it for a long moment, his brow furrowing, before he folded it back up and handed it to Theodore. “Where did you get it, sir?”
“Miss Marsh gave it to me. She said some passing fellow handed it to her.”
“Hmm,” the look of deep thought was etched on the grim’s face. “He must be talking about the Welltraveler, and found something out. Bu-but… why such language? Why a meeting?”
Theodore had pondered this question himself with Bernard on the train ride. The answer they had come up with was not a pleasant one. “He knows, but he does not want certain eyes to see it.”
“Who would be looking at the letter?”
Theodore folded his fingers together, looking past Mister Burke to the door to Rotwood. It had already been shut. The two girls were likely safely inside and soon to eat something hearty and warm. “Well, any letter sent from the militias must go through the Royal Army Post first, there has long been rumored censors working at the post’s bureau. Bernard suggested that either whatever Rourke learned would have caught the attention of our ‘friend’, or that someone else might decide to investigate in a way that would not turn out well.”
“That is very concerning,” Mister Burke muttered. “Sir, should we really be getting involved? That Robert fellow has not bothered us since.”
“He insulted me and threatened my ward,” Theodore said coolly. “As a gentleman I cannot let that go. If someone had threatened Elisa, you would bare your teeth at them.”
Mister Burke colored, but did not answer.
“Speaking of Elisa, have you yet spoken?”
Mister Burke’s face was approaching the color of a ripe cherry, “ah, uhm, ehm… well, she was at Mrs Berry’s… uhm, sir, William came early. He said that the larder stock was ready any time for you.”
“Ah, wonderful,” Theodore felt a faint pit in his stomach from awakened hunger. “Did William bring his wife this season?”
“No, she’s going to the Continent with her lady’s group,” Mister Burke said, but his face was still red. “I, uh… sir-”
“You may go, have something to eat perhaps? That is what I am going to do. Also I may go look for Miss Fossoyeur.”
“For what, sir?”
“She may be able to get some answers for me about the Post,” Theodore got up slowly, his legs creaking in stiffness from sitting so long, and exited the carriage.
Theodore walked not to the door, but to the side of the great manor that looked forever close to crumbling. Hedges grew with an inconsiderate vigor, blocking pathways from view or entirely blocking some little paths off completely. He followed a twisting path where dying grass brushed dirt on his shoes that took him to a small white brick building. It was without much decoration, even the small window of it was only as big as his hand and set far up on it. Ivy and other climbing plants clung to the building, their tiny roots poking into the mortar and digging bit by tiny bit into the brick.
He opened a grey iron door, polished with the ominous crest of the Graef family of it. The worms that swarm the grave. The little building had an equally tiny landing, barely two feet in length, which rapidly descended into stairs leading into the dark. A corroding sweet smell wafted upwards. Stepping inside, he took off his jacket and placed it on a small hook on the wall after making sure his spectacles and the ribbon were safely in the pocket.
Then he walked slowly down the stairs, where the air began to turn warm and the dull buzzing of insects creeped slowly to meet his ears.
The stairs ended in a muck filled puddle. The sole light in the room came from the tiny window above. A pitiful shaft of light that made a hole in the warm putrescent darkness, illuminating the grotesque shapes of bloating corpses that filled the small room. Theodore felt some measure of exhaustion leave him at the sight of the banquet around him.