Chapter 5: 4: Sleepless Clue Town

Vincent jerked awake in the early hours, one hand rising to his face in an attempt to squeeze the exhaustion from his eyes. Disorientated, he tried to remember where he was. He was sitting, clearing not in his bedroom, but the dim light cascading through the window failed to reveal the bookshelves or desk of his university quarters. His gaze settled on a rocking horse.

Ah.

Very slowly, Vincent looked down at the infant still cradled in his arms, and was relieved to find her undisturbed. Her little lips quivered in her sleep, pursing and un-pursing as she dreamt, but she showed no sign of waking. Vincent couldn't help but raise a sceptical brow at her innocent expression: it had been a long night.

Whilst he had not been technically incorrect – he could indeed care for a sleeping baby – it was the child's waking hours that had proven... difficult. And frequent. Every couple of hours, she would split the air with shrieks of complaint that promptly brought either Aunt Jemima or Matilda to her side. Nappies were changed or breasts attached in alternation, but she would not settle for either woman, and would not be placed in the cot that a servant had dusted off and made up for her. She would only quiet when returned to Vincent.

Perhaps he ought to have been flattered, but his only thought was that the babe had made a very poor selection indeed.

As he pulled his focus away from the previous night, Vincent considered what had woken him. The chair he sat in was far from comfortable, but after such an interrupted night he didn't think that alone would be enough to stir him. He checked the child again – this time watching her chest rise and fall a few times as a precaution – before turning his attention to the room in search of what had disturbed him.

With his gaze raised, he found it instantly.

Leaning in the doorway, one ankle crossed over the other and his arms folded across his chest, was Thomas Thorne. His clothes were the same as the previous evening, though limited only to his trousers and shirt, and his hair was ruffled and standing up on one side.

He had clearly slept.

Vincent frowned.

Thomas met his gaze and quirked an eyebrow, moving slowly into the room. "I wasn't sure if I'd find you in one piece this morning."

Though his voice was pitched conversationally, it seemed to echo around the room, reverberating in Vincent's ears until he winced. His frown darted down to the child, who only twisted in her sleep, cuddling closer to his warmth, and then back to Thomas.

The man raised his hands in surrender. "Apologies." He was closer to a whisper now.

Vincent felt some of the tension drain out of his shoulders, and he relaxed back into the chair he occupied even as Thomas moved into the room and loomed over him. Perhaps it was exhaustion, but he was less disturbed by the man than he usually was.

"She seems content."

Vincent nodded.

"Such sweet innocence."

He couldn't help the snort.

Thomas leant away, one hand gripping the back of Vincent's chair, and he gazed down in surprise. "You don't think she's innocent?"

Vincent felt the wry smile on his face, but he couldn't figure out how to put the feeling into words. His free hand raked hair out of his face, and he shrugged. "Perhaps legally."

It was Thomas' turn to snort, and he stepped back, hooking a stool with one foot and dragging it towards him. When he took a seat – comically squatting on furniture designed for children – he set his elbows on his knees and watched the little girl.

"Legally, morally..." he shrugged, "Innocent in most of the ways that count, I'd think."

Vincent's disturbed night begged to differ, but the look on Thomas' face didn't invite debate. He was staring at the babe with an emotion Vincent couldn't identify; a soft frown, but no anger in his eyes, paired with a wry smile that tugged down in one corner. Regret, cynicism... none of those words fit.

He was still watching the man's face when he looked up from the child and met his eyes. The expression changed slightly, receding, but Thomas didn't look away. Their matched gazes set off a predictable roiling in Vincent's stomach, as it did when he locked eyes with anyone, but he persevered through the uncomfortable sensation, hoping to determine what emotion the man was hiding.

Thomas' lips twisted up at the ends. "Are you studying me, Lord Vincent?"

There was nothing to be gained by lying. "Yes."

He huffed out a laugh and looked away. His foot stretched out to nudge the rocking horse, and he watched it sway back and forth. "And how wanting am I found?"

Vincent's frown returned, accompanied by a tilt of his head. The question was laced in humour, but he could just hear the tremble beneath it. The vulnerability was not something he had come to expect from Thomas; the man was bravado and humour and teasing, almost never sincerity and definitely never exposed. Vincent had the strangest thought that perhaps there was more than one abandoned child in the room.

"Troubling," he said after a long moment, "but not wanting."

Whatever was playing through Thomas' mind, he did not look back at him for a long while, and when he did, he was grinning. His eyes twinkled with his usual mirth, crinkling at the edges, and Vincent wondered if he had imagined the last moments.

"So your stutter is just for show then?" Thomas asked with a wriggle of his dark brow.

Vincent blinked.

He'd forgotten. To overthink, to reconsider, to catastrophise. He was so tired, only just woken from the little sleep he'd managed, that his brain had forgotten to panic. Two feelings rushed over him in a wave from head to toe; anxiety as he considered what he's said, and exasperation as he wished Thomas hadn't reminded him.

"I... Can..."

Thomas shook his head. "No, no – too late for that now! You've shown your hand, my friend."

Vincent licked his lips. "If..."

The other man wouldn't let him get a word out. "None of that now! You've proven you can speak normally, so-"

Whatever else the man said was lost to Vincent, replaced only by the echo of that word: normally. His head snapped down, gaze locking on the floorboards in front of his feet as warmth flooded his cheeks. Thomas had voiced what everybody thought; Vincent was abnormal. His family did their best by him, shielding him from comments though he heard them anyway, loving him whilst he struggled through a sentence or eye-contact, but he knew he frustrated them as well.

Vincent was abnormal.

He stood abruptly. Whatever Thomas had been saying cut off suddenly as he grinned up at him. When Vincent didn't return the expression, it faded slightly.

"Are you-"

The door to the nursery opened to admit Matilda. The small woman stumbled to a stop, glancing between them with wide eyes. "Forgive me, m'lords. I don't mean to disturb, I just thought the babe might-"

Vincent was already nodding. He stepped over Thomas' outstretched legs, leaning over to pass the still sleeping infant into Matilda's arms. If the servant was surprised by the sudden gesture, she did not show it, accepting the bundle with a gentle coo. The babe stretched, lip trembling, but did not wake.

Duty done, Vincent nodded once at her, turned slightly to offer the same perfunctory gesture to Thomas, and then departed the room. He needed sleep, but knew it would not find him now, so instead he made for the stables, hoping at early morning ride with only horses for company would do something to fix the cavern that had opened in his chest.

Thomas was left sitting on a stool in the middle of the nursery, gazing at the open door with wide blinking eyes.

"Was it something I said?"

Vincent was sitting astride his horse, both him and the beast breathing heavily, and surveying the fields from atop a small incline. The air was cold, scraping against his throat and lungs, but the bite settled him somewhat. He and his mount had ridden the Humphrey lands and then into the crown-owned forests which lined the estate, before circling back as the sun began to climb higher. It could now be considered fully risen as he looked out at the fields from atop a small rise.

Thomas' words still echoed in his mind, but it was quieter now. The drum of his horse' hooves had helped him think, to process what the man had said, and he acknowledged that their had likely not been malice behind the words. It was not the other man's fault that Vincent stuttered, and without the stutter he would not be so sensitive to words like 'normal'.

It was an overreaction, he decided, and one that he was quite embarrassed of.

But that was no matter. Vincent would be returning to school the next day to finish up the term and would have no cause to encounter Thomas for a while. After that... well, the man would eventually stop spending so much time at the Humphrey estate. Wouldn't he?

Vincent had no considered where he might look for employment after finishing his degree, but now he mulled over working in town as he chewed gently on the inside of his cheek.

Hooves thundered behind him, and he threw a look over his shoulder. He would deny the relief he felt to see Matt cantering over. He returned his brother's wave.

"You're up early," his brother remarked as he drew his ride to a stop beside Vincent's. Both horses tossed their heads, letting out knickered greetings, as their owners relaxed astride them. "Or did the child not let you sleep?"

Vincent sighed, perhaps more forcefully than he'd intended, and shrugged at his brother.

Though they weren't technically twins, there was a lot about the brothers that might be considered twin-like. Whilst Simon and Bart were big and broad, both Vincent and Matthew were slimmer, bordering on lanky, though both had enough muscle to not be considered weak. Vincent's strength came from riding and caring for his mount, Matthew's... was unspecified. Beyond their physiques, they had the same brown hair, straight though the ends often twisted into a wave, that fell across their foreheads but did not dare brush their ears. What spoke most of their close relationship though, was their understanding of the other.

Matt was taking advantage of that understanding as he assessed his brother. "You're upset." It wasn't a question.

Vincent briefly considered denying it, but the lie wouldn't be worth the struggle. He nodded.

"It can't be the baby."

It wasn't.

His brother considered his words; he did not want to explain what Thomas had said, but he did want to discuss the man. "I... How..." He patted his mare's neck gently. "What do you think of Thomas?"

Matt adjusted his seat, watching his elder brother carefully as Vincent stared at his horse. "I think he's interesting, entertaining," he shrugged, "perhaps a bit lonely."

Vincent's head snapped up, and he looked at Matt in surprise.

"You haven't noticed?" He responded to the question in Vincent's eyes. "You've met his father; can you imagine he had a very comfortable childhood?"

The clearest picture in Vincent's mind of Lord Edward Thorne, Duke of Thorne, was him standing in the centre of a field with a pistol aimed directly at David's head. He agreed with Matt.

"I'd wager that's why he visits so often now. We might be his only friends."

Vincent wasn't sure whether he could consider himself friends with Thomas Thorne, but the same might not be said for his brothers. Simon was amiable and got along well with everyone, and even Bart had warmed up somewhat to the stranger in their midst. And Matthew... well, Matthew had already known him.

"You... he... You said once you'd met before, at a Gentleman's club."

Matt shifted on his horse, moving from a somewhat languid recline to almost perfect posture. He pushed his hair out of his face and smiled easily at Vincent. "What of it?"

His brother frowned. Matt was more than capable of reading between the lines of his statement. In fact, he normally answered questions Vincent had yet to figure out how to phrase. But now he was making him be explicit.

"If... the... Under what circumstances did you meet?"

His younger brother offered a half-smile. "I was there, he was there, we were introduced. You should attend some time and try it for yourself!" he pushed Vincent lightly on the shoulder.

Vincent would rather not.

The answer did not satisfy him, and he tried to determine why his brother was being vague. Was the story unseemly? Was Matt embarrassed? Had they cavorted with the wrong types or shared a gambling table and he didn't want to own his mistake by telling Vincent? All were possible, but none sounded like his brother.

Vincent opened his mouth to enquire further, but Matt slapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, Vinny, let's get out of this chill and get some food in our bellies. After the night you've had I'm sure it will be good for you."

His stomach rumbled, and Vincent let himself be distracted, not for a moment forgetting the line of questioning. As they raced back, wind whipping through their hair, Vincent was certain of two things: Matthew was being evasive, and it was Thomas Thorne's fault.

It may have been his imagination, but as they neared the house, horses unsaddled, brushed down, and happily enjoying their own breakfast, Vincent could have sworn he could smell fresh eggs. His mouth watered and he swallowed heavily as he directed Matt towards the servants' entrance. Not one to be kept from his meal, Matt agreed. They trotted up the steps, opening the door easily, and Vincent marvelled momentarily that some twelve hours earlier he'd been in the same place finding a child on the step.

Matt strode quickly down the corridor as Vincent paused and looked at the stone. The ride had energised him, and with his brain working his curiosity was piqued: how did a baby end up at their door? A half-frozen baby, at that, covered in little more than a burlap sack.

The thought had Vincent closing the door quickly, and he made his way to the kitchen. As he pushed open the door, the cook glanced up. She used the back of one hand to brush a lock of red hair aside, leaving a smear of flour in its place.

"May I help, m'lord?"

He was considering his question when he spotted what he was after; the hessian fabric. It was sitting on a bench to the side, neatly folded, and he gestured to it as he crossed the room.

"I thought perhaps you'd be back for that," the cook said, watching him out of the corner of her eye as she returned to the pot she was working over. "Not that I imagine the babe'll be wantin' it back, poor thing."

Vincent nodded at her, not quite paying attention, and examined the article in his hands. It was a tightly woven fabric of greys and browns, coarse beneath the pads of his fingers, but solidly made. He unfolded it, stretching it out to discover it was indeed a bag – perhaps for flour, produce or sand – that had been sliced at the seams into one long rectangle. It was plain, though on the opposite side there was an emblem inked into the centre. It was an anchor in a circle, with some text scrawled beneath, but by the light of the kitchen and without his spectacles, Vincent was at a loss.

As was his stomach, which growled another protest. Rather than strain himself to no effect, he went in search of food and Matthew, whose eyes would be of use.

He found more than he bargained for in the dining room.

As the footman opened the door, he was greeted by four pairs of eyes. Three were tolerable, one was irksome. Rather than comment, he studiously avoided all gazes except Simon's, handing him the material as he skirted the table and collected some food.

"Good morning Vin," Simon said with only a hint of confusion. "What's this?"

Vincent was both thankful and irritated when Thomas answered behind him. "The fabric the babe was wrapped in?" It would a question, but it would do as an answer.

With a plate of food – toast and eggs – Vincent turned back, meeting Simon's curiosity and indicating he flip the material. The bemused smile turned into a frown of concentration as he spied the stamped pattern, holding it aloft.

"I can't make it out," he said, passing it to Bart. That brother gave it a cursory glance over the lip of his paper, running it between his fingers, but offered no comment.

Matthew took it next, holding the scrap of fabric close to a candle as he squinted at the emblem. "Does that say 'import'? or 'export'?" As his eyes began to ache with exertion, he shrugged and passed it along to Thomas. "It says something-port, I'm sure."

The next man nodded, examining the lettering himself. "A shipping company perhaps."

"But how did it end up with the child?"

Matt shrugged at his eldest brother. "Happenstance? A poor mother might choose anything to protect her child. Or perhaps the father is employed by the company?" He shrugged again.

Whilst Matt's suggestions held weight, they did not answer the question that troubled Vincent the most. He was frowning at the floor as the material was waved back into his view, and he glanced up to find Thomas watching him.

"You've thought of something we haven't?" he asked as Vincent received the cloth from him.

The fabric crumpled slightly in his grip as he noticed the eyes of the room were on him, his cheeks twitching in a wince. It was perhaps not the moment he would have chosen to voice his thoughts – much too soon – but he couldn't think of a way to extricate himself.

"If... I...There is not much call for shipping in this area and by the time products reach us they have usually been branded rather than still bearing a shipping company label." His gaze had drifted to the material in his hand, and he studied the emblem again. "However it came to be here, I think it must have come from town."

He lowered himself into a seat – unfortunately between Matt and Thomas – as his audience considered what he'd said.

"The fabric, or the child?" Simon asked after a moment.

Vincent dipped his head at him and took a bite of his toast.

With a rustle, Bart laid down his paper and folded thick arms across his chest. "That's a long way to travel with an infant only to leave it on our doorstep."

Her, Vincent corrected internally, before frowning at himself.

"You're frowning again." The comment came from his left, and grudgingly he turned to Thomas. The man was leaning on the arm of his chair, weight supported by an elbow, with a brow raised in Vincent' direction. Of its own volition, his frown deepened. "Is your plan that complicated?"

He wasn't sure which was more annoying; when Thomas completely misinterpreted him, or when he hit the nail on the head.

"The... If..." The room had heard the word 'plan', and he stuttered into the anticipatory silence. "I return to town tomorrow for my studies. Whilst I'm there I will locate the company and investigate."

"It's a big town."

Vincent bristled. He had not once in his life been thought incapable of a task, and for this man to assume that he knew him well enough to underestimate him was-

"I'll accompany you," Thomas said, interrupting his thoughts with the cavalier statement.

That would not do.

"That's not necessary."

Vincent hadn't realised he'd voiced the thought aloud until the room turned to stare at him.

Matt was the first to betray Vincent. "I think that's a brilliant idea!" He ignored the wide eyes Vincent turned his way. "There's far too much ground to cover on your own. I'd join you, but I've so very much to do here." He faked a yawn that turned into a yelp as Bart slapped him across the chest with the paper. He was still grinning though.

There wasn't time for protest before Simon agreed. "It's your last week at university; having Thomas there will give you more time to dedicate to your studies."

Briefly, Vincent wondered if he looked like a fish; his mouth kept opening and closing, without words willing to emerge. Not that there had been opportunity to protest, even if he could have. As he sat there, the carriage was arranged, accommodation for Thomas discussed, and even the name of a business contact in the shipping district exchanged to assist their search.

As hiseggs and toast cooled to unappetising blobs, Vincent had the unnerving realisationthat his escape to town had just become quite the opposite.

~~

Hello Lovely Readers,

Finally an update! I'm sorry for the delay - I've been writing, but accidentally began 2 or 3 chapters ahead. Upside is that I've got some chunks ready to go for the future so maybe (probably not) there will be a few more chapters coming out soon!

In the meantime though, what do we think of Vincent and Thomas' plan? Will they find anything useful in town?

Please remember to vote and comment, and let me know how you're enjoying Vincent's adventure!

xx  Flo