11. Cottage in the Woods

Cordelia’s carriage ride to Dulwich was quiet. She was left alone with her thoughts for far too long, and she had so many questions that were still unanswered.

Was Mr. Bellingham’s death connected to Mr. Notley’s? Why did Mr. Bellingham have that peculiar table and candles, and why did Cordelia have a memory of it? And could they trust anything Mrs. Bellingham had to say?

By the time Cordelia was dropped off at the Yellowwood Inn, she was drained, despite it only being early evening. Still, she entered in search of Blackburn.

The inn was considerably less crowded than it had been the last evening, and for that Cordelia was grateful. It also allowed her to spot her cane-wielding companion quite quickly. He was jovially playing cards in the corner with a round-bellied man.

As she approached, she heard the round man make a rather rude comment that she desperately hoped had not been addressing her, and Blackburn all but agreed, knocking cups with his new friend. The both of them laughed, and the round man took a large swig of his drink.

She met Blackburn’s turquoise eyes with a glare. He sent her a letter that someone was dead and he was drinking and playing cards? He seemed to sense none of her irritation, for his eyes twinkled at her, and a smile spread across his face.

“Have you come to play?” he drawled.

Disgusted, she demanded, “Get up.”

Blackburn’s round friend gave the both of them a rather incredulous (and suggestive) look as Cordelia about nearly dragged Blackburn away from the table, then out of the inn altogether. It was best to avoid making a scene, and Cordelia was fuming.

Blackburn’s hat was missing, revealing a mess of dark hair, and his clothes reeked of alcohol. She was beginning to suspect his note was a ruse to get her to return.

“Are you out of your mind? Did you do nothing while I was in Rotherhithe?” she hissed.

He leaned towards her, his demeanor suddenly normal, completely opposite from the drunken flop he’d been inside. His eyes were clear, if amused. “I’ll explain in a moment,” he said quietly.

Cordelia leaned away from his closeness, but she didn’t notice any alcohol on his breath. And there should have been. Was he not drunk?

Confused, Cordelia said, “You’d best.”

Blackburn chuckled. “Wait here. I must finish my act.” He jogged back to the inn’s front door, then abruptly threw himself against it, clumsily falling inside.

Cordelia ran to the nearest window to peer inside.

From her view, she saw Blackburn’s back, his hands waving at the round man, who got up from his seat, nearly knocking over his table in the process. Blackburn continued his gesticulations, pointing towards the door a couple of times, and the man grinned and nodded, stumbling closer to Blackburn to give him a sloppy embrace.

After peeling himself out of the round man’s arms, Blackburn headed out the door. Still both peeved and thoroughly confused, Cordelia marched back to meet him.

“Mr. Blackburn, is Mr. Bellingham found or not?” she asked, crossing her arms.

Blackburn placed his hat on his head, then spun his cane in his hand, as if reacquainting himself with them. Then, he started briskly forward, saying over his shoulder, “He is found. Now, keep up. I stalled as long as I could, but we don’t have long.”

Cordelia huffed. “Was that a farce? In the inn? Who is he?” Irritation seeped into her voice, and she didn’t bother to hide it.

“I needed a place to hide Mr. Bellingham, so I invited Owen for a drink. He is the owner of a small cottage in the woods.”

Cordelia shook her head, still not understanding. “You’re hiding Mr. Bellingham in a man’s house without his knowledge?”

“Not for long. I needed a place nearby, and I needed him to not ask any questions.” Blackburn smiled wryly. “And I don’t suppose he’ll be making it home very quickly in his state, nor be able to form very coherent questions.”

“That’s insane!” exclaimed Cordelia, shocked. “Luring a man out of his own home!”

Blackburn’s eyebrows pulled together. “I couldn’t be forthright with the man; he would clearly think I was insane—”

“You are insane!”

“—but I needed to ask him some questions as well, so that worked out rather swimmingly.”

“You are hiding a dead body in an innocent man’s house,” Cordelia stated firmly, too astounded to even yell.

“Who said he was dead?” Blackburn said with a lift of his brow. Cordelia cocked her head at him. “Now, we’re just about to it.”

They were approaching a small cottage, surrounded by trees but not too obscured. To Cordelia, it was shockingly small, even for one man; how could one live in such tight quarters? It looked to be the size of just one room.

Blackburn had approached the cottage and was about to open the door, but Cordelia stopped some feet behind him, hesitant.

“He is like me. How.” She would not enter until she understood. Was Mr. Bellingham alive? Was he dead?

Blackburn stopped and met her eyes. “I will not again try to convince you of what I believe about you, Cordelia, but Mr. Bellingham is not alive. Nor is he fully dead. He is not exactly like you, but I believe you two are similar.”

Cordelia took a shaky breath, frozen and unable to respond.

“I think you should see him yourself,” Blackburn said, turning back to the door.

She wondered if the answers she sought were inside this tiny cottage. Answers about Mr. Bellingham, surely, but answers about herself? There was only one thing she could do.

“Show him to me,” she breathed.

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