The Unchaste

Guess Kill

South from the windy green and grays of the Yorkshire, in the yet darker, industry infested London, the fire Delilah had set burning so long ago had not quite tempered yet that October.

For the tons, it wasn’t so hard to forget a scoundrel such as Benedict Ainsworth, now that he was dead. His calculative eyes and thick lips twisted in an all-knowing smirk that was irking to some and to some charming; his graceful moves in the glittering ballrooms and sultry ways of kisses_ those weren’t the long-lasting things. Easily replaceable by another rogue hunting for a willing bed-mate.

The long-lasting things were less know.

The girls rescued from his basement, for example, who lived if not the happiest_ at least human life in the orphanages dotted across London, with hopes for bright future ahead was the long lasting thing.

And the vacancy…the emptiness Ainsworth’s death induced to that one man left behind was the long-lasting thing.

Good riddance, some would have said!

But a child, however distorted it may be in spirit, is always cherished by those who bore it.

Congenital bonds aren’t easy to slaughter.

His son’s rancid character and his often devastating gangrenousness had always distressed Lord Clarence Ainsworth but by no means had it made his sudden, and so terrible, death any more bearable to him.

What had he done to deserve seeing his stone-eyed son lying naked in a bathtub, surrounded by crimson foam and swollen from being in the water for too long.

Lord Clarence suffered the shame of a father who thinks he has out-lived his son. He endured the grief of witnessing his son’s being lowered into his grave.

It should have been him, not his Ben. His grave; not a twenty-six year old young man’s.

But death, like birth, cannot be undone. It can only be placated.

Vengeance, then.

“So, you see, Walter.” Lord Ainsworth sat back into his recliner, rolling the cheroot leisurely between his fingers as he eyed the elegant young man in front of him. “I know not what exactly this girl is. Delilah Eves. I only fare the knowledge that she was around the hotel my son had been staying at and that night, the maid around my son’s chamber said Miss Eves might have been one of the visitors my son accepted.”

“Might, sir?” Edrich Walter frowned at the old, sagged man. “’Might’ implies indecision.”

“Indeed it does and so it is.” Lord Ainsworth sighed. “You see, all the other suspects have been ensured dead by now. She, by her lady’s luck, is the last who remains and I wish her dead too. That alone would avenge my boy’s murder.”

Edrich’s eyes widened at the unsympathetic declaration.

Mere suspects and they all were dead now? If this was not lunacy…

“But surely, sir.” Edrich tried to reason. “It is highly improbable that a lady would_”

“Kill?” Lord Ainsworth barked in laughter. “You are not so naïve Walter. Look here. My own mother_ God bless her soul!_ killed my father with a clever from the kitchen. He was a violent man, more so when drunk and had almost killed her on the night of the deed.”

“I_”

“No, Walter! I do not ask you to umpire the case.” Lord Ainsworth’s demeanor turned severe. “I ask you to do your work and just that.”

“Delilah Eves will be dead, sir.”

“That’s it!” The old man wore a pleased smile as he handed Edrich the claret. He declined. “Take your time. She is in Yorkshire presently, as my men tell me and working for_ this is odd!_ Richard Winter.”

“Pardon?”  Edrich paled. “The….Richard Winter, Sir?”

“I hope it wouldn’t present you a trouble, though a trouble it absolutely is!” Lord Ainsworth tipped his chin on his fist. “Say Walter, why would a woman, any man even, work for a Personality such as that?”

“Ignorance, sir?” Edrich mused in hesitance. “Although…that makes the situation particularly challenging.”

“I would hope not.” Lord Ainsworth resented. “Richard Winter will have little to do with this Miss; she is a mere employee. And even if not so, the kind of man The duke is, he would prefer a woman dead more than alive.”

Edrich knew this, but he was still on the inconclusive side of the whole establishment. God, he didn’t want to be anywhere in proximity of Lord Richard Winter.

“Might I talk to that maid who induced this information, my lord?” Edrich inquired. “I would like to acquire more information on the looks and likes of Miss Delilah Eves.”

“That maid, I am afraid, too is dead.” A sadistic smile arched Lord Ainsworth’s old, wrinkled face. “She too was a suspect. She could be the culprit now.”

Edrich smiled with him, but without sharing any sentiment. Or without even possessing a fig of legitimacy in that smile. He was a known killer in the Feuds of Dark Aristocratic England but he had never slain a human merely because conjectures demanded it. Trust- Distrust, perhaps.

But this was a guess kill.

“Don’t now over speculate, Edrich.” Lord Ainsworth took a loud sip of the claret. “If not you, I shall hire another. It is only that you are the treasured son of my dead friend. I would hate to imagine having to turn to another when the like of my son is the one for this job.”

“Of course.” Edrich put up a tight smile and tried to even out his frown. “Of course, my lord, as you demand.”

“Then tell me when am I to expect the fine news?”

Edrich rose from his seat, picking up his overcoat from the seat beside. “I would say by the end of this month.”

Lord Clarence’s eyes narrowed. “Just to stray a bullet in her direction? Why?”

“I would request your lordship to put trust in me.” Edrich sighed. “I like to put up a fence of false trust before I attack, my lord. It’s way safer, don’t you think?”

“Oh Indeed I do.” Ainsworth smiled. “Let’s drink this to your success, shall we?”

Edrich rose his formerly refused glass and took a small gulp of the heady drink. His eyes were deviously lost. His schemes slow. Deliberate. But sure.

He looked forward on meeting Delilah Eves.