Thomas' stomach dropped, leaving a sudden, painful hollowness in its place. He extricated himself delicately from Lupe, gently moving her across the room and seating her in the chair. The urge to pursue Vincent was overwhelming, but it felt unforgiveable to leave the girl in distress.
It was also unforgiveable to lose Vincent.
He swivelled between the door and Lupe, holding his hands up. "Uh, just... wait here," he said, wincing at himself. He did not pause long enough to see Lupe's response.
With long steps, he reached the door and threw himself into the corridor. He glanced to the left, but did not see Vincent approaching his own room, and hurriedly looked right instead. There he saw him, moving purposefully along the landing.
"Vincent, wait!" he called as loudly as he dared, darting after him, his bare feet thudding softly against the carpet-lined hallway. "I can explain."
Vincent stilled more easily that he had expected, turning on the spot. The landing was unlit excepting the moonlight that filtered in through a window behind Vincent, casting him further into shadow rather than helping Thomas read his face. He ploughed ahead, nonetheless.
"I thought it was you at my door, but then... Well, the poor girl thought we'd make her earn her keep, in the boudoir, I mean." Despite his rapid explanation, he spared a moment to scowl. "No doubt that's what she and the other women are accustomed to."
Vincent neither spoke nor pulled away, and Thomas risked a step closer. "But nothing happened between us. She was terrified and I was comforting her, that's all." Slowly, as if he feared he might startle the man, Thomas raised his hand and reached between them, looping his fingers gently under Vincent's palm. "Please, you must believe me."
Vincent's head tilted then. "I do."
"You can ask-" Thomas froze. "Wait, you do? Then where were you going in such a hurry?"
Vincent seemed just as perplexed. "Of course. Lupe was supposed to spend the night in the nursery – I thought to go check on Isabela. I did not think I'd be of value in that situation." His cheek twitched slightly, as if imagining his role in comforting Lupe. "Did I do something wrong?"
Thomas' reply was a kiss. "Not at all," he whispered eventually, his voice low more due to breathlessness than caution.
The other man cleared his throat lightly and stepped away, though their joined hands were the last to separate.
"You go to Isabela, I'll see Lupe settled in her own bed," Thomas agreed. He was grinning, he realised, but did not bother to hide it. He was relieved – desperately relieved – and overwhelming appreciative of Vincent's logical nature. Many a person would have assumed the worst, but not Vincent. Still, the man deserved reassurance. "You have nothing to worry about, you know; my eye has not strayed." He quirked his brow as if to prove the point.
He thought Vincent might have rolled his eyes.
.
The following morning could only be described as foggy and groggy. The city awoke in a thick haze that urged those residents that could to keep to their beds and enjoy warms cups of tea and thick novels. Nearly every person residing in the Humphrey family's London abode had enjoyed a tumultuous and disturbed sleep, and needed little encouragement from the weather. Unfortunately, Isabela was of another mind.
The girl-child had startled herself awake in the early morning, screaming and sobbing until Vincent plucked her from the crib and tucked her into the crook of his arm. Lupe joined him, hovering hesitantly in the doorway, but he'd applied his best smile and sent her back to bed.
It was dawn when he flinched awake again, instinctively clutching at Isabela as he felt her weight shift in his arms. He startled further as he noticed the presence looming over him, relaxing only when he recognised the dark mop of curls and distinctive quirk of the eyebrow.
"She looked like she might fuss," Thomas murmured quietly, scooping the little girl up and settling her in his arms. He bounced softly on the balls of his feet, turning slightly away from Vincent to pace a short path around the room.
For his part, Vincent bridged the divide between sleep and wakefulness, watching the pair move slowly around the room from a slight gap in his lids. He didn't even realise he was smiling.
"You do like to cause trouble, don't you darling," Thomas said, addressing the babe in his arms with mock seriousness. "Perhaps a family trait. But even if we do share blood, I promise to do you the courtesy of never calling you sister. There is little joy to be had in being a Thorne." It was an odd thing to croon, but the soft tones of his voice were lulling – even to Vincent – and Isabela's eyelids fell to half-mast.
It was another half-hour before he felt safe enough to settle on the settee beside Vincent, disturbing the man who was drifting in and out of sleep. The man pushed himself up to sitting, running a firm hand across his eyes.
"How is Lupe?" he asked eventually, his gaze settling on the crown of Isabela's head which just protruded from her nest in Thomas' arms.
"Better, I believe. I poked my head into her room on my way here and she seemed to be sleeping peacefully." He shook his head slowly, his eyes closing tightly as if to block out a memory. "The poor girl... you should have seen her, Vincent; she was terrified."
After the previous night, there was little doubt in Vincent's mind how some of the Spanish women had protected themselves over their years indentured. His last hope was that Lupe had been imitating and not repeating behaviour. He stretched out a hand, resting it gently on Thomas' shoulder. After a moment's rearrangement, his hand was sandwiched beneath the other man's.
"Thank you," he said softly, holding Vincent's gaze. "For believing me last night."
Vincent acknowledged that with a dip of his chin. "You have already told me of your attraction to men."
There was a sudden tension in Thomas' muscles, a stillness despite the fact he had not been moving. Vincent glanced at him in concern, and watched him swallow.
"What do you mean?" The tone was foreign to Thomas – hesitant, cautious, muted – and Vincent's frown instantly deepened as he tried to figure out how he'd misspoken.
"You told me you are attracted to men," he said slowly, watching Thomas' face carefully. "As Lupe is not a man, she would hold no interest for you."
Thomas winced.
Vincent's heart immediately began to pound in his chest. He had said something wrong, or made an assumption, he was sure.
Beside him, Thomas turned on the settee, folding one leg up so that he could more comfortably face Vincent. In the process, he dislodged Vincent's hand from his arm, sending a sharp tingle up his limb that was stopped as he re-joined their hands and held them in his lap.
He cleared his throat. "That's not strictly true."
That part Vincent had guessed, but he scanned Thomas' face carefully for further hints. He did not seem angry – his brow was smooth, his lips straight – but there was a cautiousness in his eyes still that was foreign.
"I am attracted to women – not Lupe," he tripped over himself to clarify, "she's a child in our protection – but there are grown, adult women I've had dalliances with."
Vincent was confused. "You are not attracted to men?" If that was the case, he had several days' worth of questions, apologies, and embarrassment to process.
To his further surprise, Thomas scowled at him. "Be serious, Vincent."
He very well thought he had been! As he blinked, Thomas' scowl became a smile, and he raised their interlaced hands to his mouth, placing a chaste kiss on the back of Vincent's hand. Slowly, he pressed a trail of kisses across his pale skin until he reached the pulsepoint on Vincent's wrist. There, his tongue darted out, flicking across the skin and leaving fire in its wake.
And he never broke eye contact.
Vincent's breath hitched.
"I am also attracted to men. I am very attracted to you."
Vincent was mildly gratified that he also sounded out of breath. That thought passed quickly though. "Alright."
And then the pair thoroughly distracted themselves.
.
Hugh's note arrived mid-morning, bearing a single name with a notation beneath it: factory proprietor and Man of Business. Although Simon vouched for the man's knowledge of minerals and mining, Thomas thought he should seriously consider a career in espionage given hoe quickly he could find information!
Matt was once again absent, either having left obscenely early or never having returned the night before, so Vincent consulted briefly with the housekeeper before leaving Lupe and Isabela in her capable hands. They agreed to leave the Humphrey carriage behind, hailing a hackney cab and clambering inside.
Mister Silas Forsythe's office was on the lower east side of London, not altogether separate from the noise of the docks, but physically distinguished by narrower roads, taller buildings, and a thick smog that had yet to find it's way to sea. Standing on the stoop of a two-storey building of grey brick, neither Thomas nor Vincent could shake a sense of... itchiness.
For Vincent, it felt like the world was pressing in on him a little, and that the conversation before them was beyond prediction was unnerving. His hands clasped behind his back, he stood stiffly at Thomas's right shoulder and watched the man reach out to pull the chain of the doorbell.
For his part, Thomas was fidgety. He wanted answers and he wanted them immediately. He rang the bell again.
And again.
Quickly, Vincent reached out to still his hand.
Almost immediately, the door was opened by a man who looked every bit the disreputable business associate. He was thin and possibly tall, his hunched posture making it difficult to tell, and he was wholly... greasy. His hair, his smile, his eyes; his entire being dripped with a repulsive energy that nearly had Vincent take a step back.
Thomas simply smiled. "Mister Forsythe, I take it?"
The man took them in for a moment longer, his beady eyes scanning them with a practiced eye. Vincent watched him carefully, waiting for signs of recognition or understanding to light his face. Thomas was, after all, somewhat recognisable as a Thorne. However, Mister Forsythe made no outward reaction.
He simply dipped his head. "Indeed, I am he. How may I help you gentlemen?"
This they had discussed. "I have it on good authority you're a man who can find things," Thomas said softly, his eyebrow rising slightly. "I need things."
Silas considered that briefly, before abruptly stepping to the side. He swept his arm wide, inviting them into the narrow corridor. "Then by all means, come in my lords."
They stepped into the building, squinting to see in the dim light, and Mister Forsythe closed the door firmly behind them. Then he squeezed past them, murmuring apologies, so that he could lead them up and staircase. At the first door, he once again bowed and gestured them inside.
"Please, step into my office."
Vincent would rather not have. The office was conservatively furnished – a desk, a pair of chairs, and a bookshelf – but the real hazard was the paperwork that littered the space. Piled on the floor and spilling out of boxes, sheathes of paper coated most surfaces providing obstacles and tripping hazards. Overall, Mister Forsythe did not seem like a man who cared for accurate record keeping, which in and of itself made him deplorable in Vincent's book.
But perhaps that's why he was of use to the Duke of Thorne.
Thomas clearly didn't share his intense distaste for the room, walking in quickly without apparent consideration for the pages he squashed beneath his boots. Vincent stared after him, clearing his throat lightly as he felt Mister Forsythe's eyes on him. He gestured for the other man to enter ahead of him and though he seemed confused, he did, striding purposefully towards the desk.
Vincent savoured the extra time that afforded him, choosing his steps carefully as he moved into the room and closing the door awkwardly behind him. He was in place before either man could notice – or at least comment – on his odd behaviour, standing a few paces behind Thomas' right shoulder with his hands clasped behind his back.
"So, my lord," Mister Forsythe said once he was properly positioned at his desk, his lips drawing to the side, "What is it you need?"
Thomas propped his hip against the back of one chair, leaning against it as he folded his arms across his chest. "As you may be aware, I run a gentleman's club." They had decided it did them no good to pretend Thomas was not a Thorne. "I have encountered some..." he twirled his fingers as if searching for a word, his lips slightly pursed. The expression cracked into a sudden smile. "Staffing issues. I think you might be in a position to assist me."
Silas still offered no signs of recognition, only acknowledging Thomas' statement with a dip of his head. "Have you considered taking out an advert in the paper? Or an agency? Plenty a pretty girl these days looking to clean and tidy for pay," he suggested, his attention turned to his desk. With one broad sweep, he brushed three stacks of paper to the side, the largest pile cascading to the ground with a whoosh that he did not even acknowledge. Unlike him, Vincent winced. "I'm sure I have a contact if you'd-"
"It's not that kind of work," Thomas interjected, "And I don't want those kind of girls."
In the entirety of their acquaintance, Vincent had never had cause to label Thomas sleazy, and even despite knowing it was an act, he felt a shiver race up his spine. The usual kink in his brow had turned lecherous, the slope of his mouth crooked in more than just shape, and he seemed like just the type of man to employ Silas Forsythe.
Although the Man of Business was unlikeable in every aspect – Vincent still eyes the floor with concern – there was a keenness to his eyes that could not be denied. They glinted now, narrowed on Thomas as they evaluated his story.
"I believe I understand the problem, my lord. Perhaps you could offer me a few more specifics and I can look into the matter further for you?"
Despite the conversation, Vincent's attention drew away from the floor to the wall on his left. Something about it bothered him, though he couldn't be sure what. The shelves were level, the door centred, and nothing looked out of place, but still he watched it out of the corner of his eye. Whilst Thomas and Silas discussed Thomas' needs in the club, he waited and listened and-
It was a creak! A slight, groan of floorboards in the neighbouring room that sent the hair on the back of Vincent's neck on end. Before he could move closer, Silas straightened – as much as he was able – abruptly, slapping his hands on the desk in front of him and sending a reverberation through the remaining papers.
"Well, my lord, I will do my best to find you what you're looking for," he said, his nasal voice wining out the words.
"Thank you, Mister Forsythe." Thomas inclined his head slightly, but raised his hand as Silas tried to step around his desk. "We can see ourselves out."
Silas agreed more quickly than they would have guessed, and Vincent thought he caught a flicker of his gaze to the wall that troubled him. When the man caught him watching, he simply dipped his chin, turning to follow Thomas from the room. Once again, he pulled the doors closed behind him.
In as much privacy as the landing afforded, Thomas looked over his shoulder at Vincent his brows raised and his eyes wide. They widened further when Vincent shooed him down the stairs, miming at best he could that the man should speak.
"Uhh, well..." Thomas shrugged but followed the wordless instructions, moving deliberately towards the stairs. "That meeting was promising. Hopefully we will hear from Mister For..."
He was still speaking, but his voice trailed off as he descended the stairs. Rather than strain to hear him, Vincent turned his attention to the office door instead. At first he heard nothing but the beating of his own heart, and he worried he'd made a mistake, but he cast his doubt aside when he heard the creak of a door opening. There were a few quick, heavy footsteps before a deep voice snapped some muffled words at Silas. No matter his focus, Vincent couldn't pick out even a word of the man's reply, nor the man's reply to his reply, and he let out a silent sigh of frustration.
All he could note was that both men sounded frustrated, the stranger bordering on angry, until there was sudden silence. Vincent froze, waiting for the moment of his discovery and trying to plan the lie he'd tell in his own defence, but the moment never came.
Instead, there was the wet plop of spit hitting the paper-covered floor.
Silas's higher pitched tone erupted into angry chatter, though Vincent wasn't sure what grounds he could have to be offended by chewing tobacco when the remainder of his office resembled a-
Chewing tobacco?
Vincent straightened immediately, his eyes flashing wide.
Chewing tobacco?
Under the cover of Mister Forsythe's irritated rambling, Vincent hurried down the stairs, nodding sharply at Thomas who held the door ajar for him. They stepped into the street, Thomas raising his eyebrow, but Vincent waved him off until they'd crossed the road and almost reached the corner.
Thomas was almost out of breath from the pace. "Vincent, what's your hurry?" he muttered, jogging slightly to keep pace with the man.
The rounded the corner and Vincent stopped in his tracks. "Chewing tobacco!" he announced, his tone intense.
Thomas nodded. Then he shook his head. "No, I'm afraid I'm not following you, Vincent."
He glanced around them quickly, but the streets were mostly empty. "A man joined Mister Forsythe just now, and I heard him spit chewing tobacco on the floor." At Thomas' blank shrug, Vincent let out a quick huff of air. "The man who hit Abrienda, on the first day we found them? He did the same!"
Although Thomas' eyebrow raised, his interest piqued, he was already shaking his head again. "I'm sure there are thousands of men who chew tobacco in London, particularly this close to the docks."
Vincent's eagerness died slightly; Thomas was right. For a moment, his desperation to find something that would lead them to the Spanish women had overwhelmed him. He'd... well, he'd cast aside logic! His frown slid easily into place, and he stayed at the cobbles beneath their feet as he took on Thomas' words.
"But..."
His head jerked up in surprise.
Thomas shrugged. "I don't think it would hurt to follow him just in case!"
Vincent's answering grin almost stretched from ear to ear.