Constantine Capers: The Pennington Perplexity Natalie Brianne (best summer reads of all time .txt) 📖

“Samira, you are an artist. You see the world through a gilded lens. Everything you see has beauty and worth. Even if it wasn’t dangerous, I wouldn’t want you to come. If you go with me into the Pit, your view of London and the world will shift entirely. There are things in this world that are dark, ugly, and impossible to get out of your head, even when you have a memory like mine.”

She paused for a moment, considering his words. She looked out over the Thames. “Do you think you’ll need me? To remember?”

He let go of her hand and leaned over the edge of the bridge again.

“Yes.”

“Then I’m coming.”

He paused for a moment.

“That’s what I thought you would say.” He gave her a half-smile and then put his hat back on.

“Let’s get you home. We have our work cut out for us if we’re going to disguise the fact that you are an upper-class lady. Would you be able to come tomorrow? I know it’s Sunday, but we have an awful lot to do before Monday’s meeting.”

“I’ll come directly after church.”

He walked briskly back towards Westminster and Parliament. She trailed behind for a moment, looking over the glinting water. She smiled and made a mental note to paint it later. Byron waved down a cabbie, and they were soon rumbling back towards Swan Walk. She could tell something was on his mind. Plenty was on hers. She absentmindedly rubbed the hand he had held. Suddenly, he broke the silence.

“You are planning on continuing this occupation with me after the mystery is resolved, yes?” He avoided eye contact.

“I was planning to, yes. After all, we still have the mystery of my parents to solve. Unless you don’t—”

“No! I mean, I do want you to continue.”

She nodded, and they traveled a bit longer in silence. He turned to her again.

“Mira, how much of my journal did you actually read?”

“Just enough.”

“Enough to know the connection or?”

“Enough to know what you think about my eyes.” She smiled. “No further than that, really.”

He looked away. “I see.”

They rode on in silence until they reached Swan Walk. Once the cab stopped, he stepped out and offered his hand to her. She took it and exited the carriage. He kept ahold of it and left a gentle kiss on the back before letting go.

“Goodnight Mira. I…” He cleared his throat. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

“Am I coming to Palace Court or are you coming here?”

“Why don’t you come to Palace Court? We have an awful lot to do tomorrow, and it would be good to get a head start.”

She nodded. “Goodnight, Byron.”

He nodded to her, and she went up the stairs to the door. She opened it and looked back. His head turned away from her as he got into the carriage. She went inside and gently closed the door, leaning against it. Her stomach held a mound of excitement and dread for the next day. She went up the seventy-nine stairs to her room.

After a bit of searching through her things, she found a large, unused piece of watercolor paper and placed it on the desk. She wetted the paper and dropped splotches of color onto it. They swirled and danced into one another, mixing and turning. Tendrils of color slinked across the page, following where the water had been placed. Her brain followed a similar dance, slipping from one thought to another. She tried to grasp hold of her emotions, but they kept slipping away. Based on what Byron had written in his journal, and how he reacted, he must have some sort of feelings for her. But he didn’t know of hers. He couldn’t. After all, she hardly knew how she felt.

Or did she? She smiled thinking of him. He was brave, and kind, and intelligent. He had a sense of humor. He cared for her, and she cared for him. And they were nearly to the end of the Pennington mystery. By the end of the week it would be resolved and perhaps then they could figure out their own relationship. She captured the bridge and the Thames in watery pigments and then took her thoughts to bed.

She woke early the next day and spent a bit more time getting ready than normal. She made certain her curls were tamed into submission, and she wore the very nicest of her dresses that hadn’t been shredded. She rode the banisters down the staircase and grabbed a piece of toast from the kitchen, humming to herself. Landon peeked his head out of his quarters.

“You are awfully cheerful for this time of morning, Miss.”

“It’s a beautiful day, Landon!”

“It’s raining. Make sure you take a heavy coat.”

She was grateful for the coat by the time she got to the church. Her clothes soaked through before she found the sense to call for a carriage. She twitched through the service, mind constantly shifting back to Byron and her feelings. As soon as she could, she rushed to Palace Court. She shivered on the front step as she fumbled for the key. The entry hall welcomed her with a gust of warm air. Still dripping after removing her coat, she stepped into the living room and wrung out her wet hair.

“Byron?” The living room held an eerie silence. One new note was posted on the wall.

Examine ‘Pit’ file.

She cocked her head and went over to the cabinet holding the files. She riffled through them to the ‘P’ section. Pit. She pulled it out and sat on the couch.

The Pit is the common name for a street on the far east side of London. Usual place for thieves, vagabonds, murderers, mercenaries, slave traders, and smugglers. Connected with Order of Circe.

Circe? There it was again. First the smugglers, then the journal, now this file. That was the case he was working on before his accident. She put the file back and looked at the C’s. ‘Circe, Order of.’ Her hands