I. The Visitor

Once upon a Town...

Belinda Kate Carrington had known naught but praises for her beauty. She had flaming red hair and the bluest eyes amongst little girls her age. She shall marry the wealthiest lord while the others would cry in despair and utter defeat at her feet.

She would have it all, she was told.

'We don't mingle with anyone of lower status,' her mother said.

It was acceptable to be vile, but only to those who weren't gentry. It was paramount to be nice, but only to those who could be nice in return. With the right friends, she would never have to be alone.

'And you don't want to be alone, do you, darling?'

*****

The lady did not take her hood down even after she stepped inside the Sperling estate. Andrew, the butler, did not find it uncommon. His master had received visitors who assumed far worse attempts at secrecy.

The woman would not have been permitted entrance if she had not been coming by every day for a fortnight now, asking for the master of the house. In fact, it was the only reason his master grudgingly agreed to see her.

Andrew led the visitor to the study. Her footsteps were faint, as if afraid to rouse anyone from sleep, as if she was not meant to be here. She stopped behind him when they reached the door, waited until he opened it and announced her presence.

Once Andrew left, McKenzie Haverston stood from his chair and said, "Please do not find it rude if I insist upon haste." He checked the clock, thinking of an important meeting. "I only permitted my butler to take you before me as I can no longer take reports of the same person coming by every day asking for my time."

"I understand you are quite busy, Mr Haverston, but the matter I wish to discuss may interest you." By the way she spoke, her tone controlled and soft with a hint of pride; and by how she stood in front of his desk, face shadowed, shoulders held back, clad in a dark cloak, he knew she was a lady of status. But why was the cloak so filthy? And her smell told him she had not seen a bath for some time.

"Interest me?" he asked. If this was a fallen woman desperate for a man to take her in and use her in bed for food and a roof over her head, McKenzie was afraid he would have to make a pass.

"You are a Town Guard."

"That is not a secret, yes."

"I need your help." The words rolled out of her tongue as though she had to force herself to say them.

His brow cocked with interest as he settled back in his seat. "What help?"

Although curious, he was not hoping to get a serious case tonight. With this woman's efforts to see him, it could be a petty case of scandal, which was getting too rampant nowadays.

It was Wickhurst Season and everyone was in their best elements. This was the season for hunting. This lady, like many others, may be employing a different trick to win a game.

He had enough of useless cases being presented to him by crying unmarried ladies and their Mamas in their poor attempt to get his attention. Town Guard or not, he was, after all, still a Haverston.

Instead of answering his question, she said, "This is in regards to the banishments that have been going on in the Town. There is more to them. I can give you information if you can extend me your help."

McKenzie shifted. Perhaps this woman was not playing a trick. Perhaps she had information.

"Banishments are not illegal in the Town," he said, reserving the right to be doubtful. "I'm afraid we do not handle banishment cases. In our law, it is not a punishable crime if committed by a legal caregiver."

"I know of the law. And I know when it has been crossed."

Something in her voice told McKenzie this woman had rehearsed her words before coming here. "Why don't you make me understand?" he asked, gesturing to the empty seat across his desk.

She stayed motionless where she stood. "Some of these women who were banished... They are taken elsewhere."

"Where?" he asked, although he knew the answer to that.

"Up there," she said with a sharp motion of her head. And as she moved, the yellow hue of the lamp touched the lower part of her face. Her full lips were pursed, as if she had more to say.

"Up there where?"

"Aboveground. Out of the Town."

McKenzie stared at her, careful with his expression.

The Town had its fair share of rumors about the world aboveground, beyond their world carved through caves and hard earth. But they were mostly perceived as fantasies. Most townspeople knew close to nothing beyond the giant holes above their heads, the only known opening to the world beyond—or above.

But for some, like McKenzie, the world above existed. There were guarded passages out of the Town. There was a way out or up, and few were privy to that information.

But this woman knew. How? Rumors? Or something more?

"These banished individuals are being used aboveground. I—" She stopped, shook her head. "I know you know what I mean, Mr Haverston. You are investigating the disappearances of these people. I can help you if you help me."

"What help do you expect from me?" he asked, eyes narrowed at her shadowed face.

"Protection."

"From who?"

"Emmet Carrington."

"The drunkard and the gambler?"

There was a hesitant pause. "Yes."

"And why would you want to get protection from him?"

"Because I escaped him. I escaped the place he took me to." McKenzie held his breath as she lifted her hands and pulled down the hood of her cloak. "He banished me five years ago."

Any hope McKenzie may have had vanished, along with the mystery that had shadowed the woman's identity.

Belinda Carrington.

McKenzie had an insignificant memory of it, but he could clearly remember why Emmet Carrington whisked his daughter out of Willowfair.

She looked far from the beautiful red-haired lady in McKenzie's memory. Her hair had lost its vibrant glow; her face, although clean, could no longer come to par with this year's debutantes. Her nose was still as pristine and flawless to a fault, but it was the way everything else came together that made McKenzie question if he was indeed facing the same person.

Standing before him now was a woman who had lost so much save for her pride. And oh, she had so much pride in her blue eyes. He recognized it in the way she measured him from head down, as if she was aware of how he judged her. She lifted her chin like she would if she was in a glittering dress in the middle of a ballroom, looking down at him like he was one of the many men she refused to dance with.

"I'm sorry for what happened to you, my lady," McKenzie started mildly, eager to dismiss her. "But I will be crossing the law if I keep you away from your father."

She did not say a word. For a moment, she just looked at him. Good Lord, where had she been taken to? Did her father know she was here in Willowfair?

"Is it because of who I am that you refuse to help me?" she asked, voice shaking with...anger? Before he could answer, she continued, "I have information about the slavery case. In exchange for your protection, I will willingly share them."

He forced out a smile, a little conflicted. And very much uncomfortable.

She scoffed, looking around the dimly lit study, which looked far more expensive than she was. Even his maids could do a better job of blending in with the posh interior. His curtains, for certain, smelled better than her cloak, which diffused the smell of horse manure, hay, and cigar smoke.

By law, Emmet Carrington owned his daughter. If she escaped from wherever she was banished to, the man had every right to get her back by whatever means necessary. "My lady, I may not agree with the law, but it clearly states that an unmarried daughter is still under her father's care. Should I keep you away from your father, I will be committing a crime."

She took a step back and nodded stiffly, but the anger in her blue eyes was still there. "I understand. I still belong to him."

McKenzie did not like to admit it, but it was the truth.

Belinda Carrington understood the silent message and took another step back. "I should have not come here. It is quite obvious you cannot help."

"Lady Belinda—"

"I understand why you cannot take my words seriously. Perhaps your investigation does not need valuable assistance."

Standing, McKenzie had to ask. "How did you come to know about the banishments aboveground?"

There was a long, hesitant pause. She opened her mouth, then stopped as her eyes met his. She shook her head, probably realizing her answer was stupid. And it was. "Gossips."

"You have been coming here every day for a fortnight to tell me gossips?"

Her brow twitched as she looked away. "Yes."

"And where did you get these gossips?"

"Someone," she said, her brow twitching once more.

He just nodded. McKenzie's eyes traveled from her face down to the muddy shoes poking out of her cloak. "Where have you been to all this time?"

"Dartridge."

He blinked in surprise. "That is too far away."

"I've been to farther places."

He stepped back, hands in the pockets of his trousers. "What I understand is that you heard a gossip about people being banished aboveground."

She bit her lips, as if fighting off a laugh. McKenzie smiled because he knew she was trying to make him feel he was making a big mistake by mocking her. "It is foolish of me to have come here."

"I'm afraid I cannot give you the help you think you need, my lady."

"Of course," she coldly said. "You're obviously wise enough not to harbor a runaway." He was about to correct her, tell her his work involved something more important—actual lives of women and children. McKenzie needed her to understand why her information, which was mainly gossips if he were to believe her, could not be paramount in an investigation. But before he could say a word, Belinda Carrington hastily said, "I'm sorry to have bothered you for an entire fortnight. Good night, Mr Haverston."

*****

Belinda wrapped her arms around herself, head bent as she hurried away from Sperling estate. A carriage rolled by and she instinctively pulled her hood lower.

Why did she come here? What was she thinking? That he would help her? Believe her? She barely got to the truth before he made up his mind.

No one believed her five years ago. Why would they do so now?

"Stupid, Belinda," she said through gritted teeth, echoing the words her mother used to say. The cobbled path was empty and dark, most lamps nearby put out for the night. Soon, they would be lit again. The sun would shine down through the giant holes over the parks. The shops would open. Everyone would go on with their lives after a night's pause.

The ladies would come out for walks and calls. They would discuss trivial things, plan their gowns for the end of the Wickhurst Season. They would gossip about people they hardly knew.

A sense of nostalgia overwhelmed her, but the empty and cold street she walked, and the terrible state of her clothing, reminded her of who she was and what she had to go through to be here again.

Five long years later.

While the posh streets surrounding Sperling were pristine and empty, the streets of Wymark were waking up in smoke and grime. The smell of fresh bread filled the air as two carts were being loaded with goods that would be delivered to the town center.

Sleepy conversations echoed with her steps. She had never been to this part of Willowfair before, but now she knew its alleyways like the back of her hand. Water dripped from the ceiling of earth above their heads, wetting the cobblestones below, pooling filth in every corner, flowing down the gutters to mix with blood from the butcher's place.

Belinda would not have come here if she had a choice. The paltry amount she came with could only afford her a small room and a cot she had to share with Anne, a fellow traveler she met on the road from Dartridge.

"Good mornin' lassie," someone greeted as she walked past. She ignored him and rounded a dark corner into a narrow path. Too narrow, in fact, that Belinda had to walk sideways, pressing her chin on her shoulder to save her skin from the soot-covered brick wall.

When she stumbled into the small house, careful to hold the door so it did not fall from its hinges, Belinda noticed that her room was open and someone was inside.

She rushed and found the owner digging into her rucksack.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, wide-eyed.

The woman looked up, eyes furious. "Your friend left without paying."

"She's not my friend," Belinda snapped, reaching for her bag, but the woman pulled it out of her reach.

"I don't care, darling. You have to pay for her stay."

"But I don't have more money—"

"I know," the woman said, turning her rucksack upside down, emptying the contents on the cot.

Belinda was about to step forward and demand for her things, but a slight tug on her coat gave her pause. She looked down and found the little girl looking up at her, sucking her thumb.

"I'll take these," the woman said, finding a small gold mirror in the pile.

"You have no right to steal from me. Step away from my things, madam, or I will call for the Town Guards."

The lady scoffed, then laughed. "Then go on, call them."

"I will. I just came from one."

The woman's laughter died down as she held Belinda's gaze.

"I will only pay for my stay. I came here alone."

"Then pay me now," the woman demanded, throwing the mirror on the cot. She brushed past Belinda and picked up her child. Outside the door, she waited.

Belinda reached for her rucksack, turned her back to the woman, and searched the secret pocket she sewed inside.

Her heart stopped.

"It's gone," she whispered, growing frantic as she searched. "Did you take anything?" she asked over her shoulder.

"What do you mean?"

"Did you take anything!" she cried out, pulling out every pocket, inspecting the pile on the cot.

"Are you accusing me?" When Belinda did not reply, the woman walked into the room. "Pay me now, woman, before I call my brother. Do you think me stupid? I've seen this trick before. One of you leaves, the other follows without paying a single townsend."

"It was here," Belinda whispered, searching the secret pocket one more time.

"'Twas stupid of you to leave your things here."

"She never touched my things."

"You can't trust strangers. Even friends."

"She was not my friend."

"Then you're stupid."

Belinda's jaw tightened. Yes, she was.

"How are you goin' to pay?" the owner asked. "Should I call my brother?"

Belinda threw her rucksack on the cot and reached inside her cloak, gathered her skirts and tugged at the strap around her thigh. She unbound the rest of her money and counted.

"This will do," the woman said, snatching everything. "Now, leave. You have five minutes." She turned away, her little girl smiling over her shoulder.

Belinda dropped on the cot, gathered the pair of trousers, the dress shirt, and the small gold mirror. Throwing them into the sack, she shook her head.

She was indeed stupid. Anne saw that as well. The woman waited a fortnight to steal from her and leave. Two bloody weeks of doing nothing but spy outside her old home, hoping for a chance to find a familiar friendly face. A fortnight of knocking outside McKenzie Haverston's estate to have a word. And, of course, he kindly rejected her. Why not? He must have heard the stories.

The world is only good to those who do well, but rarely to those who are hated.

She ran her fingers through her hair, feeling the grease smear her skin.

Her plan failed. Where should she go now? She could not return to Dartridge. They would find her there.

Julia.