Harold.”
Harold stopped on his way down the stairs, turning back to the bedroom where Aaron had taken residence. He cocked his head, not moving.
“Are you alright?”
“Can you join me a moment?”
“I can---” Harold had been headed to the nursery to say goodnight to his children, but something about Aaron's voice made him walk back up the few steps. The fact that Aaron had chosen to spend the day reading in his room rather than try to struggle down the stairs and pretend to keep up told Harold far more than the crack in his voice.
Aaron's days of sailing safely were over. He would never take the seas again, not if he wanted to return.
He was sitting on the bed, his blue eyes trying to be calm. Although Harold knew that look far too well.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“I think Lola is doing something drastic at the theater,” Aaron said. “She took Morgan with her, and she had that look about her.”
“What look?” Harold raised an eyebrow.
“The look that usually lands her in trouble,” Aaron said. “I'm worried it's about Gilles and Tannoy. Lola feels like she's responsible for all of this.”
“Well, that's ridiculous,” Harold answered “She's gotten nothing to do with it.”
“Try to convince her of that,” Aaron sighed. “I'd go to the theater myself but---”
“You want me to go?” Harold said, in surprise “Can't Wesley---”
“And find out what his wife is up to, and throw his hot headed self in danger? No,” Aaron answered “He'll likely get himself killed if she is up to something.”
“I---” Harold was ready to agree when a knock came at the door. He looked up to see the butler standing there, a letter in his hand. Right away, Harold recognized it as the navy headquarters seal, and his brow furrowed. “Did that just come? It's late for them to be delivering messages.”
“Yes, sir,” The butler answered, handing it over. “Just now, sir.”
“That's odd, thank you,” Harold took it, opening it on the spot. He sat on the edge of Aaron's bed, scanning the letter. From the rise of his eyebrows, Aaron knew there was trouble.
“What is it?”
“We've intercepted coded letters from the French,” Harold said, looking at the confusing codes that were written. “My God, this makes no sense.”
“Let me see,” Aaron said, and Harold didn't move. “Come on, Harold, you think I'm going to slip it to pirates?”
“No,” Harold handed it over. “But it's not going to make any sense to you either.”
Aaron's eyes widened.
“Good God, was the French man drunk? This does make no sense.”
“They want me to decode it,” Harold said “It'll take me days. Days, and by the end, it will be too late.”
“Mmm,” Aaron answered. “Do you know who could though? Probably tonight?”
“I---” Harold paused “I trust you, of course, both of you. But to hand over documents and pretend I did the work...”
“What's the better option, Harold?” Aaron asked, patiently, as if the answer was obvious. Harold sighed.
“What I wouldn't give to have the three of us working together again.”
“It's impossible,” Aaron answered. “Now, go and give the letter to Wesley, see if he can make sense of it.”
“I see you've gotten used to giving orders,” Harold said, not impressed. However, he stood up none the less, folding up the letter. “You have to promise me that you won't do anything crazy while I'm gone.”
“Harold, I can't promise that,” Aaron said, and Harold rolled his eyes.
“Just...stay in this room, then,” he said. “Can you promise me that? I can't go to worry about Lola if I'm worried about you.”
“Do you worry about me?” Aaron asked, and Harold looked startled.
“Of course I do. You're my brother, Aaron.”
Aaron looked down for moment.
“I am sorry, though, that is has been such a friendship of worry for you, though.”
Harold paused, trying to work out whether he was serious.
“It hasn't been,” he said, at last.”And it's not about to end anytime soon.”
“Of course it has,” Aaron said. “That was our whole career. First duty, and intertwined with duty, making sure I was alright.”
“And listening to your wild ideas. And finding your books all over the table. And laughing at your ridiculous jokes, and going on adventures in every port. Those are what I remember about our time together, far more than you being ill.”
“We did have some good times, didn't we?” Aaron asked.
“And we will again,” Harold said “Now, behave and get well, so you can turn my hair gray,” Harold said, and headed down the stairs.
It was late, and the house was mostly quiet. Wesley was sitting on the window ledge, reading by the light of a candle. It reminded Harold of when they first met. Wesley was quiet by nature, and was often found holed up in the smallest corner one could find. He associated it with safety, with being out of the way and unnoticed. It was hard to believe that this hardened pirate was once this timid child that was barely old enough to join the navy.
“How is your cryptography of late?” Harold asked, to get his attention. Wesley jumped.
“You startled me, why are you skulking about?”
“Skulking?” Harold had to smile. “Wesley, you're the one who is supposed to be used to sneaking up on people.”
“Stealth attacks on water are different than you acting like a ghost at 9:00 at night,” Wesley swung his legs over the window ledge. “What can I do for you?”
“I need you to decipher this,” Harold handed it over. “Don't tell anyone, it goes without saying.”
“Why can't you...” Wesley started and then looked down on the paper. “Oh, Lord. This is going to take awhile.”
“Can you do it?” Harold asked.
“I can, but where are you going?”
“I have to go out,” Harold said.
“Where?”
“Just...to....Annabelle needs...flowers,” he said.
“What?” Wesley asked.
“From....the tavern,” Harold realized quickly that he could never be a spy, because he was a terrible liar.
“From the tavern?” Wesley said, confused.
“I should go, before she gets mad. Our wives do ask us odd things, don't they?”
“Sure,” Wesley decided he didn't want to know why Harold was being odd, and got up, looking for a quill so that he could work out the code. Grateful the excuse seemed to work, Harold grabbed his jacket and ducked out the door before Wesley could ask any more questions.
He paused outside and then decided that he should take the carriage. He could walk, and he could find the driver to hook up the carriage, but he didn't know what Lola had gotten herself into. From experience, Lola usually got herself into complicated situations, but she could also usually take of herself.
That was not the impression he got when he got into the theater. The show was just letting out and it seemed like there was some sort of party going on.
No one stopped him from walking into the party that was taking over the stages, the seats, and backstage.
“Harold,” he heard Lola's voice, and it was strained. He turned around, and found himself face to face with Lola and Morgan. “We have to talk to you.”
“We?” he looked between the two of them.
“Come here,” she grabbed his wrist and pulled him through the curtains. Harold had so many questions about why Morgan was there, but Lola spoke quickly. “Gilles and Tannoy have plotted to kill us.”
“What?” Harold's jaw dropped open. “What are you talking about?”
She went over the facts that she had uncovered and Morgan backed her up, rehashing his side of the story.
“And then what, succeed us for the titles,” Harold put the pieces together. “That's ridiculous. They can't do that. We'll get the police involved...”
“Remember they know that Aaron is alive,” Lola said. “They can use that information at any time.”
“But they wouldn't...” Harold paused. “They would. The matter falls into our hands, then. Where are they?”
“My colleagues are trying to get more information out of them,” Lola said. “Which we planned for, but I'm not sure there is more news following that, unless they want to release a detailed plan.”
“These kind of men,” Morgan finally spoke up. “They don't make a plan. They choose a night with brute force, in a moment where they know they can win. You don't have to watch your backs in the crowded city center, but when you go out, at night, for a short drink.”
“Sorry, what are you doing here?” he asked. “Did you attend the show?”
“Lola asked me to help her,” Morgan said and Harold raised an eyebrow.
“You did?”
“I ...did,” Lola said, glancing to Morgan in a way that made Harold suspicious. That was a glance that she reserved for Wesley, usually.
Looking back, he realized the two of them had spent a lot of time together; walking in the garden; talking quietly between them. He hadn't seen it before now, but it made him uncomfortable to see it in front of him.
“You're distracted,” Lola said, at last, and Harold shook his head.
“It's fine.”
“Harold,” Lola gave him a look. “We've lived together long enough for me to know your entire focus isn't on something. What is on your mind?”
“There's a military matter,” Harold said, dismissing it. “I've got...people on it.”
“People?” Lola grinned.
“Your husband,” he said. “Actually.”
“But...”
“Lola, I've got in under control, alright?” he said. “Now, I need to know exactly what they said to your colleagues.”
“Alright,” she ran a hand through her hair. “Let's go to my dressing room, we can wait there.”
“I can get us a drink,” Morgan said, and Harold gave him a look.
“Not the best time,” he said. “I'm not sure how Aaron lets you run things on the ship, but getting a drink in the middle of a tense scenario isn't encouraged.”
“What Captain Aaron allows is a bit different than your stiff navy regulations, mate,” he said.
Harold gave him a look but said nothing, following Lola into her dressing room.
The news that came back to them wasn't good. Gilles and Tannoy were ready to leave, drunk and speaking as if no one was listening.
“Let them go,” Harold said, when Lola stood up. “For now. We know where they are staying, and it's not as if they are going to leave us alone. For now, it buys us time to figure out what we are going to do.”
“That's not like you,” Lola gave him a funny look.
“I'm trying to think of your safety,” Harold said “If something happens to you at the theater again, your husband is going to kill me, and that's just a start.”
“How is Aaron?” Lola asked, trying to distract from their reality. “Is he alright?”
“For now,” he said. “But it's another reason I want to get everyone under one roof, where I can take control of the situation.”
“Taking Lord Bamber's responsibilities seriously, then?” Lola asked.
“I shouldn't have to take on any responsibilities,” Harold said, softly. ”And I remember every moment why I have to. It's my fault, Lola, and I'm trying to make it right.”
“We can't make everything right in the world,” Morgan piped in, a rare moment of seriousness.
Harold said nothing to that, but it rang in his heart.