Dear Future Husband

24. There Must Be Some Mistake

7 April 1890

Maximilian Walker sat in a cell in Hong Kong and pleaded for his life.

"Gentlemen, please," he said. "I can assure you, there must be some mistake on your end. I am not the man you are looking for."

This entire scenario was reminiscent of that day nearly two years ago now, when the awful Mistress Masterson had accused him of stealing Billy Bradley's Bible. He had been indignant then, and he was filled with self-righteous anger now, as well. Yet he would not have the same results. He could not run away into the streets of London now, for one, since he was cuffed to a chair. For another thing, he refused to be falsely convicted once more of a crime he had not committed. Or in this case, several crimes that he had not committed.

Instead of listening to him, the two police officers spoke to one another in Chinese, their voices rising and falling melodically. He could barely pick out a word or two here and there: all he heard was some matter about money and a British lord. How would a British lord be involved in this? What if Lord Winthrop, feeling vengeful about Maximilian taking off and leaving him, had decided to have Maximilian arrested? What if it was Edgar, having found him at last despite the fact that he had escaped across an entire ocean simply to elude him?

Finally, they walked past his cell holding a candle. Night had fallen at some indeterminate time, to which Maximilian was oblivious, and now his cell was mildly cold and water dripped from the ceiling. "You are free to go, Mr. Walker. We have made a grave error."

He shot up from the chair, nearly forgetting the chains around his wrists. "Thank you, sir!"

His jailer unlocked his cuffs, unlatched the cell, and ushered him out of the prison, passing him his hat and jacket. "Courtesy of this gentleman, who goes by the title of Lord...?"

"Mr. Wakefield," said the man who was veiled in shadow. He stood at the entrance of the prison like a spectre out of one of the ghost stories that Rosalie had read to him many months ago. "You may call me Mr. Wakefield. Come along now, Maximilian, like a good boy."

Maximilian froze, and that one second cost him. It was Edgar. He moved to run away, but Edgar caught him by one ear, pulling it painfully. "Not so fast, boy."

"My name is not boy," he hissed as he tried to squirm out of Edgar's grasp. The police officers had vanished, delivering him into the hands of a man who may as well have been the devil himself. "It's Maximilian, or Max."

Maximilian wriggled, until he felt a cool blade pressed to his neck. Mr. Wakefield's voice was hard-edged, sounding for a moment not like a member of the English gentry, but like a common ruffian who spoke with a Cockney accent. "One wrong move, Max, and I will cut yer throat. Would you still like to fight me?"

"I'm no good to you dead, am I?" he said, his mind racing as he tried to think of how Edgar could have possibly found him. "If you had only wanted me killed, you would have left me in that prison cell to rot."

"Do not overestimate my liking for you. Keeping you alive and keeping you in one piece are not the same." Edgar's voice had lost its rough edge, sounding once more like a member of the nobility. Who was this man, really? Questions ran slapdash through his mind, each with a more ridiculous and unlikely answer than the next. "You will come with me back to England this moment, or live to regret it."

"What is awaiting me in England? Why do you want me? If you had wanted to be rid of me, you would have simply allowed me to run away from the ship captain. He'd already paid you, hadn't he? Is this not simply a matter of money?" asked Maximilian. Confusion swarmed through his mind like a mob of buzzing insects. "Mr. Wakefield, sir?"

"If things were so simple and matters so lacking in complexity, I assure you, I would have rid my hands of you long ago," Edgar replied. His breath smelled heavily of liquor and Maximilian nearly choked as Edgar gripped him by the arm and forced him to walk next to him. To anyone who was watching, they might have looked like a father and son or uncle and nephew who were merely taking a stroll while on holiday in the Orient. "Unfortunately, new developments have proven that this would be impossible. I need you alive, Maximilian Walker."

"I would also prefer to live, I assure you, but why am I so special and valuable to you, Mr. Wakefield?" Was it Gideon? Had he dispatched his brother to go and find Max? "Is it Unc-the other Mr. Wakefield, who put you up to this?"

"I assure you, if my brother had any idea of who you were, or where you were, he would have made it clear by now. No, he is oblivious to the riches present right under his very nose." Edgar gave an unpleasant chuckle as they stopped in front of a rickshaw. He tucked the knife away and snapped his fingers to hail the man's services, as though he were a horse. The action made the hairs on Maximilian's nape bristle. "Take us to the docks, please."

"To the docks?" Maximilian repeated as the rickshaw driver took off running through the streets. The jolting pace made it difficult for him to sort out his thoughts.

"I have informed you that we are going to England, Max. Did you expect for us to be flying there?" Edgar shook his head as he pulled a pocket watch with a golden chain from the lining of his coat. It was early morning now, the faint tendrils of dawn stretching through the grey sky. "Honestly, Maximilian."

"How did you find me in the prison? How did you find me in Hong Kong to begin with? I had a ticket in my name sent to Morocco." His mind leaped onto a conclusion and clung to it with all his might. "Were you the one who had me brown there in the first place, so that you could play the saviour?"

"Honestly, Maximilian, I would not be very skilled in my line of work if I were to tell you," Edgar said, in a tone that made his stomach turn. What line of work was he in? "And to answer your question-I read your letter."

"What letter?" His eyes widened. Surely he did not mean...

"I read your letter," Edgar repeated. "Courtesy of that same spy in the Lee family... To be honest, it was quite touching. You and that China man have grown quite close, it seems. Like brothers, as it were."

"How dare you!" Maximilian shouted. "You are a wicked scoundrel!"

The rickshaw driver turned around, his expression one of concern. Edgar waved him off. "Maximilian, you must understand. I do not do these things out of some twisted sense of voyeurism or a perverted wish to ruin your life. You believe me to be evil for evil's sake, and if that is a thought that comforts you, so be it. But I will have you know... There are things in this world that you will never fully understand."

"I fully understand that you are a man who sold a child for a few hundred pounds," Maximilian snapped. He fought the urge to have his fist meet Edgar Wakefield's face. "I understand that you had a hand in having me falsely accused and tossed into the prison cell of a British colony!"

"The second one was your own doing, Max," Edgar replied, shaking his head. "The moment you left the watch of your powerful friends, it was bound to happen."

"Why are you so bent on ruining my life?" Maximilian said. "What have I done to offend you so? Tell me the wrong and I shall do my best to make it right."

"I am afraid it is too late for any of us to rectify our errors," Edgar said, staring out at the expanse of blue sea as it stretched out to greet them. "Our sins shall see us perish soon enough, as they were fated for us, written before either of us were born."