Benedict bid Darwin a terse farewell soon after settling his resolve to assume the mantle of "Gabriel" during the graveyard hours.
"I shall fetch your lodgings, and once settled, we will reconvene." Benedict noted wryly that his own diary left him flexibility on certain days.
The most often being when Gabriel was engulfed in bureaucratic toil for their superiors.
Until Darwin officially joined the Hemlocks, Benedict would serve as his stand‑in messenger.
When Benedict withdrew across the threshold, Darwin remained shortly with his posture taut, as though he'd bartered a clean soul for a suspiciously large sum.
He realized there had been no mention of a contract, nor was there a parchment to sign.
Not that Darwin would have reneged, once he pledged himself.
'But a formal seal would have felt… reassuringly permanent.'
He exhaled sharply and pivoted on his heel.
'No sense lingering in an empty hall.'
The boards groaned beneath him as he descended the stairs.
As he stepped out into the narrow lane, Darwin tucked his coat's collar up against the wind's sharp bite.
He waited a heartbeat, then grasped the trailing silk of a slowly receding carriage
Lanterns swayed at each side of the drive, their dull, oil glow pooling into shadows as the carriage guided him away from sunrise.
. . .
Dawn arrived like a watery watercolor, its overcast light fading the streets of Dorrawyn into pencil‑sketch forms.
Darwin lay fitfully, as usual, his eyes shuttered against early rays long after noon, his senses barricaded until late afternoon.
When at last he stirred, it was to the creak of floorboards above his small flat, and that persistent hum in his mind regarding Sylvie March.
A majority of the members in the family had vanished, as though spirited away to the same obscure French asylum.
Darwin peeled the covers away and rubbed a hand across his brow, then swung his legs free of the bed.
He felt no emotional attachment; such luxuries were for the sentimental.
Yet this puzzle, that bore unresolved shapes, grated at him, like an imperfection that demanded correction.
He changed out of his clothing from the early morning, and put on a crisp white shirt before placing a brown waistcoat over top, and dark trousers.
His gaze kept drifting to the small table beside his bed, where the stack of letters lay waiting.
The subtle tick of his clock reminded him he still had hours to spare from his evening shift at the printing house.
With a low sigh, he eased into the threadbare armchair facing his oak shelves.
His fingers tapped a restless cadence against the worn armrest as his mind wandered back to the enigmatic pair he'd met barely two days ago.
If Benedict had dared to jest about kinship, Darwin would have demanded proof or else threatened to walk away.
Yet, with only one brief meeting from each, he found himself regarding them like two sides of a coin not yet minted, uncertain of their value.
A hesitant rap suddenly sounded at the door.
Darwin stirred little beyond a slight crease appearing between his brows.
Rarely did anyone summon the courage, or the reason, to seek him out, and even fewer had discovered his lodgings.
He remained still, and strained his ears so that he might catch the faintest shuffle from beyond the threshold.
'How many souls waited outside? A party of visitors could scarcely remain so still.'
As silence prevailed, he allowed himself a thin smile of quiet contempt:
'Probably some solicitor,' he mused inwardly, 'though few hereabouts have the coin to retain one.'
He scoffed at this notion even as he entertained it.
Then came another insistent tap, followed swiftly by a third.
He gritted his teeth and rose to his feet, smoothing imaginary creases from his sleeves, before moving deliberately toward the door.
As the door creaked open by a cautious inch, Darwin wedged the tip of his boot against it, serving as a stopper.
The evening outlined a familiar figure on the threshold.
"Afternoon," said Benedict White, his demeanor staunch yet softened by the faint curve of an apologetic smile.
He was clad in a dark, understated coat cut to fit neatly over his frame.
The fabric displayed a quality absent of any trace of ostentation.
His trousers fell in clean lines, and the boots beneath them caught what little light spilled from Darwin's room; polished to a sheen that suggested diligence as well as vanity.
Darwin's eyes narrowed, and his lip curled into a look of faint distaste.
"I don't recall furnishing you with my address," he said coolly. "But of course, how remiss of me to forget Gabriel's habit of keeping a spare key about."
A trace of mirth whisked across Benedict's features, though his bearing remained as properly measured as ever.
"Not quite. He thought it prudent that I collect you in person. There's work to be done, and I doubt you entertain many uninvited callers."
"Brilliant deduction," Darwin drawled, his tone teetering between sarcasm and genuine disinterest.
Benedict's gaze lurched upward through the narrow gap like a loyal hound awaiting leave to enter.
Darwin, however, only clicked his tongue and made a languid survey of the room behind him, feigning distraction.
At length, Benedict cleared his throat and asked, polite to a fault, "Might I step inside, Mr. Darwin?"
Darwin raised a brow. "And why does this pressing business require you to enter my home?"
"Our… assignment," Benedict began, then paused, eyes darting toward the street as though measuring the shadows for eavesdroppers. "Best not discussed where prying ears might linger. Unless, of course, you relish being tailed. We've already had to dismiss a few under charges of negligence."
Darwin's brow furrowed into a flat line.
With a resigned huff, he moved aside just enough for Benedict to pass.
"Do come in, rookie," he said, his voice laced with mock benevolence. "And if you can manage not to trail in the street on those gleaming boots, I might even be impressed."
Benedict's lower lip twitched.
As he entered with the practiced ease of a man accustomed to scrutiny, he swept the room in a brisk, professional inventory.
'The room speaks more of discipline than wealth.
His sparse furnishings stand in tidy symmetry.'
As he acknowledged the small writing desk positioned in the center of the left wall, and stacked low with papers, he surmised to himself, 'He must dabble in writing as a mere afterthought by daylight. It makes me ponder how an astonishly nondescript gentleman can appear so entrancing through another's gaze.'
'He is most assuredly not so substantial a figure as Mr. Gabriel professed him to be.'
"Quite the immaculate gentleman, sir," Benedict finally said aloud, as he removed his gloves and slipped them into his coat pocket. "It's no surprise you would make such a request before you even invited me in."
'He seems delusional.'
Darwin closed the door with a quiet click.
"I confess I was unprepared. Most bachelors in your… profession," Benedict paused, voice light with formal restraint, "are inclined to clutter."
Darwin's features remained composed, though his eyes darkened with impatience. "The lower working class?"
"One might say they're far too entangled in ink-spills on their papers and their person to master the art of folding them neatly."
Benedict cleared his throat before a chuckle escaped from his chest.
Shortly after, he unfastened his coat at the collar and shuffled his stance near the door, caught between sitting down and remaining upright.
Darwin tilted one shoulder against the wall, lifting a hand in invitation toward the armchair. "Now, if we may," he said briskly, "let us speak of why you've come. I trust this is no mere social call, unless your sole errand was to procure more information of my status."
Benedict's brow lifted faintly. "Not at all," he clarified. "As I've begun with, Gabriel deems it prudent to acclimatize you before fully drawing you into Hemlock affairs."
"'Acclimatize,'" Darwin echoed with a shred of derision at his lips. "A genteel euphemism, though I have no intention of fleeing, as long as I am paid what I was promised. Training, then."
Benedict pressed his fingertips together and inclined his head. "My apologies, training, indeed."
Darwin hummed and glimpsed outside the window.
The London sky was quickly succumbing to hues of ash and violet.
He'd soon need to depart for the printing house, and thus this "training" must be concise.
"I'll need to return before my shift," he remarked.
"When is your shift?" Benedict inquired.
"Half past eight."
Benedict remained silent a beat too long before producing a silver pocket watch.
He snapped it open and brought it close to his eyes so that he could study the small numerals behind the glass face.
After making a satisfied nod, he closed it with an assured click. "You'll be back in time. Gabriel had already instructed me to ensure it."
Darwin inclined his chin, shrinking his eyelids into a thin slit.
Skepticism lingered at the edge of his expression.
After a moment's pause, he detached himself from the wall and strode half across the room to take up his outer garments.
"I trust you'll don something with a brim should you ever intend to drag me out in the broad daylight," he said crisply. "Unless you intend to haul me about like a stack of manuscripts and watch me crisp in the sunlight."
"It's late enough that your coat and scarf should suffice. Still, I'll note your preference for future outings. Perhaps a parasol? Though I do not possess one, I would gladly procure one if it proves useful."
Darwin draped the scarf over his shoulders with brisk precision. "Unlikely we'll need it, with most of our work commencing at night."
As he meticulously smoothed the final crease of his frock coat, he cast a sidelong glance toward Benedict, now slipping his gloves back over slender fingers.
"So tell me, rookie…" The title escaped once again on his lips.
"…How old are you? You seem as though you've only just stepped out of the schoolroom."
"Twenty-one." Benedict's reply came without hesitation.
"Mm. Quite remarkable. Only three years younger than myself," Darwin replied, drawing his hat over his head. "And yet here you stand, shepherding me about as though I were the fledgling."
"You are the fledgling," Benedict returned evenly. "And I already knew you were twenty-four. So neither of us has cause to call the other senior."
Darwin's brows lifted a fraction, but his expression betrayed little more than a token of dismay. "Three years' difference. Curious, isn't it?"
"Curious?"
"You and Gabriel," Darwin continued, one hand flicking lazily toward the door in a gesture that invited Benedict to follow. "Though you yourself appear the more youthful, the two of you seem near enough in age to pass for brothers, not uncle and nephew. Unless, of course, his brother was obscenely older at the time."
Benedict's lips curved ever so slightly into something that might have been a restrained show of displeasure.
As they stepped into the stairwell, he withheld his reply until they had descended and reached the threshold of the outer door.
"I've never inquired after my uncle's age," he said at last. "But from what I gleaned in his personnel file during my induction, his birth year would place him somewhere in his late twenties to early thirties at the very most."
The remark seemed to catch Darwin off guard, as he cast a sharp glance Benedict's way.
Yet whatever thoughts had surfaced were swiftly subdued as he reached for the latch.
The door resisted his effort with a subtle groan of weary hinges.
Once it swung ajar and they stepped into the cool late evening air, Darwin wound his scarf more snugly about his throat, drawing the ends with a deftness that spoke of long-ingrained habit until the pale line of his jaw was lost beneath the wool.
After a measured pause, Benedict ventured, "Does the age difference surprise you?"
Darwin's gaze lingered ahead. "A touch unexpected. I had assumed we would be of an age, perhaps no more than a year between."
Suddenly, the faintest hint of perplexity played about Benedict's features. "Overall peculiar, isn't it? Everyone seems remarkably well-informed where you are concerned, your address, your age, even the peculiarities of your schedule. One wonders how far our file runs even before we've been hired."
Silence stretched between them, brittle and unbroken.
Though Benedict's demeanor remained unruffled, his gloved fingers flexed at his side in a barely perceptible motion.
"Likely they are far enough to ready us," he added smoothly. "But not, I hope, so far as to leave you ill at ease."
"Mm… I am not so much unsettled as I am suspicious of that matter." Darwin's posture adjusted as he kept pace beside him.
It struck him that this was the first occasion in all his years that he had left his own home in another's company, let alone speaking of such trivial matters as age and records.
"I merely find it odd that any record exists at all," he said at last. "For years, I had been quite convinced no soul knew of my existence, much less took the trouble to observe it."
Benedict inclined his head slightly, his eyes drinking in the gold of a passing gaslamp.
"Alas," Darwin expressed with a wry edge that heartened his voice, "it seems I am not so invisible as I believed."