#long journey to ScarNash

[youdontneedhenry]

Ugh

[blacklister214]

Honesty and Codology: Chapter 2 (Shenanigans)

This is the second chapter of my Scarnash fanfiction. This one is set just prior to 3x03 as Patrick is journeying to the Hotel St. Marc. As ever, sorry for any typos! Enjoy!

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Dear Lord, he hated the countryside. Traveling in a drafty carriage during the winter months was bad enough, without having to contend with the ruts in the dirt roads. 

As if on cue the carriage jolted again, causing Patrick’s head to smack hard into the side of the conveyance. Damnation. He rubbed the sore point and tried to focus on the prize that waited for him at the end of this God-forsaken trip. 

“There are better ways, you know.” 

Slowly Patrick’s gaze slid to the left, half hoping and half dreading about what he might see there. His prayers and fears were answered in the form of a lean bearded man, far more plainly dressed than Patrick. Even if Michael had survived long enough to enjoy the profits of their business, Patrick suspected he would have continued to dress simply. He’d never had much of a taste for showmanship. Their complementary skills had been what had made them such a pair. 

“To travel the French Countryside? I’m afraid not.” A glib reply, but he had none better. Months had passed since his odd experience in the hospital. The hallucination had faded to the back of his mind. He’d been shot, and tired, and taking a drug containing opium. It had been easy to dismiss as unimportant. To see Michael again though was something else entirely. 

He touched the small lump hidden by his hair. Precisely how hard had he hit his head? Perhaps he should visit a doctor when he returned to London. 

“Better ways to get a girl’s attention then by pulling on her braid.” 

Patrick ceased probing his injury. Whatever the reason for Michael's presence, he might as well take advantage. How many people were lucky enough to chat with a belated loved one?  Patrick was nothing if not an opportunist, and this was a unique opportunity.

“I haven’t the slightest notion of what you mean.” 

Michael's derisive snort told Patrick what he thought of that bald-faced lie. 

“You have cases. Many cases. So many in fact that you couldn’t spare a single one of your men to help you.” 

Patrick waved his hand dismissively. He’d been a one-man band after Michael passed, and he’d handled himself just fine. Managing thirty men hadn’t made him so soft that he couldn’t survive on his own. 

“He’s a non-violent fugitive. I'll be fine.”

Michael rolled his eyes to the heavens, as if praying for patience. 

“The point I was trying to make was that you don’t NEED to do this.” 

Patrick furrowed his brows.

“Do what? Capture a criminal twelve years on the run? Why shouldn’t I?” His successful apprehension of Charles Percival would bring Nash & Sons acclaim on multiple continents. It would launch his Paris branch in spectacular fashion. In a few times he might even expand to the United States.  

“Whatever the benefit to Nash & Sons, it would be relatively minor, compared to the benefit to Miss Scarlet’s business.” Patrick deflated a bit. That fact did slightly sting his conscience. 

“True.” He had no reason to feel guilty. They were competing agencies. He had no moral obligation to help her.

“Then why are you so determined to steal her victory out from under her?”

When Michael put it that way, it made him sound like a cad. The fact was, he hadn’t seen Eliza in months. Their last encounter had been friendly enough, especially considering she had been the reason he’d been shot. He’d been gracious about the whole thing. He even let her keep the fee after she’d offered to return it. Was it too much to ask in return that she’d drop by? They had an agreement after all. 

“Steal is such an ugly word. I went to her office to propose we track down the conman together.”

He’d been perfectly willing to share his information and in turn he’d hoped she could help him find some new leads. That was, in a way, precisely what transpired. 

“You broke in!”

Patrick held up hand to fend off further objections.

“She didn’t answer when I knocked. I was concerned. Was it my fault the whole case was pinned up to her wall for anyone to see?” This wasn’t a complete lie. For Eliza not to be in her office at 9 am was unusual for her. Their business was a dangerous one, and as far he knew, Eliza hadn’t yet acquired a weapon for her personal protection. Well, outside poison, with which he knew she was quite handy. 

“Anyone committing criminal trespass, you mean.” 

Patrick shrugged in what he hoped to be a careless manner.  

“She should learn to be more circumspect when it comes to her protecting her leads.” What Eliza needed was some hidden safes. They were quite handy when it came to storing sensitive information. Patrick himself had a multitude both in his office and in his residence. 

“Planning on telling her that when you see her at the hotel?” Patrick grimaced. Ordinarily he was quite happy to share his knowledge and experience with Eliza, but in this case it would be counterproductive. 

“No.” Eliza would react poorly if he revealed how he’d come to be at the hotel. Best if kept that nugget of advice to himself. 

“I thought you wanted to be more “fair and honest”, when it came to Miss Scarlet.”

Patrick frowned, not liking his words being used against him. 

“Ideally yes, but this is a necessary step.” Rules had to have exceptions. He fully intended to be fair and honest with Eliza, once she joined Nash & Sons. However, she never would come to work for him unless he could prove he had something to offer. 

“Toward what?”

“Toward earning her respect.” It wasn’t that he terribly minded losing to Eliza. She was an absolutely brilliant detective. It would be like a painter being upset they weren’t quite as good as Winslow Homer. What he minded was ALWAYS losing to Eliza. If he couldn’t beat her, not even once, then he didn’t deserve having her as his employee. 

“I don’t see how taking advantage of her hard work will help you achieve that goal.”

Patrick's stomach churned uncomfortably, but he ignored it. A few lies of omission were nothing in the grand scheme of things. He’d done far worse without losing a moment’s rest over it.   

“There is no reason for her to know about that part.”

The ends did justify the means in this case. On her own it would take Eliza years to build the requisite reputation for a thriving business. Working for him would ensure she got the prestige and pay she so richly deserved now. It was a mutually beneficial outcome.

Michael wiped his hands over his eyes, seeming less than impressed by Patrick’s response.

“Patrick, you lie so much, I think it might be a medical condition.” 

Patrick stiffened at the old reproof. It wasn’t as though he’d made no progress on the case before he’d…stumbled upon Eliza’s notes. 

“It’s not all a lie. I found the house on my own. I found the IDs on my own.” Well, with the help of his men, but it still counted. He wasn’t a fraud, at least not a complete one. He also had information Eliza did not. He’d scoured her evidence wall and there was neither the name “Sebastian Baron” nor his likeness. 

“Just so I have this straight: Your plan is to apprehend the fugitive, then gloat to Miss Scarlett about your success? You feel this will raise you in her esteem?” 

Michael’s tone was rather dubious, but Patrick was undeterred.  

“I’m not sure ‘gloat’ is the word I would use, but essentially yes. Once she realizes I beat her to the prize, she will be forced to acknowledge my investigative skills.” He only too clearly remembered the sneer in her voice when she spoke of his firm’s reputation. Ordinarily he didn’t care if people turned their noses up at his methods, but with Eliza it was different. He wanted her to think well of him. 

“Yes, theft is quite the step up.” 

Patrick banged fist against the seat cushion. He’d forgotten that Michael was as insistent as a pounding hammer if he thought that Patrick was making a poor choice.

“For the last time I’m not stealing from her! I fully intend to share credit and payment in exchange for her assistance transporting the man back to London.” 

He’d made his plans there in Eliza’s office, once he realized she had already left for France. Alone, neither of them could safely transport the conman to London. Between the two and the private boat he’d hired, however, they could manage it. He wondered if she’d brought any of her poisons with her. Did she intend to drug Percival and then shove him into a large trunk?

“And if she refuses? How do you plan on transporting the prisoner on your own?” Patrick blinked, thoughts diverted from wondering if Eliza had remembered to add air holes. 

“She won’t refuse.” Eliza was a survivor, like him. She may not like sharing credit, but she surely understood the opportunity this bounty represented. The trick would be to present the offer in a way that didn’t smack of condescension. Better still, if she believed it was her idea.   

“Patrick, I urge you to reconsider this course of action. You’ve already had the girl thrown in jail and attempted to poach her case. It did not end well for you.” 

“I know what I’m doing.” He’d invent a team of his men searching the countryside. They were to meet him at the hotel, but then they’d hit a snag. They’d send a message by telegram. Their carriage broke and they will be unable to assist him. If he received this note in Eliza’s presence, she might suggest a collaboration without him having to say a word. Yes, that would work splendidly.   

“What is your ultimate goal with Miss Scarlett?” Patrick focused once again on his brother. Was he back dropping hints about Patrick’s having a more than professional interest in Eliza?

“I want her to come work for me.” It was even more true today, than it had been the day they’d met. Until that day “The Lady Detective” had been a file. A case. An asset to be acquired and put to good use. She was more than that now. A person who interested him. A person he liked. Despite the genial persona that he put on like a suit, there weren’t too many of those in the world.

“Anything else?” Michael’s eyes bore into Patrick’s as though waiting for him to blink. He shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. 

“I suppose I wouldn’t mind it terribly, if we became friends.” He had employees aplenty, but none that he would choose to socialize with. The truth was that most people bored him. Eliza never did.

“That’s very generous of you.” Patrick did not miss the sarcasm in Michael's response and wasn’t sure he appreciated it. He pointed an accusing finger at his brother. 

“I know what you're thinking. You’re thinking I’m not good enough for her. You’re wrong.” Or so Patrick told himself. With enough repetition, he was bound to believe it, eventually.

Michael leaned forward in his seat, his hand hovering above Patrick’s knee, before withdrawing it. He sighed heavily.

“Patrick, the only person who has ever thought you're not good enough is you.” 

That comment pierced through the wall of ego that Patrick had erected to protect his heart. What stung was how very incorrect Michael was. Anyone who’d ever known the both Nash brothers had found Patrick wanting. The Irish Constabulary, their school master, their neighbors. Even their parents, though they loved both of them, knew Michael was the good son, and Patrick the bad. Jealousy might have eaten Patrick alive, if he hadn’t been so damn proud of Michael. If Michael hadn’t been so loving a brother. Besides, it hadn't been Michael’s fault. Patrick was frequently found inferior by those who didn’t even know he’d had a brother. Case and point Eliza.     

“Eliza has said, to my face, that I'm a liar and a criminal.” Having someone he admired so much consider him lesser was intolerable. He was determined to change her mind, by whatever means necessary.  

“You have a strange way of proving her wrong.” Perhaps there was some irony in his trying to swindle his way out of her original perception of him, but he didn’t care. He was who he was. His methods were his methods.

“I told you, she won’t find out about my…shenanigans. I need her to witness me win, just once. Then she might actually see me as someone worth working with.”

“Don’t you mean ‘working for’?” Patrick tilted his head to the side. Michael was right. He’d said “working with.” Strangely that prospect seemed almost more appealing than the idea of having her under his command. It was more personal. He’d get to watch her work up close. Still, that was impossible, at least on a regular basis. He was the boss. He jumped from case to case whenever he felt his expertise was needed, or for the grand reveal at the end, but he didn’t have partners.  

“Yes, of course that’s what I mean.” He felt strangely let down at the prospect. It wasn’t all bad news though. When she came to work for Nash & Sons, he would see her far more frequently than he did now. Long hours working meant shared meals, friendly banter, and getting to know each other better.

“I understand why you think you have to do this, Patrick. I do. But I think there’s one thing you haven’t considered. You want Miss Scarlet to trust you. That is the biggest obstacle standing between you and your objectives.”

Patrick nodded slowly, unable to find a fault in Michael’s logic. He was unsure where his brother was going with this line of thought.  

“Agreed.” 

“Trust is difficult to earn, but it is nearly impossible to repair. If your plan works, and then later she finds out about your deception, you’ll be far lower in her esteem than you are right now, possibly irretrievably so.” 

A sudden sense of foreboding filled Patrick. Michael was right, he was making a risky gamble. Eliza had armor similar to his own. If he breached it, even a little, and then she discovered he’d bamboozled her, she’d be beyond furious. 

When they’d last spoken, her eyes had lacked the contempt and wariness they’d held the day they’d met. Incrediment progress was still progress.The trouble was there was no other path forward that he could see, gradual or otherwise. Waiting patiently had never gotten him anywhere before, and he doubted that would change now.  He’d have to risk it.

“She won’t find out.” He’d been careful not to disturb anything in Eliza’s office. The only way he’d be caught was if he confessed. He knew how to keep a secret. 

Michael regarded Patrick, his lips pressed into a thin line as though to prevent further reproaches from escaping. He settled for shaking his head sadly.

“Good luck Patrick. You’ll need it.” 

In the blink of an eye Michael vanished as if he’d never been, leaving Patrick alone once more in the rocking carriage. 

Most unsettling, this hallucination business, but perhaps more so was the message this visit seemed to bring. A part of him clearly thought he was about to make a mistake. 

He reached into his coat and retrieved the two sketches he’d hidden there. The first was of “Sebastion Baron” which he glanced at before moving to his trouser pocket. The second was of Eliza Scarlet. He’d commissioned it when he’d first put her under investigation. He had several photographs as well, including one from her most recent arrest, but the drawing was his favorite. It captured the directness and intelligence of her stare, and well as the defiant tilt of her chin.

Patrick had brought the picture with him to show to the bellhops. They were everyone in hotels, and generally quite susceptible to bribery. He would use them to track Eliza’s arrival and movements until he was ready to greet her personally. 

He could do this. He was Patrick Nash. In less than a decade he had turned a struggling two-man PI firm into the most successful agency in London. His exploits had been written about in no less than three countries. He was about to open a second office in Paris and had plans for a third in the United States all before he turned 40. Winning the approval of one woman, albeit an extraordinary one, was well within his capabilities. It had to be.