CHAPTER 205: CHAPTER TWO HUNDRED AND FIVE

Augusta’s gloved fingers dug into Fredrick’s arm like claws. Her grip was surprisingly strong, fueled by a potent mixture of fear and anger. Ignoring the curious stares of the few people left on the street, she half-dragged, half-led him away from the grand entrance of the textile building and into a narrow, secluded alleyway between two tall brick warehouses.

The air in the alley was instantly colder, the sunlight choked off by the high walls. It was a gloomy, forgotten space that smelled of damp stone and refuse. A slow drip of water from a rusty pipe echoed in the quiet. Fredrick looked around, a wary smile playing on his lips as he easily pulled his arm from her grasp.

"Look at you, Augusta," he said, his voice a low, amused rumble. "Still know how to find a spot with not a single living thing around. Perfect for secrets."

Augusta ignored his comment. She stood before him, her back straight, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She was trying to project an aura of command, to regain the power she had felt just moments before he appeared. "Listen to me carefully, Fredrick," she said, her voice a low, dangerous hiss. "If you ever show your face at my establishment or my home again, I will not let it slide. You will regret it."

Fredrick remained quiet, his smile fading slightly as he watched her. He saw the fear that still lingered behind the anger in her eyes.

"Why are you here?" Augusta demanded.

A look of feigned hurt crossed Fredrick’s face. He brought a hand to his chest, his expression one of pretense pain. "Is that any way to greet an old friend? I just got out of that dreadful place, and you don’t even ask me how I’m doing?" He sighed dramatically. "You wound me, Augusta. Truly."

Augusta was in no mood for his games. She had known him since their youth, had known his roguish charm and the darkness that lay beneath it. She simply raised a single, impatient eyebrow and waited, her silence a more powerful demand for an answer than any shout.

Fredrick noticed the shift. The old Augusta, the one who never wasted time, was still there. He straightened up, his playful demeanor vanishing. The air between them grew heavy with the weight of their shared, ugly past. "Someone came to see me," he said, his voice now serious. "At the prison. They were waiting for me the day I was released. They were asking about the carriage accident."

Augusta’s eyes widened, the color draining from her face. Her carefully constructed composure crumbled. "What?" she whispered. "Who? What did they say?"

"A man," Fredrick replied, watching her reaction closely. "He was asking if it was an accident. He was asking if you hired me to do it."

Augusta was silent, her mind racing. Someone knew. Someone suspected. After twenty three years of silence, the past was coming back to haunt her.

Fredrick shook his head, a look of genuine disappointment on his face. "Honestly, Augusta. How come you didn’t cover your tracks well? After all this time, someone is still digging into it."

The accusation stung. Augusta’s fear morphed back into rage, and she lashed out, deflecting the blame. "Me?" she spat. "You are the one who ruined the job! You incompetent fool!" Her voice was a venomous whisper. "That woman and her daughter... neither of them died."

The words hit Fredrick like a slap to his face. His wary smirk vanished, replaced by a look of shock. He took a step back, turning his attention quickly to look at Augusta as if seeing her for the first time. "What are you talking about?"

"The arsenic you gave me," Augusta continued, her voice dripping with the bitterness of a two-decade-old failure. "You said it would be enough for a child. It didn’t work on the little girl. And the mother, Catherine, somehow she survived the crash. Now, both of them are alive and well. Right here, in this city."

"What?" Fredrick said again, the single word a choked gasp. He stared at her, his mind struggling to comprehend the news. Twenty years. He had spent twenty years in a cold cell, believing he had gone a good job. But it was all a lie. "That’s impossible," he stammered. "I saw the carriage. It broke into pieces. I saw her... I saw her lifeless body being pulled from the wreckage. How...?"

He reached out and grabbed Augusta’s hand, his grip surprisingly tight. "And the arsenic... that arsenic is potent. I never, ever procure fakes. I saw you put it in the child’s food myself before you gave it to her nanny. So how did the little one not die?"

Augusta yanked her hand away, ignoring his frantic questions. The past failure didn’t matter now; only the present danger did. "Who came to see you, Fredrick? Tell me everything."

He was still reeling, but the mention of his visitor brought him back to the present. "He was a perfectly fine-looking young man," he said, his brow furrowed in thought. "Well-dressed. He also looked very wealthy. He had the air of a Duke about him."

Augusta’s blood ran cold. Eric. It had to be Eric. "So," she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "Did you tell him anything? Did you confess?"

Fredrick scoffed, a flicker of his old self returning. "Do you think I want to go back to prison? I was in there for twenty years on a charge for murder while driving drunk. If they find out it was a deliberate act, a hired killing, I will be hanged or I will spend the rest of my miserable life in a cell. So no, I’m not going to say anything. I kept my mouth shut."

Augusta exhaled, a long, shaky breath of relief. He hadn’t talked. She was safe, for now. She looked at the man before her. He was a loose end, a dangerous piece of her past that had just washed up on her shore. But he was also a tool. A tool she could use again.

"Alright," she said, her voice now calm and cold, all emotion wiped away. "I will forgive you for taking my money for an unfinished job all those years ago." It was not an act of forgiveness, but a reassertion of power. "So, you will do one more job for me."

Fredrick’s eyes narrowed. "A job?"

Augusta’s gaze was chilling. The final piece of her plan, the one she had been contemplating since her terror in the carriage, now solidified into a cold, hard command. She would eliminate the threat before it could grow.

"Kill the daughter," she said, her voice flat and devoid of any feeling. "Kill Delia. And this time, Fredrick, do it right."