Nick Stuart walks alone with his thoughts.
No matter how far from the site of the town his feet take him, he cannot escape the fact that his own family – his own mother – threatened to hurt him. His cousin did hurt him – his head is still tender from the impact. And they tried to kill Prudence. (Would they have killed him, if it had come to it?)
They will face trial for what they did. He can testify – but will he? To speak out against his family risks the whole truth unravelling: his own involvement with Prudence and her less-than-legal activities, the deals he himself made – willingly, and for his own ends. And Prudence herself – is she just as dangerous? Has he always been surrounded by those who mean harm, even as he strives to prevent as much death as he can?
No - no, Prudence is not that type of person. He has been allowed to see through that mask. The veil of menace is nothing more than that: a veil, a façade. In contrast to his family’s façade of respectability that covers their willingness to do harm.
But even aside from Prudence and her webs, what good would sending his family to the gallows do? Does killing killers ever end things? (Would he put his own life on the line, even if it did?)
News of Mayor Madeline’s disappearance has filtered through the crowds as they walk away from what used to be their homes. No one is quite certain what happened, but as the hours tick on, it seems unlikely that she will reappear. In those last hours, Madeline named him co-mayor. These are his people now. It will be his duty to look after them.
But by what means? He has little to his name now (and what name is that?), but after the trial, after the – conclusion of it – he would be heir to his family’s money. Money that could be put to better use than dress uniforms and officers’ commissions. Money to help those in search of new homes and new starts.
Daydreams cascade: a little Little Avoning, nestled within the city walls of Leeds. A space carved out for all those displaced by the flood to live and work and build anew, centred on what remains of the town’s memories and echoes. His family’s money, his inheritance, used for as much good as he can manage. Stuart money in name alone, like Nick himself, distanced from his roots: the river, tamed, nourishes the town regardless of its source.
If Leeds rejects them, then they will set forth again, a seed from a pod, to grow that community elsewhere – perhaps somewhere close to where they started, out on the moors; perhaps elsewhere. Or maybe that seed will sprout inside the city, a dream that spreads, echo turned haze, but brighter, louder, a beacon of a better, kinder way of life that tames the city around it and allows all to flourish.
Reality seeps back in. If he is mayor, what is he mayor of? Little Avoning doesn’t exist any more. Soon, these people will be residents of Leeds. Only Death and the dead inhabit that small town now. Behind him, he sees his mother and cousin in his sister’s custody. He won’t inherit his family’s money while Evelyn lives. His thoughts circle back. Testimony and trial come first – if he has it in him. (Did he actually think that more death would get him closer to what he wants?)
As they approach the gates of Leeds, a carriage rattles by, the horses’ hooves kicking up mud. Heedless of the plight of this procession of refugees. Wind whips the damp, trailing threads of his tapestry into his face. Mud clings to his shoes. He looks to the tired faces that surround him: fewer, now, as many have gone their separate ways to other towns or villages. A community already fracturing.
Was this the grand parade he dreamed of?