The truth was, I had no plan with how I was going to find out anything about Adam Beardsley, or even get an audience with Robert Miller Thompson—that is, on the hopes that he would even be willing to talk to a stranger and young Orient girl.

I had looked up where Bellport was (it was only a three hour train ride away) and decided it was fine to stay there until noon. As for an excuse, I told Clo and Beth that on my day off I wanted to return to my orphanage and visit the place.

Saint Agatha's Orphanage was in Porcshire, which was so far they probably haven't even heard of it, so it was fine.

That Sunday, I dressed in my best clothing, my grey coat and blue hat, and had my black boots scrubbed to the point they shined. I also tried braiding my hair and putting it in a bun behind my hair to look older. While I didn't exactly look older, it was better than my usual two pinned up braids.

Buying the ticket and riding there was easy, but finding the directions took some time. Since I always lived with the rule of not asking strangers for help with directions, I circled the town for nearly twenty minutes.

While I was there I also noticed how different Bellport was from Ravensborough. As it was a port city, it was full of people from all places, and even if they were fair-skinned, they spoke in foreign tongues, or with accents. It was truly a market, with people hollering how cheap and good their products where in every street and corner. In fact, I was surprised that Adam Beardsley had a friend who lived there, because it didn't seem like a place that the wealthy went to. It smelled of fish and saltwater, the people were dressed in rags, and orphans ran about.

When I finally found 40-10 Ashby Street, my teeth were chattering from the cold.

I appraised the building in front of me: it was a tall brick red building made out of, well, bricks, and had a black iron sign that said "Thompson Eyeglasses".

Eyeglasses? Did Lord Adam Beardsley come to such a far town just for a certain eyeglasses store? Did he even wear glasses? None of his sons did, but that's beyond the point.

Bracing myself, I opened the door and heard the familiar ring of bells as I stepped in.

The store was empty. There were a few charts and posters on the walls and tables, as well as glass cases with glasses in them.

It was a neat and tidy store, maybe pretty high class, but still not something I'd expect a Beardsley to go to.

"Who is it?" A girl suddenly walked out from the back of the store. She was pretty, a young and lithe girl with long brown hair done up loosely in a coiffure. When she saw me, she frowned. "Do you have an appointment or are you making one?"

"No, I'm—I'm not here for that," I said, finding it hard to speak.

"What? You're not here for glasses?" She leaned on one hip and crossed her arms. "We don't do charity, and this is an eyeglasses store. If you don't need anything, get out."

"Wait—" I said, but I was cut off by a man who came out of the back of the shop too. He had on working clothes, and in his gloves hands were small screws.

"Paula! How many times have I told you to fix your attitude?"

"Papa! It's a Chinese!" the girl said, pointing an accusing finger at me. "They never do business, all they do is try and get odds and ends for free."

"Paula!" The man turned to me. "I'm so sorry for my daughter. She is young and ignorant. Is there anything you want from us?"

I looked at the man. He was old, grizzled grey and hunchbacked, and yet when he spoke to his daughter I could sense the love. I smiled.

"Yes. I'm looking for a Robert Miller Thompson. I'm from the Beardsley manor."

"Oh my God—" the girl, Paula, turned to her father, voice suddenly high. "Father! Did you hear that?"

The man's expression changed.

"I'm Robert," he said, solemnly. "I suppose it's a private conversation?" I nodded. He turned to Paula. "Paula, make us tea. We will be upstairs." She looked at her father with her mouth slightly ajar, but didn't protest. She could probably tell it was serious, too, from how his manner changed.

Robert gestured for me to follow, and then I was brought to a staircase in the back of the store that led upstairs and into a house. It seemed like their store and apartment were connected.

When we reached their parlor room, a small and cozy one that was less than half the size of a normal bedroom in the Beardsley house, I sat down on a couch across from him.

"I'm Shuyan, from Saint Agatha's Orphanage," I began, voice trembling a little. "I currently work as a maid in the Beardsley house, and I was ordered to ask by an anonymous master about information pertaining to—"

"I know, about Lord Adam Beardsley's will, right?" he asked, getting straight to the point. "I'm guessing they found my contacts among his papers?"

"I'm curious, and please forgive me for asking," I said, "but how are you acquainted with him?"

A shadow fell over his eyes. "I'm not simple an eye doctor. I used to work as a different type of doctor."

"I don't understand," I said, frowning. "Was Lord Adam Beardsley sick even before his tuberculosis?"

"It wasn't for him," Robert said. "It was for the women."

At that, the realization sank in. Clo was right. When it was evident that I understood, he lowered his voice and continued.

"When Paula was younger I worked as a, well, gynecologist. A different type of gynecologist. I worked for rich men who wanted to get rid of their mistakes. Adam Beardsley was my most frequent customer—" he faded away when the doorknob turned.

The door opened, and Paula walked in, looking at us, suddenly stiff and aware, suspiciously. She placed a teapot and two cups in front of us, poured us tea, and then left, without a single word. I wonder if saying that I came from the Beardsley house changed her attitude towards me.

When the door closed, Robert spoke again.

"Either way, you probably know the stories. The point was, I was probably Adam's only equal, as he knew my secret and I knew his. We relied on each other—me for his money and customers, and him for my surgery, but we never felt anything akin to friendship with each other. When Adam died, I had to say I was a bit glad that the whole thing was behind me. Now I work as an eyeglasses doctor. I will do anything to keep my past a secret from Paula—and I hope you will too."

"I will," I said. "Then have you also ever worked with a Daniel Beardsley?"

"You mean Adam's brother?" He shook his head. "He has a wife and loved her, from what I heard. That was all, though. Adam seemed to dislike—well, not dislike, more like he was distant with his brother."

He looked at the tea in his cup, back hunched, and I suddenly realized how old and wrinkled he was. I thought of the things they said in church, and hesitated for a while before speaking.

"I don't think what you did in your past was wrong. You had to feed your family, and even if it wasn't you they would've just found another doctor to do it."

When he looked back at me, his blue eyes were wide behind his eyeglasses. Then they grew watery as he choked back the sobs and struggled to reply.

"I'm sorry—are you fine? I apologize if I said anything that offended you," I scrambled to say.

"Ah, no, I'm fine. Thank you." He placed his teacup on the table and smiled. "Maybe you're right, but even now something in me feels guilty for feeling so relieved."

"Don't," I said, surprising myself with my sudden confidence. I thought of what Eugene said to me that day. Maybe it was his influence.

"Miss Shuyan, was it?" he asked. I nodded. "I do sincerely apologize for being unable to help with the issue of his will."

"No, it's fine."

"But I do want to mention—the eldest son, Silas Beardsley, came here a few days ago too, asking me questions."

"Mister Silas?" I froze. "Yes. Of course he did."

"And I think Mister Silas has an idea."

"Why do you think that?"

"That's the thing, he said something very strange. He said I had similar initials to 'that man', and then proceeded to ask me if I knew a man by the initials of R.M."

"R.M.?" I repeated. He nodded.

"If I can be of avail to you in any way, you can always come back and tell me how your search is going, although I hardly doubt I remember any men he's mentioned. And as for women, while I remember a number of their names, most of them are aliases."

"Thank you," I said. "I'll keep that in mind. I can't thank you enough for everything."

"No, no. I haven't done anything."

I picked up the cup of tea and drank it. For some reason, my fingers were trembling. Was it because of the realization of how Clo was right and Lord Adam Beardsley, as did other rich men, played around with women despite having a wife?

But there was something else. It was excitement.

I had finally gotten hold of a clue, and with this, I can finally help Eugene.

Although it was at the price of finding out a dark secret about Lord Adam Beardsley.