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[The episode opens on Bridgerton House, seeing Eloise and Penelope walking by as Mayfair comes to life in the early morning.]
"I'm terrified of the presentation, Pen, it's like a lamb and the wolves are about to tear me apart," Eloise confessed, as she walked with her lifelong best friend down the streets of Mayfair.
"Oh, it's alright, Eloise, you'll be alright, I swear. I am sorry I cannot be there with you, though. But next season I will. So you've just got to last until then."
"God, I might trip and die right in front of Her Majesty. That'll be the end of me."
Penelope smiled and held onto her arm, "No, it won't. You're the star of the show. All will be well, you'll see." Jokingly, Penelope continues, "And then you'll be married with children and I'll have to escape mother to visit you."
"Ha, that will never be me," Eloise said, grinning.
Penelope laughed on cue.
Eloise felt eyes in the back of her head as she walked to her presentation. Last season, her sister, Daphne, had been the Diamond, and now it was all on her shoulders to carry it forward. She wasn't sure she could live up to her Mama's expectations, but she'd do her best, in her own way.
As the doors to Her Majesty opened, her mother clasped her shoulder and gave her a final bit of encouragement, "Don't worry, dear, you're the star of the show. All will be well."
She didn't feel like it. She really didn't feel like it. But then it was as though the heavens did align and answer her prayers, as Whistledown swept in like Fate was on her side, and Eloise managed to escape before she was called forward.
She grinned all the way on the carriage ride home.
When they did get home, Eloise ran up the dstairs to her room, shutting the door on everything and everyone before they could tell her differently, and opened up a book she'd bought at the market the other week—Ormond by Maria Edgeworth.
It was evening by the time she finished, and Eloise closed the book, then lit the candles, and closed the curtains. It really was quite good. It was just a shame she'd finished all her new books now and wouldn't have any more new ones until she went to the market again with her pin money.
"I suppose I'll have to reread it," she muttered.
She opened the book again from the beginning and caught a look at the strangest printing error she'd ever seen, reading aloud, "1817, Chancery Lane Printers. 1817? How funny."
It was only 1816. Some silly fool had gotten the dates mixed up.
Eloise thought again about Chancery Lane Printers some days later, when the latest of Whistledown's papers lay at the table while she and Penelope drank tea. Later, she'd tried to think of what they'd talked about—it was the usual, small talk, family matters, how her brother Colin was, how silly Cressida was being. Nothing out of the ordinary.
"What do you think Whistledown is like?"
"Someone who has a lot of time on their hands, clearly," Penelope quipped.
She always had such good quips prepared. Eloise could be quite witty herself, and it made conversation much more entertaining when the other person kept up with her—the number of which would be limited, but Penelope was always prepared.
"I think—" Eloise began, but she was interrupted by Lady Featherington walking through the door.
Lady Featherington and her daughters, poor Pen included, had the unfortunate state of dressing in ostentatious fabrics, which made them stick out like sore thumbs, unmissable wherever they were, whatever the scene, and always the cause of some sort of scene or at the centre of one. Today, Lady Featherington was wearing an eccentric green dress, decorated with embroidered cherry blossoms, and carrying a rectangular tea tin in her arms.
"Hello, my dears. How are you both? I do hope your family is well," Penelope's mother said to her, moving the tea to her other hand in a slow and deliberate movement.
"Yes, perfectly well, thank you. What's that tea you have there?" Eloise asked, as clearly the woman wanted her to ask about it, and she knew when to take a hint.
"Oh, I'm so glad you asked, my dear. It's from SUB-LIME, a new green tea matcha blend all the way from Japan —organic tea leaves, perfect to refresh you after a long day, or give you that kick start to the day, with less caffeine and calories than a cup of coffee, it's a drink for everyone, at any time. Care for a sip?"
Eloise glanced at Penelope, who hid a grimace behind a smile, and nodded. She sipped the tea, which tasted no different from any green tea she'd ever had, and smiled politely.
"Very lovely," Eloise said.
After that, Lady Featherington wished them well and left the room, her dress swishing behind her as the door shut.
"God, I can't imagine growing up to be like her," Penelope said. "Can you imagine?"
Almost automatically, ever practised, Eloise said, "Ha, that will never be me."
Shaking off the moment, Eloise pulled Whistledown's latest issue to her. Afterwards, she compared it with the rest, and concluded one thing with absolute certainty—Whistledown was using Chancery Lane Printers.
That led her to Theo Sharpe. And much, much more.
Theo looked at her like he knew her, really knew her, and spoke to her so softly, like every word was natural, like he couldn't help but speak to her; he listened to her—he didn't just parrot small talk or shush away her interests. She was addicted. He was smoke, and she was breathing him in, and she needed it to feel sane.
"Sometimes the world doesn't make sense," she ranted, pacing the workshop floor. It was around nine in the evening—she'd snuck away from yet another ball, not that literally anyone was commenting on her absence of late, which showed how much everyone really cared—and finally she felt she could say anything to him and he would understand. He may be the only one who would even try to understand.
"I've checked every book in the family library, you know," she said, picking up another from his desk. "I'd never noticed before. Every single one comes from here. Every single one! How many books do you even print?"
"Many," he said, crossing his arms. "You do like to read."
"Obviously, yes, did you think I was lying?"
"This world has many liars, and you aren't one of them. You're the most honest person I've ever met," he said, sincerely.
"Oh. Well. That's fine, then," she mumbled, casting her gaze to the side, unable to look at him then.
The question of why every newspaper, every book, every pamphlet, even Whistledown, seemed to come from Chancery Lane slipped her mind after that.
Almost reluctantly, Theo uncrossed his arms and said, looking off to the side, "Have you had any more luck in your search for Whistledown?"
"No, not yet. I think I'm onto something, though."
"If I can be of any help, let me know," he told her, still practically speaking to the floor. Then, however, he looked up and met her eyes again, and she felt her breath stop, "I am here for you. Whatever you need. Whenever you need help, I will be here."
"Thank you."
But, that next day, when she went to the market and Penelope handed her a book (a world Atlas), Eloise flicked it open and found it instead read 'Albemarle Printing Press.'
Her father had been a man of good humour. He'd taught her all sorts of jokes and tricks, and even taught her card games when she'd asked.
"Very good, Eloise. You're so clever, you know. Much smarter than me… You've got to use that mind of yours, you know, the world isn't always kind to us. You've got to be clever," he said. "Don't fall for anyone's tricks."
"Ha, that will never be me!" she'd said.
Her father had smiled, ruffled her hair, and said, "Yes, that's very good. Keep saying that. No tricks for us, hm?"
The morning of Anthony's failed wedding, Eloise woke up early and stepped out into the garden for a moment of fresh air. As she sat down with her book, something crashed out of the sky.
It landed with a loud bang as it hit the grass and fell into metal and glass pieces. She screamed and flung out of the chair, running to the door, as she was afraid another strange thing would come and fall onto her. But the air remained still.
When she thought it safe, Eloise inspected the strange thing, careful to avoid the glass on the ground. "Cassiopeia: II" was written on the side in hasty, blue ink. The metal was smooth, and where the glass had smashed away was an even stranger device of hot to the touch of two metal-like strings pointed upwards with a spiral thing in between.
She had no idea what she was looking at.
The footman, John, came running down the corridor, and she heard his voice before she saw him, "Miss Bridgerton! Don't touch the glass!"
He appeared holding a dust pan and a brush.
She helped him sweep up the glass—she didn't want Gregory or Hyacinth stepping on anything—as she asked, "How did you know about the glass?"
"Oh—I, um, heard it smash and ran to grab the brush. Yes. I was already nearby."
"Really? I didn't think—"
"Would you like to go to Chancery Lane today? I think it will be easy to sneak you out today with all the wedding preparations for your brother. You won't be missed."
"And if I am?" Eloise questioned. "What if my mother starts to suspect? Don't you think something strange is going on?"
"I'll give your excuses. Don't worry. There's no reason for me to lie. Nothing is strange, Miss Bridgerton. Everything is perfectly well, you'll see."
At the next ball, Eloise was standing to the side, her dance card as usual covered in the names of writers (and one Theo Sharpe, hastily written and hidden amongst the rest, almost illegible), sipping champagne and trying not to panic.
Eloise looked at the labels on the champagne bottles, all carefully turned and orderly placed. Pretending as though the drink had gone more to her head than it had, Eloise hiccuped and moved two of the bottles further apart. She walked off.
When she turned her head, one of the servants had scurried over to move the bottles back into their proper place. They pressed their hand to the left ear, nodded, then walked to the staircase.
She followed the servant as casually as possible, nodding at a few as she passed by. The servant stopped by the staircase and turned their torso at an angle as Penelope stepped into the ballroom. Penelope was looking at Colin, who was looking in an entirely different direction, and holding tightly to her fan.
It almost read as longing.
As soon as Penelope moved, the servant seemed to relax and scratch the back of their neck. They turned their torso into a much more relaxed, natural position. Sipping her drink, Eloise noted that their buttons were slightly mismatched—there was one that was slightly bigger than the rest.
"They don't want me talking to you so much," Theo whispered, candlelight flickering across his face.
The papers on the floor lay between them, a distance which seemed so far and yet so very close. Her fingers twitched, and their hands touched, and, just like the candlelight, he was warm, and something bright in a world that seemed so often grey.
There were always so many candles lit in Chancery Lane, making it perfectly warm, making her sink into comfort like a hot bath.
"Who do you mean?" she whispered back.
"Everyone," he answered, his eyes shifting to the side. "All of the eyes on us."
They were alone now. There were no eyes anywhere. There was no point in whispering, she told herself, and no point in being so close. There was no reason for her heartbeat to be so quick.
She shook her head. "I know people wouldn't approve of me being here. But we're friends, aren't we?"
His volume returned to his usual; not another whisper passed his lips as he said, "Maybe someday the world will be different and allow friendships like ours more easily."
"I hope so," she said sincerely, and he softened.
"Don't stop hoping, please, no matter what happens."
Theo leaned in. For a split second, Eloise thought about closing her eyes. She wanted to. But it would flip her world upside down. And she wasn't sure—
Theo's hand cupped the back of her head, and he pressed her forehead against hers. She could feel her heart thundering in her chest, faster than a storm.
"Theo," she whispered. "I can't."
"None of this is real," he told her, in a low, hushed tone. "Everything is a lie, and you can trust no one but your family, but they know nothing, and if you know something, they will convince you that you don't. None of this is real."
"Theo, you're scaring me," she said, but she didn't move. In fact, his hand on the back of her head felt like the only anchor she truly had.
So quiet she could hardly hear it, he said, "None of this is real. Pretend with me, for a moment. Close your eyes even as their eyes stay open."
She thought, when she closed her eyes, he would kiss her. Seeing the question in her eyes, his lips said 'I won't' so she did close her eyes, and hope he kept his word, because she didn't think she could ever be the same if she did kiss him, she didn't think she could pretend everything was normal, or alright, ever again, if she did got that far.
So she closed her eyes, and she felt his forehead move from hers, but he stayed so close, close enough to smell the ink on his hands, and the faint smell of oranges in his hair, and something she thought might have been an aftershave, and she half expected him to speak, to say some strange, hidden secret, or mad confession.
Instead, she felt his fingers move across his skin. Slowly, deliberately, he wrote, 'Your life is a script.'
Well, yes. Practically every woman of station followed a script of life—to marry a suitable match, have children, and maintain or grow in status. She let out a soft hum of agreement and felt his hand stutter.
'Not real,' he wrote.
His fingers were trailing down her neck to keep writing and, she supposed, to keep up the appearance of kissing her, like he believed someone was watching, but the feeling of his fingers tracing down the back of her neck to the base of her spine made her shiver.
"We don't have long," he said. "You need to go. They won't let you stay any longer."
"But…"
"None of this is real."
"I don't want to believe we were fake," Eloise said, shaking her head. "I can't believe it. I won't."
"We were real, but most importantly, you are real," he said, cupping her face in his hands. "Look at me. You can't come back here."
"Why?"
He closed his eyes, lips pursed, as though the words he said pained him to say, "Go back to your life, and I'll go back to mine."
"Is that what you want?"
His thumbs moved to write no.
His eyes told her to stay.
His lips said yes.
"What I feel is real," Eloise said, certain of only that, and unsure of the rest.
She grabbed his collar and pulled him into her, pressing her lips against his finally, and it didn't take him long to kiss her back, and his hands moved to her waist. She let go of his collar and reached up to his shoulders, his hair, and ran her fingers through it.
He pulled away, eyes dark, as he said again, "You can't come back here. This isn't the life you're meant for, and you know it."
"What life are you meant for, then?" she asked.
"I'm just a guest here, really, a visitor for you. Nothing more."
"Don't call yourself nothing. You're not nothing to me," she told him.
He moved her hand to the side of his head, pressed against his left ear, while his other hand tugged at her waist and pulled her practically into his lap there on the floor. It was the closest she'd ever been to a man and, well, she could hardly say he was just a friend anymore, as even though he was very close, it didn't feel close enough.
"Your footman will be here in a minute to take you back," he said. "You should go back home, Miss Bridgerton, it's where you belong."
The hand at her waist wrote, 'Take this.'
He held his other hand over the one at his ear and took something out of it. Though it was strange, she forced herself not to look at whatever the little thing was and lowered her hand once she had it clutched in her fist.
'Go when he knocks.'
It wasn't even a second later that John knocked at the door, loud enough to wake the dead. Eloise scrambled out of Theo's lap, hiding her fist behind her back, and nodded.
"Very well, then. I'll go back to my life, and that will be that. I am sorry for all the trouble I caused you," she said, quickly.
He said nothing, but his eyes watched her intently until she walked out the door. So John didn't even try to talk to her, Eloise covered her eyes as though she was crying, and ducked into the carriage as soon as possible.
When, finally, she was in bed, Eloise opened her fist and saw a little bud, the same colour as his skin, smaller than the tiniest of earrings. She didn't think it was quite an earring, as it had been inside his ear, but she really had no idea what it could be, or what it could all mean.
She just knew it was a part of something much bigger, tiny as it was.
She put it under her pillow and closed her eyes to sleep.
It was when she started to nod off, and the entire house was quiet in sleep, that Eloise heard muffled voices. Thinking it was the servants passing by her room for whatever reason, Eloise turned over onto her side and sighed.
But then the voices sounded even louder.
She sat up, rubbed her eyes, and was intent on going to the door (had something happened?), but then the voices sounded quieter. Maybe they had gone past the door. So she lay back down.
And heard them again.
She gasped and took out the strange bud from under her pillow, placing it beside her ear. It was then she heard:
"You hear me? You need to apologise, stat. The Director isn't having it—none of it, you know. You went off script. You weren't supposed to go that far. You know she's meant for whatshisface Phillip in a couple of seasons. You're just a subplot like Marina—we told you, look, I know some improv is normal for you actors, but Jesus Christ, you gave us all a heart attack, where the hell are you?"
She could hear what she thought were heels clacking on a wooden floor, moving quickly. The person talking had a British accent, but it wasn't quite like her family's, or Theo's, and there was something about what they said that rang alarm bells in her head.
Was Theo in danger?
Why had he gone too far?
Why were they talking about… They were saying she was "meant for" another man, like her marriage was already decided. And, worse, it wasn't even decided by her mother, or her brother, (it was never going to be decided by her, was it?) but some stranger.
"She's a fan favourite with the young women demographic, we can't afford her acting weird, alright? Look, I get it, yeah? You got caught up with a pretty girl, and we wrote you in to be the only one on her side right now. We messed up. I'm not unsympathetic—I'm heading out to the carpark, you better be there, you sulky mother fucker, going silent on me—but we've got to be professional. Fuck this, I'm calling you, I'm texting you, until you answer, God fucking damn it—"
Eloise almost jumped out of bed when she heard a repetitive sound that went on for at least ten seconds, and then another, and another, until she could repeat the odd sound under her breath—it was almost like a bell, duudu, du, du, but faster, like the start of an urgent song.
The clicking heels continued along with it.
Until, finally, she heard a different female voice, softer and monotone, say, "Connection lost. Attempting to reconnect. Your permissions have been removed. Please contact your admin. Connection lost. Your permissions have been removed. Please contact your admin."
She moved the bud away from her ear and saw it was flashing red, ever so faintly, and hid it under her pillow again. A few moments later, the red light was gone, and the sound didn't come back.
Her best friend had betrayed her. Penelope was Whistledown, and she'd written the lie, the lie that threatened to ruin her.
Eloise wanted to scream. She wanted to take all of Whistledown's writings and throw them into the fire. She wanted…
She really just wanted to know what was real.
"I did it for you, Eloise," Penelope said, voice pleading.
"Are you my friend?" Eloise asked.
"Yes, now and always! I did this for you, I swear. I knew you were meeting with that boy, and you told me the Queen suspected you were Whistledown. I didn't know how else to convince her. Please, Eloise, I did it for you."
"Did you?"
"I swear it. I swear it. Please, forgive me."
"None of this is real," Eloise muttered.
"I'm so sorry. I wish this were a dream, too. I wish, when I woke up, I hadn't done this to you. I wish this hadn't happened. I feel so awful about it."
"No, I mean. Something about this world is very wrong."
Penelope's breath caught. After a moment, she said, "Eloise. We've talked before about the limits of our world as women—"
"No. No. I mean. None of this can really be true."
"I'm telling you the truth." Penelope grabbed her shoulders and looked her dead in the eye, her voice shaky. "Eloise. I've known you ever since I was a child. Do you remember sneaking away with me when we were eight and lying in the flower beds?"
"Of course I do."
"You remember how we ran around Aubrey Hall like we were wild? And then fell asleep in the library? I remember it all. You're the closest thing I have to a sister—my only sister—you need to understand. If none of this is real, if all of this is fake, then I'd have to be in on it too. I would never lie to you."
For a long moment, Penelope held her shoulders, held her gaze, and in that quiet moment, when not another word was said, Eloise's world fell like a house of cards.
When the season was over, Eloise drew into herself. She hardly even spoke to Benedict. She didn't know what to say. She didn't know what to do. She tried talking into the bud, but it did nothing, and she suspected asking to go to Chancery Lane again wouldn't end well.
So, they left for Aubrey Hall.
And she hid in her room.
She read the books Theo had given her that day and avoided all other thoughts, trying instead to wonder what his were, and what the books really meant.
Most of them had the first few pages and the last pages, where any author and publication details would be. The covers on the outside didn't match what was said on the inside.
The first was "Horrible Histories: The Gorgeous Georgians" with funny illustrations that made her laugh and nothing like any history book she'd ever seen, another a collection of poetry by a woman called Carol Ann Duffy that was so very different to any poetry she'd ever read, and a very strange geography books that talked about countries that she'd never heard of (where on earth was Croatia?) and she wished more than ever he was there to at least share his thoughts with her aloud, because she was puzzled by them as much as she was intrigued.
Finally, hidden amongst the pages of the geography book, was a tiny slip of paper. Thinking it was like his first note to her, Eloise picked it up.
She expected to see details of a meeting place.
Maybe she could write to him.
Some sort of explanation.
Instead, the slip of paper seemed to be torn from a much bigger document. It read:
The Bridgerton Show
Episode 13881
The Viscount Who Loved Me
Eloise strongly considered that she was going mad when she was sitting with Cressida in the gardens of Aubrey Hall. Cressida hadn't spoken much, seemingly out of it as well from her yawning, but then a footman had walked by the two of them at their table with a face that was just like her father's.
Eloise was standing up before she knew it.
Cressida turned as white as a sheet. She grabbed onto Eloise's arm so tightly she could feel the nails digging into her skin, and the hurried warnings to get away in her ear, but none of it mattered.
Because her Papa was right there, running towards her.
And he hugged her.
None of it was real. Everything was a lie. Her best friend, no, everyone, had betrayed her, but she'd go through it all again, if it meant her Papa had returned, she'd suffer madness and a thousand betrayals, she'd marry a man they'd decided for her, if it meant he was back.
He held her tightly, and she felt him shake.
"I snuck in—" he said, and his voice sounded different than she remembered, still the same deep voice, but something was different, "I'm not supposed to be here, but we—"
"Get away!" Cressida shouted. "Help!"
Cressida backed up to the table and picked up the teapot like it was a weapon.
"It's a thief, Eloise, get back. Get back right now, you little—"
Eloise was pulled back by John as somehow every servant of the house had arrived, summoned so quickly by Cressida's shouting, and Eloise screamed as her father was pulled away from her.
Through her tears, she noticed John wince and adjust something in his ear.
"You're alright, Eloise," Cressida said, pulling her inside. "You're alright. He was just a thief. He was going to hurt you. I helped you understand? You're alright now."
Eloise swallowed back her tears and said, flatly, "He was a thief. I'm alright now."
For a split second, she thought she saw something like pity on Cressida's face. But then it was gone.
She didn't say anything for three days, even though it burned within her like lava.
Then, when she was alone with her Mama for tea, Eloise told her, "Mama, I saw Papa."
Her Mama, who was sitting in the drawing room with her latest sewing project on her lap, stabbed her own thumb with a needle that she hadn't used since she was a little girl. "What did you just say?" she asked.
"I saw Papa. When I was with Cressida the other day. He appeared, dressed as a footman, and hugged me. If you ask any of the servants, or Cressida, they'll say it was a thief breaking in, and say he didn't look like father. They'll be mad."
"…Eloise. Are you alright?"
"I saw Papa."
"Sometimes," her mother said, very softly. "We see our ghosts when we want to see them the most. I see your father all the time, in each of you, in the shades of the sky, I hear his voice wishing me goodnight and good morning, I feel his kiss when I wake up. I think of him—… Oh, Eloise. Your Papa is gone. And how I wish he wasn't. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
Eloise rushed to sit beside her mother and clasped her hands tightly. "No, Mama. You need to listen. I swear I saw Papa. Have you ever thought about how strange our world is? Have you ever thought about how you've never been to the Cowper's country house, even though they're one of the families with the most status?"
"Lord Cowper isolates himself—"
"Haven't you noticed all of the carefully placed labels, the stilted, repetitive conversation—"
"Oh, Eloise, not everyone is as witty as you. You've been through a lot this season, meeting with those people, and then the break-in. You just need to rest—"
"I saw Papa. I saw Papa. I saw Papa! Why aren't you listening?"
"Don't you shout at me. I am your mother, and you will behave yourself—"
"I'm trying to tell you nothing about this world is real apart from us. I'm trying to tell you Papa didn't die—"
"Stop, please, stop! He died in my arms. I felt his heart stop, and mine stopped that day, too. Oh, how can you say that wasn't real? I felt it! I've hardly felt anything since. Stop, I beg you, my heart cannot take it."
Eloise had never felt like a villain more than when her Mama broke down in her arms and cried so much her tears soaked through her dress. All she could say was apologies, repeatedly, until the tears stopped.
And, finally, Eloise said, defeated, "You're right, Mama. I do just need to rest."
That night, Benedict knocked on her door. She supposed, by then, her Mama had told her older brothers. Eloise stayed in her desk chair, holding Theo's earbud in her hands, with the funny history book in her lap.
"Sister," Benedict said, kneeling in front of her. "Talk to me."
"I tried to talk to Mama," Eloise muttered. "It didn't do any good. And what good will the truth do? I don't know what to do about it."
"You've been trapped up here for much too long. Come on, we don't have our swing set here, but we can walk outside."
"It'll be dark," Eloise mumbled, rubbing her eyes.
"Yes," he said, patting her hand. "Just you and me."
She stiffened, and he nodded. Eloise uncurled her hand and showed him, for a quick moment, the earbud.
"Leave that old earring behind," Benedict said, smiling softly. "You don't want to lose it outside."
She tucked it under her pillow and left the house with him. Rather than leaving out the main door, he took her to the servant's exit, where it was quiet, and not a single servant was in sight.
He didn't speak until they were in the trees, and he had to hold her hand, guiding her through the roots, like he'd walked it a hundred times before.
Finally, when she thought she'd burst from anxiety, he said, "Father took me here once, about a week before it all happened. He said not even the eyes of God reached here, and he told me that even second sons had a role to play, and that if anything happened, I had to help Anthony. He told me not to be scared, because he loved me very much, and that he'd always be watching over us, but that he would try and stay."
"What are you—"
"When I was at Cambridge, I saw a boy have an allergic reaction to peanuts. I know Father didn't die to that bee, Eloise, because it didn't look quite right."
"He came back, though."
"Apparently so. Did he say anything?" Benedict asked, his shaking voice giving away his desperation.
"He said he snuck in. He wasn't supposed to be here."
Benedict nodded, then sighed. "I'm with you. I understand. Sometimes this world doesn't make any damn sense. I see the same people doing the same steps at balls, forever repeating, like they are puppets, but sometimes the world doesn't make sense. It won't ever make sense. Maybe we are all puppets, I don't know, but at least we have each other. If you keep talking, you'll be gone like Father, and I can't do that again."
As tears began to fall down her face, Eloise muttered, "None of this is real."
"We are real, Eloise."
"Yes," she said. "Yes, we are. He tried to tell me. God, I've been such a fool."
"You need to stop, do you understand me? You need to stop. Father is gone."
Eloise was not going to stop. She kept the earbud on her at all times as a reminder.
She knew now that, for whatever reason, they wanted her to be someone clever and witty, who was angry with Penelope and close to Cressida. She treated every moment when she wasn't alone as though she was in the theatre, right on the stand, and sang like she was a bird in a cage.
She waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Then, the moment came. Penelope walked down the steps in a dress that was eye-catching, as stunning as it was bold, and every eye in the room was on her. Eloise took a moment to frown, just in case, before she felt safe in walking out.
Out of all the eyes in the world, Penelope was the only one that saw. She said nothing. In her ear, they reminded her of her next line, and Penelope followed their instructions, as she had since she was a little girl.
Eloise knew that if she walked out the doors, every footman would see her. So, Eloise walked up the stairs to the second floor. Up there, the furnishings were much more sparse, and there were many rooms she hadn't bothered to look in before.
The closest rooms looked normal.
Then, they were empty.
Some rooms were even painted.
One room didn't have proper flooring.
Another was filled with boxes. She entered that room and quietly closed the door behind her. And she started to look.
One box was filled with spare champagne glasses, which was the last odd thing about the room. Another contained looking—one of Cressida's old dresses, Penelope's gloves, a hat… And, there, abandoned amongst them was a pile of papers clipped together by a little bit of metal. With the moonlight through the window her only accompaniment, Eloise began to read.
The paper described everything that she had seen that evening.
Her entire life was a play, written by a stranger, all her world was a stage, and she was nothing more than an unwilling puppet, a pawn that moved along thinking it was her own person when she was just a part of someone's game.
She dropped the paper back into the box.
She opened the window.
The night air across her face was cold and calmed her feverish mind. She didn't want to leave her family behind—she hadn't even though she dreamt of more, she hadn't left them for Theo, but leaving was the only way to save them all.
Eloise smashed one of the champagne glasses on the wall and cut her dress with the sharp glass. When it was short enough to move easily in, Eloise climbed out of the window and left everything she knew.
Eloise ran away from the ball, away from where she "belonged," back to the one place she was told not to return to. Along the way, she tore the jewels from her hair, the gloves from her hands, and ran barefoot when her ballroom shoe heels broke.
For the first time in her life, she noticed the streets were clean. There was no glass, no dung from horses, nothing.
The streets were empty.
One carriage, horseless, was left outside her brother's favoured gentleman's club. She threw open the door and found an odd-looking jacket—black, long sleeves, made of what she thought was cotton with a big pocket below the belly, and a hood like a cloak. She hastily put it on and put the hood over her head.
Inside the jacket's pocket was a packet of something that smelled minty, and she thought it might be a sweet treat, but when she put it in her mouth and chewed it, it was hard to swallow, so she spat it out and left the packet behind.
There was also a sheet of odd paper, printed purple, with a woman's face on it. She wrote a crown. The paper, small but rectangular, had the number 20 on it.
She put Theo's earbud in the jacket's pocket with the odd little paper.
Then, she walked to Chancery Lane.
There was no one around.
She didn't even hear a bird chirping, or a neighbourhood dog barking… Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
The door to Chancery Lane was unlocked, so she pushed it open and saw what was left of the workroom.
Nothing.
All the printers were gone. The table was gone. The candles were gone. The floor was gone.
"Theo?" she asked, quietly. "Theo? Are you here?"
Theo was gone, just like her father.
But there, on the floor, where they'd kissed, was another puzzle piece. In bright blue writing, printed on glossy paper, was a sign that read: FREE THE BRIDGERTONS.
On the back, in Theo's handwriting, were instructions:
1) Take my jacket. I left it behind in a carriage outside Mondrich's. It has £20 in its pocket.
2) Come back to Chancery Lane and walk out the back door.
3) Keep walking forward until you see a sign that says "Dart Street". You should see weird-looking, black carriages with a person in it that say "TAXI" on the top. Enter the carriage, tell them you're going to "SCN Law" and hand the driver the £20 from my jacket pocket. Don't tell them who you are.
4) Don't talk to the police. If you have to talk to the police, ask for a lawyer, then don't say anything.
5) When you get to the lawyers, ask to speak to someone urgently about human rights. Tell them who you are. Tell them everything.
6) Your father works with the lawyers, and he's been fighting for years to get all of you out. He's a good man. He loves you.
7) I'm sorry I couldn't get this sooner. I wasn't prepared. We weren't prepared. I hope this works. If you ever want to talk to me, ask the lawyers for a phone and enter this number…
8) I'm in love with you.
Then she felt something buzz in the jacket pocket. It was the earbud. When she took it out, it was flashing faintly green.
She wanted to throw it against the wall.
She wanted to scream at it.
But Eloise put it in her ear and listened.
"Hello, Eloise, can you hear me alright? You've caused quite a bit of trouble by running," the voice said. "Can you nod if you can hear me?"
"Can you see me right now?" Eloise asked.
"Yes, I can see you."
The voice was female, but the accent wasn't one she was familiar with.
"I know this is all very frightening," the voice said, softly. "And confusing. But everything will be alright. I am the Director. The world you are in is one I've built for you, for all of you. It's one you've grown to love, haven't you, with all of its beautiful imperfections…"
Eloise held her hands tightly together, but they were clearly shaking.
"You see, you weren't really supposed to be like this," The Director said. "We didn't write you to be like this, at first. But we had to update the Script as you got older, because things are different now than when your father was younger, and the Independent Woman trope is far more popular than it used to be. You're a star, Eloise, you must have figured that out by now. People watch you every day and they love you so very much."
"What people?" she asked.
"Everyone in the other world."
"The people who aren't actors," Eloise said.
"Yes."
"My father."
"Yes."
"Theo."
"…Yes. Now, you must have one other question for me, that's been burning in your mind…"
"Why us?"
"Yes. Why? It started with your father. Many years ago, books were written about a family a bit like yours. Novels. Fiction. Very popular books. I knew these books would make amazing television—a play, of sorts, that everyone can watch, all over the world, if that makes sense. But it had to be real. Alive. A live show, with amazing costumes, but real people, from the very beginning. Your father was one of five unwanted children considered for the role, and he was raised with the eyes of the world watching his every moment."
"…He figured it out."
"He did. You're a lot like him, Eloise. But you're even smarter, aren't you? You know this world is built for you, for your family, and I will make it into a world where you can all be happy. All those changes you want to see? I can make them happen. I can even bring your father back, wouldn't that be nice? You say you don't want to be a wife, but you've already seen I can make you fall in love with a man. I can do it again. You'll be so happy, Eloise. You can be happy here."
"Was any of it real?"
The Director said, so sweetly in her ear, "You are real, Eloise, you and your family. It's what makes you so lovely to watch."
Eloise stood. The back door of Chancery Lane looked the same as any. When she opened it, it creaked, and the world outside it looked dark. The street it led out into wasn't cobblestone, but a flat and dark grey with yellow lines along it. The sky above didn't have stars. While her world was quiet and still, this one had sounds of movement, the honking of a distant horn, and a loud barking dog.
It sounded real.
"Do you want me to stay?" Eloise asked, looking up at the black, endless sky.
"I do, Eloise. I would love for you to stay and be the star of my show."
Eloise stayed silent for a minute, looking up at that void, that darkness, that mystery.
"Say something, Eloise, the whole world is watching. You always have so much to say. Why stop now? You're a star!"
"A star of your show?" Eloise smiled. "Ha, that will never be me."
Eloise walked out the door.
The show was over.