@frankfelton ❈ closed. location: Grand Townhouse of Etienne de Beaumont, too late in the evening.
Those days he spent the majority of his free time in rare form. What else was a man of little trust and fewer friends to do, other than turn to bottles and crowded spaces he could hide in? The loneliness of his apartment made for too intimate an environment between him and his mind. One of the few blessings of editing for Le Figaro was the invitations that were sent his way, No longer did he have to piggyback on the invites of colleagues—or de Silva, for that matter.
No, Monsieur Beaumont now asked for him by name! Well... by position title. That was still something, right?
Hidden away in the library of the grand townhouse, he watched with curiosity as people moved about, making up connections for them in his head as he sat there alone. That was, until he saw someone he had not come across in quite some time.
“Mr. Felton!” he shouted louder than someone who was only scarcely acquainted with Frank should have. He hoped to gain the attention of the tall gentlemen trying to make his way through the room, not caring too much if he had somewhere to go.
As the other came closer, he rambled on. “Cousin of the little one—Murdock. Friend of the diamond. I do not have to say her name, do I?” He laughed to himself and tapped his glass on the wooden arm of the chair he occupied.
“If you sit for a moment, I will reward you with a cautionary tale.”