20 July 1891

When the gentlemen and ladies had separated after supper, the ladies went to drink tea while the men went to huff and puff on cigars in the smoking room. Mr. Redmond Flynn had gone away claiming some important business had called him, but in reality, he suspected he only wanted to leave Max alone with the man.

Maximilian felt a sense of foreboding rise in the pit of his stomach. He had run from his past so long, yet it had always been chasing him. Lee had told him once that no matter how far and how fast he tried to flee from God, God would always be there to welcome him back with open arms. Now he wondered if Lord Winthrop had been sent from God. To do what, he had no idea. To punish him for his sins? For leaving as he had, so abruptly, so rudely, hurting poor Rosalie and breaking her trust?

Lord Winthrop steepled his fingers beneath his chin. "So, Maximilian, it seems we meet at last. I must say, this is a long-awaited reunion,"

"I'm afraid I can't say the same, Lord Winthrop," he said, blowing out a deep sigh. He dared not touch the cigars. He feared becoming too much–or perhaps even more–like Edgar Wakefield than he already was. "I left for a reason."

The man's eyes were kind instead of rebuking. His voice was gentle instead of chastising. Yet Maximilian had spent his life waiting for the lash of the whip; the smack of the belt to tan his backside; the ruler to hit his hand. He had spent his life running from punishment and expecting to experience it anyway, so why should this man, this man whom he had betrayed and so ungratefully so, too, be anything different?

"I know, Maximilian. I know you have your reasons for leaving, just as I had mine for seeking you out," Lord Winthrop said. Despite the man's fatherly countenance and his benevolent appearance, Maximilian could not help but wonder. Did he mean to seek a debt to be paid?

"If you wish for payment for a debt, I am afraid I cannot find any money right now... perhaps..." His voice faltered. He felt desperate. Weak. Pathetic.

"No, Maximilian, I would never ask that of you. You brought me and my family great joy and friendship, even, during our time in Hong Kong. Of course, when you left, you truly hurt Rosalie as well," he said ruefully. "But your departure was so sudden, and so out of character... I did not what to make of it. I knew, of course, that you were a decent and honourable young man–"

"Please." His voice broke. "You do not know what I have done. Do not sally forth with these false beliefs about my character."

He had not kept the Sabbath nor been to church in nearly a year. He could scarcely remember when he had last prayed with a sincere heart and desire to speak to his Heavenly Father, only that this meal had been the first when he had said grace. Maximilian felt as though he had dug himself too deeply into a pit of sin for him to ever dig his way out. He had done too many horrible things under Edgar's twisted tutelage and had committed too many grievous crimes to ever be forgiven.

"I know that there are no sins Christ's blood cannot wash clean, Max." Samuel Winthrop's voice was tender. The voice of a father comforting his son. But there was a greater Father. Would He comfort him? "Maximilian, whatever you have done, whoever you have hurt, know that if you seek forgiveness and repent for your sins, He shall forgive you. He shall embrace you with open arms."

"I have done so many terrible things, Lord Winthrop. I have hurt you and Rosalie! You do not even know why I left you in Hong Kong. How can you even stand to speak to me, let alone seek me out in a city with hundreds of thousands of people?" He flung his hands in the air.

"Why did you leave, Maximilian?" Lord Winthrop probed. "Why did you not stay with us in Hong Kong? Was it your pride?"

He stared down at his hands, at the few flecks of dirt beneath his fingernails. "It was because I worried for you. I overheard a conversation you were having... I did not want you to be responsible for my supposed kidnapping... forgive me, but people were spreading rumours about your reputation and your wife's disappearance, were they not?"

"Maximilian." For once, Lord Winthrop's voice took on a scolding tone. "I am an adult. I could have handled the situation myself without your intervention. As much as I appreciate your concern, your sacrifice was unwarranted."

"I didn't want anyone else to have to give things up because of me... I didn't want to be a charity case or a liability, sir," he mumbled. "I only wanted... I wanted your family to remain intact, even if I did not have one. I did not want to intrude on yours or disturb the peace of your family, the honour of your name."

"Maximilian, the matter has been resolved. But its effects on you seem to have been disastrous. You look unwell. No, not physically, I can tell you that much. You seem to be well-dressed and well-fed, certainly not living on the streets. But there is something that speaks of a grave moral danger that you have fallen into. Your immortal soul is in peril. When I asked Redmond Flynn, my associate, to help me find you–which he did very well–he told me you were working for Edgar Wakefield. Please, Maximilian, tell me that is not the case."

"Edgar threatened my life and recruited me. If I were to leave him, he would have me arrested as one of the ruffians always wondering the streets of London. There would be no shortage of evidence for such a claim, unfortunately. I have no family to defend me. I am, as a young man, completely and utterly alone in this world. All the friendships that I had, the connections that I might have made, sir, they are gone. Dissolved by my own poor choices and thus, I have no one to blame but myself," Maximilian said bitterly.

"Would you listen to yourself?" A rough edge sharpened the edges of Lord WInthrop's tone and he braced himself. Waited, as always, for the man to give up on him. Yet he did not. "Maximilian, I may not profess to know you as well as I do my daughter. But I know that you have those who care about you. In fact, Gideon Wakefield, an acquaintance of mine, mentioned that you had been missing from his home for over a year. He and his wife expressed great concern over your disappearance. My suspicions were heightened and so, I came to the house of my friend, Redmond Flynn, ready to seek his help. And here, I found you. Is this not God's providence? Do not let yourself believe that anything you have done in your past could possibly be more powerful than God's grace, for I assure you, it is not."

He paused, letting Lord Winthrop's words absorb into him, like ink swirling into water until the entire glass was darkened. "Thank you... Lord Winthrop... may I make a request of you? I know I have asked too much of you already, but would you pray for me?"

The man's expression softened. "Of course."

He extended a hand onto Maximilian's shoulder and both of them bowed their heads. "Heavenly Father, thank You for preserving Maximilian and ensuring that he remains safe and sound. I pray for him now, that You would strengthen him, encourage him, and comfort him. I pray that You would help him to confess his sins to You and to realize that You are the one who forgives all sins, as well as the great Judge. Help him to repent of his sins and to go and sin no more. Please help him to discern good from evil, not to wallow in self-pity or his own misery but to turn to You when he is frustrated. Please, save his soul and preserve him now until the hour of his death. In Your Son's Name I pray, Amen."

The words of prayer, the motions of it, felt stiff and unfamiliar, yet wholly right. There was no part of him that did not feel more refreshed, more renewed, when the man had finished. Just then, Redmond Flynn and his wife appeared at the door. Patricia cast a curious glance at the two of them but did not voice any of her questions. "If you gentlemen have finished your conversation and cigars, I come bearing news of refreshments."

"Your signature pudding?" Lord Winthrop rose from his seat with a small yawn. Maximilian noticed the bags beneath the man's eyes and felt guilty, wondering how many late nights he had spent looking for him. "A crowd favourite. I assure you, Mrs. Flynn's treacle tart is simply splendid."

"You flatter me, Lord Winthrop," Patricia responded. "They are laid out in the dining room, if you would care to follow me."

"Certainly." The two of them trailed after her back to the dining room. Maximilian felt as if a great and terible burden had been lifted from his chest. Even his steps felt lighter. Now if only he could rid himself of his current occupation–though one thing at a time, he supposed. And certainly eternal matters were far more important than earthly ones. Wasn't that what the Bible said?

"We have treacle tart, as well some fruit tarts, and jam roly-poly," Patricia announced, gesturing toward the assorted spread that had been carefully displayed on the table in various platters.

The roly-poly was a roll cake with red strawberry jam–made from their own greenhouses, he was told–and the cake melted in his mouth. He declared it was more to his liking than the treacle tart, causing Lord Winthrop's eyebrows to rise.

"I have never met someone who preferred any dessert to Patricia Flynn's treacle tart, I must say." He took a hearty bite into the aforementioned dessert, taking a seat.

"Yes, a rare breed, but they do exist, Samuel," Redmond said, eating a fruit tart himself. "Tell me, how did this reunion go? Was everything worked out?"

"It went very smoothly," Lord Winthrop said before Maximilian could decide how to answer that rather vague question. "All is well, save one small wrinkle that I shall iron out later."

"Very good, then. At last, we can enjoy our victuals." There was a twinkle in Redmond's eye. He directed it at his wife and Maximilian turned his head away, feeling odd about witnessing what seemed to be an intimate moment between spouses.

"At last." Lord Winthrop lifted his cup of tea. "Might I propose a toast?"

"Go ahead." Patricia lifted her cup as well. "To anything in particular?"

"To old friends, I dare say." They clinked their cups against one another with raucous cheers.

The hot tea burned its way down his throat, leaving in its scorching wake a pleasant, tingling warmth. Maximilian ate his pudding and drank his tea and he thought that the only thing that might make the moment better, were if he had been able to see Rosalie again, or Lee, or any of the dear friends that he had left behind.