“Offended?” Zechariah said, with a perturbed look. “I just have important things to do.”

Like get that letter burning in his pocket to that … constable, apparently. Catholic constable? God, no wonder he had hesitated to meet. The poor thing was probably flogging himself every night when Zechariah could be doing it for him.

A brow arched when Crane seemed insistent on the company. He looked down to the tea-… coffee? and immediately said:

“Coffee has color.”

Which was likely a large part of the reason Zechariah was not typically asked to stay around. But while Zechariah was leaving niceties trampled behind him, the gears were actively turning in his head as Crane spoke. One Protestant, two unknown, leaving one constable identified Catholic who went to St. Hilda’s … but what if Crane went to the other St. Hilda’s?

Hashem above. He already knew Crane was not referring to that one out of process of elimination.

Zechariah wore a remorseful expression that was probably more familiar on the faces of caught suspects than him. Was this the man he…

Premeditated excuses were one thing. He had thought plenty about all the romantic ways they might meet. On a boat, perhaps, or on holiday on some island. Perhaps at the opera, or other unlikely places to find a man who promised his future cover story modest means. He had decided after letting the fantasy play out in his mind that, no, Zechariah would have to be the one to take Not-Richard to the opera, which had spawned yet another.

But what Zechariah did not handle well was surprises.

“You said you were ugly,” he blurted out instead.

Now he looked offended.

Elijah waved him off, he knew he couldn't keep him around but it was worth a shot. As the other retreated, he looked into his cup at the pale liquid. "I mean it's sort of beige , right? Isn't that a color?" He mused for a second and decided to give up and take a sip.

Suddenly the other blurted out, so unexpectedly that he nearly dropped the cup and instead spilled it all over himself. He gasped standing up and tried to wipe it off to spare his clothes from staining but only managing to dirty his gloves. His eyes turned to Zechariah in pure confusion and surprise. "What?! When did I say I was ugly?" The ad was the furthest thing from his mind, but it did hurt to hear it out loud.

“There is more cream than tea,” Zechariah homed in, then sniffed. “Auh, coffee. Coffee?”

Oh, God. The words tumbled out before he could think through the full implications, and it only snowballed from there.

“‘Not rich or attractive’, your ad-” he started heatedly, waving the folder at him. “That I- …” shit shit shit, “… saw,” Zechariah finished weakly.

Elijah nodded. "I like a creamy coffee..." he admitted quietly though he didn't know why how he took his coffee should be something to be embarrassed about. "Is that bad?"

"Alright, not attractive isn't the same thing as-" his eyes widened and the constable went pale. He shook his head quickly and moved to stand between Zechariah and the door. He brought up his hands but immediately retracted them in worry the other had ideas because of the ad and wouldn't want him touching him, not that he seemed the type to like a friendly shoulder pat or the like anyway.

"How did you know it was me!? Wait.. " he put his hands to his face and tried to not panic but it was too late. "Please, please tell no one. I was already thinking of pulling the ad after talking to a priest and he was telling me that it's better to live an honest life than a lie. And I mean, it's no one's business why I want a wife. If I don't feel attracted to women doesn't necessarily mean I like men. And besides I've said I was married to my job for years. And ive good reason for no one to want to marry me. So it technically would make sense for me to use an ad to find someone who doesn't care what I look like and... wait.." he winced as words and excuses and explanations just poured out. He finally looked up again.

"You're the only one who figured it out right ? I had nothing that identified me in that ad.." he had nothing. So how could he?!

“Coffee is,” Zechariah needled, though it seemed more banter than malicious.

He seemed to have been in an exceptionally good mood.

Then, the odd peace crumbled. Crane withdrew his hands, and Zechariah held the folder over his chest like a shield. It was him. It was him. He said as much, and there was no taking it back. Then … Crane backtracked. Did not necessarily like men. Had he been toying with him all along? But the shipwrecks. The shared realizations. He had to be.

Rather than say anything, Zechariah took a breath. He set the folder back down on the desk and took out the piece of trash that had started all this. It was still folded open to the page in question, and Zechariah finished reading it just in case there was something that would … that would erase all this.

There was not. Instead, there was Elijah Crane’s name from a jilted answerer.

He set it down on the desk, in small part so Elijah would have to move away from the door.

God, he prayed Crane was not fast with his own dots to connect.

Elijah shrugged in a 'it can't be helped' sort of way in indication towards his coffee.

But that was before all this. He said too much, he was always saying too much. The lawyer, a man of eloquence, said nothing. Elijah wanted to ask him why he wouldn't say anything, but then he put down that paper. The trashy paper with rumors. He felt his blood run cold and he hurried to grab it.

He read it, once than twice, then a third. He looked to the other looking like he could faint any moment. He felt sick.

"Ruby...why would she do this!? Because I told her it wouldn't work out? I explained clearly .. I..." he gripped the paper tightly in his coffee covered leather gloved hands. Who had seen this? Who believed it? It could spread through out town and anyone who knew him might find out and they'd all have their ideas on it. Even Ben had been giving him weird looks lately. That's what started this mess.

He didn't look as he felt for his chair to weakly sit down. "I.. I need to sit."

Zechariah, unusually, pulled his chair out for him. Pulled it out and guided him between the shoulders to it. Still, he was silent. He had no idea who Ruby was, but he was guessing one of the many candidates for a wedding ring his dear Not-Richard teased him with the prospect of locking himself up with.

Not unlike how Zechariah was grudgingly planning to do with a literal prostitute. He was not married yet, though – no vows had been spoken, and he had hoped to take full advantage of that before any glasses were broken.

Elijah trembled and stared down, already forgetting how the front of his shirt was now soaking wet from the coffee milk. He would have been grateful if he was aware of what was going on.

"I've lived here my entire life except for a short time in York learning to be a constable. I've never dated anyone.. I've only slept with one person in my entire life." He rubbed his face feeling the stress rise more. "What are the chances... people will believe this? Li-like you said.. she was wrong about Wilde. And people who know me know I don't beat women.. "

His hand remained on the back of the chair.

“People you do not know could believe anything,” Zechariah said, simply. “People who matter … far less likely.”

Then, he caught himself and folded his hands before him.

“Do you know her last name?”

"Thank you.." He said though it was so weak and he hung his head over the table and took it in his hands. "She was.. R.S... I just know her first name was Ruby. But.. she was NOT from Texas. She sounded more local. I don't even know if she was a nurse. She kept talking about women's rights. Everything was mostly fine until she asked me if I hit women. When I tried to explain I was a constable, I mean.. I wasn't going to lie. I've hit a woman before when she attacks me because she doesn't want to be arrested." He sighed in misery.

"I'm sorry.. I know you have a lot to do. Thank you for telling me so .. I can prepare. I don't know how I'd handle this if taken by surprise by someone who didn't like me instead of you."