Chapter Text
Arthur looked on as the setting sun made the thick haze that lingered around Shady Belle glow, just barely revealing the tops of trees. It made the fog seem like a wall that encircled them. However, whether it was a wall that kept enemies out or them in, Arthur wasn’t sure. Then again, he wasn’t sure of many things as of late.
He lowered his eyes to his journal, finding that he had absentmindedly turned to the page where he’d sketched the photographer he’d stumbled upon. A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth as he reread his words. It had been a week since he’d last helped the man known as Albert Mason, and even so, he couldn’t shake the memory. All week it had lingered at the forefront of his mind. His mannerisms and demeanor were the antitheses of his endeavor, but far more remarkable than that was his kindness. Arthur briefly thought it may have been the man’s naivety that made him kind, but his week-long reflection left him realizing that Albert was, at his very core, genuinely kind and authentic.
Arthur hadn’t met many men like him, men who were comfortable showing a tenderness that was considered to be effeminate, a trait that was often ridiculed and mistaken as a sign of weakness when attributed to a man.
Not Albert, though. He was entirely lost and unused to the country (despite wholeheartedly loving it), but Arthur wouldn’t think to use the word ‘weak’ to describe the photographer. Inexperienced and better suited for city life, perhaps, but not weak.
There was also something else about the gentleman that Arthur couldn’t quite put his finger on. It bothered him that he couldn’t, and not even journaling helped him uncover what it was.
The sound of someone approaching him disrupted his thoughts, and judging by the footsteps, he could only assume it was Dutch. His steps, as always, were full of purpose, and when Arthur closed his journal, he turned to find the man grinning from ear to ear. Arthur knew the look all too well. Dutch’s eyes only gleamed as they did now when he had a plan in the works. Yet as Arthur’s eyes lowered to the parcel under his arm, he felt his stomach turn as he wondered what it’s contents were. As unpredictable as Dutch was, there was no telling what riches or horrors were inside.
“Arthur! You won’t believe the lead I caught while in Saint Denis!” Dutch beamed.
“Does it involve a train?” He dryly replied.
Dutch scoffed to himself. “No, better. We’re going to a little soiree, better yet, a masquerade ball. How perfect is that?”
“A masquerade?” He repeated as he wrinkled his nose. “Ain’t that a bit old-fashioned?”
“It might be outdated and ridiculous, but there’s a Frenchman who still hosts them, and apparently the people of Saint Denis can’t get enough of the debauchery it incites,”
Arthur’s eyes flicked over to the parcel once more. “What’s in the box?”
“I never thought you’d ask,” Dutch said. “It’s our disguises for the night.”
“Dutch,” he groaned, “you know how I feel about playing dress-up!”
“I know, I know, but think of the money!”
“Get someone else, then,”
“Come on, son! It’ll be like old times! There’s no one else I’d rather have by my side.”
Arthur heaved a sigh as he eyed Dutch before reluctantly giving in. “Fine.”
He smiled wide as he opened the parcel and pulled out a mask, and Arthur’s face fell as it was handed to him. All in all, it wasn’t a terrible mask. The large Venetian checkering with a gold filigree outline looked authentic enough, and while the deep blue and red tones paired well with the cream base, Arthur couldn’t help but notice that the mask resembled a court jester. While he was thankful that the mask didn’t have the look of a cap and bells, he still scowled at the sight before shooting Dutch a look.
“A court jester? Really?”
Dutch shrugged. “It was either that or a plague doctor.”
Arthur had his doubts about that, although he didn’t dare to voice them. The man was already edgy enough, and the last thing he wanted was another lecture about faith or a lack thereof.
Dutch, of course, had bought a deep scarlet mask that was decorated with ornate gold and black filigree. It was unsurprisingly regal, and while a mask typically hid a person’s true nature, it was uncanny how well it suited him.
Arthur wasn’t surprised in the least when he discovered that the mask for John hadn’t been a court jester or plague doctor. If anything, it was tasteful with a black and gold design. However, Arthur did try to ignore the obvious difference in what Dutch had bought for Mary-Beth and Molly. While Molly’s was beautiful in its own right, the mask Mary-Beth was given was ethereal. It even had Arthur taking a double-take when she had joined them on the porch in her ballgown. Between the gold mask and her new dress (that Dutch had also recently bought), he had to admit that she looked lovely.
The air in the stagecoach was tense as they rode to the gentleman’s house. There was no mistaking the stiff and forced politeness from Molly towards Mary-Beth, and Arthur wished Hosea had gone with them to be the peacekeeper he always was.
Attending fancy gatherings of wealthy men and women was the farthest thing from pleasant for Arthur, yet he was more than happy to escape the stuffy air inside the stagecoach. He and John had opted to stay out of the others' conversation, although John had been unusually quiet. Arthur could tell that the younger outlaw’s mind had been elsewhere. He had stared out the window the whole ride, and there was no mistaking the faraway look in his eyes.
Arthur had been tempted to ask him about it once they stepped into the lively atmosphere of the house where their conversation would go unheard by the others. However, Arthur had a feeling he knew where his brother’s thoughts had gone. Despite the carefree facade Dutch had worn to the party, neither of them could forget the cruel act of cold revenge they had witnessed a week ago. Bronte’s drowning had left Arthur speechless. In all the years he’d been with Dutch, he had never witnessed anything so bestial. Sure, Dutch had always been impulsive, and he’d killed before, but he was never monstrous.
The incident weighed heavily on their minds, and while John had initially voiced his opinion on the matter, he hadn’t said a word about it since, although he didn’t have to. There was an unspoken understanding that something sinister was taking hold of their leader, or perhaps, it had always been lurking underneath the surface and was only now revealing itself.
The thought left Arthur grimly thinking that maybe he had a better idea than he realized what had happened on the ferry in Blackwater.
The excitement and cheerful atmosphere inside did nothing to ease their mind. Yet they both listened to Dutch by following his plan. They were to split up to begin their search for anything valuable, both tangible and intangible.
Arthur wandered through the crowded rooms, listening for any information that might lead them to the money Dutch was so desperately trying to collect. However, he found that most of the conversations filling each room were inconsequential. It baffled him how people could speak without really saying anything. The conversations he overheard were dull and cyclical, repeating the same pattern of nothingness with different adornments. Arthur wasn’t sure how anyone could find enjoyment in such nonsense, let alone tolerate it.
He shook his head and studied the crowd of masked individuals. The whole thing was ridiculous, from Dutch’s plan to the event itself. Dutch was surely losing the artfulness he once had, but Arthur didn’t have the chance to finish his train of thought when his eyes caught another gentleman’s.
Their gazes locked, and Arthur found himself transfixed by the soft eyes that stared into his. He felt his breath catch as his heart stumbled over its own rhythm. The gentleman was stunning in his three-piece suit, and the earth-toned golden mask he wore only brought out his hazel eyes.
It was the mysterious stranger who finally moved first, and as he made his way over from across the room, Arthur was thankful for the mask that covered his face. By now, Arthur’s heart was beating wildly in his chest, and he swallowed as he tried to regain his composure. Amidst the confusion that clouded his mind from the strong response the gentleman elicited, was the sense that he knew the man. He wasn’t sure how, and it wasn’t until he had sidled up to him with an enchanting smile that he finally connected the dots.
“Mr. Morgan! I would have never guessed that our paths would cross at an event like this!”
There was no mistaking that it was Albert’s voice. Of course, standing in front of him, it was obvious, and he wondered how he hadn’t realized it sooner. Arthur mirrored his wide smile as he chuckled to himself. “That makes two of us.”
“At least I won’t need any rescuing this time, or that’s the hope, at least. Some of these folk can have quite the bite if provoked.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” he replied as his thoughts drifted to Bronte once more.
“Oh, I hope not, the bite of an aristocrat can be worse than a wolf. Or so I’ve heard.”
“I have a friend who can personally vouch for that,”
“Is this the same friend you mentioned when we were in Big Valley?”
He nodded. “Speaking of which, how's the photography work comin’ along?”
“I have a few more photos to take to add to my collection, and thanks to you, it’s going better than it would’ve,”
Arthur chuckled as he scratched the back of his neck. “You’re too kind, Mr. Mason.”
The way the photographer looked him over didn’t go unnoticed by Arthur, although it was the look in Albert’s eye that made his lungs seize. He’d only seen Albert admire his subject matter as close as he stared at him now. Yet the once-over look was over as quickly as he’d noticed it, and as Albert’s gaze returned to his, it left Arthur doubting what he’d seen.
“Do you mind joining me in the second parlor? It’s far less crowded, and I’d love to know what you’ve been up to.” Albert said.
Arthur was compelled to say yes, and with a smile, Albert gestured for him to follow. He tailed after him through the crowd of people before they entered a smaller room with less opulent furnishings. The paper covering the walls were less ornate with a plain ceiling to match, although Arthur only cared that it was the only seemingly empty room on the main floor of the house.
Albert took a seat at a small circular table before gesturing for Arthur to do the same. He humored him and sat in a chair across from him.
“Forgive me for being so bold,” he started, “but you seem distracted, Mr. Morgan.”
Arthur felt his heart leap in his throat as he furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” he paused as he struggled to find the right words, his confidence breaking ever so slightly, “from what I’ve gathered, you live a rough life, and you look like something is bothering you.”
He felt his shoulders relax, although he wasn’t sure when the tension had settled there. “I guess you could say that.”
“Might I ask what it is that’s plaguing your mind?”
Arthur’s eyes shifted to the window over Albert’s shoulder. It was dark by now, and the only thing he could distinguish through the glass was the soft glow of street lamps. “I’m afraid I can’t say.”
It was Albert’s turn to furrow his brow. “And why is that?”
His gaze lowered to the marbled table as he absentmindedly traced the gray pattern with a calloused finger. “I dunno if you want to know the answer to that one, Mr. Mason.”
Arthur could feel Albert’s eyes on him, studying him intently as if he were one of his photographs. Except there was no camera, only Albert’s warm stare and the silence between them.
The gentleman leaned forward and rested his arms on the table, and Arthur nearly jumped when he felt a gentle touch to his forearm. “Are you in any danger?”
His concern surprised Arthur as his gaze lifted to meet Albert’s. Yet his surprise only lasted but a moment before he chuckled to himself at the question. “I don’t think I can remember a time when I wasn’t in some kind of danger.”
“I’m so sorry,”
“Don’t be,” Arthur replied as his eyes flitted to the hand that was still on his arm. Albert’s hand, unlike his own, was smooth and unscarred. In fact, there wasn’t a single scar on his unweathered skin. The sight made Arthur’s heart twist in his chest, reminding him how starkly different their lives were. From their upbringing to their lifestyle, it would have been reasonable to assume that their differences would far outweigh anything that they had in common. Arthur had met plenty of men and women who lived a life similar to Albert’s, and each time he was reminded that finding any kind of common ground with them had been pointless. Yet, finding it with the photographer had been effortless. Arthur felt as if he understood and was understood by Albert, and it made his mind spin with unanswered questions.
He heard Albert draw a deep breath as he rose to his feet. “I think I know just the thing that would cheer you up.”
“Do you now?” Arthur asked with a raised eyebrow.
Albert hesitated, and Arthur could feel his eyes searching his own. The photographer then cleared his throat, and tentatively offered him an outstretched hand. “Would you care to dance with me?”
At first, he was convinced he’d misheard the gentleman. Once again, his heart felt like a bird fluttering against his ribcage, and he swallowed as he briefly glanced at his hand. “Ain’t you worried someone will suspect something?”
Albert flashed him a cheeky smile. “And just what do you think they’ll suspect, Mr. Morgan?”
He sputtered at that, at a loss for a convincing answer. “Well, you know...people will start to talk and,” he exhaled a flustered huff, “what about your reputation?”
“Please,” he chuckled, “we’re all wearing masks. We are free to be ourselves, and they would be none the wiser.”
Arthur considered his words before shaking his head. If Dutch saw him dancing with someone, there was no telling what he would do. He would no doubt question Arthur about it till his face turned blue, and if word got out, or more likely when, Micah would be the first to get on his case or worse. Arthur couldn’t risk putting Albert in harm's way like that. He wouldn’t.
“I didn’t come alone,” he finally said.
Albert’s smile fell as he returned his hand to his side. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had a partner.”
“I don’t,”
He frowned, thoroughly puzzled. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“It’s complicated,” he sighed, “but I don’t have a partner,”
“Then my offer still stands,” he replied, “will you dance with me?”
He hesitated. Everything within him wanted to say yes, yet to throw caution aside would be selfish of him. “There are people here who would know it’s me.”
Albert’s brow furrowed again in thought before he offered him a small smile. “I have an idea of how we can manage.”
Arthur wasn’t sure what the photographer had in mind, but he followed him without question as he left the second parlor and headed for a side door that led to the wrap around porch.
The night air was heavenly compared to the stifling air inside. Arthur could hear the choir of crickets sing among the lush grass. The summer melody helped restore his peace of mind, yet his stomach still flipped when Albert once again flashed him his charming smile.
“I don’t think anyone will notice us out here, Mr. Morgan,” he mused as he took a step closer before offering his hand again.
Arthur chuckled to himself. “I ain’t very good at dancing, I’m afraid.”
“You could have two left feet for all I care, now, please. I would love to have this dance.”
He eyed him for a moment. “Why are you so determined to dance with me?”
Albert shrugged, and Arthur couldn’t help but catch the way his eyes glinted with amusement in the warm light. “You’ll have to dance with me first before I answer that question.”
The outlaw rolled his eyes before finally taking Albert’s hand. Even outside, the two of them could hear the music through the walls. It was muted, but that didn’t seem to matter to Albert. He didn’t miss a single beat as he led Arthur in a dance along the porch. Of course, as he had warned, Arthur stumbled on his own two feet a few times, and he was thankful for Albert’s good humor when he accidentally stepped on the photographer’s toes. He’d tensed at first when he did, bracing himself for the guilt he’d feel for ruining the moment. Yet Albert only laughed, and joining him in his laughter was effortless.
It didn’t take long for Arthur to lower his defenses, and for the first time in a while, he felt as if he was having fun. The giddiness that made his heart skip beats had him feeling young again, and soon enough, they began to dance for pure enjoyment. Neither of them cared about being refined, nor upholding the properness of it.
By the time they stopped, Albert was breathless, and the two of them leaned forward against the railing to rest. The way they stood had their shoulders touching, although they didn’t think twice about it. It was a simple thing, their silence and closeness, and yet it uttered sweet nothings that were fully understood.
Arthur stole a glance at Albert. He had removed both his mask and square top hat to help cool off, revealing the soft brown waves of his hair. Arthur was tempted to run his fingers through it, and the urge startled him. His eyes flicked to the garden in front of them as he swallowed.
“So,” he started after a while, “are you gonna tell me why you wanted to dance so badly?”
The gentleman fidgeted with the brim of his hat, a deep crease between his brows as he thought over his words. “Well, may I ask you a question first?”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
“With how fast-paced your life is, do you ever think about changing speeds? Maybe starting a life of your own?”
“This is all I’ve known, Mr. Mason. I’m afraid I don’t know how to change speeds.”
“What if someone helped you learn how,” he replied as he met Arthur’s eyes. “If you had someone to help ease the transition, would you consider it?”
Albert’s words hung thickly in the air as Arthur felt his heart sink. There was a clear implication in his words, something he’d wordlessly spoken, and Arthur found himself tacking on a new word to describe the gentleman. He was brave in his own right, daring to break societal conventions and willing to risk rejection. It left Arthur’s heart aching for the second time that night. He lowered his gaze to the white paint of the railing, unable to hold Albert’s inviting gaze.
It was then that he was reminded of Mary’s words. He hadn’t changed, nor would he ever change. Leaving the gang to settle down somewhere was nothing but a pretty dream. He was too rough and broken for a life that wonderful. After all, if a man as great as Hosea couldn’t break away from the outlaw life, then how was he supposed to?
“I’m afraid that kind of life ain’t meant for me,” he finally said.
“I don’t believe that for a second,”
Arthur chuckled sadly to himself before shaking his head. “I’m a wanted man, Mr. Mason. There’s a bounty on my head, and it ain’t a pretty one.”
“Arthur,”
Hearing the gentleman use his first name drew his gaze back to Albert’s. All formalities now aside, his unwavering eyes searched Arthur’s, no longer holding back from thoroughly examining the man. The photographer’s gaze was intense, and Arthur found he couldn’t tear his gaze away.
“Are you absolutely certain?” Albert finally asked.
Arthur swallowed back the surge of emotions that threatened to spill and cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I am.”
Albert gingerly removed Arthur’s mask and gently ran his thumb along his cheek. When Arthur didn’t flinch away from his tender touch, his hazel eyes flitted to Arthur’s lips before searching the outlaw’s eyes once more. “Then, if I may, allow me to leave you with this.”
Arthur held his breath as the photographer leaned in. There was a brief moment of hesitation as Albert’s lips hovered over his before tentatively brushing them together in a light kiss. Their noses brushed together at first, and as Albert started to pull away, Arthur followed as he held the gentleman’s face in his hands. He felt the photographer smile as he deepened the kiss.
They had both unintentionally closed their eyes, caught up in the bliss of being as close to the other as was physically possible at that moment. When Arthur finally parted, he couldn’t recall when he’d wrapped his arms around Albert. They shared a smile as both of them caught their breath, and Arthur found himself resting his forehead against the photographer’s.
The outlaw wished with every fiber of his being that he could pursue the dream he had in his grasp, but he knew that whatever it was between them would never be anything more than a pretty midsummer night’s dream. The gang needed him, and even if that weren’t the case, the law was looking for him, and he refused to get Albert tangled up in the trouble that seemed to follow him. The reality of his situation pained him, left him yearning for everything he couldn’t have.
Albert’s hands reached up to cradle his face. “Are you sure you can’t join me?”
“I am, but I wish I could,”
“Do you think we’ll see each other again?”
“I hope so, but don’t go risking your life hoping that I show up,”
“No promises,” he chuckled before pressing one last lingering kiss to his lips. “Until next time, then, Mr. Morgan.”
He flashed him a wistful smile as he returned his mask to its rightful place and made his way towards the door. “Thank you for the dance.”
Albert gave him a courteous bow. “It was my pleasure!”
The outlaw tipped his hat before reentering the house. As he stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him, Arthur felt as if he had sealed his fate. He lingered there, rooted in place as if the wind had been taken out of his sails. A fleeting thought had Arthur considering returning to Albert’s side. Yet, despite this, he reluctantly released the door’s handle and straightened his collar.
It didn’t take him long to find John, or rather John was the one who found him. Arthur was still lost in his thoughts when the younger outlaw had rejoined him, and his melancholic demeanor didn’t go unnoticed. His dark eyes keenly looked him over, knowing all too well something had happened to cause the change in his mood.
For a while, they watched the crowd in silence from the corner of the room. As the music in the parlor changed pace, John examined Arthur once more before finally asking the question that’d been on his mind.
“You alright?”
“Of course, why?”
John narrowed his eyes as he folded his arms across his chest. “You disappeared for a while.”
“That ain’t hard to do in a crowd like this,” he scoffed.
“Arthur—”
“I’m fine,” he insisted. His tone was sharp, wordlessly warning John not to press any further.
He exhaled a huff, visibly dissatisfied with Arthur’s deflective answers. Yet he of all people knew that to pry any answers from Arthur was pointless. It was downright infuriating, but whether he liked it or not, his brother was set on keeping his silence.
Arthur ignored John’s annoyance as if it was nothing, and it was only when he caught a glimpse of Albert among the crowd that he excused himself and stepped outside. The sight of the gentleman alone was too much for him. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag as he watched the occasional carriage pass by. As his eyes followed one as it went down the cobblestone street, he found himself pondering once again all the things that could’ve been. He wondered where he and Albert would’ve gone and the things they could have accomplished together. Most of all, he wished for the opportunity to have truly loved the man instead of dabbling in some masked romance.
It felt as if life had yet again cut his happiness off short, and he scowled as he finished his cigarette before tossing it aside. The door behind him opened shortly after, and he looked over to find Dutch and the others leaving the house. Dutch was ecstatic, his mood the best it’d been in a while. He took Arthur by the shoulders as they walked toward their coach, happily catching him up on his latest plan and the information he’d uncovered, and the more Arthur listened, the more he felt the dull ache in his chest grow.
Although, as much as he longed to leave the life he lived behind him, he reminded himself that his life was a thick ledger of red. He didn’t deserve someone as gentle and kind as Albert, and like all dreams, he had to wake up to reality.
As the others boarded the coach, Arthur stole a glance at the house and managed to smile to himself. While he wasn’t sure if he’d ever see the photographer again, the night had been wonderfully surreal nonetheless. He had chosen his course in life years ago, and while he was convinced it was too late to change tracks, he could at least choose to remember that midsummer night for the rest of his life.