Post by narumei on Mar 12, 2008 3:36:45 GMT -5
Chapter 5
Insanity Lurks Within
“What makes you think that she’ll even want to come home?” John Bryan asked, tiredly, for the fifth time.
“Papa! This is Abigail we’re talking about! Of course she’ll want to come.” Nathaniel argued back hotly. The same discussion had occurred the night before, when Nathaniel had finally come inside. When he came in he was hot with a fever and sent straight to bed with a hot brick and broth. He had the second butler, Harold, with him the whole night. Nightmares had kept him from sleeping much of the night, constantly dreaming of Abigail’s death, or Abigail locked in a prison. He vaguely remembered Harold speaking words of comfort to him, to calm him. When he woke, the night was black, Harold had fallen asleep sitting on a chair by the bed, his head resting by Nathaniel’s hand. From there Nathaniel had gone straight to his father’s study, to try to reason with him again at letting Abigail come home. And he had done it again when he woke that morning.
“What did you say to her? Why did she suddenly turn so compliant?” John asked suddenly
“What do you mean?” Nathaniel said
“I’m not a simpleton, Nat. I know that she saw you yesterday morning. She tried to hide so that she didn’t have to go. You said something to her, and from there she did exactly what she was told.” He replied.
“I told her that she should go.” Nathaniel said quietly, staring at the floor.
“YOU WHAT?!” His father burst from the chair, heading straight for Nathaniel.
“I’m sorry! I tried to do what was best for everyone. We couldn’t control her! She was getting wilder by the minute.” He hurriedly explained, backing away towards the wall.
“What did you say, exactly?” he asked, after he had stopped, inches from Nathaniel.
“I told her that one way or another she was going, and that she knew it was coming. Then I told her to put on a dress and meet Lady Maxine.” He said, again to the floor.
“Oh no.” said John, sinking onto the floor, sitting cross-legged like a child. “Oh no. Oh no, oh no.”
“Papa? Papa, what is it?” Nathaniel said, leaning down. John looked up at his son. Nathaniel’s eyes gazed into his, staring into the brown depths, his own blue ones gleaming questioningly. Although John hadn’t noticed it until then, amongst the wild blue of Nathaniel’s eyes there were faint speckles of brown, littered around the pupil.
“We’re all to blame. Not one of us, but all.” John tore his gaze from Nathaniel and looked around the room, his eyes rolling in his head furiously. “She’s gone. She won’t come back. It’s over now. There’s nothing left for her. Why would she return? Would I return after such rejection? No I don’t think I would. Would you? No you wouldn’t either. What should we do? No, nothing to do, can’t fix it. Over. It’s over. What will happen now? No, no point thinking about it. No hope.” Nathaniel straightened in panic at his father’s sudden insane rambling.
“Papa? Papa, what is it? What are you talking about?” John’s head snapped up and all thoughts of Abigail were lost when Nathaniel saw the madness in the depths of John’s eyes, threatening to leak out, consuming him.
“She saw you as a friend, Nathaniel.” He said, looking back at his hands
“Yes, Abigail saw me as a friend. Papa, what about it?” Nathaniel said, leaning down to hear better.
“She didn’t see you as authority, she could trust you to take her side, she trusted me to take her side, to listen to her. But I didn’t. We didn’t. When you told her to go, she lost all support from her family. The one person she ran to for support turned his back on her. That’s you. It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault! It’s yours!” John Bryan had started to laugh hysterically, pointing his finger at Nathaniel, eyes rolling. His voice grew to dangerous levels, “YOU! YOU’RE TO BLAME, YOU KILLED YOUR SISTER! YOU DESTROYED HER! IT’S NOT MY FAULT! IT’S NOT MY FAULT!” By now, Nathaniel had completely backed into a wall, terrified by his father. All of a sudden the door swung open and Victoria hurried in, rushing to her husband’s side. She glared furiously at Nathaniel.
“What did you do to him?” She near screamed, trying to be heard over John’s yelling.
“Nothing! We were just talking about Abby!” He yelled back
“You mustn’t speak of her!” she said, “Don’t mention that girl again!” Nathaniel fled from the room, trying to block out the accusing wails following him from the study. He jumped down the stairs, three at a time, but no matter how far away he went, his father’s words echoed in his mind. “Your fault!” he’d said, “Not mine. Yours.” Nathaniel ran down the side of the staircase, until he reached the little door to the broom cupboard in the side, he unlatched it, threw it open and went inside. The door slammed shut and Nathaniel was thrown into darkness. He hugged himself, fighting the sudden chill, and rocked back and forth, trying to comfort himself. He had never felt so much at a loss. He didn’t know what to do. He closed his eyes, wanting his world to be darker, to completely lose himself in the blackness. Several minutes or several hours later, he wasn’t sure, the door to the cupboard opened and light spilled into the room, momentarily blinding Nathaniel.
“It isn’t your fault you know.” Said the deep, reassuring voice of Harold. Nathaniel groaned and then buried his head in his knees, wanting the darkness to return. He felt Harold move next to him and sit down; Nathaniel scooted over to make room, never lifting his head from his knees. The room was enclosed in darkness again but Harold’s presence was now in the room as well. The familiar scent of peppermint and tobacco filling the small space. Although it was cramped, and neither party could move very well, Nathaniel was very appreciative to whoever told Harold that he was hiding in closet. When Nathaniel was a lot younger, he would hide in the very same closet. He hid from any number of different things, throughout the different stages of his life. When he was about 5 years old, the tree outside his bedroom had grown very large. The branches had grown long and would bang against his window at night when the wind blew. Originally he sought comfort from his parents but was turned away by his mother, who always woke first. Then one night, he discovered the cupboard under the stairs. Harold had found him there the next morning, sleeping half in and half out of the closet, hugging the handle of a large broom close. He had sat there next to Nathaniel until he woke up, then he cleared out the closet as much as possible so that there was room for him next time he wanted to come. When he grew older he used it to hide from tutors, his parents, the frightful cook and, often, his sister. The cupboard that had always seemed so big to him, was now cramped, but held the same comforting feeling that always made him feel better. He sat there with Harold, head still in his knees, Harold’s comforting hand on his shoulder, for hours more, not moving, hardly breathing, for he was so lost in sorrow. It’s my fault.
****
Grace took Abigail a different way back through the main house. She showed her different areas than before and she occasionally met other girls as well. They all treated her with the same indifference as Rebecca had, until they learnt that she was a member of the Bryan family. News spread quickly through the school until she didn’t need introducing anymore. It was almost twelve o’clock when they managed to leave the main building. Abigail’s feet hurt from walking around so much, up and down stairs and around the building, but Grace was still full of energy and bouncing around taking every opportunity to talk to Abigail. She spoke so fast that Abigail had to often ask her to repeat what she said. They walked through the grounds surrounding the school, Grace explaining certain areas. There was a small area at the very back of the grounds in which a small old style open building was sitting. There were walls surrounding it and half a roof over the top, to let in the sunlight.
“Grace, what’s that over there?” Abigail asked, pointing to the wall.
“Oh, that’s a fencing arena.” Grace said, walking the other direction. Abigail reached back and tugged on the back of Grace’s dress. “Oh, for Heaven’s Sake, what is it?” Grace asked annoyed.
“I wasn’t told we could study fencing!” Abigail exclaimed.
“That’s because we can’t. That’s for the men. The stable hands and the teachers. The ones that live here don’t really get much exercise or enough time to go anywhere. So they all go there. There are only three professional fencers here. And they teach the men.”
“Can we go in?” Abigail asked.
“Certainly not! It is forbidden Abigail. That is only for the men.” Grace tried gently.
“Why? Isn’t that discriminative? Shouldn’t we be allowed?”
“Well maybe we would if there were numbers enough to make a class. None of the girls here care about that Abigail. Why should we need fencing?”
“Exercise?” Abigail tried, hoping the answer would sway her.
“We have horse riding and running and skipping. They are enough.”
“I want to see.” Abigail said plainly.
“Abigail! You can’t.” she said desperately.
“I want to and I shall. What is the worst that could happen?” Abigail replied.
“What if we’re caught? I don’t want to be punished, Miss Abigail.” Grace said, gently but firmly pulling on Abigail’s hand.
“Then stay here. I’ll be right back.” She slipped her hand out from Grace’s clutches and walked in the direction of the arena, half skipping with excitement. She heard Grace’s fervent whispers behind, pleading her to come back. She raised a hand and waved to Grace, without turning around. As she got closer to the arena, she heard the clang of metal on metal, coming from inside the arena. Her pulse started racing with an unexplained excitement. There was a very high window, used for ventilation, but Abigail couldn’t reach it. She cursed her small stature under her breath and looked around for something to stand on. She turned and spotted a number of wooden crates stacked in the corner. She grinned and pulled them towards her. Abigail carefully climbed up the stack and placed her hands on the window frame. There was no glass, so Abigail debated whether or not it was in fact a window at all. She decided that it was a hole instead, and proceeded to pull herself up, even higher, until she could see inside. She lifted her gaze and stared around. Inside she saw a circular area that was split from the rest by wooden fencing. The area’s floor was made with wood but had what seemed to be sand covering it, only an inch thick. Around the ring of sand, leaning on the wooden fence were what looked to be about twenty men, of all ages. Each of them silent with an intent look of concentration on their faces. She followed their gaze to the center of the circular space and to the source of the metal clangs. Two men, both looking to be around 19 or 20 were fighting in the middle. They were both using the same sword and had similar clothing of loose black trousers and white shirts. Abigail noticed that they looked different from the others, and when she looked again she noticed that the two fighting weren’t wearing padded clothing as protection. She was much higher up than they were, staring down into the arena. She could see over the men in front of her, but if she whispered she knew that they would hear her, she was that close. She looked back towards the two that were fighting, losing herself to their movement. The sword fighting went on and neither fighter seemed to tire or gain the upper hand. They were equally matched in speed, height, and, Abigail assumed, strength. She still knew next to nothing about sword fighting but she knew that these two men had studied it and practiced it for a long time to be so graceful in their fighting. The clang of the swords seemed to pick up a rhythm and her heart followed it. As she watched the feet and the hands of the fighters, she began to see their weaknesses and predict their moves. She moved slightly with each blow, as though she were dodging it instead. She was barely even conscious that she was standing precariously atop a stack of crates. She looked at the men and studied their profiles. The one that was constantly moving, as though if he stood still he would lose, was more thinly built than the other and had red hair. He was either dark skinned or covered in freckled, but Abigail had trouble seeing him when he moved so fast. The other had darker hair, a deep brown but very shiny. He was broadly built, his body layered with muscles that shook beneath his shirt when he moved. He moved differently to the other one. His moves were more powerful, and slower. Abigail could tell that he was just as fast as the other one, but he saved his energy, twirling on the spot instead of running or jumping. She watched on as the men fought, still neither of them looking like they were ready to quit. The men surrounding started to get restless, occasionally calling out advice or sucking in air when there was an almost hit. The dark haired man backed the other into the fence line, and it finally seemed as though the match would end. Just when the aggressor was going to make the final blow, the other man leapt up on the fence with startling agility and jumped clear over the other. He watched in surprise as the red head leapt over and landed behind him. He smiled wildly.
“Brilliant, Red!” he exclaimed before resuming his attack stance. The one called Red laughed heartily.
“You too, Lucas!” he yelled back, as they started the killing dance again, but more playfully. “Now, would you leave yourself open so that I may strike and end this?” Abigail frowned. She was sure she had heard the name Lucas before, but she couldn’t remember where from.
“Ha ha! If you want this ended, friend, then fall or trip so that I may gain the upper hand.” Abigail smiled, glad that they were good friends. The way they were fighting before suggested otherwise.
“Sir, we are too evenly matched for this to end.” Red said back, ducking as Lucas’s sword swung near his head. On one knee Red lunged at Lucas’s stomach.
“Are you asking for mercy?” Lucas laughed back, dodging the attack.
“NEVER!” Red said, in a fierce war cry, lunging at Lucas. Lucas sidestepped and stuck his foot out. Red tripped and went sprawling onto the floor, sand flying everywhere. Before the sand had even settled, Red was back up, his sword staring at Lucas. The laughter from the surrounding men died away in shock at how quick he was. This is an ordinary match between friends, thought Abigail, but one slip up and they could die. This is ridiculous!
“Shit, Red, you are going to be the death of me.” Abigail’s felt her ears burn at the language. She had never heard the word used to freely.
“That is not my aim, Lucas, but if it is what it takes to beat you, then I will.” Red’s face crumpled with concentration as the fighting grew still more complex and the moves harder to follow. The playful manor that was present a second before had vanished, as though it was never there before. Everyone’s eyes turned to Lucas to see his response. His face was just as crumpled with concentration as he said,
“You don’t mean that. We are too close to kill each other.”
“You don’t know me well, kid.”
“Are you talking to me? I’m older than you, you cad.” Although it was an insult, both men were grinning from ear to ear. Red laughed in response. Their swordplay had become so intense that both men had to stop talking to concentrate. Abigail didn’t only watch the swords as they cut through the air, but watched the footwork as well. She absorbed the way they both moved and the way that they responded to each other. She lost herself in the movement, forgetting time and space around her. They were like dancers, she thought. Brilliant, as though rehearsed. So light on their feet, so responsive to each other. When the moves became tricky and fast, her pace picked up, keeping their rhythm, when their moves slowed and were more precise, she calmed. All of a sudden, Red fell backwards, but instead of using the split second of time he had to gain the upper hand, Lucas’s eyes flicked up to the hole in the wall where Abigail was watching. She gasped and ducked so quickly that the crates wobbled dangerously and she almost fell off. She heard laughing from inside and the so soon familiar noise of sword on sword that she felt it safe to again raise her eyes to the window. She peeked in over the bottom of the sill to make sure that it was safe to watch again. They stopped clanging and were standing facing each other, chests heaving in exhaustion. Slowly they began to circle each other, both looking for an opening to strike. Abigail studied their faces again. Red was staring at Lucas questioningly while Lucas looked shifty and didn’t rest his eyes on a single spot but they buzzed around everywhere.
“Why didn’t you hit me?” Red asked, suspicion coating his voice.
“I didn’t get a chance.” Lucas replied, coolly.
“You had nearly two seconds to strike me, you could have done so.”
“After the last time you tripped, I was too scared to go near you. You were up quicker than I could blink. I do not make the same mistake twice.” Lucas shrugged. “Now are you going to fight, or just walk around?” There was nervous laughter from the onlookers. The fight had suddenly become serious, as if Lucas and Red were fighting as though enemies. Lucas stopped right in Abigail’s view. He only had to look up a tiny bit and they would be eye to eye, albeit at a distance. He surprised Abigail by doing just that. He lifted his gaze to hers and frowned. She was too paralyzed to move and simply stood there staring back. Red took advantage of his distraction and lunged. Lucas had only time to dodge it at the last moment and the sword clipped his right shoulder. Immediately blood burst out onto his white shirt, staining a line of crimson red just below his shoulder. Red looked at it in panic, his eyes flying from the wound to Lucas’s face but Lucas didn’t seem to notice and went on attacking. Although it wasn’t thought possible, the sword play became faster, a blur of movement. The fighting became increasingly rapid, their feet fast, their swords faster still. Abigail moved and jumped with Lucas and Red, following their every move, down to the last movement. Again, Lucas’s eyes flicked up to the hole, looking at Abigail for a split second before he had to move again. Abigail felt a blush spread across her cheeks, although she could not, for the life of her, figure out why. This time, Red picked up where Lucas was looking, and he turned around to try and see. Quick as lightning, Lucas had the sword to his back, the tip just touching in between his shoulder blades. Lucas stood, puffing, standing with his side to Red. His right hand was wielding the death weapon and his left was held up, above his head, for balance. Red forgot to look for what Lucas was and he slowly turned around to face Lucas, dropping his weapon to the sand as he went. Lucas looked up at the window at Abigail and looked back down to Red. The men surrounding the arena clapped loudly, some whistling and some shouting their congratulations. Red turned again to see the hole in the wall but Abigail ducked quickly. She lost her balance and fell into a heap on the grass. The crates fell on top of her, not crushing her but leaving some nasty bruises.
“Oww…” she moaned, weakly pushing at the crates from her chest. Her head was throbbing, the painful reminder of her fall two days ago. She gave up pushing and lay back, waiting for the pain to subside.
“Good heavens. Abigail Bryan!” said a voice above her. She opened her eyes and peered up. A figure was standing just behind where her head rested, but he was directly in front of the sun, so she could not make out his profile. “What are you doing?” It was a male voice.
“I fell.” She said.
“Well I can see that. But what were you doing? Why are you out here?” He asked. He made no movement to move towards her, so she relaxed her body, closing her eyes again.
“What is it with men and not helping? You are exactly like my brother.” She scowled.
“Nathaniel?” He asked, Abigail snapped her head up to look at him. “I don’t think so. I think we’re very different people.”
“Who are you?” Abigail asked. Her breath coming short from being so constricted.
“Lucas.” He said plainly.
“The man who was fighting in there?” she said, with new excitement. “Nice to meet you.”
“Yes, that was me. You saw that did you?” He lifted his hand up and scratched the back of his head nervously “Nice to meet you too, again.” He said, laughing. He leant down to shake her hand from under the crates. She pulled back painfully, disbelief etched in her eyes.
“What are you doing?” She almost screeched. “What do you mean again? Are you going to help me or not?” She was fuming. How could someone be so stupid? As he bent lower to shake her hand she saw him properly. He was extremely tall, probably taller even than Nathaniel. His shoulders were broad and domineering. As if Abigail didn’t feel small enough already, now she had to deal with this huge man standing over her. He looked even bigger close up than when he was in the ring.
“Whoa. Don’t get so angry. I was just being polite.” He said defensively.
“Leaving a girl under a stack of crates while you shake her hand is polite is it? Tell me, which hospital did you escape from?” she said sarcastically. He laughed at her. When he laughed his green eyes crinkled at the sides. She smiled to herself, not letting him see her properly. She relaxed her muscles again so that she wasn’t straining against the weight of the crates, but just lying back against the grass. He went to help her but she shoved him away roughly, using the crates as her hands were still trapped. She was annoyed and staring in the opposite direction.
“Woo. You’re a regular little wildcat aren’t you?” he said, laughing still. She hissed sarcastically at him and rolled her eyes. “Do you want my help or not?” he asked her nicely.
“No thank you. I think that I can do it myself,” she said defiantly.
“Ok. Well do your best.” He said and left her to walk back through the wooden arch.
“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” she exclaimed indignantly.
“I was under the impression, Abigail, that you didn’t need my help.” There he went calling her by her first name again. Who was he?
“Well, I may need it if I can’t get out, but the gentlemanly thing to do would be to wait to see if I’m ok.” she said, straining her neck to stare at him with fierce eyes. He surveyed her curiously.
“And you think me a gentleman do you?” he asked, seriously. She was taken aback by the sudden seriousness in his voice and eyes.
“Well, I don’t know. You aren’t really answering my questions about you.” she said, cautiously. He could be her one hope of rescue and less humiliation. She didn’t want to alienate him.
“I wasn’t aware you had asked any,” he said back, a smile spreading back onto his face. She peered up at him from under the crates. She realized that that was almost the exact same thing she had said to her father a few days ago. Abigail, for reasons she didn’t quite understand, started to laugh, loudly. Lucas jumped back in alarm.
“What? What is it?” he asked suspiciously. Abigail just continued to laugh. “Oh god, she’s gone crazy. Someone call a doctor.” He started again to walk through the arches.
“No, wait. I’m alright.” she said, calmer now.
“What on Earth was so funny?” he asked her.
“Nothing of importance.” She wiggled slightly, trying to get more comfortable.
“I can’t believe you’re still under those crates.” he said, laughing loudly. They both paused as the clang of metal on metal started again inside the pitch. Lucas and Abigail grinned at the same time, their looks matching each others with excitement. Abigail could not hide her grin quickly enough and Lucas caught it. “You like sword fighting?” he asked her.
“I’m not sure. I’ve never tried.” she answered back honestly.
“Well, you should stay and watch longer. The tiltyard will be busy all day.” he said.
“Tiltyard?” the word was unfamiliar to Abigail. For all her reading of books, she realized that she hadn’t come across it before.
“Yes, well that’s where we fight. It could also be called an arena I suppose, or a ring. But tiltyard is usually what we say, well, the men at least. I don’t think the girls at the school care much” he told her, almost sadly.
“I don’t suppose they do.”
Insanity Lurks Within
“What makes you think that she’ll even want to come home?” John Bryan asked, tiredly, for the fifth time.
“Papa! This is Abigail we’re talking about! Of course she’ll want to come.” Nathaniel argued back hotly. The same discussion had occurred the night before, when Nathaniel had finally come inside. When he came in he was hot with a fever and sent straight to bed with a hot brick and broth. He had the second butler, Harold, with him the whole night. Nightmares had kept him from sleeping much of the night, constantly dreaming of Abigail’s death, or Abigail locked in a prison. He vaguely remembered Harold speaking words of comfort to him, to calm him. When he woke, the night was black, Harold had fallen asleep sitting on a chair by the bed, his head resting by Nathaniel’s hand. From there Nathaniel had gone straight to his father’s study, to try to reason with him again at letting Abigail come home. And he had done it again when he woke that morning.
“What did you say to her? Why did she suddenly turn so compliant?” John asked suddenly
“What do you mean?” Nathaniel said
“I’m not a simpleton, Nat. I know that she saw you yesterday morning. She tried to hide so that she didn’t have to go. You said something to her, and from there she did exactly what she was told.” He replied.
“I told her that she should go.” Nathaniel said quietly, staring at the floor.
“YOU WHAT?!” His father burst from the chair, heading straight for Nathaniel.
“I’m sorry! I tried to do what was best for everyone. We couldn’t control her! She was getting wilder by the minute.” He hurriedly explained, backing away towards the wall.
“What did you say, exactly?” he asked, after he had stopped, inches from Nathaniel.
“I told her that one way or another she was going, and that she knew it was coming. Then I told her to put on a dress and meet Lady Maxine.” He said, again to the floor.
“Oh no.” said John, sinking onto the floor, sitting cross-legged like a child. “Oh no. Oh no, oh no.”
“Papa? Papa, what is it?” Nathaniel said, leaning down. John looked up at his son. Nathaniel’s eyes gazed into his, staring into the brown depths, his own blue ones gleaming questioningly. Although John hadn’t noticed it until then, amongst the wild blue of Nathaniel’s eyes there were faint speckles of brown, littered around the pupil.
“We’re all to blame. Not one of us, but all.” John tore his gaze from Nathaniel and looked around the room, his eyes rolling in his head furiously. “She’s gone. She won’t come back. It’s over now. There’s nothing left for her. Why would she return? Would I return after such rejection? No I don’t think I would. Would you? No you wouldn’t either. What should we do? No, nothing to do, can’t fix it. Over. It’s over. What will happen now? No, no point thinking about it. No hope.” Nathaniel straightened in panic at his father’s sudden insane rambling.
“Papa? Papa, what is it? What are you talking about?” John’s head snapped up and all thoughts of Abigail were lost when Nathaniel saw the madness in the depths of John’s eyes, threatening to leak out, consuming him.
“She saw you as a friend, Nathaniel.” He said, looking back at his hands
“Yes, Abigail saw me as a friend. Papa, what about it?” Nathaniel said, leaning down to hear better.
“She didn’t see you as authority, she could trust you to take her side, she trusted me to take her side, to listen to her. But I didn’t. We didn’t. When you told her to go, she lost all support from her family. The one person she ran to for support turned his back on her. That’s you. It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault! It’s yours!” John Bryan had started to laugh hysterically, pointing his finger at Nathaniel, eyes rolling. His voice grew to dangerous levels, “YOU! YOU’RE TO BLAME, YOU KILLED YOUR SISTER! YOU DESTROYED HER! IT’S NOT MY FAULT! IT’S NOT MY FAULT!” By now, Nathaniel had completely backed into a wall, terrified by his father. All of a sudden the door swung open and Victoria hurried in, rushing to her husband’s side. She glared furiously at Nathaniel.
“What did you do to him?” She near screamed, trying to be heard over John’s yelling.
“Nothing! We were just talking about Abby!” He yelled back
“You mustn’t speak of her!” she said, “Don’t mention that girl again!” Nathaniel fled from the room, trying to block out the accusing wails following him from the study. He jumped down the stairs, three at a time, but no matter how far away he went, his father’s words echoed in his mind. “Your fault!” he’d said, “Not mine. Yours.” Nathaniel ran down the side of the staircase, until he reached the little door to the broom cupboard in the side, he unlatched it, threw it open and went inside. The door slammed shut and Nathaniel was thrown into darkness. He hugged himself, fighting the sudden chill, and rocked back and forth, trying to comfort himself. He had never felt so much at a loss. He didn’t know what to do. He closed his eyes, wanting his world to be darker, to completely lose himself in the blackness. Several minutes or several hours later, he wasn’t sure, the door to the cupboard opened and light spilled into the room, momentarily blinding Nathaniel.
“It isn’t your fault you know.” Said the deep, reassuring voice of Harold. Nathaniel groaned and then buried his head in his knees, wanting the darkness to return. He felt Harold move next to him and sit down; Nathaniel scooted over to make room, never lifting his head from his knees. The room was enclosed in darkness again but Harold’s presence was now in the room as well. The familiar scent of peppermint and tobacco filling the small space. Although it was cramped, and neither party could move very well, Nathaniel was very appreciative to whoever told Harold that he was hiding in closet. When Nathaniel was a lot younger, he would hide in the very same closet. He hid from any number of different things, throughout the different stages of his life. When he was about 5 years old, the tree outside his bedroom had grown very large. The branches had grown long and would bang against his window at night when the wind blew. Originally he sought comfort from his parents but was turned away by his mother, who always woke first. Then one night, he discovered the cupboard under the stairs. Harold had found him there the next morning, sleeping half in and half out of the closet, hugging the handle of a large broom close. He had sat there next to Nathaniel until he woke up, then he cleared out the closet as much as possible so that there was room for him next time he wanted to come. When he grew older he used it to hide from tutors, his parents, the frightful cook and, often, his sister. The cupboard that had always seemed so big to him, was now cramped, but held the same comforting feeling that always made him feel better. He sat there with Harold, head still in his knees, Harold’s comforting hand on his shoulder, for hours more, not moving, hardly breathing, for he was so lost in sorrow. It’s my fault.
****
Grace took Abigail a different way back through the main house. She showed her different areas than before and she occasionally met other girls as well. They all treated her with the same indifference as Rebecca had, until they learnt that she was a member of the Bryan family. News spread quickly through the school until she didn’t need introducing anymore. It was almost twelve o’clock when they managed to leave the main building. Abigail’s feet hurt from walking around so much, up and down stairs and around the building, but Grace was still full of energy and bouncing around taking every opportunity to talk to Abigail. She spoke so fast that Abigail had to often ask her to repeat what she said. They walked through the grounds surrounding the school, Grace explaining certain areas. There was a small area at the very back of the grounds in which a small old style open building was sitting. There were walls surrounding it and half a roof over the top, to let in the sunlight.
“Grace, what’s that over there?” Abigail asked, pointing to the wall.
“Oh, that’s a fencing arena.” Grace said, walking the other direction. Abigail reached back and tugged on the back of Grace’s dress. “Oh, for Heaven’s Sake, what is it?” Grace asked annoyed.
“I wasn’t told we could study fencing!” Abigail exclaimed.
“That’s because we can’t. That’s for the men. The stable hands and the teachers. The ones that live here don’t really get much exercise or enough time to go anywhere. So they all go there. There are only three professional fencers here. And they teach the men.”
“Can we go in?” Abigail asked.
“Certainly not! It is forbidden Abigail. That is only for the men.” Grace tried gently.
“Why? Isn’t that discriminative? Shouldn’t we be allowed?”
“Well maybe we would if there were numbers enough to make a class. None of the girls here care about that Abigail. Why should we need fencing?”
“Exercise?” Abigail tried, hoping the answer would sway her.
“We have horse riding and running and skipping. They are enough.”
“I want to see.” Abigail said plainly.
“Abigail! You can’t.” she said desperately.
“I want to and I shall. What is the worst that could happen?” Abigail replied.
“What if we’re caught? I don’t want to be punished, Miss Abigail.” Grace said, gently but firmly pulling on Abigail’s hand.
“Then stay here. I’ll be right back.” She slipped her hand out from Grace’s clutches and walked in the direction of the arena, half skipping with excitement. She heard Grace’s fervent whispers behind, pleading her to come back. She raised a hand and waved to Grace, without turning around. As she got closer to the arena, she heard the clang of metal on metal, coming from inside the arena. Her pulse started racing with an unexplained excitement. There was a very high window, used for ventilation, but Abigail couldn’t reach it. She cursed her small stature under her breath and looked around for something to stand on. She turned and spotted a number of wooden crates stacked in the corner. She grinned and pulled them towards her. Abigail carefully climbed up the stack and placed her hands on the window frame. There was no glass, so Abigail debated whether or not it was in fact a window at all. She decided that it was a hole instead, and proceeded to pull herself up, even higher, until she could see inside. She lifted her gaze and stared around. Inside she saw a circular area that was split from the rest by wooden fencing. The area’s floor was made with wood but had what seemed to be sand covering it, only an inch thick. Around the ring of sand, leaning on the wooden fence were what looked to be about twenty men, of all ages. Each of them silent with an intent look of concentration on their faces. She followed their gaze to the center of the circular space and to the source of the metal clangs. Two men, both looking to be around 19 or 20 were fighting in the middle. They were both using the same sword and had similar clothing of loose black trousers and white shirts. Abigail noticed that they looked different from the others, and when she looked again she noticed that the two fighting weren’t wearing padded clothing as protection. She was much higher up than they were, staring down into the arena. She could see over the men in front of her, but if she whispered she knew that they would hear her, she was that close. She looked back towards the two that were fighting, losing herself to their movement. The sword fighting went on and neither fighter seemed to tire or gain the upper hand. They were equally matched in speed, height, and, Abigail assumed, strength. She still knew next to nothing about sword fighting but she knew that these two men had studied it and practiced it for a long time to be so graceful in their fighting. The clang of the swords seemed to pick up a rhythm and her heart followed it. As she watched the feet and the hands of the fighters, she began to see their weaknesses and predict their moves. She moved slightly with each blow, as though she were dodging it instead. She was barely even conscious that she was standing precariously atop a stack of crates. She looked at the men and studied their profiles. The one that was constantly moving, as though if he stood still he would lose, was more thinly built than the other and had red hair. He was either dark skinned or covered in freckled, but Abigail had trouble seeing him when he moved so fast. The other had darker hair, a deep brown but very shiny. He was broadly built, his body layered with muscles that shook beneath his shirt when he moved. He moved differently to the other one. His moves were more powerful, and slower. Abigail could tell that he was just as fast as the other one, but he saved his energy, twirling on the spot instead of running or jumping. She watched on as the men fought, still neither of them looking like they were ready to quit. The men surrounding started to get restless, occasionally calling out advice or sucking in air when there was an almost hit. The dark haired man backed the other into the fence line, and it finally seemed as though the match would end. Just when the aggressor was going to make the final blow, the other man leapt up on the fence with startling agility and jumped clear over the other. He watched in surprise as the red head leapt over and landed behind him. He smiled wildly.
“Brilliant, Red!” he exclaimed before resuming his attack stance. The one called Red laughed heartily.
“You too, Lucas!” he yelled back, as they started the killing dance again, but more playfully. “Now, would you leave yourself open so that I may strike and end this?” Abigail frowned. She was sure she had heard the name Lucas before, but she couldn’t remember where from.
“Ha ha! If you want this ended, friend, then fall or trip so that I may gain the upper hand.” Abigail smiled, glad that they were good friends. The way they were fighting before suggested otherwise.
“Sir, we are too evenly matched for this to end.” Red said back, ducking as Lucas’s sword swung near his head. On one knee Red lunged at Lucas’s stomach.
“Are you asking for mercy?” Lucas laughed back, dodging the attack.
“NEVER!” Red said, in a fierce war cry, lunging at Lucas. Lucas sidestepped and stuck his foot out. Red tripped and went sprawling onto the floor, sand flying everywhere. Before the sand had even settled, Red was back up, his sword staring at Lucas. The laughter from the surrounding men died away in shock at how quick he was. This is an ordinary match between friends, thought Abigail, but one slip up and they could die. This is ridiculous!
“Shit, Red, you are going to be the death of me.” Abigail’s felt her ears burn at the language. She had never heard the word used to freely.
“That is not my aim, Lucas, but if it is what it takes to beat you, then I will.” Red’s face crumpled with concentration as the fighting grew still more complex and the moves harder to follow. The playful manor that was present a second before had vanished, as though it was never there before. Everyone’s eyes turned to Lucas to see his response. His face was just as crumpled with concentration as he said,
“You don’t mean that. We are too close to kill each other.”
“You don’t know me well, kid.”
“Are you talking to me? I’m older than you, you cad.” Although it was an insult, both men were grinning from ear to ear. Red laughed in response. Their swordplay had become so intense that both men had to stop talking to concentrate. Abigail didn’t only watch the swords as they cut through the air, but watched the footwork as well. She absorbed the way they both moved and the way that they responded to each other. She lost herself in the movement, forgetting time and space around her. They were like dancers, she thought. Brilliant, as though rehearsed. So light on their feet, so responsive to each other. When the moves became tricky and fast, her pace picked up, keeping their rhythm, when their moves slowed and were more precise, she calmed. All of a sudden, Red fell backwards, but instead of using the split second of time he had to gain the upper hand, Lucas’s eyes flicked up to the hole in the wall where Abigail was watching. She gasped and ducked so quickly that the crates wobbled dangerously and she almost fell off. She heard laughing from inside and the so soon familiar noise of sword on sword that she felt it safe to again raise her eyes to the window. She peeked in over the bottom of the sill to make sure that it was safe to watch again. They stopped clanging and were standing facing each other, chests heaving in exhaustion. Slowly they began to circle each other, both looking for an opening to strike. Abigail studied their faces again. Red was staring at Lucas questioningly while Lucas looked shifty and didn’t rest his eyes on a single spot but they buzzed around everywhere.
“Why didn’t you hit me?” Red asked, suspicion coating his voice.
“I didn’t get a chance.” Lucas replied, coolly.
“You had nearly two seconds to strike me, you could have done so.”
“After the last time you tripped, I was too scared to go near you. You were up quicker than I could blink. I do not make the same mistake twice.” Lucas shrugged. “Now are you going to fight, or just walk around?” There was nervous laughter from the onlookers. The fight had suddenly become serious, as if Lucas and Red were fighting as though enemies. Lucas stopped right in Abigail’s view. He only had to look up a tiny bit and they would be eye to eye, albeit at a distance. He surprised Abigail by doing just that. He lifted his gaze to hers and frowned. She was too paralyzed to move and simply stood there staring back. Red took advantage of his distraction and lunged. Lucas had only time to dodge it at the last moment and the sword clipped his right shoulder. Immediately blood burst out onto his white shirt, staining a line of crimson red just below his shoulder. Red looked at it in panic, his eyes flying from the wound to Lucas’s face but Lucas didn’t seem to notice and went on attacking. Although it wasn’t thought possible, the sword play became faster, a blur of movement. The fighting became increasingly rapid, their feet fast, their swords faster still. Abigail moved and jumped with Lucas and Red, following their every move, down to the last movement. Again, Lucas’s eyes flicked up to the hole, looking at Abigail for a split second before he had to move again. Abigail felt a blush spread across her cheeks, although she could not, for the life of her, figure out why. This time, Red picked up where Lucas was looking, and he turned around to try and see. Quick as lightning, Lucas had the sword to his back, the tip just touching in between his shoulder blades. Lucas stood, puffing, standing with his side to Red. His right hand was wielding the death weapon and his left was held up, above his head, for balance. Red forgot to look for what Lucas was and he slowly turned around to face Lucas, dropping his weapon to the sand as he went. Lucas looked up at the window at Abigail and looked back down to Red. The men surrounding the arena clapped loudly, some whistling and some shouting their congratulations. Red turned again to see the hole in the wall but Abigail ducked quickly. She lost her balance and fell into a heap on the grass. The crates fell on top of her, not crushing her but leaving some nasty bruises.
“Oww…” she moaned, weakly pushing at the crates from her chest. Her head was throbbing, the painful reminder of her fall two days ago. She gave up pushing and lay back, waiting for the pain to subside.
“Good heavens. Abigail Bryan!” said a voice above her. She opened her eyes and peered up. A figure was standing just behind where her head rested, but he was directly in front of the sun, so she could not make out his profile. “What are you doing?” It was a male voice.
“I fell.” She said.
“Well I can see that. But what were you doing? Why are you out here?” He asked. He made no movement to move towards her, so she relaxed her body, closing her eyes again.
“What is it with men and not helping? You are exactly like my brother.” She scowled.
“Nathaniel?” He asked, Abigail snapped her head up to look at him. “I don’t think so. I think we’re very different people.”
“Who are you?” Abigail asked. Her breath coming short from being so constricted.
“Lucas.” He said plainly.
“The man who was fighting in there?” she said, with new excitement. “Nice to meet you.”
“Yes, that was me. You saw that did you?” He lifted his hand up and scratched the back of his head nervously “Nice to meet you too, again.” He said, laughing. He leant down to shake her hand from under the crates. She pulled back painfully, disbelief etched in her eyes.
“What are you doing?” She almost screeched. “What do you mean again? Are you going to help me or not?” She was fuming. How could someone be so stupid? As he bent lower to shake her hand she saw him properly. He was extremely tall, probably taller even than Nathaniel. His shoulders were broad and domineering. As if Abigail didn’t feel small enough already, now she had to deal with this huge man standing over her. He looked even bigger close up than when he was in the ring.
“Whoa. Don’t get so angry. I was just being polite.” He said defensively.
“Leaving a girl under a stack of crates while you shake her hand is polite is it? Tell me, which hospital did you escape from?” she said sarcastically. He laughed at her. When he laughed his green eyes crinkled at the sides. She smiled to herself, not letting him see her properly. She relaxed her muscles again so that she wasn’t straining against the weight of the crates, but just lying back against the grass. He went to help her but she shoved him away roughly, using the crates as her hands were still trapped. She was annoyed and staring in the opposite direction.
“Woo. You’re a regular little wildcat aren’t you?” he said, laughing still. She hissed sarcastically at him and rolled her eyes. “Do you want my help or not?” he asked her nicely.
“No thank you. I think that I can do it myself,” she said defiantly.
“Ok. Well do your best.” He said and left her to walk back through the wooden arch.
“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” she exclaimed indignantly.
“I was under the impression, Abigail, that you didn’t need my help.” There he went calling her by her first name again. Who was he?
“Well, I may need it if I can’t get out, but the gentlemanly thing to do would be to wait to see if I’m ok.” she said, straining her neck to stare at him with fierce eyes. He surveyed her curiously.
“And you think me a gentleman do you?” he asked, seriously. She was taken aback by the sudden seriousness in his voice and eyes.
“Well, I don’t know. You aren’t really answering my questions about you.” she said, cautiously. He could be her one hope of rescue and less humiliation. She didn’t want to alienate him.
“I wasn’t aware you had asked any,” he said back, a smile spreading back onto his face. She peered up at him from under the crates. She realized that that was almost the exact same thing she had said to her father a few days ago. Abigail, for reasons she didn’t quite understand, started to laugh, loudly. Lucas jumped back in alarm.
“What? What is it?” he asked suspiciously. Abigail just continued to laugh. “Oh god, she’s gone crazy. Someone call a doctor.” He started again to walk through the arches.
“No, wait. I’m alright.” she said, calmer now.
“What on Earth was so funny?” he asked her.
“Nothing of importance.” She wiggled slightly, trying to get more comfortable.
“I can’t believe you’re still under those crates.” he said, laughing loudly. They both paused as the clang of metal on metal started again inside the pitch. Lucas and Abigail grinned at the same time, their looks matching each others with excitement. Abigail could not hide her grin quickly enough and Lucas caught it. “You like sword fighting?” he asked her.
“I’m not sure. I’ve never tried.” she answered back honestly.
“Well, you should stay and watch longer. The tiltyard will be busy all day.” he said.
“Tiltyard?” the word was unfamiliar to Abigail. For all her reading of books, she realized that she hadn’t come across it before.
“Yes, well that’s where we fight. It could also be called an arena I suppose, or a ring. But tiltyard is usually what we say, well, the men at least. I don’t think the girls at the school care much” he told her, almost sadly.
“I don’t suppose they do.”