*There is a note at the end of the chapter. Please read*

Chapter Twelve

Pacing the room as the doctor examined Logan; Nathaniel prayed his steps would drown Madeline's shrilling hysterics seeping through the floorboards from the downstairs parlor.  Had it been someone else in the bed and not Logan, Nathaniel was sure he would have long gagged the savage girl.  Dismissing the morbid thoughts with an exasperated sigh, he flicked open his gold pocket watch--One minute. Could it be? Only torturous minute had passed since he'd last checked the time?

 As if needing further proof of the correct hour, he glanced to the time piece above the elaborate fireplace. By heaven--Every second that passed in which Doctor Fullerton did not utter a word, instead releasing simple grunts and sighs, Nathaniel wondered if perhaps at some point he himself had died and was actually in hell.

Doctor Fullerton, a round man with more lashes than hairs on his head, cleared his throat. Lying Logan back gently on the mountain of pillows, he covered him once again thus concluding his examination.  Nathaniel did not wait for a word, moving briskly to the doctor's side.

"My son, Doctor? Will he--" his throat swelled, forbidding further words.  

The world seemed to stop breathing in wait of the answer until finally the round doctor sighed, "Breathe Lord Hamilton," he slightly nodded. Then the long awaited verdict, "The child will be all well."

Nathaniel felt faint. Though hearing the words he longed for, he refused to fully succumb to the wave of relief that flooded him.  Not until Logan woke from his deep sleep would Nathaniel be fully at ease. Against his desire, relief poured through him nevertheless, instantly buckling his knees and thrusting him back upon the velvet armchair nearest the bed. Burying his face in his hands, suppressed sobs fractured Nathaniel's soul leaving him utterly breathless.  What on earth would he have done if things turned out differently? His heart constricted at the thought. But stop! There was no need to think of that. Logan, his boy, his only son was safe; safe and alive.

Regaining composure, he dropped his hands, "Thank you doctor."

Fullerton patted Nathaniel's slumped shoulders, "Nonsense my lord. My presence was but a reassurance. Dare I say a formality? Your quick actions saved young Logan's life."

"I can assure you doctor, I was in no part responsible." Nathaniel readily replied, disclaiming the virtue given him. With a slight embarrassed chuckle he remembered how utterly useless he'd behaved during the perilous affair. Christ, he'd cried hadn't he? -Yes, yes he had but to his defense, had Jesus himself not wept?

Before resigning from questioning his tears and thinking them a trivial matter, Nathaniel recalled one more detail with utmost fondness. That even though he had indeed cried and fallen apart, Milton thankfully had not.  Instead Milton assumed control of the near-fatal situation having pumped Logan's small body until he coughed with life. Hastily, he then carried Logan into the house and set him by the crackling fire. There, he wrapped the small, frigid body in woolen blankets and offered gentle prayers over his damp head.  Though Logan had remained unconscious, his breathing slowly regained a steady rhythm while color by and by welcomed itself back onto paled cheeks. 

Nathaniel looked to Milton who seemed to have aged years in the brief moments of distress and said, "All praise should be directed toward Milton here who has indebted me beyond return." And in quickly remembering that he had yet to thank the man, Nathaniel rose from his chair and walked to Milton. Extending his hand gratefully, not as a master to his valet, but as an appreciative father to a friend, Nathaniel added, "I will be forever thankful Milton, Thank you. "

In shaking Nathaniel's hand, Milton lowered his head, "It was nothing my Lord." He said softly, the wobble in his voice remaining.  Nathaniel mentally noted that the man deserved a raise. And a much needed holiday...and a house if he wished.  There wasn't remuneration on earth that would ever settle the debt. 

Nodding in agreement, Dr. Fullerton proceeded to give Nathaniel detailed instructions as to Logan's care. "But for now, let him sleep. He will need plenty of rest for the coming days.  Someone must be with him at all times in case a fever presents itself," he looked around the room curiously, "and where is the child's nurse? I would have much preferred to have spoken to her regarding his care."

Nathaniel cast a searching glance about the room. Goodness, why--between the fright and the shock, he hadn't noticed Martha wasn't in the chambers. But hadn't she been running right behind him? Searching his mind, Nathaniel failed to recall anything except the driving force to get his child to safety. But now that Logan was safe, where was Martha?

A slight whimper stole Nathaniel from thought.  Glancing to the door, a coiled maid stood, whimpering silently.  Noting her as the servant girl whom had wildly run to alert him of Logan's peril, Nathaniel sighed and granted her behavior a pardon. "Girl, what is your name?"

Clenching her hands together as if mustering the strength to speak, she answered from lowered lids,  "B-b-Beatrice, m-m- my Lord."  She sobbed, hardly able to take a proper breath.

"Beatrice, Logan will be fine so please quit your tears." Nathaniel paused, seeking to rid his voice of its usual harshness. The girl already looked ready to collapse!

 He spoke carefully, "Tell me, where is Martha? Did she not think her presence would be most needed? Have her to come to me this instant." he ordered, sitting back down beside Logan. Sweeping damp strands from his forehead, Nathaniel's heart nearly shattered as Logan moved toward his touch.

Selfishly, Nathaniel wanted to gather his son in his arms but Logan slept so peacefully, he reconsidered. The thought did not vanish entirely as he quickly vowed to shower Logan with a sickening amount of hugs once normalcy resumed.  Sadly, Nathaniel accepted with a frown, it'd nearly taken the risk of losing Logan's life for him realize what an awful excuse for a father he'd been. But things would change. Once Logan woke, everything would be different.

An indiscreet clearing of the throat sailed above the never-ending wails being produced downstairs.  Shooting a glance, Nathaniel saw it to be Milton who then cocked his head in the direction of the door-Where Beatrice still stood.

 "Bloody hell-" Nathaniel suppressed a curse, mindful of Beatrice's state.  He rose, "Did I not just order you to go and bring Martha? Where is she?"

 "She isn't here, s-s-sir. I d-d-don't know where she's gone."

"What in the devils do you mean you don't know? There are but so many blasted rooms in this house. I demand you find her this instant--"

The girl paused. With a gulp, she resumed, "She's gone, my lord." She said hardly above a whisper. But Nathaniel heard it and for the slightest of seconds, he wished he hadn't.

She's gone...

A deathly silence stole through the room. Lord in heaven...

"P-p-perhaps it's best I wait downstairs-" Doctor Fullerton excused himself, uncomfortably gathering his supplies in haste. Rightfully so!  With a rapid wave over his shoulder, he disappeared behind the oaken door, clicking it to a close.

For an instant, time stood still. Then-

"Beatrice," Nathaniel's jaw hardened, "what do you mean gone?"

She paused, pondering over his question. Several moments passed in such a manner, much to Nathaniel dismay until finally her sobs dissipated and in a cautious tone, she replied,

 "She's been dismissed, m-m-my lord.  I haven't a clue where she's gone-"

A quiver of dread scuttled up his spine. Dismissed? But-how could she have been dismissed when he hadn't expressed any such wishes-had he? Could it be that while blinded by the fear of losing his son, he ordered such an unjust and excessive action? Nathaniel shook his head. Impossible.  He wouldn't have. Not when he hadn't even a moment to consider what had truly happened that afternoon and of whose fault.

 And even if he had explored the situation and the fault resulted to be Martha's, he would have defended her still because, as his conscience quickly reminded him, above all the blame was his very own.  Had he ever told Martha that Logan tended to run away? No. He cursed. Instead of cautioning her of Logan's rather aggravating tendency, he'd spent their moments reprimanding her and taunting her...Christ, and though unwittingly, trying to bed her! Dammit! 

No--She couldn't be gone! Not when time was of essence and when Logan needed her. Hell, not when he needed her. 

Blindly charging Beatrice, Nathaniel took firm hold of her already rigid shoulders. He shook her slightly, "Dismissed?!" he queried, not caring about tone nor harshness, "Under whose orders?" 

Praying it to be Mrs. Melbourne, Nathaniel could almost taste the satisfaction in tearing into the fiend--But no! Let it have been Mr. Melbourne. Yes, then gender could not forbid him from properly plummeting the man!

Frightfully meeting his gaze, Beatrice grew white, then red but didn't make a sound. Instead, her eyes swirled in further confusion. Was the question so hellishly difficult?

His irritation exploded, "Under whose orders?!"

Giving him a measured gaze, Beatrice heaved in a trembling breath as if sure her words would cause a catastrophic ripple and said-

"Under yours, my lord!"

Under--What? Catastrophic indeed! Nathaniel's body went cold to the core though beads of hot sweat collected at his pores. What on earth did she just utter? Who would be stupid enough to speak such blasphemy on his behalf?! 

Feeling a jolt of guilt upon noting how tightly he gripped her, Nathaniel stepped back and lowered his hands. "Beatrice" he regarded her slowly, "perhaps you are mistaken..." Trailing off, he held his breath in wait of her answer.

This time, her cry was uncontrolled, "We were told it was a direct request from you my Lord that she not be allowed back--"

Dear God

"It is murder my lord! Between the night and the cold and now the mist covering the grounds, how will she ever-"

Nathaniel's hand shot in the air, silencing Beatrice. She needn't say the next words as his conscience already whispered them,

'She will not make it till morning'

Cupping his mouth in painful frustration, he stormed to the window, ripping the curtain aside-Damnation! The floor disappeared beneath him. There was nothing but an ocean of blinding white. His conscience was right. There was no shelter for miles and in the cold and blinding fog, Martha's soul would reach Peter's gates before the moon had a chance to take its rightful place in the sky.  

Oh but not before Mrs. Melbourne's reach Hades first! Storming to the door, a sleepy moan stole Nathaniel steps. Turning, he watched Logan's eyes flutter open. Rushing to his side, he knelt beside the bed, "Logan?"

Logan clumsily lifted a small hand to his eyes, rubbing them slowly. "Father?" he barely whispered.

Nathaniel's heart tore in half, "I'm here Logan." he confessed, unable to suppress the sob that hitched his words. Taking his son's hand into his, he pressed it to his lips, "I'm right here."

Logan was silent for a brief moment while surveying the room with lazy eyes, "Father...where is Martha?"

Lord in heaven.  Purposely avoiding the question, Nathaniel played for time, "How are you feeling ? Are you warm?" He adjusted the blankets further under Logan's chin and tucked it under each of his limbs, practically mummifying his small body.

Logan remained silent, intently focusing his icy blue eyes on his father clearly suggesting he hadn't forgotten his previous inquiry. Nathaniel chuckled somberly. His son had always been as stubborn as he, perhaps even a trifle more.

 "Father-"

"Try not to speak Logan. You need to rest-"

"But Martha," he insisted, his lips trembling while tears awaited their cue. What on earth would he respond to that when he himself painfully wondered the same.  Anger flooded Nathaniel's veins as he debated the gentlest manner in which to tell his son that his beloved Martha was gone-

'But she isn't' his reasonable half whispered.

What? Of course she was! Had Beatrice not said such-

'Not if you find her...'

For a wild moment, Nathaniel's blood pumped in his veins as he contemplated his conscience's suggestion.  It had only been two hours at most since Logan had been rescued. Surely with the weather being what it was, Martha could not have gotten that far-

Milton strode to the door. Having been Nathaniel's valet and trusted friend for so long, he without a doubt knew his lordships trail of thought, regardless of how mad it were--

"I will send word to have your horse readied sir and might I suggest two footmen as well, to carry the torches?" Milton opened the door and turned, "Oh, and perhaps a wooden stake or some garlic for the demon and her spawn? "

"Whatever the blazes is needed!" Nathaniel spat with a blistering fire then turned back to Logan. "I will return shortly-"

"With Martha?" Logan's weary yet expectant eyes glinted. 

"Yes-"

"Promise?"

Goodness. What could he respond to that? Nathaniel paused and considered the words about to withdraw his lips-- 

Were they wise? No.

Did he intend on failing to keep yet another promise? No.

And so then, it was settled. Did he promise?

"Yes Logan, I promise."

***

A/N: First and it's very important: I do not intend to keep Annabelle's identity a secret till the end. That would just be terrible and rather cruel really. This is a love story and it wouldn't work if Nathaniel and Annabelle weren't ever together.  It is happening soon, but a few things need to happen first that will bring it about :)

With that said, You guys have been amazing! Not only did you get the story down to #120, but we're approaching 20,000 reads. And while that might not seem like a lot to others, to me it is golden. I can not thank you enough.

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