Ch. 1             “Return to Westgate Manor”

1823- Guildford

Abigail Greenwood stepped out of the carriage and instantly froze in place, silently staring at the massive building before her. It was just as she remembered it; every stone. This was the place where her life had come together, and in one swoop had been torn apart.

“Come Carrot,” Iona urged, picking up her gray embroidered skirts and walking past her.

Abigail watched as Iona breezed through the black iron gates encompassing the property, reached the top steps, and unlocked the door to the main entrance before disappearing into the darkness inside. Any other person would probably take notice of the large trees in front of the place that offered a comfortable shade, or the nicely manicured bushes that added to the picturesque scene. They might be in awe of its stature, of the seeming fortitude and power that seemed to emanate from the walls. Yet, when Abigail saw it again, the beauty of it all simply escaped her notice.

Quick and steady footsteps sounded on the walkway behind her, only to fall silent at her side. She turned, looking at her companion. Aunt Beatrice stood; her eyes inspected the building and their surroundings. Her brown hair was swept back in a spiral bun. Gray hairs streaked the top of her head; but were currently hidden by a blue velvet hat which matched her traveling gown.

“I imagine it must be hard to be back here…at this sad place,” Beatrice said, finally turning to look up at her niece.

Abigail nodded. “Yes. I find that it holds both happy and sad memories for me. Unfortunately, I feel as if the latter prevails at the moment.”

Beatrice took hold of her niece’s hand and squeezed it. “Find your relief and joy in the realization that we are home. I know that I shall be forever grateful for your kindness in taking me in,” she said, smiling gently.

Abigail returned the gesture and faintly shook her head, causing her dark auburn hair to swing across her back in the process. Her aunt was fooling no one. Although Abigail did not doubt that her aunt wanted her company, she was not under the illusion that she had saved her from anything. Aunt Beatrice was well-settled in Kent; her home, though not extravagant, was modest and welcoming. Yet, she gave it up to be near Abigail, who was more than happy to have her company. Now that she was ten and nine, and there were no other living relatives besides her aunt, she was finally able to take possession of the place her father had bought years before.

“Are you ready to go inside and reclaim your room?” her aunt asked hopefully, endeavoring to cheer her up.

Not really, no. Plastering a half-hearted smile on her face, Abigail nodded.  Aunt Beatrice immediately linked arms with her and the two walked through the white massive double doors.

“What room would you have me take, dear?”

Abigail shrugged, distracted by memories of the place as she drank in her surroundings. “Whatever room pleases you, aunt.”

Beatrice nodded; Abigail smiled at her back as she poked her head inside various rooms, subjecting them to her calculating gaze.

A light, almost rhythmic, snapping noise indicated that Iona was removing sheets from the couches, tables, and other furniture throughout the place. The curtains had already been opened as well.

After slowly ascending the carpeted staircase, Abigail walked inside her old room and rubbed her gloved hands together before walking towards an old blue trunk at the far end of the bedroom.

A faint smile touched her lips as she picked up the doll that rested atop it. “Lucy,” she whispered, slowly wiping the dust from its face. The doll was gifted to her from her papa.  It was when he presented it to her that she was told that he was finally home to stay. Abigail lifted the doll to her nose, inhaling the stale scent, before clutching it to her chest as she looked around the room.

Whoever cleaned up the place had done an excellent job, and she was grateful that she did not have to see what it looked like beforehand. She could only imagine the mess and havoc that was left behind.

“Gregory!” Footsteps pounding. Glass shattering. Tortured Screams.

“Carrot!”

Abigail snapped her head up and jumped, before placing one calming hand over her heart and exhaling heavily, “I’m sorry Iona. I was lost in my thoughts.”

“I asked if you could run into town,” Iona repeated impatiently, “pick up some supplies, and goods we will need,” she continued stepping into the room. “You should acquire plenty of food to last us a week, at least.”

Abigail glanced up at the sky from her bedroom window, and then back to Iona. “It’s getting late…”

One stern brow lifted, “all the more reason for you to make haste.”

“Would you like to come with me?”

Iona pursed her lips. “I have more pressing things to do then to supervise a woman grown. I know for certain that there is absolutely no trouble that you could possibly get into. Make sure you don’t talk to anyone. Stay to your business.” She turned to leave.

“Maybe aunt would like to come…and see the sights. It’s probably best that I have some sort of chaperone,” Abigail offered hopefully.

Iona slowly turned around to face her. “Your aunt has just traveled an exhausting journey. She is resting. As for a chaperone…don’t be silly. Red hair and freckles shall never be in style, so you will not tempt any man. Now come, Carrot,” she rapidly clapped twice, “do not dawdle. As you said, it’s getting dark. By the time you return, your trunk will have been brought up to your room. That is one less thing you shall have to worry about.” Iona quickly walked out of the room, leaving Abigail to her thoughts.

Attention fixed upon the view beyond her window, she sat upon her bed, suddenly anxious. Go into town? Alone? She hadn’t really done anything by herself...ever. Aunt Beatrice and Iona had always been there, right by her side, keeping her under their watchful gazes. Abigail looked about the room; her gaze lingered on the large paintings on her walls and the cranberry red plush rugs which covered the wooden floorboards.

Through procrastinating, she stood and walked to the mirror, taking hold of one of her curled auburn locks. “Carrot,” she muttered.

The nickname, which started out as an endearment, lost its appeal as she got older. Leaning in towards the mirror, Abigail rubbed her fingertips across the light spray of freckles that draped across her nose. All hope of growing out of them had disappeared as her age mounted; shaking her insignificant thoughts, she quickly pinned her hair up before donning a wide brimmed hat and leaving the room.

            Once on the bottom floor, Abigail looked longingly at the closed door to the bedroom she was sure her aunt had chosen. Intent on discovering if her aunt was awake, she took a couple of steps towards the room before a distinct cough halted her progress.

Abigail froze for a second and then slowly turned around. Iona stood at the landing, her hands grasped on the rail, staring at her in disapproval.

“The door that will take you outside is right behind you…Carrot.”

 Embarrassed she had been found out like a naughty five year old; she acknowledged the statement with a quick nod and hastily walked outside to the carriage.

            “To town, Travis, if you please.”

            The burly driver nodded, waiting until she had gotten settled, and then urged the horses onward. Abigail sat back in the seat watching as the world literally passed her by…or did she pass it by?

            “When was the last time ye’ were ‘ere miss?”

 Abigail’s thinly arched brows slightly lifted in surprise that her driver was yelling down at her, attempting to have a conversation. After being acquainted with him for a few months, after Iona hired him on, she never found him to be ….well, chatty. He’d scarce said a word to her and his sudden friendly demeanor took her aback.

            “Thirteen years ago,” she answered. Surely it wasn’t deemed lady like to yell out the window. Well, who cared anyhow? She was in the country after all, and no one was able to censure her behavior. A slow grin spread across her lips; one could get used to this. Truth be told, she never felt like much of a lady, anyhow.

            “If ye’ don’t mind me askin…why did ye’ move?”

            Abigail frowned.

            “Miss?”

            “A death in the family,” she called out. “I moved when my papa passed away.”

            “Aw, I’m sorry to ‘ear that, miss.”

            Silence.

            “If ye’ don’t mind the intrusion…why ‘ave ye’ returned?”

            “Is that the town, straight ahead?”

            “Aye, that’s it,” Travis returned.

 Fully aware of sounding like a simpleton for asking such a question when the answer was right before her eyes; she knew that she’d do it again if it meant avoiding inquests into her background. Gregory Greenwood’s body had been discovered in a pasture near the side of the road a few days after her departure. The report suspected that it was a band of highwayman; that Gregory had been at the wrong place at the wrong time. Abigail knew different; his death was no accident, but she couldn’t seem to get his assailant’s last words out of her mind. “Gregory! Ye’ traitor!”  Never had she known that those words would torment her into her adulthood.

  Though curiosity wouldn’t be considered a fault by some standards, it was definitely one of her biggest ones. Thankfully, she hadn’t given into it since her papa’s death, not once had she looked at the paper he entrusted to her. It was always kept safe, hidden, but as far as she was concerned, it was the most evil item on the earth. It was the reason her papa was no longer alive; it had to be.

            When the carriage came to a stop, Abigail immediately stepped out, and faced Travis, who was familiar with the area. “Where might I purchase food?”

            Travis leaned forward, pointing out certain shops. “Don’t forget yer’ basket, miss,” he said, extending it out to her when she turned away.

            Abigail thanked him before taking the basket and proceeding towards the shops. Inwardly, she wished that Travis would have come with her; that he would help her carry the goods back to the carriage, but when she turned around it was evident that he wouldn’t budge from the perch. In fact, it seemed he watched her closely.

Uncomfortable with his steady gaze, she quickly turned around and walked into one of the shops. He is only looking after you. Don’t be silly!

            A white-haired older man looked up from the counter when she walked into the store.

            “Wha’ can I do for ye’ miss?”

            Abigail looked around. “I would like to purchase a few loaves of bread please.”

            The shop owner nodded and collected the bread that’d been pointed out to him.

            “Could you tell me where I might purchase eggs, and cheese as well?”

            “The open market is just around the corner, miss,” he answered, wrapping the bread up in paper, “and the butcher shop is across the way there,” he said pointing straight ahead.

            “Thank you,” she smiled. He returned the gesture and called out to her, “be sure to go home quickly, miss. Bad things ‘appen on nights like this.”

            Abigail’s eyebrows creased in confusion and she opened her mouth to question the man, but decided not to disturb him since he was assisting another customer. After closing the door behind her, she turned forward, stifling a scream when she ran into a burly chest.

            “Sorry, miss. Didn’t mean to give ye’ a fright.”

            Abigail looked up at Travis, hackles raised at his mouth quirking humorously. “It’s perfectly alright.”

            “I only came to tell ye’ that one of the ‘orses needs to see the blacksmith ‘fore our journey home. I’ll be down that way,” he said pointing down the lane.

            “I was told that bad things happen on nights like this,” she informed him, feeling slightly foolish because she really hadn’t a clue as to what she was talking about.  “Do you think we could possibly stay in each other’s company?” she asked, surveying the gloomy sky.

            Travis shook his head. “I’m ‘fraid if we don’t get the ‘orses taken care of, we may be stuck, miss. Tis best I get the deed done.”

            Abigail reluctantly nodded.

            “If ye’ want I’ll take the goods ye’ ‘ave to the carriage, miss. That should free up yer’ ‘ands so ye’ can get more if ye like,” he offered, plucking her items out of the basket.

            “Yes, thank you, Travis.”

            After he relieved her of her burden she walked to the butcher’s, purchased meat, and then walked to the market which was around the corner from the bakery. She bustled through the crowd with great effort, and found the ordeal exhausting. After collecting vegetables, eggs and other items, she hauled it to the carriage and loaded it inside. By the time she made sure that everything was secure, she was huffing from the exertion of it all.

            It’s no wonder Iona did not want to come. A quick swipe of her gloved hand to her forehead confirmed that she was perspiring! This was why people had servants; it was why she needed one. Sighing, she sought out the blacksmith shop. They would never be able to afford a servant anyhow. Presently, she was the sole owner of Westgate Manor, but had nothing to show for it, save for the furnishings inside that survived her childhood. They were now able to eat and drink from the income her aunt had and from what little money her papa had saved up over the years.

            “Where is Travis?” she muttered, placing a hand upon her hip, whilst walking down the lane. She paused. People had been out and about moments before, but now they were gone. Curious, she quickly bustled back to the market and saw a few people collecting their goods and disappearing behind slammed doors, and racing away in carriages.

            “Where is everyone going?” she asked aloud, though she knew her query would go unheard.

            Suddenly yells could be heard through the town. Abigail looked up the little side lane she was on and saw that a fire had been started. What’s happening? I need to get to the carriage! A crowd assembled around the fire and some were still yelling, though Abigail could not tell exactly what they were yelling about. Holding onto her hat, she kept her gaze downcast, and stayed close to the shops, hurrying to the carriage.

            A hand reached out, grabbing her arm. “Wha’ ‘ave we got ‘ere?” A man, seemingly in his thirties looked at Abigail from head to toe lecherously.

            “Please. Release me,” she said, as she tried to wrangle free from his grasp.

            “Ah, now I might consider that for two pence. Ye’ don’t ‘ave two pence on ye’ do ye’ love?

            Fleeting relief passed through her features. If that was what he wanted, he could have it. Granted, they were not rich and would definitely be struggling come winter, but if two pence would buy her release, she would not hesitate to pay it. Abigail’s hands shook as she dug into her tiny purse and handed him a coin.

The man laughed, pocketing the money. “Eh boys! We got a good one ‘ere. Gave me two pence, she did.”

            Abigail swallowed and looked around at some of the men who started to approach them.

            “Wha’s under ‘ere?” her captor asked, lifting her hat, and gave a long drawn out whistle, “wha’ a mane of red hair!”

            “Please!” When Abigail reached up for her hat, the man instantly held it high above his head, slowly smiling.

            Onlookers laughed, thoroughly enjoying the disturbance. Glass shattered; Abigail ducked her head, looking around frantically and saw that the men surrounding her had been caught off guard as well. The bakery window had been destroyed.

            Taking full advantage of the crowd’s distraction with the sudden onslaught of violence towards the bakery and a few passersby in the streets, Abigail ran in the direction of her carriage.

            “Where ye’ off to, love?! Ye forgot yer’ hat!” More laughter.

            Footsteps pounded behind her, alerting her that some men had given chase. Her heart burned as she ran, and she quickly came to the realization that she could not go to the carriage. One of the horses was unharnessed and she had never even driven it before, nor had she been taught to ride a horse. Fearing that leading them to the carriage would only inspire the wretches to steal her food, she switched direction. She would not allow that to happen.

            Abigail quickly turned another corner, hiding behind another one of the shops. She held onto the side corner of it, breathing heavily as men with torches ran past her hiding spot, calling out to her. She waited a while in the crook between buildings, still able to hear a mob on the main lane. When it seemed she’d lost her pursuers, she cautiously stepped out of her hiding place.

            After walking out, she saw a tavern stood to the right of her. Boisterous noise and music blasted from the building; Abigail found herself helplessly standing in the center of the lane, unaware of where to go, but trying to regain her wits, despite her distractive labored breathing.

            Dark red locks tumbled from its’ tightly pinned style with all of her running, and the mass quickly swung over her shoulder with her head jerking towards the tavern door that’d been pushed open.  A man holding a cane stepped out; his whole person was blanketed in the shadow of the place.

            When the man finally turned in her direction; she froze, her eyes widened in fright at the prospect of her pursuers capturing her again. Fearing she wouldn’t be so fortunate a second time, she took to flight.

            “There she is!” Three men surrounded her before turned the corner in pursuit of her. Fortunately, she had somewhat of a head start on them since they were on the other side of the tavern. Unbeknownst to Abigail, only one of three men made it past the man in the darkness.

            Abigail turned another corner, deciphering immediately that she was trapped; she whipped around to escape the dead end that lay before her but was too late since her pursuer was slowly advancing upon her.

            “Please,” Abigail said hoarsely, backing away. “Let me go.”

            He paused in his tracks, pondering the request. “It may cost ye’-“

            “I have other pence,” she quickly offered, digging into the small purse that had wound itself around her wrist.

            “I already ‘ad that from ye.”

            Her head snapped up.

            “Wha’ I’m wantin’ is a bit different,” he said, walking towards her with purpose.

            Abigail retreated, though she knew that there was no use to it. There was no where she could go; no where she could hide. When her back hit the stone wall behind her, she stiffened, eyes widening in fear.

            “Please,” she tried again, holding up her hands to ward off the stranger.

            He grinned. “Ye picked the place, Carrot.”

            Carrot? In the next instant the breath was knocked out of her and she found herself on the ground. Her captor was on top of her; his breath assaulted her face, and small pebbles bit into her face as she turned her right cheek to the ground in efforts to avoid him somehow. Green eyes widened again, her struggles paused as she blinked twice, then squinted, at what she saw before her.

A man calmly strode towards them. It was the man from the tavern, she was sure of it, for he still had his cane. He was quiet, stealthy, as he increased upon them.

Whispered obscenities were directed towards her ear before the man holding her down roughly squeezed her cheeks, turning her face towards him; and quickly pressed a kiss upon her mouth. Abigail struggled against him and when he lifted up for a second she spat into his face. Anger contorted his features, a meaty fist raised against her.

Was Mr. Cane going to help her or not?! He was walking slowly, as if he was taking a stroll through a park! Did he arrive only to watch? Abigail closed her eyes; bracing herself against the impact that was sure to come.