Ch. 2  “Remembering a Promise Made”

                Abigail sat before her mirror; a pensive expression was fixed upon her dainty features as she slowly brushed her damp hair. Countless times, she went over the events that occurred two weeks before. It mattered not how many times she thought about it, because she never wound up with an answer. Nothing made sense. Yet, she found that she had once again, become victim to her own thoughts.

            The man was quickly lifted into the air and thrown from her. His body rolled on the ground and he grunted, slowly coming to his feet. Abigail quickly sat upright, frantically looking between her assailant and the person she hoped was her savior. She was of such misfortune that she wouldn’t doubt if Mr. Cane was simply fighting for a share of her as well, but quickly pushed the thought aside, determined to view him as her savior.

            Her assailant flicked a scornful glance at her before roughly wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. Fists raised; he moved from side to side, keeping his concentration on the man who’d felled him.

 Abigail knew that she should take advantage of the situation and make her escape, but curiosity got the better of her, and she was transfixed upon the elusive shadow. Whereas the assailant stumbled around, circling his fists; Mr. Cane slowly paced before him, as if he were a cat. He was…whistling? Was he mad? He had to be. In good conscience, Abigail could not allow her assailant to hurt the poor half-wit.

            She came to her feet cautiously so as not to draw attention to herself. Ready to address her attacker, to convince him to let the poor man alone, her plea was interrupted by something unexpected happening.

 Tired of waiting, her assailant decided to attack the man and when he did, everything happened so fast that Abigail had to strain forward in her position, peering into the darkness to make sense of the blur before her.

            The attacker lunged at Mr. Cane, swinging at him, but he easily deflected the blow and returned the jab, meeting his mark. A loud cracking noise came from her assailant’s jaw; his body went slack and crumpled to the ground, motionless.

            Surprised at the swiftness with which the assailant was brought down, she stared transfixed on the still form. A shuffle turned her attention away from the ground, and she instantly looked up.

“Wait!” she called out, holding up a hand to Mr. Cane’s retreating back. He turned around and waited, silent as the grave.

            She questioned her sanity in delaying him when he stood immobile, not saying a word to her. Tightening her fists to still her fearful quivers, she forced herself to speak, for it was abundantly clear that he would not.

            Flicking another quick glance to the body on the ground, and then back at him, she continued, taking a hesitant step forward. “Thank you for your assistance.”

            The silhouette remained immobile for a heartbeat, and then his head barely moved, accepting her thanks, before turning on his heels again.

            “Please do not leave me here alone. I am….I’m a bit out of sorts,” she admitted, hugging her arms. “I do not know what to do or-“

            “May I suggest that you walk?”

            The biting response took her aback. Her eyes narrowed on his back as she followed him out of the alley. “There is no need to be so rude,” she stated to his back, as she hurried to catch up. Only a few steps behind him, she tried again, “I was only trying to thank you-“

            “-Which you have done.”

            Her eyes narrowed again at his broad back. “You seem annoyed with me.”

            He didn’t respond to her statement and that only made her press him further. “May I ask why you would be out of sorts with someone that you aren’t acquainted with?”

            He finally turned to face her. Though his face was still obscured by shadows, she hastily retreated. “Frightened rabbit, what are you doing out here? Why are you without a chaperone?” he asked angrily, taking a step forward.

            “I-I am not frightened,” she stated, forcing herself to stay where she was even as she trembled. He remained silent, and she realized that he was waiting on her explanation.

            “I have just moved from Kent. I don’t know the area-“

            “That much is obvious.”

            “-and,” she continued, glaring at the dark face, “I was instructed to gather food.” She lost her patience when he was once again, quiet. “I never asked you to assist me. I am sure I would have done quite well on my own,” she lied. “You needn’t address me in such a way, sir. I have no need of a chaperone. I am a woman grown.”

            After making that statement she raised her chin and walked past him. How dare he get mad at her, when she had been the one in danger! The man was incorrigible. No, she did not need him. As Iona told her, she was a grown woman, and as such was very capable of taking care of herself. No supervision was required. For once she felt proud of herself. Finally, she’d been able to tell someone that she was charge to herself without having to bear the repercussions of such a statement. Maybe Iona would start to believe her own words…and address her as a fellow peer, rather than an incompetent child. She smiled. She could determine her own fate, could direct her own steps.

            “Your carriage is the other way,” the man noted, dryly.

            Abigail froze mid step. Curses! She looked around at the buildings at either side of her. Voices came to her from just around the corner ahead, and she hastily returned to her savior, who was, she supposed, already walking in the direction of her carriage. Casting frightened glances over her shoulder as she trailed him, she saw that there were still people on the streets; people that she definitely did not wish to meet up with.

            Her cheek smashed into solid rock, or at least, that was what she thought before she faced forward.

            An exaggerated deep sigh came from him, as if he had been gravely put out, simply from her cheek touching his back. He turned around to face her. “Your carriage,” he said, extending a hand towards it. Curiosity burned within her; she still couldn’t see his face!

            Glancing at the carriage, and peeking inside, she was surprised and delighted to find that that everything was still intact. She heaved a sigh of relief, and smiled up to the dark figure. Now she would only have to wait inside for Travis.

            Her eyebrows furrowed before she stepped in. “How did you know which carriage was mine?”

            “I saw you when you arrived,” was his only reply. When he turned around to leave, she placed a hand upon his arm, “Wait.”

He pointedly looked down upon her hand and she instantly retracted it. “Forgive me,” she hastened. “It’s only…I do not know where the driver has gone and-“

            “Is that not him, approaching you from behind?”

            Abigail turned around, peering into the darkness. As the figure approached, she recognized from the way he walked that it was indeed, Travis. But how could he know that? Had he been watching her driver, as well, when she arrived?

            “I suppose it is,” she quietly whispered. Looking up at the dark figure, she tried to make amends before taking her leave. “I am sorry that I have so obviously annoyed you. It was not my intention,” that said, Abigail turned to step foot inside the carriage.

This time, she felt a hand upon her own arm. The touch sent waves of awareness through her body. Little shocks ran through her arms and seemed to spread all over. Save for her papa, she’d never been touched by a man, even on the arm. She smiled up at him, ready to make a new friend.

            “Stay out of trouble,” he warned grimly.  “I don’t like going out of my way to rescue naïve little rabbits like you. I pray you see what occurs when a woman grown ventures forth without a chaperone.”

            Her wounded expression was hidden by an instant frown, and a haughty lift of the chin. “Don’t trouble yourself, sir. You shall never have to save me from anything again.”

            With that, he released her arm muttering something as he walked away. Abigail’s eyebrows drew together in confusion at his words.

Once Travis reached her, he admitted that he had a drink at the tavern, and appeared to be quite guilty about it. Abigail told him that she would keep the occurrence between the two of them. No one would know of her dangerous experience, not even Travis. She rather liked being out on her own, and did not want her aunt or Iona to reclaim the freedom they had just granted to her. Once the carriage was on its’ way she couldn’t contain her curiosity any longer.

Still befuddled as to what her savior had said, she questioned the driver, “Travis, what is Guy Fawkes Day?”

“W-well miss,” he stuttered, “it’s just something tha’ ‘appens in these parts once in a while. Nothin’ to concern yourself with.”

Confusion at his insufficient response was quickly replaced with irritation; eyes narrowed, she thought about what Mr. Cane had said; “Idiot fluff of lace should know better than to leave the house on Guy Fawkes Day.”

            “Idiot fluff, indeed,” she muttered, flinching when she snagged a tangle in her thick auburn hair. Frustrated, she placed the brush upon her nightstand and moved her hand over to the bottom drawer. Her hand hovered there a moment, indecisive, before giving into the urge, pulling the drawer open.

            The folded worn paper that her papa had given her was in arm’s reach. She frowned at it, as sadness rushed over her once again. Throughout the years, she had been inexplicably drawn to it. It was the last thing her papa had given her, the last thing he touched. Her mind turned towards the dagger. Could it be that it was still there, in the very tunnel that she had placed it in? Or had it been discovered? Her papa’s words about the dagger being special seemed to follow her in her thoughts and dreams. She felt as if he had been trying to tell her something. Part of her wondered if her papa wanted her to come back for the sole purpose of reclaiming the dagger. Even if she did such a thing, what would her next step be? Would trouble follow her just as it did her papa?

            The dagger was, no doubt, just as evil as the piece of paper in her bureau. Those two items were the reason he no longer existed. Her hand hovered over the folded paper, before she quickly closed the drawer in disgust and crawled into her bed.

            Once her head rested upon her pillow, she again, thought back to the night she was attacked. Her attacker called her by her nickname, carrot. The only persons aware of such a nickname were Iona and her aunt, or were they? And since it was clear that her attacker knew her, it could only mean one thing; they were not finished trifling with her family.

            Uneasiness pooled into the depths of her stomach. Yes, the paper and the dagger were, in her eyes, evil, but if she did not search them out, she would never know exactly why her papa was no longer with her. Can I live with that? As much as she did not want to open the past, there really was no other choice. Tomorrow, Abigail, Iona, and her aunt were to travel back to Kent, and collect a few more things that they’d been unable to fit in the carriage during their move.

Biting her bottom lip, she mentally prepared herself for the inevitable. The dagger would need to be found before their departure.  A promise made when she was a child came back to her full force; lips pursed, decision settled, for once she felt a peace blanket her. Gregory Greenfield’s death would be avenged; and if someone still sought trouble, she would take care of it herself.