Chapter 4
Evelyn dipped her quill into the pot of ink that stood in the corner of the small desk.
‘Dear Mother,’ she started. She stared at the sheet, wondering what to write. It had been over a week since her last letter, and yet she had no news to offer. She glanced at the latest missive received from Mother, reminding herself of the news from home, then lowered the nib of her pen.
‘I trust this letter finds you well. I received yours yesterday, and am glad to hear that Mary has recovered from her twisted ankle. I am sorry to hear that there has been a fox in the henhouse.’
A spiral of hair fell over her shoulder, the end trailing through the ink on the page, smearing the lettering, and she leaned back with a sigh of frustration. Her wayward curls were always escaping the pins and ribbons that were meant to hold them in place and securely out of the way. Across the room, Nan looked up from her task of sweeping cinders from the fireplace.
“Here, let me,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron as she crossed the room. Loosening the ribbon, Nan swept the curls into one hand and retied the ribbon into a bow, adjusting the pins. “Your hair has a mind of its own,” she said with a smile.
“I know,” Evelyn groaned. “It’s the bane of my existence.”
“It’s lovely,” Nan admonished as she patted the last curl and returned to her task at the fireplace.
Evelyn turned to stare out the parlor window at the street below, hoping to find some inspiration for her letter from the scene outside. It was a lovely day, the sun shining brightly in a cloudless sky. The kind of day when one should be outdoors, perhaps strolling along the river or painting in the park. But instead Evelyn was stuck within, chafing at the fetters which tied her to the house.
“Nan, I don’t suppose you can go for a walk with me?” Evelyn asked as the maid began to trim the candle wicks.
“I wish I could, Mistress, but Cook has given me a list of chores that’s as long as my arm.”
Evelyn slumped back in her chair with a sigh. It had been weeks since Myla, her companion, had left, and although Uncle had strictly forbidden Evelyn from leaving the house unchaperoned, he’d done nothing to secure a new companion for her. For the hundredth time she wished that Father hadn’t died.
The day of Father’s accident had been gray and dreary, with an incessant drizzle that seeped into every item of clothing. He had been on his way home from the courthouse where he served as a solicitor when a horse, spooked by cat being chased by a dog, broke free of its bonds and thundered down the road right at him. The one mercy was that his death had been instantaneous, the doctor had told them.
It wasn’t until after the funeral that Evelyn realized the extent to which her life would be impacted by Father’s death: Mother had informed her that she was to go live with Uncle in the city. Evelyn had been horrified – she had no desire to live with an elderly relative she had never met – but no amount of arguing could persuade Mother from her chosen course of action.
“Now that your father is gone, one would expect that his only living relative help with the upkeep of his children,” she’d said. “Your uncle is a well-off man who has no other dependents. Now, I have friends in the city who will introduce you into society. Martha Blackwell was my dearest friend before I married your father and moved from the city, and she will ensure you are properly introduced. I hear that her son Arthur is very handsome, and as yet unmarried. Perhaps he will offer for your hand. If not, you will have plenty of opportunities to meet eligible young men once you are introduced. I just wish I could be there with you.”
“I have no desire to be introduced in the city, Mother,” she’d retorted. “There are plenty of eligible young men right here in town. And as for Uncle, I’ve never even heard of him.”
“Enough, Evelyn,” Mother said severely. “None of the men in town are worth our consideration. And I don’t know why you’ve never heard of your uncle, since he was your father’s sole surviving relative. His father’s brother, in fact, which makes him your great-uncle. He never married, and with the demise of your father, everything he owns will come to your brother upon his death.”
Evelyn knew the futility of trying to resist her mother’s will. Not a woman to be thwarted, she was a formidable force to try and stand against. But Evelyn’s reluctant acceptance had not meant she was happy about her sudden change in circumstances. She loved the country home at the outskirts of the small coastal town where she had grown up. Mother hated the house, always complaining that it was too dark and drafty, but for Evelyn it had been a place of adventure. Beyond the house, the little town, with its cobbled high street and pleasant beaches, was her backyard. As a child she would search for shells or watch the fishing boats as they came in each morning. The town had a wide high street that swept along its length and ended at the promenade that ran alongside the beach. Houses, built of local stone hewn from the nearby cliffs stood interspersed between shopfronts, where goods brought from along the coast and across the ocean were displayed. For those in the know, these goods could be obtained by cheaper, and more dubious means through whispered dealings, conducted with a sly wink within the shadow of the courthouse, which stood proudly at the top end of the high street. It was the courthouse that put the town on the map; it served the surrounding area, including the much larger port town a few miles up the road. But it was the countryside that Evelyn loved the most. Windswept moors and high cliffs standing sentinel over the ocean made for a wild playground when she was growing up, and she had spent many hours wandering over rocks and between scrubby bushes with her siblings. Evelyn was the second of five, closest in age to her brother Francis and sister Juliana. As she grew older, wild games were replaced with a new love of painting, and Evelyn would spend hours sketching and drawing the raging ocean, the ragged moors and the town that lay in the valley.
The day before she was due to leave for the city, Evelyn had spent the day rambling through the countryside with Juliana at her side.
“What do you suppose Uncle will be like?” Juliana asked.
“Old and doddery,” was Evelyn’s reply. “I don’t remember Father ever talking about him. I wonder what Mother said to convince him to take me in.”
“You know Mother,” Juliana replied wryly. They shared a grin. There were few who could withstand her when she set her mind to something. “Father used to live in the city, did he not?”
“He was born there, but after his father died and Grandmother remarried, they moved out here. He often remarked how happy he was to leave the smog and crowds.”
They had remained out until the sun was low in the sky, and early the next morning Evelyn was off, sharing a coach with two strangers as they traveled for three days over bumpy roads, before finally arriving at Uncle’s house. The house itself was unremarkable – the front door opened into a long hall, behind which lay the kitchen. An arched doorway to the left led to a study, where Uncle kept his papers, while further along was a storage room. A flight of wooden stairs led up to the parlor, which overlooked the street, and three bedchambers.
Contrary to Evelyn’s expectations, Uncle was not doddery, despite his advanced years. Instead, his back was straight and tall, his blue eyes clear and intelligent, and his thick gray hair cropped short. On her arrival, she had been led into his study where he worked behind a large desk neatly stacked with papers. Laying down his quill, he’d given her an appraising look for a few uncomfortable moments before speaking.
“So you’re Robert’s girl. I suppose I can see the resemblance. Your mother has demanded that I feed and house you; however, let me be clear that I enjoy my solitude, and have agreed to this arrangement only out of duty to my dead nephew. I am a busy man and do not wish to be disturbed. Unfortunately, your mother insisted that you need a chaperone and has engaged some old biddy to attend to you. I’m sure you are aware of this.”
Evelyn swallowed hard. “Yes, Uncle.”
“Very well. I expect you to ensure that neither of you interfere
with my routine. Supper is served at four-thirty sharp and I require your attendance in the hall at that time, otherwise what you do with your time is your own affair. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes, Uncle.”
“And one more thing; you may hear people coming and going late at night. I conduct business with many associates who, for various reasons, cannot always keep regular hours. I tell you this so you will not be concerned by any noises you may hear in the late hours. Now go. Someone will show you your chamber.” He returned to his papers, dismissing Evelyn from his presence.
So this is Father’s uncle, she thought as she left the room. It was no wonder that he had never mentioned such a crotchety, miserable relative. She wondered what kind of business he was involved in that brought people around late at night, then dismissed it from her mind. But she was glad of the warning later that evening. She had just climbed into bed when she heard people crossing the hall, until a door closed and all fell silent. The heavy tread and rough, low voices had brought to mind an image of men who were rough and dangerous. Evelyn had quickly turned the key in the lock, before returning to the bed and pulling the quilts to her chin as she stared at the unfamiliar surroundings.
Myla, the chaperone Mother had arranged, arrived the next day. In her thirties, she was quiet and friendly. She had grown up in the city, the youngest of eight daughters. With no independent wealth, she had been unable to secure a husband, and had fallen into that awful state of being a dependent relative. The opportunity to be Evelyn’s chaperone had been welcome, she later confided. The thought of remaining with her elder sister for even one more day was more than she could bear.
Together, the two women had explored the markets, admiring fabrics in the brightest hues, breathing in the fragrant spices and marveling at the intricate metalwork of the goldsmiths. As a native of Civitas, Myla knew where to find milliners with exquisite hat creations, haberdashers with a huge array of buttons, and bakers with divine pastries that melted in your mouth. In the afternoon, the pair would wander along the docks to the theater and watch the performers act out various tales, from the sublime to the ridiculous.
Myla had also undertaken the daunting task of accompanying Evelyn as she introduced herself to Mother’s list of acquaintances, but it quickly became apparent that they weren’t overly interested in the daughter of a woman they hadn’t seen for more than twenty years. Even Mother’s dearest friend, Mistress Blackwell, could not muster up more than a single invitation, and with daughters of her own, she was far more concerned about seeking good alliances for them than for Evelyn. There were one or two invitations to evening dances, but without a sponsor to help Evelyn along, these too dried up. As for Arthur, Evelyn knew within minutes of their meeting that he was definitely not the type of man with whom she wished to spend the rest of her life.
In fact, the person who welcomed Evelyn the most warmly was Myla’s sister, Lady Elizabeth, who invited her to celebrate the engagement of her oldest daughter at a sparkling ball. It had been a pleasant enough evening, and Evelyn danced with a few men whom Mother would consider eligible – but she could remember none of them with any sense of interest the following morning. The ball had provided much material for a letter to Juliana, however, and Evelyn had used two pages, criss-crossing her writing to use every available space, to describe the hawk-eyed matrons and strutting swains who attended the dance.
As Uncle had insisted, Evelyn and Myla returned to the house each afternoon to sup with him, during which time he would ask a few cursory questions about her day before excusing himself and returning once more to his study.
Every week Evelyn wrote to her mother, a chore she dreaded; but letters to Juliana spilled from her pen as she shared amusing tales about life in the city. The weeks passed, and she began to settle into her new life with Uncle and Myla. Spring arrived and the city burst into color as new leaves adorned the trees and shy blooms revealed their hues. But just as Evelyn thought that perhaps life wasn’t too terrible, bad tidings arrived. Myla’s second-to-oldest sister was deathly ill, and Myla was needed to take charge of the children. With a heavy heart, Evelyn said goodbye to her new friend. She felt terribly sorry for Myla, but had enough self-awareness and honesty to admit that she felt a little pity for herself as well. Who now would accompany her around the city? Even worse news was to follow, however, when Uncle forbade Evelyn from leaving the house until a new companion could be secured. She must write to her mother, he said, and ask her to arrange for someone new.
“But I can take short walks, can I not?”
“No. The city streets are dangerous for a young woman alone. You may not leave the house without someone to accompany you.”
“Perhaps Nan can walk with me?”
“Nan has other matters to attend to. If you do not obey me in this, I will send you back home to your mother. I can imagine the reception you will receive.”
For one rebellious moment, Evelyn had been tempted to tell her Uncle to do just that, but good sense had prevailed. Not only would Mother be furious, but Evelyn knew she needed the financial aid that Uncle rendered.
“Very well,” she finally agreed. “I will write to Mother.”
Still, she could not completely suppress her annoyance. Until she had arrived in the city, she’d had no need for a chaperone and was free to wander wherever she saw fit. What harm, she wondered, could she possibly come to in the city? She had written to Mother immediately, but had not yet received a reply.
The sound of a door closing brought Evelyn back to the present, and she glanced through the window to see Uncle striding away down the street. She leaned back in her chair, considering his departure. Uncle seldom left the house, but when he did, it was usually for a few hours. She closed the bottle of ink and cleaned the nib of her quill, then gathering her letter, hurried to her chamber to collect her cloak. She headed downstairs, pausing on the last stair to ensure no-one was around. The only staff Uncle kept were Nan, Cook, and Henry, the footman, so her chances of passing unnoticed were good. Still, she glanced around the hall, relieved to see it was empty, before crossing to the door and pulling it open as quietly as she could. From the back of the house came the banging of pots and the sound of Nan’s laughter.
Gathering her cloak around her, she hurried away from the house, going in the opposite direction to Uncle.
Riley Common was only a short distance away. A stream overhung with willows ran through the park, and ducks and swans floated calmly in the sun. Birdsong greeted her as she entered the common, and a rabbit watched her from a small hillock, disappearing down his hole when she drew close. A peacock wandered by, its feathers trailing through the dust as it meandered towards the small pond at the far end of the park where boys raced boats made of leaves and twigs. She sat down on a grassy rise and lifting her face to the sun, breathed in the fresh air. The sound of chatter and laughter was carried on a breeze and she drank it in, enjoying the serenity of the moment. A shout brought her to attention, and she smiled to see a juggler entertaining people further along the path.
With one last, wistful look around the park, she rose to her feet and dusted off her gown, then turned in the direction of the house. In the distance she could see the hills that surrounded the city, bright green after the spring rains, while the spire from the cathedral punctuated the air. They disappeared from view as she exited the common and headed down the crowded street where she lived with Uncle. The house was silent as she stepped within, and she breathed a sigh of relief that Uncle had not yet returned. Returning to her chamber, she added a few more words to her letter to Mother, then signed it with a flourish as the front door opened once more and the sound of Uncle’s footsteps rang through the house.
Chapter 5
Xavier was awakened early the next morning by Zach pounding on his door, before flinging it open with a loud bang.
“Come on, sleepy head, time to wake up.”
“Go away.”
“Not a chance,” Zach replied. “Com
e on, Zave, you need to see the city.”
“I saw all I needed to see yesterday,” Xavier grumbled.
“This is work,” Zach said. “We’re going to see if we can track down the source of the rumors. Besides, there are a few people you should meet,” Zach added, yanking Xavier by the ankle and dragging him onto the floor. “I will see you downstairs in five minutes.”
He left the room without waiting for a reply, and Xavier pushed himself to his feet with a groan. He had not slept well. All night long noises had reached him through the thin walls of Drake House – stray cats, noisy drunks, the town crier. He had longed for the peace and solitude of the mountains, where the only sounds to disturb him were the scurrying of field rodents and the occasional screech of an owl.
He twisted his shoulders, wincing as his all-too-human muscles protested the effort. Why any dragon would choose to remain in human form for any length of time was beyond him. He yanked on his tunic and doublet before shoving his feet into boots. Scraping his hand through his hair, he stumbled from the room. Zach was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, and he frowned as he took in Xavier’s appearance.
“What?” Xavier demanded.
“Perhaps you could make use of a comb before we leave the house?” Zach suggested.
Xavier glared at him for a moment, then headed back to his room with a huff to make the necessary adjustments.
“Much better,” Zach said when he returned a moment later. “Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” Xavier asked as they started down the road.
“We’ll head towards the market and see if we can sniff out some information, but there are a few dragons who live along the way whom we’ll visit.”
There was little traffic on the streets this early in the morning, and they walked in silence as Zach turned down one road then up another, before stopping outside a narrow house. He banged on the door with his fist. “You remember Will?” he asked.
Dragon Redeemed Page 4