The sun broke through the clouds at last and a young woman blew out a candle that was no longer necessary. She heard the sound of the small household coming to life and decided that she could wait to find out who Diomedes killed next. Setting aside her worn copy of the Iliad she went down stairs in search of breakfast. Even though her long nightgown covered every inch of her body she still hoped to avoid her mother and escape a lecture about how a proper lady should never leave her rooms in a state of undress. The sun had yet to do much to remove the chill from the late autumn air and she shivered slightly with the cold, but the smell of cooking sausage drove her ever onward. She walked through the halls of her family home and as she looked at the pictures, furniture, and other relics of the family estate she couldn’t help but marvel at her mother’s ability to mask the empty space made by Father’s most recent round of sales. The warmth of the kitchen was a welcome change from the chill that suffused the rest of the house. Martha, the only staff her family was able to keep on, darted around the kitchen singing to herself as she made breakfast for the household. When Martha noticed the young lady she stopped her song and said. “Miss Crow, you are up early this morning”.

“I couldn’t sleep,” the young lady replied without anything in her voice to suggest the nightmares that plagued her.

“That is the third night this week,” Martha said, concern in her voice. “A young lady needs her beauty sleep.”

“According to my mother a young lady needs a lot of things. It can be hard to keep track of everything I need these days,” the young lady replied flippantly.

“No young gentleman wants a lady with bags under her eyes,” Martha said teasing.

“If I can’t have both then I will just have to settle for someone that is not gentle or not a man,” she said as she crossed the room and picked up an apple. “Which do you think Mother will prefer?”

“I think she would prefer that you get more sleep,” Martha said as she handed a napkin to the young lady in a vain attempt to keep her from wiping the juice running down her face with her nightgown.

“If Mother has taught me anything recently it is that women can’t always have what they prefer,” she said bitterly.

“Now Miss Crow, that is not fair. You know that times are hard and everyone needs to make sacrifices.” As she talked, Martha pulled a tray of biscuits out of the oven to replace them with a pan of potatoes.

“And what is the little prince sacrificing?” she asked.

“Your brother has only been in this world for two months, do you think you could give him a chance?” Martha said still working to make breakfast ready.

“Maybe I would be better disposed to him if Mother and Father were not so excited by the prospect of being able to die without the hardship of leaving the estate to their poor helpless daughter,” she replied hotly.

“Now Miss…” Martha was interrupted before she could finish.

“Mother is not here; please just call me Izzy,” The young lady said, some of the anger draining out of her voice to be replaced by the tired tone of one who has made a request a thousand times and knows she will have to make it a thousand more.

“It would not be proper, Miss,” the older woman said with the same tone of exhaustion with the exchange.

Her anger of moments ago forgotten Izzy asked, “Don’t you ever get tired of being proper?”

With a smile Martha replied, “I am old; everything makes me tired.”

Without anything else to say, Izzy finished her apple in silent companionship with the older woman until she heard the sounds of movement above them and hurried back upstairs to get dressed before her mother could comment on her appearance.

      Martha had set the table before Izzy was able to confine herself within the countless layers of clothing that propriety demanded. By the time she came downstairs her mother was already half finished with her breakfast and Martha was busy with the newborn. “Good morning Isabella,” her mother said, “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes thank you,” Izzy replied. “And yourself?"

“Thank you Isabella, I slept very well,” she said before returning to cutting a piece of sausage with the practiced formality she displayed in even her most commonplace actions.     

“Have you received any news from Father?” Izzy asked as she sat down.

“Not a peep. He has not written since he arrived in Delhi,” she said, carrying on without showing any of the discomfort her husband’s absence caused her.

After a moment of silence in which both woman and girl felt uncomfortable, the conversation continued, “I believe I will call on Lucy this afternoon,” Izzy said.

A look of disapproval filled her mother’s face. “I really wish you would spend less time with that girl.”

Finishing a bite of food that rode the line between sating Izzy’s hunger as quickly as possible and not raising comment from her mother Izzy responded, “You should give the Masons a chance; they are a perfectly lovely family.”

Izzy’s mother’s face stayed a mask and her voice did not allow any emotion through when she said. “Just because a man owns a factory or two does not mean that he has any right to act like a man of breeding. In fact it gives him less of a reason. Any man that is willing to overturn centuries of good order for a larger house should be treated like the rabble rouser that he is and ignored.”

Izzy’s voice stayed as emotionless as her mother’s when she said, “But getting to know the friends of the Masons might be the best chance I have for a match with a young man of means.” It was not really a lie, but both women knew that Izzy had no interest in making her mother’s life easier by creating an alliance with one of the new industrialists.

Nevertheless she relented. “As you wish. Although I don’t know what you see in the children of that rabble-rouser.”

+++

     It was almost midday before Izzy was able to reach Lucy’s home. Even though the two houses were less than a mile apart Izzy was not permitted to walk, being told that, “One should never arrive coated with dirt, even when calling on a household like the Masons.” So Izzy was forced to wait until the carriage could be made ready, and that took the better part of the morning.

     The Mason house could not hold a candle to the Crow estate in size, but almost the entire house had been built from the ground up only five years ago and the shine was still present. Within moments of ringing the bell Izzy was greeted by a stern faced man in his early thirties who began speaking without even looking at her. “I am sorry Mister Mason does not conduct business in his home; please come to the office on Monday and I am sure…” The man trailed off as he took a moment to look at the person he was addressing and his face softened. “Oh, hello Izzy. Lucy is still in bed, but let me show you to the parlor.”

     Everything in the Mason house had an air of modernity about it; from the furniture to the art everything seemed to have been acquired in a single lifetime. Izzy was never sure what to think of the house itself. On one hand it made the house seem like it fit together better, planned and in order. Everything had a purpose that was easy to discern and nothing seemed placed meaninglessly or left there by happenstance. But on the other hand it seemed unnatural to her. Her home felt like it had grown up out of the land itself, slowly and gradually over lifetimes, but she couldn’t help but feel like a single storm could wash the Mason home, with its shallow roots, away overnight. Lost in what she felt were quite deep reflections on the nature of modernity, Izzy did not notice the Mason’s only son John until he rose from his seat in greeting. “Good…” he paused to look at large clock standing on the far side of the room, “…afternoon, Miss Crow.”

“And to you as well, Mister Mason,” Izzy said with mock formality.

 “Please have a seat,” John said gesturing to a love seat, separated from the armchair in which he had recently been seated, by a small table and a tea tray.

John turned to the servant who showed Izzy to the parlor, “Thank you, but I am sure I can entertain Izzy on my own.”

“I don’t think Missus Crow would approve of her daughter being unchaperoned with a young gentleman,” the servant said in protest.

“In that case it is imperative that you leave at once,” Izzy said laughing.

Turning with a smile, the butler left the two youths to themselves.

 John looked down the hall to make sure that no one was within earshot before he said, “I am sorry that Lucy is unavailable, but the walk home is almost two miles and I am sure Lucy was in no state to have made it at two o’clock this morning.”

“The strength and endurance that has helped your father so greatly in his public life seems to serve his daughter equally well in…”

“Frustrating his private one,” John interrupted. “He really has no idea what to do with her. I think he is hoping you will be a good influence on her.”

Smiling Izzy said, “I would not hold out too much hope for that”.

 “Well, he is a desperate man,” John said with a laugh.

“Who is a desperate man?” Lucy’s musical voice asked as she entered the room. “I do so hope you were not mocking me in my absence,” she said with a smile. Despite being in clothes that were still dirty from the walk back to her home the night before, Lucy looked radiant. Izzy fought down a surge of jealousy that Lucy could spend all night doing god knew what and still look beautiful the next morning. As Izzy searched for a polite way to express irritation John spoke instead, “Good god, Lucy how can you spend all night doing god knows what and still be, if not presentable, at the very least charming the next…” he paused pointedly to look at the clock, “afternoon?”

“Lots of practice, my dear brother. And since god is keeping too much knowledge to himself as it is let me enlighten you as to last night’s…” she paused as she searched for a euphuism, “…why, I would say, public service.”

“Servicing the public and public service are two different things. You do understand that don’t you sister?” John said mockingly.

Lucy said with mock sorrow, “How can you defame your poor sister so? Have you no heart? No care for the weaker sex?”

“Of course my dear sister. But since my care for the weaker could never equal your love for the stronger sex, in that at least, I most concede your mastery.”

By this point Izzy’s face was well past pink and closing fast on crimson, thanks to the relatively frank conversation about subjects that had always been considered scandalous to even mention around relative strangers, and would have been an unthinkable topic of conversation when the subject of the discussion was in the room. Lucy noticed Izzy’s discomfort and said, “Why brother, you have been so thoughtless in your cruel attack on my character that you have made our guest feel unwelcome.”

Trying to force the blood back out of her cheeks by will alone Izzy said, “It is quite alright.”

“Not at all,” Lucy said as she flopped down on the loveseat next to Izzy and put her arms around her in what Izzy’s mother would call “a lower class sign of affection”. Izzy was not sure if Lucy aimed to lessen her discomfort or add to it, but she definitely experienced the latter effect. “Please say you will forgive my brother’s rudeness. I am sure he will make it up to you. Have you eaten? I am sure John can find someone in this house who can prepare something.” Before Izzy could say that she was perfectly well and could not eat a bite Lucy carried on. “Oh, do have one of the servants make a fresh pot of tea. And see if they can find some scones anywhere in the house. For Izzy…” Lucy lied unconvincingly. “…but I am sure she is hungry enough for two so…” John raised his hand in surrender. “I will see what I can do. After all ‘Izzy’ can’t defame Father on an empty stomach.”

     By the time Lucy had eaten her fill she had taken full advantage of her brother’s absence to tell Izzy all about the young scholar whom she had helped unwind before an extremely trying set of exams, and the quality of the French wine he had shared with her. By the time Izzy was able to get a word in she was quite sure that if her mother ever took the time to know the Mason girl instead of hating her based purely on class antagonism, she would never allow Izzy to set foot on Mason land again. And that thought alone made any discomfort Izzy felt vanish. “I had the dream again last night.” Izzy said as the conversation of Lucy’s exploits wound down.

“The shrinking cage? And the clock?” Lucy asked.

“Yes, but I might be growing. I am not sure.”

“You know how John is always doing his best to keep up with the news from the continent? Well he was telling me about a doctor who says that all of our dreams mean something.”

“And what would he say that this dream means?” Izzy asked skeptically.

“Haven’t the foggiest idea,” Lucy replied. “Brother just mentioned him in passing”.

“Why bring him up?”

“Because even though I don’t know what he would say, that does not mean I don’t have ideas of my own,” Lucy said smiling.

“What, pray tell, does my dream mean, Doctor Mason?”

Lucy adopted the bad French accent she always used whenever she pretended to be European. “This dream means that you should come out with me tonight.”

“I don’t think my dream is telling me that I need more vice in my life,” Izzy said giggling.

“Not all vices, just the fun ones. Pick one; just look at how nice they look on me,” she said as she stood and twirled to show her slightly mussed dress that, much to Izzy’s vexation, did make her look lovely.

“And what vice have you picked out for me to try on?”

“I could see you in a young soldier; wait I got that backwards,” Lucy said as she flopped back down giggling at the joke.

Izzy recognized the type of joke that she did not understand, but she smiled in the way all young people do when attempting to seem worldlier than they are. When the clock struck one John came back in to invite Izzy to stay for lunch, an offer Izzy happily accepted, and the two girls joined the elder and the younger Mason for their midday meal.

      The table was set for four; John Mason Senior and Junior, Lucy, and Izzy. Izzy had never asked about Mrs. Mason, but from what she could gather she had passed away when her children were very young. Izzy continually forgot how close the two Mason children were in age; even though John was only a year older than his sister he seemed like he was part of another generation. The two girls took their places across the heavy oak table from the two gentlemen who rose as they entered and, as custom dictated, did not sit again until both woman were seated. The elder Mason was dressed impeccably in the most current style. Every part of his dress and demeanor was the picture image of an aristocrat; everything but his hands. His hands were large and calloused, light scars were visible on dark tanned skin and no one looking at his hands could ever mistake him for a man born to affluence. “I am pleased you could call on us today,” the elder Mason said as he returned to his chair. “It seems like it has been almost a fortnight since I last laid my eyes on you.”

Smiling as she cut a piece of beef Izzy said, “I am sorry I have not been able to enjoy your company more, but Mother has been so lonely with Father gone I felt remiss to leave her side.” Izzy’s lie was true enough to be polite even if all present knew that it was her mother’s aversion to the family that had kept Izzy from more regular visits.

“Do pass on my best wishes to you mother,” the elder Mason said.

Turning to his daughter the elder Mason asked, “Did you enjoy your walk this morning, Lucy?”

“I have yet to leave the house today Father,” Lucy said sweetly. John’s face broke into a grin, followed a split second later by Izzy’s. Lucy only realized her misstep as her Father opened his mouth to speak.

“That does make the stains on the hem of your dress much harder to explain away. Do tell how did you come by them?” The elder Mason had the look of a fox standing between a chicken and the henhouse.

Lucy took a hasty bite of a half buttered roll in desperation as she stalled for time to think. Izzy did not think she had ever seen anyone chew so slowly. The whole table waited with bated breath to hear the lie that was about to issue forth from Lucy’s full lips. “Well… Father… John was riding this morning and some mud must have gotten onto my dress when I embraced him upon his return.” Her eyes darted to John, pleading for the corroboration of her story.

“That must be where the mud came from Father,” John said surprising both Lucy and Izzy. The elder Mason still seemed skeptical, but of his son’s motivation or his daughter’s story Izzy couldn’t say. “But, Father,” John continued, his eyes alight with mirth as he took a sip from his glass in an obvious attempt to prolong his sister’s discomfort, “that does not explain those red stains on my sister’s bodice.”

Lucy’s face flashed crimson as she sputtered, “Why, it must have been some careless servant who damaged my lovely dress in an act of carelessness.”

With the look of a chess player entering the end game the elder Mason asked, “Who was in charge of your laundry? Jest let me know and she will be out on the street in a moment, I would hate to employ someone useless when so many able bodies want for work.”

Lucy stayed silent for a long moment.

“Just give me a name, my sweet daughter,” the elder Mason pressed.

“I love you Daddy,” Lucy said with a weak smile.

The elder Mason let out a sigh as he said, “What am I supposed to do with you?”

“She has strong arms father; have you considered factory work?” John said hoping to defuse some of the tension that the conversation had built up.

“I had hoped that I would be able to find a good husband for her.”

“A bad husband might be a better match. After all it is good when couples have things in common,” John said with a laugh.

“Come now, Brother, I am good at many things.” Her tone suggested that the things she was talking about were things that Izzy had never imagined possible, much less enjoyable.

“I am still here,” the elder Mason said, as one who was accustomed to such comments, but still felt like he should fight the good fight even if it was long past any hope of victory.

“I meant like sawing, Father,” inspiration flashed across Lucy’s face, “I was sawing and pricked my finger! They are blood stains Brother. I don’t even know what you were implying before. How can you defame your poor sister so?” Even the elder Mason laughed at Lucy’s pantomime of offense.

“I think we are past that, Sister,” John said still chuckling.

“Well, remember it for next time.”

“Must there be a next time?” their father sighed, resigned.

“Perhaps not; she could die this afternoon,” John suggested.

“That’s not better.”

“It is less shameful.”

“I would rather be shamed with a living daughter than honored with a dead one,” the elder Mason said rising from his chair. “Be grateful you don’t live in ancient Rome,” he said as he kissed his daughter on the forehead.

“Every day, Father,” Lucy said rising to embrace him.

“I have work I must return to, but Izzy, please feel free to stay as long as you like.” With that, the John Mason Senior left his two children and Izzy to finish their meals.

     John excused himself soon after his father’s departure, saying, “I too have business to which I must attend.” As soon as the girls were alone Lucy launched into an account of her recent adventures that even her long suffering father would have had some trouble taking in stride. The hours melted away as the two young women reveled in the joys of idle youth and the thrill of stories about petty adventures, but too soon the striking of the clock told Izzy that she had to take her leave of the Mason household. Lucy kissed Izzy on both cheeks as Izzy climbed into one of the Mason’s carriages that was made ready over her objections. The driver whipped the horse into motion and Izzy gazed longingly back at the vanishing house long after it had disappeared into the distance.

+++

     It was a small mining town half a century ago, but now it was left to the few people too afraid of change to flee the decay that had taken over in recent years. A man in a black suit that served to make his white clerical collar standout like a lone star in an otherwise pitch sky, walked through the cracked and broken streets. His graying hair was hidden beneath a black fedora that cast a deep shadow over his piercing eyes. Like a great cat his feet were soundless picking their way over cracked cobbles as he made his way through what might have once been the business center of the community, before the mines dried up. Now it was empty buildings in various states of degeneration. The sun was sinking fast behind the hills and he quickened his step in the hopes that he could catch his prey while it still slept. The sound of someone stumbling over the uneven stones made him spin to see a man with a vacant look in his eyes regain his balance just in time to throw himself upon the priest. The blade of an old kitchen knife flashed in dying light as the priest stepped back to avoid a clumsy attack. With practiced ease that attested to a lifetime of violence his assailant’s wrist was bent back with a cracking sound and the knife fell to the bare earth in the space where a paving stone should have been. The assailant was less fortunate than his knife; when he fell a broken and jagged stone was waiting for his head. With a shudder his body went limp. As if nothing happened the man in the clerical collar and black fedora continued on his path.

Next Chapter: Chapter Two: An Extraordinary Man