Chapter Two

An Extraordinary Man

     That night Izzy dreamed of the cage and the clock. Darkness surrounded her and she thought for a second that she could hear someone else in a cage just like hers cry out, but soon the striking of the clock made hearing anything else impossible. As the clock thundered on she fought against the unyielding iron as it pressed in around her. The more she struggled the more the cold bars bit into her, ignoring her powerless flesh to crush the fragile bone it housed. She tried to scream but was unable to draw in breath. Just as she was sure that death would bring an end to the terror of her helplessness she awoke to find her sweat had plastered her nightclothes to her body. The danger of leaving herself exposed to her dreams was enough to drive sleep from her, so she rose and pulled back her drapes. The moon was still high in the sky and as she gazed out over the shadow-filled earth she tried to imagine Lucy in town on one of her nightly adventures, but the harder she tried the more she felt like Lucy was part of a world that she couldn’t really understand. Striking a match she lit a candle and felt a pang of jealousy for the gaslights that she could just see making one of the windows at the Mason’s glow like a lighthouse through the night. Izzy opened her copy of Homer and scanned the pages for a moment before she found her place and continued to read.

     As Athena guided the hand of Diomedes and the shades of the Trojans were sent down to the underworld Izzy imagined herself in his chariot; the great spear light in her powerful hands as her blows struck with the power of the bolts hurled to earth by vengeful Zeus. A sound from outside her window brought her back to the real world and she picked up her candle to go and see what had caused the ruckus. She had been so engrossed in her reading that she did not even notice when the rain started to fall, but now curtains of water poured from the sky as the wind tried its best to pull everything not affixed to the earth into the heavens. She did not understand why, but something in the storm gave her comfort; she blew out her candle and tried once more to sleep.

     The next morning came soon and Izzy dressed as the rain still hammered at her window. When she came downstairs she saw her mother sitting in the same place she was every morning waiting for her breakfast. “Good morning Isabella,” her mother said, “Did you sleep well?”

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

“Thank you Isabella, I slept very well”.

After a moment of silence Izzy’s mother said. “This weather beggars belief don’t you think?”

“The storm did come on surprisingly fast. It was so lovely yesterday I had hoped the weather would continue.”

“As much as I love our fair isle, England is prone to bouts of foul weather.”

“More than prone, I would say.”

Martha came in and set a fried egg in front of both women. “Thank you,” mother and daughter said as one. Martha smiled as she returned to the kitchen to prepare the rest of the meal. There was a moment of silence as both women started to eat before Izzy spoke again, “This weather will stop the post, I would think”.

“As would I.”

“It is a pity that if father has written, something as trifling as the weather should prevent it reaching us.”

“A true pity.” The words were calculated to sound regretful without showing any real sadness, but some of the sorrow for her traveling husband seeped through and made Izzy regret saying anything.

“Do you think the rain will let up?” Izzy said, trying to get her mother’s mind off her absent father.

“It does not seem likely it will be soon. It looks like you will not be able to call on anyone today; I can’t imagine the roads are in a usable state with rain like this.” As her mother spoke Izzy couldn’t quite place the tone in her voice. “Do you think you will carry on with your reading?”

“There does not seem to be a better use for the day.”

“I don’t suppose there is.” Martha brought in the rest of the meal and Izzy carried on with the same conversation she had every morning.

     Torrents of water poured from the sky, trapping Izzy indoors. She flitted from book to book without any real direction or excitement. From time to time the cries of her brother would distract her from the book she had no real interest in and she would curse him silently before moving to a room farther from the offending noise. Homer, Livy, and Aurelius were tried in turn and each was dismissed; Homer for being too repetitive, Livy for not being as violent as Homer, and Izzy could not help but feel judged by Aurelius as she absent mindedly flipped through his words. So the books were abandoned and she resolved to find other means of entertainment.

      As her mother was occupied with an endless string of financial papers Izzy decided that since casual defiance of paternal rule seemed to do wonders for Lucy she should give it a fair chance as well. Soon she had changed into her poorest clothes, the ones she felt least likely to be discovered damaged by her excursion, and resolved to brave the storm in search of adventure. She paused on the threshold for a moment, as guilt for violating, if not her mother’s orders, at least her wishes almost stopped her. But as another shriek came from the mouth of her infant brother she stepped out into the pouring rain and ran as fast as her legs would carry her.

     Her boots sank into the mud with each step, slowing her pace to little more than a brisk walk under better conditions, but she did not care. She had nowhere to go and no time to be there by. What mattered was that she chose to start running and she would choose when to stop. Not her mother, not the storm, not god himself would keep her from going forward if she chose to carry on. As she half ran half slogged past the fork that would have led her to the Mason estate she realized that she had assumed somewhere in the back of her mind that it was her destination, but as she carried on through the chilling rain and clinging mud she felt no desire to change her course. Finally the exertion started to catch up with her and her pace slowed. She stopped and doubled over, gasping for breath. Over the sound of the rain Izzy heard a sound that would have brought an artillery battery to shame, and a strike of lightning split the sky not more than a hundred feet from where she stood. With a crack that sent a shower of splinters flying, an ash tree split in two. The smell of burnt wood filled her nostrils and she decided that this was as good an omen of adventure as any. After a few more deep breaths she righted herself and slogged through the mud to the smoking tree.

     The tree had been a mighty thing until moments ago, but now bore a wound from which it would never recover. Shards of broken wood surrounded the remains of the great tree; some as large as her arm and others nothing but tiny slivers. As she circled the tree inspecting the damage, a howl loud enough to be heard over the torrents of water pouring from the heavens, made Izzy jump. The hesitation was only momentary as she snatched up a lightning-blackened shaft of ash and took it in both hands, spinning around to look for the source of the sound. There was another crack of lightning, close enough to almost blind her. When her eyes had readjusted to the shadows of the storm, she saw that where only a moment ago there was nothing but a stand of trees, there now stood a man dressed completely inappropriately for the weather. Although only a dozen feet off, Izzy could only just make him out. He was young and handsome in the way she pictured French princes being handsome in chivalric romances. His hair was long and black as pitch, making his already pale skin seem snow white. A long handlebar mustache hung almost below his chin and he appeared to be dressed for a dinner party, and it seemed to Izzy the most natural thing in the world that his clothing should be dry despite the storm still raging around them. His dark eyes seem to stab into her with an intensity that made her shudder. “Who are you?” Izzy stammered out.   

“I am like nothing you have ever known, child.” His voice was commanding, like one who was used to having his orders followed without question. “The question is, who are you?”

She did not know how long it took for her to answer, but by the time she could force the words out, the thunder had stopped. “I… am… Isabella…” The words were halting, like she was trying to push them through tar.

She couldn’t remember him moving, but as he spoke again his cold hands brushed against her neck. “This is the most blessed of storms that has brought you to me, my pet.” His voice was seductive and Izzy felt it wrap around her like a cloak that the cold of the rain was not able to pierce. As his mouth moved closer to her neck she shivered despite no longer feeling the cold. Before the man’s lips could touch her flesh his head snapped up like a dog at the sound of a whistle, and his whole body went rigid. Like a snap the freezing rain crushed back in on her and the man was gone, if ever he was there at all. Standing perplexed next to the broken tree, the sound of hoof beats turning the road into a muddy ruin brought her back to reality. As she turned her head to better view the road she felt like she was waking from a dream. In only a moment the rider could be seen through the slacking rain. He was dressed in black with a heavy overcoat to shield him from the weather. A black fedora cast his face in shadow making it impossible for Izzy to distinguish his features. His head turned this way and that as if he was looking for something just out of reach. As he noticed Izzy standing there soaking and covered in mud his movement stopped. For a moment Izzy feared he would leave the road, but the moment passed and he put his heels into the side of his chestnut horse and bolted off at a speed that was a testament to the strength of his mount. The rain’s cold did wonders to help return her to her senses, and soon Izzy started to slog home down the muddy road trying to make sense of these mysterious men.