The Butcher's Daughter

Chapter 13

Unlike William, Mabel's dreams granted her an increasing sense of hope. The more reason that her father gave her to believe that she had found her parents and that somehow, they would be a family again; the harder Mabel's mind worked at creating some chronology in which they were together from the start. Her hopes would have continued to flourish but ghosts have a special talent for showing when you least expect them:

Daphne insisted on sleeping with the window open, even as the colder months approached. The other young women who resided in the surrounding quarters stated their complaints, but she didn't seem to budge. That is, of course, until Mabel finally barked at her. All were sleeping pleasantly in the warm space one night (aside from Daphne, of course) when a draft tore Mabel from her lovely dream. A pity, too. Not only were Marigold and William present to see her sweep the competition at her steeplechase, but Tommy Martin was there as well. And he appeared to be very impressed with her victory.

She was ready and willing to raise her voice at her annoyingly endearing "roommate" yet again, but her weary eyes found that all the surrounding windows had been shut. The draft, although it was cold at first, warmed as it enclosed itself consciously around Mabel's resting body. Then came a whisper of a soft, tenor voice that she dearly missed, "I am here." The more that she relaxed, the tighter Thomas held her.

"Don't let go," she replied, low enough for only him to hear. "You were in my dream just now. If not, in another form..."

"I've come to warn you of the danger that you have welcomed into your heart."

At first, she sighed. His entrance had been so soft, so all-encompassing and if I may be so bold, so close to the kind of "contact" that she had never truly felt before, but strongly desired. "Danger?" She asked, half-asleep and half-interested.

"Your father," Thomas began, the strain on his voice indicated that he was delivering these tidings with difficulty, "you've granted him your trust far too easily."

"He's my father," Mabel snapped, without giving his words the benefit of any assessment, "of course I trust him! Have you even been paying attention? Have you even been watching me like you said you would? I love my father. He's only just started to realize who I am. And I can tell that he loves me, too. All that I ever wanted was for us to be together again. Please tell me that you understand this?!" Although the ghost still latched onto her, Mabel could feel that his embrace was beginning to lose interest.

"I do."

"You can't possibly believe that my father poses a threat to me..."

"The scar on your shoulder," a breeze-like touch smoothed across the healing wound, "should be all the proof you need. I know that he is kind to you in one moment... but once that moment is gone... You must look out for yourself, Mabel. It will be less painful when the blood on his hands comes into view."

Mabel abandoned her pursuit of rest as her wits sharpened. Although she didn't want to, she recalled the terrible Colonel Tavington that Giselle had told her of in her youth. "I don't care," was her predictably defiant answer. "He didn't have me here before! Besides," her mind, stubborn as ever, steered itself away from accepting what she was being told. "When I rode with the dragoons, they didn't seem so... tyrannical. Perhaps if I could find a way to ride with him again-"

"You're avoiding the issue, beautiful Mabel. Just like I knew that you would." His voice was as adoring as ever, but Mabel knew it well enough to detect annoyance.

"Cornwallis has taken issue with his brutality, too. Maybe I am here to serve as a wedge between..." she mumbled, fighting to keep her thoughts in order.

"It may seem like a good idea to you right now, but no good can come from you reengaging in combat." His voice changed back to a whisper of defeat. "I fear for you. That is all."