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( parting is such sweet sorrow )
A HARSH BITING WIND TORE THROUGH THE NIGHT. A shrouded figure stumbled up the steps of the London institute, a young child tugged along beside him. She had hair of spun gold and a cherubic face that bore the kind of raw innocence that couldn't be faked. Her large doe eyes glanced up at the man as he paused in front of the gilded door.
The lantern he clutched shone a buttery light across the two. It highlighted the creases of uncertainty carved into his face. As the figure turned to rap on the door he briefly paused. This was his daughter. His firstborn. Did he really want to do this, would he regret it? No, his old life and any remaining ties to it bore too much pain. His late wife's face, gaunt and grey with disease, flashed through his mind.
Most weren't lucky enough to be able to run away. He would welcome this chance with open arms.
He turned towards the small girl anxiously fiddling with the lace hemming on her petticoat as she shivered in the freezing wind. ''It's just another voyage'' he said curtly, as if the words didn't want to come out. ''I'll be back before you know it''
''You always say that'' The girl mumbled, shuffling closer to the man's warmth.
''I know, but this time I mean it. I promise.'' The lie lay sluggish on his tongue.
The girl nodded stuffing a thumb into her mouth anxiously. The institute seemed towering and all consuming from where she stood. It was a mountain of hewn stone and stained glass.
''And anyway, I'm sure you'll make many friends here, I've checked with the head of the institute- she's a lovely woman, Clare, Carlotta, Charlotte? I'm can't quite remember.''
The girl said nothing, a creeping feeling of dread seeping its way into the pit of her stomach. Why did this feel like goodbye? Not just for a few months but forever.
Her father stepped forward and swung the gold door knocker down three times. Each thud seemed louder than the last. The girl flinched at the sharp sound.
Muffled footsteps sounded from behind the door and then a few soft clicks sounded before the door opened a crack. The girl shrunk back against her father as a young girl, barely a woman, poked her head out and surveyed the two.
She had a head of dark hair and a grisly scar that stretched across her cheek and the corner of her lip, dragging it own ever so slightly. The odd expression seemed as if she was constantly scowling.
The small girl jutted her chin out and stepped away from her father's large frame. It this woman expected her to cower then she could think again. 'Fear did no good used under silly and improper circumstances'. Her mother always had been one for practicality.
''Sir? Mr Thornton?'' The woman asked gingerly as she surveyed the pair.
The man let out a gruff noise in response before patting his daughter on the shoulder, urging her forward. The girl wanted to dig her heels in the ground and stay firmly planted where she was.
She wanted to turn around and scream at her father, you liar.
Instead, she pulled her thumb out from her mouth and started forward, straight into the institute. Neither the girl nor her father had ever been ones for goodbyes, and anyway if he was true to his word, she'd see him again in a few months.
''Will that be all Mr Thornton? I'm sure you have a long journey ahead of you. Across Europe Ms Branwell says.''
The girl furrowed her brows in confusion. Her father had told her he was headed to the Caribbean islands.
If he'd noticed the woman's mistake the man said nothing and instead reached into his pocket, past the pocket kerchief and pulled out a gilded watch. It was ornate with intricate grooves lining the surfaces. The girl had marvelled at it many a time as had her mother before her unfortunate passing.
The man stepped forward and pressed the watch into his daughter's small palm, curling her fingers around the bronze. His hand was freezing, and the girl wanted nothing more than to shake it off.
''I'll be back before you know it'' he said quietly. A subtle flush suddenly bloomed up his neck beneath his cravat and the girl narrowed her eyes. Her father looked ashamed, guilty.
''A few months'' she firmly reminded. ''No more''.
The man let go of the pocket watch, leaving it hanging heavy in the little girl's palm. ''Three months'' he confirmed. ''No later, I promise''.
Still cautious yet somewhat sated the girl nodded.
Her father turned to leave before halting momentarily. He quickly turned and planted a soft kiss on the top of her head. ''Be kind, gracious and serving. I hear Ms Branwell's rather old fashioned. Best be on her good side''. He mumbled into her hair.
Before the girl had a chance to utter a reply, her father had already spun around, his heavy dark cloak flapping in the night air as he walked out of the institute without a further word, lest a look back.
Ignoring the hollow feeling that crept upon her every time her father departed on voyages, the girl swallowed deeply. ''Now, you look positively blue!'' The woman beside her exclaimed as she took in the thin petticoats and blue lips. ''I'll take you to your room and we can call up a bowl of steaming hot soup. Agatha's leek and potato broth will warm up your frail bones in a tad!''
Once again, the girl found herself tugged along like a ragdoll, only this time it wasn't by her father- who was probably starting to mount his horse by now- but by an unfamiliar woman, in an unfamiliar house, with an insatiable creeping feeling of dread sitting cold in her gut.
Why did she this short parting feel like goodbye for good?
