TO DARE NOT SPEAK LOVES NAME

KINGSMERE

Lancashire, England.  October, 1896.

As if to prove a point, the heavens opened and it rained all the way to Lancashire.  A day and a half, it took, staying in an inn overnight, smokey and noisy and cramped, and serving awful food.  Larry was more than pleased he had Cookies food with him now.  

Cookie.  He missed her already, but he mustn't.  He imagined her sweet smiling face, all the same.  That part of his life was over now, and he must move froward.  Look to the future.  He was young, and there was more ahead of him than there was behind.  He hunkered down in his uncomfortable bed, but at least his room was warm.  He gazed into the fire, mesmerized by it's orange glow, feeling slightly smug that someone else had lit it ... for him.  With a small, satisfied smile, he closed his eyes, and settled in for a surprisingly good nights sleep. 

By four the next afternoon, the highways had given way to dirt tracks, then the carriage slowed suddenly, turning carefully into a long driveway.  The road was well worn but narrow, and so the driver had to take his time.  

"Up ahead, Larry.  Kingsmere.  One of the finest house's of it's kind in the country.  You're a lucky lad ... "  

"Yes, well, we'll see about that, won't we ... "  He didn't know what to think, the house was impressive.  It was certainly grand and beautiful, there was no doubt, bathed, as it was, in the late afternoon glow of pale orange sunlight, sat on it's very own hilltop, surrounded by a sea of green fields and autumn trees.  Now, the sun makes it's appearance, Larry huffed.  Now, to let me see this house in it's best colours and finery.  He took it as a good omen though, and gathered his belongings.  One bag.  His life, packed into one bag.  His few clothes, a picture of his mother, Fleur.  Her small sewing pouch.  Larry was not above mending a seam or a hem, or stitching on a button himself.  He was a Jack of all trades after all, and he was very good at most of them.  A silver signet ring had appeared from somewhere, simple but pleasing, hefty and significant.  D C was engraved on it's plain oval face, and an elegant swirling design wove around the letters.  But it wasn't his, maybe Cookie had packed it wrongly.  He liked it though, and it fit the little finger of his right hand perfectly.  He'd keep it until he saw Cookie again, or he could tell her about it, and could return it to it's rightful owner.  

Larry stepped down from the carriage onto the gravel, and looked around him.  The sun immediately found his face, as if it had been searching for it all this time. He took in a huge breath, closing his eyes.  Fresh .... Air .... !  So this was what fresh air smelt like.  He filled his lungs with more of it, again and again, and smiled.  He realized then just how acrid and awful the polluted London smog was.  He'd got used to it, but now he was here, he could see himself finding it a problem being in the city again for any length of time.  A well dressed man approached him from a side door of the house.  

"Larry .... welcome to Kingsmere.  I hope you'll be happy here."  The chubby smiling man who introduced himself as James shook Larry's hand till he thought it might fall off.  To say this man was happy, might be an understatement.  "Lord Ashborne is at the mill at the moment, but he'll greet you himself when he returns this evening.  But we'll settle you in first ....here, let me take that."  James reached for Larry's bag, but he only gripped it tighter.  It was the only thing that was familiar to him, and he intended to keep it close, at least for a while.  

"Thank you, but I have it."

"As you wish.  Shall we ... ?"  James gestured to the door.  Larry looked back to see the carriage already on it's way.  He managed a half hearted wave as it disappeared from sight, more to the carriage as to the driver.