ALMIRA THORN- Knowledge of Another Kind. [Editing]

CHAPTER 2 - Purpose for another day.

                     As the carriage dropped me off and rode away I took a deep breath and walked up the steps, bunching my skirts up and slowly making my way to the large double doors of the house. The sky was drowned in a mass of grey and black clouds, making the streets of London a dim scene. The street lanterns would not be lit for another few hours but it seemed as if the day was already over.

I would have presumed it evening if it weren't for the noise of distant carriages and the amount of people walking the streets. London was a very quiet city once the lanterns were ablaze. Families tucked into their beds and men gambling in clubs. Seeing a woman on the streets after nightfall was as rare as seeing a summer sky in the harshest of winters. It just never happened. I stared at the doors and gave the one on the left a loud knock. I'd been here enough to know they never opened the right door unless they had a party and the guests needed room to come and go within the household.

Everyday it was only the left door that was used and the condition of it was of a noticeable state compared to the other one. Faint marks showed the knuckles of guests awaiting entry. The faint echo of footsteps snapped me out of my observation and as the noise became louder, I heard how one of the steps was lighter then the other and how quickly the faint step moved into the other one.

Samuel Pearch, The footman of the Whitehill family. The limp in his right leg sounding a painful effort to the door. I never knew the mystery behind the limp but he never faltered in what he did. He was their oldest companion and had always put up with me as an infant when father visited to see Edmond Whitehill, Tom's father.

The door handle gave a groan as it turned and the door swung open in a quick motion. Making the heat of the house hit me and give me the warmth I needed to stare up at him. He was 6ft 4 at least, his broad shoulders and muscular body showed the effort of his job while his eyes and face showed a gentler nature that did not match the rest of him.

His eyes a green brown that were surrounded by the lines of every smile he ever made. His red hair dark like blood tied back, making the illusion that it was much shorter but anyone who had seen it out of the ties would know it fell to his shoulder blades and held the faint traces of grey from his age.

"Almira, a pleasure to see you. Come on in, Tom’s in the drawing room" he said with that smile that had years of practice in a deep voice that held the faint traces of an accent that I could never quite put my finger on.

" Its good to see you again. I'll go there now" I replied as I slowly made my way into the house. It was every bit Tom's father. The huge staircase took up the hallway and separated into two individual sections that led to different sides to the house. This was finished with a large chandelier that lit the grand staircase and caused the crystals to glisten and dance against everything.

I knew my way around this house when I was about twelve but it never failed to impress me each time I saw it, fit for a queen. I unfastened my hat and straight away missed the feel of it on my head. A small comfort, but I reluctantly held it out and allowed Sam to take it to the cloakroom. 

It wasn't until I heard his footsteps fade that I walked across the marble floors to the door to the left corner of the huge stairs that led into the drawing room. I reached for the handle and hesitated. What would I say? Would he be angry that I did not return his telegrams? I pushed the thoughts away and turned the handle softly. Making sure I wouldn't disturb or interrupt anything, slowly making my way through the door.

The room always reminded me of our one back at home. It contained the same dark interior and was filled with antiques that were born to be presented within these walls. Unlike ours though, the fire that was fitted on the left side of the room was big enough to heat the entire house on its own. It was lit and eating the firewood in a blaze that lit the room furiously. Tom was alone and propped up against the mantle piece with his tall body facing the fire so all I could see was the back of his waistcoat and trousers he adored. It fit his body perfectly, hugging his muscles and showing the broadness of his father’s shoulders. His dark curls hung down as he faced the fire, making them look almost black in the darkness of the room. The hair was not his father's though, but his mother's. My heart quickened as I realized just how much I'd missed him.