Faces of the Wind

Chapter 50

The sun peeked inside the damp cell through the small hole that served as a window. The three rods installed in the hole cast their shadow on the floor right beside Adrian's bed. But why the three rods? Perhaps in case he managed to shrink himself to the size of a cat and tries to escape through it? But what if he shrunk himself to the size of a rat? This hole-like window reminded him of the dusty room in Edgar's establishment. Edgar... that slimy creature! Why didn't his father warn him about the Medleys? Why did he not share much with him? He probably never loved him. No, that isn't true. Or maybe it is?

The door creaked. Adrian pulled his blanket over his head. It was soft, courtesy of his wicked aunt. He could stay in bed forever—if only the world would let him.

"Good morning, Mr. Blackford," said Peter, "the folk outside are launching a scrabble contest. Care to join?"

Adrian did not respond. There was silence, but he did not hear footsteps. Peter was still there.

"If you don't go out of this room and mix a little with the other folk here, you might become a lunatic."

No response. Peter waited a while then sighed, stepped out and shut the door.

It has been ten days. Catherine would not let Arden stay with him on the pretext that the debtors' prison was no place for a lady of good breeding. Breeding is all that mattered to that witch. He was inferior to all his cousins because he was a 'cross-breed,' as she put it. But she stopped calling him that since his father passed away. Well, wicked auntie, the cross-breed managed to reduce many women of good breeding and had them invite him to bed. His sole desire was to soil everything other men loved. It took him a while to discover this about himself. A despicable creature he was... probably still is. No, not probably—definitely.

Boom! An explosion made Adrian jump off his disturbing thoughts and his bed. He turned around and saw his aunt at the door. It wasn't an explosion—only this witch making an entrance.

"Oh, my! I wasn't aware I had that much strength in me," she said in her cold, superior tone.

A frantic Peter appeared at the door, his face pale, sweaty and full of questions. "Is anything amiss, ma'am?" He wheezed out.

She studied him from head to feet, as if to put a curse on him. "There has been an incident with this door," she replied, her tone dry, "I might have thought it heavier than it actually was."

He nodded. "Do you need any assistance, ma'am?"

"No, thank you. Now if you don't mind, leave us."

Desperate to be out of her sight, Peter left immediately.

Adrian's heart was still racing. "You had to make your arrival so melodramatic!" He said, realizing that his voice was hollow. He swallowed.

"Good morning would be a more suitable greeting," she closed the door and composedly made her way to a chair.

"I thought the debtors' prison was no place for a lady," he sat on the bed, frowning at her.

"I sent Arden to Steventon."

His face flushed. "You what?" He grimaced.

"We don't say 'what,' my dear," she said in a stern tone, "we say 'excuse me.'"

He continued to grimace at her in a combination of fury and disbelief. He could not say anything that would cross her because she was his only chance for getting out of prison before his hair turned grey, his knees grew week and his teeth fell out.

"It delights me to say that Mr. Locksworth has had an accident," she said, "he fell—or was pushed—in front of a speeding coach. Thankfully the coachman managed to stop the horses in time, but Mr. Lockworth has sustained injuries due to the fall—or the push. Nothing serious; merely a fractured arm and scratched knees."

"Mr. Locksworth the lawyer?"

"My dear, have I not warned you on several occasions about asking questions of idiotic nature?"

"Why does the accident delight you?" The grimace never left his face; it only grew more intense and his anger was beginning to bubble up.

His aunt scowled at him and her tone became harsher as if to scold him, "Your idiocy is a helpless case, I'm afraid!"

He ran a stressed hand over his face, almost upsetting all his features but also easing the grimace. "How about we deal with my failings after I'm out of this place?" He took a deep, wavering breath and blew out, "If there shall ever be a way out."

"I am delighted because by attacking my lawyer, Edgar leaves me with no choice but to resort to uncivil methods."

"Uncivil methods?" His two brows combined formed an inverted V, "Someone must write down this confession and make you sign under it!"

***

"Could it be that I am adopted?" Arthur said with eyes so wide at what he has just heard. "Am I the only Blackford who lacks a dark side?"

"I now see from where your nephew has gotten his wits," Catherine said in her cold tone.

"How did you manage to abduct Caleb and the two witnesses?"

"I hope you did not presume I did it myself!"

Still astounded, Arthur's wide stare did not waver. "And how exactly did you make them admit to the truth?"

"It would be best for all involved if I keep such vile details from a man of a delicate nature like yourself, brother," she replied, "the job has been done and we have all the evidence we need—this is all that matters."

His expression finally changed and he knit his brows in concern. "Are you sure you won't be harmed? Edgar is a spiteful man."

Catherine looked sideways at her brother. "Edgar must be thankful he was not the one abducted and shall not go to gaol for his scheme."

***

September neared its end and Adrian's room has gone damper and chillier. He wondered if the prison officers had plans to light this dead fireplace staring at him. He coughed, sitting up in bed under the thick quilt his aunt has sent a few days ago. Either his body has become weaker than ever or the weather was very cold. He skipped bathing and shaving as often as he could.

Arden seldom wrote and when she did, it was to tell him how she wished he was with her in Steventon. No details. Very short letters. Nothing about her life or the feelings she harboured for him. Nothing like the romantic prose she wrote that appalling politician. Maybe it was best he did not learn of her current feelings for him. Contempt must be on top of them... and revulsion, perhaps.

Was she being unfaithful? The woman had no restraint; she would do what she pleases, married or not. He hated her. He hated himself more. He hated his circumstances. Why would she not take a lover? She married a man who went to prison before the honeymoon ended. She married a fool who very easily fell into Edgar's ploy. He coughed again. If he leaves prison and sees that she has been faithful, he will be a better man for her. He will be a better man for himself... and for her, faithful or not.

That prison officer with the grumpiest face ever appeared in front of him. When did he come inside? He didn't hear the door open.

"You leave tomorrow," the grumpy creature with the ugly eyebrows said then disappeared.

Maybe he has become delusional. No one must know of this or else he will spend the rest of his life in a place far worse than this.

After a short while, Peter came running into the room. He smiled between puffs. Adrian watched him in distaste.

"Congratulations!" Peter said and panted a little more. He swallowed after his panting faltered. "We must celebrate!"

"Celebrate?" He grimaced.

"You shall be free to walk home tomorrow morning!"

***