The Earl's Keeper

Thirty-One: Into the Past

Slick sweat trailed down John's back. For a cool winter morning, it was unusual. He was neither feverish nor exercising - if sitting upon the cart counted at all.

"Godforsaken good for nothing Earl." He grumbled.

"I am right here, you know." Zebediah sounded half amused.

"That's right, so you are. Determined to drive me into hell."

"I hardly think London is hell on earth."

"You wouldn't, would you, silver spooned brat."

"Oi!" He playfully nudged the other man in the ribs. "Why do you despise the capital so?" He queried. It wasn't the first time he had heard the resentment, as true as true could be. It just did not add up.

John did not hear him. His wary eyes were shrouded with suspicion and veiled by a tin veneer of fear. It was so subtle that those who did not know him would never catch on. But Mia did. She had only seen her father fear once, and that was the day her mother died. She had seen it in his eyes, pouncing forward to consume him. But he kept his fear at bay, behind that veneer of sheer steel will. For the sake of his daughter. He had to be strong, and giving into that fear was not an option.

John felt a small hand on the back of his shoulder. The tiny warmth of his child's palm soothed him and sprung tears to his eyes. She was just like her mother, needing no words to convey what she was thinking, and needing no grandeur to bring him comfort.

As the trio slowly settled back into an easy banter, John almost forgot what he had so long feared. The tight knot in his gut loosened its threads ever so slightly. Unfortunately for him, what he feared had not forgotten him.

London, like most cities, was a network of arteries for gossip. Each vein linked to one part or another of the body and able to travel to the easiest and hardest of places without your conscious knowledge. Rumours could present themselves to anyone before you yourself were presented before them. It was in this way that sorrow befell this innocent party.

As many of you will know, bad things happen to good people all the time.

But what of evil?

Evil never dies.

They say if you ever find yourself at a loss of who you are and what your place is in this mad, mad world, then you are right where you are supposed to be. You just happen not to know it yet. John Arden could have told you otherwise, for it was this fateful day that sealed his fate and his lineage to a great and tragic doom. One that hunted him from his past, stumbled upon him in the present and would scavenge and creep like a terminal disease until it had stayed true to its raw nature.

The faces blurred as they carried on past the din of the city centre, making their slow way back home and into the comfort of the quiet country lanes and tamed farmlands.

For some reason, John suddenly felt compelled to shed light on a few secrets. His daughter was coming into her womanhood and would be an unstoppable force - of that he was certain. He had managed to keep her curiosity at bay with busying hands onto the farm, but that could do only so much. She wanted to know about her mother, their past, and how she had come about into this particular corner of the world. Why she was different, why people shied away from her and ostracised her. She wanted answers to questions that never seemed to end.

"For you." He winked conspiratorially.

Mia looked at the object that appeared mysteriously from within her father's cloak. A leather bound book, wrapped in a red cord, carrying with it that intoxicating smell of fresh paper, binding glue and ink. She unbound it, thumbed through the edge and took a deep breath. "What is it?"

"Don't you know a book when you see one, you daft chit?"

"Papa." She said sternly, rolling her eyes.

"A...modern history novella let's call it. Yes. Quite so."

"What period?" She asked, turning it over in her hands, her palms feeling the indent of the leather and grooves of its cover. The pages, she realised with surprise were all hand written. What's more, it was her father's very own hand writing. A labour of love and passion. She recognised it for what it was. It was a book of secrets yet untold.

Seeing that flame of realisation flicker behind her intelligent eyes, he gently said, "read, child."

And so she did.

***