The Savage Inheritance

A Snuffed Candle

Mercy stood in the dining room of the Hall, waiting by the window. She had been at the house a week and Mister Bawden had yet to dine with her. Trying not to take the insult too gravely, she had been pleasant on the rare occasion they crossed paths. He always seemed distracted though, barely acknowledging her presence, and when they spoke his tone was dismissive.

Several times he had been holding a book under his arm. She wondered if they were her father's books, her property by rights. Though they had never held any interest for her in the past, her curiosity was now piqued. Both Cyril Bawden and Edward Savage had guarded those tomes like they were made of gold. Mercy had grown up wondering if he valued his library over her own person. 

But this Cyril Bawden was even more emphatic in his studies. She had rarely seen him step outside his study. Perhaps he managed his business dealings within, but she had not been informed what Cyril Bawden did for a living. 

She lit a candle in the late afternoon gloom and rubbed her hands over the small flame to ward off the chill. Some rooms, like her own chambers, were welcoming and warm. And yet, in the rest of Northcairn, the stones emanated a chill of their own like lingering winter in old bones.

A shift of light left the room darker than before and the walls creaked with age. The candle light flared and Mercy's eye was drawn to the hearth that had been cold. Flames leaped behind the grate as a figure tossed kindling into the red heart of the fire. The shadowy apparition rose to his feet and Mercy's heart skipped into her throat.

"Oh, excuse me," she breathed.

The figure turned, the light catching the pale gold in his long hair. He wore a smart dinner coat in the high fashion of the men she'd seen in Boston. It was oxblood in color and jogged a memory for her.

"It's you," she said as though seeing him there was the most natural thing in the world. She let out a relieved chuckle. "You will think me foolish, I thought you were a spirit."

The oxblood gentleman gave her an obliging smile and sauntered forward, his hands folded at his back. "I did not mean to frighten you, I only wanted to start a fire. I didn't want you to catch a chill in this tomb of a house. I assure you, my home is much more inviting than this pile of stone. I am sure you will agree when you visit."

Mercy regarded the handsome young man, gripping the candle in her hand. "Thank you for your courtesy, but you are still being presumptuous. I have no formal acquaintance with you, you cannot expect me to visit."

"What if I were to hold a dinner party this very evening? I could invite you as the guest of honor," he offered in his lilting brogue.

The gentleman perched on the edge of the dining table across from her, a feral grin tugging at his bloodless lips. His dark eyes hooked her with their persistent gaze and Mercy felt as though she were falling into a mirror. 

Something like a vision came over her of night woods and tangled vines, crickets resonating in the still, heavy air. A trio of wolves hunted a doe, the pursued animal wounded and weak. Splashes of blood burned in pockets of marshy water. Mercy blinked and the vision passed, the blood melting into the rich, red brown of the gentleman's coat.

"No, thank you." Mercy retreated an inch from him. "I would need the permission of my guardian."

The Scottish gentleman chuckled ruefully with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Permission from your guardian? But you are a grown woman. The social mores of your age and circle are quite vexing, I must say. Why a perfectly capable young person of sound mind, regardless of their sex, cannot make decisions for themselves is beyond me. But I respect your choice."

Footsteps out in the hall pulled her attention away, her breath coming out quickly and snuffing the candle. Once again she was alone, but the fire still burned in the large hearth. Mister Bawden and Enoch Ramsey entered the room, a book cracked open in Bawden's hands.

"Oh! Miss Savage. I thought I heard voices. Were you alone?" Bawden asked, shutting the book and tucking it under his arm. "Miss Savage? Are you well?"

Mercy set the candle down on the dining room table and passed a hand over the curls on the left side of her head, dazed by a dizzy spell. Ramsey stepped forward, his hands held out as though he expected her to swoon. Mercy steadied herself on the back of a chair and gave a weak smile.

"Yes, of course. I think I am tired, I have not slept well since arriving."

"Oh no, I am sorry for that, Miss Savage." Bawden moved next to Ramsey, his forehead creased in concern. "I am often troubled by sleeplessness. I find a cup of warm milk and a slice of pie help immensely."

Mercy nodded. "Thank you, Mister Bawden. I've been wishing to speak with you. I guessed you were in your library, but the Hall is so confusing, I did not want to get lost trying to find you."

Ramsey moved towards the hearth and leaned against the mantle, his dark gaze soaking in the details of the room as though it were a mystery to be solved. Ironically, Mercy felt Enoch Ramsey was the greatest intrigue Northcairn Hall had to offer.

"How can I help you?" Bawden asked, his eyes drifting back towards the door leading to his study.

"I should like to see my father's books, perhaps assist in organizing them."

Bawden jolted and cocked his head to the side. "Why is that?"

Mercy let out a breathy laugh. "Well, because they belonged to him and they are all I have left of my father."

He wet his lips as his mouth turned down into a perplexed frown. Before he could make further argument, Ramsey approached him. He stood in front of his employer, his voice too low for Mercy to hear his words. Whatever he said, Bawden had changed entirely when Ramsey moved away. The older man seemed to see her completely for the first time. Mercy shifted uncomfortably under the drill of his gaze. Whatever Enoch Ramsey was in Bawden's employ, he was clearly influential.

"Well, I suppose I could use an extra pair of hands to help, there is still much to do and the servants only know so much of these things. I've never had a young lady in my library before, but you don't seem like the type to cause trouble."

Though pleased by his invitation, Mercy was confused by his guarded tone. Suspicion froze his forced smile. Mercy made herself smile back.

"Thank you, shall we start tomorrow?"

"Very well."

The pained smile still on her face, Mercy's attention flickered towards Enoch Ramsey where he stood behind Mister Bawden. He lifted his chin, brow heavy with unspoken concern, and cut his eyes past her shoulder.