Many Years Ago in the West Indies
He once thought of himself as a dreamer, the sort that had hopes and wishes drawn down from the stars as though each one had a special meaning or purpose—each one placed there just for him to follow,
Ashley had that sort of ego.
The hour was growing late or so he felt, the sky darkening and blocking out the sun, but this wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to. Many days and many nights were spent in this very spot as though standing in some sort of purgatory.
This was his hell, the books of case law and guides to the keeping of order in an otherwise mad world. And there was no time to break free. He had shut himself away now for what felt like a thousand years, but the matter of a handful of days could be maddening when even his law was full of faces who looked to him for answers and protection from an otherwise very unjust system.
”I find it funny…that the jeweled crown would find such a thing horrid when France did not.”
England had its way of skirting around the justification of itself and he had wondered that through the edge of it all if perhaps she had been right. The former table conversation of an otherwise loveless marriage at least had intellect to sustain their basic needs. It had been a false world where dreams of personal gain were so few and far between that they were overlooked by the bigger picture. Ashley didn’t have any time to dream of simple things like taking a wife or becoming a father, and that made the picture of the Gypsy as she came to his door all that more painful.
”It’s a hell that we live in Ashley, and one we will die from.” The Governors’ daughter had touched his shoulder when she confirmed his own concerns, and he knew that they shared the same realities. “Even with Lucien, I can not let go of everything we have worked for. What sort of world would he come to love if not a just and right one?” Freedom.
Aurore had a child to think of, and sometimes it made him feel guilty at how he mourned the loss of his own ‘marriage’, but truly he had let it go years ago. Fate had just brought them together one last time, and it would be faith that tore them apart.
Now? He sat behind a throne of lies and ruled over a kingdom of pen and paper. He knew their law and exactly how to use it against them. He followed Jocelyn’s trail as though tracing that bit of lace against his lover’s neck, but getting those few steps ahead had been the hardest part.
"Monroe! What are you doing skulking about in here when it's such a ... Lovely day?"
She came upon the dreary day as though she were the dawn and pulled them all from the endless night, and he could not help the way his lips smiled even in the slightest sort. Was it still day? He turned to look out the window and saw that it wasn’t the night that came, but in fact dark skies.
“It appears your timing as always, Madame, is incredible.” He rose to greet her as always, a gentleman by blood and the mannerisms would never die. “Are your horses being tended to?” He watched a moment as the camps outside started to buckle down on their own, and he wondered if perhaps they should all move inside. However, despite the way he was sober he could not help but feel as though the vision before him was nothing more than an illusion of his sleep deprived state.
“Forgive me. Madame Torres, it is a pleasure to see you again. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He offered her a seat, the larger of the two, the one often reserved for the men.
Re: Purgatory
#2A few days later...
The big house was falling apart, the fields were ruin, and the mill...laughable, but the one thing that the brochure had not lied about was the incredible view. The rolling hillside enough to make any man feel as though he were rich in splendor and grace alone, but it was the cliffs that seemed to swallow the sea that truly made him feel so very small. The wind it raced up from the currants below and he could hardly hold his breath to keep from going then, but it wasn’t his time yet. However, this he decided long ago would be how he would do it, his suffering would end on the stones below.
As the sun set he watched it with a renewed attempt at the tasks at hand, but this time the dark clouds that had been a constant threat seemed to only act as a reminder that there would always be an impending doom to come. He could hardly surface from his own despair but he believed very little in chance and knew that his lawn was covered with gypsies (or so he liked to call them) for a reason.
An evening cup of coffee in his hand he turned away from the setting sun to watch them as the night camps came to life and the men and women of the traveling orchestra started to settle in from the day. With their help the fields were being tended, and though his own slaves were thankful for the extra hands it was clear that Mundy did not approve of their being there. She was not a fan of the laziness that some of the men possessed and was especially sore with this...Lewis. Ashley, who had come to really appreciate the keeper of his house and trust her judgement had to laugh a little at her concern, but at least her mind was in the right place.
Supper would wait until the master was ready, but she knew that he often skipped meals to study on the grassy hillsides as the repairs to his office were slow and steady while they waited for the next shipment of supplies.
“He has to eat. He didn’t have afternoon meal,” She spoke to one of the women helping in the kitchen, but couldn’t get away just yet as she didn’t trust these gypsies to poison them all. “Take em a plate. A spot of something warm too. Head down in his books like that is why he has such trouble with his back.” Couldn’t be that the bed he slept on was far too small and his feet hung off the side.
The big house was falling apart, the fields were ruin, and the mill...laughable, but the one thing that the brochure had not lied about was the incredible view. The rolling hillside enough to make any man feel as though he were rich in splendor and grace alone, but it was the cliffs that seemed to swallow the sea that truly made him feel so very small. The wind it raced up from the currants below and he could hardly hold his breath to keep from going then, but it wasn’t his time yet. However, this he decided long ago would be how he would do it, his suffering would end on the stones below.
As the sun set he watched it with a renewed attempt at the tasks at hand, but this time the dark clouds that had been a constant threat seemed to only act as a reminder that there would always be an impending doom to come. He could hardly surface from his own despair but he believed very little in chance and knew that his lawn was covered with gypsies (or so he liked to call them) for a reason.
An evening cup of coffee in his hand he turned away from the setting sun to watch them as the night camps came to life and the men and women of the traveling orchestra started to settle in from the day. With their help the fields were being tended, and though his own slaves were thankful for the extra hands it was clear that Mundy did not approve of their being there. She was not a fan of the laziness that some of the men possessed and was especially sore with this...Lewis. Ashley, who had come to really appreciate the keeper of his house and trust her judgement had to laugh a little at her concern, but at least her mind was in the right place.
Supper would wait until the master was ready, but she knew that he often skipped meals to study on the grassy hillsides as the repairs to his office were slow and steady while they waited for the next shipment of supplies.
“He has to eat. He didn’t have afternoon meal,” She spoke to one of the women helping in the kitchen, but couldn’t get away just yet as she didn’t trust these gypsies to poison them all. “Take em a plate. A spot of something warm too. Head down in his books like that is why he has such trouble with his back.” Couldn’t be that the bed he slept on was far too small and his feet hung off the side.
word count: 452
