Footprints At Dawn (Book 2)

Chapter Four

December 1869

Nicholas awoke with a jolt. Something had startled him from his deep sleep, but he wasn't sure what.

As he sat upright in his bed, his whole body shivered, goosebumps rising on his arms and legs.

It wasn't the cold that made him shiver, but rather a feeling he had felt after he woke, as though something was amiss.

Knowing there was no way he'd be able to get back to sleep, he climbed out of bed and made his way to the window that faced the front road. Peering through the glass, he could see the faint tinge of an orange sunrise across the horizon. He was glad it wasn't too early in the morning; he usually woke up not long after first light, anyway.

His eyes scanned up and down the road, and even though it was a foggy morning, he was able to see that no one was out there.

But he couldn't shake the feeling that something was out of the ordinary, something was not quite right.

Grabbing the fire poker on his way out of the bedroom, he crept out into the darkness.

On high alert for any movement or sounds, he moved slowly through the living room, making his way down the foyer to check the front door. Locked.

He chuckled to himself, shaking his head, feeling stupid that he had become spooked over nothing.

Constable Doyle was to blame for his restlessness. He had recently been on his back again about Matilda, saying he was close to finding proof that Nicholas had helped her escape from the holding cell. The Constable had a reputation for lying, and Nicholas was unsure if that claim was just another one of his lies or not. It was most likely a lie.

He had also been watching Nicholas more closely, following him around whenever he would go into town. He would keep an eye on Nicholas' purchases, checking to see if he was buying anything out of the ordinary. Extra food or items a woman would use was what he was looking out for. He was convinced Nicholas was hiding Matilda in his home, even though he found no evidence of her when he had searched his home weeks ago.

But Matilda wasn't in his home, much to Nicholas' dismay. And even if she was, he wouldn't be that careless. He would do anything and everything to keep her safe.

Nicholas could handle the stalking, but what he didn't need was for Constable Doyle to start harassing him at church, which was what he had done the previous Sunday. After fifteen years of not attending church after his parents' death, Nicholas had finally plucked up the courage to go again. It was hard enough to be accepted as it was, dealing with everyone staring and whispering, but with the town's Constable in his ear about committing a crime, that made it even harder.

Leaning the fire poker against the back of the sofa, Nicholas headed for the kitchen to make some tea before breakfast, thinking to himself it was too early to collect eggs from the chickens.

Every morning, he had his usual routine; as he waited for the water to boil, he liked to stare out the kitchen window, gazing down at his parents' headstone. After his breakfast, he would then wander down and have a brief chat with his parents, before spending the next few hours painting.

As he shifted the curtain across, his eyes scanned the distant land, searching through the thick fog to find the grey stone. As the sun crept above the mountainous horizon, the land became bathed in a pinky-orange glow. The sight before him was inspirational and gave him the sudden urge to paint. A lot of Nicholas' paintings were landscapes at dawn, as he always thought there was nothing more beautiful than the colours of a sunrise.

It didn't take long for his eyes to spot the headstone in the distance, but his heart stopped when he also spotted something else in front of it. Or rather, someone.

He blinked several times, refocusing his eyes, but the person was still there. He hadn't imagined it.

Hunched over the headstone was a man, dressed in drab brown trousers and brown coat, with a brown cap atop his head. As Nicholas watched the mysterious man with interest, he tried to make out whether he knew the person or not. He was sure it wasn't Constable Doyle, as he was much stockier than that man. And he was certain Mr. Valentine wouldn't be lurking around his parents' headstone at dawn without Nicholas knowing about it.

When the man pushed himself upright with the help of a walking stick, Nicholas was able to get a better look at his physical features. For starters, Nicholas didn't know anyone in town who used a walking stick. He also didn't recall any middle-aged men being such an unhealthy weight, being so thin that his clothes hung off him. His hair colour was covered by his cap, but Nicholas could make out a grey, untidy beard.

Nicholas was sure he didn't know this person, and thought he should go and find out once and for all who was trespassing on his land. But before he made a move, the man coughed several times, the sound heard across the still and quiet land. In an instant, the man's head turned towards the cottage, almost as though in panic that someone could have heard him.

And that's when Nicholas saw his face.

Their eyes locked, staring at one another for what felt like an eternity. There were more lines on his face, his hair was greyer, and he was thinner, a lot thinner. But he would recognise that face anywhere, even after fifteen years.

Heart pounding out of his chest, Nicholas backed away from the window. It couldn't be, he thought to himself. It's not possible.

He rubbed his eyes with his fists, and he had backed so far away from the window that he had bumped into the sofa.

Leaning on it for support, he took a moment to think about what he saw, but he could only come up with one explanation. "Someone is messing with me. I bet Doyle is behind this," he murmured to himself.

Not wasting another second, Nicholas raced to the back door to find out for sure who this person was. It couldn't be who he thought it was, it couldn't be.

Throwing the door back so hard that it hit the wall with a bang, Nicholas ran down the verandah steps and turned towards the back of the land.

He lost sight of the figure through the fog, and he had to slow down to find him again. Coming to a stop, he searched the horizon, but there was no man to be found.

Jogging closer to his parents' headstone, he frantically scanned the land, but nothing. He listened out for footsteps or snapping twigs, but all he could hear was the chirps of birds waking for their morning meal.

His shoulders slumped. How could he have disappeared so fast?, Nicholas thought. Where did he even come from or return to?

When Nicholas had checked the road earlier, he was sure there was no horse or buggy parked up there. It wouldn't be an easy thing to hide. And the man looked thin and sick, and seemed to be in no condition to run.

"Am I seeing ghosts now?" he asked himself out loud.

He had an idea. Due to the downpour of rain the night before, the ground was still wet and muddy. As he scanned the area in front of the headstone, he smiled with satisfaction. Sure enough, he found what he was looking for.

Footprints.

Not a ghost, then. He was relieved about that. He had never seen a ghost before, and was not about to start now. Especially ones who looked like people he once knew.

There was no way that person could be who he thought he was. It had to be a lookalike. And he was desperate to know who this lookalike really was, and more importantly who sent him to his parents' gravesite.

Even if it meant having to face Constable Doyle, nothing was going to stop Nicholas from finding out who made those mysterious footprints at dawn.