Under The Moonlight

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Andrew had awoken quite late in the morning and after a quick breakfast, he'd headed to the Gentleman's Club to rid himself of the stress he was feeling. Seeing Thomas' room for the first time since his death had reminded him that he'd never see his brother again. That he was truly gone. That thought alone was enough to get him frustrated and so he took out his anger on the poor fellow who was sparring with him.

"I say, Lockhart," the man gasped as he just avoided being stabbed in the chest by Andrew's saber. "It's like you actually want to kill me,"

"Sorry, old man," Andrew replied, shaking his head. "I have alot on my mind,"

"Hmmf,"

The man didn't want to take a chance with the earl and so decided to leave while his limbs were still attatched to his torso. Andrew sighed and replaced his saber. His anger always seemed to get the best of him. He had acted in a similar way when his father had died. No one was to blame as he had died of a stroke but Andrew had to blame someone - anyone - even the physician who had delivered the news. But it had only made him feel worse because it wasn't that man's fault.

Subconciousely, he walked over to the stables. A ride would help clear his head. He must not feel this way when he called upon Jasmine tomorrow. She might not wish to be around him.

Choosing one of the mares from the stalls, he saddled it and mounted. A few laps around the area and then he'd leave. Most of his friends had noticed his sour mood and knew from experience it was best to leave him to his thoughts.

Andrew urged the mare into a gallop and guided her around the vast piece of land. The trees were widely spaced and he manoeuvred his way around them easily. Indeed, this was what he needed. The wind in his hair, the sound of only the horses' hooves against the ground and his heart pounding in excitement. 

After a few rounds, he retured the mare to her stall. He dismounted and proceeded to remove her saddle. He then slowly stroked her mane.

"You know," he said to the horse. "You're a spectacular horse. You made me feel better even without trying to. Why can't people be more like you?"  Andrew stopped suddenly. He was talking to an animal. Had he gone mad?

The door closed suddenly. Spinning around, Andrew barely caught the lit match that had fallen into a pile of hay. He rushed to the door and tried to open it but it was stuck. The flame from the match spread quickly to the hay and the mare let out a panicked neigh and reared back on her hind legs.

Andrew cursed and took off his overcoat. He draped in over the flames and stomped on it with his feet. Plumes of smoke began to rise from his singed coat, polluting the air with the smell of smouldered fabris. Thankfully, the fire hadn't been serious and was instantly put out. The horse, however, continued to whinny and desperately tried to kick open the stall with her back legs.

Coughing slightly, Andrew slowly took a step towards the mare. "It's alright," he rasped. "The fire's out."

The mare looked startled to realise that another living creature was in the stall with her. She stopped her frantic kicking and lowered her head to him.

"Good girl," Andrew soothed. Inside, he was fuming. This was no accident.

 As if sensing his discomfort, the mare whinnied softly.

"Hello?" a voice called from outside. "Is anyone there?"

"In here," Andrew answered.

He heard a click and the door opened, revealing none other than John Lawrence.

"Lockhart?" he asked, eyes widening. "What happened?"

"I'll tell you once I get this mare to a different stall,"