Faces of the Wind

Chapter 35

At night when the whole neighborhood seemed to have retired—except for a drunkard swaying his way home unable to find it and a couple of stray cats in the middle of a heated conversation, Adrian sat in bed, a candle burnt on the wooden chair that doubled as a nightstand. His eye, wrist and head throbbed, but his heart was at peace, so nothing else in the world mattered. He opened the letter he found on the floor. It was from his aunt Catherine and it read:

My Adrian dear,

I presume that following the passing of my dearest brother Jeffrey, you seem to have overlooked the fact that you have a family and; thus, neglected your duties. You must be ashamed for having worried us all and let us search for you instead of writing and informing your elders of your whereabouts, but then again, my dear nephew, you have no shame nor remorse, I am certain.

It is such a pity that blood is thicker than water, or else I would have disowned you a long time ago. The most wicked yet best thing about family is they stick together whatever the circumstances. I would have gladly forgotten you ever existed, but you are still my blood even though I know it pains you. Therefore, I find myself obliged to ask after your welfare. I assume you are not prospering, but I am assured you are surviving. All Blackfords have a tendency to survive.

Your cousin Lydia is staying at my house in London as she has been employed as a nurse at a local hospital. Though I believe it good for women to work and look after themselves, I wonder why ever a lady of good breeding would choose to be a nurse at a hospital filled with ill people when she can be so in her own county and from the comfort of her big, well-staffed house. I will continue to support her nevertheless as she is, as you always say, my favourite.

My son Phillip is to be engaged on April the twenty-seventh, so I will be entertaining. I expect you to be at my estate in Bath not later than April the twentieth, or else I shall come myself to escort you – and you know how skilled your aunt is at such disciplinary affairs.

I shall write more later and hope to receive a response from you.

Your loving aunt,

Lady Catherine R. Hammers

Adrian giggled and placed the letter on the chair beside him. After all her degrading words, his aunt still had the nerve to describe herself as a loving aunt. He was in a good mood, especially following the unusual visit of Mrs. Macy and old Mrs. Bumbleton. The room felt warmer than ever and for the first time in a while, he did not feel alone. He missed his aunt and thought to write her a long letter in the morning telling her of his news—in his own narration of course. After all, she was not inherently wicked nor always so cold and stern. Though she withheld affection towards him most of the time, she did have her warm gestures that felt like drinking from a chilly spring after a long day of walking in the blazing sun. There was a time when, at age nine, his cousin Phillip had pushed him down the stairs while they played, leaving him with many bruises but no breaks. His father was away in London, so she took him home with her and stayed at his bedside until he fell asleep. She even rubbed his back and offered him treats.

He sniffed the candle and watched a wisp of smoke rise in a white swirl and die in the darkness. He tucked himself in bed and lay on his side then closed his eyes with a smile effortlessly curling his chapped lips.

***

Hazel flew into a teashop near her new employer's house. Her heart fluttered with excitement. She finally found a job that suited her education—though not her dreams, but what better could she ask for with her current status? She ordered a muffin and coffee and sat at a table overlooking the street.