Alfred Jones and Arthur Kirkland

Loosely based off the wonderful show Downton Abbey-

which I advice each and every one of you to watch if you're interested in the Edwardian period, and WWI!


England, Spring of 1913

He stepped swiftly. He stepped lightly. He stepped invisibly, at least to anyone around. He was sneaking out, just as he had each night before, and planned to each day ahead. The house, the mansion, or what he wanted to consider his own personal dungeon… It was slowly suffocating him, the long slender fingers of his brothers, mother, father, that bloody house; they coiled and wrapped around his neck, growing tighter and heavier with each breath he took. To be blamed for something he'd not done, nor had he any hand in doing- it was unfair, unjust and plainly a despicable thing for his brother to rile up at the dinner table. Oh surely he'd always known they were at each other throats, holding daggers just sharp enough to slice the flesh. Inevitable, it really was, for him to feel safe and secure at the entire idea. In the end, regardless of his mother's inability to bare a daughter, or his father to produce such seed; he was to be blamed and forever the shame of his family name; Kirkland.

How did this all come about? Since his youngest brothers birth it had sat there, untouched on the table; that is until the foreigner and his parents began asking questions. So sinister the Kirkland's thought they were. That they could easily shoo the problem away, sweeping it under a dingy rug like their maids did each day. The fact was undeniable and now stood right in their faces. What were they to do now? Of course, they had no idea and the fact that they looked to Arthur as though he was knowledgeable of a solution, only caused him more of that uncomfortable and tense feeling in his throat. So much it bothered him that his tight collar had been thrown onto the ground. Now it was lost in the wild uncut grass, already collecting dew from the late night mist that dispersed the land surrounding his home.

A clouded moon lay flat in the sky above the staggering blond that was determined to reach the yard's end. What he would do there on such a dark night? Nothing… nothing at all. Possibly just sit in the silence, something that he hadn't been able to enjoy as he once had. That bickering house never gave him just one moment of solitude, so he knew he must go out on his own and find it. Even if he would be up to his knees in muck, hair disheveled atop his head, speckles of mud mixed with his light freckled cheeks; he needed this. Just some time to think and feel, understand and take in all that was up against him.

It was easy to tell once he'd reached the lands edge; the clumped dirt was extremely difficult to stomp through, as he had the entire way. Now he was leaping and balancing himself on the strange mounds of land and scattered grass growths. Though he was a young man, as a boy he recalled coming to this place, escaping his family even then. He spotted the large and slowly decaying stump, to which he fell down on, a rough breath leaving his mouth. He could taste the mud on his lips, and spat it out, running his tongue across his teeth in hopes to lessen the bitterness.

His eyelashes were clumped together, three or four stuck to one another by those denied tears. Someone spotting him while doing such a personal and shameful thing as crying, he'd have none of it, or else some fierce mental beating from his brothers or father. This place brought silence, solace and safety to Arthur Kirkland, this he knew and this he would keep secret. If anyone were ever to find him here, he'd lose this place and along with it any chance and hope of returning to the relaxed and comforted state he only came to so seldom in his short life.

Heaving his chest, he caught his breath, regulating it steadily, hoping his heart would not dare to pop from his chest and scurry off into the unknown woods down the way. The notion was silly however, his heart growing legs and bidding him farewell- Oh what an imagination. The first time that day, he laughed, even if it was soft and barely audible. A hand pressed to his chest, he felt said heart slowing and meeting a much preferred pace, one he no longer heard ringing through his ears- Thump… Thump…Thump… -Yes, much preferred.

With his hearts beat now in check, he turned his head, eyes squinting but still blurred by the ever growing fog and his tear-matted lashes. That place he called home, it looked empty, only the servant's quarters lit by those dull, bleak candles. Why people came to his manor and commented on its beauty, decor, enchanting qualities… Only Arthur would dream of saying that everything and anything that stepped foot into that house would forever be cursed and tainted by its scandalous and revolting nature.

Distasteful could only describe the look he shot back to the manor, pointing his nose in the air and shifting his gaze down from where he sat. Off in the distance, the dim lights of London, so small and fleeting, he let his eyes be dazzled by them as they did almost every night prior. No desire to stare up at those boring stars; he pursed his lips, wiping off the remaining tears from his surely blotched cheeks. Really, what a shameful position he found himself in. If he did not return by at least 5 am, who could foretell a fortune he would meet.

Some days, he wondered if he could run away, how far he could make it to the nearest town. Maybe he could steal a horse, ride away and seek a new place to call home, a wide field, or a tiny cottage; he was not picky… well for the most part. The days would only get worse and worse, till that horrid foreign man would come, demanding the Kirkland daughters hand in marriage only to be thwarted and sent running at the sight of their 4 sons. Even if their looks seemed to woo the girls of the town and the hearts of aged women, there was no way around what would happen in a weeks' time. His elder brothers even entertained the thought that Arthur wear one of his mother's best gowns and parade himself about like the loony he was- his younger brother's innocence delighted with the idea however. That thought alone showed what a joke he could be seen as, even to his own family.

In the end he would return to the house, abandon his ruined garments, wash off in the tub and slip into bed. He'd stare up at his canopy for a moment, maybe reaching his fingers up to lightly grace the linen fabric a couple times, his arm becoming tired and falling to his side. Eyes would shut once… twice… three times, then finally secure for the night and send him into the never-ending darkness, which stood to be his dream. Awakened by the insidious sunlight, he'd prepare and be dressed, sitting with his family for breakfast. He'd pick at his plate, no appetite known, just waiting for the moment either of the elder brothers to bring up the subject from supper the night before; throwing the entire first meal of the day into a frenzy of yelling family and trembling maids.

A sniff, very small, left his nostrils, another sigh as well. He'd not realized how upset he was till he found himself alone, just thinking about it. Facing his family was one thing, but now a complete stranger, an American at that… those loud, improper men. He had dreaded that moment ever since it'd been brought up. The lashing from his parents, his brothers, when compared to what he would surely receive from this American man, it turned his blood to ice, then back to a boil when he knew this was not even his fault! He'd be yelled at, lectured, maybe even hit depending on how civilized the American's were at this point. Being the polite British boy he'd grown up as, he could only offer his apologies, and do his very best not to be overcome by emotion and either cry, or join in the fight and yell back as he often did.

The thoughts passed through his mind numerous times as he sat on that soggy wooden stump, hoping things would go better than what he was imagining. Pretending he was ill or unable to see the American was still a playable card, though with the way those foreigners were, always acting as though it was no problem, even offering to stay till they could finish their business- truly they did not know when and where they were not wanted. Every way he looked around this sure to be fatal encounter, he could not pass.

Only could he hope. Hope that the family would call off the visit or his parents would realize their wrong doing and tell them before they came. The idea to surprise them with only sons and no daughter was not a wise one, they all knew this. If they could blame this unfortunate event on their son in some way though, they would. To damage their family name with such a flighty and unacceptable mistake, a scape goat was needed and lucky for them, they had one.

Truly this would be quite the talk of the town, once word got out. No way could the servants keep their traps shut, nor could his eldest brother keep to himself, if any chance he got to ruin Arthur's names came to light.

It seemed Arthur had been desecrated the moment of his birth, not being what was wanted or required for his family's safe position in the preferable social class they currently held. At least he could not complain, not another word of his life ill-mannered. His plate was full, if not, spilling over and causing a ruckus for others to only look at and watch, not wanting to offer any sort of helping hand, else themselves be caught in the growing mess. This was Arthur's now, and he was preparing himself- to take it on with a stern eye, and an even sterner brow.


I feel a bit silly for starting up another story after I've got 2 I'm still working on- though I kind of like to think of it as a way for me to continue my muses!

If I'm up for this, or Itacest, or Spamano, I don't feel cornered... Speaking of which, I'm slowly working on new chapters for both so please stay tuned!

Things have been a bit... messy on my end and I do apologize, but once it's all over I'll be able to update when I say I do!

Enjoy!