In the yorkshire dales, there is a manor house
In the Yorkshire dales, there is a manor house. It is a beautiful place; the gardens are large and elegant, the drive way vast. There is a tennis court that is growing ragged with use, and a small climbing frame that also looked extremely played-upon.
The rooms are filled with beautiful things, paintings and vases and furniture the likes of which most people would never see. There's even a ball-room, though there are talks among the master of this house and his wife to have this room made into an indoor pool instead.
There was a couple who lived there, Lord and Lady of this house and some of the land around it.
The master was a tall and handsome man, his hair a mass of ebony and eyes as black as coal.
The lady of the home was beautiful and fair. Oh yes, due to her somewhat inbred ancestry she had been born an albino, but this couldn't possibly detract from how much her husband loved her.
They had two sons. The young masters of the manor, The older one the image of his father, but for his pale skin that spoke very much of his mother's genetic disorder.
The other son was a baby, only months of age, and he had caught the full blast of genetics and had a crop of white curls flourishing on his head. His dark pink eyes were huge in his face, giving the impression of a baby panda.
It was the oldest boy in the manor's birthday. He was five.
It was also Halloween, fortunate, as the young master had a sweet tooth. The Lord said that they would have a camp-out in the lounge, and roast marshmallows on the fire, and blow the dentist's bills, they would have as many sweets as they wished.
It was a wonderful night. The oldest son and his father building a tent indoors while the Lady and her baby watched them, giggling every now and then when it all went wrong.
The evening wore on, and they roasted marshmallows.
"Father, do I really have to go to sleep?"
The lord turned and smiled at his boy. Heir to everything in the manor, his pride and joy, the little boy gave him back the youth he thought he had lost. "My son, why do you not want to sleep?"
The dark-haired child smiled adorably, "I want tonight to last forever! It's my best birthday ever father!"
There was a smash from somewhere in the manor.
They all four fell silent.
The lord stood up, "Probably one of the cats, I'll go and investigate."
He left.
For a long time it was all very quiet.
And then there was an ear-shattering bang.
"Mother, what was that?! Is father all right?!"
The lady stood up, her maroon eyes flashing fear. She thrust the baby into her oldest son's arms. "You must hide, hide in that cupboard over there, and don't come out, understand?" She hissed. "Don't come out no matter what you hear."
The oldest boy nodded, of course he understood, he was a very clever boy. He hurried to the large side-cupboard and quickly shoved both himself and his brother into it.
He heard the door of the lounge open. Heard his mother shrieking. Pressed his eye to the gap in the hinges of the door to try and see what was happening.
Saw a man he didn't recognise.
Watched him raise a hand.
Heard that same loud banging noise.
His mother's scream as she fell to the floor.
Red stuff on her pretty lavender dress.
After that, it all became blurry, and black.
"Tis a pity and a sin…" the chief of police muttered, "You know the young masters were in the room? Lady Anne hid them, y'know."
His assistant nodded wearily. "All this for a few paintings and some bloody silver."
The two sighed in unison and sipped their cups of tea, eyes wandering back down the hall to where he was sat. Next to the female officer who was comforting his baby brother.
"You say he's not responding to his name?" the Chief asked.
"Doesn't seem to know theesen." Was his reply. "Shock, I suppose. What a bloody mess… and on him's birthday too."
"Ought to go and try talking to him again." The chief muttered, setting his mug down and walking over to the boy, sat there staring straight ahead, black eyes wide as saucers.
"Hello Liam."
No response.
"Liam, it's Police chief Markin, you remember me? I came to your house once?"
The boy blinked and looked up at the face.
"Are you talking to me?" He squeaked out. "I'm afraid I don't know anyone called Liam."
The chief sighed and took the seat next to the boy. "All right, well how about for now we call you L, issat all right?"
L nodded.
"Now L, somethin terrible has happened to your mother and father, and I'm afraid that you won't be able to see them again."
L tilted his head slightly. "Are they dead?"
The chief spluttered a bit. Of course, everyone in the town knew Liam Lawliet was a bloody clever kid, and he supposed that a great many five year olds could understand the word 'death'.
"…Yes, L, they are."
The boy nodded calmly, apparently thinking very hard. "That man with the gun came in and shot them."
"That seems likely."
"Did you catch him?"
The chief sighed. "Not yet, little one. We've got men all over the Dales looking for him though." He looked up at the female officer with the baby, then back at Liam. "Would you like something to drink? Or eat?"
"Hot chocolate, please."
The chief nodded and took the little boy's hand, leading him off to the kitchen.
"Where will Oliver and I live now?"
Steve Markin sighed. He had a boy at home just about Liam's age, and he was lucky, because he knew if anything happened to himself or his wife, he had many extended family members who would welcome his son with a heartbeat.
But Lord and Lady Lawliet had no relatives, parents had died long before Liam was born, and both had been only children.
"Well… you'll both be going to live with some nice people who take care of children whose parents have been killed…" He tried to explain in the nicest way possible.
"We're going to an orphanage then."
The chief rubbed his head, and handed the little boy his hot chocolate. "Liam… I'm so sorry."
The little boy barely looked up from his sweet drink, only long enough to blink his big black eyes and ask innocently, "Who is Liam? You said my name's L."