A/N: For being so faithful, another chapter. The chapters will be a wee shorter than before, just to extend the length of the story, is all.
Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Ubisoft, so please don't take my money.
Also: Nothing special, except you guys rock for following and reviewing this story!
Chapter III: Skeletons in the Closet
Once Gerald had finally finished settling the Haytham household for the night, he joined Aveline by the door and walked her to the public house, as usual.
He bid her good night with a bit of hesitation, and she inquired, "What is wrong?" Gerald blinked several times, and then looked away, rubbing a spot on his neck.
"I-it's nothing, Aveline. I will see you tomorrow." And with a polite bow, he departed, leaving her slightly confused. Her feet began to remind her that she had been tormenting them all day, and she quickly abandoned her thoughts about the auburn-haired fellow.
.
"Papa said we shouldn't go out past dusk. It's not safe."
"Do you listen to everything Papa says? Isn't he the one who drove Maman away from us?"
Aveline remained silent; her sister's grey eyes were solid with burning hatred. "He was good only for a few things, but he was a fool. We're on our own now, and that's enough proof to me that his words mean nothing." She abandoned her post by the door and stepped outside.
Being the younger, less experienced one, Aveline hesitated, poking her head out. The streets were just about empty, and her sister was getting further and further away. She went for her shoes, laced them quickly, and went after her, only to find out that she had disappeared.
Panicked, she ran down the street, searching every alley and turn-off. "Hélène?" she called out several times as she walked down an avenue. She heard commotion from around the next corner, and quietly used the wall to hide her small form.
It was a man and woman, and she was laughing as if she had just awakened from sleep. His face was hidden by her dark hair, but she could hear him making the same noises, as well.
She didn't quite understand what was going on; he must've told her a funny joke.
Suddenly, she felt someone tug at her shoulder; it was her sister, pulling her towards the main street.
"What were they doing?" she asked. Hélène made a face she had never seen before, a mix of discomfort and solemnity.
"What men and women do when they've drunk too much wine."
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The following morning, Aveline found that the mansion was eerily still. The usual hustle and bustle that ruled the day was replaced with an uncharacteristic silence, as if something had gone wrong. Terribly wrong.
As if on cue, Gerald appeared from upstairs, looking quite tired, even though the morning had just begun.
"Gerald, where is everyone?" she asked, removing her shawl.
"The Kenways have requested that all maidservants and manservants stay off of the upper levels. I will personally assist Master Haytham, and Mrs. Ingalton will tend to Madame Ziio's needs, at his request."
"Then what remains to be done?" she asked. Never had she heard of an employer giving their servants a day off for any reason at all, except to get married.
"Madame Ziio would like for you to go into town and retrieve her summer flowers. She loves to plant them a few weeks before the spring solstice ends. I have a list for the florist; she helped your sister in the same way." At mention of her missing sibling, a sharp pang coursed through her chest, but she didn't allow her discomfort to show on her face. "Here," he handed her a small, folded piece of paper.
She took it and replaced her shawl on her shoulders before heading right back out the door. The morning air was cold and crisp as usual, as were the people. Perhaps once the day wore on and the sun made its appearance, the streets as well as the demeanor of the people would thaw out, as well.
The name of the floral shop was The Gilded Snapdragon, and according to the directions written on the paper, it wasn't too far from the mansion. Nevertheless, the obvious difference between herself and the native British population drew their attention to her, and she became increasingly uncomfortable under their scrutiny. She understood they were just being curious, but she was so used to not having any attention drawn to herself, that even a brief glance made her wary.
Eventually, she became so absorbed in her own thoughts, that she no longer paid attention to passersby. She wondered why the upper levels were off limits, when they hadn't been since she started working for the Kenways.
Maybe Madame Ziio fell seriously ill? Or Master Haytham caught the fever, and they didn't want the infection to spread? There were so many possibilities, and it bothered her to no end that she didn't know the precise reason why. She didn't know Gerald well enough to inquire further, and asking Connor was definitely out of the question. He already had his reservations about her.
Her wonderment ended when she came across the storefront with the red awning that read The Gilded Snapdragon. Even though she was no gardener, Aveline could tell this person was renowned for the health of their flowers. Each pot held a different variety in assorted colors, and there wasn't a single wilted bud or leaf in sight. The vibrancy of the hues of each plant was such a stark contrast to the overcast, graying sky above, she wondered if they were actually real.
"You'd think London's weather wouldn't allow for such beautiful flowers, would you, madam?" a friendly, warm voice said. Aveline immediately looked up to find the source of the voice. It was a middle aged woman with copper-colored hair and pale blue eyes.
"Helen?" she asked, moving closer. "I haven't seen you in weeks. Where have you been?"
"I…I am not Hélène," she corrected. "I am her younger sister, Aveline. I have taken her place at the Kenway estate."
The older woman scrutinized her more carefully, nodding slowly. "At first glace, you look just like her. But now that I'm really looking at you, she's a wee taller than you are, and a little less slight. I'm sure Ziio has sent you with a list, yes?" she extended her hand, and Aveline handed it to her. "You'll have to make more than one trip to take these all back to the garden. She has one large party per year in their famed garden with exotic varieties of flowers, as well as native. Ever since her accident, she can't really get out the house much."
Aveline followed closely; she wanted to know more about Madame Ziio's accident. "She never told me about her accident. What happened?"
"Aye, I only know that after it happened, she can't be standing for too long, or her condition will get worse. Here," she quickly ended the discussion, handing her three small pots with different flowers in them. "Take these back and come back for the next few pots. Once you have them all, she'd like for you to start planting them as soon as possible. They need as much time as they can to get used to native soil."
Aveline nodded, and parted company with her, careful not to trip over any misplaced cobblestone or bump into passersby. Once she got to the mansion, she went around the front of the mansion to the rear. She had only seen the garden briefly from Madame Ziio's window, but now she had a chance to really admire the view.
The garden was a perfect rectangle with a large fountain carved into the shape of a man directly in its center. Around the fountain were a variety of flowers in red, white, and yellow. Tall, stiff bushes paralleled the edges of the garden to its end, and immediately on their sides were a large variety of flowers in shades of pink, red, blue and orange that she had never seen in France. There was a trellis on either side of the house for the vine-like flora that blossomed in a deep red-pink and deep purple, bringing life to the whitewashed gray walls of the mansion.
Just as she began to wonder where she was to put them, she noticed a sizable plot of fresh brown dirt on the other side of the fountain.
This would take longer than she had anticipated.
.
Aveline had been so busy with planting the purple irises, that she didn't hear a masculine voice shouting from inside the mansion until the source was headed in her direction.
It was Connor. Hurriedly, she dropped the dirt in her hands and scurried behind the Italian Cyprus trees, her heart thudding loudly in her chest. Wait, why am I hiding? I've done nothing wrong she thought, getting read to resume her work, when he continued to vent his frustrations.
He looked as if he hadn't slept in a few days, what with how frazzled and unkempt his hair was, and the hunched position of his broad shoulders. He kept running his hands through his dark tresses, groaning and mumbling under his breath. At any moment, she was waiting for him to destroy the stone railing his hand rested on. They were his most noteworthy feature, his hands. They looked sturdy, strong, like they could break anything, but also capable of being tender; he was always so gentle with his mother, and with Lilith.
Aveline turned away from him, and delved deeper into her thoughts. Papa was never gentle, for as long as I can remember. Maybe when I was just a baby, he held me a few times. But I don't recall hugs, kisses, or even gifts.
"…breath as delicate as April showers, eyes as verdant as the summer groves of Ireland," his voice broke into her reminiscing, and she returned her gaze to him.
His eyes were closed, and he was flexing and curling his fingers, over and over again as he continued, "Beauty as radiant and everlasting as the sun, graciousness as abundant as the ocean, and as calm as a winter's morning." Sighing, he sat down on the stairs of the sitting area, and buried his face in his hands. "Why must we keep going through this, Father? Why can't you remember me as I remember you? Mother…Mother needs you, as you were long ago." His tone was foreign to her; each time they had interacted in the past, he seemed quite self-assured and liberal. Now, he sounded restrained—pained even. Whatever the cause, it came from Master Haytham, and what he was failing to do.
Connor got to his feet, surveyed the garden briefly, and returned inside. Aveline stepped out from her cover, somewhat ashamed. Was that a personal conversation that shouldn't have been heard by unworthy—and unwelcome ears?
A nagging feeling started to creep into her mind, and she fought it off, resuming her work. If Connor wanted and needed someone to confide in, he had someone.
And that someone was not her.
.
Connor felt guilty for not having visited his own mother all day. He had been so busy wrestling with his Father, that his mind had been consumed by the dark nature of their relationship.
He had always been closer to his Mother for a few reasons, one being that she nearly died giving birth to him, and she was loving enough to teach him about his Native American heritage, the Kanien:kehaka. He had even mastered their dialect, and had used it in his travels during his visit with his grandmother.
And ever since her accident, he vowed to always keep her safe, because his Father could no long fulfill that vow, for a reason that he couldn't make peace with.
"Mother?" he knocked on her door before entering. Mrs. Ingalton was stitching together another dress for his mother, and she was sitting on her bed, reading another play by Shakespeare. He wondered why she was so fascinated by that man, and his silly tragic love stories.
"Yes, Connor?" she replied, her eyes never leaving the page.
"I apologize for not coming to see you sooner in the day," he started, collapsing in her armchair. She glanced at her son and smiled; he was fully grown, larger than she had anticipated, yet his actions made him look like a ten year old boy all over again.
"Don't be silly, Connor. We live in the same house, and we eat every meal together. I don't feel neglected. You look tired."
"Dealing with…that man you call your husband and my Father is exhausting," he mumbled. "How ever did you manage to get close enough to create me?"
She chuckled deeply, turning the page. "He was very charming as a young man. I didn't always care for him the way I do now. At first, I wanted to kill him."
"You should have. Then I would have been able to sleep these past two days." Silence grew between them, and he examined the room. Nothing was out of place, but something was different today.
"Where's that servant girl? The one with the green eyes, isn't she always here?"
"Oh, you mean Aveline?" she replied, a twinkle in her eyes that went unnoticed. "She's out in the garden, planting the season flowers." He approached the window, and lo and behold, there she was, kneeling on the ground with a red flower in her hand. He felt his blood turn to ice as he asked, "Has she been out there all day?"
"Since this morning, yes. She must need a break soon. She hasn't stopped since she started. Here," she went into her nightstand and removed a powder blue kerchief, tossing it to her son. "Give it to her, so that she can wipe off her sweat. And tell her to stop and take a drink of water; I'm not a slave driver."
He frowned; he had asked about her, but not so he could intentionally interact with her. But at his mother's request—and his behest—he took the kerchief to the girl.
She had heard him. Reciting poetry. Him. A gallant, strapping young man, spouting poetry like a lovesick fool! The fear that he had instilled in her upon their first meeting would come undone, and she would see him for what he really was.
He couldn't allow that. The door leading to the garden had appeared all too quickly before him, and he recollected his thoughts before stepping outside.
The day certainly hadn't turned out the way he assumed. The grey overcast had been broken by the mildly intense rays of the sun, and he found the waistcoat and long-sleeved shirt he was wearing to be a bit stifling.
Just a few feet in front of him was Aveline, whose back was turned to him completely. She was still on her knees, humming gently to herself as she always did as she dug a small hole with her hands. He noticed the muscles in her back ripple under the thin material of her dress, admiring the strength hidden beneath her docile—wait.
"My mother insisted that I give you this kerchief," he interrupted his thoughts and her peace simultaneously. He almost assumed she knew he was behind her, what with how calmly she turned to face him.
She hesitated for a moment, studying the eerie calmness of his eyes. It was as if he was trying to shield his thoughts from her, but it only made her wonder what he was hiding.
"Thank you," she took it from him, ignoring the spark that went through her body when his skin touched hers, and immediately patted her forehead. He examined her work, silently admiring her skill.
"I'm surprised Mother trusted you to do this."
"As am I," she sighed. "I have never had a garden of my own, so this is a first for me."
"The way you arranged the flowers—it's reminiscent of something a professional would do."
"I do not think so. Simply put, red does not look good close to pink. They are much too similar," she chuckled. Connor lifted one side of his mouth to form a lopsided grin, and turned to her.
Her eyes were closed, and she was wiping off the sweat that had gathered under the roof of her jaw. He had been trained to know better, but his more base nature coaxed his eyes just a little further, to the slick skin covering her collarbone.
He turned away from her quickly, attempting to banish the thoughts running through his mind about this…peasant. She was beneath him, dwelling on a lower rung of society. He had Lilith, his fair maiden of grace and class, who would never in her life have to bend her back under the sun and perform manual labor.
"When I was out here earlier, why did you hide?" he asked pointedly. Aveline opened her eyes and blinked several times, somewhat confused.
"Desolée, monsieur (Sorry, Mister)?" she asked.
"I came outside and you weren't here, not too long ago. You were hiding from me; why?" he demanded. The authoritative tone had returned to his voice, and she felt obliged to reply.
"I-I panicked. I did not mean to eavesdrop."
"If you had made your presence known, I would've gone elsewhere to vent. How much did you hear?"
"I heard you reciting poetry," she fessed. Hissing, he turned from her, fists balled tight. "B-But it is nothing to be ashamed of. It was quite beautiful. You must have written it yourself, because it does not sound like anything familiar."
He scoffed, turning to face her once again. "What would you know?" he asked before disappearing inside, and closing the door firmly behind him.
His words would have stung a bit more if she hadn't expected him to react in such a way. Connor's sentimental side had been revealed to her, and she would never forget that.
.
Aveline was exhausted by the time she reached her bed at the boarding house. It took all of her might not to collapse on her bed and sleep in her work clothes.
She was only partially done with the plot of land; there was still so much to be done, and yet another garden project was under way, and Madame Ziio wanted her assistance with that, as well. If this was a form of special treatment, she'd gladly return to washing dishes and dusting shelves. However, she enjoyed the peace that came with working in solitude, and the calming effect gardening had on her mind and spirit.
Yawning, she went for her personal allotment of soap and her hair brush to bathe until one of her roommates, named Magdalene, stopped her in her tracks.
Magdalene had taken a liking to her, and they had become friends of sorts. She was a spry young woman of twenty five winters, though she acted much younger. It was out of great wonder and surprise that Aveline questioned why she wasn't married to some wealthy governor or duke of some foreign country. She carried thick golden blonde locks that fell in spirals down to her waist, and wide cerulean eyes that reminded her of the ocean on a bright day. And her body was most fitting for carrying children; her high chest could hardly go unnoticed even in the most modest of clothing.
"Aveline, it's not time to go to bed yet! There's still so many hours of dark to expend."
"Magdalene, I am exhausted. I worked in the sun all day. The night is for resting."
"Oh, poppycock!" she dismissed, snatching the younger woman by the arm. Aveline groaned softly, half-dragging her heels. "All I ask is for a little bit of your time at the tavern, just for some ale with Marianne and Catherine."
Aveline thought for a moment; she had just received her wages, and she hadn't had any ale in a while.
"Alright, but just one helping of ale, and that is it."
Magdalene flashed her warm, contagious smile. "Good. Now off we go."
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First of all, I am SO sorry for the late update! A lot has been going on, including an ugly cold I had to fight. I've worked all day on this chapter; I hope you guys enjoyed it.
As you all can see, Haytham and Connor don't have a healthy relationship in this fanfiction, and we'll get to the bottom of it eventually. I figured he'd be really affectionate and kind with his mother, conversely; he seems like that kind of guy.
And my goodness, he's denying the feelings he's getting from being around Aveline like a madman. You guys think it's too soon for one to be attracted to the other?