That was a refreshing little break, only three days...I haven't settled my mind as to any regular distance between episodes. So much of the story might depend on events that have already happened, so this fic's future kinda depends on history. =^_~= Oh yeah, this episode has a cricket match in it, and I know it's going to seem like a whole other language to some readers (it sure was to me!) but hang in there! Anywho, on with the show!

Disclaimer #1: I had three dozen of those damn "Roll Up the Rim to Win" cups from Tim Hortons over the last two months, and not ONE of them said "You win ultimate control over Gundam Wing and all the characters therein." I did, however, win two coffees, a bagel, a couple of donuts, and a cookie. I don't have them anymore *burp* so you can't sue me for them. =P

Disclaimer #2: I was an English major, so when I write, I write wordy. You have been warned. Muahahahahaaaa....
Suggested font: Times New Roman
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Episode Three: Ask Not For Whom the Bell Tolls...

"Grumblers never work, and workers never grumble." --Anonymous

June 6th, 1901

After breakfast, Quatre stood at the end of the front walk, smiling and patting the snout of the waiting cabbie's horse. The animal huffed and snorted in a friendly way, totally at ease. The cheery, moustached cabbie smoothed out the brim of his top hat and grinned at Quatre from his high perch. "He likes you, mate."

"Most animals do," the blond boy said. "They can always tell I won't hurt them." He stroked the horse's neck while Otto and Heero brought a small army of suitcases down the walk and began loading them on top of the carriage. The chestnut steed shrank away from Otto, but it didn't seem to mind when Heero came near. Quatre made a note of that.

"And where are we off to today, sir?" the cabbie asked Otto, as the most senior member of staff present.

"Euston Station. Her Ladyship will be taking the earliest possible train to Bournemouth," he replied crisply, "with this young man." He indicated Quatre as discreetly as he could. Relena often enjoyed taking him along on short trips like this, for company, but since Otto would have to stay behind to show the new butler more of his duties, they would be travelling unescorted, and tongues could easily start wagging. It was a blessing that, when Quatre tidied himself up a bit, he looked, acted, and spoke very much like Relena, so people often mistook them for brother and sister.

As they finished securing the mountain of luggage to the rickety wooden vehicle, Relena emerged from the house at last, dressed in a smart blue travelling frock and flanked by the housemaids, Doris, Bethany, and of course Elsie. On her right arm was a delicate little handbag that matched her dress perfectly, and which also carried the train tickets. In her left arm she carried Frederick, a short-legged lap dog that was a curious tawny brown variety of West Highland Terrier, specially bred by an aristocratic woman in Norwich. Heero thought of Frederick as a wiry self-propelled mop with no handle.

She extended her free hand to Heero, allowing him the distinct priviledge of helping her into the carriage. Once she and Frederick were settled, she addressed her staff with a regal air. "Now, you will be able to manage for the weekend, won't you? Elsie, I want that sideboard in the drawing room polished again, it's riddled with fingerprints already. Otto, be sure to tell Arthur about the loose step in the gazebo, I don't want anyone tripping over it. And the guest room linens need changing, that's for you, Bethany. We'll be back Saturday evening, so keep the home fires burning!"

The cabbie raised both eyebrows and suppressed a chuckle at the way the tiny slip of a girl doled out orders to people twice her age without a second thought. He gave the reins a tiny jerk, bringing the horse to attention; the horse responded with a snort and nuzzled Quatre sharply in the side of the head, as if to hurry him along.

"Okay, okay, I like you too!" he yelled back, laughing. Giving a quick nod goodbye to the others, he climbed into the carriage and sat next to Relena.

Otto closed the door to the carriage and stepped back; with a crack of the reins, they were on their way, and Relena waved to the housemaids like the Queen leaving Buckingham Palace. As the manor disappeared from view, she pulled her hand back inside and patted Frederick on the head. "I do hope they'll manage without me."

Quatre half-smiled at her self-importance. "I'm sure they'll be fine."

Back at the manor, the housemaids filtered back indoors, leaving Heero alone with Otto on the front walk. The larger man draped an arm around the other's shoulders and grinned condescendingly at him. "Today, my boy, we cross a major threshhold in your training. Today," he said, pushing him up the walk, "we tackle...the bellpull system."

They made their way through the basement, to a room off the kitchen with a massive board bolted to the wall. On the board was mounted no less than five dozen tiny antique bells, each about two inches in diameter. They all appeared to be identical, although a few were newer and had probably been recently replaced. Above each bell was a neatly-written label bearing the name of the room to which the bell was connected by a thick wire; they were arranged in three rows to represent the three main levels of the house, excluding the attic and basement.

"It's quite simple," Otto droned, "someone rings for you somewhere in the house, you read the board to determine in which room and on what floor your assistance is required, and then go at once. Speed is of great importance; you must think out the quickest possible route so as not to keep anyone waiting." Otto folded his arms and pasted on a devious smirk. "Say, for example, someone rings from the master bedroom on the second floor...naturally, you would have to take the east stairs, go straight past the library--"

"Straight past the library, left at his lordship's smoking room, through the back door of the upstairs parlour to the north hall, turn right at the nursery and head for the west exit which would put me in the master bedroom between the wardrobe and the writing desk in one minute ten seconds." Heero folded his arms casually. "Give or take. Forty-five seconds if I run."

Otto glared. One week not even past and you think you've got the place memorized? "Don't interrupt while I'm instructing, boy." He quickly conjured up another scenario to reinforce his superiority. "If, by chance, you were called to Miss Relena's room," he said, narrowing his eyes, "you would take the south stairs all the way to the third floor, take the shortcut through the music room, and be absolutely sure to knock before entering, understand?" And if I ever catch you there...

Within two blinks, Heero had processed the route and pulled some extra information out of his mental database. "Except between 9 and 11 in the morning, Tuesdays and Fridays."

Puzzled, Otto dropped his hands back at his sides. "...what are you talking about?"

Heero drew a slow, deep breath. "On Tuesdays and Fridays, Bethany dusts the second floor. Between 9 and 11 in the morning, she's working in the billiard room. Where the south stairs meet the billiard room, there's a short landing between the stairwells, and the stairs continue up to the third floor after a jog of about twelve feet. Bethany is obsessed with keeping the carpets in good condition, so she pushes the billiard table to the south side of the room so she can bring up the pile of the carpet where the table sits. When she does this, the south stairs are blocked, unless you want to crawl under or over the billiard table." It would be simpler to ask Bethany not to do this, but Heero had a point to make to his haughty overseer. "At those specific times, it would be quicker to take the west stairs to the third floor and cut across the guest bedrooms."

Otto did his best not to look severely humbled. "...indeed. Well, I don't think we need go on with this, you seem to have a vague sense of what to do," he said with a huff. "I'll leave you to it, then." He let the barest hint of a smirk cross his face before leaving Heero alone with the bells.

After several minutes of staring at them, he still couldn't understand why Otto had left this part of his training so late. It seemed like a vital function, so what could be gained by putting the bells off until almost the end of the week? Shaking his head slightly, he wandered into the kitchen, sat down at the heavy block table, and nibbled boredly on a stale tea cake.

Once he sat down, he had a chance to close his eyes peacefully for all of thirty seconds before a viscious clanging pelted his ears from the other room. Eyes wide once more, he walked briskly to the board and saw not one, but four bells ringing, one on the ground floor, two on the second floor, and one on the third, spread out to the four corners of the house. Exactly one bell for each of the housemaids, plus Otto. I'll destroy you...

The depth of their conspiracy was almost painful. Heero couldn't afford to have them convince Relena that he was slacking off from his work, and if he didn't answer each of those bells, that was exactly what might happen. He needed very badly to stay in that house. It didn't matter if the bells were contrived false alarms, he couldn't ignore any of them.

Hurriedly swallowing the last bite of dry cake, Heero flew up the stairs to the third floor. It was going to be another long day.

**********

Although there had been a slight threat of rain in London, it was a gorgeous, warm day in Bournemouth, surprising even the natives, who were more than used to gray clouds swelling out from the salty coastline. Stepping out of the coach that brought them from the train station, Relena opened a pretty blue parasol that matched her purse and dress; Quatre carried little Frederick under one arm.

They strolled through a crowd of ladies in ruffled dresses and men in sweater-vests and straw hats until they reached the grandstands on either side of the bowling green at Dean Park. For the next three days, this would be the arena for a major sporting event to which thousands of eager fans had flocked--the cricket match between Hampshire and Kent.

Relena's late father had strong ties to the county of Hampshire, and had been a devoted supporter of the team for many years. Since this would be his first season of the sport that he would miss, it made Relena feel a bit better to put his longstanding reserved seating to good use, and carry on the family tradition.

"I like to think Father has the best view of all for the match," she said softly, glancing skyward.

Quatre let the moment pass without comment; everything he could have said to comfort her had already been said, and now he just wanted her to enjoy herself. As he parted the crowd for her, they passed two men standing off to the side, an umpire and someone from the Hampshire team. Quatre identified the player by the small design on his sweater, a crest with a crown and a white rose; both men were about the same height and spoke with the same clipped, stuffy, old-school accents. The player seemed to be upset about something.

"But you simply have to let him play! It's an emergency!" the player begged.

"There's no possible way we can allow a scratch replacement so close to the start of the match," the umpire said. "If your regular player can't be here until tomorrow, you must either substitute another player, or forfeit. You cannot simply pull some chap off the street and put him in front of the wicket."

"He's not just a chap off the street, he's a cracking good batsman and he runs like the wind! He even has the same last name as our player! It's an omen, I tell you!" The player was pulling on the umpire's sleeve now, quite a strange thing to do. "Our man will be here, just not until tomorrow. I don't see the harm in letting this boy take his place for an innings...or two..."

The umpire adjusted his straw hat with a sigh. "If mumsy were here, she'd make you go sit in the corner."

"If mumsy were here, she'd tell you to stop being so mean to me."

Quatre chuckled. Of course--they were brothers; it would be difficult to make an umpire bend the rules to accomodate anyone else but family.

"Alright," the elder brother conceded, "send your young chappie in, and I'll turn a blind eye, but if Kent twigs, on your own head be it."

"Oh, thank you, Horace!" the younger brother squealed sickeningly. He trotted off to tell the replacement player that he was officially in the match.

Moments later, Quatre and Relena found their seats in the grandstand and settled in; he handed Frederick back to her as soon as she was seated, and the toffee-coloured terrier snuggled into the folds of fabric on her lap right away. Quatre sat on her right hand, and as the seats filled up, an elderly gentleman sat on his other side.

"Marvelous weather, don't you agree?" the moustached man said, tipping his brown trilby hat to Relena.

"Yes, just lovely!" she answered with a smile.

The man adjusted his spectacles and leaned forward on his oak walking stick. "I'm here supporting Hampshire, of course," he said with a sophisticated air. Bournemouth was located in Hampshire county, so naturally they had the larger portion of the supporters in the crowd.

"So are we!" Relena chimed. "My father had friends and family in Southampton, so I come to the matches as often as I can. It's a family tradition."

The moustache twitched. "Ah, then I'm sure you've heard about this debaucle over their star player..."

Quatre's eyebrows jumped up as he remembered the conversation he overheard earlier. "What's happened?" he asked.

"Sixth man in the lineup. Tall fellow. Plays deep mid-off in the outfield," the gentleman began. "Word has it among those of us in the know that he was on his way down from Middlesborough, visiting his mother, you know...when halfway through York, there was a landslip and the train couldn't get past. He won't be here until tomorrow, so Hampshire have had to make a last-minute substitution." The moustache twitched again. "Some local farm boy, I've heard."

"Oh, goodness, what an awful thing to happen!" Relena sighed.

"Now, don't be too sure about that, young lady," the man said with a twinkle in his eye. "A few minutes ago, I was talking to a wicket keeper for Hampshire, and apparently this young chap they've brought in is absolutely smashing. As luck would have it, he's even got the same last name as the fellow he's replacing! I've got his name here...oh, where's that program..."

The old man fumbled around in his pockets looking for the list of players. Just then, a dignified cascade of polite applause washed over the crowd, as eleven strapping young men from the home team jogged out onto the green. They were all dressed in identical white trousers and wore the same caps and sweaters emblazoned with the crest of Hampshire, and they all had the same calmly sportsmanlike manner about them...save one.

Quatre's eyes were drawn to the last man in line, and upon him his gaze stuck fast. He was easily the youngest of the group, and taller than most of them. The boy carried himself like a prince, his gait light, his movements graceful...and yet using his sixth sense, Quatre felt a wild, powerful energy lurking in him, just below the surface. He wanted desperately to be seen by the boy, so he could feel more of him, but it was difficult from that angle...his cinnamon brown hair was falling carelessly and beautifully into his eyes.

That must be him... Quatre clasped his hands tightly together, trembling with the anticipation of hearing the boy's name for the first time.

The visiting team appeared on the field, and all persons present honoured the playing of "God Save the Queen" by a small brass band. By the time the players had taken their positions, the old gentleman found his list and began running through the names. "Now let me see here. Baldwin? No...Palmer? Don't think so...Steele? Doubt that...Llewellyn?"

Quatre was barely listening; he was enthralled by the waves of pure power wafting off the boy. I've always been able to feel the energies of other people, but never like this...never anything like this in all my life. I have to know his name. I have to know him.

"Ah, here is it...Barton."

Relena squinted at the captains taking their places for the coin toss. "Is he the one with the dark hair and spectacles?" she asked.

"No, no," the gentleman said, "that's Reverend Grieg...or is it Webb?"

The two chatted quietly, right through the coin toss. Kent won and chose to bat first. Twenty-two players shuffled around on the pitch, and the whimsical spectators on either side of Quatre carried on their conversation, but he was blissfully ignorant of it all. He remained transfixed on the boy with the cinnamon hair.

He didn't actually understand very much about the game, but he paid dutiful attention as one man ran towards a second man, threw a ball at him, then either had it thrown back by the catcher or saw it fly past him, as the second man, and now a third, ran back and forth across the pitch. After they had done this several dozen times, Quatre didn't feel any closer to understanding the action, except for the observation that when Hampshire hit the ball and ran back and forth, the home crowd cheered, so it must be a good thing. Relena and the old man saw his confusion early on and tried to give him pointers, but a half-hour into the match, he was still pretty much lost.

Every now and then, Quatre perked up whenever the red leather ball was handed to the Barton lad. He seemed to face the same batter each time he bowled; the team obviously had a strategy in mind. Running towards the batter time and again, he hurled the ball forward with the same graceful but strong overhand lob. Sometimes the batter struck the ball, sometimes not; the actual game didn't matter to Quatre--he simply wanted to catch the boy's eye each time he walked back to the other end of the pitch.

Please look at me...just once...

"Quatre?" He snapped his head around to look at a concerned Relena. "You don't look as if you're enjoying yourself," she said sympathetically.

"Oh, it's not that at all," he flubbed, not wanting to take his eyes off the field. "I'm just trying hard to pay attention."

Relena put a hand on his, where it rested in his lap. Again he felt a slight heat rising to his face, and tried to hide his blush by turning away. "We can leave early if you like," she offered.

Forgetting the rosy colour he must have turned by then, he looked back at her, earnestly. "No, no, I want to stay! I'm glad we came, I really, really am."

She seemed satisfied with that, and after exchanging smiles they turned their attention back to the field just as Mr. Barton stepped into the crease with bat in hand. Quatre nearly jumped out of his chair; following the pattern he'd seen all afternoon, if he hit the ball, he'd get a chance to run, much faster than he did while bowling. I hope he does run...I can feel him so strongly just standing still, what must it be like when he's using every last drop of his energy? Quatre held his breath as the first ball was delivered.

At the near end of the pitch to where Quatre was sitting was the second batsman, who would run and exchange places with Barton if the ball was hit. The bowler for Kent shined the ball on his trouser leg, jogged forward, and released the ball at a frightening speed. A snapping sound of willow bat against leather ball was heard, and the two batsmen took off towards each other, while the crowd cheered.

Quatre was mesmerized as he watched the cinnamon-haired boy run. He was fast--incredibly fast--aided by long, powerful legs and the fire of determination as he sprinted gracefully across the lawn. Quatre seemed to see him in slow motion, relishing the sight of the boy's lips barely parted and gasping for breath, his limbs pounding with the speed of a wild cheetah, and the single visible eye shining with hot, emerald rays of reflected sunlight. The boy reached his target and turned around, ready for another run, but he was so much quicker than the other batsman that by the time one run had been legally completed between them, the ball had been fielded and the play was over.

"I say, didn't I tell you that boy was something?" the old man shouted over the applause.

"I've never seen anyone move as fast as that!" Relena said in awe.

Quatre let them chatter on either side of him, while he watched the runner standing still again, not even out of breath. He didn't realize he was staring until the cinnamon-haired boy turned at the waist and looked up into the stands--looked directly at Quatre. The blond gardener gasped and clutched a pale hand to his sweater, right above his heart; his eyes were wide with shock and exhiliration as they finally made eye contact.

The Barton lad stared back for a moment ot two, then smiled slightly and touched a hand up to the brim of his cap in a gentlemanly salute. Quatre smiled back, his heart racing suddenly.

Play resumed quickly, and as the afternoon wore on, there was a definite change in Mr. Barton's behaviour. More and more often, especially after scoring a run for his team, he would look up into the crowd to meet the turquoise eyes of his fair-haired admirer. One time at bat, he had a massive hit, and the ball flew past the boundary, counting for six runs automatically. Amid the cheers of 'well played!' and 'good show!' from the spectators, he looked straight up at Quatre and smiled widely, as if to say, 'See that? That was for you.'

Relena looked around, puzzled. "That one seems to be looking this way an awful lot. Do you suppose he's got family sitting near us?"

Quatre nodded slowly, with a heartfelt smile. "Or a friend."

Blissfull as it was, it couldn't last forever, and eventually the match wrapped up for the day, and would continue Friday afternoon. Relena was still chatting with the nice old man as the trio left their seats and meandered about the grounds. The players, for the most part, were packing up and leaving; Quatre left Relena to her conversation and darted around, looking for the friend he'd never met.

He searched and searched, but couldn't locate him anywhere. Finally, he latched onto the umpire's younger brother, the one who had been pleading Mr. Barton's case earlier. "Excuse me," Quatre said with a note of desperation, "can you tell me where that substitute player is? The one with the hair in his eyes?"

"Oh, terribly sorry, but he's gone home. Had to be at a church somewhere. Friend of yours, is he?"

Quatre evaded the question. "Which church? Where?"

The player scratched his head and frowned. "Oh, golly...do you know, I've absolutely no idea...definitely in the countryside somewhere. Doubt very much if he'll be able to pop round for the rest of the match, especially since our regular chap'll be here tomorrow." He totally missed the disappointment on Quatre's face. "Stil, never mind, he did a super job for us anyway. Must dash!" And with that, he nodded curtly and left with a stupidly upper-class grin.

A little invisible storm cloud formed directly over Quatre's head. Well, that's it then. Somewhere in the countryside...there's only 3000 square miles of countryside here. Finding one church with one green-eyed cricketer in it should be a snap. He dragged himself dejectedly back to where he left Relena. They had to leave soon, to stay at the Peacecrafts' country estate until the match resumed the next day. That boy was probably long gone and headed in the opposite direction. Serves me right for getting my hopes up.

He was very quiet as Relena ordered a carriage to take them to the estate. She said her goodbyes to the elderly cricket fan, piled her dog and her gardener into the open-top buggy, and they were on their way once again.

**********

By tea time, the sound of ringing bells was making Heero physically ill. Before he could finish dealing with the person on the other end of one bell, another two would start ringing, and after each task, he had to sprint all the way back downstairs to find out where he was 'needed' next. Between Otto and the three housemaids, who apparently had no more regard for him than Otto did, less even, they were able to work in shifts dragging Heero all over the house and still have time to eat. Heero, for his part, hadn't had a morsel in almost seven hours.

The threat of being sacked for inefficiency was no longer in his mind as he raced around; now he was doing it purely to prove to them all that he could, and that their intimidation techniques weren't going to spook him into leaving Bridlewood. It was clear now why Otto had waited to show him the bells; he couldn't have gotten away with such treachery while Relena was at home.

There seemed to be no end to it. He was called to the front parlour. Doris. Help move the piano. Called to the second floor guest suite. Bethany this time. Pry up the heating grate so she could retrieve a lost button. Called to the library. Otto. Rearrange the great classical works of literature in alphabetical order by title. Dining room. Elsie. Take the crystal out of the cabinet and dust every piece. Library. Otto again. Changed his mind, rearrange the books by author's last name.

He wondered if they would keep up their sick, sadistic game all night, or if they might actually let him sleep. Mercifully, while the four of them enjoyed an extra-long tea break that eventually turned into dinner, in the dining room using the freshly-dusted crystal no less, they got bored with tormenting him and just sat around complaining about how difficult their lives were and how they all deserved better.

Tired and hungry, Heero skulked down into the kitchen to see what Elsie had prepared for the evening meal. To his starved senses, even the substandard aromas lingering in the air were tantalizing and inviting, but while the air in the room was thick with the scent of hot food, the cooking pots were empty. Bewildered, he checked the pantry and the cupboards. A lot of food was missing, and a lot of serving dishes as well.

He scowled viciously at the ceiling. They've taken everything upstairs to make sure I either go hungry or humble myself by eating at the same table as them. Well, it won't work. Furiously indignant, he threw himself into a chair and folded his arms. After what they put me through today, I'd sooner starve.

It could have been his imagination, but he thought he heard people laughing and dishes clinking above him. Then his stomach growled with urgency and he suddenly felt a bit light-headed. Starving was not an option.

He thought of going across town to the Muddy Nag for some of Catherine's veal casserole, but Otto would probably construe that as abandoning his post, and his suitcases might very well be sitting out on the front step when he returned. He needed some fresh air, though, and if it wasn't safe to leave by the front door, at least there were the spacious back gardens.

Heero climbed the half-flight of concrete stairs up and out of the basement kitchen, into a back yard one could easily get lost in. There were several acres of lush green lawns and gardens full of fragrant flowers, bordered by trees and a rock wall. In the southwest corner was the stable, where the two horses that pulled Relena's carriage resided. In the northwest corner was the garden shed, the size of a small log cabin.

Smoke billowing out from the chimney caught Heero's eye. A potting shed wih a chimney? It must be Arthur, he thought, remembering the quiet carpenter who was Quatre's only assistance in tending the grounds. He hadn't properly met the man yet, and was simply told that his name was Arthur Dunnet and he fixed things. Except Quatre, no one ever spoke to Arthur except to ask that something be repaired, and Arthur himself rarely spoke at all.

Before he could think twice, Heero found himself hiking to the potting shed. When he got up close, it looked much larger that it should've done, and he guessed that Arthur's living quarters must be here rather than in the basement of the house, where Quatre slept.

He's cooking something in there, I can smell it! In an instant, the hungry boy forgot the courtesy of knocking and opened the front door to the cabin, poking his head in just far enough to see Arthur stirring something delectable on top of a pot-bellied stove. The wizened old carpenter looked up, saw the glazed and fatigued look in Heero's eyes, and wordlessly ladled out two bowls of the piping hot concoction. Taking this as an invitation, Heero walked the rest of the way inside and closed the door, then sat down at the heavy wooden table opposite the man.

Arthur regarded Heero with a calmly contented expression, waiting for him to taste his handiwork. Heero looked at him hesitantly, then picked up a fork and sampled it. The old carpenter had made himself an exquisite beef and potato hotpot, with fresh carrots and onions, grown in his own little garden out the back. Heero knew all his life that food existed to keep you alive, not to make you happy, but that night he discovered that food tasted a hundred times better when you were forced to wait for it, and at the first bite his stern face melted into ecstasy.

Smiling at the boy's reaction, Arthur slowly picked away at his dinner, watching Heero the entire time. He poured two glasses of homemade elderberry wine, and refilled Heero's dish the moment it was emptied, pleased that the second helping disappeared as quickly as the first. In the house of the poorest and lowliest inhabitant of Bridlewood, Heero ate like a king.

It wasn't until the tea and the bread pudding afterwards that he stopped long enough to think and realize why Arthur was rarely seen around the house; he had learned to make a cozy, separate little life for himself away from overbearing Otto and the petty housemaids. Heero couldn't help but admire him for that.

After dinner, Arthur moved to one of two well-worn armchairs in front of the fireplace and lit a pipe. Heero wondered if he'd overstayed his welcome, but the old man made no protest when he slowly rose from the table and cautiously sat in the other armchair. Arthur still hadn't said a word.

Why do all this for me, when you don't even know me? Heero thought. Arthur was also the only servant there who hadn't participated in working him to the point of exhaustion just to be cruel. The carpenter caught the look of confusion mixed with gratitude in Heero's face and nodded with a slight smile, as if reading the boy's mind. Because you're not like Otto and the others...I wish you had found me as a child instead of...

Heero forced himself away from unpleasant thoughts of the past and stared into the fire. He would have to go back to the house eventually, not just for his duties as butler, but to write a report of the week's events for his contact at the remote address in the north. But for now, the fire was warm and the company was pleasant enough; he was content to let matters wait a little while longer.

Before he left the cabin that evening, he decided that the kindly carpenter would be the first peron he would deliberately avoid harming during the course of his mission. Arthur Dunnet had made the "A" list.

**********

The buggy carrying Relena, Quatre, and Frederick bounced along the bumpy country road towards the tiny village outside which the Peacecrafts' rural estate sprawled across the rich, green land. At their current pace, they would make it there just in time for dinner. Luckily, there were still enough locals working on the estate in exchange for harvesting the fields that the estate ran itself fairly well, although nine-tenths of the house was under dustcovers.

As they neared the border of Wilts county, Relena heard a sound she never expected--a church bell was ringing somewhere to the northwest, but it was an odd day as well as an odd time for it. "Driver!" she called out. "Do you know this area well?"

"Yes, ma'am, been 'ere all me life!" he said over his shoulder. "Started driving this pony n' trap about the borough when I was a lad o' fourteen."

"Well, I spent ages in this county as a child, and I thought I knew when all the little country churches held mass..." Relena mused with confusion.

The driver snapped the reins lightly and shook his head. "No ma'am, t'isn't mass, t'is the early hiring fair. All the free farm hands collect together at the parish of Puddleduck-on-the-Marsh when the bell rings out, and the local squires look 'em over as prospective workers. Only there's so many out of work, t'is going on all week, three times a day. Right now must be the evening batch."

Relena leaned back and pondered. "A hiring fair...right near the country house...and we're here already..."

"Are you thinking of going?" Quatre asked.

She nodded. "It makes sense, doesn't it? We still need more outdoor staff in London, and it's not that big of a detour." She made up her mind and called to the front of the carriage again. "Driver, take the next road towards that church please!"

"Right you are, ma'am," he said, and he led the horses down another dirt road.

When they approached the parish, it was obvious that even at dinnertime, this was a serious business. Hundreds of men were standing in a narrow stretch of field next to the little church, and each carried the implement of his trade. Farmers carried pitchforks and spades, cattle herders carried yokes, horse trainers carried whips and saddles. In front of them mulled a throng of country gents, haggling and barganing with various prospects over wages and working hours.

The driver pulled the buggy up to the church and let his passengers out, right where some local ladies were serving tea and light refreshments off lace-covered tables. Relena chatted with them while she and Quatre enjoyed a brief snack to tide them over until they got to her country house. After a scone each and a quick cup of tea, she set to work examining the men for hire.

With a positively regal air, Lady Peacecraft looked them over one by one, trying to decide which of them would be most suitable to invite back to London. She patted Frederick on the head, in deep thought, while Quatre followed dutifully behind. Taking clues from the other employers, she spoke to several of them about their work experience and special skills, as well as what she expected out of her workers. Quatre found it all quite boring, and he wandered off after a short while.

I'd rather by anyplace else, but I should be grateful she wants to hire someone to help me. It's getting awfully tiring, now that the gardens are in full bloom. He walked down the line with his hands clasped behind his back, making a mental list of things to be done when he got back to Bridlewood. Absentmindedly, he looked up from the ground and froze right where he stood in utter shock.

Ahead of him was a plump old baron with a monocle, shiny shoes, an upper-crust handlebar moustache, and a gold watch on a chain. He was rubbing his chin and negotiating with a boy carrying a riding crop. A tall boy with cinnamon hair and emerald eyes. It can't be!! Quatre squinted and studied him; it was definitely the scratch player from the cricket match!

The thrill of finding the wild boy again and seeing that he was for hire as an outdoor labourer filled Quatre with such jubilation as he had never known. Quickly, however, it was overshadowed by the horrific realization that he was about to be hired by someone else. The boy was nodding as the portly baron described the position he had open on his estate.

Quatre was staring again, filled with panic; the cinnamon-haired boy must have felt the weight of his eyes, as he looked in Quatre's direction, looked back at the baron, then snapped his eyes wide open at the blond boy in a disbelieving double-take. Although he didn't smile in front of the rotund aristocrat, his flashing green eyes betrayed his delight at seeing his 'friend' from the grandstand.

"Boy? Are you listening to me?" the baron barked grumpily.

"Uh...yes, sir. Sorry, sir," he answered meekly, dragging his eyes away from the fair-haired lad. Quatre shivered; the boy's voice was like the sweetest honey falling on his ears. He backed away in a fluster and grabbed Relena's arm as she was talking to a beet farmer.

"Relena!" he gasped. "You've got to come see someone over here!"

She appeared annoyed and embarassed that her gardener was addressing her in the familiar in front of common folk. "I'm busy, Quatre, couldn't this wait?"

"No, it can't!" he almost shouted.

Relena flushed and turned to the farmhands. "Do excuse us a moment," she said with a smile. She dragged Quatre aside by the arm. "How dare you speak to me in such a fashion!?" she whispered fiercely.

Quatre took a step back as if she had physically struck him. "I...I'm sorry...but there's a fellow over there who I think is perfectly suited for our needs, and if you don't hurry, he's going to be hired by someone else!" He pointed at the Barton lad, who was biting his lip, rubbing the back of his neck and looking nervously at Quatre and Relena while the baron yammered at him.

"Him?" Relena sounded surprised, but not particularly interested. "I was really hoping for someone a bit older and stronger. Look at him, he's skin and bones! If he didn't wear heavy workboots, the breeze might blow him all the way to Beachy Head!" She turned to head back to the lineup.

Quatre ran in front of her before she took two steps. "He's bigger than me, and I already work outside! And...and we saw him in the cricket match today, remember? You saw yourself that he can run and he's strong, so he must be in good health, right? You wouldn't want to hire someone you've never seen in action and then find out he's lazy or a drinker, would you?"

Relena stood there and looked peeved. "Quatre, I need someone who can tend the grounds and trim the trees and drive the horses. I do NOT neet a substitute bowler who looks like he's fresh out of mixed infants school!"

"But he wants to come with us!" he said desperately, looking over at the green-eyed boy again. He was staring at the ground now.

"Is that what he told you?"

Quatre paused hopelessly. He didn't have to tell me, I felt it! "No, I...haven't spoken to him, but I know he doesn't want to go with that man."

Relena shook her head. "Now you're just being silly. Here, make yourself useful and take little Freddie for a walk," she said, shoving the dog into his arms. "Just keep out from underfoot until it's time to go home, and don't pester me again or I won't take you on any more outings!" She walked swiftly past him to continue her negotiations.

The little invisible storm cloud returned to it's place over Quatre's head, and even Frederick whimpered a little. He looked back at his 'friend'; the boy had his arms folded and his eyes downcast, and the baron's hands were on his wide hips in frustration. Turning down work was risky business because regardless of his personal feelings, he still had to eat, but the boy seemed reluctant to give the baron an answer. He looked up with intense eyes, and Quatre suddenly understood; he was stalling for time.

The gardener flipped open the massive strategy book in his brain and formulated a plan that might get them closer to what they both wanted without making Relena too angry with him. He knelt and set the dog down on the ground. "Now listen, Frederick," he whispered in the terrier's pointy, upturned ear. "You see that fat man in the black suit? See how he's bothering that nice boy? Well, I want you to sic him! Bite his ankle! Be a menace! Now go, Freddie! Go boy!"

The dog looked up at Quatre and made an 'urrf?' noise.

Quatre sighed. "Please, Freddie, for me? Just go bark at him or something!" He stood and looked down at the dog, motioning for him to hurry up and get over there.

At last something clicked in Frederick's doggie brain, and he trotted off on his little legs to stand next to the fat baron and the slender farmhand. Yes! Good boy! he thought. The dog looked up at the baron, yipped once, and wagged his tail merrily. Quatre slapped both hands over his eyes. No! Don't make friends with him, scare him away!

The baron only frowned at the dog and tried to shoo him away with his brass-handled walking stick; then he turned back to Mr. Barton. "Well, young man? Do we have an agreement or not?"

The situation seemed hopeless for the two lower-class teenages in the face of such an imposing aristocratic presence as the baron. Suddenly, Quatre clutched a hand to his chest as he felt an ominous pressure building from afar; the cinnamon-haired boy looked at Quatre, looked at the dog, then manufactured an intense, gut-wrenching feeling of fear and projected it directly at Frederick.

The tiny terrier responded immediately and sprang into action, growling and snarling at the baron, with his ears flat against his furry head. Quatre gasped in amazement; the boy had not only picked up on his plan, but had somehow convinced the dog, with a single thought, that he felt as if he were in mortal danger from the man in the black suit. Frederick honestly believed he was saving the farmhand from a fate worse than death, and that his mistress would reward him handsomely for it.

"Who let this animal loose!? Whose is it!?" the corpulent baron bellowed. By now, nearly all eyes were focused in their direction, drawn in by the dog's violent barking. Relena was one of the last to look, and raced over as gracefully as she could. Quatre followed.

"Naughty Frederick! I'm ever so sorry, sir! Quatre, I thought you were watching him!!" she blurted.

The two boys did their best job of looking innocent while the baron ranted. "How impertinent! Letting this wild beast trample all over people, why I've a good mind to call the proper authorities and have you both--" His ranting slowed to a grinding halt, and his face went ashen. Everyone followed his eyes downward as he looked at Frederick, standing on three legs, indignantly soaking the man's shoe the only way he knew how.

Relena gasped. The baron fumed. The boys blushed and the dog looked quite pleased with himself. With a strangled roar, the massive man staggered backwards, heaved and panted with rage for a bit, then barrelled off towards the church, muttering syllables that were best left incomprehensible.

Relena scooped Frederick up off the ground and held his face up to hers. "You're a naughty Freddie, you are! And you," she said, turning to Quatre, "I'll have a word with you about this later, make no mistake."

Quatre ignored her harsh tone, looking back and forth between her and the cinnamon-haired boy. He finally locked eyes with her boldly, filled with all the pent-up lonliness of a lifetime. "Please, Miss Relena? I know he'll do a good job for us, and frankly..." He trailed off, wringing his hands nervously. "I don't mean to sound selfish...but I really don't have anyone my age I can talk to."

Frowning sadly, she knew he was right. Most everyone at the manor besides herself was a good deal older than he was, and Heero didn't count because he was indoor staff. Besides, she had other plans for her butler anyway. She rolled her eyes in resignation and sighed deeply. "Very well...we'll see."

Lady Peacecraft and a widely grinning gardener took their place where the fat baron had stood. Relena adjusted Frederick in her arms and put on her strictly-business face. "And what's your name?"

"Trowa Barton, miss," the boy said quietly.

She nodded. "And what do you do?"

"Whatever needs doing, miss," he answered. "But I'm good with horses in particular."

Relena had to admit to herself that this was getting awfully convenient. She needed a coachman and a stable lad badly, and the boy looked healthy enough to do both jobs for the time being. Nevertheless, one mustn't appear desperate. "I am Lady Peacecraft of Bridlewood Manor in London. There may be a position open at my estate, tending the horses and driving my carriage, but truthfully, I haven't made up my mind yet," she said haughtily.

The blond boy next to her cleared his throat softly. Even the aristocracy needed to be reminded of their manners occasionally. "Oh yes," she said dryly, "this is my moral conscience, Quatre Sagheer." She waved briefly in his direction, and emerald eyes finally met jewels of sea green in a silent greeting.

Relena went on and on about duties and wages, blathering vacantly like any good socialite does when faced with the prospect of being snookered into doing whatever the servants wanted. She hardly noticed that Trowa scarcely looked at her the entire time she spoke, choosing instead to gaze into the eyes of his new friend. Relena negotiated fairly, but in reality she could have had him for practically any price; from the instand he heard Quatre's name, he didn't take notice of a single word she said.


~~~~~~~~~~

Next, in Episode Four: The residents adjust to having more people about the manor, and there's still more to come than most of them realize. Quatre makes his new friend feel at home, Relena frets over not being able to find a chef, and Heero catches the pie thief!

Ok, how badly did I butcher the game of cricket, can anyone tell me? I tried really hard to study it in the short span of time I had to write this, and I think I got it straightened out more or less, but nobody really knows the game better than the people who grew up with it. =^_~= This was no randomly-generated game, either...check the notes on my website for some interesting historical facts about Hampshire v. Kent! *giggles insanely* I'm enjoying writing Episode Four...hehehehehehehehe. *suspense* Now I have to pick a date...let's say the 12th, shall we? That oughta gimmie enough time to finish it and get a head start on Episode Five. =^-^= Cyaz!