Disclaimer: I really own everyone except Ichabod. That happens often in my stories, I've found. Go figure.
Once Upon A Time
Chapter Six
Rose stopped by the next day, as could only be expected, but her cheerful smile vanished the instant she laid eyes on Ichabod. She gasped and ran to him, immediately taking his face in her hands. He winced at the touch; his cheek was still sore from his father's abuse the previous day. "Oh, Ichabod, what happened?" she asked, stroking the red mark gently.
"My father," he muttered.
"Your father did this to you?" she asked, staring at him in shock. He only nodded. "Oh, Ichabod, I'm so sorry." She hugged his head to her chest, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. She stroked his hair back as he nuzzled his face into her bosom and hugged her. "What happened?"
He was silent for a moment; he wasn't even exactly sure what had caused this unusual occurrence. Oh, of course his father had beaten him before, but there had never been any serious damage and the regular abuse had stopped six years ago. Lord Crane had not laid a hand on his son since then, with the exception of the previous day. "I think he must have been drunk," Ichabod said at last. "I could smell it on his breath. He must have been angry that I'd disappeared without a word to him, but I can honestly confess that I didn't think he would mind. If he wondered where I was, I assumed he would just ask Nancy. I told her where I was going."
"Perhaps Nancy merely neglected to inform him of your whereabouts," Rose suggested. "She can be quite forgetful at times."
He sighed. "I suppose you're right," he said quietly.
"But that still doesn't justify what he did to you," she told him. "It was wrong of him to hit you, no matter what information was shared. Or wasn't."
"Tell me, Rose," he said after a moment, "what do you think of my father?"
She took a moment to formulate her response. "I think that when he puts his mind to it, he can inspire a certain amount of respect. But he can also be a horrible person when in a foul mood. Then again, I hardly ever see him anymore, so his demeanor may have changed since the last time I spoke with him."
"It hasn't," Ichabod said quietly. "He's been the way he is for as long as I can remember, and I don't think he's ever going to change."
"Well, I suppose we can only hope that he does," she said. "If only for your sake." They were silent then, and Ichabod raised his head to be level with hers. Their lips were locked an instant later.
The pair of them, both doubtful of Ichabod's safety in his own home, went immediately to the Hughes' house, where they were greeted by Rose's parents and Mr. James Hall. James Hall was a man who did not impress his peers as any great force with which to be reckoned because of his physical appearance; he was no taller than Ichabod and rather scrawny. His hair was brown and his eyes were an oddly-fascinating mix of blue and gray and green. His nose had a strong and aristocratic point, and his lips were markedly thin. He had the ability to look stunningly sinister when he put his mind to it, and that was perhaps his most interesting quality. He had a way with words and women, which is why Ichabod found it strange that he was finally choosing to settle down. And with Rose, who was his opposite in every way. No, Ichabod Crane did not trust him at all.
And his smile was positively wicked, full of malice and spite towards the young man, but with a pinch of sugary sweetness thrown in for the nubile red Rose. "Ah, so my sweet young Rose finally blossoms," he said, and took her frail hand in his. His fingers were long and nimble, and they danced along her palm as he raised her hand to his lips, winking at her as he kissed it.
"Good afternoon, Mister Hall," Rose said, drawing her hand away. "Have you met my friend, Ichabod Crane?"
James blinked slowly and glanced at Ichabod with such a look of contempt that the young man gulped. He was afraid of James Hall, James Hall who had often been seen in the company of the deceased Lady Crane for years before her death. It was at that moment that Ichabod realized that the man standing before him could very well be his true father, for rumors had circulated throughout his childhood that Lord Christopher Crane had been unwittingly duped by his wife. Staring at the sinister man's nose, it made perfect sense.
"Yes, I have had the pleasure of meeting young Ichabod Crane on more than one occasion," James said. "In fact, if you all remember, I was quite well-acquainted with his mother." Ichabod bit back a sharp retort at this. But before anyone could say anything else about the matter, James suddenly slung an arm around Ichabod's thin shoulders and said, "Since we have all observed the proper greetings, I must have a private word with young Ichabod Crane." James led the boy in the direction of the east drawing room, barely giving Ichabod enough time to glance back at powerless Rose in fear.
"Here is your Crane, Miss Hughes." Mr. Hall pushed Ichabod into the Hughes library and tipped his tricorn at the young people before saying, "I bid you good day." He smiled at them once and closed the door, catching Ichabod's coattails between it and the frame.
Rose stood immediately from her place at the bureau and rushed to him, reaching out as he pried his coattails out of the door jamb. "Oh, Ichabod," she said, "are you all right? I was so worried when he carted you away. He didn't hurt you, did he?"
"No, I'm perfectly all right," Ichabod said, brushing himself off. "But he made me wonder about a few things."
"Come and sit on the sofa," she said, and took his hand to lead him over to the sofa by the hearth. They sat down on it, facing one another, and Rose took Ichabod's hands in hers. "What sort of things, darling?" she asked.
He sighed and said, "Well, do you remember, years ago, when there was some question of who my father truly was?"
"Oh, yes, there were questions about that until you were seven," she said.
"Well, I am beginning to think that there could perhaps be some truth to those rumors," Ichabod admitted.
Rose gasped. "You don't mean to say-"
But he quickly interrupted her. "I do. And I feel that I must speak to Bertha again, just to be sure."
She said nothing for a moment, then asked, "What is it about Bertha that allows you to put so much faith in her?"
Of all the things she could have said, he had not expected that. "I don't know," he replied after a time. "I just...trust her. Perhaps it is because my mother trusted her. And anyone my mother trusted is an ally indeed."
She nodded after a moment, staring distractedly at the fire. "You're going to need some time to think, aren't you?" she asked.
He sighed, smiling. "Rose, you can read me like a book." He caressed her cheek gently, and she gave him a small grin. "Yes, if you would not mind it terribly, I would like some time to think. And on the morrow I shall go to Bertha. Shall I call on you when I return from my visit with her?"
"Yes, that would be lovely," she said.
"Then that is what I shall do." He kissed her on the lips once before standing and saying, "Good-bye, Rose. I shall see you tomorrow." And then he left without another word.
Woah, plot twist! Oh, and I figure that I'll shamelessly self-advertise while I'm at it. I'm currently working on a piece of original fiction that I may consider publishing some time in the future. If any of you are interested in reading a bit of it, let me know. The blood is the life, Sikerra.
