9
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Ianto, aged ten, is walking along the long gallery. He opens a door and finds himself in the Red Room.
He stares into the mirror, searching the pale face of his reflection, as if trying to find an answer. A murmur seems to come down the gaping chimney; a woman's deep sigh.
Ianto's throat tightens with fear. Something moves in the shadows behind him.
He scans them, his eyes full of terror. Ianto knows beyond all doubt that something is there. He hears a low laugh. It seems to be right next to him. He tries to scream -
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Ianto wakes. His curtains are open; moonlight spilling in. He hears it again; the laugh from his dream, right outside his door - low and deep.
"Who's there?"
Footsteps run away. Ianto springs out of bed and pulls the door open. A door shuts at the end of the corridor.
There is a single candle burning in its holder on the rush matting, flickering in the draft. Ianto picks it up. He notices something else - a curling wreath of grey smoke. He follows its trail through the pitch darkness. It is coming thickly from a half-open door at the front of the house - Jack's.
Ianto rushes in. Jack's bed is on fire; the hangings, the curtains, all are alight. The flames are leaping. Jack is asleep. He shakes him. "Wake up! Wake up! Sir!"
Jack only stirs. The smoke has stupefied him. Ianto pulls the burning sheets off - then stops; he is naked. He takes his basin and douses the bed - soaking him. "Who's there?"
"It is I, Ianto Jones, sir." Ianto throws water on the curtains. He pulls the soggy fabric from its rail and smothers the burning couch. When all the flames are out, he rushes to the windows and opens them. Smoke billows out. He stands in the moonlight, coughing.
Jack is sitting up, staring at him. "What in the name of all the elves in Christendom have you done with me?"
"For heaven's sake get up. Somebody has plotted something; you must find out who. I'll light the lamp …" Ianto reaches for the matches.
"Light the lamp at your peril." Jack is springing out of bed. Ianto turns away, mortified - having caught sight of his silhouetted shape.
"I heard a laugh outside my door loud enough to wake me. I opened it. Someone was running towards the third floor." Jack is putting on a dressing gown, lighting the lamp as Ianto continues to speak "And a candle was left burning in the middle of the floor. Shall I fetch Mrs Harkness, sir?"
What the hell can she do?"
"Then I'll wake John and Martha."
"Not at all. Stay here. You're shivering." Jack gets his coat and puts it round him. "I have to go to the third floor. Don't make a sound. Sit there. I shan't be long."
He goes. Ianto looks at his ruined chamber; The blackened drapes on the four poster bed, the fireplace, the huge wardrobe. It is not unlike the red room.
Half an hour later. First light. Ianto is in an armchair. He has snuggled up in the coat. He takes in a breath, smelling its owner. He nuzzles his head against it. He closes his eyes, running his fingers down the lining. He looks up. Jack is watching him. His expression is peculiar. He holds the coat closely around him.
"Did you see anything when you opened your chamber door?"
"Only the candle on the ground." Ianto answers.
"But you heard a laugh?"
"Yes."
"Have you heard that laugh before?" he seems … almost frantic.
"There's a woman who sews here; Grace Poole - She laughs in that way, I think." Ianto says as he remembers being told it was her by Alice.
"Just so. Grace Poole - you have guessed it. Well, you're no talking fool; please say nothing about this." Jack asks gently.
"BUT"
"I will account for this state of affairs. Go back to your room and say nothing." Jack cuts him off.
"Yes, sir." Ianto takes off his coat "Good-night."
"Is that how you're going to leave me?" Jack is aghast.
"You said I should go."
Jack approaches him "Ianto, fire is a horrible death. You have saved my life. Don't walk past me as if we were strangers."
"What am I to do then, sir?"
"At least... shake hands." Jack holds out his hand. Ianto takes it. They shake. Jack wraps Ianto's hand in both of his. "I have a pleasure in owing you my life."
"There is no debt." Ianto assures him.
"I knew you would do me good in some way. I saw it in your eyes when I first beheld you. Their expression did not - did not strike delight into my very inmost being so, for nothing. People talk of natural sympathies... You." Jack is drawing him slowly closer. Ianto, disconcerted, is trying to resist.
"Good night then, sir."
"So you will leave me?" Jack teases, still holding Ianto's' hand to stop him from fleeing.
"I'm cold." Ianto whispers.
"Go." At last, he relaxes his grip. Ianto backs away.
He goes.
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Ianto is keeling on the windowsill, looking out at the rising sun. He is lit by its glowing rays; inspired. It's a rare feeling that prompts his mood, as new and unfolding as the day itself - happiness.
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Hesitating outside Jack's bedroom door, Ianto looks in to see Leah and Martha cleaning the soot from the woodwork and windowpanes. To his amazement, Grace Poole is there, calmly sewing rings to new curtains.
"Good day to you, mister" Grace bobs.
"What's happened here?" Ianto asks with wide eyes, hoping it looks real.
"Only master reading in his bed last night" Grace sniffs "Fell asleep with his candle lit and the curtains got on fire. Managed to put it out with the water from his stand. Did you not hear anything, mister?"
"I did. I heard a strange laugh."
"It's hardly likely the master would laugh when he was in such danger." Grace grins "Perhaps you were dreaming."
"I was not."
Grace leans in "Then you didn't think of opening your door and looking out?"
Ianto is infuriated. he turns on his heel.
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Ianto walks in to the parlour for the evening meal. Their meal is laid out.
"Has Mr Jack not sent for us today?" Ianto asks.
"Why, he's gone away. Were you not aware? He left after breakfast." Alice supplies. Ianto takes this piece of news like an invisible shock as she continues to speak "He's gone to The Leas, Mr Eshton's place, about ten miles from here. I believe Gwen Cooper is there. She's a great favourite of his."
"Oh?"
"I saw her two years ago when Mr Jack had a party here. Oh, she was a beauty; I daresay the most elegant girl I've ever seen. So tall, with raven hair cascading down her back; I don't know how she'd had it done. She sang a duet with Mr Jack. They made a lovely harmony." Alice sighs as she remembers, a wistful smile "I was quite surprised he didn't make a proposal. Perhaps that is his intention now."
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Ianto is at the window of the nursery, brooding. Outside the rain is pouring. Toshiko, dressed in yellow frills, is concerned.
"Qu'avez vous mademoiselle?"
Without looking at her Ianto says gently "Nothing. Speak in English, please."
Ianto turns, expecting to see Toshiko.
Ianto finds himself in front of his class. They are looking at him expectantly. He looks back at them curiously. Eager faces, plain rural clothes. he has quite lost his place.
"Thank you, children. You may go."
Ianto is tidying up at the end of the day. The classroom is empty. His life is bare. It shows on his face. He looks up. Stan-Lee Rivers is watching him from the door. "Do you find the work too hard?"
Ianto immediately puts on a sprightly face and continues clearing up. "Not at all. I'm getting on very well."
"Do you feel the solitude an oppression?"
"I hardly have time to notice it." Ianto assures him as he struggles to let go of the ghosts in the room.
"Then perhaps your accommodations have disappointed you. They are in truth scanty enough …"
Ianto cuts him off "A few months ago I had nothing. I was wretched. Now I have a home and work; free and honest. I wonder at the goodness of God and at the generosity of my friends."
Stan-Lee approaches him; speaks intimately. "What you had left before I met you, I don't know. But I counsel you to resist firmly every temptation to look back."
"It's what I mean to do." Ianto nods.
"We can overcome every kind of human weakness. A year ago I was myself intensely miserable. I considered my life was so wretched that it must be changed - or I would die. After a season of darkness and struggling, light broke. I heard my call from God. Put your trust in him, Ianto. Let him lead you to your future."
"Thank you." Ianto say with what he hopes is the right contrite look.
Stan-Lee is turning to go.
"Why were you intensely miserable?" Ianto can't help but ask.
"A year ago, I was weak enough to fall in love." He sighs and Ianto moves involuntarily towards him. "Don't pity me; I have no compassion whatsoever for you. I regarded this love as a fever of the flesh; not a thing that would ever touch my soul. I scorned the weakness, fought hard against it - and won."
Ianto is incredulous. Stan-Lee is at his desk. It is covered in his drawings. He glances through them. "I could have listened to temptation, sunk down in the silken snare and known a feverish and delusive bliss. I could have squandered my future upon it."
"You could have been happy." Ianto whispers.
"A slave in a fool's paradise? I'd rather my life had purpose …" Stan-Lee suddenly snatches up a piece of paper. "Is this yours?"
"Yes."
His eyes, in an instant, seem to take in everything about him. He opens his mouth to speak - then checks himself.
"What's the matter?" Ianot asks with alarm.
"Nothing in the world." Stan-Lee replies. He folds the paper and takes it. "Good night."
He goes. Ianto looks after him, puzzled.