She was in a strange of oblivion. A bizarre sort of limbo that teetered between dreams and reality. The night was slowly drifting away as dawn approached, the air on the streets carried a much less cheery disposition, for the scent that once carried sweetness was now replaced with the smell of rubble and stagnant ashes.
Esme was still incredibly disturbed by the sudden onslaught of bombs that was causing hysteria in England, that even now as she lay asleep in her bed, her mind was in turmoil; the sounds of explosion still ringing clear in her mind. She was terrified for her life. But more so of her uncertain future if this war continues. She has no other home, no other next of kin to call to for help. She truly was, is, irrevocably - alone.
Her mind tried not to articulate the word orphanage as she stirred beneath the sheets.
After a few more moments of half-sleep, something finally roused her from her eccentric slumber, an earthly noise that caused her to open her eyes in the dark. It was the sound of voices, two men in particular. Both tones shushed and secretive, but due to the largeness of the house she lived in, any noise that came from downstairs would echo into her room, bouncing off of the concrete walls and high ceilings. She blinked once, rubbing her eyes lightly as she sat up, feeling a little soporific as her mind tried to recognize whose voices they belonged to.
Slowly, she slipped away from her sheets and got off the bed. And very quietly, barefooted, made her way to the door and opened it gingerly, squeezing the smooth doorknob as she turned it. She leaned to where the opening was, and could tell the hollow noise came from the downstairs sitting room. It seemed to be Mr. O'Hara and Dr. Cullen.
She could not quite decipher what particular topic they were discussing, but by the sound of their somber voices, it must be something very serious. As it was the case every time visits the house. Now that she thought of it, whilst making her way through the gas-lit hallway, he seemed to be always like that. No sound of mirth to ever escape his mouth, nothing to ever resemble friendliness in his greetings, but worst of all, he always seemed so distant, withdrawn almost in a sense. His temper of course was an entirely different subject, for the mere idea of his ire spoke for itself. Esme pondered on the thought a little more, suddenly curious about the man she has lived next door to for the majority of her late childhood and early adolescence. Growing up, he had always seemed like a very cold, vague and distant figure. But as her grandmother grew to trust him in her later years and confided in him, which resulted in his frequent yet sporadic visits in their home; he seemed much less of a ghost then to her, but more of an isolated dark figure that always seemed reluctant in the company of others. Esme mused in a quixotic sort of manner, that in many ways he was like the darkness she saw for most of her life; without no distinct shape or sound - empty, yet it exists. She then secretly wondered to herself if that was how he felt sometimes too when he was alone - empty.
She practically grew up listening to him playing his music next door. Sometimes she could hear him playing far off into the early hours of dawn. Even when it rained, he would play all the more, as though the music he were creating was a means of escape. Not that she minded, his playing sort of became her lullaby when she would fall asleep as a little girl. But then after her grandmother died, things changed, and her impression of him changed too. Even in the course of the several hours that passed tonight. Earlier when his anger's fire was directed in her path, she felt a bitterness in him that was almost tangible, but then later in the dining room, when he gently patted her hand in a manner that was almost fearful of any form of physical contact, she sensed something almost pitiful and lonely. Perhaps it was just her imagination. But then again perhaps not.
Esme continued her walk as the voices sounded clearer, she felt the ending of the carpet beneath her feet and guessed that she was near the staircase. She reached out her hand and tried to feel for the wooden rails of the stairs; she found it easily enough and held onto it for support as she slowly took three steps in descent, her bare feet making contact on the plains of wood. On the fourth step she sat down. She kept close to the railing, and bowed her head low to ensure that the top of her head could not be seen. She listened vigorously as the voices traveled to the foyer.
"So its all settled then?" Carlisle's voice said.
"Its all arranged sir, the train shall leave on Wednesday afternoon, I've already got the tickets ready." Replied Eugene.
"Very well. God willing she shall travel safely. Have you informed Miss Judith of the instructions?"
"Yes sir."
"Good...I suppose that shall be all for now Mr. O'Hara. We've had a long night, and even longer days ahead."
"Goodnight, sir."
"Goodnight, I shall see myself out."
Carlisle watched the old butler exit the foyer, and into another corridor that led to his quarters. The Doctor stood there for a moment, his calculating eyes traveling to the stairwell, he walked deftly in the direction of the stairs; making no noise as he stood at the bottom of the steps. He shook his head lightly in disapproval as he saw Esme's pale form, carefully tucked beneath the wooden rails.
"Do you always make a habit of eavesdropping on all my conversations?" Said Carlisle surprisingly a little more amused than annoyed.
Esme's eyes widened in surprise that she was caught by him again. She tried to sound brave.
"And do you always make a habit of discovering my hiding places?" She replied in self defense.
"No." He added quietly, walking up the steps towards her.
Esme felt his tall figure crouch low to sit beside her. She was mildly relieved that he was not berating her as she expected him to do.
"Should I ask what you were both talking about?" Said Esme turning her head lightly, blinking slowly as she tried to see the outlines of his figure. She inhaled softly, oddly enough, she could smell ashes and smoke from his coat. Before he could reply, she spoke again, "Why do you smell as if you had just been through a fire?"
"Because I just did."
She sat up straight instantaneously.
"Don't excite yourself, the fire has been extinguished." He interjected, swiping off a portion of sot in his right shoulder.
"Then it is really going to be as horrible as they say it is, this war I mean, isn't it Doctor?" Said Esme softly, fumbling with her fingers a second time.
"I'm afraid so."
Carlisle watched her closely, intently observe her soft features contort as the ebb of thoughts wrestled with themselves.
"So this means I can't be living here anymore because of the danger it could mean to my life."
"Yes."
"Are there any plans that have been arranged-for me-and this house?" Said Esme, her voice fading into a whisper. "I don't want to be sent to an orphanage," She confessed, unable to restrict the flow of her words. "I don't want to become a ward of the state...It is utterly demoralizing to whatever integrity I have left. I shall be an object of pity, something broken - damaged to look at. No one shall want me." She buried her face in her hands, fighting the urge to cry again. "That's what both of you and Mr. O' Hara were talking about isn't it? Sending me to an orphanage?"
"No," He said.
Esme's face resurfaced from the concave of her palms.
You're too old." Said Carlisle flatly.
Her expression shifted from traces of hope into utter confusion. "What?"
"You're too old for an orphanage." He said again.
Esme's brows furrowed, was he...jesting?
"No one will want to adopt an already half-grown child-woman. And not to mention with the temperament of an excessively spoiled aristocrat, who occasionally drowns herself in self-pity." He tossed the words casually in the air, he looked at her as the array of emotions danced in her physiognomy.
"I beg your pardon?" Said Esme through clenched teeth.
If only her vision were not obscured for this one night only, she would have seen the delicate curve that formed at the corner of his lips, his own mock version of a smile. But it was a smile nevertheless.
"You are not required to enter any orphanage Miss Platt. Your grandmother made arrangements for your future security before she...before she died."
"She...what?"
A/N: Hey guys! I am sooo happy and excessively greatful at all the reviews you guys have been posting! You guys are soo wonderful my darlings! Keep it up my loves!
So this Chapter was a little longer than I planned but you'll understand why in Chapter 19. ;) I hope you guys enjoy! Happy Holidays and God Bless!
P.s there is a special meaning behind the title of this chapter, let me know if you guys figured out what it means. ;)
