Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE, Pt3, Ch.28: Return To Forsythe Manor
And in the mist there she rides
And castles are burning in my heart
And I twist as I hold tight
And I ride to work every morning, wondering why
"Sit in the chair and be good now" And become all that they told you
The white coats enter her room
And I'm callin' my baby, callin' my baby
callin' my baby, callin'...
everybody else's girl, maybe one day she'll be her own
She's been everybody else's girl
Maybe one day she'll be her own
- lines from 'Girl' by the gifted Tori Amos
Ben glanced nervously at Felicity sitting beside him, between himself and Lord Covington, and took note of the way her breathing quickened the closer they came to Forsythe Manor. He had one of her hands enveloped in both of his own, and even through the woolen fabric of her gloves he could feel how she had gone cold. Without a word, he raised her hand and blew his warm breath onto it, an act which rewarded him with a quick and uneasy smile.
"It is all right if you change your mind about going," he whispered to her reassuringly.
"No, I am fine," she replied, an edge in her voice that seemed to betray the look of composure on her pale pixie-face. "I want this over with."
"Just know that I am with you. I'm not about to let anyone or anything snatch you away from me ever again."
She looked at him and smiled a little more. His brown eyes were full of emotion and devotion, making it very hard for her to think cross thoughts about him. He could be so sad sometimes, briefly reminding her of the day she went with him out to Jiggy Nye's tannery to see Nye's new horse. He had been so incredibly shy and serious. It didn't take him long to come around, though, not after she confided in him about Penny. The magnificently beautiful mare he had helped her save from Nye brought them together fast. But even after that, even when he started being a little more open and at ease, he would still hold back a world of emotion in his eyes that he never revealed in words.
Felicity remembered her mother saying that a person's actions spoke louder than their words. That's the way it was with Ben Davidson. When he did not have the words, his behavior spoke for him.
His behavior, and his eyes. The eyes never lie, Felicity thought distractedly. She supposed that since he was looking at her with such affection and caring that he truly must have been sorry.
But she didn't really want to think about that right now. Forsythe Manor was just down the road.
She inhaled as best as she could. I'm going back. I swore that I never would...alive. But here I am. Ben, Elizabeth, Arthur, and an actual ranked peer of the realm are with me this time, though. So why am I not comforted? She couldn't help but shift in her seat uneasily. The faces of her friends made for better viewing rather than the slightly familiar scenery rattling and rolling by. Elizabeth looking out the open windows of the carriage with a scowl, as if the girl was looking for villains to shriek at...Ben looking anxious and angry, working up his ire so that he could release it upon the Forsythes...Lord Eric looking calm, stern and, of course, quite lordly...Arthur Pratt slumped to the side, mouth open and head rolling, as he was lulled to sleep by the rocking carriage. Felicity grinned. Only Arthur could fall asleep on a carriage ride over some of the worst roads ever created!
The road winded through the wooded track, bringing them nearer to the last place in the world Felicity Merriman wanted to be. She could glimpse the tall, cold wrought iron fence through the trees and shuddered uncontrollably. Ben squeezed her hand, and she felt him stiffen; an automatic reaction to preparing for confrontation. Then the trees cleared and the sinister-looknig gates displaying the Forsythe crest and initials loomed before the carriage. Constable Poon and Sheriff Dribble were on horseback in front of the carriage; the sherrif grabbed the summoning-bell's rope and gave it a harsh yanking, which brought out the grumpy-faced gate-keeper from his little cottage. Felicity gulped, having barely recalled the first time she went through these gates. The gatekeeper took one look at the two lawmen and the fancy carriage that contained the Duke of Bel Hastings, the accusing glares of the bewigged and dapperly-clad footmen, and went white.
"You there!" called Sheriff Dribble authoratively, as he tried to rein his excited horse in a more controlled manner. "Open this gate immediately! We have a warrant for the arrests of Lords Tristan Forsythe and Reginald Maxim Forsythe! Attempt to detain us and you will be subject to prosecution as well!"
The old man no longer looked grumpy. With wide eyes and confused expression, he unlocked the tall wrought iron gates, which Felicity ahd mentally dubbed 'the gates of hell' and stumbled back as the sheriff and constable cantered through, followed by the duke's carriage. Without thinking, Felicity had flattened herself against the padding of the carriage's wall so that the old man would not see her and maybe recognize her. She needn't have worried; the miser was looking fearfully after them.
"Probably more scared about being out of a job than getting in the way of the law," Ben commented with surly humor.
Felicity didn't have the attention to hear him, really. She was too busy looking around at the grounds of the place, left and right, not sure exactly what it was she was looking for: Lettie? A sign of sorts? Her heart had started racing, and her chest was growing tight with dreaded anticipation building up inside her. Part of her did indeed feel instinctively terrified to be back here, but she would never openly admit it. Another part of her was determined to let her anger have its way. If it was one thing Felicity Merriman knew, it was how to control, if not vanquish, fear with anger. She convinced herself that it would not be Ben that would have to be held back, it would be her.
Ben was watching her face when she saw the eerie statue of the Roman woman. He watched her gulp dryly, and his hands squeezed hers confidently. "This is what you saw when you were brought here?" he asked, as if he were looking for more wood for his already raging bonfire of enotions.
She nodded wordlessly. Good Lord, they were already coming to a halt before the steps up to the manor's entrance.
Elizabeth gave the statue a hrumph of sarcasm. "Wonder if she used to be a living being!"
"That is exactly what I thought, too," Felicity said sourly.
"Oh, are we there?" Arthur blinked, roused by the carriage stopping rather than being jolted on the move. He bent forward and looked out of the carriage window nearest him. "I say! This place isn't nearly as grand as Bel Hall! What is this, a tomb?"
The duke raised his chin with pride and satisfaction. "No other home in England can compare to Bel Hall because no other home in England has had Evangeline Covington to dwell within it!" He looked at Felicity with full readiness and assurance. "Prepared to strike down the devil, my dear?"
"Yes, your grace," said Felicity firmly.
The constable and the sheriff had already dismounted, gave their horses' reins to the carriage driver, and were coming to assist the two ladies. Felicity bit her lip, caught a glance of something shiny just within Ben's long black cloak and recognized within a second as being his cavalry pistol. Yet it did not alarm her, for she was not afraid of violence. She didn't like it, violence, but if that's what it had to come to...
Her legs felt like pudding as Ben helped her out and down. His hands held her hips as she swayed, her wary eyes looking up at the house, her face drained of all color. Not that she'd had much color to begin with lately. "Why has no one come out?" she wondered aloud, drawing her grey cloak about herself. She'd put her hood on to shield herself from the cold March breeze, and quite possibly any inquisitive eyes that might be peeping out the windows.
"Mayhaps no one can see out because of those dark heavy drapings!" said Elizabeth, who had donned her best 'dare to look at me and I will smite you!' face.
"We will go to the door first, your grace," Constable Poon said, practicing the gruffness in his voice that he liked to use especially with criminals, despite his amiable countenance. "If there is trouble we will signal you."
"Excellent," murmured Eric, who had put on his superior, high-and-mighty-peer-of-the-realm air, to match his elegant attire of black and gold. The button on his hat was actually a miniature of his family's crest. He was certainly a cutting figure, preferring riding boots to formal shoes, and his coat was finely detailed in gold without looking dandified. He looked every bit the duke that he was. A force to be reckoned with.
The constable and the sheriff went up the steps. Felicity looked from window to window, looking for faces familiar or not. Few of the rooms had open curtains. She felt Ben so close to her that her right arm bumped his chest if she moved the slightest bit. He had an arm about her waist securely and his other hand was inside his cloak, resting upon the grip of his cavalry pistol. He was definitely ready for action. The scowl of anger was upon his handsome face, his breathing deep in his effort to remain composed for her sake.
That in itself made her a little less mad at him.
The doors of Forsythe Manor opened to reveal the bored expression of Saul Smedley, the butler. In the brief second it took Felicity to recognize him she silently mused over the fact that he still had a job. Was Reginald Forsythe even here? Smedley frowned as he took in the severe expressions of the two lawmen, then gazed past them at the little party of five at the botton of the steps standing before a grand carriage to which were harnessed two muscular white horses. There were actually seven people if one counted the dapperly-clad footmen standing on either side of the duke-and these footmen were Tom and James, two of the duke's billiard companions who were otherwise affiable, good-natured young men and who only adapted their air of stiff remoteness whenever their duke put on his. But Smedley did not know these interesting facts, only that a very important man of rank had just arrived unexpectedly with two authorities at his command, and that there were some vaguely familiar faces standing down there with the gentleman.
One of whom he recognized immediately when she lowered the hood of her cloak: Felicity Merriman.
Smedley's eyes widened and his mouth opened as if to exclaim something, but he was cut off right away by Constable Poon, who brought out from inside his coat the two warrants to be read aloud. Mr. Poon informed Smedley as to the nature of the warrants, and if he were to detain them or interfere with their duties that he, too, would be subject to arrest. The aging butler seemed to turn grey. He cast a fuming glare at Felicity, who held her unhooded head high and even smiled a bit.
She, too, could be sinister when she wanted to be.
Then Smedley seemed to recognize Ben. Benjamin Davidson, the young cavalry captain from Williamsburg in the American colony of Virginia. The young man was here, in England, at Felicity Merriman's side. The old butler seemed to lose strength, a look of foreboding shadowing his face as he grabbed hol dof the nearest brass door knob for support. Without a choice, and having no opportunity to warn the masters of the manor who had just arrived, Smedley moved back to allow the men entrance.
As he passed, Sheriff Dribble said to the butler, "That man down there: that is His Grace, the Second Duke of Bel Hastings, and the advocate of the accusors. I suppose you know the penalty for disrespecting a peer of the realm?"
"Of course, sir," replied Smedley stiffly, his voice sounding thick with nervousness.
"Very well. Now do give us the locations of Lords Tristan and Reginald Forsythe, please."
Smedley inhaled reluctantly. "As you wish."
The two lawmen disapperaed into the house. Felicity turned to Lord Eric and asked lowly, "Are we not ging inside as well?"
"Only when these villains are brought out," he told her with confidence. "You didn't think that I would have you enter this God-forsaken place with them still within, did you?"
She heaved a sigh of relief. "How long do you think it will take?"
"That I do not know, my dear. It depends on when and if the Forsythes are located. If they offer any resistence or-"
He was interrupted by.a scream, a woman's scream and loud voices from within the house. Ben whipped his pistol out without thinking and moved Felicity behind him. Eric surprised them all by striding past Ben and up the steps as if he owned the place.
"Your grace!" Felicity shouted alarmingly. "What are you doing? Something is happeneing in there, do not go in there!"
He acted as if he did not hear her. Tom and James scrambled after him, and before Ben could grab hold of Felicity, she darted out from behind him and took off up the steps in a heated flurry."Lissie, stop! Don't!" he yelled after her in a panic, then he too ran after her. Elizabeth and Arthur looked at each other, startled, then Arthur said,"Why should we get left out of the fray?"
Elizabeth grabbed his hand and hauled him after her.
Felicity's heart was up in her throat, it seemed, as she reached the opened doors of the manor and stepped inside...and gasped. The scream had issued from one of the slave maids, who had retreated away from the grand staircase with her hands flown up to her cheeks, because Tristan Forsythe had managed to get himself down stairs despite swaying drunkenly, hair wild and eyes even wilder. He looked horrible; half of his handsome face was blistered and different shades of red, seemingly unreal with the shine the remaining flesh bore in the light. His eyebrow was gone and the eyelid beneath it was heavy with blistering. Some of the hair on that side of his head was gone, too. The ear was covered in a linen wrap. But the most unnerving sight of all was the way one corner of his mouth was stretched as a result of the taut burnt skin pulling it unnaturally back.
In the fleeting seconds it took for Felicity to recognize him, she believed him to finally look like the monster he truly was.
And Tristan saw her as well. He gritted his teeth and screeched, "YOU! You're the bitch who did this to me!" He swayed dangerously from the bottom step of the stairs, using the post to cling to with both arms. His voice sounded rapsy and savage, somewhat indistinct by the damaged skin around the side of his mouth. Constable Poon and Sheriff Dribble lingered close to him, trying to get closer to him from opposite sides, their pistols drawn. Tristan's father, Fletcher Forsythe was attempting to edge toward his son as if to grab him and physically defend him from the two lawmen. Fletcher's face was a flushed red beneath his snow white peruke wig.
Felicity's breath held in fear, but her feet remaine planted where she stood as the duke inched toward her protectively.
"Arrest her!" Tristan screamed in a mad rage, pointing at Felicity. "She did this to me! She and that Negro witch tried to murder me!"
Felicity snapped in her anger as well. "You were attempting to assault me! You had already taken advantage of Lettie twice! You know very well what you did!" Before anyone else could say another word she quickly said to Poon and Dribble, "He is a slave-abuser! He forces himself upon the very women who have been stolen from their homes and brought here to be forced into a life they would have never chose for themselves!"
Lord Eric, icily composed and in full authority added, "And I know that what Miss Merriman says is true. She herself is a victim of abduction."
Fletcher Forsythe pointed an angry finger at the duke. "You know nothing about my son! He is not responsible for bringing this harlot to England! She was merely about to recieve what she had been asking for!"
"Reginald!" Tristan hissed viciously. "She is Reginald's bitch! He brought her here, he is to blame!"
Constable Poon raised his pistol as if to shoot at the ceiling. "I demand order here! The first person to step out of line will recieve a bullet for his troubles! Now be quiet, all of you!"
There was indeed a deadly moment of silence, but only for a second, then the tall, spindly maid with the dark red hair and spectacles Felicity remembered as being named Genevieve trotted in to see what all the commotion was about, saw Tristan and his father, saw the lawmen, then saw Felicity and shrieked, "Lady Forsythe!"
"Her name is Felicity Merriman," growled a vengeful voice. Ben had entered, taking his place beside Felicity and getting an arm around her waist tightly. "Soon to be Davidson. There is no real marriage to the bastard Reginald."
"Who the hell are you?" Tristan spat, looking Ben up and down in his crazed maliciousness.
"Felicity's fiance, Captain Davidson of Lieutenant Colonel Harry Lee's Legion of cavalry in General Washington's Continental army," Ben told him nastily, looking Tristan up and down with equal hatred. "I am also the man who is going to damage you a hell of a lot worse than some measley barn fire ever could!"
Tristan made a sound in fury that was some horrible sound that neither 'scream' nor 'shreik' could describe, but he made an insane lunge toward Ben with gritted teeth and every intention of trying to tear the young captain apart, but Fletcher and Sheriff Dribble caught him, wrestled with him with all of their strength, as Ben pulled Felicity behind him again protectively. He had his pistol in one hand, finger on the trigger.
"You're going to claim this bitch as your own?" Tristan sneered madly at him. "HA! I've already had her! And what a treat she was, too! She likes it rough!"
"That is a lie!" Felicity shouted, riled to the point of squashing her anger. She stepped out from behind Ben and glared at Tristan, her green eyes ablaze with her own outrage. "You certainly tried to take advantage of me the way you did Lettie and countless other women, but fortunately for woman-kind you were halted the only way a woman defending herself could!"
"Still trying to play innocent, eh, hellion?" he oozed shakingly, his good eye flicking over her pervertedly. He licked his lips, the wolf hungry for dinner. "How would your heroic fiance like to know how you arranged a deal with me to get to go home? A roll in the hay for a trip on a ship?"
"I already know about your so-called 'deal,' Forsythe," Ben snarled hotly at him. "And I know Felicity changed her mind about it. You got mad and tried to force your sorry self on my finace. How else was she and Lettie to stop your kind?"
"And you believed her?" Tristan's laugh was crazed and unnerving, just like his twisted expression. "Good God, boy, don't you know when a woman is playing you? She'll say anything to get herself back into your good graces so that she can find a warm bed to lie in! Fool! That woman will play the part of the hapless victim just to make a fool out of a man for sport! Don't tell me you don't know her kind! The little bitch may look all sweet and pristine, but I assure you she's not! She likes a man on top-"
"Oh you are such a whoreson!" Felicity screamed, her fists in balls at her sides. "What do you think you are doing, lying like that? You cannot save your own skin, not even literally!" She whirled on Ben, her eyes full of suspicion and severity. "Well, Ben? This is your golden opportunity to prove yourself! Do you believe him or me? And speak the truth, because I cannot nor will not take any more of this sickening situation! Now which is it?"
Ben had been glaring maliciously at Tristan, who's eyes were going back and forth, from Felicity to Ben and back as if he were watching a game of sorts. Ben looked at Felicity, his expression immediately softening. He held his arm out to her. "I believe you, my love. Always."
A tremendous wave of relief crashed over her as she stepped back into the tight hold of his arm and allowed herself to be squeezed intensely to his body.
Tristan sneered savagely. "Suit yourself, fool," he cursed through clenched teeth. "But the bitch will kill you in your sleep if she can. You will regret-"
"I have had enough of you," Ben interrupted him coldly, raising his cavalry pistol again. "Though you are not directly involved with the abduction of my fiance, you have hurt and abused far too long. If you cannot be hung, then I will make England a better place by ridding the land of you."
"Stop him!" Fletcher Forsythe cried of Ben in defence of his son, whom he had to restrain as best he could from lunging at people.
A shot was indeed fired, but it was by Sheriff Dribble, into the air and therefore into the dark ceiling of the foyer. "There will be peace and civility in here or I will have you all arrested!" An eerie hush descended upon the room, aside from Tristan's raspy breathing. There were still plenty of glares and death stares to go around. In the background, Elizabeth and Arthur were murmuring to themselves. Mr. Dribble shoved his pistol back into its holseter, straightened his jacket and addressed them all in a loud clear voice:
"I am here to take into custody one Reginald Maxim Forsythe on the charges of abduction, attempt at murder, and illegal marriage, to start with. Now where is the accused Lord Fosythe?"
"He is mucking about somewhere on the property," said Fletcher hastily, with tremendous aggravation. "Look for him at your own free will."
"That we will do," assured Mr. Poon, pursing his lips. "And as for the other Lord Forsythe, this one named Tristan here, we have charges of abuse and intent to harm an abducted woman and the abuse of slaves. Do you, Lord Tristan Forsythe, deny these charges?"
"I did nothing that those lowly women didn't ask for, including this one here! It is my cousin and his dead father who owned the slaving business!"
"So you do deny the charges against you?" asked Dribble.
"YES!"
The sheriff stepped back and bowed as much as his achy lower back would allow, "Your Grace, if you will."
Lord Eric was all business and aristocraticy as he stepped forward looking ever so empowered and regal in his stance and manner. Tom and James raised their chins haughtly as they flanked their duke loyally. Eric looked down his nose at Tristan as if the crazed young man was a loathsome little bug. "as Duke of Bel Hastings, I am insisting on having you arrested, then put on trial, where I have no doubt your case will be judged in my favor. Which is to say you shall be sentenced to death by hanging."
As Tristan's eyes bulged and his twisted mouth gaped, he struggled against his father's hold. Fletcher cried out in horror: "Your Grace! He is my only son!"
"Then perhaps you should have thought of that before you raised him the way you did," was Lord Eric's cool reply. "Do not assume I am the only human being in the west of England that has heard of the neglectful, selfish and careless habits of the Forsythe family. As a matter of fact, the entire slaving opposition movement is most interested in the heinous goings-on here. Do you not agree, Mr. Dribble?"
"Oh indeed," agreed the sheriff readily.
"I needn't remind you that the slaving business is all but finished in Bristol," Eric went on to say, smoothly. "Any attempt by you, Lord Fletcher, to re-engage Alistair Forsythe's defunct business will result in my merciless pursuit to see you penniless and out among the very vagrants you spit upon. Is that understood?"
"Yes, of course, your grace," sputtered Fletcher, clearly unhappy at being threatened and told what to do, but still wanted to argue his son's case here and now. "But my only son-"
"Your son!" Eric interrupted so loudly that it made both Felicity and Ben flinch, "must now face the consequences of his actions! Had he not been striving to assault not one, but two innocent women, then he would not be in the predicament he is in! Having him shot dead here and now would be too swift a punishment and too lenient a resolution. Sheriff, I want this man arrested and transported to Newgate Prison."
"NO! Nooo!" Tristan howled, raging against the restraining arms of his father and Constable Poon. The sheriff removed the coil of rope he'd humg upon hi sleft shoulder, and went behind Tristan to bind his arms and wrists.
Lord Eric had yet to finish. "It is by my authority that the slaves here are to be freed. If my orders are not carried out within the month, I will call for other prosecutions. Now, I demand the whereabouts of Reginald Forsythe this instant."
"We-we don't exactly know where he is here, yer grace," stuttered Genevieve, her attention being tossed between watching maniacal Tristan fighting being tied and the severe look upon the duke's face. " 'E could be anywhere on the grounds. That's what 'e does, wander around like a lost sheep, ever since 'is wife here-"
"She is not his wife!" blurted Ben angrily, stepping toward her threateningly. "She is soon to become mine! His is not a real marriage because it was forced! I believe you know this!"
Genevieve looked Ben up and down and gulped. The young American cavalry captain would be utterly handsome if he did not look as if he were wanted to clench her skinny throat with his gloved hands.
Eric turned to Felicity. "Do you wish to search for your friend Lettie now? Apparently, Dribble and I have to hunt about for Forsythe ourselves. Either Tom or James can assist you."
"Yes, I would very much like to look for her now," Felicity replied eagerly, glancing over at Tristan , who had been somewhat subdued much to her relief. Poon had stuck a handkerchief into his loud mouth to silence him. "I would rather Tom and James help you find Reginald. I have Ben to help me find Lettie."
"And the two of us!" added Elizabeth, who came forward with Arthur, who was still watching Tristan as if he were marvelling over a bizarre circus act. "We will help you!" She, too, looked at Tristan. "Such a foul creature that Tristan is! Lissie, I am so thankful to God you were able to escape him!"
"Let us hope that Lettie was as well," Felicity sighed tensely. The constable and the sheriff hauled Tristan out of the still open front doors, but not before Tristan could cast a look of blind hatred at Felicity, who stood her ground and lifted her chin victoriously, icily, as he was then forced out of the house.
"What will they do with him?" she asked after a moment.
"Keep him bound up for the walk back to Bristol," the duke told her pleasantly, reverting back to his affiable self. "Hopefully, they shall have Reginald to tow along behind them as well. They will spend a night in a prison cell before being taken to Newgate."
"And then?" Ben wanted to know.
"And then they will await trial, which could take years because there are so many waiting ahead of them."
Felicity frowned. "So all that they will do is sit in a cell?"
Lord Eric smiled at her dissatisfaction. "I know, it seems to be better than they deserve, doesn't it. But I assure you, there are criminals who have committed suicide just to avoid being taken there. The conditions are deplorable, I assure you."
Ben sneered.
Felicity took Ben's arm. "Please, let us go look for her. I know my way around here. Unfortunately."
"And if we should find Reginald along the way..." Ben held up his pistol. "I might have to decide his fate for him!"
"It would be well served," agreed the duke approvingly. He turned to his footmen. "Tom, James, let us search the grounds."
"Aye, your grace," the two of them replied, eager for action as well.
Fletcher forsythe gave them all dirty, vengeful looks. But reprehensible looks was all he could afford, for he dare not make a move against a ranked peer of the realm or his death would be swifter than his son's. The only agreeable action being taken here, in his opinion, was the possiblity of getting rid of that bothersome, moping Reginald. One way or the other. Fletcher Forsythe turned and strode to the front doors of the manor which was now his to see what was being done to shi son now. His daughter, Tristan's younger sister, stood at the doorway of the nearest parlor, sniffing and wringing a hankie.
Arthur and Elizabeth followed Felicit and Ben up the cold marble staircase. Elizabeth marveled at the place, but in a good way. "LIssie, this place is so morbid! 'Tis like it makes a person want to be a lunatic!"
"That it does," Felicity said stiffly. She didn't like being back here at all. This was for Lettie, and for that reason alone she would endure it. There was always the possibility that Lettie wasn't even here, and that Felicity hoped was true. But she had to make sure. Lettie was too important to her to just abandon hope. "Here," she said dully as they stopped on the first floor landing. "Let me show you where I was kept."
Ben put an arm around her shoulders and hardened his grip on his pistol in his other hand. "We're with you, Lissie, all the way. What you suffered, let us suffer too."
"There has been more than enough suffering here," she told them as she led the way to the room she was locked up in. With each step, however, she felt renewed dread seeping through her veins, stronger than before.
No, this wasn't over yet, not by a long shot. Something terrible was still about to happen.
Author Blab: At my livejournal site, at . I have a 'Felicity's Future' Poll for fans to vote on. It's really pointless, but I made it in the extremely slip hope that someone from AG/Pleasant Company will see it and acknowledge that we want Felicity with Ben. We ALL KNOW FELICITY BELONGS WITH BEN, but there are, unfortunately, people who do not think likewise. I know, disgusting, isn't it? Anyway, just amuse me and stop by and give Felicity and Ben a vote, okay? Thanks you guys!