A/N: Hey, guys, I'm glad you like this! Here's the second chapter and it's an extra-long one! Once I started writing I could stop! Enjoy!
Chapter 2
Sebastian's POV:
I woke up with the worst headache I could ever remember having, and for my long life, that was saying something. In fact, my pounding head was what had woken me, and as soon as I was properly awake I wished I could go back to sleep. That was not to be, however. My aching head prevented me from falling back into oblivion and I knew that trying to go back to sleep would only delay the inevitable rising and going about my business.
Whatever I had hit last night hadn't only hurt me, it had drained me of energy. This morning I felt weak and shaky and I knew that I would have to be very careful if I wished to avoid giving myself permanent injury due to my condition. I was in a precarious situation.
I wondered how my young master was faring. Thoughts of him drove me to abandon my perch and approach the wall again. I could see nor sense nothing about it that could prevent me from entering this place, yet I had been unable to do so. Why was that? I knew that the fiend Lucy had been able to put up a shield around Blackwell Manor, and I was able to put up unseen defenses around the Phantomhive estate, but I'd never seen something like this that incapacitated and weakened an enemy so completely. What was it? (Just as importantly, how could I erect the same thing around the Phantomhive estate? It would do a wonderful job of protecting my master!)
A wave of dizziness hit me and I had to sit down. I was still very weak and I felt worse than I had when I'd been ill as a human. I had never had anything affect me like this. Even when I'd been at my hungriest I had never felt like this. I was sure that unless I did something to rectify the situation I would be in trouble very shortly. I forced myself to my feet and, holding onto the wall, I looked about for some clue as to what had put me in this condition and what I could do to reverse it.
Once again, there was nothing. Nothing I could see, hear, smell, taste, feel, or sense in any way. For some reason, it...whatever it was...was beyond me, literally. My knees gave way and I fell to the ground. What could I do now? I barely had the strength to stand for more than a few moments, yet I had to find a way into this place and rescue my master.
I used all my senses to take in as much as I could about the place. To all appearances, it was a normal country house. Inside it, I could hear at least twenty adult hearts beating, and there were thirty children's hearts. One of them was my master's. The children were still asleep, including my master, but the adults were starting to rise and face the day. One hardy soul was already in the kitchen stirring the fire, and I could tell that the time was early even for the most industrious cook or kitchen worker. Already I could smell something on the fire...oat porridge. If that was for the children's breakfast they would have a hard time getting my master to eat that. He liked more elaborate things for his breakfast, like cinnamon rolls, sweet scones, and culinary creations that I would make. The only times he ate something so simple for breakfast was when he was ill and rich food would have been difficult for his stomach to take.
I could hear more adults moving about, speaking to each other and going about the morning chores. I could hear the sound of a broom rasping over the floorboards and the creak of those floorboards as someone moved down the hall, approaching where my master slept. Oh, if that poor fool woke my master this early then he would have all the wrath of a thirteen-year-old boy to deal with. My master was rarely a cheerful riser, and the earlier it was, the fouler his mood. A good morning was when he was still too sleepy to be grouchy. When he was still half-asleep he was absolutely a pleasure to be around since he was quiet, mostly docile, and amenable to almost any suggestions I made. Those were good mornings, but they were short-lived since he woke up once he had his tea. If these people did not give my master tea, then they would deserve whatever he dished out to them.
Listening for the next few minutes told me little else. There were adults and children in the house, the adults were awake, the children were asleep. It was about half-past six and the surrounding area was quiet aside from the sounds (and smells) of the farm animals the next hill over. The rattle of a cart drew my attention and I felt a smile start when I saw one coming up the road toward the house. It was fully possible that I was unable to go over the wall...the solution to my problem might be as simple as just going through the gate. The wall might be warded against people sneaking over them, so it might be possible that I could enter this place through the gate. Then again, it was just as possible that the whole place was covered with wards and safeguards against demons and it would be impossible for me to get in, but I had to try. I had my orders; I had to rescue my master.
I waited until the cart pulled up to the gate, and quickly I scrambled aboard with not even a whisper of sound. The man driving it didn't notice me and I watched as someone came from the house to open the gate.
"Morning, Ernest," the man opening the gate said.
"Morning, Mr. Camden," the driver said. "How are all your little ones?"
"They're just fine," Mr. Camden said. "Things are nice and peaceful now since they're still sleeping, but I expect that'll change as soon as they're up."
"Aye, it'll be Katie-bar-the-door as soon as they get their feet under 'em."
The men shared a laugh as the cart rolled through the entrance and I was elated when I realized that I was not in pain! It looked as if the gate had been the answer after all. Satisfied, I kept to my hiding place between a bundle of cloth and a stack of boxed candles and continued the ride up the drive to the back of the house. Before the man left his seat I was out of the cart and rounding the corner and out of sight.
The link I had with my master led me along the house and to a window on the second floor. I smiled as I caught his scent. A human's scent was not constant. It changed if he was tired, ill, hungry, well-fed, hurt, upset, awake, or asleep. Right now I could tell that he'd been given a good meal the night before, was presently asleep, and that...I found myself grinding my teeth. He'd also been drugged. When I found the person responsible for that, they would be begging for death by the time I finished with them. How dare they do such a thing? My master loathed such things due to his captivity, and when he loathed something he became impossible to deal with. Did these people have no consideration for the butler?
Handholds and toeholds invisible to human eyes and incapable of supporting humans became clear to my eyes and my hands and feet found them easily as I made my way up the side of the building. In short order I reached the window and I could even see my master lying in a bed, still deeply asleep. Trusting my weight to my feet, I reached for the window and began to lift it...
The pain shot through me and sent me flying. The pain of impacting the ground was nearly nothing to the comparison of the pain I was already in. My body writhed on the grass, my hands locked into claws, my face fixed in a rictus of agony. Suddenly, the muscles in my body tightened, my back arched until all of my weight was resting on my shoulders and feet, and I realized the sound I was hearing was my own scream. Shortly I became aware of several adults approaching, but blessed oblivion approached and ended my agony. I had no idea if I was dying or if I was only losing consciousness, but for the first time, I welcomed such a dark abyss.
Ciel's POV:
"What was that?"
"I don't know."
Rustling. The sound of bare feet on floorboards. "It looks like someone's lying out on the lawn. Maybe he's hurt and that's why he screamed?"
"Well, he sure didn't scream because he's happy."
"Looks like he'll be all right. He's got help out there." The sound of the same feet moving back to where they'd started. More rustling and a sigh. "Do you think breakfast will be late?"
"Probably not. You don't see Mrs. Partridge out there, do you? Ten to one she's still in the kitchen."
"She's probably making soup by now for that man out there."
"She's always making soup."
Where on earth was I? Why was I hearing stangers' voices in my room? Wait a moment, was I even in my room? Somehow I found the strength to roll onto my side and I could tell from the feel of the bed that I was not at the manor or in my bed at the London house. If that was so, then where was I? Who were the people around me and where on earth was Sebastian?
A knock on the door, the sound of it opening, and the sound of someone coming in. "Morning, boys."
"Morning, Jim!" they chorused. Then, "Who was that man outside?"
"We're not sure yet," Jim admitted. I recognized his voice and I realized that he was my kidnapper from the night before...the one who'd chloroformed and drugged me. That was right, Sebastian and I were conducting an underground investigation...Why on earth hadn't he gotten me out of here yet? What was he playing at?
"Will he be all right?"
"I think so, once he rests," Jim said. "Now, it's time for you lot to get up. It's just past seven."
I could hear feet hitting the floor and the sound of the man's shoes approaching my bed. A hand reached out and shook my shoulder and in reflex I jerked away from it.
"Stephen? It's time to get up."
My eyelids creaked open and I found myself staring at the man who'd snatched me.
He smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkling. "Good morning. How are you feeling?"
I winced as my head pounded. "Headache. Where...?" I sat up and looked around. At this point, I could not break character. It would cause trouble for the investigation if he became suspicious. "Where am I?"
"You're here at Sanctuary," Jim said. "You're safe here."
"Where's Uncle Lewis?"
"He's not here."
I knew that to be false. Sebastian was here, they just hadn't seen him yet.
"Are you hungry?" Jim asked. "It's almost time for breakfast." He turned and looked at the boy whose bed had been next to mine. "Jasper, will you help him get ready?"
"Sure, Jim." Jasper smiled at me and draped a towel over his shoulders while Jim left, apparently to go to another room to wake innocent sleepers up.
For the first time, I was getting a good look at the room. White-painted walls, bare floorboards with braided rugs and a runner down the center of the room, three iron bedsteads on either side, wide, sunny windows, bureaus, a bookshelf, a plain wooden box, and a table and chairs in the corner.
"Jim brought you in while you were already asleep, so I guess I'll give you something of a tour while we get ready and then we'll go down to breakfast," Jasper said with a grin. "Your name's Stephen, isn't it? Grab your towel and flannel and I'll show you the bathroom."
I wasn't ready to go anywhere without a few more answers. I was glad that I'd recognized someone: Jasper Willis, aged twelve and a half, missing from one of the lower middle-class areas from London. His father was a clerk in an office. "Where are we?"
"Sanctuary."
Wonderful. That question wasn't getting me anywhere. "I mean, how far outside London?"
Jasper considered this. "Hah, I don't know! Does it matter? C'mon! Time's a-wastin'!"
I let Jasper rush me out of bed and down the hall into the bathroom. Other boys were there, using the commodes in their stalls or washing up at the washbasins. I took care of the needful, washed my hands and face, and I was very glad to see a toothbrush sitting in a clay mug with my name on it. My mouth felt furry after all that time asleep and the medicine they'd given me. Once I'd washed and brushed I felt much more human. Jasper hurried me back to the bedroom and pointed out two drawers in the bureau closest to our beds.
"These drawers are yours and they hold your stuff. It's your job to keep 'em neat, and if they're messy, the adults'll make you fix 'em till they're neat, understand?"
I nodded. When I didn't move fast enough to please him, Jasper yanked the drawers open and pulled out clothing identical to the other boys' for me to put on. I did NOT want to get dressed in a room full of strangers, but practically all of them were between me and the door out. If I tried to leave to go dress in the bathroom they would ask me why and I wasn't about to talk about it. Instead, I kept my back to the wall and dressed as fast as I could. (I was deeply thankful that I'd learned to dress myself quickly while I'd been Sir Charles' prisoner.) "Finished!" I said, feeling as if I'd just won a race. I headed toward the door but was stopped by a hand on my arm.
"Hang on, you have to make your bed and hang up your towel and flannel."
Sebastian usually made my bed for me, and before Sebastian, one of the housemaids had taken care of it. I'd seen it done countless times, so how hard could it be? I pulled the sheets straight, plumped the two pillows, pulled the comforter over the matress, and fought to get it straight and flat. The towel and flannel I draped over the end of the bedstead like I saw the other boys doing. By the time I finished my arms were tired. How did servants do this every day?
"Good job," Jasper told me, standing by the door. "Come on and let's get some breakfast."
He led me along the hall, down the stairs, and through the house, every now and then pointing out rooms. He pointed out the library, some classrooms, and a rainy-day nursery, but he wouldn't allow me to look into any of them. Instead, he hurried me along and in a few minutes we came to a large room that seemed to be a dining room. I was used to snowy-white tablecloths, comfortable chairs, spotless silver, and perfect china. Instead, there were plain crockery dishes, knicked and spotted plated silverware, and linoleum-covered tables and benches. Such items were easy to clean, yes, but they were terribly depressing to look at.
Jasper seemed born to hurry his way through life. He bullied me into a place at a nearby table and shifted his weight impatiently from foot to foot while the adults filed in with the serving dishes to put them on the tables. I could smell sausage somewhere in the air and my mouth watered. It seemed an age since last night's stew.
Jim appeared and stood at the head of our table while other adults took their places. By the time everyone had claimed a place it was quiet, and a woman stood up, said a short grace, and we were allowed to sit. A platter of sausages were just across from me and I was about to ask for them to be passed when Jim reached over and placed a small bowl of oatmeal on the plate in front of me.
"What's this?" I asked. I didn't want oatmeal; that was what Sebastian made for me when I was sick! What I wanted was sausage, some eggs, and perhaps some toast with butter and...
"Doctor's orders, Stephen," Jim said lightly. "He says that hot oats will give you a bit more strength and put some weight on you."
I was slim, yes, but I wasn't sickly! With the way Jim was talking, an outsider might think that I was in danger of collapsing from starvation!
"Try some honey and milk on it," Jasper suggested, pushing two small creamers toward me. "That'll make it taste good."
"Can't I have some sausage instead?" I asked. "I don't feel like eating oatmeal. I've had it a lot lately." As an East End child, my meals would have been very simple, things like oatmeal and bread. That gave me a perfect excuse for hating it.
"The doctor insists," Jim said, sounding apologetic. "It's just a small bowl. Hurry and eat that up and then you can have some sausage."
"I don't want it," I insisted.
Jim gave me a long look. "You'll get nothing else until you finish that, Stephen."
"I thought you wanted me to eat," I said, remember the doctor's comments about my slight frame.
"You have to eat what you need to eat first and then you can have what you want," Jim stated. "Go ahead, now."
I glared at the oatmeal. If it had been one of the Phantomhive servants he or she would have cringed away from such a look, but the oatmeal didn't go anywhere. I drizzled honey on it, added a splash of milk, and braved the bowl. Ten mouthfuls of oatmeal later it was gone.
"Well done," Jim said, giving Jasper a nod to pass me the sausage. "It won't be so hard tomorrow, you'll see."
I did not intend to be here tomorrow. I would be lucky if I kept my temper for today. Where the devil was Sebastian, anyway? He should have been getting me out of here by this point. He should have retrieved me last night and we should have brought in Scotland Yard. This should have been over by now and I should have been back at my nice, comfortable manor having a breakfast that did not include oatmeal!
I was more than happy after that to dig into a few sausage links, some eggs, and piece of toast. Unfortunately, because of that wretched oatmeal, I wasn't able to finish my meal and I ended breakfast by sipping carefully at a cup of tea. I was sure that the last tea I'd had had been drugged and I was being very cautious while I was still stuck in this place.
"After breakfast the doctor would like to see you again, Stephen," Jim said as other diners began to put their plates aside.
"But he saw me last night," I said, making myself sound confused.
"He'd like to examine you again."
"Why?"
Jim smiled at the oldest of children's questions. "He didn't tell me. He just asked to see you again."
Once the meal was finished Jim led me back to the doctor's office.
"Hello, Stephen," he said. "Do you remember me from last night?"
I nodded. "Yes. You're the doctor."
"Very good," he said, motioning me to sit on the exam table. "I'm Dr. Evans. Now, I'd like to take another look at you in the daylight, all right? Would you take off your shirt for me, please?"
I knew what he wanted to look at. I fought down a shudder and pulled off my shirt, praying that he wouldn't actually touch me too much. I always got nervous when it came to the brand on my back; Sebastian was the only one whose touch there didn't bother me.
"Stephen, how did you get this?" Dr. Evans asked after a moment.
"Some men did it when I was younger," I said. "I'd gotten lost and a gentleman said he'd help me find my way home, but he took me somewhere else..."
"So they did this and let you go?" he wanted to know, sounding extremely doubtful.
"No, they weren't letting me go, but a friend of the family found me, got me away from them, and took me home." In essence, that was the truth, and the more truth I gave them, the better. Sebastian was butler to the Phantomhive family, he'd found me, gotten me away from my tormentors, and took me home. It was as much truth as I could give them in the circumstances.
"Didn't your parents speak to the police about it?" Jim asked.
"There was an inspector at the house when I got home," I confessed. An inspector had been there...a building inspector to look at what had been left of the house after the fire.
"And your eye?" Dr. Evans asked, reaching for my eyepatch.
I pulled away from him. "An accident when I was younger. I keep it covered since it makes other people uncomfortable."
Dr. Evans and Jim exchanged a look of concern. "An accident? Your Uncle Lewis didn't have anything to do with that, did he?"
How to answer that? My contract with Sebastian was the cause of the change in my eye, but... "To be honest, I don't really remember what happened. It happened fast."
"What did your mother or father say?"
I thought quickly. "Father said that I was outside playing and that I fell and I hit something. He didn't see it happen, but he heard me screaming and so took me to the hospital."
Dr. Evans nodded and opened a folder. Inside I could see my alias of "Stephen Brown." It didn't matter that they'd spelled the last name wrong. Dr. Evans wrote my answers down on a sheet attached to a paper titled "Medical History."
"All right. Is there anything else you can tell me about yourself, Stephen?" Dr. Evans asked, looking over my file. "Any illnesses you've had, any problems that crop up now and then?"
"I had chicken pox when I was younger, as well as the mumps."
"No measles?"
"No measles."
"Did you ever have scarlet fever?"
"No."
"Good. How about allergies or anything similar?"
"Cats make me sneeze. Is asthma an allergy or is it something different?" They might need to know that I had asthma while I was stuck here. If I had an attack I could get very sick in a very, very short time and the wrong treatment could make me even worse.
"You have asthma?" Jim asked.
I nodded. "My mother had it, too. She had to rest a lot, and the doctor told me that I had it, too, when I began to have trouble breathing sometimes."
I had Dr. Evans' full attention. "Have you ever coughed a lot after an allergy attack?"
I remembered my allergy attack after going undercover at the circus and nodded. "When I was younger I did that, but it stopped for a few years. Then, this past winter, it happened again."
Dr. Evans nodded and jotted away. "I see. Well, aside from that mark on your back and your eyes, you seem to be in good shape. How's your black eye feeling? Any pain?"
I shook my head. "It doesn't really hurt. Did you give me some medicine while I was asleep?"
"A witch hazel compress," Dr. Evans said. "The bruising and swelling's gone down a lot and in a few days your eye will be as right as rain. If it hurts, though, let me know."
I nodded again.
"Any other troubles you'd like to talk about?" Dr. Evans asked. "Anything worrying you? Worry can be just as destructive to your health as any disease, so if there's something troubling you, you should tell us so we can help you."
I pulled my shirt back on and buttoned it before tucking it in and I thought about his question. Something was worrying me, and it should have been worrying Stephen Browne, too. "Why was I brought here? I...I don't understand why I've been brought here. When am I going home? Will you keep me for a while and then let me go home or...?" I sat down on a chair and sighed, pretending to be feeling tearful. That always made adults talk. In fact, if a child actually started crying they would blather like idiots until the crying stopped.
"We brought you here in order to keep your uncle from hurting you anymore," Dr. Evans said. "We have agents everywhere, looking for children who've been treated unkindly. When we find them, they're brought here or to one of our other houses and we protect them. Do you understand?"
I sniffled and nodded and Jim handed me a clean handkerchief. I buried my face in it and took a deep breath, trying to make them think that I was struggling to control myself. What they'd told me gave me a feeling that this was going to be a long, hard case. If they had agents everywhere and multiple bases, then it would take a great deal of time to find them all and stop them. "When am I going home?" I asked.
"You'll be with us until you're grown up," Dr. Evans told me. "You won't be able to live with your uncle anymore, so you'll live here."
"But what about Uncle Lewis? Who will make sure he eats and..."
"Don't worry about your uncle," Jim told me firmly. "You're not responsible for him, Stephen. It's not your job to take care of him. You're still a child and it's the job of adults to take care of you. After a while you'll get used to being here and you'll be happier."
I sniffled again. "I want to go home!"
"It will take a while before you feel at home here, Stephen," Jim said. "Why don't I take you around the house so you know where everything is? After that you'll be able to spend a little time getting used to being here, all right?"
I shook my head. "I know Uncle Lewis is supposed to take care of me, but he's still learning how. I miss him and I want to go home!" It was true, too. I missed Sebastian and I wanted to get out of this place and back to the Phantomhive manor.
The doctor pulled his chair next to mine and lifted my chin with his hand so I would look him directly in the eye. "Stephen, we understand that you're upset. A lot has changed in your life in a very short time, and that's bound to be upsetting. However, we cannot in good conscience return you to your uncle. What if he were to be drunk someday and hurt you badly without meaning to? We can prevent such a thing from happening if we keep you here. I promise that soon you'll feel more at home and you won't be so unhappy. Until then, trust us to take care of you, all right?"
I sniffed again and nodded. Any other child would have calmed by this point and given in to the adults around him, so that was what I did. Some mild rebellion would be expected on my part later, perhaps an attempt or two to run away, but that was for later. A normal child would need some time to rally himself to such an action, so I would have to be patient until then. The doctor repeated his assurances and I bade him goodbye shortly after that to go on my promised tour with Jim.
The house had at one time been a country estate; I could tell that much from the way it had been constructed and laid out. Jim led me through the corridors and let me look into rooms and I found myself thinking of them the way they would have been referred to if gentry had still inhabited it. There was the morning room, the parlor, the drawing room, the study, the library, the music room, the ladies' sitting room, the conservatory...Now, there were offices and record rooms and classrooms and a battered sitting room and rainy-day nursery. I did enjoy wandering in the library for a little bit. It appeared the gentry had left their books behind and there were quite a few decent works on the shelves. If I had the chance, I would come back later for something to read so the time would pass more quickly until Sebastian got me out of here.
"You're probably wondering what will be expected of you while you're here," Jim said as he led me along one of the upstairs hallways. "Well, it's simple. You'll be expected to keep your things tidy and to get along with the other children. You'll attend lessons and you'll have playtime and you'll have a little chore to do each day, something that's entirely your responsibility."
"Like what?" I asked. If they set me to cleaning the commodes, there would be a reckoning...
"Things like sweeping the halls or the stairs, washing windows, weeding the garden, helping in the kitchen and other little tasks like that. Mrs. Danvers, the housekeeper, will be giving you your assignment later today."
Servants' work. Oh, this situation was getting worse all the time. "I don't really know how to do anything like that," I protested. "I'd make a mess of it."
"Well, we'll find you something you can do," Jim told me. "Now, the other children are at lessons right now, so let's get you to the classrooms."
I had never been in a proper school in my life. I'd always been taught by either my parents or by governesses or by Sebastian. (By far, the governesses were easier teachers than Sebastian. He was a demon and he didn't always understand that sometimes humans needed a break from schoolwork. His educational method was to plow through and pull me along with him.) Since I'd always been taught at home, I'd never even been in a real classroom. Jim led me into a room filled with children seated at desks arranged in rows. Boys and girls were separated by the center aisle, and all of them were busy reading books, practicing penmanship, doing sums, and other such tasks. One boy was examining an atlas with such intense concentration that I doubted he would look up for a brass band and a girl was seated at an easel, sketching a landscape. An upright piano stood in the corner and a shelf of books stood next to it. All of the students were around my age and I had to confess that I felt a pang of envy. Aside from the occasional lesson I shared with Elizabeth, I'd never had classmates I could share lessons with.
A lady wearing a black dress and with her hair pulled up severely in a bun was seated at the teacher's desk at the front of the room, but she rose when she saw us. "Hello, there, Mr. Palmer."
"Hello, Miss Anderson," Jim said politely. "I've brought your new student to meet you."
Miss Anderson smiled at me. "Hello, Stephen. I'm very pleased to meet you."
What did one say when meeting a teacher in a regular classroom? There was nothing like this in any etiquette book I'd ever read! I'd have to improvise. "Good morning, ma'am."
"Well, I'd best be getting on," Jim said. "I'll see you later, Stephen. You have fun."
By this point, the entire class had noticed us and I found myself the focus of all those eyes.
"Everyone, this is Stephen Browne, and he came to us only last night. I hope you'll all make him feel welcome. Back to work, now."
"Yes, Miss Anderson," they chorused. A few of the students still sneaked furtive glances at me, but I had no time for them since Miss Anderson led me to a seat and began to quiz me. She understood that my father had been a teacher and my mother a governess, was that right? It was? Good. Now, what books had I read? Did I know how to use a globe? An atlas? How far had I read in history? What about literature? How was my arithmetic? My writing? Could I draw? Did I know any French? Could I recite? What did I know about the sciences? Had my mother ever taught me music or the piano?
I felt as if Sebastian was giving me one of his examinations. As my butler, he felt that it was part of his duty to make sure that I was making adequate progress and paid attention to my lessons, and that meant that he would quiz me in much the same manner. Sometimes I rather enjoyed the mental exercise, dredging up answers that would satisfy him, but today I wasn't much in the mood. When I could get a word in edgewise, I asked if I might demonstrate what I knew and then she would be able to judge my education that much better.
I was deeply thankful when she agreed. Over the next hour I showed her the copies of the books I'd read and I'd written down the titles of many others. I showed her I could use both globe and atlas and I played a minuet, waltz, and march on the piano. After that I worked several mathematics problems and drew some figures and performed a proof in geometry before reciting one of Shakespeare's sonnets. I translated a page of French for her and sketched the piano on the chalkboard.
"I see," Miss Anderson said. "Your education so far has been excellent, Stephen. Your parents were wonderful teachers."
"Thank you, ma'am."
"You'll be with my more advanced students," she said, leading me to a seat near the back of the room. "Daniel and Peter will be able to help you get settled in."
Since Daniel and Peter already shared a desk, I had a seat to myself. Inside the desk I found a slate, slate pencils, a copybook, and textbooks. Basic equipment, but I supposed it was adequate for the classroom. Miss Anderson brought the class to order and my first day in a classroom began.
I was swiftly disabused of my envy of these students. Instead, I was moved to pity. Being in a classroom was boring. The teacher determined the pace of the work and moving ahead on your own was not encouraged. The textbooks were dry enough to bore me to tears and when the time came for writing a composition I felt a little hope, but the teacher assigned the topic and I was required to write on that theme alone. Mathematics study consisted of drills and science was nothing but reading about scientific principles in a book. If this was the type of education most people in England were receiving, then we were in trouble as a nation.
At twelve-thirty lessons ended for the day and we were marched downstairs for lunch in the dining hall. I was hungry again and I was more than happy to sit down and eat. Lunch was beef stew and bread with butter and milk. Plain food, but I was glad to have something to eat after my scanty meals yesterday. Breakfast had only stopped the problem of my hunger for a short while. Jim was there at my table again and he brought a hot drink from the kitchen just for me, a milk, chicken broth, and egg drink that was said to be good for someone thin. I could remember Sebastian serving the same thing to me when I'd had a cold, so perhaps he'd thought me thin? I drank it down and kept myself from scowling only because of the bread pudding that was served for dessert. The smell of cinnamon and sugar and raisins had me longing for something sweet.
After lunch we were let loose in the garden for a while. Swings had been hung from the trees, a slide, seesaw, and carousel had been built, and of course an area had been set aside for cricket. I settled myself on a bench and watched the other children playing. Was Sebastian hiding somewhere out here, unable to get into the house and waiting for me to come outside so he could find me?
I waited until most of the other adults were busy and I slipped away, determined to explore a little bit and perhaps find a way over that wall. Since the gate was in full view of the house I couldn't try to climb it or slip through it, but perhaps I could climb over the wall...I wandered around the walled expanse and wondered just how long these people had lived here and if...
I turned a corner and found myself in a flower garden that took my breath away. Even though the flowers at Phantomhive were excellent and often featured in gardening publications, this garden put the one at the manor to ignonimous shame. I began to drift toward the white roses, their scent luring me...
"What are you doing here?"
I jumped, startled. Not far from me a girl was seated on a stone bench. Large blue eyes and white-blond hair and a white dress made me compare her to a ghost and I hoped that that was not the case. If demons were real, then ghosts could be as well. "I was exploring."
"You're the new one, Stephen Browne, aren't you?" she asked, getting to her feet and approaching me.
"Ah, yes..."
"Are you homesick?"
She was a terribly blunt thing, wasn't she? She appeared to be a few years older than I was, but she didn't seem to be one of Sanctuary's "rescued" children. If she wasn't that, what was she? "Uh..."
"Don't be," she interrupted. "You've come to a good place."
"Everyone keeps telling me that, but I'd prefer to go home."
"This is your home now," she said, returning to her bench. "If you're not intelligent enough to realize that then there's little hope for you, isn't there?"
Was she always this...this...maddening? "I didn't ask to come here, you know."
"None of the children have, but they've become happy here," she said off-handedly. "You'll only do yourself a disservice if you persist in being unhappy. You were looking for a way out, weren't you?"
I gaped at her. "Ah..."
"You were," she said, giving a shrug. "You might find a way out, but you won't get far. Sometimes you won't get further than ten feet past the wall, so don't waste your time."
If I could find a garden rake or something, I could beat her over the head... "Are you always so annoying?"
"Just to people who deserve to be a bit annoyed," she told me. "You look as if you won't settle in easily, and that always leads to headaches for the adults."
I fought down the urge to throttle her. She was a lady, after all. "Forgive me, but is this place somehow private? Am I unwelcome here?"
She regarded me solemnly. "Not at all. It's just that most of the children prefer to play rather than admire the flowers. Do you care for flowers?"
Flowers were something I often enjoyed. Sometimes the sight of them and their scent and the peace of the gardens were the only things that could help me relax. "I do. White roses are my favorite, actually."
She smiled. "Floribunda roses or climbing roses?"
"Both, actually."
Her smile broadened. "My name is Cecilia."
"I'm Stephen."
Once we'd discovered a mutual interest she and I could talk quite companionably. We were deep in a discussion of the floribunda roses when a shadow fell across our path. A tall man, dark-haired and dark-eyed yet pale and dressed in black was standing there, watching us.
The girl smiled. "Hello, Papa."
"Hello, dearest," he said, accepting an embrace from her the same way he would accept a nod from the Queen. "Who's this?"
"This is Stephen Browne, one of the new children. He arrived only last night," she said, introducing me. "He likes white roses."
Cecilia's father regarded me with those dark eyes and I suddenly felt as if I could not move. He was a hawk staring down a mouse...a very hungry hawk eyeing a very, very plump and mouthwatering mouse...I battled the impulse to run away and gave him a polite nod. "Good afternoon, sir."
He smiled, a slow, lazy smile. "Hello, Stephen." He took a few steps toward me and I was surprised at the feline way in which he moved. It didn't seem...normal. "How do you find Sanctuary so far?"
"I wish to go home," I said flatly, determined not to let this strange man intimidate me.
He waved my statement away with his hand. "Right now you do, but later, you'll not be able to think of this place as anything but your home," he said dismissively. "Welcome to Sanctuary, Stephen." He reached out and took hold of my chin with his fingers, tilting my head up so I would look at him. "My, my. I have to admit, youngster, that I've not seen eyes this shade before. Blue and dusky purple."
I clapped my hand to my face. Had I lost my eye patch and not noticed? No, it was still there, so how...?
"Don't tease him, Papa!" Cecilia chided. "No one has purple eyes and how could you see his eye behind that patch? Let him be!"
"Very well, my dear, since you say so," he said, smiling at her. "I hope you'll come to feel at home here, Stephen. In case you're curious, I am the owner of the house and I've allowed its use for Sanctuary, so now you know who I am and where I stand in this organization. I hope to see you again."
I nodded, still too unsettled to speak.
"Stephen! Where are you?"
Cecilia's father gave me a mocking smile. "He's over here, Jim!"
Jim entered the garden and heaved a sigh of relief. "You had me worried, going off on your own like that!"
"Stephen was with me," Cecilia told him. "He likes flowers."
"Well, next time, tell me where you're going," Jim said. "Come on, now, it's time to go back inside."
I was more than happy to leave with Jim so I said goodbye to Cecilia and gave her father a hasty farewell.
"Good afternoon, young man," he said, still staring at me in that disconcerting way. "I'm sure I'll see you again."
Sebastian's POV:
Once again, I awoke with a headache. So I had not died, after all. Pity, that. If I'd died, I wouldn't have to deal with this agony that most people called a head.
"Are you awake?" The voice was a deep purr and it startled me. A lone candle burned in a holder on the bedside table, but the rest of the room was in darkness.
"Yes," I said, struggling to sit up. "Where am I?"
"In a room in my house," the voice told me.
"How did I get here?"
"You were brought here after you lost consciousness," he told me. The voice still had that purring quality and I was growing increasingly nervous. "You should have left after failing to get over the wall. Instead, you managed to sneak in and then tried to get in one of windows. My wards on it knocked you senseless. I hope you've learned your lesson from this and you won't try anymore housebreaking."
"Why did you bring me into your house? Why not call the constable?" I asked.
"What good would a constable do for an elemental who'd found a demon trying to enter his domicile?"
I backed up against the headboard of the bed and saw stars from the impact. "An elemental?"
A deep, dark chuckle filled the room. "Indeed, Sebastian Michaelis."
Oh, no. This was bad. An elemental was a demon who recognized no higher power. They were extremely powerful and very, very old. In ancient days humans had revered them as capricious gods and they'd had thousands upon thousands of years to gain even more power to add to their considerable innate power. I glanced around frantically and spotted my captor, his eyes glowing yellow in the darkness.
"You seem afraid, Mr. Michaelis."
"I'd have to be an idiot not to be," I said, more than afraid.
He moved then, entering the light from the candle. He'd taken the form of a pale, dark-haired dark-eyed man, dressed in black. The glow from his eyes faded and he smiled, eyeing me as if I were an exceptionally choice tidbit. "Oh, you don't have to be afraid," he said, approaching my bed and sitting down on the edge. "I don't intend to kill you."
"What do you intend?" I asked, terrified at how close he was. This was my first time meeting an elemental, but I'd heard stories...usually, anyone going up against an elemental ended up dead.
"For now, it amuses me to keep you," he said, rolling up his sleeve and slashing his wrist. "Here. Drink."
I wanted to pull away, but I was still weak from what his wards had done to me. I knew that I needed some nourishment in order to recuperate, but why did he have to feed me this way?
"You can drink on your own or I'll force it down you," he said pleasantly. "Either way, you'll drink."
The first taste acted on me the same way brandy acted on humans. I felt as if I were swallowing liquid fire and I tried to pull away, but he held my head where it was and it was either swallow what was filling my mouth or choke. I kept swallowing until he took his wrist away and my head was spinning and my body was burning with fire that was also coursing through my veins. The sensation was painful and before I could stop myself, I screamed. I fought to get a deep breath and instead of breathing normally, I screamed again. I kept screaming until my body was spent and the pain had eased. When I became sensible again, I found that he was holding me.
"It's all right, Mr. Michaelis," he said, patting me on the back the same way one would pat a dog. "Next time I'll dilute it with a little milk."
"I doubt...I'll survive...the next time," I gasped, wiping perspiration from my brow. I felt as if I'd swallowed liquid lightning and I prayed that I'd never have to swallow it again!
He chuckled and settled me against the pillows despite the fact that I was soaked with sweat. I fell into a light doze but I woke up when I felt a towel against my face. He'd stripped my clothes from me and was now cleaning me up with a damp towel. Once my body was wiped down he dressed me in a long nightshirt and tucked me into bed.
"Get some rest," he told me. "You know, your master...I quite see why you braved the wards to get to him. He is as unique as you are."
That statement should have kept me awake fretting for hours, but my eyes closed and I slept.