It had been a cold day, and it was an even colder night. The wind whipped the air against the house, and the rain pattered against the windows, as if asking to be let in.
Juliette placed her fingers on the piano and closed her eyes with a small smile; placing her foot on the quiet piano pedal, she began to play.
Her fingers traced up and down the keys: music pouring from the depths of the piano: a long rendition of the Moonlight Sonata, her fingers kept going back to her favourite bits and playing them again.
She heard Mo's soft footsteps leaving Meggie's room and going down the stairs; he walked quietly behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"That was beautiful, Juliette," he murmured.
She nodded, but before she could help it, her smile had slipped off her face.
Mo saw.
He sighed and dropped his hand from her shoulder. "I will miss you, you know."
She nodded again; "London if so far away, Juliette, we won't see each other for months."
There was silence. "I'm going to bed, see you in the morning."
Mo left and climbed the stairs, she heard the soft click of his door closing.
Juliette choked slightly and laid her hands in her lap; she didn't allow tears to escape but sat there in silence waiting for the feeling to pass.
After a minute, she scraped her hair back behind her ears and resumed playing; this time it was a soft lullaby, her hands drifting slowly across the keys.
She finished; closing the lid with a quiet thud, she stood up.
Juliette crossed the room to the window and looked out into the dim night; she put a hand on cold glass and followed a raindrop sliding down the window with her fingertip. After a moment, she took hold of the curtains and began closing them.
Halfway across, she stopped dead. She didn't know how long she stayed there, staring through the darkness, at the face of the known stranger.
Eventually her hands dropped. She turned and walked to the front door: she unlocked it and turned on the porch light. The bright electric light cast out a white glow, and anything outside the rays sank deeper into darkness.
Juliette stepped willingly out into the pouring rain and walked forward to the man, leaning against the stone wall which separated the house from the road.
His long coat whipped against his legs in the wind, and his wet hair stuck to his neck. His eyes stared confidently into her own, and Juliette met them equally as hard.
"Juliette," he greeted, naming her.
"Dustfinger."
Her voice was a lull against the weather: an intoxicatingly melodic voice of true beauty: if she sang, it would surely be the most lovely sound in the world.
The man seemed lulled at her voice and his lips broke into a weathered smile.
"May I come in?"
"No." Even the sound her rejection was so flattering, if he had just listened to her voice, he would have heard yes.
"Juliette," Dustfinger wavered, "Juliette, this time I've come to warn you! Please, I need to see Silvertongue."
Juliette's face turned down in sad confusion, and Dustfinger hesitated to look at her, for with her expression and the rain trickling down her face, it really did seem as though the beautiful girl was crying.
She half turned towards the house and looked back at Dustfinger; then walked away. The man paused a moment, and followed.
They reached the house and both stepped inside.
Juliette turned the porch light off and locked the door; Dustfinger stood motionless in the gloom of the hall, watching her.
She turned to him and they looked at each other for a long moment. She stepped forward and touched his shoulder: lightly, slowly, she turned him round till his back was to her and slipped her fingers under the fabric of his coat, she slid the heavy wet fabric down his back, till it released him from it's sodden grasp.
Holding it carefully, she walked into the old country kitchen and hung it up in front of the Aga to dry. Dustfinger followed, but stopped near the door.
Juliette walked slowly over to him and leaned back against the kitchen table: their eyes locked, unwavering.
Juliette's head snapped up at the sound of the Mo's bedroom door opening; they could both hear the soft patter of his bare feet descending the stairs, and their walk along the hallway.
He emerged into the doorway to the kitchen in his customary pyjamas of soft cotton trousers and t-shirt: his face a picture of shock.
"Dustfinger!" he gasped, his face turned upside in horror, "What are you doing here?" Mo yelped.
"That's no way to greet an old friend," the scarred stranger smiled.
"I didn't expect to greet him!" Mo said; he only then glanced at Juliette, "Juliette! You invited him in?"
She nodded silently.
Mo paused, then sighed. "Good: its cold out there, you would have caught your death," he nodded at Dustfinger.
"Did you offer him a hot drink?" Mo asked.
She shook her head, her eyes on the floor.
"No, no, I assure you Silvertongue," Dustfinger jumped in, "Your daughter has been an exemplary host, please do not criticise her," he nodded.
Mo shrugged and walked round to the Aga and put an old fashioned kettle on the hob; "Would you like some tea?" he asked.
"Tea.." Dustfinger contemplated, "Yes, I should think I do."
It was silent apart from the sound of the kettle slowly boiling. Everyone looked up at the click of Meggie's bedroom door opening and Mo sighed.
Meggie walked into the kitchen in her blue pyjamas, she stopped at the door and looked at everyone in the room.
"What's going on?" she questioned, her voice wary as she crossed the room and stood next to Mo.
"I'm speaking to my friend," Mo answered, taking her hand, waving his other hand in the direction of Dustfinger.
"With Juliette?" Meggie accused.
Juliette herself stayed sitting slightly on the table, her back to her family, her eyes on the floor.
Mo frowned and simply nodded, "Yes. Dustfinger, I'm going to go get you some dry clothes," he stated, moving towards the door, "Come on Meggie, back to bed," tugging on her hand.
Meggie stared confusedly at Juliette and the strange man as she was pulled along.
"Dustfinger! Clothes!"
Mo's voice floated from down the hall, along with some of Meggie's worried whisperings.
Dustfinger rolled his eyes at Juliette and followed Mo's voice.
Juliette was left alone. Soon enough, the kettle was boiling; moving quietly as silence itself, she walked over and plucked the boiling kettle from the hob and put it on the sideboard. Collecting three mugs, she gathered a teabag, coffee and hot chocolate powder. Preparing all three drinks, she replaced the kettle on the Aga and waited.
It was not a long wait; and Mo and Dustfinger - in Mo's old, red checked shirt and trousers - appeared in the room.
"Ah, Juliette," Mo sighed, "What would I do without your exemplary drink making skills?" he smiled, taking his cup of coffee and drinking deeply.
Mo motioned Dustfinger forward and the scarred stranger stepped forth; he passed very close to Juliette, and as he leant over the young woman to get his tea, she looked up at him from under her eyelashes and he looked down upon her.
"So," Mo interrupted; the two slowly recoiled from each other, and when Mo's eyes fell onto Juliette's, there was a slight mistrust resting there. "What's brought you here Dustfinger?"
"Capricorn."
Mo instantly recoiled, his face caught in a single frame;
"The book is safe," Mo said stiffly, "There was no need for your visit."
"Don't underestimate him Silvertongue!" Dustfinger spoke fervently, "He'll do anything to get hold of it, and when I say anything, I assure you I mean anything."
"I'll never let him have it," Mo said brashly.
Juliette looked at her chivalrous father with sad eyes and a sad smile.
"He'll still get his hands on it, one way or another! I tell you, they're on your trail," Dustfinger said forcefully, placing his tea on the table and gripping it's edge.
"It wouldn't be the first time; I've always managed to shake them off before," Mo shrugged nonchalantly, yet with the roughness of wood.
"Oh yes?" Dustfinger hissed curtly, "And for how much longer do you think? Your eldest may well know enough to spare her ill-used speech for matters other than patronising questions, but don't tell me your Meggie actually likes moving around all the time? That she hasn't enquired into your constant running?"
Mo breathed in sharply, his chest rising and falling in spurred anger, but after a minute his heartbeat slowed and he contemplated his old acquaintance's words.
His tongue seemed heavy and leaden when he next spoke.
"Then what do you think I should do?"
"Come with me!" Dustfinger whispered, his face twisted in desperation though his eyes sparked with something close to excitement, "Let me take you to him; you know how well Capricorn thinks of your talents, he'd be glad if you came to him of your own free will, I'm sure he would: the man he found to replace you is useless."
Mo flinched at the man's tone, and his eyes flickered to Juliette. She was staring up at Dustfinger intently, her own eyes resting on his face like a lover's fingertips.
"I don't know, I need time to think," Mo finally said wearily, "When will his men be here?"
"Soon," Dustfinger answered pressingly.
"Soon…" Mo repeated, holding his head in his hand, closing his eyes and nursing his coffee.
"Let me think," Mo asked, "Over the night: just let me think about it."
Dustfinger nodded.
"Do you have a place to stay?"
"Oh, I can always find a place," replied Dustfinger, "I'm managing quite well these days, although it's still all much to fast for me." His laugh was not a happy one. "But I'd like to know what you decide. May I come over tomorrow? About midday?"
"Yes, of course," Mo said, "I'm picking Meggie up from school at one-thirty. Come after that."
Juliette moved silently to Mo and took his empty mug, then to Dustfinger to collect his; Mo did not miss their fingers brushing against each other. She placed the cups down on the wash board and stood next to her father, looking up into his eyes.
He looked down warily into hers, then over to Dustfinger, who only glanced away from Juliette's face when he realised Silvertongue was staring at him.
Both men went to leave; it seemed only Juliette heard the soft scampering of bare feet running away from the closed kitchen door, but she did not mention it: she did not speak at all.
At the front door the men shook hands: "I'll see you tomorrow Silvertongue," Dustfinger said, although his eyes had slid past the man in front of him, to the dark-haired figure standing in the kitchen doorway.
"Yes," Mo sighed, re-catching the man's gaze, "And thank you for the warning anyway."
Dustfinger nodded, then walked away, slow and uncertain, as though he were reluctant to leave, as if he hadn't said everything he wanted to say. But at last he had left the dim glow of the house into the shrouded cloak of darkness.
Mo closed the door and turned to his daughter who was staring past him into the night.
"Juliette?"
Her glance snapped back to Mo; he walked forward and gently placed his hand on her forearm.
"How-" he started, but stopped at the pleading in his daughter's eyes. He closed his own eyes briefly, to find upon reopening them Juliette was again staring through the door into the darkness.
Dropping his hand from her arm, he flicked the porch light off, so nothing could be seen outside.
"Go to bed Juliette," he said shortly, somewhat annoyed at his daughter's ineffectiveness to even hold his gaze.
He walked past her to the staircase.
Juliette didn't look at him as he left but only once again, looked out into the dark night, her eyelashes casting shadows on her face as her eyes searched the darkness.