It was an icy and bitter Christmas morning. A breeze blew harshly in from the southern sea, making the outdoor atmosphere even more unbearable. Servants hustled around Lord Callahan's house, preparing for the Christmas Meal. Only a few servants stood stationary, huddled inside their quarters or near the kitchen fires, trying to warm their freezing limbs.
Much had changed for Henry since the death of his mother, Moira, a little over a year ago. Bridgette had indeed pitied him and his sister. Pleadingly, she had asked her master, Lord Callahan, whom Moira had washed linens for, if the two children could work about the household- in return for bed and food. Though seeming a tad perplexed with the idea, Lord Callahan had agreed. The children had never seen Lord Callahan, they had only heard rumors about his appearance and manner. Nonetheless, they both were grateful to be saved from the streets.
It was much harder to share a conversation together. Isobel was continuously busy with her work about the kitchens and Henry about the stables. At least the two of them were together, under the same provider, and not worlds apart as so many others were. That was one blessing that Henry would never take for granted.
Yet amazingly, for the first time, Isobel had been asked to fetch a roast from the market- and quickly, or there was to be a reprimand from the cook! It had been a particular busy day so far, being Christmas Day, and with several older servants ill, the cook was forced to rely on other, younger help. The threat that was given if Isobel dallied was quickly dismissed by the ecstatic servant girl. Knowing that she would not be allowed to journey to town alone, she had innocently asked if a stable boy could be her escort. Who else but her beloved brother Henry had been summoned?
The two of the them now walked briskly back from market, shivering in the bitter cold of the winter wind. Despite the frosty chill, a warmth surrounded the hearts of brother and sister. It might as well have been an eternity, rather than a mere trip to market, that the two had been able to spend together, for a joy which no other could grasp or understand had lit up their eyes and faces. It was hard to tell whether their rosy cheeks glowed because of the cold or because of the delight they had in each others' company.
There was, however, a flaw in their conception of a perfect afternoon. That was, getting back to Lord Callahan's house. (For that was what it was called- neither child would ever be able to call their home). The market shops had been considerably crowded, despite the less-than-agreeable weather. The two children, quickly overlooked by everyone, had been the last ones served. Now, both were tired, hungry, and feared the wrath of the impatient cook. Altogether, the trip had taken too much time. Never had the cook been one to issue out forgiveness or compassion; their belatedness was sure to be soundly punished. The escort wouldn't be blamed, no, it would be dear Isobel who would be harshly dealt with.
So, it was Isobel who suggested they take the shortcut through the alleyway. "Herry," she pleaded, "We've been through there several times before, and it will be so much faster!" Henry did not want to go. The alley was a dark and lonely place, only inhabited by its desperate and starving orphans, who had formed gangs among themselves. There were no orphanages in London; this left those without parents or providers to fend for themselves by begging and stealing. Some of them could be quite nasty if some unlucky person happened to cross their path, others were nicer. Thus, Henry was hesitant to make a trip through the alley. With them they carried a particularly heavy and expensive roast- a feast for any group on Christmas Day. But Isobel blinked her eyes and pleaded and pleaded until finally, Henry was broken.
Down the alleyway they dashed, turning down familiar and worn paths behind the snow-covered buildings. Each remembered coming here before with their mother, who had made them promise never to come alone- as it wasn't safe for children. Suddenly, the wall turned down a corner that Henry had no memory of. Cautiously the two crept along until they reached a solid wall- a dead end. Buildings surrounded them on all three sides, towering above them. "This isn't right," said Isobel thoughtfully, who had apparently made a mistake in her navigation. Turning around, she gasped. Four large boys stared at them, ragged and distraught. Their eyes were cold and hungry, their breath fogged in the air. They stared fervently at the brown paper-wrapped package hoisted over Henry's shoulder.
For a moment, no one moved. Then, in a flurry, four figures rushed themselves at Henry, fighting for the precious package. Henry turned and ran blindly, stupidly running into the wall in front of him. He kicked at random, connecting with one of the boy's faces. The wounded boy turned away, holding his bleeding nose. The other three boys seemed only angrier that one of their own had been hurt. Each one pulled on a section of the package, ripping the paper. Red meat gleamed from the tear, and four pairs of eyes lit up with excitement. At that moment, Isobel ran up, slipping on the icy patches of snow. Pushing her way through the mass of boys, she tugged as hard as she could on the their ragged coats, yelling for them to stop.
Annoyed with Isobel's pulling, the largest boy shoved her backwards, causing her to slip on the ice and fall down on her back with a cry of pain. Instinctively, Henry turned to see if his sister was hurt. The moment that he was distracted, the half-covered roast was torn from his hands and a fist slammed into his jaw. Gasping with pain, Henry fell to the ground, blood filling his mouth. As blow after blow fell upon him, he curled into a ball and covered his head. Blow after blow came down upon his body. Would they never stop? Red color flashed in front of his eyes and he fell into unconsciousness.
What seemed to be only minutes later, he slowly came to, blinking open his eyes in the sudden white brightness. It had begun to snow again. Soft flakes fell gently from the sky, covering everything in a frozen, white blanket- including Henry. Just how long had he been out? Brushing the snow from his bruised body, he saw the fallen figure of his sister, her limbs at odd angles and her head resting crookedly against the sharp corner of the building. That was strange. Painfully, Henry crawled over to her, desperately hoping she was alright. Isobel's eyes were closed, her eyelashes covered with snowflakes, her face pallid. With a sickening feeling, Henry recalled where he had seen such a paleness before. It was the same color of death that had crossed his mother's face.
It was then that he realized that his sister was lying in a pool of red- blood. Biting his lip, he touched the cold scarlet that dripped from the from back of her neck. A gash ran the length of her head, oozing dark red into her soft, dark hair. Stricken with anxiety, he thrust his head to her chest, intently listening for the reassuring sign that his sister was still alive- her heart beat. Minute after minute he waited, until he could no longer keep from concluding that there was none. His lip trembled and his face grew warm as salty tears rained down his cheeks.
"Issy," he whimpered mournfully, holding on to one of her cold hands. It was for certain- his sister was dead. Dead. And it was his fault. His fault. He shouldn't of agreed to go through the alley; he knew it could be dangerous. He knew. One year ago, he had promised his mother that he would protect his sister, that he would look after her. He had promised. Now, that promise was broken, and nothing could ever mend it. The words echoed and danced back and forth in his head tauntingly, making the silence deafening.
How badly he wanted her to wake up, to have a pulse, to breathe, to be alive. Not lying on the ground in a pool of blood, pale, still, dead. Now, there was no one for him. Isobel had been the only person left that he could trust with anything, love with his whole heart and to talk to about anything. A tremor of anguish ran through him and he felt his entire being go numb. He was alone.