Riff used to wait up all night, at times fretting inconsolably although not noticeably, to hear the sound of the creaky gateway open and close and the faint patter of hooves making their way down the drive. When a handyman visitor looking for work offered to oil the hinge to repair the squeak, Riff rejected his services. Without the strident signal, his heart would never settle, and his mind never rest. Without the reassurance that Cain had arrived home safely, he could never resign himself to think reasonably and eliminate worry. So, most often, Riff slipped into bed, or occasionally sat in a chair or at his desk, pretending to read, candlelight his only companion as he listened for creaking relief.
And yet, there were times when Riff had to run an errand, investigate a location or suspicious person, or take care of the estate's accounts. Necessity forced his occasional absence, and in those hours, Cain would not stay locked up in his study, away from the world and united with his poisons. He might try to read or spy on Merryweather during her lessons, but he could not continue to work until the creak rang out. As soon as the squeak of the rusty metal sounded, he would board himself up in a corner of the mansion, giving off the impression that he had been diligently working for the entire afternoon. He would never admit that he too had been waiting for the screeching gateway to settle his unease.
Author's Note:
Thanks everyone who has read and/or reviewed this series so far. I really appreciate it!