The Darkening of his Desires. (Closed for ShyMystica).

As Joshua Hawthorne came slowly awake the confused, disturbing dreams of the night dispersed by slow degrees like a mist burnt away by the rising sun. The sound he'd mistaken for a ships creaking timbers became the soft groaning of the heavy branches of the old, familiar tree outside his open window. The tolling of a distant bell did not, as he'd imagined, signal a change of the watch. It was the sound of a church bell carrying faintly over the sun washed fields of Devon. He was home. He was in bed.

He swallowed drily and passed a weary hand over his forehead. His skin was damp and clammy, his body bathed in perspiration. It was just a fever, he told himself, something he'd brought home with him from the Tropics. God knew he'd seen enough men struck down to know the signs. In a few days he would shake it off.
Trying to convince himself that a fever was truly all that was wrong with him he sat on the side of the bed and looked out of the window.

In place of the ocean he saw the rolling green and golden countryside. Instead of feeling the pitch and roll of a shifting deck beneath his bare feet he felt the still, solid floor of his bedroom. He flexed his toes and brooded over the circumstances that had forced him to come ashore. To return home against his wishes. He was already beginning to regret his decision. The peacefulness of the large house was already beginning to bore him. He was starved of interesting company.

He missed the sea. He'd been away too long. He could have taken lodgings at Portsmouth and recuperated there. A passing morbid turn of mind made him wonder if he'd come home to die. If that was why he'd felt drawn to the area where he'd lived as a child. Compelled to return after so many years away. Then he sighed and shook his head. That was superstitious nonsense. He was thirty two years old. It was a tropical fever, nothing more.

Pushing such morbid thoughts aside he rose slowly. His legs felt weak and he still hadn't recovered his shore-legs. At every step closer to the window he fully expected to feel the floor roll beneath him. A smile touched his lips as he looked out of the window, as the floor remained firm and true, as the thick stone walls stubbornly remained upright and unmoving.

He breathed deeply the cool morning air. The scents of summer reminded him of his childhood. The freshness of early mornings, the way the light lay across the peaceful fields. The shadows that retreated into copses and under stone bridges that crossed trickling clear water streams as the sun climbed higher. The drowsy heat that lay across the land, the woods, the rivers, the isolated farmhouses.

As he stood there in a thoughtful mood a fond memory came to him. It came slowly but brightly the way a pleasant dream sometimes comes to mind days or weeks after one has all but forgotten it. In his mind he heard the long ago echo of children's happy voices. The trickle of a stream. The memory of an attractive face with a clear complexion. Sparkles of sunlight on the water. A young girl's white dress startlingly bright against the green landscape.
"Lucy Robinson," he whispered, smiling gently now, the mists of time clearing to reveal her face.

It was years since he'd seen her but he was suddenly seized by the impetuous urge to send for her. Lucy, or Luciana, as she sometimes liked to call herself, had been his one true friend all those years ago. She'd sat with him for hours in silence when his mother had passed away. The two of them sitting stiffly erect and motionless as statues in the corner of the drawing room while the adult mourners solemnly ignored them. There were other memories, better memories, but for now all he could think of was his sudden desire to see her again.

Ringing for the maid he waited impatiently for her to appear and when she did he bade her send word to Lucy to visit him if it was convenient.

Returning to the window as soon as the maid was gone he struggled against the return of the sombre mood that had occupied his mind with troubling thoughts ever since he'd come home. Black and white cows grazed on a distant hillside. Rooks rose into the clear blue air calling raucously from a stand of trees. The church bell tolled softly in the distance. It was an idyllic, timeless scene but his long, restless night of broken sleep and haunting dreams played on his mind as he slowly began to dress.

Inspiration

Just putting this here for inspiration.
http://wizardsarebetter.files.wordpress.com/2009/09/english-countryside.jpg
http://static.howstuffworks.com/gif/rural-landscape-design-1.jpg

http://www.jeffreyhornstein.com/images2/headshots/christine_blonde.jpg

Never in her wildest dreams had Luciana thought she would return to these hills. She watched as each hill seamlessly flowed into the next, a breathtaking vision of peaks and valleys all delicately blanketed in lavender rich greenery and small local farms. While the view was stunningly beautiful, Luciana couldn’t relax as the small carriage weaved its way through the winding cobble roads. Her mind raced with the dark memories that she had long ago abandoned amongst the hills. The day she had finally escaped she made a silent promise never to return, but the moment she saw the woman at her cottage doorstep, she knew that it was a promise she wouldn’t keep. Her mind briefly returned to the events that lead her to return back to the master’s country estate.

Heaven – if ever it were to find a place upon the earth, surely it would be on the lands that stood before her. Breathing deeply, Luciana scanned her delicate green eyes over the land, watching as the mountains rolled seamlessly with the next, acres of growing grapes covered the green blanket of the valleys below. The sun shyly dipped behind the mountain silhouette, draping the entire farm in a golden hue. She sighed softly as she gazed upon the small cottage before a smile crept to her soft, rosey lips.

Closing her eyes she allowed her memories to wash over her. The sound of a lone hammer echoed as the laughter of children danced behind her. In her mind she saw her father, a young Englishman, clinging to the roof of the cottage, hammering wooden roof tiles in the midday sun. He was a short, lean man; his hair darker than the night itself yet his brown eyes always glittered with glee and joy. Despite his lower-class upbringing and the tortures of his youth, he was a man with a heart of gold and a boisterous laugh, despite his small stature. She then saw her French-born mother, blessed with both beauty and grace, washing the master’s dirty laundry in the small lake beside the newly-built cottage. Her golden locks shimmered in the sunlight, her sea-green eyes furrowed in a look of concentration as her dainty hands scrubbed stubbornly at the cloth. She sung softly as she scrubbed, her voice the echo of angels, the impromptu melody harmonising with the call of the birds around her. She then saw two children, no more than 8 summers old, chasing each other around the trees, laughing and teasing as they ran. There was the master’s son; a dark haired, stubborn boy with blue eyes only for mischief and play. The smallest a young version of herself; the same eyes and hair as her mother, clung to a small doll as she ran through the trees in an attempt to hide from her young pursuer.

“Luciana Robinson!” The young girl froze at the bellow of her mother. “I have told you a thousand times, it is not your place to play with the master’s son. Now come here and let young Joshua be on his way. I am sure he has other things to attend to...”

“But Mamma! It wasn’t my fault. He chased me first...” The young girl pouted, clutching her doll to her breast as she sat beside her mother. She watched the young boy run to his faithful raven-haired horse and begin to trot confidently down the old dirt road back towards his home, stopping only to poke his tongue at her cheekily.

“Lucy, I know it is hard for you to understand. One day you will know your place, dear one. But for now you must trust me...” Her mothers’ words echoed in her memory. Another sigh escaped her lips as Luciana opened her eyes and gazed once more upon her family home. The small cottage now aged, still had the charm that he always had.

“Lucy? Lucy?” The sweet echo of her mother startled Luciana from her memory-induced daze. She watched as her mother glided effortlessly down the mass of wild flowers, her dress flapping wildly around her. By the time she reached Lucy, she was slightly out of breath, her delicate hand resting on her chest as she attempted to calm herself before she continued to explain... “Lucy, come quickly! We must get you ready. You have been sent for.”

Lucy looked to her mother, her expressive emerald eyes gazing her mother curiously. Her mother simply tutted and guided her into the small cottage before dashing off to the bedroom. Lucy simply followed and stood in the doorway watching as her mother continued to make a fuss.

“Mama…what on earth are you talking about?”

“Captain Hawthorne has sent for you. He wishes for your audience. Now…come here so we can get you properly dressed.”

“Captain Hawthorne…Joshua?” Lucy’s mind wandered briefly at the bizarre request. Their family had long ago been released from Lord Hawthorne’s service back when her father had passed away. The lord had freed both Lucy and her mother and allowed them to continue to live in the small cottage. It was a slight loss for the wealthy lord, as it sat upon a small plot of land and held no financial prospects. So aside from collecting monthly rent, there was no contact between the two families. Even Joshua, her childhood friend, had packed up and left nearly 14 summers ago. He was notorious for deliberately staying abroad, with what little time he spent back on home soil being limited to the city and ports. Why on earth would he be back?

“Mama…would you just stop for a moment please?” Lucy gripped her mother’s shoulder softly and watched as her mother stopped fussing over a new wardrobe and stood to return her daughter’s confused gaze.

“Don’t you find this at all odd? Why would he be summoning me? After all this time? Why is he even here?”

Her mother softly sighed and pulled her daughter until they both sat on the end of the small bed. “Luciana, it isn’t our place to be asking such questions. We may not work for his family anymore, but he is still above our class. We simply do as he wishes.” She softly guided her daughter’s gaze to return her own by lifting her chin gingerly with her finger. “Do you understand?”

Lucy simply nodded. Her mother smiled broadly before she began to fuss again, and before Lucy could think she was re-dressed, made up and guided gently into the carriage that she now sat nervously within. The carriage rocked to a halt and startled Luciana out of her memory. She sat in stunned silence as her nerves peaked. She tried in vain to push the violent, brutal, savage memories of her past out of her minds-eye, but the very sight of the master’s country home brought everything back tenfold. Voices and footsteps rustled outside the carriage until the door swung open, revealing a greater view of her destination to her eyes. The moon peaked shyly from behind the large stone home, bathing it in a silvery veil. Vines clung decoratively to the walls amongst the large wooden windows, the faint glow of candles highlighting several rooms in use.

Luciana took a deep, controlled breath, wrapping her cloak around her body as the night air stung her bare skin. Yet she remained speechless. The building before her exuded an overpowering sense authority and wealth. The visions of her past continued to flood her mind as another small shiver wrecked through her body as her fear, once again, came foremost to her mind.

A soft touch on her shoulders brought her eyes from the building to the stone path before her. An older gentleman dressed immaculately in the finest attire slowly guided her, his palm on her shoulders while the other held an oil lantern to guide their way up to the grand wooden doors. He spoke softly to her, but his voice was nothing more than a murmur she was unable to focus upon. Her mind spun with violent images, painting her psyche with the brutal images of her past. She closed her eyes yet the images continued, the hand on her shoulders softly pushing her up the stone stairs and through the open wooden doors. She needed to run, be as far away from here as possible. Her heart began to race as her body tensed, her breath coming in short, panicked pants as she was guided up the stairs and down a long corridor to a pair of intricately decorated wooden doors. She stood in stunned silence as the man knocked gently to announce her entry. The silence was almost deafening, but then she heard the deep recognizable mumble of her childhood friend. His voice was strained as if in pain. A sudden flash of fear for his health pushed all other concerns from her mind and she cautiously entered at the sound of his mumbled order to enter.

Joshua had spent the day in an uncharacteristic brooding state of mind ever since he'd sent for Lucy. He'd wandered listlessly and aimlessly about the great, silent house.

He'd always enjoyed robust good health but now for the first time he felt an insidious creeping weakness in his body. His mind became prey to strange, passing fancies.
Irritated by the discreet comings and goings of the servants he'd retreated to the remotest corner of the house; an elevated tower on the North-East corner that gave a panoramic view of the surrounding countryside. Time and time again he'd caught himself gazing into the distance thinking of the ocean, of his many voyages, but always when he came to himself such thoughts as he could remember were troubled and confused and possessed an almost dream like quality.

smiling faces loomed then withdrew like phantoms, a figure by his bedside looking down at him, the scent of rich spices and people talking excitedly in a thousand foreign tongues, and always a sense of confusion, of his mind spinning, his thoughts flying away, a creeping sense of fear, candlelight and shadows, a foreign port, a labyrinth of narrow alleyways, a figure glimpsed briefly in the distance amid the thronging crowds and sails at the waterfront, a cold thread of fear, loss of reason...

Standing on the lofty parapet of the tower he'd felt aware of the great, solid house beneath him. All its empty rooms, the soft sheen of polished furniture, the dark pannelled walls. The doors closed on silence and memories. The fading sound of servants' footsteps.
In his weakened, troubled state he'd become convinced that the servants were talking about him behind his back. Whispering in the kitchen, sending knowing glances in his direction whenever he turned away. Sometimes it had seemed as if he could actually hear their soft sibilant whispering rising from the lower floors, spreading rumours, carrying up the staircases, echoing in the long, deserted corridors.

From the top of the tower he'd stared out at the rolling countryside, felt the oppressive heat of the sun across his shoulders. His fingers had gripped the lichen grown stones as he'd felt another wave of sickness, of weakness, sweep over him. Beads of perspiration had appeared on his forehead. The muscles in his arms and shoulders had tensed and strained. His heart had raced with a dread, heavy rhythm. For a while his temples had pounded and then the feeling had slowly passed, but when it was gone he found no satisfaction in looking at the view. The view he had always loved. The fields, the crops, the lonely copses seemed no longer to hold any attraction for him. It was like looking at a painting by an artist he had come to despise.
He'd turned his back, aware that something was happening to him, that he was changing, little by little.

Now, as he heard Lucy's carraige through the open window, the sound of approaching footsteps beyond the door, he tried in vain to gather his thoughts. Why had he even sent for her? He was no longer sure. He was in no fit state to entertain visitors. The sight and smell of the food on the long polished table threatened to turn his stomach. The sparkle of candlelight on crystal glass and silver bowls stabbed his eyes. He felt weary and sick and ill at ease. A growing sense of nameless panic took hold of him as her footsteps drew ever nearer.

He rose uncertainly, his hands suddenly trembling, at a loss to know what to do. His hand sent a half-filled wine glass crashing to the floor and he stared, almost hypnotised, as the bright red wine slowly soaked into the spotless white table linen.

"Come in," he said, in response to the discreet knock at the door, but his voice trembled. It didn't sound like his own voice at all.
He felt a disconcerting rush of light headedness as the door began to open. A rash of goosebumps made him shiver but at the same time it felt as if his body was prickling with feverish heat.

Putting a hand on the table to steady himself he upset another glass. He saw a glimpse of Lucy's stricken face as the door opened wider and a flood of memories filled his mind.
He tried to smile but his body sagged, his head fell forward.
"Lucy..?" he gasped, frowning and confused. He reached out a hand towards her, a silent plea for help in his eyes, and then he was falling, the table rising up to meet him.