The Master of Carswell House (closed)

[Maka]

(Closed for the aptly named LovelyLuna)


It was generally agreed that Mr Joshua Carswell’s behaviour was strange, even rude.

Since returning to his family home, Carswell House perched on the cliffs above the wild and lonely Devil’s Glen in the west of Scotland, he had given no dances, made no social calls, and refused all visitors. The oldest locals recalled the young Carswell as a wild, laughing dark-haired boy with wicked blue fires in his eyes, always riding about the countryside and always in black mischief. Twenty years had passed since that boy of sixteen had left Scotland and a sombre stranger had returned in his place. The adult Joshua Carswell was tall and lean, with smooth dark hair framing a face that was still handsome but now hard and sad. His blue eyes no longer danced but instead regarded the world with cold, piercing scrutiny.

Carswell was now tightly, even rigidly restrained, with something of the tension and repressed energy of a coiled spring. He seemed to have imbibed the pious, ascetic spirit of Knox –he held services in the Carswell House chapel every Sunday and servants reported a regime of severity and denial all over the house. The fine, rich old tapestries of the Carswells were taken down, rolled up and stowed away in attics. The playing of bagpipes and the drinking of whiskey by the servants in the evening were strictly forbidden. The finest rooms in the house –the seventeenth-century baroque ballroom in which Carswells past had held legendary dances; the master bedroom with its delicate, intricate crowning; the vast dining room; all of these were shut up and shrouded over with white dust-sheets. Carswell slept in a small box-room off the study and library on the second floor where he spent most of his time, reading the theological commentaries of the Church Fathers, Luther, Calvin and Knox.

He still went out riding but now it was very different from the wild rides of his youth, when he’d one out in search of sport, love or mischief. He galloped through the glen or paced across the fields, avoiding all civilised spots in favour of the most wild, remote regions of his estate, where he would dismount and stand brooding for hours, as the sun climbed down the sky.

A few local daughters of the gentry initially had their hearts set a-flutter by the mysterious Joshua Carswell, by his brooding good looks and presumable fortune, but he showed no more interest in marriage or courtship than he had any other aspect of the social life around him.

Rumours ran wild as to what had caused this great change. Some said that he had lived in sin with the wife of a French officer in Paris, and eventually killed the soldier in question in a duel. Others sent him further afield –a military placement and subsequent disgrace in Calcutta or Hong Kong. Superstitious villagers averred that wild young Joshua Carswell had sold his soul to the Devil, and was now belatedly trying to regain it with his program of Presbyterian piety. The fact was that nobody really knew.

And Mr Joshua Carswell might have gone on in this way –might have slipped beyond the community of humanity altogether and become a misanthropic recluse, forgotten by the rest of the world, if it had not been for a curious twist of fate.

In his student days at Oxford, Carswell had been friends with a fellow student, a certain Mr Henry Finch of Shropshire. The two had been very close and Finch had formed the highest estimation of Carswell’s character. Carswell had, at that time, grown away of the wildness of his adolescence and yet still retained its fire and vivacity –he had not yet been saddened and scarred by the subsequent experiences of his life. Carswell had attended Finch’s wedding, serving as his best man, and celebrated with the Finches on the birth of their daughter.

Afterwards, the swirling tides of life had separated Carswell from Mr and Mrs Henry Finch and dark, powerful undercurrents had dragged him far out into the raging sea. It was doubtful whether he had even thought of his friend in years but this was all about to change. The catalyst was the arrival of a letter while Carswell sat at his austere breakfast table one morning, from the legal firm of Cardew and Cardew of Lincoln’s Inn, London.

Regret to inform you… etc. etc. … express provisions left by Mr Finch…

Carswell scanned the letter, his face showing no apparent emotion at the news of the sudden, premature deaths of his oldest and perhaps only friends in the world. Then a word in the middle of the text caught his attention.

Ward

 

[LovelyLuna]

Charlotte Finch was alone. She sat on the well-made bed in her pretty room at the Savoy Hotel in London, hands folded in her lap, eyes on the window ahead of her. The hour was late but she had just arrived. Her suitcases sat untouched in the corner of the room, her clothing of the least importance to her at the moment. Charlotte Finch was not used to being alone. She had many friends, several potential suitors and loving parents. Except that the loving parents were gone now... that was something she would have to get used to.

It had happened last night, while Charlotte was entertaining friends at her home in Shropshire. The manor she lived on was expansive; Mr. and Mrs. Henry Finch were very well-off and Charlotte had never wanted for anything. The excitement of the night came from the addition of a few new gentlemen callers to the party. Charlotte had learned to flirt at the age of 5, the first time she had ever met her father's good friend, Joshua Carswell. She could barely recall it but it was a story her mother loved to regale her lady friends with on evenings when she was entertaining a good number of people. It went as such: Charlotte had come downstairs in her little petticoat on an evening when Carswell had been invited over for dinner and drinks with her parents. Charlotte had been put to bed an hour or so earlier, but she was always an energetic child, wont to escaping from her bedchambers at night to play dress up. As she tottered into the room, she caught Carswell's eye and sidled up to him, then pulled herself onto his lap. Her mother, embarrassed at first, told Charlotte sternly to put herself back in bed at once. She even snapped her fingers a few times to summon the nanny. But Charlotte refused to adhere to her mother's rules unless "Mr. Carswell puts me to bed, Mummy...." Despite the blatant disregard of a little girl for the instructions of her mother, everyone was quite amused. Carswell obliged, carrying young Charlotte up the stairs and back to bed... even giving in to her requests for a goodnight kiss on the forehead.

That had been the beginning of it all for Charlotte. Ever since then, she had been exactly that way: her days were full of the activities her parents selected for her such as knitting and sewing and reading light novels and entertaining alongside her mother when someone important was coming by. But at night, Charlotte let loose. She rarely wore her corsets, always took her hair down and spent much time in the company of young men. She was no harlot, still pure and virginal, just like her parents would have wanted her to be. But Charlotte wasn't afraid to express her free spirit and fun-loving nature. Her friends were young girls of the same caliber, brought up by rich parents who were not as strict as the typical 19th-century mother and father. This lenient way of living lent to nights in the cool air outside, Charlotte and her friends running around in their dresses, dancing and laughing with boys, even smoking a cigarette once or twice and promptly deciding that it was not for her.

This particular night, Charlotte and her friends were reciting Shakespeare in silly, high-strung accents, laughing as the words became more and more muffled by their frivolous natures. Charlotte's parents were not home and were not to arrive home until at least mid-day tomorrow, lending to her disregard for the impropriety of having gentlemen callers around so late at night. The servants were about, as always, but they all liked Charlotte immensely. She treated them more as friends or family members than people who worked for her, and her goodnatured way of interacting with them put the majority of them on her side when it came to bending the rules a bit. They had her best interests at heart, after all, and they would never let any great harm come to her. If things went too far they were quick to intervene.

A knock on the door that fateful night was barely heard by Charlotte and her fellow revelers, but she took notice of it. It came again, louder the second time, and she almost made a move to go answer it... but then Henrietta, one of the maids, was at the door. Charlotte settled back into the couch, engrossed in the entertaining play-acting that Gregory, her most persistent male suitor, was at. She could hear Henrietta speaking in fast, hushed tones with someone but it wasn't alarming to her at first. Then she heard the tell-tale thump of a body hitting the stone floor in front of the heavy wooden door to her manor. She heard the visitor, male now that she heard the voice, calling out to someone. She heard the sound of feet running and Charlotte knew something was wrong. Henrietta had fainted. Something was very, very wrong.

And now she was here in a lonely hotel room. The male visitor, a messenger from somewhere in Wales had called to inform the servants and the woman of the house, Charlotte herself, that Mr. and Mrs. Finch had been the victims of a raid on their carriage in the midst of their travels earlier that evening. They had been killed by the perpetrators, as had their driver. Charlotte hadn't cried. She hadn't screamed or even spoken a word about the incident, actually. She had merely packed up her bags when told that it was necessary and waited until she was told what to do. For the first time in her life, Charlotte was completely obedient.

Now she sat, numb, on a hotel bed that was sure to be comfy if she could ever slip her way out of the clothes she was wearing. She had put on the corset and the stockings and the gown this morning after being awakened by another of the family's drivers, Robert. He was to take her to the Savoy where she would stay until Joshua Carswell, the first man she had ever flirted with, came to pick her up. She was to be his ward, and she was to live with him until further notice. Her parent's estate was hers, yes, but she was far too young to inherit it yet. At 18, Charlotte felt like a woman, but she was not yet one in the eyes of the state. As such, she was to be taken care of by a man she had not seen in years... by a man she had never known as the young woman she was today. The last time she had seen Joshua Carswell, Charlotte had been a child. She wondered now if he would still see her as a child. She wondered how her lifestyle would change. She wondered if she could still be free.

Standing suddenly, Charlotte reached behind her and unhooked the clasp of her dress, shimmying her way out of it, leaving it on the floor. Next was her corset, a sigh of relief escaping as she finally dropped that to the floor as well. Adding to the heap was her lace chemise, then her cotton drawers. Finally, Charlotte was nude, save for her stockings and the garters that held them up. She shed those quickly too, then took the pins out of her raven locks. Loose, long curls fell around her shoulders, cascading to near the middle of her upper back. Her green eyes shut before she even crawled into the bed that she was to sleep in for at least the night. Before she knew it, her cheeks were wet. Charlotte cried, alone, for the first time since the news of her parent's death.

 

[Maka]

It was rare that Carswell even came to Glasgow or Edinburgh, let alone the capital. The sun was rising over the metropolis of London as Carswell sat in a hackney cab clipping along south to the Savoy Hotel from King's Cross station. He sat rigid on the seat, a smal leatherbound portmanteau over his knees, his face a carefully studied mask.

Had he mourned his old friend? Had he consider his memories the tender, vivacious young girl he had known briefly? It was so hard to tell with this sombre, dark man. The cab haltd outside the Savoy and Carswell dismounted, showing in the easy movement of his descent something of the graceful man about town he had once. His body was still lithe, underneath the stiffness of his current posture. He paid the driver, the flash of a coin in his black-gloved hand, and then strode into the glittering foyrer of the Savoy.

He was the image of grim rectitude in his long black overcoat, short cape and sober breeches, fitting tightly against his muscular calves. A black slouch hat completed the ensemble, underneath which piercing blue eyes passed judgment on the world.

"Please inform my ward, Miss Finch, that Mr Joshua Carswell awaits her convenience below," he told the uniformed receptionist.

 

[LovelyLuna]

Charlotte awoke early the next morning, rolling over in her bedclothes and yawning. She stretched her arms above her head, dazed with sleep and too groggy to fully understand where she was right away. But a few moments later, the memories began to flood back. The sight of Henrietta, pale and sprawled out on the floor. The drone of the visitor's voice as he related the story once more to Charlotte and a few other servants. Her friends' faces going white as she related the news to them and told them that she needed to get ready to leave.

Charlotte shut her recently opened eyes tight, feeling the sting of tears coming again. But she would not cry. She knew that Joshua Carswell was a punctual man, and she would not make him wait. This notion in mind, Charlotte slowly rose from the bed, pushing back the covers. She was still completely nude (no surprises in that respect), and she took a moment to look down at her own body. Her breasts were a full C, nipples perky and hardening in the cool air of her hotel room. She ran one hand down to stroke across her flat stomach before getting herself moving again.

Swinging her feet from the bed, Charlotte began the rush to get ready. She padded over in bare feet to her bags in the corner, opening one and pulling out the many pieces of her ensemble for the day. She put on a pair of dark thigh high stockings, slipped on her garter and attached it all with tiny clips. Next was her nicest pair of drawers, white and satin and soft. She pulled her lace chemise over her head, straightening it to where it hit right above her knee, then latched her corset around her waist. She typically needed assistance lacing up the corset, but managed to use her bedpost as a leaning point to help herself out. Hearing a loud rap on her door, Charlotte was thrown off guard.

"Oh... oh, I'm sorry, just a moment! I'm not yet decent!" She quickly pulled her gown, a muted green with lots of lace detail around the bodice, up over her hips and waist, then pulled it over her arms. The clasp on the dress was harder than lacing the corset and Charlotte breathed out heavily, her body readjusting after the relief of an entire night sans clothing. "I'm... I'm coming...."

After securing the dress, Charlotte made her way to the door and opened it, greeted by an older gentleman who cleared his throat upon seeing her. She realized her hair was still down, her face flushed from all the activity, she was sure. "I... I'm sorry, miss, but Mr. Carswell is here. At your convenience, he would like to take you back to Devil's Glen..." Charlotte nodded, all the while attempting to pull her hair back into an acceptable chignon, reaching for pins that she had discarded on a table near the door. "I will be right down, I promise! Send him my apologies..." She smiled warmly at the man, then turned to clasp up her suitcases and grab them in her arms. The man shooed her away to grab them himself, and Charlotte thanked him before putting on her black shoes, slightly heeled.

A few minutes later, the two of them were emerging from the staircase, down into the foyer of the Savoy. Charlotte brushed an errant strand of hair from in front of her forehead as she looked around for Mr. Carswell. It had been years since she had seen Joshua, but she was sure that she had changed more than he had. Suddenly, she spotted him. She recognized him instantly but he was significantly different from the last time she had seen him. Still goodlooking, still refined... but he was aged in manner. He stood stiffly near the receptionist's desk, barely moving and barely flinching as he took notice of her finally. He nodded appraisingly, some semblance of recognition on his face but when she smiled, he did not return it.

"Hello Mr. Carswell.... it's been so long...." Far from being discouraged, Charlotte's smile grew. She was eager to get some sort of emotion out of him and she stepped forward, leaning up to kiss Joshua Carswell's cheek. His skin was warm and he smelled distinctly of an Old English aftershave balm that instantly reminded Charlotte of her father. It was a comforting scent and she lingered for a moment, her lips taking just a second too long to leave Mr. Carswell's cheek.

 

[Maka]

Carswell's recollections of Charlotte were vague. She had still been a young girl when he had left England, and his mind had been on other affairs in those days -brewing storms both personal and political. He was certainly unprepared for the ravishing vision that slipped down the stairs.

Charlotte Finch was young, slender and beautiful, with soft dark hair pulled up away from her face. It was an extraordinary, vibrant face with delicate features that could move between vivacity, tenderness, impish mischief and compassion like the flickering of cloud formations on a windy day. At present, her sparkling eyes were rimmed with red and there were vivid spots of colour on her cheeks, which only made her all the more attractive. Her body was a match for her lovely face -not even her suitable and modest green gown could disguise the firm, full curves of her breasts pressing underneath it or the toned, feminine contours of her legs.

None of his appraisal showed on Carswell's stony face, simply nodding curtly to his new ward. Nothing deterred, she stepped up to him, placing a bold kiss on his cheek in the Gallic manner. He could smell the fresh, clean scent of her hair. Her warm body was pressed against him a little too long -crisp, ladylike clothes rustling against him, making it all too easy to imagine the supple flesh underneath.

When Charlotte stepped back, Carswell placed a hand on her shoulder, almost as though keeping her in place. No doubt Charlotte was too much of an innocent to know the effect that her lovely body and even the most innocent kiss from those ripe lips could have on the depraved, libertine souls of men. There had been a time when Carswell had indulged such appetites to the full himself -he knew perfectly well what men like he had been imagined when they looked at his lovely young ward.

"Miss Finch," he said. "Please accept my condolences for the loss of your parents. No doubt Cardew and Cardew have informed of your new legal status. I am afraid that Carswell House offers little in the way of modern luxuries and diversions. Nevertheless, I hope you will find it to be an apt setting for sober reflection, as I have."

He offered her his arm.

"Our train leaves King's Cross Station at half one this afternoon."

 

[LovelyLuna]

Charlotte had expected warmth to creep back into Carswell's eyes upon kissing his cheek. At the very least, she had assumed that he would force a smile. But he stayed stoic and serious, seemingly eager to be on his way with his new ward. She was a bit hurt by his cold demeanor; after all, Carswell and Charlotte had always been close when she was younger. He was her favorite of all her parents' friends, always so handsome and distinguished, though he held a wild sparkle in his eye that, even as a child, Charlotte was aware of. He was changed now, and Charlotte was unaware of the source of Master Carswell's unhappiness. His gloomy disposition would not do if she was to spend a good, long portion of her next year or so under his care. She made a vow, internally, to brighten up Carswell House, if it was the last thing she did.

Personal promises made, Charlotte grasped Carswell's arm daintily with one hand and allowed him to lead her out to his carriage. King's Cross Station was not terribly far, but she sensed that punctuality was something Carswell held near and dear, as she had expected. The bellhop near the front door was already loading up her bags into the back of the carriage that she was to take and Charlotte was eager (though disheartened by the apparent lack of luxury) to see her new home. She couldn't remember a time that she had ever been to Carswell House, or been anywhere near Devil's Glen for that matter. She knew that Carswell lived alone, save for a collection of loyal servants. She had a feeling that his home was large and expansive but very lonely and dark. She would change that.

Releasing Carswell's arm from her grasp, Charlotte turned to the bellhop as he began to retire back inside the Savoy Hotel. "Oh, pardon me! I wanted to thank you for your hospitality... please take this for your services..." Charlotte slipped a few pounds into the bellhop's hand before squeezing his hand warmly with her own, accompanying it all with a genuine smile. After this was done, she turned back to Carswell who was watching her with mild incredulity. He was not accustomed to her nature yet, that was certain, but she knew he would get used to it. He would have to. Taking his hand, though he had barely offered it again, Charlotte hoisted herself into the carriage and settled into her seat. Carswell followed, sitting across from her and quickly giving instructions to the driver.

Charlotte folded her hands in her lap neatly, then zeroed her gaze in on Master Carswell. He had turned to face her now but was looking out the window of the carriage with little to no expression on his face. It was as if Charlotte was making the trip to King's Cross alone, though if she had truly been alone, she would have been shedding more than a few tears over the loss of her parents. Instead, Charlotte was determined to strike up a conversation with her new guardian.

"Mr. Carswell? Will you tell me more about... your home? I feel I must know exactly what I'm getting myself into, so to speak... what are the grounds like? Do you have any dogs? Mother and Father never let me keep a pet, but I always wanted an English Bulldog... the wrinkly little beasts are too sweet..." Charlotte trailed off here, wondering if Carswell was even listening to her. He hadn't flinched when she began to speak, nor had he turned to look at her.

 

[Maka]

Carswell continued to regard the West End London streets. Memories of revels and intrigues, wild escapades long after midnight crossed his mind. London. Did it corrupt all whom it drew into its orbit, or was it merely that it attracted those eager for corruption. Just as well that his ward was being removed from its sphere of influence.

"You may well find Carswell House little aligned with your tastes, at first. I keep no dogs upon the premises. I do not hunt, Miss Finch. If you care for riding, I will see that a horse is provided for you, and a groom to escort you."

He did not suggest that Charlotte could join him on his own long, lonely rides through the countryside. For a less determinedly careful man, there might have been no apparent impropriety in a period completely alone with his ward but Carswell was not such a man. Miss Finch was young, slender and decidedly possessed more than her share of feminine attraction. Had her face been even a hint less lovely, her breasts a shade smaller or her waist thicker, her eyes less gorgeously green or her hair less luxuriously dark, it might have been possible to spend extended time alone together without a breath of scandal. But even a breath of scandal might affect young Miss Finch's marriage prospects and that Carswell could not allow. Finch had, for some reason, still trusted him to protect his daughter's interests and Carswell would not betray that trust.

"As to your question... Carswell House is a very old place -almost eight hundred years, in one form or another."

There was a bloody, romantic history attached to the house -lairds and reavers, Covenanters and poltergeists, murderous deeds done at night and wild romance in the moonlight. As a boy, it had stirred Carswell's blood and filled his head with fantastic notions. He wished no such improper ideas brewing in Charlotte's mind. Judging by her delicate, eager face, she was of exactly the age and temperament to be inclined to such things.

"Nevertheless, no particularly noteworthy history belongs to the house."

 

[LovelyLuna]

Charlotte perked up when Carswell began to speak, realizing that he had in fact heard her questions, and was making an effort to answer them. She soon realized, however, that Carswell House would not be the delightful and frivolous place that she had hoped. At a time like this, when all she wanted was to be returned to her home and find her parents waiting there, alive, Charlotte felt great disappointment at Mr. Carswell's words. No dogs? No hunting? Well, at least he would let her ride, she supposed. But what was the landscape like at the manor that she was being escorted to? Was it worth the trip on horseback? Was it beautiful as she hoped it would be?

Charlotte kept her eyes on Carswell's face, not daring to look away. He maintained his composure, watching out the window as the streets of London passed them by. He seemed to be pondering something, though Charlotte could never be sure what that was, and when he spoke up it had nothing to do with what she had expected. The start of his sentence was intriguing though... perhaps he had stories of romance and intrigue and tragedy about Carswell House. He mentioned it being old, yes, and that was the perfect setting for a riveting tale. But instead, Carswell finally turned to Charlotte and studied her face for a moment, after which, he insisted that nothing noteworthy was to be told about the house.

Charlotte was displeased with this statement, but she knew she could not make Carswell any warmer or willing to share information. He would have to come around to it on his own, perhaps with a bit of playful nudging on Charlotte's part. Biting her lip, she folded her hands neatly in her lap once more and kicked her foot against one of her bags absentmindedly. The rest of the ride was shared in silence.

The next leg of their journey was not terribly long, though the time stretched out much as the carriage ride had. Carswell was even more stony, if that was possible, unwilling to make eye contact or share any more conversation with Charlotte. She made a few comments about being hungry and, almost as if by magic, food appeared in their train car. She was grateful, but was hungry for human contact now. Her parents had always been so loving and affectionate. She even longed for the touch of her male companions... the way they had held her while dancing, put their hands on her waist, kissed her cheek or the top of her head. She had never truly given herself to anyone, not in the physical sense. She had some semblance of propriety, and none of the boys she regularly flirted with were half as mature as her. Charlotte loved fun and frivolity, it was true, but she was never careless.

Now, Charlotte longed for the immature boys once more. They would hold her hand, at the very least, make her feel something other than the rising chill that was permeating her bones at this very moment. It was not very cold outside, and she was dressed warmly and well. But the temperature within the train car was less than satisfactory.

 

[Maka]

The train rolled through the landscape of Britain. At first, the placid, medieval market towns and rolling fields of Cambridgeshire, golden and peaceful in the morning sun, then, as the day moved into afternoon, the Rides and fens of Norfolk, and then then lonely moors and rocky hills of Yorkshire and Durham, as cold evening fell, as though the day were matching their journey.

Carswell maintained a steady stare out the window, although in truth his ward was a fitting object for admiration -a delectable young beauty in the first full blossoming of her womanhood. It seemed that a man would have had to have icewater running in his veins to refrain from scooping that delicious armful up on to his lap; and seeing that beautiful face so sad and frightened, a man would have to have a stone for a heart to refrain from trying to comfort her and bring a smile to the face. But Carswell did neither, simply sat and brooded.

Observing discreet indications of Miss Finch's hunger, he arranged for food to be brought in. Likewise, noticing a slight shiver, he took off and offered her his greatcoat.

"My coach will be waiting for us at Waverly Station in Edinburgh," he said. "I'm afraid that we will arrive rather late at Carswell House -perhaps five in the morning. Naturally, you shall have a chance to sleep on the coach."

 

[LovelyLuna]

Charlotte had eaten her meal in silence, grateful for the food but not enjoying the company. At one point during the journey, Carswell offered her his coat, which she also took gratefully. That gesture had given her a glimmer of hope that perhaps Joshua Carswell would not be this stony with her forever. But that glimmer was snuffed out quickly as he resumed his careful watch of the countryside as they passed through. Charlotte busied herself counting the dark specks in the fabric of the seat she was sitting on, then preoccupied herself with looking out the window like her male companion.

Joshua piped up a bit later, informing Charlotte that his coach would be waiting for them in Edinburgh. She was already feeling quite sleepy, and at Carswell's mention of her getting some rest on the coach, Charlotte gave a sigh of relief. She would be able to catch up on the sleep she had missed last night as well as avoid any further awkward interactions with her guardian. He was so terribly difficult to talk to....

Eventually, the train pulled slowly into Waverly Station and Charlotte began to gather Carswell's coat and rise from her seat. The two descended from the train together and immediately found their way to the coach that had been waiting for them. It was Carswell's, and Charlotte assumed that the man driving was one of the men whom she would become acquainted with over the duration of her stay at Carswell House. He was a friendly looking old man but he did not speak much... Charlotte assumed this was due to some horrible rules that Joshua Carswell had in place for all of his staff. Settling herself into the seat, Charlotte looked around to assess how best to get some sleep for the next few hours. She had been yawning for the past 30 minutes now, stifling each one with one dainty hand so as not to appear improper. But now the sleep was drawing down her eyelids and Charlotte looked up at her guardian for assistance.

"Shall I lay across the seat, then? There seems to be plenty of room, but this is your coach... so I'll do whatever you'll have me do.... I am terribly tired, though..."

 

[Maka]

"Of course," said Carswell. There was just a flash of slender, stockinged leg under the petticoats as Miss Finch arranged her perfectly proportioned body across the seat of the coach. Carswell sat opposite, his stonily impassive face showing not a hint of emotion. The coach began to roll away across the city with McMurdoch, the coach driver, cracking the whip.

The last leg of the journey was the shortest but also across the most inhospitable hills and forests of Scotland and eventually into the dark, remote reach of Devil's Glen, the long-time haunt of reavers and Covenanter rebels. A rainstorm that had been threatening all day finally broke loose with torrential storms as the coach surmounted the final turn in the road and looked upon the bleak, Gothic grandeur of Carswell House below -a cold grey edifice built for times of war.

Miss Finch seemed to have been asleep which was perhaps why Carswell allowed himself the first sign of tenderness he had shown throughout the entire journey. Reaching forward, as though unable to help himself, he gently brushed a dark tress away from the enchanting, fairy-like face and looked upon her, just a hint of affection in his eyes. Then the coach began rolling downhill and it was as though the moment had never been.

"We're here," Carswell announced. "McMurdoch will take your possessions to your room. There is a maidservant, Elspeth, who will see to any needs you have. I expect you to join me for prayers in the house chapel tomorrow morning at six."