Chapter Three Part One

Lord Lasenby stood in the darkness. Beyond the glow of the lamp held by the Porter the room was black but for the moon that shone causing the shadows of deeper darkness. He shivered.

"Someone walk on yer grave?" the Porter said glancing over his shoulder. He gave Lasenby a toothy grin as he turned back to the room. "Or is it the boy." He mumbled. "Albert" he wheezed. "Albert, someone is wanted to see you."

A dark shape moved in the corner and Lasenby released the breath he had been holding. He dug his cane into the floor. He had waited such a long time.

The boy was small and painfully thin. His hands and head looked too little for his large frame. Great round eyes looked up at him, beneath a thick heap of curly hair. Blond Lasenby though, like his mother's. She had been beautiful and it was only fitting that her child would look something like her. Even in the shadows of the lantern Lasenby could see the boys mother in the large inquisitive eyes, the even nose and the boys mouth. His face was almost angelic and yet there was something oddly dangerous about him. He could sense it sparking in the air around him. The boy glanced up into Lasenby's face and then dropped his eyes to the ground. Lasenby realised with a jolt that there were tears in the boy's eyes.

"Will we be leaving Sir?" the boy whispered.

Lasenby glanced at the filthy bed and the tiny window covered in dirt. "Yes," he stiffly, "it is time to make something of you boy."

The boy made a little murmur. The Porter gave him a sharp crack around his ears. "Be thankful," he wheezed. "Look sharp now, the Gentleman doesn't want to be kept waiting." The Porter flicked the lantern in the direction of mattress, "get your stuff lad."
Lasenby did want to leave. He wanted to get out desperately. Not because of the guilt he was feeling for leaving the boy to this fate, or the smell, or the scurrying sound of rats; but because he could sense her. He could smell her. It was as if she had just left the room. Her voice still lingered, ringing faintly in the air. He forced himself to glance into the shadows. Involuntarily he shuddered again.

The boy was watching him. Lasenby drilled his cane into the stone floor."Be quick now," he ordered.

The boy hurried over to the bed and pulled a few bits of clothing and a pair of shoes into a pile and then knotted the corner of the blankets together to create a crude bag.

"Come now," the Porter dragged the boy up by his arm and pulled him towards the door. Lasenby followed but he paused at the door.

"Francis."

Lasenby felt his heart catch in his chest. Someone had called his name. He span round and peered into the shadows. Nothing. He turned back to the door, took a step forward and then turned to look back over his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispered to the moonlight.

*****

The door swung shut. The wind rattled the lose panes. It sounded like a woman crying. The rats poked their noses from under the crated and round the sacks. Beady eyes watched the door for a while, their eyes missing nothing, not even the silver shadows as it faded back into the moonlight. Finally the rats grew silent. There was just the faint sound of the wind whistling. Outside an Owl called once before it flew away. The moon slipped behind a cloud as the fog began to thicken again.