Cello Concerto No. 9 in B-flat Major, G. 482 II. Adagio

The days that followed Lucy’s visit stretched into a week, and Jack found his spirits flagging. With each day that passed without word from Anastasia, the spark of hope in his eyes dimmed, supplanted by the all-too-familiar shroud of melancholy. The silence was akin to a thorn working deeper into his heart.

He had waited and toiled in his garden, surrounded by the heady fragrance of blooming roses. The once frenetic, focused energy remained but slowly transmuted, shaping itself around the contours of a single task. Each petal and leaf became an endeavour to express his tumultuous emotions through the silent language of the roses.

However, the initial excitement and anticipation he had felt for Anastasia’s response had now given way to despondency as he readied himself for his weekly visit into the village.

Lucy spotted Jack striding past the front gate, his gaze far across the countryside. A knot of trepidation suddenly tightened in her stomach as she called out to him.

“Cap—” She swallowed, suddenly regretting her impulse. He seemed to have forgotten anything else even existed, and she found herself run through by his desolate green eyes before she mustered the courage to speak tentatively. “Captain, there… there is someone within who desires your company. Might you be inclined to join us?”

“Someone?” Jack had not shaved for a few days and his hair was not brushed, giving him an almost bestial aura. Lucy felt akin to a small mammal being dissected by a surprised leopard, and the fear simmering within her threatened to overflow.

The gate opened with a creak.

“Mrs Hawthorne, I must… inquire. Are you… Are you quite well?” Despite the wild look about him, he carried a genuine note of concern that plucked at Lucy heartstrings. Her resolve crumbled, and tears cascaded down her cheeks as she gestured towards the door with a quivering hand. His brow furrowed, alarm deepening in his eyes. With a final glance at her of confusion, he turned and proceeded into the house to discover who awaited him.

Jack’s stride faltered; a dark vignette crossed his vision. Horror caused perspiration to drip from his armpits, trickling down his sides, dragging over his skin.

Thomas .

The sight of his older brother amidst a litter of laudanum bottles, half-emptied teacups, and crumbs strewn across the damask upholstery of the mahogany furniture, rent the crusts of Jack’s barely healed wounds asunder.

Upon receiving news of the fire that had ravaged their childhood abode, he had experienced a light sense of loyal melancholy. He had presumed his brother to have perished alongside his parents. Yet there he was, a spectre risen to haunt him.

The bewilderment gave way to a chilling sense of foreboding as he endeavoured to assemble the enigma before him. The initial astonishment waned, supplanted by a rising tide of bitterness.

Momentarily frozen by Jack’s sudden arrival, Thomas kept his eyes half-closed as he observed his brother go pale. The wretch must hold some connection to one of the women. He grinned to himself, and shot to his feet, making his cowardly little brother take a step backwards.

Thomas was taller and leaner compared to Jack’s wider build. An unusual bump near his left cheekbone marred his face, giving him a peculiar, skewed appearance. A strange twist at one corner of his mouth rendered his smile decidedly sour.

Memories of their past conflicts, the humiliation and impotent rage, threatened to engulf Jack as though he were once more the youth struggling in a world that defied his comprehension.

A silent standoff ensued; the palpable tension that filled the room could have cut stone.

Lucy materialised at the front door, her hands open with a silent entreaty for assistance. It was an expression Jack recognised—a mute appeal he had observed on the countenances of innumerable comrades amidst battle. However, this setting was no battlefield; it was her sanctuary, and the adversary was not a foreign foe but rather a familiar persecutor from his past.

“What the hell are… you doing here?”

“Is that any way to greet your elder brother?” sneered Thomas, evidently relishing the aura of confusion enveloping Jack.

Jack’s gaze shifted briefly to Lucy, who stood immobilised by the unfolding scene. He refocused on Thomas. “I trust you—” ( his father’s fist hit him in the stomach ) “—are not causing any trouble—” ( a nasty laugh came from his bedroom door ) “—for Miss Hartford?”

Thomas’ grin stretched with evident satisfaction as his brother twitched and grappled with the situation. “Why?”

A surge of panic shot through Jack as the echoes of a young boy asking ‘why’ too many times ended in split lips and bruises. A low growl rumbled in his voice as he warned, “If you have—” ( a boot thumped into his ribs ) “—laid a hand on her—”

“Why?” interjected Thomas, fully aware of the pain the word inflicted, Jack could not even articulate his sentences without flinching. “Why do you care what she does?”

“Miss Hartford’s actions—” ( stop crying boy ) “— are not my concern, Thomas. It is—” ( be more like your brother ) “—you.” His final declaration emerged as a snarl, heavy with warning that twisted Thomas’ face into one of petulant rage that denied his earlier complacency.

In the silence that ensued after Jack’s outburst he struggled to maintain his composure as more screams and thumps rang through his mind.

Lucy began to cautiously inch towards the door leading to the hallway, attempting to avoid gaining the attention of either of the two men—one broad-shouldered and incensed, the other lean and derisive.

“I see you still contend with your ‘noisy’ afflictions, you little crook,” hissed Thomas, his smile returning as if it had been carved with a cruel edge. He flicked his attention to Lucy, who recoiled and struck her head against the wall.

A renewed flood of fury erupted in Jack at the sight. “Do you recall, Thomas, the —” ( scent of a burnt book ) “— consequences of your actions when you pushed me beyond my —” ( rough piece of wood in hand ) “— limits?”

“Indeed, you took to your heels and never looked back.”

This retort caused Jack to shrink back towards the door, eliciting a sneering laugh from his brother, which sent bile rising in his throat. His gaze returned to Lucy, small and vulnerable, and he stepped before her and faced Thomas with his fists clenched.

The hallway door swung open. Upon witnessing Jack’s furious countenance inches from Thomas’, Anastasia retreated into the hall and stood against the opposite wall.

“For what reason is he here?” demanded Jack, incapable of expressing himself beyond his bitter rage.

Anastasia wished to disclose all to him—to have him expel this unwelcome presence from her abode, regardless of what he may find out in the process.

Trembling with shame and grief, she finally broke the silence. “He is our… guest.”

You heard the woman.” Thomas smirked triumphantly. “I am the one who is welcome here, not you.”

Jack was fixed to the spot in horror. He cast a final glance at Lucy as Anastasia’s footsteps faded up the stairs. She offered him a helpless gesture towards the front door.

He departed, the sound of Thomas’ laughter ringing in his ears. That dreadful sound, once restricted to the memories of his childhood, now cackled through Anastasia’s home.