Piano Sonata No. 14 in C♯ Minor, Op. 27, No. 2 I

“Who goes there?” The captain’s voice rang out sharply through the stillness.

Lucy could not see him, yet the words seemed to draw nearer with each passing moment, closing in on her position like a hound upon its quarry.

““What business have you here? Are you not aware of the hour? Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Captain Clifton!” Lucy’s voice carried a note of desperation. “I find myself quite lost!”

He materialised abruptly behind her, snatching a scream from her lips.

The figure advancing towards her bore little resemblance to the gentleman she had encountered earlier. His complexion was pallid and mottled; his eyes shone with a feverish intensity in the flickering light. He still wore the same garments, minus the jacket, yet it appeared as though he had attempted to remove them at some point during the evening, only to abandon his efforts.

“Captain!” cried Lucy, teetering on the brink of panic. The terror etched upon her countenance forced Jack to quell his rage at the intrusion.

“This… is a… pleasant surprise… Mrs Hawthorne. What brings… you to… my manor?” inquired Jack, attempting to convey as though they were engaged in daytime civilities. Despite his efforts, he could not prevent the sound of his splintered heart from tainting his question. It shattered Lucy’s last shred of resolve and tears began to cascade down her cheeks.

Jack fumbled for a handkerchief, only to curse under his breath before clapping his mouth shut in horror at himself. With a slight laugh, Lucy withdrew a handkerchief from her pelisse and gently dabbed at her eyes.

Bolstered by her humour, he placed a comforting hand upon Lucy’s shoulder with hesitant tenderness.

“Thomas,” muttered he, the name itself laden with understanding rather than inquiry. Through her tears, she nodded, affirming his suspicions without words.

Gazing out into the garden, Jack felt the futility of his efforts sap his strength. He had nothing more. He sagged, no longer able to support himself, voicing a quiet reflection rather than making an intentional statement.

“They are indeed together.”

His brother had won , the bitter thought rose in despair, he had taken everything from him —

“No!” cried Lucy, shaking her head with vehement denial. “You misunderstand!”

Perplexed, yet with rising hope, Jack escorted her with gentle guidance through the garden and onto the porch. He settled her into a weathered chair and went inside, leaving the door open to indicate he was returning.

It seemed as though all care had been lavished upon the garden to the detriment of the dwelling. Ivy and moss clung to the stone walls, paint on window sills was cracked and peeling. The windows themselves bore a griminess that seemed intentional, except there were some that were cleaned meticulously. Peering through curiously, she found it to be the dining room, then sat up to looked at the garden.

Even in the monochromatic hues of night, she could discern the meticulously crafted circles and clean lines that stood in stark contrast to the dilapidated state of the house. He must devote himself daily to this verdant sanctuary. An unspeakable incident had occurred in his past; he was in dire need of a steadfast companion to mitigate his self-loathing—a beacon of stability that, at present, only his roses could provide.

Jack reappeared bearing a brown ceramic jug of water and two mismatched glasses on a wooden tray. She accepted the glass he filled for her and drank with an almost greedy eagerness, as though seeking to restore the vitality sapped by her emotional outburst.

His act of kindness served as relief to her ragged nerves. Taking a calming breath, she began to recount the sordid details of Thomas’ despicable treatment of Anastasia and the cottage.

Upon the conclusion of her tale, Jack struggled to quell the rising fury raging within him and took a moment to regain his composure.

“I cannot relate what your brother conveyed to her—”

“It matters not,” interjected Jack. “He continues to… inflict pain and sow chaos. I am all too aware of… what he… is… capable—”

He halted, her words finally taking hold, a fresh worry gnawing at him: What could his brother have possibly said to persuade Anastasia into acquiescing to his presence? She had said he was a guest. If he was a guest, why was Lucy here?

Jack felt himself unravelling, everything slipping from his grasp; he seized a thread before it all could unravel completely.

“Why have you… sought my assistance?”

“Well,” stammered Lucy, uncertain why he had ceased speaking and then abruptly altered the course of their conversation, “this afternoon with your brother…”

“You witnessed me on the… brink of losing control, and yet you deemed it… wise to request my intervention once more?”

“No, it is for her sake!”

At her outburst, Jack jolted back so sharply the chair beneath him emitted an alarming crack. Nevertheless, all he could do was regard her with astonishment.

“She found herself captivated by you, and…”

“She—Miss—Anastasia… was?”

“She was enchanted to meet you!” said Lucy. “Could you not see it? When she returned from the ball, I had never seen her so vibrant.”

Closing his eyes and clenching his fists, he thought of that wonderful evening and realised he owed this woman the truth. She had shown a sincere concern for Anastasia and had ventured into the night to request his assistance. Only his utmost sincerity would do in such circumstances.

“I could see it.”

Lucy’s response was not immediate. The epidemic that had claimed the lives of Anastasia’s kin had wrought changes for both women. Lucy cherished Anastasia with a depth equal to any love she might bestow, and stood firm in her resolve to prevent a man such as Thomas from destroying something as wonderful as the bond that was beginning to grow between her and Captain Clifton.

“Why did you do nothing if—” Lucy’s voice quivered, betraying the boldness of her inquiry.

Jack tensed, becoming as still as a statue. “I cannot… I simply cannot… allow myself to… become close to others.” His countenance grew stormy as he fought an internal battle with himself.

“Captain, you must aid us,” implored Lucy.

"I am incapable," said he, bitterly. "I cannot aid anyone… I have tried." Each word fell heavily from his lips, echoing years of pent-up frustration and self-loathing. “It seems Miss Hartford has… made her choice, heedless of… the consequences.”

“What do you mean?”

His gaze drifted past her into the night, marred by self-disgust at his assessment.

“Miss Hartford must… shoulder the… burden of her decision. I shall not… entangle myself further in… this matter. You must… take your leave.”

“Captain, please, you cannot—”

He rose to escort her to the gate, his scowl directed across the garden, towards the sky—anywhere but at her. It was as though he were erecting a barricade between them. Despair wrapped itself around Lucy’s chest; she had not succeeded.