Nighttime crept upon Morely Manor like a thick black plague. In the darkness, the cold clear ebony, a window opened on the second floor. Suddenly a small bundle plummeted to the ground. Then slowly, carefully, a knotted bedsheet made its way from the sill to the grass below. A lithe figure slid down rapidly, then snatched the parcel and glanced around. After a mere instant, the shadow took off like a shot. The gates, the mansion, the garden was left behind. Thomas Lombard left Morely Manor that night--forever.
Slender fingers stroked the photograph as Thom strode down the street. He stopped, stared down at the picture, then dug in his pocket for the telegraph. He reread it quickly, a frown hovering on his brows. Vera Claythorne. His father's murderer. Thomas crumpled up the paper and shoved the telegram and the photo back in his pocket. He would find this woman's family and learn more. His honor, his father's honor rested upon it. He would do this.
"Yes, operator. I need the address of Vera Claythorne--oh, no longer in the books? Damn. Well, could you tell me the address of her relatives? Yes, this is a son of her friend. I need a way to reach her family--yes, I'll hold." Thom tapped his foot impatiently, pressing the reciever to his ear. "Hello? Yes, yes, thank you. I can find it myself. Thank you very much." He hung up the phone and shifted his pack to the other arm. The prey was in sight.
Thom traveled days through the countryside of England before reaching Manchester, where he had been informed Claythorne's sister lived. Down a neverending street, around endless corners... at last he arrived at the step of Virginia Claythorne. After hesitating, Thom knocked on the door. A woman in her 30's answered the door.
"Um... we're not buying anything, young man. Good day."
"Wait," he protested, putting a foot in the doorway. "Am I right in assuming you are Miss Virginia Claythorne?" The woman nodded slightly.
"Ah, yes...I am."
"I am a friend of your late sister, Vera. May I come in?" Miss Claythorne seemed to wince. Thom tried to cover for the mistake. "Please. I've recently lost my parents and I need a place to stay. Vera always told me I could come here if I needed shelter." Miss Claythorne shifted slightly.
"Well... I suppose I could let you stay for a little while." She opened the door the rest of the way and Thom entered, smiling suavely.
"Thank you so very much, ma'am." He rubbed his arms to get the warmth back into them while glancing around. It was a rather small flat, not much furniture or decorations. Thom moved his bundle to his other shoulder and turned back to his hostess. "May I sit?"
"No, young man. Stand in the entryway for the rest of the night." Miss Claythorne smiled. "Of course you may sit. *Mel!*" Thomas jumped at her sudden screech, but recovered quickly and sat down on the worn sofa.
"Who?" She craned her neck to see down the hall, a hall that contained three doors. One was shut.
"Oh, that's my daughter. Mel, what are you *doing* back there?"
"I'm *working*, Mother!" came a voice from the closed door; Thom guessed it was the bedroom. The boy resisted the urge to put his hands over his ears. He was beginning to get a headache.
"Well, come *out* here! We have a *guest!*" Thomas shook his head.
"No, that's all right--"
"Mother, I'm *busy!*"
"I don't *care* if you're busy!" He cursed under his breath, then said stiffly,
"That's *really* all right, Miss Claythorne--"
"I'm *extremely* busy, please! Can't I just--"
"*Will you both stop your infernal squawking?!*" Thom bellowed, then stopped dead when he realized the bedroom had gone quiet and Miss Claythorne was staring at him. He swallowed, then whispered, "I have a very large headache." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the door down the hall open a crack. It snapped shut before he could glimpse who it was. The woman before him blinked, then turned and headed towards what had to be the kitchen.
"Then I shall get you a very large aspirin."
After receiving an antidote for the pounding in his head, Thomas was settled in the living room on the couch. Miss Claythorne still seemed rather skittish around him, but she was very kind and hospitable. That made it harder to plan revenge against the dead woman's family. But there was soon to be another obstacle in the path of Thom's vengeance against Vera Claythorne-- her niece.
The moon hung heavy outside as Thom pulled the scraggly blanket up over his chest. It was nearly 3:00 AM and he couldn't sleep. Thoughts of anger, of revenge and pride flitted around his head and wouldn't let his eyes close. He really didn't know what he was going to do to avenge his father's death. As a matter of fact, he didn't know why he wanted to avenge his father's death. His father had been a murderer, a conspirator, so why did it matter to him what his killer's family did? Thom stared hard at the ceiling. It mattered because his father was his father, not just a murderer. And he'd never been able to know him. It was the woman's fault, the murderess. And it would be her family's death warrant.
A door opened slowly down the hall. Thom's relfexes acted quickly and he shot to his feet, ready to defend himself against the intruder. It was dark, but he could see it was a girl. But that was all he could see.
"Who's there?" she asked suddenly, breaking the silence. Thom straightened, ready to use his charm to defend himself.
"Thom. Thomas Morely." He slid forward and took her hand, kissing it lightly. The girl pulled her hand away rapidly and gave him a strong slap. Thom staggered back, clutching his cheek.
"Don't you try it," she spat. "Don't you even try."
"Ow! Ow-wow!" Thomas rubbed the stinging skin. "I was being polite!"
"You were being sexist."
"What?!" He widened his eyes. "I was being a gentleman!" The girl sniffed angrily.
"You automatically assumed that I would want my hand kissed instead of shaken. You didn't ask my opinion or preference, now did you?" Not knowing a legitimate retort, Thom shook his head again.
"Gah, that hurt!" Then he looked up at the still hidden face, smiling enchantingly. "But you have a point. Let's try again." He stuck out his hand. "My name is Thomas Morely. And yours is?" The girl waited, then took the hand and shook it.
"Mel. Melody Claythorne." Thom thought a moment. Vera wasn't married, and apparently, neither was Virginia. But this Melody had the same last name? The father hadn't been very loved, Thom concluded, and the mother decided he wasn't worthy enough to take part in the family. The girl made an uncomfortable noise and tried to pull from his grasp. "Can I have my hand back now...?" Thom let go.
"Yes, forgive me, Miss Claythorne." Melody walked towards the window.
"No bother." She drew back the curtains, then turned to him again. The moonlight struck her face fully, and at last Thom was able to see the killer's neice.
She was beautiful.
Slender fingers stroked the photograph as Thom strode down the street. He stopped, stared down at the picture, then dug in his pocket for the telegraph. He reread it quickly, a frown hovering on his brows. Vera Claythorne. His father's murderer. Thomas crumpled up the paper and shoved the telegram and the photo back in his pocket. He would find this woman's family and learn more. His honor, his father's honor rested upon it. He would do this.
"Yes, operator. I need the address of Vera Claythorne--oh, no longer in the books? Damn. Well, could you tell me the address of her relatives? Yes, this is a son of her friend. I need a way to reach her family--yes, I'll hold." Thom tapped his foot impatiently, pressing the reciever to his ear. "Hello? Yes, yes, thank you. I can find it myself. Thank you very much." He hung up the phone and shifted his pack to the other arm. The prey was in sight.
Thom traveled days through the countryside of England before reaching Manchester, where he had been informed Claythorne's sister lived. Down a neverending street, around endless corners... at last he arrived at the step of Virginia Claythorne. After hesitating, Thom knocked on the door. A woman in her 30's answered the door.
"Um... we're not buying anything, young man. Good day."
"Wait," he protested, putting a foot in the doorway. "Am I right in assuming you are Miss Virginia Claythorne?" The woman nodded slightly.
"Ah, yes...I am."
"I am a friend of your late sister, Vera. May I come in?" Miss Claythorne seemed to wince. Thom tried to cover for the mistake. "Please. I've recently lost my parents and I need a place to stay. Vera always told me I could come here if I needed shelter." Miss Claythorne shifted slightly.
"Well... I suppose I could let you stay for a little while." She opened the door the rest of the way and Thom entered, smiling suavely.
"Thank you so very much, ma'am." He rubbed his arms to get the warmth back into them while glancing around. It was a rather small flat, not much furniture or decorations. Thom moved his bundle to his other shoulder and turned back to his hostess. "May I sit?"
"No, young man. Stand in the entryway for the rest of the night." Miss Claythorne smiled. "Of course you may sit. *Mel!*" Thomas jumped at her sudden screech, but recovered quickly and sat down on the worn sofa.
"Who?" She craned her neck to see down the hall, a hall that contained three doors. One was shut.
"Oh, that's my daughter. Mel, what are you *doing* back there?"
"I'm *working*, Mother!" came a voice from the closed door; Thom guessed it was the bedroom. The boy resisted the urge to put his hands over his ears. He was beginning to get a headache.
"Well, come *out* here! We have a *guest!*" Thomas shook his head.
"No, that's all right--"
"Mother, I'm *busy!*"
"I don't *care* if you're busy!" He cursed under his breath, then said stiffly,
"That's *really* all right, Miss Claythorne--"
"I'm *extremely* busy, please! Can't I just--"
"*Will you both stop your infernal squawking?!*" Thom bellowed, then stopped dead when he realized the bedroom had gone quiet and Miss Claythorne was staring at him. He swallowed, then whispered, "I have a very large headache." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the door down the hall open a crack. It snapped shut before he could glimpse who it was. The woman before him blinked, then turned and headed towards what had to be the kitchen.
"Then I shall get you a very large aspirin."
After receiving an antidote for the pounding in his head, Thomas was settled in the living room on the couch. Miss Claythorne still seemed rather skittish around him, but she was very kind and hospitable. That made it harder to plan revenge against the dead woman's family. But there was soon to be another obstacle in the path of Thom's vengeance against Vera Claythorne-- her niece.
The moon hung heavy outside as Thom pulled the scraggly blanket up over his chest. It was nearly 3:00 AM and he couldn't sleep. Thoughts of anger, of revenge and pride flitted around his head and wouldn't let his eyes close. He really didn't know what he was going to do to avenge his father's death. As a matter of fact, he didn't know why he wanted to avenge his father's death. His father had been a murderer, a conspirator, so why did it matter to him what his killer's family did? Thom stared hard at the ceiling. It mattered because his father was his father, not just a murderer. And he'd never been able to know him. It was the woman's fault, the murderess. And it would be her family's death warrant.
A door opened slowly down the hall. Thom's relfexes acted quickly and he shot to his feet, ready to defend himself against the intruder. It was dark, but he could see it was a girl. But that was all he could see.
"Who's there?" she asked suddenly, breaking the silence. Thom straightened, ready to use his charm to defend himself.
"Thom. Thomas Morely." He slid forward and took her hand, kissing it lightly. The girl pulled her hand away rapidly and gave him a strong slap. Thom staggered back, clutching his cheek.
"Don't you try it," she spat. "Don't you even try."
"Ow! Ow-wow!" Thomas rubbed the stinging skin. "I was being polite!"
"You were being sexist."
"What?!" He widened his eyes. "I was being a gentleman!" The girl sniffed angrily.
"You automatically assumed that I would want my hand kissed instead of shaken. You didn't ask my opinion or preference, now did you?" Not knowing a legitimate retort, Thom shook his head again.
"Gah, that hurt!" Then he looked up at the still hidden face, smiling enchantingly. "But you have a point. Let's try again." He stuck out his hand. "My name is Thomas Morely. And yours is?" The girl waited, then took the hand and shook it.
"Mel. Melody Claythorne." Thom thought a moment. Vera wasn't married, and apparently, neither was Virginia. But this Melody had the same last name? The father hadn't been very loved, Thom concluded, and the mother decided he wasn't worthy enough to take part in the family. The girl made an uncomfortable noise and tried to pull from his grasp. "Can I have my hand back now...?" Thom let go.
"Yes, forgive me, Miss Claythorne." Melody walked towards the window.
"No bother." She drew back the curtains, then turned to him again. The moonlight struck her face fully, and at last Thom was able to see the killer's neice.
She was beautiful.