D.Patrick Burke

lumber

"I feel the need to make my apologizes to you for my behavior earlier. I am sorry and I beg your forgiveness," she said, her voice calm and certain, her eyes boldly making contact with Burke's. She curtsied then and turned heading quickly back to the house. Devon had intention of removing his hat respectfully, but the interchange, or rather lack there of, did not permit time to do so. As quickly as Sally had arrived, so she had quickly departed; leaving confusion in her wake as she barreled forth in hastened retreat. He opened his mouth to say something, but decided quick pursuit was the better choice. Rapidly overcoming her and side stepping around, Burke came to halt with minute slide just ahead of domicile's garden entrance. Once again, with success, he reached for hat and doffed it with smallish bow. Sally's chin jutted with hint of defiance, daring steady eye contact. Hat was replaced and he moved to the porch and opened the door. With hushed speech, Devon addressed her, "Ne'er beg fer anyt'in', lass....Be it fergivness or any other thin'..." Moving around where she stood, Irish Son touched the brim of well-worn hat, slying a glance as he passed and returned towards where Childermass remained.

The sound of door opening followed by spill of muted light brought halt to garden musings. Hidden from moon's betrayal, Devon and Seth watched as darkness regained ground with door's closure; soft whisper of cloth disturbance with Lilly's departure. When confident of safe verbose, Younger leaned forward to Elder's ear, "Tis a strange bit tha'...Why would they be sendin' a wan alone into the night. To me own thinkin's if errand be run, they would send Reagan..."

Spring

HMS

Night breeze lifted a degree, stirring fragrant flora to perfume the air and in near fauna beyond garden wall, mounts nickered as if playing critic to pungent scents and scene. The two remained, elder propped against inner wall support, younger sprawled on stone plateau and lazily watching flecked skies above. "Is Sabastian aware o' the arrangments?" "He is now..." came low reply. Devon's brow crease at Seth's wordings, leading to further question, "An' he isna' objectin' to it...?" Childermass inclined chin and fixed Younger with steady gaze, "He is no' easy with it." Irishman sat up, one leg dangling wall's edge, " A fine gerl, as ever was, an' tha' fella is playin' the rounds...a right shame, fer true. Aye...A lass o' tha' caliber would keep me ownself home." "Life has a way..."

script

office

Seth continued into the sanctuary of midnight garden and found comrade perched upon wall border. Leaning lank frame against stone fortitude he waited without comment while dwellers of night time realm created synphoney and fugue. Devon glanced sidelong, fully prepared to take Childermass' scolding that was sure to come...But did not. Silence hung heavy betwixt and between, a thing that began stirring discomfort in the younger's inner being and came to end with simple statement... "Ye have to be the better man...Tis events as this tha' define us in the end..."

station

Seth paused mid-step, seeming to consider Mistress' wordings, " I am English, Madame an' I judge a man...or woman, fer tha' matter by tha' which they present." He turned, laying hands upon banister's burnished surface and cocked head a tad to the left as he continued, "Tis in yer thinkin' tha' men are the only one's to make said mistakes? I have seen many things in many lands tha' would give evidence to the fairer sex being just as blind...Just as ruthless, if no' more so." Pale sights captured her own of richer hue, "Perhaps somthin' as simple as apology will cure the hurt..." Seth's center traveled to Sally briefly, then motion was set into former intent; steps taken slowly downward. "Ye of all should be well aware the fragility of a gentlman's pride, Mistress..."

chum

Devon slyed a glance to Footman, commenting under breath, "There it goes, lad...The lass has lumped ye in with our lot." The Trio watched Sally's fluster and Mistress' approach with controlled curiosity, but the comments regarding stature and affiliations drew Irishman's irritation, "The likes o' us? Is tha' the way o' it, gerl? Are we too base fer yer taste to draw hasty judgments?" Brows arched in challenge. Turning away, Devon moved to stairway access calling over shoulder as first step downward was reached. "I see yer a fine one to prove yerself to be like yer countrymen." Railing was clasped for support, "Tis no concern o' are own, Seth...Why should I be wastin' malady's cure on the likes o' those tha' look upon our own selves as wee more than dogs..." Childermass kept his thoughts private as companion found footing on the ground floor and turned towards foyer. In the distance doorway opened then closed with harsh intent. Seth turned back to face Nelly and Sally, expression neutral though a glint played pale pools of sight as address was given to Mistress. "The lad has a cure to angst in his possession. His Mum had a gift for healing and it was passed down...." Attention drifted away then snapped back, centering on Sally with raptor finite, "The transgress is yers to own an' yers to settle..." He pivoted, following slowly in Devon's wake. Wraith’s words drifted behind as downward progress was made. "The choice is yers, child...Life or not….The pendulum swings. "

larbord

end

Reagan's attention diverted to hall's opposite end soon drawing Burke and Childermass' own to object of interest. Dim light laid caress to robe billow encompassing feminine movement. Hint of smile tickled Devon's expression.

cafe'

Eleven

lands

Local

admit

burlesque

Exhaling with heavy undertones of exasperation, he meet eye contact with Nelly's subservient, "Would ye care to be pointin' tha' dimned barrel anot'er direction, Reagan." Devon shifted with care, "As I be sure ye can already hear, tha' wan is in'na other room an' no' payin' a wee bit o' attention to yer false bravados....Fek!" Footman glanced quickly over shoulder, lowering the pistol he gave reply in lowered tones, " Sorry there, auld son..." "Sorry?! Sorry me arse!" Was the terse retort in harsh whisper as he extended his hand, "Help me up...Tis a good strike o' fortune fer tha' lass tha' me Ma made me own self swear to ne'er rough a woman..." he winced. " Fer tis true I ne'er been so tempted to do so as now." Reagan nodded with understanding as aid was lent to achieve proper standing. Devon opened his mouth to expound further comment, but hesitated when the lank form of Childermass appeared within near distant chamber opening. He seemed to study lackey briefly before closing the distance between. "Can ye manage the concoction yer Mum taught ye?" Burke frowned, "Which one ye speakin' abou'?" "Tis the one ye gave to Sean after the fall he took weeks back." "Aye...Bu' in me current state o' bein's, I don' have any wants ner desires to be ridin' far an' fast to fetch wha' is needed." Devon's eyes narrowed suspiciously, "An' why would such a thin' be in wants?" Seth leaned close and gave record of what had transpired up to recent passing. Crossing arms over chest, Burke considered the factors before speaking, "An' the goin's on, I am to be castin' a blind eye an' jus' let by-gones be by-gones." "Fer the gerl, lad." "Aye...An' it be because o' tha' sweet one tha' I am no' too encouraged." "Tis no' our place to judge..." Seth cautioned. Caught betwixt rock and hard place, Devon snarled, "Bollocks, tha'!" Childermass straightened posture saying nothing, simply watched companion with touch of disapproval painting scarred visage. The stand-off held ground for the passage of one and ten minutes before Devon broke eye contact and focused on Persian splendor under soles. "Fine, cara...If tha' be the way o' it an' tis in yer own mind the rights. This once..." He looked hard upon comrade in arms, "Some other needs be sent fer the gatherin'...Some other needs the ways o' writing an' I'll be one to tell wha's involved."

Moving slowly, Devon eased himself to banister support. Blurred vision cleared slightly and the business end of footman's pistol was found to be far from a welcoming sight. The thoughts that coursed through mental alley ways would surly keep him in confession for at least a week's time...and finding a Confessor might be hard to come by in current latitudes. Finding the rail supports as bracing for his back, Cork's Native Son began to muse as to why he had not just stayed in the Family profession.

He knew better...Never fully trust a woman, unless she be yer own Ma; and that went double if she we of English origin. Nausea and pain raced each other for headway and lead; knees buckled against will and the floor was soon found. Thoughts muddled by current over ride of nerve synapsis, breath was taken in with rapidity and froze in momentary limbo as left hand reached near blind to bannister proxy. Biting down hard, Devon shook his head in attempt to clear the stars from his sight.