Accused

Fiction detailing the ongoing events on the Homeline and numerous parallel Worldlines.

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Lord Reynolds
New Blood
New Blood
Posts: 49
Joined: Thu Jan 03, 2008 7:01 pm

Accused

Post by Lord Reynolds » Wed Dec 07, 2016 12:33 pm

Etheria 3. London – 1990.

The sound of iron shod hooves clattering noisily on slick granite cobbles echoed off the tall Victorian buildings that lined either side of a deserted and dark Newgate Street.
Ether-gas lams lit the street every 50 yards of so, leaving much of the street between in darkness.
Steel rimmed wheels bounced and rumbled along behind the hooves as the sleek black carriage followed behind the four beautiful white horses so that the overall sound was like thunder.
The horses looked fresh and eager despite their treacherously fast dash across midnight London.
The domed roof of The Old Bailey silhouetted against the dim glow of the city on the underside of low hanging clouds loomed into view and the driver pulled back on the reigns slowing the four mares to a brisk trot and eventually stopping at the huge arched gates of the prison that sat at the junction of Newgate Street and Old Bailey Road.
One of the two coachmen dismounted and pulled open the carriage door, standing attentively to the side while holding the door still.
A woman in her early thirties alighted. She was tall, her skin fair and her face classically beautiful. She wore an aqua coloured satin dress adorned with black lace that accented the many folds and tucks in the dress. Her fair hair was long but worn pinned up upon her head in many twists and swirls.
A matching aqua coloured hat, small and trimmed with black lace, perched upon the side of the hair-do, itself pinned in place to prevent it falling from its precarious position.
She had taken no more than three paces from the carriage when a heavy iron-clad door was pulled open casting a bright rectangle onto the slate flagstones of the pavement.
A prison guard, menacing in shades of black welcomed the woman with a silent bow and bade her follow him.
She was led through a high-walled courtyard towards the warm rectangular glows of the window in the building to the left of the entrance.
There, another man, this one in his late fifties, grey thinning hair, bushy moustache that would have been fashionable twenty years earlier and fine dark suit, awaited her.
“I wish to see my brother,” the woman announced before pleasantry exchanges could waste any more time.
The moustached man sniffed and chewed his cheek for a moment.
“My Lady,” he replied in a tone of syrupy dismissiveness that made the woman’s back stiffen and jaw clench. “If you had called ahead we could have made arrangements for your visit.”
Hands laced together in black silk gloves the woman stayed her anger.
“Sir,” she said calmly and politely, “I have travelled almost two hundred miles without break to be here. I must be allowed to see my brother.”
One corner of the prison wardens mouth turned up in a patronising smile.
“If your Ladyship had called ahead I could have saved you the journey.”
“I would come, no matter your warnings not to, sir!”
Another smirk.
“You misunderstand me madam. I would have saved you the journey here.”
“Will you allow me to see my brother, or not?” the woman interrupted, her anger and desperation making her voice break towards the end.
“No, I will not, madam,” the man growled. “But I am not being awkward. You may not visit your brother in this prison because Lord Reynolds is not here.”
The woman’s mouth hung open wordless and confused. “Not here?”
“No.”
“I,” she blinked rapidly, her shoulders rising and falling rapidly as she fought back tears. “Then perhaps you could inform me as to which gaol I should attend?”
“That madam I cannot say. Perhaps you should address the question to the office if the Lord Chief Justice. Now, I have a prison to run. Good night, Lady Reynolds.”
With that the man shuffled around his desk and fetched a walking cane, then strode purposefully from the room without a backward glance.
Elizabeth Reynolds felt panic rising within her. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry and her throat tight.
Turning on her heel she saw the mocking face of a guard awaiting her at the door.

She made it back to the carriage before the tears that were welling in her eyes rolled unchecked down her cheeks.
“Bloody hell, Sebastian,” she cursed at the dark, still night. “Where are you?”

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