• February 16, 2006 at 7:01 pm #1726

    Abraham returned home to the townhouse in Grosvenor Square after dropping Egeria off at Madame Renault?s. Inside, he climbed the stairs slowly, and made his way down the hall to his personal study, which was adjacent to his bedroom. A servant entered and lit a fire. When this task was completed, Abraham dismissed him. After the door closed behind the servant, Abraham took a seat behind his desk, and unlocked a secret, hidden drawer, from which he withdrew a small, leather-bound volume, a pen, and some ink. He opened the journal to a fresh page, dipped the pen in the ink, and began to write.

    February 15, 1871.

    To-day I brought the shirt Egeria tore over to Madame Renault?s shoppe, in order that Egeria might not be concerned over finding herself in trouble for having a caller that was not a customer of the shoppe. After the garment was mended, I escorted Egeria to the Athenaeum. I have grown rather fond of the place, though I suppose that could be attributed, at least in part, to having met Miss Fellows there, and the number of pleasant evenings spent there in her company subsequently. Between such a fortuitous meeting and the business we have been able to acquire with Lord Sterling, my decision to procure a membership to the place has proven to be a wise one ? or perhaps merely lucky.

    On the subject of Miss Fellows, to-night was a particularly good evening, as she revealed that my feelings towards her are reciprocated. As I have noted to her, I feel years rejuvenated whilst in her presence, and, indeed, merely having spent time with her allows me to feel younger for some time after she has gone. Perhaps I am simply being a Foolish Old Man, but if I have not earned the Right to pursue some happiness for myself at this point in my life, then age is truly no great thing to which to aspire. Silas, I am certain, has taken issue with my spending time with Egeria. He is a Fool, and he does not understand. He must think me out of my mind, and that he believes that I fall for his act of innocence is proof both of this and of his own foolishness. I am rather sure that all he wants from me at this point is to inherit my money and my business, at least that of the Trading Company. He has no interest whatsoever in legal matters or the law, and that he professes to have a desire to learn from Mr. Balfour only raises more of my suspicions. Well, let him try. He will find that there is no legal recourse for him, and he shall never become the sole inheritor of either my estate or the Trading Company.

    I have changed my will to include Clarence in the inheritance once again, though I have misgivings about this. He is a Fool as well. He seems to believe that I have developed some irrational hatred of him, and that I seek only to make his life more difficult. Why can he not understand that it is because of my love for him that I act this way? That it is because of how deeply he has wounded me by allowing us to believe for all these years that he was deceased. I am overjoyed by his seeming return to us, though I remain concerned as to what occurred over the years for which he was missing, and I cannot fathom why he could not even send us word that he was all right. These Americans that have followed him here are perplexing to me. I do not understand what Clarence was doing befriending such people who are obviously below his station. I am certain that he will argue that this is exactly what I am doing with Egeria, but there is an important difference: I have earned the Right to do more as I please. It is less scandalous for one of my age than for a young, eligible bachelor such as he to be cavorting with a man who seems to be little more than a Pirate and a woman who is half-Savage. Would that I could speak to him, and find out what has happened to him during all this time, but he continues to either avoid speaking to me on the subject altogether, or to give bare glimpses into what I know must be a more complex, complicated matter. I must converse with him more, and soon, in order to get him back on track so that he may join in the running of the Company. I cannot allow Silas to take Control, for I fear that were he to do so, he would not only manage to drive the business into the ground, but that he would seize my assets and force me to live on the street.

    It pains me to have such misgivings about my own son, my own flesh and blood, but he does little to inspire my Confidence in him. Even Egeria tonight remarked upon how obvious it is that he is Up to No Good, and I will trust her counsel. I am certain that Silas believes I am endangering the Company by spending time with her and placing my Trust in her, but he is wrong. The Company is to stay in the Family. But if he believes that he will have sole Control over it, he is sorely mistaken. That is something I will not allow.

    On a far more pleasant note (as I continue to believe it is important to at least attempt to end these writings on pleasant notes), I am once again to see Egeria to-morrow. I will stop by Madame Renault?s shoppe once again, and Egeria has said that from now on she will not mind whether I come with a damaged garment or not. I already tore one of my suit jackets to-night whilst at the teahouse, so I will bring that to-morrow, though it is nice to know that it will no longer be required when I wish to have her company, which is often. Later in the week we will picnic at the tower, which she has several times told me about, and which I desire very greatly to see.

    When he had finished writing, Abraham read through what he had set down on the paper, frowning at some points, and a smile coming to his face at others, most notably the beginning and the end of the entry. Once he had read it several times, he carefully tore the pages of the entry out of the journal, folded them carefully, stood, crossed the room, and dropped the paper into the fire. He poked at it with the stoker until there was nothing left of the paper but ash, a small smile on his lips as he did so. It was a strange ritual, but he didn?t feel like the hidden location of the drawer in which he kept his journal nor its flimsy lock were enough to keep prying eyes away. He merely found the process of writing his thoughts to be a soothing one, and one which then aided in the keeping of the memories he set down upon the paper before burning it.

    When the paper was consumed, he set the stoker back in its proper place, returned the journal, pen, and ink to their drawer, closed and locked it, and made his way to bed.

    February 17, 2006 at 1:20 am #2292
    Jeff Crowley

    ::sniff:: aww, sweet post, old man. Sweet post.

    February 17, 2006 at 1:22 am #2293

    You burned it! lol .. strange guy. nice post

    February 17, 2006 at 6:10 am #2294

    Lovely post. Even though his daughter doesn't seem to cross his mind…

    February 18, 2006 at 2:22 pm #2295

    ::Scoffs, is so much cooler than that stupid pirate anyway::

    Nice post, old man.

    February 21, 2006 at 8:24 pm #2296

    Interesting stuff, I enjoyed getting a peak into his head and inner-most thoughts.

    February 21, 2006 at 9:08 pm #2297

    Aww. Poor old guy, surrounded by fools and those up to no good. Lovely stuff, you.

    February 25, 2006 at 9:27 pm #2298

    Keep it coming!

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