The following day, Isabelle watched the carriage drag its way down the path to the house from her window. The door opened and Constantine stepped from it, still wearing the black clothes he had had on the day before, or so she assumed. She watched as he swept himself off and asked the driver how he looked, Frederick shrugged.

Abi stomped up the stairs and then knocked on Isabelle’s door, knowing not to enter. She told her the man was back and asked if she should invite him in. She told her, no. Abi asked if she was sure. She told her she was.

She heard the clops of her sulking steps descend down into the hall and then saw her speak with the man outside. Abi held her dress out from her hips and swayed softly, her head to one side like it was cricked. The man, Constantine, touched his hat and looked up at Isabelle’s window and she ducked to the floor like a school girl. He smiled and then nodded at the nanny before he got back into his carriage and Frederick led them away.

He turned up the next day too, but Abi was forced to send him away a second time. Isabelle watched from the window again, this time letting him look upon her before he left. He held her gaze and smiled, or perhaps he smirked, Isabelle couldn’t be sure.

Abigale’s stomping feet on her way across the landing were inevitable and Isabelle had waited for it while she sat on her bed. Abi knocked and asked if she could come in. Isabelle told her no but Abi was already half inside having sensed her mistress was in better spirits lately.

Isabelle’s room was as bare and cold as ever, the floor was still littered with her husband’s images, all watching her like a somber congress. She stood facing out of the window and didn’t turn to greet Abi.

‘Are we never to have him inside?’ Abi asked.

‘Of course not.’

Abi moved closer to her. This was the first time they’d spoken in this room for months.

‘I heard what he did for you in town. There’s quite a stir.’

Silence.

‘Why did you do it? Why didn’t you ask me to go?’

‘You’re owed wages.’ Isabelle didn’t turn to face her and instead spoke into the window glass, fogging her own image.

‘I am. But it’s not good for you to be out there. You don’t cope well with them.’

‘With who?’

‘Who’d you think? Everyone!’

‘You’re normally the one trying to get me outside.’

‘That’s right, but with me and the little one so I can straighten them out if anyone says anything. They’ve no reason to stare.’ Abi said warmly.

‘That’s not true though, is it? They want to point fingers at the pretty trophy who’s in ruin. They’re happy because I’m suffering. Because they wish to see me humiliated.’

‘You need to think about what you have and what others have. You still live in this house. If things are bad for you they must be really bad for me! I fricking work here!’

‘Hmm. And I can’t even afford to pay you. Soon, I’ll be like you.’

‘And that’s terrible, right?’

Isabelle looked at her as if she were a moron. ‘Of course it is.’

Abi scowled. ‘Well, you’re going to have to come to terms with it some time, or you need to get yourself back out into the world. Save yourself. Save your daughter.’

‘And how do I do that then, Abigale, you font of wisdom’

‘You let that man in for tea. I mean, you could do a lot worse! Have you seen him? I would kill for a man like that to look at a woman like me. Do you understand that? I think I fell in love with him the moment I saw him, but you; you couldn’t care less. And not just about him, you couldn’t care less about me, about yourself, about your daughter. And what else do you have but us? We’re not even friends but I share my food with you, I stay for you as my mother did for her masters.’

Isabelle stood, angered at what she heard. ‘you don’t stay here for me. You stay here for that damn broken child. You’re worried I’ll smoother the brat, or she’ll walk wall-eyed in-front of a carriage!’

‘You’re a monster, that’s true. I’d do right to take her away from you.’

‘Go on then. I don’t want her!’

‘You’re wrong. She’s all that’s left of him. What would you have then? Old photos. I may as well tie the noose for you now, you old cow.’

Isabelle’s face was bright red and enflamed like she’d been bitten in the cheeks by a snake. She reached for the only thing near her, one of her husbands’ pictures, and launched it at Abi; it missed her and then they both watched as it hit the wall and Isabelle’s heart shattered with it and into as many pieces. She screamed out from the pain and dropped to her knees to pick up the pieces of glass and frame and held the photo to her chest.

Abi stopped herself leaving and knelt down beside her to help her pick up the pieces.

*

Abigale was at the steps to greet Constantine as a carriage rumbled along the path towards the house, but as it became clearer in her vision, she realized it was a different one from the days before and this one didn’t have Frederick and his miserable face leading it. The carriage pulled to a swift stop at the base of the stairs where Abi stood in the doorway. The carriage door opened and an old man with a smile poking through a long, thick grey beard stepped out. He had a letter in his hand which he thrust in the nanny’s direction. She took it suspiciously and asked what it was. The man told her that it was for the lady of the house. He nodded, then lifted himself back up into the carriage. When he closed the door, the painting on the outside read ‘Hawthorne legal services’. He smiled again from the darkness and she saw his brown teeth and white eyes. Abi took the letter inside and turned it over in her hands, she thought about opening it, her thumb nail already beneath the paper flap above the seal; there was something ominous about it. She restrained herself and decided to leave it on the side table for Isabelle, then she put on her coat and left for the town.

*

The letter was to inform Mrs. Isabelle Winter that her husband had been declared dead and that his estate was now owned by his parents, Mr. and Mrs Winter. As they were now the legal owners of the home, they had decided to divest certain assets, this home being one. She was to vacate within two months and during this notice period, she was to expect viewings of the property until it was sold.

Isabelle let the letter float gently to the hall floor beside the open door. The expanding void inside of her had now nearly taken control of her whole body, sucking up her soul, her light, and the snap of thoughts firing around her brain slowed and dissolved away. She was near hollow now. She had never read Alexander’s will. Perhaps she was never in his will at all. Why would he have done that? She hadn’t spoken to his parents since they came that night to take Cynthia. Perhaps she should plead for them to allow her to stay, for Cynthia at least. To them, she was a gold digger, a tramp, just like everyone else in the town thought and she gripped her dress and felt her head sway and thought to herself, if so many people believe it, is it for her to disagree? Perhaps she’s the one who’s wrong? In that moment, she lost the sense of if she was even stood upright, her body pushed out a final tear from the edge of her eye and she collapsed against the floor.

Abigale reached over to squeeze a loaf of bread in the bakery, knowing full well that the baker, Victor, was watching her backside. She slowly stood back up, cradling an empty wicker basket and looked over her shoulder at him. She asked him if he was watching her and he said that of course he was and she smiled.

Frederick led the two horses to the door of Isabelle’s house. Constantine left the carriage and, as he always did, tried to fix himself for when she saw him at the window. He looked up for her but she wasn’t there and the smile fell from his face like it was paint on wet glass. He walked slowly up to the door and noticed it was ajar. From habit, he reached for his gun in his waistband and found nothing. He looked in through the window and saw a woman laying on the floor. He clattered into the door with his shoulder and moved quickly inside. At first he thought it was the nanny, and then he realized it was Isabelle and recoiled nervously. He knelt down beside her and looked on her soft features, the darkness around her eyes, the internal sadness. He moved the hair from her face so he could see her better. She was the single loveliest thing he’d ever set his eyes on and he felt a sinkhole spring inside his chest which withdrew at the idea of her rejecting him. He delicately slid his hands beneath her, conscious of where to touch her, and lifted her into his arms. She reached up and smoothed her hand around his neck and he looked nervously down at her face. Her eyes were still closed but tears were falling from their edges and she asked softly if it was really him. That he’d come back for her at last. He laid her on the sofa before the bare fireplace and exhaled with a little sadness.

Abi tried to pay for her loaf of bread and Victor used it as an opportunity to hold her hand. He pressed the coin back into her palm (as she knew he would). She smiled and let him raise her hand a little closer to him. His eyes stayed with hers, asking permission with each inch he drew her fingers to his mouth until he kissed them. She giggled and told him that she had to leave.

'Abigail, you are the reason I open that door each morning.’ Victor was confident with his words and his opinions and Abi knew it, but she was also suspicious of it. ‘Your beautiful countenance, your rapturous backside.’ He continued. She scowled at him and told him that was too much, that she was a lady. He told her that he plans to investigate that in a little more detail. Anatomical detail. He kissed her hand again and Abi smiled as she had no idea what that meant.

Before she left, Victor asked how Mrs. Winter was. He’d heard about the incident in the street and he told her about how disgusted he was. Abi told him that a man had helped her home and that he’d visited since but the lady wouldn’t see him. Victor told her that it was probably for the best and Abi asked why that was.

‘He’s a famous war hero, or war villain, it changes. He’s been returned home now, but at the end of his last tour, he refused to leave. He chose to stay in the fight.’

'That sounds heroic.’

‘It does. Certainly, it does. But the reasons why may not have been for Queen and country, but blood and terror, and love of it, or so the story goes.’

‘I’d never known you for a gossip Victor, or one to judge a man you don’t know.’

‘And I am still that way, my Abi. But I’m a little wary only because if he’s interested in Mrs. Winter, that’ll involve you.’

‘I’ll be fine, Victor. I can take care of myself.’

‘I know that, my darling. But can’t an admirer impart some cautious advice on his beloved.’

‘He can. So I guess you had best tell me more.’

Abi smiled for much of her journey home, she thought of Victor, his hands on hers, her fingers on his lips. She walked light-footed up the stairs of her home, her senses perfumed in a mist of happiness. She noticed the light, the warmth which poured out from around the large front door and she though how nice it was that Isabelle must have lit them a fire. She smiled and moved inside, closing the door behind her. She took off her coat and gloves and called out asking if that man had been back today and that she had some things to tell her about him. Constantine replied from inside the hall: oh, really?

Abi startled and turned to him, dropping her keys.

‘Don’t be startled. I found her on the floor. I couldn’t leave her.’

He was stood beside the fire, she could see Mrs. Winter asleep on the sofa and the child swaddled in the arm chair. Beside the fire was a small pile of logs and some papers he must have gathered. The flames flickered up the side of his body bringing his face in and out of the darkness. Abi’s was frozen, her discomfort was all around him. Constantine nodded and lowered his head to stem the nanny’s fear, then he moved purposefully toward the door and Abi shuttled nervously away from him. He bid her good night and left. Abi locked the door behind him and peered out of the window. He was already disappearing into the darkness, alone and unafraid.

On the floor beside Isabelle was the eviction letter, which she picked up and read. She looked down at her mistress and frowned with sympathy. She lifted Isabelle’s head and sat beneath, then she rested it back down on her thigh and stroked her hair. Cynthia was bundled into a small pink ball on the chair beside her, so she reached for her, scooped her up, and secured her next to them at the back of the sofa cushions.

Abi woke with the child in her arms. Its little fingers, sticky from its mouth, pressed against the bare skin of her arm. Isabelle was sat upright, not looking at them, or anywhere it seemed. She gazed upon the room like a blind woman might.

Neither of the women spoke. Abi lifted herself up and cooed to the child before walking to the kitchen with her. It was cold inside so she sat the child on the side board and lit a small pile of logs in the stove. A warm smell rose and diffused out into the room, softening the hard wooden edges of the furniture and cold uneven grey flag stones on the floor.

She placed a pan on the stove top and heated some of the soup from two nights previous. She opened one of the Barron cupboards and pulled out a pepper box in the hope it may improve the stale taste. The child took a small sip once it was warmer, then waited for her milk once Abi had fetched some from outside. She swilled the milk around in the bottle to remove the separation and heated it next to the soup. She looked at Cynthia and said ‘milk’, then pointed at it. Cynthia looked at the ceiling, lost in its emptiness. Abi kissed her head and told her that she’d get it soon, then her smiled a sad grin, worried for the child.

Once Cynthia was fed, Abi sat her in front of her mother who was now letting the last of the fire embers burn into the backs of her eyes.

‘What happened last night?’ Isabelle asked

‘You don’t remember?’

‘Would I ask if I did?’

‘I suppose not. Do you remember the letter? I’d guess that was why you passed out. And were you aware when he came in here?’

‘Who?’ Her head snapped to face Abi.

‘You know who. The rifleman. The man that’s been calling for you each day.’

‘The rifleman? You mean the man who pesters this house incessantly?’

‘I do. In town, that’s what they call him.’

'His name is irrelevant!’

‘Is it now? You were about to say it.’ Abi smirked.

‘And he was in this house? Alone, with me?’

‘He was. He had you laid up on this sofa where you woke and the child wrapped up beside you. He says he called by and found you passed out on this floor.’

‘How dare he come into this house. I’ll have him arrested!’

‘You may need to from what I’ve heard in town.’

‘What have you heard?’

‘All kinds, but nothing good. Everyone seems scared of him. He’s the son of some local land owner, finally returned home after years at war. He left as a boy soldier, never married, and refused to come home when his tour had ended. The people are saying it’s because he loved to kill people, and not just men. They say he killed over a hundred people.’

‘Who told you this?’

‘Lots of people. Someone even said his nickname was Vlad, as in Vlad the impaler.’ Abi was serious, but sarcastic in the ridiculous things she’d heard, she continued: ‘He always seemed so nice. I dare say I would have trusted him. The next time I’m in town, I’ll be sure to tell the police about his intrusion.’

‘Well, um, perhaps to tell the police would be a little extreme. Anyway, what about this letter?’

‘You don’t remember?’ Abi asked.

‘For the love of God, no!’ Abi handed it to her. Isabelle opened it, read and then put it back into the envelope.

‘What do you think?’

‘What’s there to think? I’ll be on the street in two months.’

‘Is there nothing we can do? Reach out to his parents?’

‘It’s them who’ve done this, Abi, you imbecile! It’s them, punishing the gold digger who married their son and took him away from them.’

‘Well, maybe we could rent a room here, or sell off some of the land?’

‘It’s not mine to sell! And what I do have wouldn’t keep them away more than a week. If I can’t buy this house, I’ll be destitute! Get it through your thick skull!’

‘And what about Cynthia?’

‘What about her?’

‘Well, she’s your daughter, she needs looking after.’

‘She’ll be carted away by the state I’d presume. Why, do you want her?’

‘You’d give her up that easy?’

‘What have I for her? She’d see more love from the coarse matrons at the orphanage having her descale toilets, or the nuns whipping the demons out of her.’

‘She gets love from me.’

‘You have her then! You have her! You saint, you perfect individual, you have her!’

‘Maybe, maybe I will.’ She lifted Cynthia up to bounce her tears away.

‘Or maybe I’ll marry the rifleman, how about that? That would get your greedy mitts paid, wouldn’t it? Wealthy landowner, never married, sounds perfect.’

‘Maybe you should - Izzy and Vlad. Then maybe he’d put us all out of our misery one night with his rifle.’

‘The chance would be a fine thing! Keep your door locked Abi!’

*

Morning had been and gone, the sun was high and the grey sky had diluted into a soft blue. The nude sun caught on each drop of dew across the thousands of blades of grass. Abigale rocked the child to ease her tears. She’d heard her screams from the kitchen and knew her mother would just leave her to it.

The Child’s wails subsided and the ringing in Abi’s ears with it. She cursed Isabelle beneath her breath and asked the child why her mother didn’t care, then she told her that she loved her, yes she did, so very much. She blew raspberries on her neck and the child giggled happily.

A ball of dust moved its way along above the tree line in the distance like it was being shook from the branches which ran along the walls of their land. A black coach passed between the stone columns of their driveway and Abi recognized it immediately as Frederick and the rifleman, Constantine. She left the Child’s room still carrying her in her arms. She knocked on the Isabelle’s door and carefully pushed it open. Isabelle was stood solemnly at the widow, watching him approach.

‘It’s him you know, miss.’

‘Of course it is. We’re not all slow like you, Abigale.’

She noticed that Isabelle clutched the photo frame of her husband’s picture. She asked her master what she intended to do. Isabelle exhaled and told her that she wasn’t sure. Abi rocked the child again as she began to writhe and complain. The mother’s neck pinched up at her child’s cries and coldly she told Abi to leave.

When Abi reached the front door, the rifleman was with the carriage horses removing the girth strap from one of them. She asked him what he was doing and he told her he planned to take her mistress on a ride through the moors. She told him that she wasn’t sure she could ride and he told her that they would soon see.

Abi stood a little bewildered at the man. She looked at Frederick who was spitting on his boots as if he intended to clean them but not rubbing it in or buffing them, just observing the roll of the saliva like a moron. Abi had her arms crossed and once the rifleman had freed the horses and slung saddles to their backs, she told him that she doubted the mistress would come down for this and that perhaps he was wasting his time. He was silent as he fastened the final buckle. Then he looked up at Abi.

‘Well?’ She asked him.

‘Well, would you mind asking her if she’d see me. Please.’

Abi paused and weighed her options. She looked at Constantine and saw vulnerability in his actions, in his being here. He stopped, sensing Abi’s gaze, and looked up at her. ‘Are you a good man?’ She asked. He was a little taken aback by this. Frederick looked down at the nanny, then Constantine.

‘Is it for me to say? Do you not think I am?’ He asked.

‘I don’t know you.’

‘And you shan’t If you don’t speak with me.’

‘We’re speaking right now, aren’t we?’

‘And you’re unsure?’

‘I am. Quite unsure.’ Abi would have loved to tear off his shirt and sink her mouth into his neck, to drag her hands across his body. He was very attractive.

He nodded and looked to his feet, unsure of where to go to next. This was the most he’d spoken in a year. ‘Well, I can only ask that you’d at least give me a chance. I’m not much of a talker, but I could help you around this house until you’ve got the bearing of me?’

‘Help around the house?’ She was shocked.

‘Yes.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Collecting wood. Building fires. Fixing things that are broken. I can cook a little’

‘Hmm. And what shall I do while you try and replace me?’

With that, she went back into the house and closed the door. He heard her heavy footsteps trounce the stair rungs, then some shouting, then a child crying. He gave a side glance to Frederick to see if he was hearing this too. Frederick was chewing, as usual, and glaring with judgement at the rifleman.

A few moments later, Abi was at the door. She told him, very formally, that the lady, Isabelle winter, married, wouldn’t see him today and that perhaps it was a waste of time him coming here. He nodded and started to undo the straps holding the saddles on the horses. Isabelle looked down from her window at him and pulled the photograph tighter into her stomach. She whispered to herself, asking that he please didn’t come back.

The next day, there was no carriage, Constantine instead rode his horse to the door pulling the second behind him.

Abi, in disbelief, opened the door and asked him if he’d ever stop coming. He looked a little embarrassed as he tried to hold the horses still. Then he only said, ‘please’.

The door closed on him, but after almost half an hour, it reopened and Isabelle stood there. She didn’t speak to him, she only moved up beside the horse he held and put her foot in the stirrup, holding the saddle with both hands and pulling herself up and over, her skirt inflated with petticoats around her. He handed her the reigns and she pulled the horse around and set off up the drive and into the moors beyond.

The sun was setting ahead of them, cracking on the horizon and spilling itself across the earth. The ground beneath the horse’s hooves was soft and sank and filled with water leaving tiny pools in their wake. The riders said nothing to each other; Constantine followed her, pulling up alongside her as best he could before she drove the horse harder forward and left him in her wake. He watched her bound over the soft green canvas of ferns and bracken. Her blue dress tight on her back. Her hair loosening from its pins and unfolding behind her.

The horses tired and she could see the froth around its bit and felt the moisture which seeped up through its hair. She slowed and Constantine did too. They walked the horses on gently and looked out into the plains of empty grassland. A haze held across the horizon like a silk curtain allowing her to look directly at the dying sun, now a deep bronze. Constantine moved beside her and their horses stopped together. He folded the reigns over the back of his horse’s neck and let his arm drop beside Isabelle’s. He reached out and touched the outside of her hand. She recoiled quickly and shot him a startled glance. It had been so long since a man had touched her skin, but more than that, she felt ashamed as she wasn’t his to touch, she was her husband’s as he was her’s. The rifleman crossed his arms across the horses neck and leant forward. She looked at him again, softer this time. He caught her and smiled. She raised her boot up and kicked him hard in the arm. He fell from the horse and landed roughly on the ground. He didn’t say anything, only pulled himself back up and joined her in watching the final crest of the sun descend into the netherworld.

The next day, while Isabelle lay awake across her bed, her husband’s picture in her arms, the rifleman was downstairs carrying in chairs for a new dining table he’d brought. He told Frederick to get down and help him carry the table. Frederick groaned in response and so Constantine slapped one of the lead horses on the rear and jerked the carriage forward. Frederick’s eyes sprung wide as it jolted him out of his seat.

They carried the table in as the nanny watched from the garden. She was contemptuous, but reluctant to stop them as they hadn’t had a table since it was burnt for warmth. Besides, if Izzy didn’t like it, they could always burn this one too. She set a mental note to stop calling her mistress Izzy, even in her thoughts, as she knew she hated it. Abi was on her knees pulling some carrots from the earth. She stopped, wiped some of the mess from her hands and called to the men: ‘well, we best be getting you some tea’.

Constantine nodded in thanks. Frederick only glared miserably but dismounted non-the-less and followed her into the kitchen. While the pot boiled, Constantine was outside where he gave the horses some water and loosened their bridles - they flicked their heads up and down and he placed his hand flat on each of their noses to calm their restlessness and anxiety. Abi watched him through the kitchen window while she ran some water over the dusty cups. Frederick, who was now sat on a stool in the corner of the room with no intention of helping Abi, hocked back a thick ball of phlegm which hit the back of his throat before being swallowed. Abi, horrified, shrunk her neck down into her body until her shoulders rubbed her ears. Her mouth sagged in disgust as she turned to the vile creature but saw only his dirty boots protruding from the darkness, muck dripping from them. She turned back to Constantine and thought about how strange this pair were, how oddly they acted for master and servant, they seemed more like reluctant acquaintances, members of a broken troupe; she wondered in that moment how far from the truth her assumptions really were, perhaps these men weren’t what they had said; she felt a chill of discomfort run through her spine. The chair Frederick rocked on creaked behind her and so she span to face him. Frederick was stood, his arms flat against his sides, the sharp angles of his face catching blades of light tumbling from the imperfect window glass.

'Everything OK?’ She asked him.

He didn’t reply, he squinted his eyes and tried to read her awkward stance, she gripped the sink edge tightly.

'Frederick?’ She said nervously.

He snorted out a laugh and the went back to his chair, his body again fell into the darkness. Abi composed herself, she drew in a deep breath, and told herself to stop being ridiculous. She tried to think of something to break the silence and asked Frederick what the rifleman’s real name was. He didn’t reply, he chair only stopped creaking for a moment, then continued as it had before. She told him not to worry, that she already knew, and that she didn’t care anyway. Frederick grunted from the darkness as if he were laughing at her. She told him that the chair he was on was not a rocking chair. He stopped again and silence bled from the shadows.

The rifleman wasn’t there when she looked back to the horses. Abi heard the front door close, but Constantine didn’t appear in the kitchen. She headed out into the Lounge and saw him loading the fire with the logs he’d cut. She asked him if he ever planned on coming for his tea or if he just meant for her to waste her time. He left the fire and followed her into the kitchen. He saw Frederick’s legs sticking out from the shadows, they didn’t move, and he thought to himself how much like a dead body it looked and in a moment, he was back in France; he trod softly through the house and found a dead man slumped against the wall with a bayonet through his neck. The man’s eyes were still open, dry and tacky; grey and vacant. His tongue was rolled out of his lips and blood from his mouth had spilled down onto his chest where he was punctured six times. He looked to the table beside him and a woman was slumped across it, naked, her skin flayed.

Abi was clicking her fingers in front of his face and he caught her arm roughly, his great fingers constricted around her skin. She grappled with him until he let her go, his eyes were still as vacant as a moment before. He whispered softly that he was sorry. Abi rubbed her arm and looked uncomfortably between the two men. She took a step back and felt the cold porcelain of the sink on her back and wished that Vincent were with her. Frederick giggled from the darkness.

Constantine recognized her uneasiness and felt ashamed. He hung his head and left the house where he reattached the horses to their mounting arm. He climbed into the carriage and sat quietly, shadows bled slowly across the yellow stone walls ahead and screams filled his ears from all directions; a man laid wounded on the seat in-front of him, his hand clutching his own bowels which were writhing through his fingers. A few moments later, Frederick looked through the window at his young companion, then climbed the carriage and took his reigns which he used to click the horses on and lead them all away.

Abi watched them leave and felt a pang of regret that she hadn’t told him that it was OK, that he need not worry. She’d seen men who’d come back act like this, to lose themselves in a memory that’s still not done with tormenting them. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. With that, she ran from the house and shouted after them. Constantine could hear her from inside the carriage, so he knew Frederick could too, but he wasn’t stopping. He thumped the roof of the cabin and the horses gradually came to a halt.

Abi, panting and pale, looked up at Frederick and scowled. He leant over and spat down to the ground beside her, a thick black gob nestled beside her foot. She looked down at it in disbelief, she wasn’t some animal, she wasn’t worth that. She could feel it bubbling inside of her chest, hot and vulgar. The rifleman could see the anger turning her cheeks red and he smiled. She looked up at Frederick and his smile disappeared. She picked up a rock from the ground and threw it at his head. He shielded it with his arm and then felt his jacket being pulled toward the earth. He hit the ground hard and wailed out in pain. The rifleman grabbed Abi by the arm and she turned menacingly to him so he let her go.

‘What can I do for you, Abi?’

She was still panting and spoke as quickly as her breath allowed.

‘Well. I. I’m not sure now. I. I guess you could help me with the vegetables.’

Isabelle watched them from her window. Constantine stepped from the carriage and stood high above Abigale. They left Frederick on the ground and walked slowly back towards the house.

Abi asked Constantine what his name was. He told her that he was sure she’d already heard. She said she had, but thought it impolite to not ask. He asked her to tell him it as he hadn’t heard his real name in quite some time. She asked him why and he told her that he was known by a different name in the war and even after. She asked what it was and he told her, Vlad.

‘Now, would you mind telling me my name?’ He said.

‘OK. Oscar.’ She said, smirking.

‘Oscar? Who told you that?’

‘I had it on good authority!’

‘Who was this authority?’

‘A secret one.’

‘Ah, the most dangerous kind.’

‘That’s right.’

‘I’d assume that was Victor the baker then?’

‘How’d you… of course not.’

‘Well, my name isn’t Oscar, it’s Constantine.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, you don’t like it?’

‘No, it’s fine, it’s just, well, not an English name. Besides, I knew that already.’

He nodded as if that were enough of an answer. Then she blurted out, ‘Vlad?’ And he laughed.

Together, they pulled the remaining vegetables and talked and laughed. Frederick sat up on his carriage and faced out towards the exit. He still had the horses ready to leave. Isabelle was still upstairs, she paced her room and waited for the men to leave. Eventually, she heard Abi coming up the stairs and she sat on her bed and pretended to not be waiting. She saw the shadows of her feet spread from beneath the door and then disappear. Abi entered the child’s room and cooed loudly to her as she woke. Then she took her from her bed and walked slowly back along the landing.

‘Abi?’ Isabelle called. The footsteps stopped.

‘Yes?’

‘I want those men to leave.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ The footsteps continued.

Before he left, Constantine set the fire he’d begun earlier and filled the vast lounge and entrance with light and warmth. The flames threw their beams up the dark walls and revealed the frame shaped voids where paintings once hung. Towards the ceiling, several sooty faces of ancient people all immortalized in grand paintings still hung decaying slowly. He had grown up in a splendid country home like this. Abi looked up with him and told him it was a shame. She told him the only reason these final few paintings are even here now is that she can’t reach them to take them down. Constantine asked if Isabelle could still afford to live and Abi looked to her feet and told him that it wasn’t for her to say but he read the letter, so he already knew the answer. He nodded.

‘Constantine?’ She asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Can I call you Con?’

‘Why would you wish to do that?’

‘Because Constantine is too long. It’s too much breath to just get your attention and I have too many words to fit into a single breath as it is.’

*

Isabelle watched Constantine lead a beautiful white horse into the stable block. There hadn’t been a horse in there for years. He pulled several bails of hay from the carriage he came in on, he yanked them through the small door in a puff of choking dust, then dragged them in by the twine that held them together. The clouds were a soft white, edged with shimmering gold lines casting shifting grey shadows over him, occasionally lighting up his face as he moved through their penumbra and she thought of how handsome he was. She squeezed her husband’s picture until her fingers had gone white and the sharpness pained her. She turned from him and looked over her empty room, her comforting prison, she thought how much it resembled her own body, her mind, a nesting doll of isolation. Cynthia wailed from another room, no doubt from hunger. Abi was outside pretending to pick vegetables, she’d pulled one up and then spent triple the time watching Constantine sweat through his shirt, his long hair breaking from its uniformity and sweeping his shoulders. Isabelle watched Abi rub her neck, pained from how long she’d had it twisted up to watch him. She wondered if he knew he was being observed, if he was doing it on purpose, if this was some childish game he was playing to weasel his way into their lives.

Isabelle sat down on her bed and closed her eyes. She drifted into a time she thought she remembered and her husband’s arms were around her. They sank deeper into the bed until the sheets enveloped them both and his lips rested against hers.

*

Abi was laughing in the kitchen with Constantine. Cynthia must have been with them as she was giggling too. Isabelle opened her door and called down for them to be quiet. Silence spread amongst them, then whispering, then giggling again. Frustrated, Isabelle went down the stairs and into the kitchen. Constantine was washing his hands quietly in the sink. Abi was tickling the child.

‘Can you two please keep the noise down’ Isabelle demanded.

Abi left the child and pulled her hands back to her sides. ‘Why would you want that?’ She asked.

‘Because your childish flirtations are making me sick!’

Abi, embarrassed, smoothed down her skirt. Constantine wrung his hands and smiled at Isabelle. He nodded softly, then left through the kitchen door. Abi scowled at her mistress and they both awkwardly watched out of the window until Constantine came into view.

'He really is a beautiful man.’ Abi swooned.

Isabelle growled and gripped the sides of her skirt in frustration. She left the kitchen and ran after Constantine. The stones which peppered their driveway dug into her feet and so she shouted at Constantine’s back; she demanded to know why he kept coming back; why he would come to a place he’s not wanted. Constantine stopped, but didn’t turn around. He weighed her words for a moment and then let them drag his chin down to his chest. He nodded sadly and continued to walk away from her.

Isabelle, not satisfied, but also not wanting him to leave and not knowing why, continued:

‘Don’t walk away. Hey!’ She marched quickly after him and grabbed his shoulder. ‘Don’t you walk away from me.’

He stopped and turned to face her; she walked straight into his chest and his hands fell onto her hips. She put hers flat onto his chest and pushed him back. He stared deep into her eyes and she couldn’t leave find a spot for hers to land.

‘Why do you keep coming back? You know I don’t want you here.’ She was upset.

‘I’m sorry. I’m trying to leave.’

‘Don’t be smart with me. And what are you sorry for, do you even know?’

He nodded. ‘I’m selfish. I’m being selfish.’

‘Yes, yes you are. I’m married, you shouldn’t come here.’

‘I know that, and that’s why I’m sorry. I just want to be near you, that’s all.’

Constantine turned away from her and headed for the carriage. She panicked, not sure what she should do. Did she really want him to leave, she thought. ‘Wait. Wait for second!’

He stopped again and turned to her.

‘You. Let me think. Let me think. You’ve left a horse in that stable. I saw you.’

‘She’s for you. You are a beautiful rider. She’s never looked better. I wanted you to have her.’

Tears were in Isabelle’s eyes. Frustrated she twisted on the spot and struck her fists into her hips. Her mind fighting a battle her body couldn’t compute. She let it pour out and then took a deep breath and told him that she didn’t love him, that she couldn’t love him. She asked him if he understood and he tried to keep his chin raised, then told her that he did, but this was for him more than it was for her. That he can’t leave her, that she’s the first thing that made him feel human in a long time. He told her that he knew this was selfish, that this was just about him. He told her that he wouldn’t come back again if that was really what she wanted. She told him that she didn’t know. She said, maybe he could come back, but they could only ever be friends. He nodded and told her that it was more than he needed.

Isabelle smiled and turned back for the house where Abi was stood waiting. Isabelle pushed past her and Abi gave Constantine the thumbs up after she’d passed.

*

Abi was on her knees with Constantine planting seeds. He turned the earth and she dropped the seeds. She watched his muscles tense and contract whilst looking down his shirt. He told her that she picked the easy job today so she took the spade from him roughly and began to turn the soil herself. Frederick laid back on his carriage perch like he intended to take some sun, but he had his hat covering his face and long clothes covering his arms and legs, the filth on them radiating a soft halo around his body obscuring his silhouette. The horses were free from the carriage, their delicate muzzle’s chewed on the lush grass, their bridalry chimed softly with each bite.

Abi asked Constantine whether he had any family. He told her that he didn’t. That when his father died, he finally left the war and came home. She asked him if he loved him and he told her that he did. He told her that his mother and father were connected so deeply that they couldn’t live without each other. He knew this, but before he’d made it back, his mother had passed too. Abi told him that she was sorry and he told her that she shouldn’t worry, that who could ask for more than a bond which transcended their own call to exist. He could only wish for such a thing.

A horse snorted loudly behind him. Abi looked up and extended her brow with her hand. Isabelle was on the horse’s back. Constantine turned to her and she told him, ‘come on then’. She turned the horse and set off fast. Constantine looked back at Abi, surprised. She shooed him on and told him to hurry.

Short on time, he took hold of one of Frederick’s horses and leapt onto her back then galloped after Isabelle’s white mare. He caught her and they rode out as they had done before but this time she opened her eyes and saw him beside her, bold and imposing, his powerful body pushing forward. He shifted his eyes and met her gaze. She snapped her reigns and surged ahead of him, her mare leapt an ancient tree branch and rolled onwards into the infinite moor.

They slowed and he pulled up beside her. His fingers, still gripping the reins, reached a small one out and rubbed the side of hers. She looked down and wrapped her two fingers around his. They didn’t speak, only stared contently forward at the end of a vast cavern that was now a place to store all their secrets, their memories, and Constantine smiled and she was content for the first time in the years since he’d left, since Alexander had left.

*

When they got back, Constantine took her horse and Isabelle left him and went back into the house. By the time she’d made it to her room, he was leading Frederick’s horse back to him, the miserable driver stood tall at the front, arms on hips asking him how long he intended to leave him out here. Constantine hooked the horse to the carriage trace shafts and then attached the second horse. He rubbed their noses and bumped foreheads with the one he’d ridden. He looked to Isabelle’s window and she wasn’t there. The large stone house darker than the sky surrounding it. A small light flashed in the woods and caught his eye. He walked to the edge of the tree line and tried to catch a better look at whatever was glinting. Branches snapped and a figure fled into the darkness. Constantine drove into the wood after it and came upon a swing hanging solitarily in a small clearing. It was old but well made. The branch it hung from was strong and didn’t move when he pulled on the rope hanging from it. He looked past it into the dense woodland and wondered how far back it went; it was inside the estate walls and so had to end somewhere near.

‘What are you doing here?’ Isabelle was behind him. ‘This place isn’t for you.’

Constantine turned to her. She was furious, her chest heaved, but her eyes showed him a woman on the edge of collapse. He began to walk towards her and she told him to stop. She held out her hand and ground her teeth. ‘Stop.’

‘What are you doing here?’ She demanded.

‘I thought I saw something in here.’

‘Well, this place is not for you. This is my place. This is what he made for me.’

Constantine looked at the swing, his hand let go of the rope he still held. ‘I understand. I’m sorry.’

‘You’ll never replace him you know. Never. He is the love of my life. He has the whole of my heart.’

‘I know. I see how much you love him. I’m not here to change that. I’m only here because I can’t keep myself away. I don’t have anybody else.’

‘My emotions are not here to be toyed with! I’m not here to keep some lonely orphan company!’ Isabelle had her arms thrown out wide.

‘That isn’t what I mean.’

‘What do you mean then?’

Constantine stepped back towards the swing and looked up at the amber sky through the sharp canopy of branches, it looked like smashed porcelain.

‘Isabelle, I’ve never been in love. I’ve never been drawn to another human. You’re right, it’s not your role to be the recipient of my awkwardness, my inexperience. And I don’t mean to inflict any hardship upon you. I only wish to be around you. Around you, everything in my life is that little bit lighter, my own heart ache doesn’t weigh so heavily on these shoulders. But the real truth is, it’s all lifted by you, being around you makes me happy, it makes me comfortable. When you push me away, it hurts, but not as much as the idea of never seeing you again.’

Constantine struggled to meet her eyes. He took a deep breath and continued.

‘I imagine the way I feel for you only gives me an insight into a fraction of how you feel for your husband and to imagine losing that, I just can’t fathom. I know of your husband, I heard the stories about him; I heard about the men he saved while he was captured. A real war hero. I know that little Cynthia is his daughter and that she is a living piece of him, his legacy, his memory. I won’t live up to that. And I know I could never take what you have with him, but if he has the whole heart, perhaps if I gave you all of mine, you’d grant me just a piece of yours; less than I deserve, but no more than you can part with. I’m here for everything that’s past and all that’s to follow. I’m here for you, because I don’t think I could live without you now.’

He looked up at her at last and her arms were by her sides, her eyes full of tears. She shook her head. She told him that she didn’t think that she could. That she loved her husband too much to bear. Constantine moved closer to her and she let him. He wrapped his arms around her and her face pressed into his shoulder and wept, her legs weakened and Constantine supported her as they lowered onto the ground. He smoothed his hand across her hair and pulled her in tighter. She brought up her arms and grabbed two fists full of his coat and he leant back to see her face and all they saw of each other was the darkness within their eyes until he kissed her softly on the lips and she let him. Isabelle moved her head back gently and told him that he wasn’t to come back here anymore. He asked if she meant the house and she told him, ‘no, the swing’.