Refuge In The Shadows

17.

It did not take long to locate the deadly and mysterious feminine figure in the sea of green that was Hyde Park. James weaved gracefully around nannies and governesses reining in much too excited children, and courting couples out for an afternoon stroll. Halting by the edge of The Serpentine, he stopped a few metres away from Carys who was not yet aware of his presence. She sat on the grass with her back against a tree, the shade of its leaves just missing her small frame by a few centimetres.

In the months that followed, William wrote letter after letter from his cell demanding his uncle's factory supervisors to let more workers return home for the night, to put in place safety regulations on the factory floor, to cease sending men into the run-down neighbourhoods of the East End to entice innocent and desperate people. Gradually, John Carraway's enterprise was taking a turn for the better. The man himself did not seem to notice such changes in his correspondence to his nephew supposedly still staying in Manchester. In the meantime, Carys continued her weekly training sessions with the courtesans and with Cadeyrn, made sure Adelaide and her friends and family were the first of the workers to be allowed their own homes.

Now as James watched, Carys had not bothered to conceal her unconventional appearance before wandering into public. Without a plait and flat cap, her hair tumbled down her back, a few strands lifting lazily in the faint breeze. Crossing the line between a deep navy blue to midnight black, the tresses rested on the woolen jacket that covered her delicate shoulders. Her arms wrapped themselves tightly around her trouser-clad knees and the tops of her leather boots.

It was rare that an early spring day would bring forth a cloudless sky and Carys appeared to be relishing in every drop of golden sunshine. She tilted her dainty face toward the heavens. Her eyes fluttered shut to let the tips of her dark lashes brush against the purplish bruising of sleepless nights. The upwards tilt of her head revealed the sharp edge of her jawline and cheekbones, the latter of which spotted a smattering of pink from the sun.

All James could hear was the frantic thundering of his heart in his chest and his shallow breaths as he seared the image into his memory to get him through the horrors that awaited him in the future.

His mother had told him many stories to ease his own restlessness every night by the dying flame of the single candle she could afford to burn. Stories of mythical creatures and faraway kingdoms that were blissful escapes from the slums of London. Tell me more about the faeries, James begged her as she sat down on a rickety wooden stool by his bedside. She smiled and her soft, gentle voice whisked him away to the ancient Courts and euphoric twilight revels.

The ethereal girl among the mundane resembled exactly what James imagined The Fair Folk would look like. Beauty and violence clashing forcefully in their perpetual fight for dominance underneath skin and bone. Beings that looked like Carys could make him bow before them with the slightest lift of their lips and gut him where he crouched at their feet–and he could not do anything about it, would not do anything about it. But standing next to the fae, Carys would have never felt more out of place. Her human heart and with it her fierce, blind protectiveness and love, strength, anguish, and frailty would shine more brightly than faeries' seductive promises and illusory smiles.

The breeze now blew from his direction and at the shift in the current, Carys opened her eyes and turned to gaze at James by the water. The depthless swirls of blue of an ocean caught in a storm seemed to peer into James's soul and softened a fraction as if offering him comfort for whatever demons they saw within. James took it as his cue to join her under the tree. By the time he settled down next to her, Carys had already trained her eyes on the edge of the park where green met the grey of cobblestones.

"I needed to feel the grass under my palms, hear the rustling whispers of leaves in my ears again–" Carys absently stroked the petals of a dandelion"–I suppose being here in the park will tie me over until I am back home." James swallowed thickly and looked down at his calloused, scarred hands. Home. Dolgellau. Away from me.