Salvation of Ignorance

Chapter 10: Familiarity With Her Circumstances

Niall had only cried thrice in his life. 

The first was as a lad, after being fed dirt by his childhood friend. It was not the dirt that did him in, but the resurfacing worm a day later. His final-two catharses were after the passing of two distinct relatives. 

It was this not-so-fine, cool, Autumn noon that tempted his fourth. 

"These as well, your lordship?" 

Niall lowered his hand and glowered at the page holding another chest with Niall's family name printed on it. 

"I hadn't instructed you otherwise the last seven times."

"No, sir," The page said, unnecessarily, before scampering off to add on to the already prominent load. The poor carriage bore the Claremont crest and Niall's future headaches. For once, the crew seemed attentive to decreasing the usual likelihood that a fraction of the luggage may be lost amongst the highway's rough terrain. 

Peter better rent himself a hearse. 

Obviously, Niall couldn't blame Peter for being unaware of Niall's higher-ranking colleges bombarding the Baron with their paper work on his return. Granted, if the maritime bourgeois took to listening to something other than his own voice, perhaps he might had been enlightened. But that was a matter to address at a later time. No, Peter's fault lay in having promised the retrieval of Niall's paperwork. And then never complying. 

Niall pinched his nose once more. No, that wasn't right. Peter did him wrong, but Niall's predicament was set in stone the minute he was tempted by months of undisturbed slumber. However, Niall was pissed and wanted to blame someone and knew he couldn't. He would have to bite his tongue and do his job. Per usual. 

Once his anger seemed reasonably settled, Niall lowered his hand. The page entered his vision, staring at him. Having seemed to have been doing that for quite some time. 

Niall raised a brow, prompting the page to stand erect. "We've packed it all, sir." 

The baron nodded, then folded his arms and examined his well-stocked carriage. 

Men of seven and twenty do not cry. 

"Will you be needin' an'thin' else, sir?" 

"No, that will be all," Niall said with eyes still on the cause of many all-nighters to come. 

The vulture seemed intent on avoiding departure. Possibly out of concern for his employer's predicament, but--given that the boy had been shamelessly examining Niall's pocket--more than likely not. 

Fortunately for the tax-collector-in-the-making, Niall had set aside his abhorrence for jingling and procured some coins for travel. An even greater fortune was to be made by the choice to carry crowns. Pre-highway robbery at its finest. 

The boy scampered off with his coin, probably believing he should depart prior to his donor's awareness of the blunder. But Niall practiced in knowledgeable blunders. 

In London's prime neighborhoods, the toll booths were paid generously. With an excess of luggage on his vehicle, however, Niall--respectfully--believed too much for too little. Every miniscule of neglect dipped the vehicle at irregular and rapid intervals. That, or his driver was apathetically plowing those foolish enough to cross a motioned vehicle's path. Niall's lethargy kept him from checking otherwise. 

Arms folded and feet upon the opposing seat, Niall relished in the contrast of his thick, thermal skin against the frigid window-pane. The Town Coach was well-furnished, but Niall still sought comfort in wrapping his cloak around his upper-person and merging with the side-cushion. This came at the cost of providing enough space for his unwelcomed rectangular-guests to pester him with jabs during turns.