"Aubrey, are ye alright?"

I can hear a warm, kind voice reaching me from far away. I'm vaguely aware of being led to a bench, where I sit down. The world is underwater; all sounds muffled as if my head is wrapped in cotton wool. I can see the vague outlines of a face near mine, and hands are holding onto my upper arms.

With a suddenness that leaves me breathless, the focus and sound return in all its natural glory. The day is filled with the happy noise of children playing with a ball on the rolling lawns and birds chirping cheerily as they fly from tree to tree. Near me, some teenagers laugh together while one of their friends demonstrates his ability to be an idiot.

Normal sounds. Joyful sounds. Bright sunshine and a cool breeze. The face close to mine is Billy's, his blue eyes filled with worry. Blinking in confusion, I smile at him and shake my head to dislodge the cobwebs, still keeping my brain captive.

"Yes, why?" I ask, not sure what is going on.

"Ye zoned out completely there for a minute, lass," he says with a relieved smile.

"I did?"

We were leaving the restaurant after a wonderful lunch where I proved my ability to handle eating utensils quite dexterously, without spilling even so much as a crumb on myself - a great achievement for me - and now I'm sitting on a bench in the vast park taking up most of the town square. Billy is squatting in front of me, gazing into my eyes. What happened between leaving the restaurant and sitting down here?

"Aye," he assures me, narrowing his eyes. "What were ye saying about Roisin?"

"Who?"

"The woman whose baby died."

"Oh... nothing..." What could I possibly have been saying about her? It's tragic; it breaks my heart; I'm truly sad for her... that's about it. "I just got dizzy for a second," I say with a shrug, trying to explain away whatever I did or didn't do in the last few minutes... I have no idea. "The ale went straight to my head."

"I'm going to get ye some water," Billy says, and I'm about to protest since I'm feeling 100% fine, but he is already standing up and moving away. "Stay here, okay?"

I watch him run off and let my eyes travel over the beautiful garden I'm seated in, enjoying the lush vegetation, cobblestone paths and secret nooks with stone benches. At the furthest end of the park, a gnarly old oak tree grows strong and tall, with thick branches, perfect for hanging a vile man.

A shiver runs down my spine, and I hurry to move my eyes along on their journey. Across from the tree, on my end of the park, is a beautiful stone statue on a high base, set in an ivy-covered niche. It depicts a girl holding a baby and a little boy standing beside her, clutching the skirt of her dress.

Intrigued by its beauty and age, I rise from the bench and wander over to study it. There's a brass plaque mounted to the base with words etched into it. To our lost children, may you never be forgotten – 1745. There is a list of names and their ages under the title. Reading these names makes me feel decidedly sad and uneasy, and I jump slightly when Billy joins me and touches my shoulder, handing me a small bottle of cold water.

"Here ye go."

"Thank you," I smile, trying to catch my breath. "I was looking at this," I explain, though it was pretty clear what I'd been doing in his absence.

"Oh, aye," Billy says, looking solemn as he gazes up at the children. "This statue was created in memory of those children I told ye about. According to the stories about it, it was modelled after Mairead and Ulliam Doyle and Dáithí O'Hara. The three of them were the youngest in their respective categories."

"Doyle? Family of yours?"

"Aye, they were siblings of me ancestor, Conor Doyle. The Doyles were six children living with a drunken, abusive father. Wolves had the decency to tear the bastard to shreds not long after Henry Craik was hung for the murder of the children. No tears were wasted on Angus Doyle."

There is at least one awful bastard in every family tree, souring the roots. When most of the branches and leaves are evil, a family tree becomes truly corrupted and is best stopped from branching out and flourishing. Looking at Billy, grimly gazing at the statue of his ancestor's missing siblings, I can tell that Angus Doyle was effectively diluted out of his family tree before the bloodline reached the latest branches.

"Some stories say that the youngest Doyle child, Lorcan, was the eldest daughter, Taillte's baby, and their father fathered the boy himself. A more likely story is that Taillte was one of many young women who frequently fell for the charms and promises of visiting sailors blowing off steam on the island en route elsewhere, promising to take her away to see the world. Unfortunately, that kind of thing was quite common back then... even now, sometimes. It's hard to tell the truth from fiction when stories are handed down by word of mouth, each generation embellishing it with their own version.

"The fact is that this horrible period in the island's history made the Slatherties aware of the plight of the people living on their island. They used to mind their own business and allowed refugees to settle here. As long as they adhered to some set rules and stipulations, the Slatherties through the ages didn't bother with the settlers much. The duke of that time felt terrible towards the people of Slaughtaverty, especially the poor who suffered quite a bit and were growing in number, dominated by those who came here with some means at their disposal and were taking advantage of those who had nothing.

"That is why the land distribution projects started. The duke set the Doyle's eldest son, Séamus, up as the blacksmith at the mansion, looking after their horses and gave Conor the piece of land to farm, which remains under me family's care today. Me brother, Conor, currently farms it. Taillte was given a generous dowry, which made her a highly sought-after bride even though she had a baby to care for. Whether it was her brother or her son, she had her pick of the single men on the island, but she was in love with Séamus's friend, Eoghan Sullivan and eventually married him.

"All in all, things looked up for the Doyle clan from then on. We're still doing well. This monument was built to remember the children who changed the islanders' fate forever."

I am glad some good emerged from that horrible period in the island's history.

"It seems that the statue of the girl suffered some damage," I observe, indicating the jagged crack down the cheek of the girl.

"Oh, well, according to the stories, Merry had some scars thanks to the rough handling of her father, but that could just be age cracking the stone. Who knows, it's not like the children modelled for the sculptor."

We return to the bench and sit quietly while I sip my water, listening to the chirping of birds and the laughter of children, my eyes constantly returning to caress the contours of the statue. This town truly has a rather morbid history.

"That building there across the road on the other side of the town square is the library," Billy tells me, finally breaking the silence. He is pointing at an impressively large building with the grandeur of scale, simple geometric forms and dramatic use of columns of the Neoclassical period, a style which came into life in reaction to the decadent excesses of the Rococo period.

I did not expect to see such an imposing, impressive building in this village, where the facades of the buildings all seem to be stuck in the century before Neoclassicism was popular.

"Goodness, it is huge."

"Aye, it is dominating the area quite a bit," Billy agrees, pulling a face. "I believe the collection of books in there is rivalled only by the collection in Slaughtaverty manor. Let me know when ye want to visit it, and I'll pick ye up and bring ye."

"Thank you, Billy," I smile, once again feeling blessed by his generosity.

"Over there is our local hospital. I know it doesn't look like it from the outside, but it is modern and really well equipped on the inside, with a huge blood bank, which we all donate to regularly."

I flit my eyes from what seems to be an ancient barn structure to look at Billy in surprise.

"Most of the jobs on this island can lead to severe injury; we have to be prepared for anything. Needing to take a ferry to the mainland for treatment could cost people their lives. We take care of our own here. Besides, the island becomes completely cut off from the outside world during winter storms."

"Will ye, leave me alone, Mairead Doyle, ye melter! Ye're driving me off me nut!"

Startled, I turn to see Cillian running across the lawns with Mary running after him."

"I just want one wee kiss, Cillian!" she assures him, her merry laughter ringing out in the tranquil air. "Honestly, how will ye ever have a girlfriend if ye keep running away?"

"I don't want a fecking girlfriend!" the boy yells, disappearing from sight into a hidden pathway among the shrubs.

"Ah, the lad has no clue," Billy chuckles. "The best way he could deal with our Mary's advances is just to stop running. She's a bit like a Jack Russell Terrier chasing a car. She might chew on his tyres a bit when he stops, but she'll generally have no clue what to do with the boy despite all the crazy things she says."

"Perhaps he'd rather not have his tyres chomped on," I point out, drawing more laughter from Billy.

"Well," he smiles, taking the empty bottle from my hands. "Are ye feeling better? Would ye like to go for a walk?"

"Yes, thank you. I would love a walk."

We wander along the road circling the town square, and I find it rather refreshing not to have to dodge traffic while Billy shows me all the shops. Very few cars are using the road today, and most townsfolk enjoy strolling around much like we do. I am thrilled to see the storefront of an optometrist, and Billy assures me that she is very good at what she does. I will have to make an appointment as soon as I can. My glasses are driving me crazy today. I put them on and take them off, just to put them on again. I cannot seem to get my eyes to focus correctly at all.

I listen, fascinated, as Billy points out historical landmarks and buildings, telling me the stories behind them. I'm delighted that most of these stories do not involve tragedies and death. We finally settled on the Three Barrels and One Ale House terrace to have some coffee, which is almost as good as the brew I was served at the mansion. I regret spilling quite a bit of it in my saucer every time I pick up my cup, especially since I've been doing so well all day.

"I should take ye back now," Billy says when our cups are empty and have long since grown cold while we chat about our lives and hopes and dreams, and I am aware of just how disappointed I am to realise that I'll be parting from him. I've enjoyed the outing with Billy even more than I had anticipated. "Unless ye'd like to stay tonight."

I didn't enjoy it that much! I snap my head around to give him a horrified look, surprised to see him blush slightly, laughing in amusement.

"I did not mean with me, Aubrey," he chortles. "Well, unless ye really want to... which ye clearly don't," he teases, grinning at me. "I have a spare bedroom, but Mave and Fergus make a couple of rooms above the Ale House available to visitors who need to spend the night. They're not grand, but they do well in a pinch."

"That is rather useful," I say, remembering Ransford calling the inn quite terrible. I now understand the exchange he had with Alaric. "I might use it some time, but I think I should return to the mansion tonight. Tomorrow is my first day on the job; I have some preparation I would like to do tonight." A sudden thought strikes me, and I hurry to add: "Unless taking me back now is extremely inconvenient for you..." I could potentially catch a ride with Alaric's assistant in the morning.

"Not at all, at all, but we best leave now," Billy smiles, taking my hand and giving it a light squeeze before he lets it go again. "Once the sun starts to get low, it sets quite fast, and I need to use whatever light is left to get there and back."

While the car winds through the dense forest, I wonder if we didn't wait too long already, as the shadows seem to grow darker and thicker the further we travel away from the town. I'm starting to feel cold, and my cardigan no longer provides enough heat. The temperature in the village was a lot warmer than it is the higher we progress up the slope of the hill. I regret not staying in Slaughtaverty for the night.

To keep the increasing sensations of isolation and loneliness at bay, I tell Billy about my life, being raised by my bookish grandfather, the history professor and his array of friends. They all came from varieties of professions in archaeology, anthropology and history, which nourished my natural interest in the subjects of art through the ages, to eventually become the apprentice to his best friend, Professor Edward Griffith, a curator at the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge, who mentored me and set me on my career path as an appraiser.

Billy doesn't yawn even once. In fact, he asks questions and makes statements, which prove that he is listening to every word I say. He told me over our coffee that his parents moved to Ireland as soon as their children (two boys and a girl) were grown up. Billy went to England, where he studied engineering. His sister, Emily, travels the world with her American husband, whom she met at university, and his brother, Conor, is a hobs farmer with some sheep in the mix. He has a wife and three children, of which Mary is the eldest. Billy lives in a quaint cottage in Slaughtaverty, which he promised to show me someday.

I am baffled about why a fine, handsome, engaging man like him is single, but I think his dedication to Peace Haven and all the projects he is involved in, working hard to build his career, has something to do with it, and perhaps he has just never met the right woman... yet...

I fall silent when we reach the tricky part of our route, steadily climbing along the edge of the cliffs. Today, there is no mist, but the atmosphere is not as bright and cheery as it had been when we were heading towards the village. I can see clouds gathering, possibly predicting more rain.

"Aubrey," Billy says when he'd parked the car near the steps leading to the front door of Slaughtaverty Manor. He turns to me, casually taking one of my hands in his, but there is nothing playful or warm about his gaze when he looks at me. "Call me if ye need me, okay? I'll come and get ye."

"As long as it is during day time. I remember," I smile, but he shakes his head, his eyes boring into mine, stirring the unease that had settled like sediment at the bottom of my heart.

"Even if it's not. If ye need help, I'll find a way to get ye, even if it is not day."

Apprehension is curling its shivering fingers in the nape of my neck at his words, making my hair stand on end. What is he so worried about?

"Th- thank you," I say, unsure what to make of the look he is giving me, and then he smiles.

"Today was great; we should do it again soon... if ye want to."

"Absolutely! Thank you so much for lunch and the tour. I truly enjoyed it."

Now we're sitting here smiling at each other over the handbrake. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, I'm about to turn away and open my door when Billy leans over, kissing my lips gently. I am completely taken aback and startled to such an extent that I jerk back, banging my head against the window and knocking my glasses off my face.

"Sorry," he chuckles, looking embarrassed when I'm finally able to look at him again, my glasses back on my nose, though a bit crookedly. He reaches out and gently nudges them into place.

"Oh, no!" I giggle breathlessly, feeling like an utter moron. "I was just surprised. If you would like to try again, I promise I'll behave much better."

Laughing, he slides his right hand along my neck to the back of my head, and this time, though still chaste and subtle, he kisses me with much more success, and I am prepared for the rush of heated blood flooding my brain. I don't flinch away, but I am quivering ever so slightly when he releases me.

When I open my door, Billy hurries around the car to help me get out, probably aware by now just how many things could go wrong if he let me do that by myself, and he kindly escorts me to the front door, which opens before we can even knock.

"Welcome home, Miss Dankworth," Leopold says, but his face is not welcoming at all, his eyes coldly gliding over Billy. "Mr Doyle."

"Leopold," Billy says with a nod. "Well, goodnight, Aubrey."

I am sad to see him go. I watch his grey hatchback disappear down the driveway, aware of Leopold stoically holding the door for me until I finally enter the house. The shadows and gloom envelop me at once. All of it seemed unreal and far away while I was enjoying the fresh air, good food and sunlight with Billy and his witty company.

"Would you be needing dinner, Miss?" Leopold asks, and I smile at him, shaking my head.

"No, thank you, Leopold. I had quite a lovely meal at the Ale House, but some coffee would be wonderful, please.

"Very well, Miss."

He leaves me, heading toward the kitchen, while I wander into the library, not quite ready to go to my rooms yet. I stop at the door, startled by what I see in there, suddenly feeling like an intruder.

In the room's shadows, Ransford is lounging in a corner of a couch, with Saoirse lying along its length, her head on his chest. He is reading to her from a thick book, held in one hand, while the fingers of the other trace patterns over her head. Becoming aware of me, standing frozen at the door, the girl stirs, emitting a soft humming sound that drifts breathlessly on the dusky air.

Lowering the book, Ransford cups her head with the palm of his hand, speaking soothingly to her in a language that I now, wide awake as I am, realise is not the dialect of the island as I'd thought at first. I've only encountered this language once or twice during discussions on linguistic anthropology with some of my grandfather's friends and found it fascinating. I did not expect to hear it spoken here in this mansion.

According to most linguists, experts and researchers, Euskara, also called Basque, is the oldest living language in Europe. Nobody is entirely sure of its origins, but it is spoken in parts of Spain and France at the western edge of the Pyrenees. Since the origins of Euskara remain a mystery, linguists say it is an isolated language bearing no relation to any other known language. At least, no connection has been found yet.

Why on Earth would the Slatherties be speaking it? It makes no sense.

I'm about to retreat politely, uncomfortable about intruding on such a sweet, domestic scene, when Ransford calls out to me. "Aubrey! How did you enjoy Billy?"

"Excuse me?"

"For lunch... I mean lunch with Billy."

"It was lovely, thank you. The food was rather wonderful."

"Oh, yes. Mave knows how to throw some edible things together."

My, what an understatement! Then again, I've tasted the food from this kitchen, and I cannot blame Ransford for being spoiled and finding everything else lacking. I start to leave again, but he waves a hand to a chair near him, beckoning me over to the darker section of the room.

"Sit, tell me about your day," he smiles. "I have honestly been so bored; I could do with some entertainment."

I obediently cross the floor to sit in the indicated seat, uncomfortably aware that my presence is disturbing the girl sleeping on his chest. Her eyes remain closed, but she squirms slightly under Ransford's gentle hand, patting her hip.

"Is she alright?" I ask, wondering again precisely what is wrong with the girl. Yesterday, I got the impression that she suffers from some form of dementia. She is once again dressed in a long, soft nightgown, giving her an ageless, ethereal look.

"Oh, yes, she will come through this. She's a strong girl. Aren't you, my sweet?" he whispers, running his fingers through her hair, and for a second, her eyes open, staring almost black with enlarged pupils into mine. Even in the dim light, I can feel her gaze penetrating right into my soul, and then she smiles, her teeth startlingly white between her red lips.

"Your coffee, Miss," Leopold says by my side, making me jump. I watch him set a large cup with frothy joy and a plate containing a scone cut in two halves and slathered with strawberry preserve and cream on the small table next to me, and now I want to kiss him.

"Thank you very much," I smile, so happy to see the pretty scone he brought me. There is only one, though, and I glance at Ransford and his sister to see if they are looking at it with coveting eyes. I hope I don't have to share it.

Neither of them is looking at my scone. Saoirse has gone back to sleep, and Ransford looks at my face as if he would like to devour it.

"Let's just say puberty is rough on us Slatherties," he continues as if there'd been no interruption. I run my eyes over the pale girl sleeping under his gentle care. I am not sure what about what ails her could possibly have anything to do with puberty unless she's having her period, and it is making her delirious with pain.

I highly doubt that.

"Shall I take her, Sir?" Leopold asks, and to my surprise, at Ransford's nod, he lifts the girl into his arms as if she weighs nothing and strides from the room with her. I did not expect the old man to be so strong.

"He is pretty spry for an old guy," Ransford says with a shrug when he sees my astounded face. Blushing under his scrutiny, I let my gaze wander to the book he'd been reading to his sister, now discarded on the side table beside his seat. I cannot make out the title and wonder how he could read in such poor lighting.

"So, you've been bored today?" I prompt when the silence stretches on, the crackling of the fire in the hearth at the other side of the library and the ticking of an old grandfather clock the only sounds in the room.

"Yes, you really shouldn't leave me alone like that," he drawls, sliding his eyes over my face and down my neck, taking in my dress, smiling as if he likes what he sees. "I'm quite jealous of Billy, you know?"

No, I don't know, but I know enough by now not to take this man too seriously, even when he lowers his lashes and gives me rather seductive looks. Seeing him in such a sweet setup with his sister had been strange. It didn't suit his personality, or what I've seen of it so far, at all.

"What do you do with your time on normal days, aside from flirting, of course," I ask cheekily. Spending time with Billy has brought my spirit back, and I feel rather brave this evening.

"Miss Dankworth!" Ransford exclaims, pretending to be offended. "I never flirt!"

I cannot stop myself from laughing softly, lifting the mug to my lips to take a sip, impressed to find myself not spilling even one drop after my rather dismal performance this afternoon.

"I don't do anything," he says with a heavy sigh. "I'm a man of leisure, I'm afraid. I'm spoilt, lazy, and I do... nothing."

"Nothing at all?" I ask, narrowing my eyes and studying his face to see if he is joking again.

"Well... I ride my horse," he says with a disinterested wave of his hand. "I have to, or she becomes quite temperamental and mean. A bit like me if I haven't... ridden... in a while."

I hastily set my cup down on the table, grabbing a tissue from a box on the coffee table in front of me to stop the sip of coffee squirting from my nose.

"My horse, Miss Dankworth!" Ransford assures me in a scolding tone of voice, but I can see his wide grin. He is enjoying my discomfort! The bastard! I regret asking him about himself.

"Once a week, I ride all the way to the sewerage plant, the refuse plant, the electricity plant and the water... Hmph," he snorts. "We do seem to have an awful lot of plants and believe me when I tell you, Aubrey, they can be such a bother. There are issues after every storm and also... when there'd been no storm. Sometimes, workers are too enthusiastic in their support of the brewery, and that causes problems of the human variety.

"Problems lead to calls and arrangements and frequent visits. Come to think of it, these plants truly get in the way of all my leisure time. Placing the right people in contact with the right people and ensuring we get the right parts for the right jobs and that they are done properly... tedious."

"You seem to do quite a lot of things," I chuckle, and Ransford shrugs, his smile a little sad now.

"Yes, I might not be a man of leisure after all," he grumbles. "That's rather disappointing, isn't it?"

"Indeed," I laugh. "I find it rather disappointing that you are apparently in charge of ensuring the island doesn't drown in sewerage and garbage and have uninterrupted water and electricity."

I'm impressed, but Ransford merely shrugs and casually runs his long fingers through his hair. I suddenly realise that he looks tired. Under all his mischief, a profound exhaustion is visible.

I lift my plate from the small table next to my chair and, feeling generous, hold it out to him.

"Would you like half?" I ask and receive a gentle smile in answer.

"Thank you, but I have to keep an eye on my figure since I have no one to watch it for me... I would so much rather keep an eye on yours, though."

I am so glad that I'm not holding my coffee and haven't taken a bite from the scone yet; I could just imagine chunks of it flying from my ears when I choked after hearing that statement.

"Do women normally fall for ridiculous lines like that, Mr Slatherty?"

"I don't require women to fall for my ridiculous lines, Miss Dankworth," he smirks, his lashes lowering dangerously over his shimmering grey eyes. Now I'm feeling nervous again, unable to suppress the uneasy laugh bubbling inside me.

Billy flirted with me a few times today... I think... and the experience was rather fun and heartwarming. I'm not sure what Ransford is doing, but I do not feel flirted with; I feel like a mousy little bird being toyed with by a rather dazzling cat.

Ransford softens his predatory expression, leaning back in his chair, eyeing me with an amicable smile, and I realise he is teasing again. The man has a way of tangling my nerves into chaotic spaghetti.

Closing my eyes, I take half of the generously topped scone from the plate I'm still holding onto for dear life and bite into the blissful mixture of cream and juicy, sweet strawberries. It takes all my self-control not to moan out loud.

I'm aware of whispered movement near me, and when I open my eyes, I'm startled to find Ransford standing in front of my chair, gazing down at me with dark eyes, chasing my breath from my lungs.

"You've got cream and strawberry all over your lips," he informs me, and when I lift the tissue lying in my lap to wipe my mouth, he grabs my hand, and his disconcerting grin returns. "Let me help," he says in a strange, husky voice, calling goosebumps to every inch of my skin, and before I can comprehend what he means, he leans over, closing his soft, cool lips on mine, effectively removing all traces of jam and cream from them.

I'm still breathlessly trying to make sense of what just happened when I realise that I am entirely alone in the library and in the process of spilling my scone pieces in my lap.

~~~