LADY ARAMINA EMBRY WAS CRYING. It was stupid, ridiculous, and childish. But the tears wouldn't stop. They had free rein and they wouldn't listen. She had tried counting to a hundred, her back against the cold wall of the dark room she was bounded in. She had told herself that tears don't help, they never help, but nothing seemed to do the trick. Aramina wasn't afraid of her world ending, as far she knew, her happiness had been butchered the moment she left London in a run from the uncle who was supposed to care for her— who was the only family she had left in London. What was a life without happiness? She knew the world she had known for her had ended then and there. So she wasn't afraid of it anymore. 

The only question that bothered her was the fact that she had done nothing to deserve it. Where did her fault lie? Had she made a mistake without knowing? A terrible one that had landed her in here? Did she deserve this somehow? 

She wouldn't ever right this though, because there was no righting it, at least that's the conclusion she had drawn from every angle she had looked at her situation in. She could never give up her inheritance to Thomas Cranmer willingly. It was her father's gift to her. She may have done nothing to deserve it, but it was his legacy. The lands, the money, it was everything of her father that she had left. Why would she give it away? Death was better— nay honourable, than wilfully giving her father's legacy to a criminal who didn't deserve it. 

Aramina's father was the rock of her life, while her mother had fled the first chance she'd gotten. He had worked all his life to make sure Aramina and her mother had a good life, and on the eve of his daughter's sixteenth birthday he had come home to find a sobbing Aramina clutching a hastily written letter in her hand that she had been much to young to read.  

Aramina wiped at the tears on her face and let out a scoff as her thoughts ventured to the contents of that letter. Her mother had eloped with a navy officer, making claims of love that Aramina had hoped and wished would unravel like a loose thread in her mother's face. That woman hadn't deserved the respect and love her father had given her— if Aramina knew anything for sure in this world, it was that. 

Lord Montague Embry had taken it like a hero. He had stayed by his daughter's side, kept on working for her until the social ladder promised him the life of comfort for his daughter and himself. And then, when Aramina had thought she'd have him to herself finally, he had succumbed to an illness and died in her arms. 

At the funeral, Aramina had wondered if the navy officer's arms kept her mother warm— because she herself now had no embrace to fall into. 

If her father could see her now, from the crevices of heaven, what would he think of the bounds on her wrists, the darkness of this room, and the tears going dry on her face? 

Suddenly, the door to the room she was in burst open and Aramina stifled a scream of shock. Her frantic eyes found a pair of similarly anxious grey eyes cast upon her from the door. Philip. Slamming his eyes shut and shaking his head to ward off what Aramina believed were thoughts, he darted towards her, instantly landing on his knees in front of her and reaching for her bounds desperately. 

"What is it? What are you doing?" Aramina let out, voice laced with fear. Would he hurt her? or was he taking her to be hurt? She was finally going to meet her uncle since he captured her, wasn't she? 

Philip lifted his head to look at her, freckles sitting on his nose like glitter, grey eyes peering into her. Aramina realized how close he was to her, their noses could brush if she leaned just half an inch. 

"I— I can't do this anymore," He spoke with his broken voice that Aramina had come to find so much comfort in. 

"Do what?" She hastily spoke, "Is it Cranmer? Are you taking me to him?" 

"No," His answer was abrupt, as though Aramina had uttered something atrocious, "I have to get you away from here." 

Aramina's brows furrowed in confusion, surprise. 

"I— I overheard something," Philip fumbled with his words as he undid the ropes at her ankles and moved on to Aramina's wrists, "It's wrong and I don't want to be a part of it anymore." 

"What did you hear?" She asked, desperation clutching her voice. "Tell me Philip, please." 

He looked at her as the bounds on her wrist loosed and fell to her lap. "I'll tell you once I get you out from here." 

Aramina searched for something to say, but before she could, a loud thud sounded from somewhere in the building and Philip instantly stood up. 

"Come, please. We have to go." 

Aramina stood up, and found her legs unreliable as she swayed. Philip instantly caught hold of her, his secure grip on her elbow keeping her upright. 

"I'm alright," Aramina managed quickly. She didn't want him to give up on her just when he'd decided not to. 

Nodding, Philip retrieved his hands away and motioned for her to follow him. Then he led the way and Aramina followed, her heart hammering against her chest and her legs aching as a result of disuse for days. She hadn't thought of where the way out would be. She'd had no escape plan, because she'd not trusted herself enough to succeed with one. So at present she had no choice but to trust Philip, and the notion came as easily to her a breathing, which made no sense but knotted her stomach wildly. 

"Through here," Philip called, glancing at her and pointing towards a corridor that Aramina couldn't distinguish from the others they had crossed for the life of her. It was night outside, and there wasn't a single source of light in the building. The way she could see was the result of the ray of lights kindly provided by the moon shining outside, and the street lamps lining the street. It was enough. 

"Is there no one else here?" Aramina asked, her voice a scared whisper as she followed him down a wooden block of stairs that creaked underneath the heel of her shoes. 

"No, master left tonight's guard to me," Philip answered, his words lacking the strength they had before. Aramina wondered with a heavy heart if he was already beginning to regret his decision. 

She didn't say anything, and with a hand on her heart she stilled her wild thoughts and prayed silently to herself. Before she knew it, Philip led her through a final door and she was greeted with the air outside. The night was a canvas of purple, silver and yellow, courtesy of the moon and the street lamps. The street was so calm, it ached her heart in a strange way. She saw a woman walking by, her arms wrapped around the elbow of a man who touched the brim of his top hat as he passed by Aramina. The woman at his arms passed her a smile, and then they ceased to figures walking away. 

Life had gone on outside for others while she had been in there. Aramina turned to look at the building she was in. It looked like a rundown abandoned factory from the outside, something people wouldn't care less about if they were crossing the street or walking past it. She couldn't blame them, it wasn't their fault. 

"Please come, master may come back," Philip's voice reached her ears and she turned her head towards him, a cold breeze whipping her stray bangs in front of her face. A single earring in her ear touched the skin on her neck, and Aramina took it out and tossing the ruby piece of jewellery on the ground in the snow. 

Philip gestured to a small sledge carriage parked on the side of the building. Aramina followed him to it. A single horse was tied to the sledge, a brown horse with a dark brown mane that shone silver in the moonlight. 

"There's a strike going on, so we won't be able to cover much distance in this before someone spots us," He explained. 

"A strike?" Aramina inquired, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear before it escaped into her eyes again. 

"A carriage strike," Philip looked at her, "Workers and lower class citizens alike are protesting against use of transport now that the costs have been increased to a high." 

"Then where did you get this?" She didn't know much about strikes, but surely in such circumstances a man wouldn't just hand his means of earning to another man. 

"I— I borrowed it," Philip answered, a hand reaching up to the back of his neck. "I'll return it though." 

"But Philip, where will you take me?" Aramina asked, the question suddenly weighing her down. "This is Portsmouth correct? I was taken from Southampton, my cousin's estate. I'm not from around here, I have no one in Portsmouth. My cousin doesn't know I'm here. I— I don't understand—" She broke off, blinking as her gaze peered into Philip's. "Where will you take me?" 

"Then I'll take you to Southampton," He replied simply, eyes observing her like her anxiety should be for naught. 

"But the strike? If there's no transportation out of Portsmouth?" 

"I'll find a way, you must trust me now." His demeanour was so sure now that Aramina wanted to tell him that trust towards him came to her naturally, but she knew how stupid that would sound. 

"But why?" She stammered, "Why are you doing this?" 

Philip looked at her. A brief pause welled in before he responded. His tone firm and determined. "Because I want to help you." 

"I— I'll take you to my grandmother's house," He started when she didn't reply, "I need to hide you where master wouldn't suspect, until I can arrange for transport to Southampton. It will take time, a few days at most, or a week— I'm not sure on that exactly, but I'll work it out." 

Aramina blinked. "Your grandmother's house?"
For some reason she hadn't thought or wondered about his family really, and the revelation of it was oddly surprising. 

Philip blanched. "You'll be safe there, she'll take care of you. If you don't want to I— I can arrange something else—" 

"No, please," She interrupted, "Your grandmother's house sounds just fine." 

With a breath of relief, he reached out his hand for her to take, motioning for her to climb into the seat. Aramina quickly took it, gathering her skirts inside as Philip closed the door and efficiently mounted the driver's seat in front, gathering the horses reins in his hands. The feel of her hand in his lingered long on her palm, and she didn't know what to make of it because her mind rushing with thoughts. She though of Jack, he must be so worried. Did he give up hope or was he searching for her? And her aunt? She hoped Jack and Acacia hadn't told her aunt. She didn't want to be the source of worry for anyone. At least now that she was alright, now that she would, hopefully, be alright. 

With anxiety clogging up her chest, Aramina kept her gaze outside the sledge windows, hoping and praying they wouldn't be stopped before they reached Philip's grandmother's house. Many of the streets outside were dark, street lamps no doubt having been blown off by striking workers and furious citizens. There were hardly people in sight. Aramina wondered how late it was. She had stopped thinking about the time days ago. Ever since her captivity, time had been still for her. It had been meaningless to her. 

Soon, Philip brought the sledge to a stop in front of a small cream coloured building wedged between what appeared to be a tailor's shop and a patisserie, both establishments darkened and shut down for the night. Philip jumped off the driver's seat and opened the door to passenger's for Aramina. He helped her down. 

"We're here," He spoke, voice ebbing with relief. She managed a small smile as he led her around the sledge towards the door to the cream building. The door was a dark blue, with a rusty knocker and a tiny slate for letters and cards carved in the middle.  

Philip knocked twice, and Aramina felt nervousness swirl inside her, and out of all emotions she had felt in the past hour, this one felt by far the most ridiculous. She fought the urge to giggle. 

The door instantly opened and from behind it appeared an elderly woman. She was stout, no more than five feet, a crocheted shawl was draped over her shoulders, and her thin silver hair was done into a tiny loose knot at the base of her thick neck. The woman's eyes found Philip and a bright smile took over her face. She rushed forwards and threw her short arms around Philip's waist, hugging him as though she'd been yearning to do so for years. 

"Grandma," Philip murmured, trying to keep emotion from his voice but failing to do so. 

The woman parted from the hug, running her arms over Philip's both elbows with adoration brimming in her eyes. Then slowly, her eyes descended away from her grandson and towards Aramina.  They were grey like his, but hooded where his were almond shaped and bright. 

Aramina didn't have to pin a smile on her face, because she found that she was already smiling. In habit, she dipped into a small curtsey. The woman beamed with happiness at the simple show of respect. 

"Grandma, this is—" Philip started and broke off. Aramina realized with a sudden start that he hadn't spoken her name before and it seemed like he wasn't about to do so now. 

"I'm Aramina Embry," She spoke after his pause, forgoing her title. "It is a pleasure to meet you." 

And then the woman spoke, "Philip's told me about you. Come in please." 

She stepped inside, holding the door wide open for Aramina and Philip.  

"I'll be right back, Grandma," Philip let out, "I just have to return this." He motioned towards the sledge, and his grandmother nodded in understanding. 

Philip turned to look at Aramina. "I'll be right back," He repeated. Aramina offered him a small smile and nodded. Then he pivoted and walked towards the sledge. Aramina entered the house after his grandmother and the woman shut the door softly behind her. 

The house was cozy, with a brown rug underneath her feet that compelled her to take off her shoes by the door, she did so obligingly. The feel of the soft rug underneath her bare feet felt like something she couldn't explain. After days on a hard floor in captivity, she felt like she was a different her. The woman led her to what Aramina could make as he sitting room of the house. Two dull red three seater sofas sat facing eachother, and a wooden rocking chair sat beside. It was moving, and a knit work half done half incomplete sat freshly neglected rocking on the seat. 

A few solitary candles burned on a small round table beside the sofas. Philip's grandmother took hold of Aramina's hand, a warm embrace that tamed the stirring beast in her soul, and walked her over to a sofa and made her sit. 

"I will fetch you a warm cup of milk, dear, and something to eat," She spoke, her voice warm, "Everything you've been through, I can't even imagine." She murmured the last part to herself, and Aramina pretended she didn't hear it. 

Then the woman slowly reached a thick finger to Aramina's forehead brushed aside her stray bangs softly, a gesture that lasted seconds but felt like the world of comfort. Aramina pinched her palms, fighting the tears that threatened to well up in her eyes. She'd done enough crying for the day. 

The woman scurried off then, offering a comforting smile before departing to the kitchen. The kitchen was attached to the sitting room, a small corner that glinted with silver pots and pans hanging from hooks on the wall. Aside kitchen and the sitting room, there were two other rooms in the house. A small hallway from the sitting room led to the two rooms, doors alongside each other. Aramina supposed they must be bedrooms. She wondered at the smallness of it all. But somehow, it felt more like home than her own estate in London. Perhaps it was loneliness that didn't make a home, for anywhere had been home when her father was alive. 

Soon, the woman came back into the sitting room with a cup of warm milk in one hand and a tray carrying a bowl of soup in the other. She offered it gently to Aramina, who's fingers wrapped around the cup, taking it thankfully. The woman set the bowl of soup on a small table, dragged it in front of Aramina and sat next to her on the sofa, grey eyes peering at her guest with curiosity and warmth at the same time. 

"Don't let it cool too much. Drink it hot, it will do you a world of good," The woman urged with a smile. 

Aramina nodded. "Thank you—" She broke off, suddenly realizing she never asked for a name and none had been given to her. 

"Oh, how silly of me," The woman laughed as she realized her mistake. "I am Cassandra Fitzherbert, but I insist you call me Grandma Cass, my dear, everybody does." 

Aramina smiled at the strangeness of it all. Titles and formality meant everything to people she had grown up around. 

"Thank you, Grandma Cass," She managed regardless, and it felt liberating. "I am not sure of all that Philip has told you, but I just want to say that this means so much to me. Taking me in like this— you didn't have to—" 

"Oh child," Grandma Cass broke in with a cry, "I want to. I don't ever turn away someone when I can offer help. When Philip told me about you, I knew that I was meant to help." 

Aramina offered a smile, words escaping her at this generosity. She gently sipped her cup of milk. 

"Now," The woman added, touching Aramina's shoulder, "Everything will me made right. Those scoundrels will pay for what they did to you, and my Philip will make sure you're returned safely. He's promised me." 

Aramina nodded slowly, eyes falling to her bare feet resting on the rug. 

After a brief silence Grandmas Cass took the empty cup from her hand and urged her to finish her soup. Then she proffered her towards what Aramina had previously figured was the bedroom. 

"I insist you freshen up and go to sleep, my dear. The bathroom's to the right," She motioned towards a door opposite to the door of the bedroom. "You'll find all you need to freshen up inside. I'll give you my old nightgown to wear to bed. It will fit you, I'm sure. I used to wear it when I was your age. I prepared a bedroom for you, I must say its Philip's bed but its the most comfortable since you might find mine a bit hard. I have a troublesome back you see. Philip can sleep on the sofa, he's slept there a lot of times so it definitely isn't a bother for him so please do not think about it." 

"Thank you," Aramina spoke quietly and offered a last smile before making her way to the bathroom. 

That night, as Aramina Embry entered Philip's bedroom with Grandma Cass' old nightgown on, she felt like she had switched her life for someone else's. And strangely, she realized that she didn't want it any other way. She didn't want a life where she wasn't just rescued by Philip, or a life where she hadn't been touched by the selfless generosity of Grandma Cass. People who didn't know her but still helped, wanting nothing in return. 

Aramina walked over to an old mirror in the bedroom, nailed onto the wall right beside a rickety old cupboard. The doors hung a bit askew and Aramina could see a row of clothes that doubtless belonged to Philip inside. In the mirror she looked at herself, half afraid she might find someone unrecognizable looking back at her. The girl in the mirror was different, but she looked so vibrant, a stark contrast to what Aramina felt inside. Her ginger hair looked like it hadn't seen days of captivity at all. It flowed down to her waist, bangs soft on her forehead. If there was weariness, it was only in her eyes, and her heart. 

Walking barefoot over to Philip's bed, she prepared to lie down and close her eyes. The moonlight shone through the glass window right onto her face. And it felt so calming. Philip's bed felt so calming. She wanted to apologize for taking up space, for making him sleep on the sofa when he returned. For putting him at such a risk with her uncle. Apologies lined up in her heart and it made her feel heavy. So she shut her eyes, and let sleep take her. Hoping with all her heart that Philip won't mind her sleeping in his bed.