Chapter 1: Home Coming

See the house standing grey and solid, surrounded by open grounds, notice the differing styles, the left hand side medieval, the keep of a once large fortress built to stop the marauding Scots. The right is Elizabethan, large windows capture the light filling the house with sunshine, what secrets does it hide within its strong walls? Love lost and found, death and solitude. Park like lands fall away to the rear of the house, landscaped gardens and ornamental ponds. On one side of the house can be seen the stables, housing for a dozen sturdy mounts. A long tree lined driveway curves towards the house from the road, as you look see the carriage turning into the driveway, move closer and see the passenger.

It is May in 1887 and fifteen year old Jonathan Blackthorn looks out of the carriage window at the house with apprehension; he is sitting up straight his body tense, seeming to be trying to hold himself away from the carriage seat. His body felt as though it was on fire, his ribs and back ached and his shirt felt as though it were glued to his back. He tried to shift his thoughts from the pain his body cried at him to the coming meeting with his parents. He wasn't sure how they would take the fact that he had run away from his boarding school, he knew that any anger would quickly fade when they discovered the reason.

His mind drifted to the day before, he'd wandered back to his dorm to grab a text book. He'd found his way blocked by the school head boy and his cronies.

"Ahh Blackthorn, I wanted a word with you. I heard you received some money for your birthday."

"What's that to do with you?"

"Well I realise old son that you've only been here since last September, but you see all money received is handed over to me for safe keeping."

"Forget it Weston, I'm not one of those kids who's scared of you and I'm certainly not handing anything over to you. Now if you would excuse me I'm going to be late for my next lesson."

"O you won't be late Blackthorn, in fact you're already here."

"What..."

Jonathan's words were cut off as he was grabbed by two boys who had come up behind him. He struggled and managed to break free, realising there was no escape he ducked as a fist moved towards his head.

"Don't hit him in the face; remember we don't leave marks that can be seen."

Jonathan side-stepped a second blow and threw a punch of his own, he felt no compunction about where to hit and felt his blood sing with joy as an antagonists nose blossomed with blood. He kicked out at another figure his foot connecting sharply with the boys crotch and sending him falling to the floor. He managed two more blows; both connecting with Weston's face before he found himself dragged to the floor. He cried out as feet pounded into his body and tried to curl up, but hands pulled his arms and legs apart.

"Bring him this way," said Weston as he wiped his bloody nose.

Jonathan found himself half carried and half dragged into an empty room.

"I know I said no marks and I tell you what, we won't hit your face, but you're going to pay Blackthorn. Prepare to receive your one and only lesson in respecting your elders and betters."

"Go to Hell Weston."

"After you old son, after you."

Jonathan struggled as his jacket was pulled off and he was forced face down on the floor with his legs and arms held tight. He jumped and struggled to break free, trying not to cry out as a cane slammed across his back. A second one joined it, each of them bringing red wheals on his back, the canes hit hard and deep and soon his shirt was torn and coated with his blood. His cries were drowned out by the laughter and shouts as the group surrounding him pummelled his body with the canes and there feet and fists. The world seemed to swim away as the pain filled every nerve of his body; he was brought back to conciseness by a sharp pain in his lower back. Weston's voice seemed to echo around the room,

"That will teach the little bastard."

This was followed by laughter from the other boys and the sound of footsteps and the door closing.

He'd no idea how long he lay there on the floor, surrounded by the remains of his shirt and puddles of his blood. Finally, his body screaming in pain he'd stood up, returning to his dorm he'd stopped only to pull on a new shirt, ignoring the pain in his back, adding a coat, before managing to retrieve his money from its hiding place and leaving the school.

Now here he was arriving home, hoping to find solace and succour in the arms of his family. As the carriage pulled to a stop he slowly climbed down, wincing from the pain of the cuts and bruises that covered his body. Looking back into the carriage he could see a dark wet patch on the seat and realised the deeper cuts were bleeding once more. In a daze he walked towards the front door, watching it slowly open and seeing the face of the family butler, Mathews, look at him.

"Master Jonathan, we weren't expecting you home."

Mathews turned to look back into the house, "It's Master Jonathan."

As he moved up the steps and into the entryway he saw his mother standing looking at him.

"Jonathan, what are you doing home? Are you alright?"