A/N: Hooray! Finally, a new chapter! I bet you thought it’d NEVER get done. Inspiration is a fickle thing, my dears. Today it has visited me generously, and I have much joy in welcoming it back. Enjoy this new chap and tell me what you think!

Gabriel strode down the hall. When he finished writing a note describing his situation at home, townsman Jack Stanley had come to check on him. The timing was impeccable. Jack had taken the note to Sir Nicholas and left Gabriel once more. The boy felt badly for not exposing his financial situation entirely truthfully—he had simply not written just how poor he was—but he did not want to sound like a beggar, and he did not want charity. In his note, he put more emphasis on the importance of getting a job, in the hopes that the Petersens might put in a good word for him around town instead of offering him money.

He took care in examining the mansion as he explored. The floor under his feet was a rich dark wood that seemed to pool from streams of similar wood around the doorframes that he passed. There were no hard lines; every corner and edge had been smoothed over to create the effect of gently flowing water. Landscapes and portraits were placed with apparent care on the walls; they seemed to be spaced with a good eye. A large painting of the Petersen mansion itself took up an enormous section of wall above the front doors.

The fifteen-year-old peered over the railing. He was on the second floor, looking down at the foyer of the first. A curved stair led from the far side of the first floor to the second, and became a balcony overlooking the first floor. Perpendicular to the balcony was the upstairs hall, which ran straight through the middle of the mansion. At the end of the hall were the rooms of Nicholas Petersen and Sarah, and of the various paid servants in the household. The midpoint of the hall was significantly widened, with a vaulted ceiling. A black spiral staircase wound up through its heart to the third floor above. The luxurious home never failed to impress Gabriel. He strode to the spiral staircase and leaned on it to rest. His breathing was a little shallow. He felt a pang of guilt as his thoughts drifted to his mother. She’s back in Whitfield, slowly losing strength in that dilapidated room we call our home, and here I am in this mansion… The black iron railing he was leaning on trembled. Someone was on the spiral stair! A woman’s voice came to him as he took a step back.

“Jack says the whole town’s talking about him! No surprise, either-it’s no small feat that boy accomplished. I must say, Abby, it’s nice to have a visitor… There are so many rooms in this house that go unused.” The voice grew louder—whoever it was, they were ascending the stairs. Gabriel smiled. The chatty woman reminded him of his mother in better years past. “It’s a shame, the décor is going to the dogs, no matter how much I clean, the dust still lays thick. The curtains in the bedroom near the stairs have all but disintegrated! For shame. Have you been near the kitchen today? Garrett’s cooking up quite a feast for tonight; he says Nicholas asked him to. The smells are almost too much to bear. Oh--!” Gabriel took another step back as the woman suddenly came into view. He had been so intent on listening that he had forgotten to slip back to the safety of his room. He sputtered incomprehensibly.

“You… must be Gabriel,” the woman said with a hand over her chest, startled. Her incessant chatter during the climb of the stair had proved to be a bit of a challenge for the plump lady, as she breathed a little rapidly. She wore a plain ivory dress with puffy shoulders and a laced front, and a long white apron. Her hair was tucked in a bun which threatened to fall at any moment.

“Yes,” Gabriel croaked, “I was just…”

“Oh, don’t worry, son. Boys are bound to explore, given the chance. I shan’t tell Doc you’ve been out of the room,” she said with a wink. She stepped off the black iron stair, patting her hair back into place. “I’m Gladys, and this is Abigail.” Gabriel glanced at Abigail, who had been hidden behind Gladys. She was a young woman, no older than twenty, with wavy auburn hair and pale skin. She curtsied.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Abigail offered politely.

Gabriel bowed slightly. “A pleasure,” he agreed.

“Now, back to your room, Gabriel,” Gladys said cheerily, shooing him down the hall. “Doc said you need to rest up, and rest you will.” He allowed himself to be ushered back into the room, and obligingly sat on the bed. He happened to glance down and noticed that his clothes were dirty. Light soot colored the rough cloth, and he automatically started rubbing a spot on his leg, trying to get the stain out. “Oh, don’t worry about that, dear. Abby and I are going to do some washing this afternoon, so we can wash your… clothes… then.” Gabriel looked up, horrified.

“What shall I wear in the meantime?”

“I’ll visit the Clarks next door. They have two young boys—I doubt they wouldn’t let me borrow some of their old clothes for you to wear.” With a smile, she said, “Would you like something to hold you off until dinner?” Gabriel fingered the blanket on the bed, suddenly nervous at the mention of food. He hated asking for food so soon, but he wasn’t asking, he reasoned, they were offering it.

“I would, please, ma’am,” he said softly, staring at the floor.

“Okay. I’ll send Abby back up with a bit for you to eat.”

“Take it easy until I return,” Abigail said gently. “You’re welcome to read something from that bookshelf by the window, if you like.”

“Thank you, perhaps I will,” Gabriel croaked, his voice still hoarse. The women left him. He heard Gladys chattering away as they moved down the hall.

Gabriel took a moment to examine the room as he sat on the bed. The head of the bed was against the wall beside the door. On one side was a nightstand and small lamp. At the foot of the bed was a solid oak chest. The far wall of the room was taken up by tall windows that stretched from the ceiling to a wooden bench in the wall. The bench went from one side of the room to the other, and was padded with thick cushions. A wooden bookcase stood on the wall to the left, a long landscape painting on the wall to the right.

He crossed the room to the bookcase and flipped through the pages of a couple random books. Some were hand-written, most of them by typewriter. Lucy had taught him how to read and write years ago, but he felt no inclination now to suddenly start reading. He had no time for reading these days, and it felt like a waste of time to him even as he flipped through the pages. With a slight sigh, he sank into the cushions of the wall bench and gazed out the windows. His room faced the front of the house. He could see to one side of the road a medium-sized barn, with an overhang on one side to protect a carriage that rested there. The Petersen mansion was obviously at the end of a street, for the dusty road ran right up to the front porch and looped back on itself.

Something to the right caught Gabriel’s eye. The barn door swung open, and one of the men who had been in the room when Gabriel first woke came walking out with the reins of a brown horse in his hand. It was Jack. He took hold of the saddle, put a foot in the stirrup, and swung his leg over the side of the horse, then took a moment to pat it comfortingly as he adjusted himself and reached up to touch his hat, as though making sure that it was still there. He kicked his boot heels back a little and the horse started off at a rolling trot down the road. Gabriel wondered where he was going, then wondered when Abigail would be back with the food. His stomach was rumbling.

He glanced at the doorway and was somewhat startled to find a cat sitting there. It wasn’t Annabelle. He had only seen her briefly, but he had been able to see that she was fluffy, white with chocolate ears and face and bright blue eyes. This cat was slender, with silvery fur ticked with black, giving it a shimmery appearance. The handsome cat was sitting upright just inside the door, its head held with slight disdain and his tail wrapped around his front paws. It regarded Gabriel somewhat curiously.

“What’s your name, cat?” Gabriel called lightly. The twitch of the cat’s tail was its only reply. He was about to get up and cross the room when he heard light footsteps in the hall. With a smile, he looked up to the doorway, suddenly giddy at the prospect of food. It was not Abigail who stood there, but a younger girl wearing a pretty pink dress that ended in graceful ruffles below her knees, which sported flesh-colored hosiery. Her hair was long and blonde, her face bright and pretty. She held a silver tray of food. It was the girl Gabriel had saved from the fire! He stood immediately.

“Sarah Ann Petersen,” she said, curtseying deeply, even as the silver cat rubbed against her legs.

“Gabriel Thomas Hansford,” he replied, bowing, hoping his voice didn’t sound too hoorible.

“This is Chaucer,” she said, glancing down at the cat as she started across the room. “I have another cat, too, Annabell.”

“We’ve met,” Gabriel said briefly, his eyes still on Sarah.

“So I’ve heard from Jack.” Sarah sighed. “Gladys sent Abigail originally, but I intercepted her on the way up. I have to admit, I was anxious to see you.” Her cheeks reddened a little as she spoke. She set the tray down on an end table between the bookcase and the bench embedded in the wall and sat opposite Gabriel.

“As was I.” He suddenly forgot the food and cleared his scratchy throat. “Doctor Harland said you were alright, is it true?”

She nodded. “Yes, just a couple minor burns. I was a bit shaken up, but that was all. How are you feeling?”

“My lungs and throat are sore, but otherwise I am whole.” He smiled warmly; Sarah did as well.

Suddenly there was an awkward silence. Gabriel’s gaze had still not left the girl, he was so in awe of her beauty. She became slightly uncomfortable under his watchful eye and so turned to the silver tray beside her.

“When was the last time you ate?” she asked innocently.

The young boy’s happiness fell. He had not the heart to tell her how long it had truly been since he had had more than eggs and bread to eat, so he simply shrugged.

“Well, here. Have some biscuits and apple butter. Gladys and Abby make it fresh from our apple tree every year.”

He stood awkwardly and approached the silver tray. On it were two plates, one with three biscuits, the other with a sliced apple. A small dish between them held the homemade apple butter, and a silver knife lay on one side of the tray. Gabriel reached for it, paused, then took it in his right hand, a biscuit in his left. The biscuit was warm, fresh from the oven. His mouth watered.

“Would you like one?” he offered, turning to face Sarah. He suddenly felt uncomfortable at the thought of her seeing him eat.

“No, thank you, I had one before I came up.” She smiled at him, her hands folded neatly in her lap. There was a brief pause as she sensed his discomfort. “Shall I leave you to eat? I can return later to retrieve the tray.”

Gabriel was torn. He would rather have her stay, but his discomfort remained. “That would be alright,” he offered, averting his eyes at the floor while she stood. He summoned some extra effort to strengthen his voice. “Thank you for coming to see me, and please thank the cook.”

She nodded and curtseyed as she headed to the door. “Rest well, and I shall see you at dinner.”

“At dinner,” Gabriel repeated, nodding. She paused in the doorway to glance over her shoulder at him. Their eyes met for a moment—a brief one—and Gabriel was overcome with the feeling that all was right in the world. Everything would work itself out. In that one moment, he memorized her face, her deep green eyes that seemed like great dark oceans captured in orbs set in her fair face. The sunlight from the window shone on her petite figure, casting a warm glow about her golden locks and a merry twinkle in her eyes. And then she was gone.