Grieve's Chapel

Chapter 1

"The darn chimer is on the fritz again?"

Dr. Corbyn Solomon Hawkes looked up from his desk for the first time in hours upon hearing the young man's voice. He had been shuffling through the numerous papers that accumulated over the weeks. Bills, invitations, and letters from patients that hadn't yet switched over to the new telephone lines. It wasn't the most entertaining way to spend a sunny afternoon but it was probably the most productive.

"I'm afraid so. Westley gave it a look but until I can get more parts-"

"We're out of luck?" The doctor shrugged to his younger friend, drawing a sigh. The youth, Jarvis Quarterman, was a strapping ginger, aged 21. What's more, with such wellborn facial features, everyone from miles around could tell of his heritage. Though he didn't feel quite suited for life in the upper crust. Which was why he remained in the presence of the common folk.

Jarvis took a seat, snagging one of the many documents on the doctor's desk and giving it a quick skim. "Another tax? Is this some kind of prank?"

"I wish it were." The doctor rubbed his head in slight frustration.

"And this one's for...?"

"The lights, of course."

"The lights? How are they taxing us for something we don't even have?" The young lad scoffed and tossed the paper down. "Don't they have enough coin as it is?"

At that Corbyn gave no answer, instead just a shake of his head as he continued to go through his papers. It was a routine conversation in a routine place. They had debated and argued and vented the issue too many times before to give any new insight. The tax collectors didn't care to hear it. There was no change. That was just routine.

"I thought you were in the capital today." Corbyn threw the comment out, still paying quite a bit of attention to his work. "Liza was looking for you to bring her another treat."

Jarvis slumped and chuckled. "Well, I was until the manager of the bank suddenly decided to cancel our meeting. Then his secretary informs me that she doesn't believe he will be available for another week." The doctor shook his head once more. The development was unsurprising but aggravating all the same. "So," the youth sighed, "please send my apologies to Liza. I'll be sure to get her some lickers next time-the big ones with all the colors."

"She's going to hold you to that."

"Good. When a gentleman makes a promise to a little butterfly, he should be held by his word."

The two engaged in much lighter conversation, to Corbyn's pleasure. With all the stresses weighing down on him, the little moments of peace were the ones that counted most. So the doctor enjoyed the while with Jarvis before he would get back to his papers. Before he would get back to the tax collectors. And before he would get back to the door chimer that still needed to be fixed.

Evening came soon for Corbyn. After Jarvis' departure, the doctor was left to continue examining his work. More than half the papers had been handled and filed and the busy desk was much neater by the end of the day. Looking outside his window, he realized the sun had taken its rest some hours before. That meant that his children should've been home-upstairs in their room if they planned to attend school the following morning. Liza and Westley were very rambunctious, however. It was more likely that the younglings would avoid going to that school house if they could. Closing up his office for the night, the doctor went to meet his family. He followed his routine path: from his office in the bottom of the chapel, through the sanctuary, and to the attic that he called home. As he reached the top of the attic's stairs, he noticed the light was dim from under the door. Ah, so the children were still awake. Corbyn twisted the knob on the door, well aware that he would probably be greeted by the sound of giggles. He was correct.