The Necronomicon

Chapter Nineteen

She hadn't expected to see Alfred like this, and she hadn't thought about much else since. How could she? He was here.

Normally A World for Women, Frederick, and the revolution were the only thoughts accompanying her mind — occasionally thoughts of Eleanor and her dead father arrived too — but then, along came his face — an unwelcome presence in her mind, but it did not leave.

She couldn't help but keep thinking about him. The man who'd proposed to her, the daughter of one of The Elders — this man was a rebel. A traitor to the revolution. Meredith's heart was now sold — she trusted the rebels wholeheartedly, despite their interesting choices in clothing. She didn't even think about her father most days. The new routine, the new ideals... it was all too much for her — to wrap her head round it she had to really think about it. The Elders' rule was still fresh in her mind — occasionally she still found herself quoting The Women's Handbook in her mind.

Meredith no longer thought about The Necronomicon, and the warnings Elder Watford had given her. In her hands she held A World for Women, in her heart she held Frederick Barnes — and in her head she held Alfred Floodwhistle.

What was he doing here? Had he always been a rebel? Meredith needed to know. Not even caring that she looked like she'd just gotten out of bed (which she had), Meredith threw open the wooden door to her hut, and exited swiftly, intending to hunt Alfred down and interrogate him extensively.

She found herself in luck — just down the path sat Alfred, talking to another man. Meredith approached, her sea green night dress flapping around her thighs. Sighing, she stopped just behind the two men. Without even pausing to let them notice her, she stepped a little closer, and studied them. "I need to talk to you," She said simply, interrupting Alfred as he spoke to the other man. Both of them spun around to look at her. She recognised the other immediately — but did not take any notice of him.

Alfred beamed at her, and dropped into a courteous bow. "It's always a pleasure to see you again, Ms. Hawthorne."

"Call me Meredith like you usually do, Alfred; I don't have time for —"

"But is it not the custom to call someone Ms, and then their last name, Hawthorne in your case, when they are courting someone quite seriously? Are you not with Frederick Barnes — please forgive me if I got the wrong impression —"

"Yes. No. I don't know — ask him!" Meredith snapped irritably. "I need to talk to you," She eyed the man standing beside Alfred cautiously. "Privately." She confirmed.

Alfred consented. "Of course. I will see you at lunch, then, Simon?" He directed this last part to his friend, who nodded drily, and strode off.

Half-hoping that Simon hadn't cared about her not conversing with him, Meredith sighed, and walked to a clearing with low hanging trees and dim sunlight. Soon Alfred appeared, smiling, annoying Meredith as he made his way over to her slightly clumsily. "How have you been?" He questioned with an easy air, and she forced a polite smile.

"Fine." She shook her head, waving the question away. "Now, Alfred, I have a question for you. You proposed to me around the day before you and the other rebels burned down my house. What would you have done if I'd said yes?"

Alfred nodded, as if he understood exactly why she was asking this question. It was evident he didn't, however, by the first part of his answer. "Surely you're not reopening my offer? Because, flattered as I am that you bring it up now, I must say, I really would not be your husband now — if that makes sense. And if you'd have said yes to my question, I would've been your husband — and a faithful one."

Meredith ignored him. "So you still would've burned down my home?" She asked, but she didn't listen to his response. As silence settled between the two, Alfred spoke again to break it.