The man's name was Lincoln Smiths, he was forty-seven years of age, and lived within the village on the outskirts of Banemount. His house wasn't too close in proximity of other residences, so the hopes of staying hidden were strengthened by that fact. Given he'd require his transportation for this type of job to remain hidden, Timothy traveled out after sundown. He left his own personal coach a comfortable distance from his target's home and any nearby road.
The day before, he'd been approached by Lucian Grimoire, Simon's lover, and was pleaded with to teach a man named Lincoln Smiths a valuable lesson. Apparently one night while Lucian was returning home late in the night, he'd been harassed by Lincoln who, while in a drunken state, had seemingly mistaken Lucian for a young woman, only to beat Lucian senselessly for "deceiving him" and "luring him" into committing such sinful acts when he sexually assaulted the now tramatized Lucian.
Lucian had been too fearful of telling Simon about the altercation, so took to Timothy's ear enable to get this justice settled.
So here Timothy was, stood before a stranger's home while the entire village was asleep. Tonight, his dark black hair was tied back into a low ponytail, and he had a scarf tied around the bottom half of his face to shield his features. He was dressed in black everything from head to toe, a precaution to make sure he could blend in with the darkness of the countryside.
Already familiar with the layout of the plot of land, Timothy kept his eyes ever watchful for anyone at all who could be wandering the late night. He stepped quietly as he could through the land at the rear of the house, a moderate-sized home big enough for a single man without any family. It was made of red brick, but looked black beneath the moon, the backdoor in full display the moment Timothy emerged from the bordering brush.
There was a broken down buggy in the yard, chickens cooped up, and a small pen for two pigs lain in the wet sludge. When Timothy was stood before the door, he turned the knob slowly to check if it was unlocked. It wasn't, so he pulled a beneficial tool to assist him in the stealthy break-in. It was a lock-pick, and while he knelt down to the key hole in the door, he turned the tool precisely enable to gain entry.
Once the lock was tampered with, Timothy tucked the tool back into his pocket and entered, closing the door behind him. It was as quiet as a cavern in the house, nearly anyway, as he began to hear the distant snoring of a man. Stood in the dining area, he moved slyly out of the modest kitchen and into the narrow hall. There was a stairwell to his right that led up to a pitch-black second floor, while further ahead of him was the sitting and study areas.
Since the snoring was coming from upstairs, Timothy went on and slowly climbed the steps. To his relief, none of the stairs creaked under his weight, that is, until he reached the first floorboard. It squealed under his weight and for a moment he froze where he was.
Swallowing hard, Timothy listened for any disruption in the man's sleep, but when the pattern of the snoring continued, he did as well. There was an empty storage room down towards his right, and the bedroom his target was in fell off to the left. He followed the weary sounds until faced with a cracked door and he peered inside.
There Lincoln Smiths lay sprawled across his bed in his sleepwear, one foot hanging over the edge while he slept with his mouth open. Timothy pushed the door open a bit more and entered, nearing the bed and took a rag from his back pocket. It was red, about the size of a dusting cloth, and when he was close enough, he leaned over the snoring man and stuffed the piece of fabric into Lincoln's mouth.
Almost instantly, the man jolted awake, but was held down before he could flail and Timothy pinched his nose. Lincoln squirmed erratically in the bed, trying to make any noise louder than his hushed grunts, but with both of his air passageways blocked, there was nothing he could do.
"Quiet," Timothy growled lowly, "Quiet, and I won't end your life here and now."
Lincoln trembled in his nightwear, hands gripped around Timothy's forearm to wrench him away, but the man was not strong enough for the stranger in his home. So to save his skin, he loosened his grip and tried to settle down, and when he was quiet enough for the dark-haired man's liking, Timothy removed his fingers from Lincoln's nose. To keep the man quiet, Timothy kept his other hand over Lincoln's mouth.
"I have been informed that you," Mr. Creel spoke through the scarf tied around his lower face, "Mr. Smiths, you are not a very polite man when under the influence of the whiskey you love so much. Just two nights ago, you had the audacity to approach an innocent man, and you forced yourself on him no matter how much he pleaded with you to stop."
Timothy reached down into his boot then and withdrew a dagger from a hidden slot. "Fortunately for you, your victim only asked me to put the fear of God in you -- while I would prefer to simply drive this here blade into your fucking skull."
Lincoln squealed and jostled again, but quickly came to a stop when Timothy placed the ice-cold sharpened edge of the dagger against his neck. As Timothy held the weapon there, his memory flickered unwanted images into his mind. He suddenly heard ghostly screams, echoed firearms going off all around him, and when he blinked he saw the faces of the two demons that stole what was once his from his arms. Seeing the past reflections of both men who he once slaughtered in cold blood, Timothy blinked once more and Lincoln Smiths was lain before him again.
And without a mere second thought, he drove the blade into Lincoln's throat. The man's eyes shot open wide as the pain inflicted into his being worsened, blood pooling out like black ink as Timothy removed his hand from over the dying man's mouth. If Lincoln could rape such an innocent person as Lucian, or anyone for that matter, could it not be said that he would try again with someone else? So what was the point of leaving him alive to perhaps commit the same devious act a second time? All monsters repeated their crimes, didn't they?
Standing back as Lincoln bled profusely until he was completely inert, Timothy looked down at the bloodied dagger in his hand, and in no way, shape or form, did he see his actions as wrong. This was the safest move; getting this man off the streets. So with having finished the job he'd been requested for, Timothy cleaned the silver blade on the white bedding and left the area the same way he'd come from.
He disappeared like a phantom in the night and rode all the way home atop his transport. When he made it home, and closed off the gates to his property, he permitted his horse to roam about however she liked. But he wouldn't stay for long.
The night before, upon his departure from the Lancechester manor, he'd been entreated to return a second time by the Master, and truth be told, he would much rather spend an additional night, or even more than just a few beneath Jasper's roof, than to remain in this empty reminder all by himself. This piece of land was his home, yes, he'd worked so hard in the past to make it his own, but now that it was no longer needed due to tragic reasons, Timothy didn't much like staying here on his own.
So without further contemplation, Timothy entered his home and gathered a large sack to stuff pairs of clothing inside.
When he was finished in his small bedroom, he slung the strap of the bag over his shoulder and left without looking back. The mere idea of being far from this lonesome place eased his spirits, spirits that had a hard time being lifted, but somehow that late night with Jasper had proved to Timothy that he could still feel what it was like to be alive. Was he on the verge of falling in love for the second time in his life? A part of him already knew the answer well enough, but if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that Jasper Lancechester was capable of renewing these fresh sentiments.
Ever since he'd lost Neville to vicious hands, Timothy had locked away Broderick Thorne in a place he once thought he'd lost track of. With everything that connected him to the noblemen he used to be gone from his life, it was easy to forget about the wondrous young man he once was. But these feelings that were forming in his chest, the feelings that struck the chords connected to Broderick Thorne, they all called out to him.
And he wanted to listen, he wanted them to guide him in the direction they were pulling, and that was towards Master Jasper Lancechester. No, the blond nobleman was not Neville, but Timothy wanted to feel again, and the key to that lied in the other man's hands.
"One more ride, girl," Timothy ran his fingers through the mane of his horse, "And then I shall give you rest." He climbed up on the buggy and made his way to the manor.
The journey was rather quick since he knew exactly where he was going, and when he let himself into the gates, he went ahead toward the stables around back and locked his horse inside. Almost every window of the manor was blackened by darkness, almost, for there was but one on the third floor with a minor glow emitting from it, a single candle showing there was sleepless life on the inside.
With Jasper making sure to keep a door unlocked for him, Timothy entered through the back doors and then bolted them once he was inside. The first level was silent as he traveled down the deserted corridors, the stairs leading to the upper floors like shadowy twists in the night, but Timothy could still see clear enough given his eyes adjustment to the dark.
On the third floor, he headed for Jasper's chamber, but stopped when he thought he heard angered voices off to his right. Already knowing that the servants were asleep in their own personal quarters, Timothy considered the argument must be coming from where Lady Darcy and Juliette shared their own room.
Inquisitive to how such an anger could arise from someone as cheerful as Darcy and Juliette, Timothy decided it was none of his business to intrude on their personal matters. Continuing on to Jasper's chamber, he tapped the back of his knuckle against the face of the door, and a moment later, it was opened by the man he'd come all this way to see.
Tonight, the Master was dressed down for the evening in his sleepwear. It was as white as snow in the winter and fell far passed his knees, a gown with delicate designs sewn prettily into the lace folds of the collar and sleeves, and Jasper's sunny blond hair was tied back into a ribbon. For someone seeming to have gotten ready for bed, he still looked stunning in whatever apparel he chose to wear.
"Good evening," Timothy greeted kindly, "I want to apologise if I kept you waiting for longer than you expected."
"There is no need," Jasper stepped back with a limp, "I am only glad you still came. Please, come inside, I am sure you are tired from your passage."
"That I am," Timothy entered, dropping his bag beside the door. "How was your day while I was gone? Did you and the Lady speak more about the demands of your father?"
When Jasper said nothing, Timothy turned to the nobleman again to find him turning his thumbs nervously. "She is frightened," Jasper said then, "As am I, but her fear far out-weighs mine entirely. Never in her life, particularly after she and I married, did she ever consider the idea of suffering through intimacy with anyone other than Juliette, intimacy from another man, of all people." Making his way slowly into the second half of the bedroom after locking the entry door, Jasper brought himself up on the bed and sat with his legs crossed near the edge.
"Surely somewhere down the line," Timothy said, unbuttoning his shirt, "you both thought at least once about the need for a successor to the Lancechester fortune."
Watching Timothy come out of his shirt and fold it on the back of an armchair, Jasper sighed and went on. "Just once before. It was about two years into our marriage, and both of us thought to merely say she could not provide children due to a bodily misfortune...but now that my father threatens to steal her from our home if she cannot give birth to a child, there is no way we could use that lie in our favor. And Darcy was correct, my father would force a woman on me if not Darcy, and she would be given back to her parents, thus into the clutches of a man who does not know her as I. I cannot allow that, she is my wife, my friend whom I promised to protect the second we were married. I won't let any harm come to her."
A smile cracked upon Timothy's face when he stepped out of his boots, "You speak as though you and she are actual lovers."
"Well," Jasper leaned back on his palms, "I do love her, just not in the same exact manner Juliette does. Darcy has always been such a strong woman, and I will never have doubt in that, but even the strongest of people need to lean on the shoulders of others sometimes. I would carry all of her weight if I had to."
Timothy neared the edge of the massive bed, placing his hands on the bend of Jasper's knees. "The question remains. Will you father a child with her to preserve what you've built here?"
"We haven't much of a choice, Mr. Creel," Jasper said, almost sounding annoyed by his own response. "We must try soon, but until that day comes, I have duties to attend to for the coming day. I received a letter today from my sister and the contents of her letter worried me a great deal. While she was in attendance to the ball held for my birthday, she seemed quite happy with her fiancé at the time, but the contents of her letter speak otherwise, and it has come to my attention that the man she is to marry very soon is mistreating her and her daughter. Beatrice fears telling our father, but she has grown scared and unhappy."
"If it is not too personal," Timothy said, unconsciously passing his thumbs acorss the Master's knees. "May I ask where her fears originate?"
"Apparently," Jasper said dryly, "Her beloved fiancé is not the jolly man he appeared to be at the ball. When he consumes too much wine, which he seemingly does often, he becomes abusive to my niece and sister. While I will not lie here and act as though I never once laid a hand on my sister when she upset me when we were young, he takes pleasure in striking them as they cower. What I can't fully understand, is that she still loves him and wants their family to grow. Her only wish is for me to make him stop."
Timothy understood Beatrice's situation. There were plenty of women in the world, especially in these times, that would much rather take the unnecessary wraths of their husbands than to leave them. It was clear, though, that it seemed Jasper would much rather his sister distance herself from such a marriage than to see her step into it. With her request sent in the cursives of her handwriting, her brother, whom was just a year older than she, he would confidently step into the fray on her behalf.
"You will travel alone?" Timothy asked, "Even with who you are, there is no telling if her fiancé carries his violence even when sober."
The Master smiled, "You do not think the name of Jasper Lancechester enough to quell the anger of another nobleman?"
"To say that you are weak is not what I meant," Timothy corrected himself.
"I only tease, Mr. Creel," Jasper held his hand out then, welcoming the other man to join him in the bed. While Timothy was stood there at the edge, half-dressed in trousers as he was, he slid his hand into the Master's grasp and climbed into the bed as well, bringing himself atop Jasper then, and for a moment it seemed they would share a bated kiss. "Come with me," he was told, "Won't you stay at my side?"
Without answering in a 'yes' or 'no' fashion, Timothy said, "I would feel better knowing you had someone to oversee your safety. Perhaps your sister's fiancé is a dangerous man."
Lain just below Timothy's looming body, Jasper's fingers grazed his jawline, pricked by the stubble of his facial hair as they softly glided down his face. "But you would protect me, yes?"
"I would."
Jasper kissed Timothy then, their lips meeting like a feather fallen from the sky. The sensations of having someone else so close to him, someone to share such a starry and idealistic moment with was still so strange to Jasper, but somehow with that person being Mr. Creel, it made their moments like this easier to bear.
As their kiss deepened and they fell further into each other's embrace, Jasper came to understand that they were just two men in search for a happiness like the ones that had been stripped from them long ago. Already the Master knew very well this man on top of him could never compare to Elijah. They were not and never would be the same human beings, there was no second coming for such things, but even if Timothy Creel and Elijah Goode were not of the similar tales of love, Jasper knew each prospect of love was different. Like the many books in his library, Jasper was aware that none of them were the same on the inside, but they all had a way about them that drew him in. And Timothy Creel had that just as Elijah once did.
So, while Jasper had not chosen to fall too deeply for the butler in his past, even now he did not choose to feel anything so strongly for Mr. Creel. But, somehow, he did, and there was no further traces of fear or regret inside of him. He wanted this. He wanted Timothy.
Stealing his tongue from Jasper when they parted to breathe, the dark-haired man peered down into crystalline-blue eyes, and suddenly he was Broderick Thorne once more. It was as though he could hear the boy he once was begging to be released from behind the mask he'd worn for years now, and the longer he viewed the image of his own likeness in the windows of Jasper's eyes, the more he could distinguish the boy he'd been running from.
Timothy Creel knew this was dangerous, this interest and yearning to see what a life with Jasper Lancechester could bring, but Broderick didn't care, Broderick wanted to feel all these new and refreshing passions no matter what results had the possibilities to transpire, and Timothy could feel in his heart that it wasn't long until Broderick's own desires took over.
"Jasper," Timothy spoke in a near-whisper, "There is something you must know of me. If I – am to step into this life with you, I feel there is something you should know before we go any further."
Causing tingles to rave throughout Timothy's veins, Jasper said, "What is it," as he continued to kiss at the other man's neck.
"Please," Timothy swallowed nervously, kissing Jasper's lips when he finally came away. "Just listen to me for a moment."
Perceiving the sound of tension in the dark-haired man's tone, Jasper brought himself upright as they sat facing one another. "Is something the matter?"
"Nothing detrimental, no, but I feel I know many things about you, while in return, you know nothing about the man you've allowed into your chamber. You know I live alone, that I am essentially a paid murderer, and that I once felt the dire loss of someone I loved. But what you are unaware of, is that..." he breathed to calm himself, "...my name is not Timothy Creel, and I am not the common man you believe me to be."
Jasper remained quiet as he listened, and without providing a comment on the partial confession, the Master merely brought himself back against the headboard of the large bed and placed a pillow in his lap.
Timothy held his tongue for just a minute longer, trying to align what words he would use as this telling of his past breached the surface of this world. He almost felt as if he were entering it for the first time after so long. Downing the edge in his being, Timothy placed himself at the side of the bed and let his hands rest in his lap as well, feet on the floor as the mild chill in the room embraced him. There was a mirror bolted to the wall across the way and as his own gaze met the one refelcted back at him... there he was, there he had always been.
"I traveled here to Banemount searching for secrecy for Neville and I," Timothy began at last. "From Islesbury I brought us here after my younger brother passed, and after my father discovered my relations involving our stable boy. I came from a rather affluent bloodline, the Thorne family. Jasper, my true name is Broderick Thorne, and I have stripped myself from the connections I once shared with my family."
"Broderick?" Jasper said, almost sounding in disbelief and amazement. "You are the lost Broderick Thorne?" He was truly baffled by the revelation, especially since he could still remember the stories traveling from city to city about the missing noble boy. There had been stories that Broderick had been kidnapped for payoffs, that he'd simply vanished into thin air like some kind of sorcery, but this was the truth. He'd simply run away from home, all while there had been such a large search for him, a massive reward for his safe return. "You ran from your father then, when he discovered?" Jasper asked.
"Yes," Timothy nodded, "Although I would have stayed if my younger brother had not succumbed to his illness the same night. My father, Stanley Thorne, made it clear that he would force me to take a woman's hand so that I could not interact with Neville any longer. He did not point his threats too far in Neville's direction. He would have allowed us to remain under the same roof so long as I kept my distance. But we left in the night."
Jasper's head tilted slightly in thought, resembling a curious pup as his eyes examined Timothy further. "Now that I really look at you," he said, "You do share a resemblance to your brother Oscar. Though, his hair is not quite as curly. What you have told me, it does not change how I feel. But, tell me this, as I can see there is such a tension inside of you as you merely speak of your old self, would you much rather me call you Timothy or Broderick?"
The dark-haired man shook his head, feeling a weight leave his shoulders, but still a heaviness would forever remain. "I have run from him for so long," he said, and he met the gaze that studied his own. "I couldn't imagine claiming the name of Broderick Thorne again."
"Timothy, then," Jasper said, willing the other man nearer to him as they laid down upon the bed once more. "I will call you Timothy."