Chapter Text
The Hooper family was received respectfully but at a distance. The twins, who had moved just outside of the town a year prior, had already made a name for themselves. The oldest, Mark, ventured in occasionally for provisions and to tend to any illness that may have befallen the people.
Although he wasn’t the official physician, many reasoned he would take up the mantle when the work became too cumbersome for the elderly Dr Hodge, which seemed likely to happen at any moment.
He was a quiet gentleman, but his hands were tender with his patients. Already, the small community of mothers had plenty of potential wives in mind. As far as they saw it, he only needed a lover to open up. His sister, on the other hand, was a far more difficult case. Margaret, when she did the rare trek of coming into town, gave the impression of being a timid but intelligent young lady. It was the opinion of most that her appearance was a little plain, perhaps on the verge of being pretty, at a distance, but her age took away from whatever attractive qualities she seemed to possess. And there was her demeanour… She never stayed long in shops to chat, only to gather whatever material she needed to make her mends, and then left.
The only person who had a real conversation with her was the bookstore owner, and even then, Mr Shaw didn’t know much about Miss Margaret - aside from that she preferred the name Molly and that she held a surprising interest in the sciences. All in all, the Hoopers were considered a sort of local curiosity.
Late November
“Shit!” Molly swiftly reached out, frantically clasping onto a tree’s trunk before she fell over. After she had caught her breath, she straightened, frowning at the wicker basket that she’d dropped.
An assortment of mushrooms that she had stumbled across, Jelly Ear, and Shaggy Ink Caps, lay mockingly at her feet. Sighing, Molly released her hold on the tree and bent down, scooping everything up from the frozen mud. Casting a betrayed glance at the protruding root that she’d tripped over, Molly continued on her way - letting the thought of the soup she was going to make and the warmth of a fire hurry her pace.
Through the twisting maze of the forest and their searching skeleton fingers, she walked along the trail. This place may be her home, and the spirits that inhabited these ancient beings might not mean her any harm, but that didn’t mean that there weren’t other things that did. Molly was alone in the world, and that made her invisible. And while that could aid her, it was also a double-edged sword. Just as easily, she could go missing, and no one would know. No one would care.
The image of a gentleman flashed in her mind, studious, with dark curls and a cold gaze. Molly winced, shaking her head to be rid of the memory. She had left London for a reason and had severed its leash. Those memories weren’t hers to yearn after anymore.
The trees opened up to reveal a clearing. Hidden away and protected in the bosom of the forest was Molly’s cottage. The breath she’d been unknowingly holding escaped in a gush. Her haven, built by a family long since gone, was made up of roughly hewn stones and covered with a thatched roof. However, that moment of serenity didn’t last long. Her heart skidded to a halt as she stared from across the field.
The front door was open.
At first, she didn’t know what that meant; she couldn’t comprehend the idea of someone being in her home. That someone would break in would tarnish the precious privacy she had. A second later, anger slammed into her, the intensity taking her completely off guard. It breathed hotly through her body, willing her feet to move and to run forward. Shoving the door fully open, Molly paused at the entrance. The light from the rapidly darkening sky slipped past her and spilled into the hallway. Orange and yellow bathed the interior that Molly gingerly walked into.
There weren’t a lot of rooms, only three if she didn’t count the pantry. This made the task of finding the intruder easy. Warily, she set her basket down and walked into the room on the left.
The kitchen.
Inside, there wasn’t any sign of anyone. She padded over to the large pine table that was placed in the middle of the room. Ears straining for any sound, her breath hitched as she cautiously opened the furniture’s drawer. Glancing between the door frames on either side of the room, she carefully picked up her weapon, a meat cleaver, before she closed the drawer.
Nothing yet, but that didn’t mean her intruder wasn’t crouched in a corner waiting for her. She didn’t think anyone would hide in the cool pantry, but just for an equal measure, she tiptoed over to its door. With a deep breath, she yanked it open. Awaiting her were the usual cabinets and her stocked food.
Sighing with temporary relief, Molly firmly shut the door and turned around.
There were only two more rooms left.
Right. Molly thought as she adjusted her grip on the handle. Let’s get this over with.
Briskly, she walked across the kitchen but hesitated when she stood in front of the closed door. Her hand hovered above the brass knob, plagued with a terrible sense of dread.
Are they in my bedroom? There wasn’t much they could steal from her, at least, of a material value. The life she led didn’t involve a lot of pretty trinkets. What she did possess had more of a sentimental significance. Gently loved books and what she kept from that past life in the city, bits and pieces that belonged to her late father, old letters and his clothing.
Nose scrunching with the idea of a faceless thief stealing what meagre things she had to remember her father by, Molly’s hand finally clamped onto the doorknob. She listened with a wince at the sharp sound of the tiny gears moving and clicking into place. Pulling it open, she lifted her knife a little higher as she peered inside, hoping that it would scare off this burglar, and that's when she saw… Nothing.
Well, not nothing but the same threadbare contents she saw on an average day. It looked just as she left it. So… That just left the parlour room.
Releasing the doorknob, Molly retraced her steps, walking back into the main hallway. This time, however, she opened the door to the room on the right and headed inside.
That’s when she finally saw it - Er, him. It looked like it was a man who was lying face down on her carpet. He was sprawled in a rather awkward position, one that made Molly on the verge of pitying him for the pain he’d suffered from in the morning, but that feeling didn’t last long.
Blinking harshly, Molly hissed, “Tobias! ” Of course, her feline companion has stretched out comfortably a few paces away from the motionless body. He gave her a chirp in greeting but made no move to get up, only purring loudly as she stepped into the room.
Lips pursed, Molly eyed the man before she set the knife on the small table by the entryway. If her territorial cat wasn’t worried, then perhaps this unwanted guest posed no threat. And even if he did try to harm her, she was more than confident Tobias would claw him into ribbons, which would give her enough time to arm herself again.
Huffing at how outlandish this situation was, she crept up to the stranger. One of his arms was outstretched, almost as if he… Molly’s brows furrowed. Had he been trying to light the fireplace? Kneeling to his side, she gripped his shoulders, grunting as she turned him over. Leaning forward, she peered into his face.
“Who are you?” She whispered aloud, squinting in annoyance. She didn’t recognize him, at least, he wasn’t one of her patients. The town’s people knew she lived in the forest, so perhaps he was someone who needed help.
The drained colour from his cheeks was certainly something that alarmed her. She lingered on his expression. She was averse to noting the attractiveness of his dark features, but despite everything, Molly was a woman - one who only touched other humans when it was professionally necessary or to exchange coins, and he was… handsome.
There was something simple to his visage individually, but when looked at as a whole… Molly shook her head, hastily looking away from his thick eyelashes and inky ruffled hair, and tentatively placed two fingers against the side of his windpipe. After a tense second, she felt his pulse. She stayed there for nine more seconds, counting the number of beats. When she pulled away, she was frowning again.
He was alive, but the slowness of his heart and the clamminess of his fevered skin were vexing. Molly tsked. “The nerve,” she mumbled, “getting yourself into such a state and without any consideration to those who would be tasked with restoring your health.” She absently shook her head, shifting her focus to his torso.
Before she undressed him, it was best to be prepared. As swiftly as she possibly could, she exited the room and ran into the kitchen. Stopping at the closed range, she fetched some kindling and matches before she unlatched the grate. As soon as she had a fire going, she closed it, grabbed a hanging pot from the wall and set it on the hot plate above the firebox. Thankfully, she’d already gotten a pitcher full of water from the well earlier that morning, so she easily poured the liquid in.
After tossing some strips of cloth in as well, she grabbed gauze, a jar of honey, and a powder from the pantry. Taking it with her, she went back into the parlour room.
For a moment, she stood in the door frame, baffled that he was still there. When she was in the other room, a part of her had hoped this wasn’t real, that she had imagined this scene to have a sense of relief from her crippling loneliness. Being stuck in this hellish nightmare with no hope of escaping was far better than being alone. But no, she wasn’t sleeping, and a man was dying on her rug. With a heavy heart, she walked over to him and set her tools on the ground.
It was hard to describe the suit he wore. The style was of a fashionable cut, and although it had been years since she’d attended any matter of a ball or even walked the streets of London, she reasoned it could only belong to those with exquisite taste. Perhaps, she was tending to an aristocrat? But that still brought on the question as to why he was here, of all places? Not at a manor with a league of servants awaiting his every wish.
The colour of the suit was strange. It reminded her of rain on a cold night and whispered secrets. But as beautiful as his clothing was, it was currently hiding any wounds her guest might have. Clucking her tongue, Molly quickly climbed to her feet and made her way over to the dresser in the corner. Yanking open the drawer, she had to rummage for a few moments before she found her shears. As soon as she clasped them, she hurried back to his side.
Dropping to her knees, Molly pushed the sopping fabric of his coat back. She paused, mystified by the material. It felt like water gliding through her fingers, weightless, without the same burden as when her attire was soaked through. Roughly, she shook her head. Coat out of her way, she then unbuttoned his vest. There were only four jet glass buttons, but the trembling of her fingers made the task harder than it ought to be. Pushing that to the side as well, finally, she could see the dark spot staining his dress shirt.
She slid the scissor blades so the material was between them, careful not to nick any flesh as she was just about to make her first cut. Before she could, a hand shot out and gripped her wrist.
The tight, painful vice made her drop the scissors, stealing a gasp from her lips as her eyes snapped upwards. He was glaring at her. His eyes were glassy, but his animosity still rang clear. In the background, she could hear Tobias’ hiss of warning, but it was faint. The deep rasp of this man’s voice snatched away all other sounds.
“Don’t,” he seethed, holding an impossible amount of power with such a simple word, “harm a single thread of my suit, mortal...” As soon as he finished the sentence, his eyes rolled in the back of his head, and he fell limp onto the floor.
Molly sat there, eyes wide and mouth agape. “Mortal?” She muttered to herself, slowly recovering from her shock. She rubbed at her throbbing wrist, still staring at the inert form.
From behind her, Tobias gave a meow of concern and stalked over to sniff her. After the excitement of everything had settled, Molly said aloud, “What an arse!” She was attempting to heal him, even after he had broken into her home and had tracked mud all over the floor, and he still had the nerve to threaten her?! Molly pursed her lips. She had half the mind to toss him outside and let him handle his wounds by himself. Angrily, she dropped her hand to pick up the scissors again.
No…
She couldn’t do that… She swore an oath to help those in need, and the fool she was, she was going to keep it. Despite this nameless man’s intimidation, Molly’s spite was stronger than her fear, and she ruthlessly cut through the dress shirt. It was sad to see such a pretty thing destroyed, but at that point, her anger didn’t let her dawdle over the waste. As soon as it was split down the middle and ripped at the arms, she tossed it over her shoulder.
The ungrateful gentleman before her had a cut to his side, which thankfully didn’t appear too deep to be fatal. And while that was a welcome sight, it didn’t lessen her worry or the hard work ahead of her.
The first thing she did was go back into the kitchen for the strips of cloth, which she separated into a bowl by forceps. The heated water was poured into its dish, with mild soap flakes added. Carefully, she walked back with the two dishes and set them down with the rest of her equipment.
Slipping out of her coat, she tossed it to the side. “Right,” Molly mumbled, “let’s get to work.”
She couldn’t see any debris in the wound, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. With the cloth, she cleaned gingerly so she wouldn’t scrub the skin. After everything was rinsed off and she was satisfied, she used soapy water to clean around it.
Tossing the bloodied cloth into the bowl, she then turned to the jars. The powdered shepherd’s purse was first, a styptic she applied directly to help with the inflammation. Next, the honey, she layered evenly to prevent infection. The tricky part, however, came to bandaging the wound.
It was difficult, but eventually, she managed to wind the gauze around his physique, eyes stubbornly avoiding the fairness of his skin and the lean firmness of his muscles. Content that she did her best, she did a cursory review of the rest of his body for any remaining injury. Surprisingly, it appeared that aside from bruises and minor cuts, the wound to the torso was the only major one.
Tuckered out and her sunlight nearly all gone, Molly did what little she could do with the darkness descending upon her. She changed into some clean nightclothes and stole the blankets from her bed, which she generously draped over her patient.
Fire in the range banked, she then checked to see that the front door was locked and all the windows were closed. It was only then that she made her bed for tonight in the parlour room. Sleeping on the stiff sofa wasn’t the most comfortable place, but it would help her keep an eye on him. Hearth ablaze and noisily crackling, Molly squinted at the man over her toes, trying her hardest to keep her eyes open a little longer. But as prudent as she was about falling asleep, it wasn’t only her body that was exhausted, but her soul as well.
“Perhaps,” she mumbled around a yawn, “tomorrow will yield answers.” Slumber snuck up on her then, stealing her away to a realm of fitful dreams.