Autumn Rose - Abigail Gibbs

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the lower ferry,’ I murmured, finding it difficult to talk with him there. He looked at me, puzzled. ‘Follow the embankment,’ I added, but didn’t hold out much hope. If the sturdier higher ferry was closed, then the barge-and-tug that was the lower ferry would be too. I was right. As we approached the oldest part of town, where the beamed black-and-white upper floors of buildings leant precariously over the cobbled pavement and fishermen’s cottages lined the streets, I could see one of the ferrymen deserting his post as he bent against the wind. Out in the choppy river, I could just make out the lights of the ferry heading back to its pontoon.

      The prince sighed. ‘Guess it’s the road way around then. You’ll have to direct me.’ I nodded and he continued. ‘I normally turn off at Totnes towards Dartmoor. I haven’t been to Torbay yet.’ He finished and out of the corner of my eye I could see him glancing at me. I knew I was supposed to carry on the conversation, but said nothing.

      When we reached the top of the hill again, I saw him looking once more. He opened his mouth and closed it again, and then seemed to settle on speaking. ‘I’m living with my aunt and uncle – I suppose you know them as their royal Athenean highnesses the duke and duchess of Victoria, don’t you?’ His tone was heavily sarcastic. Titles were clearly a bother to him, except, of course, for mine. ‘They bought a place up on the moors, near Princetown. When I heard, I jumped at the chance. I’ve always wanted to study in England, and Australia had become impossible with the paparazzi. I knew this area was like a bubble and Kable seemed like a good choice with you there, so we took out super injunctions against the media running anything about our whereabouts, fed the gossips at court a lie about me returning to Sydney and here we are. No bodyguards and no paparazzi.’

      I nodded slowly. I didn’t hear anything about them moving here whilst in London. They must really want the quiet life for nothing to have filtered down the grapevine. Yet I knew it would get out eventually. It was a ticking time bomb and when the press did descend, I would be implicated too.

      Again, I sensed that he was trying to start a conversation, but I wasn’t sure how to respond. Everything I did want to say to him was unspeakable; treasonous, even.

      ‘And you are here because of your parents,’ he stated. It was not a question.

      He fell silent again and I knew that with a little effort, I could break the quiet, yet made no move to do so. In that moment, it was hard to believe that at twelve, I had effortlessly talked up or down, to my superiors and inferiors, and thought nothing of the ability. It was to the manor born, installed in me since birth. But now my two tongues strangled each other and the words would not come.

      ‘Do you miss her?’ he murmured suddenly, his two hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly I could see his knuckles whitening. I stared at them for a few seconds, and then looked straight ahead, watching the cat’s eyes flash below us.

      ‘Yes. Very much,’ I whispered, not sure he would even hear me above the battering rain and hum of the engine.

      Yet he nodded in acknowledgement. ‘It was horrible, what happened. It – you were so young. Only fourteen. To experience loss like that must have been …’

      He didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t need to. I knew how it felt and he was obviously trying to comprehend it.

      ‘Murder,’ he said after a while. ‘Have you … have you ever thought about revenge?’

      ‘I would if I knew who her murderer was,’ I snapped, surprising myself with my change of tone.

      The prince turned towards me as far as he could without taking an eye off the road. ‘I’m sorry, but have I done something to offend you? I know I haven’t seen you for several years, but we used to be friends and now I might as well have the plague.’

      ‘Other than reveal my title, Your Highness?’ I retorted.

      He let out a sharp breath. ‘I was just trying to help you—’

      ‘Why?’

      He passed the wheel through his hands as he took a sharp left, and then sped up as the road widened into two lanes.

      He shook his head slightly and frowned. ‘Well … we go back a long way, you used to come to court a lot. Why wouldn’t I help you?’

      I rubbed a clear patch in the condensation on my window and stared out of it. ‘I don’t like you.’

      There was a long silence in which the muted whirring of the engine and the beating of the windscreen wipers was the only sound. I didn’t look at him, and silently wondered how many times – if ever – someone had actually admitted that to him.

      He finally hummed in acknowledgement. ‘May I ask why?’

      I hadn’t thought this far ahead in my impulsiveness. I had just said what I felt … for once, I had just let go and admitted to my feelings. But what I wanted to say in reply was an accusation … treasonous even. But when else will I get the chance to ask?

      ‘I think you, and the entire royal family and council are withholding information from me. I think you know why my grandmother was murdered, and by whom. I think that because I heard mutterings at her funeral … and why else would no answer have been given by now?’

      His knuckles went instantly white on the steering wheel, and eighteen months of suspicion was confirmed by his paling complexion. ‘What makes you think I would know that kind of information?’

      ‘You’re second in line to the throne. You’re good with politics; better than the heir. I think your parents would trust you.’

      I averted my gaze at the unexpected compliment I had paid him. I kept it averted, and waited and waited, until I rested my head against the window in defeat.

      ‘I have orders not to tell you,’ he said, stiffly.

      I gasped and the surge of hate and pain I felt every time I thought of her trebled. I wanted to say something, but words failed me. A tear eased itself down my cheek, squeezing between the window and my skin. I closed my eyes, preventing any more from forming and allowed my hair, wet and beginning to curl, to cover my face.

      I felt a pressure on my knee – his hand. I jerked my leg away and pulled my bag protectively onto my lap, feeling my cheeks flame a very bright red. His hand hovered between the gear stick and the steering wheel, as though he was unsure of what to do with it. He settled for the steering wheel.

      ‘I’m sorry. I really am. And I’m sorry for revealing your title too. It was wrong of me.’ I waited for him to continue. He took the hint. ‘I thought it might ease relations with the students and, though I know this will sound selfish of me, I wanted to treat you as an equal. People accept that more when they can put a title to a name.’

      I opened and closed my mouth again, feeling remotely like a fish out of its depth.

      ‘I suppose I didn’t understand that you wanted to …’ He seemed to search around for an appropriate phrase. ‘Well, live as a human.’

      I felt my chest split into a bizarre mix of anger and confusion. ‘That’s not what I want.’

      ‘Sure? When was the last time you used complicated magic? And I don’t mean to tidy your hair.’

      I couldn’t even answer that and I slumped back in my seat.

      ‘Exactly. If you mean what you say, then why don’t you practice your magic?’

      Again, I couldn’t answer him until we approached my road and I told him to turn right. We climbed passed the church and the adjoining graveyard, turning left onto the tree-lined avenue. I could see his eyes glancing left and right, taking it in; judging. I knew that behind those eyes, he was thinking how unimpressive it all was. Though the houses were of an intimidating red-brick Victorian design, detached and comfortably spacious, I knew this was not the norm for someone of my standing.

      I told him to stop halfway down and unbuckled my belt. I hesitated, my hand on the handle, about to open the door.

      Decorum,

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