Young Writers Society

Salvation of Ignorance - Chapter 8.2: He Soon Became Haunted

Her hands shielded her ears and her papers went everywhere else. Something collided with the ground that was heavier and more vocal than paper, encouraging the attention of both pairs of eyes. Miss Barrettmore was the only one who felt persuaded to reply.

After securing the majority of the fallen belongings, she paused and glimpsed at those which lay at his feet. Now very aware that he had been caught observing her this entire retrieval, Niall retreated a few steps and waited out the interval by investing himself in vessel-inspection. However, he heard no rustle to signify retrievals, thus increasing the interval to an unbearable increment.

Exhaling, he knelt and acted in Miss Barrettmore's stead. Taking her time to accept the offering, once the papers were extracted from his hand, Niall blurted, "It's unsafe to travel vacant lots sans chaperone."

She swallowed and he feared possible expansion of the hives at her chest. Niall added, "You should also take care to your attire. It may mislead those observing."

His cheeks portrayed evidence of abuse. "Perhaps 'observing' is an unsavory word choice."

Mouth agape, his wit had failed him. Niall turned to the wall for inspiration only to find he had lost the favor of the muses. He was forced to settle upon, "What's to be concluded is that your actions have consequences pertaining to how others may perceive them. So, have a care, if you would be so kind."

The girl did not reply and he soon became haunted by the clops that echoed moments before. Impatience eased him past the earlier apprehension, convincing him to observe her status. Miss Barrettmore's eyes glanced away as he confiscated the role of observer. Seeing her hands leveled upon the damaged sheets, he noted the absence of their earlier cries.

He assumed that to be an indication of the completion of a conversation neither wished to pursue further. Rising, he instinctively offered a hand to aid in her joining him, but she left his open hand exposed to bad air.

"If it's any consolation, I haven't heard a lively tune for the durations of our travels."

Miss Barrettmore remained non-compliant. Niall hoped she wasn't foraging for an extensive apology. He had provided more than should've been required for a victim of assumptions to ill-manors.

Then her lips parted, and with a flat line, she embellished three short laughs. Her hand made an endeavor toward his own, but neglected to fill the gap. Elevating upon her own strength, she replied shortly, "Thank you."

Niall frowned, not entirely caring for the timing of her declaration of gratitude. It wouldn't be for his hand (for she had denied it) and he doubted it was for his earlier preaching. Therefore, he had no alternative than to conclude that she was disparaging him with kindness.

Pressure built in Niall's chest. As if she was favoring him--superior to him--by her supposed appreciation. Clearly she was ignorant of the extent of her ignorance.

"On the contrary," Niall began, as he was in the mood to cure the blind, "it is I who should express my gratitude."

Miss Barrettmore blinked.

Placing a hand upon his chest, he continued, "To be so kind as to tolerate--."

His focus was broken when short breaths expelled from her nose. A hand went to her mouth and her chest concaved. Then she released a breath, but her hand remained stationary.

It became apparent to him that his lips had parted while eyeing her peculiar behavior. Covering the exposure with his palm, he rubbed a finger against his cheek as he closed the fissure. Lowering his hand, Niall attempted to retrieve his place in his speech. "Uh...yes, as to tolerate my presence--."

Another interruption occurred by Miss Barrettmore, but rather than breathy-nasal extractions, it was a cascade of laughter. However, the laughs were more fluid than the short, choppy ones she demonstrated previously. Rather similar to those she used that night at the town hall. And those she used against him to make public jovialities of his lifestyle with Miss Wade at Peter's assembly.

The pressure intensified. Niall reflexively granted his nails to ware the material of his cravat. This only transformed Miss Barrettmore's fluid laughter into a cataract.

Sickly-heat incubated Niall's cheeks as he gritted his teeth. Civility could hang itself. "What, in God's name, has inspired such a fit?"

Miss Barrettmore complied too readily and her eyes glanced over his chin and chest. A bold act, considering she was on the verge of bawling, from his accusation, a moment prior. Then the momentary peace deceased. Practically gasping for air (and he dearly hoped for her failure), she managed to extract a handkerchief from her bodice.

Niall scrunched his brows at the offering, but he took it in case her final will was to offer a treaty. It was then he noticed his hands had changed race. "Bloody hell. What is this?"

Upon her second attempt to compose herself, she succeeded with a reliance on light coughs and continued attempts to re-regulate her breathing. While decently accomplishing these multiple tasks simultaneously, she taxed herself by displaying a black cylinder between her thumb and index finger. Both tips of her phalanges were blackened in the process. A charcoal pencil.

Clearing his throat, he quickly set her treaty to work at purifying his hand. Completing the cleansing, he strove to return the artifact. Miss Barrettmore, on the other hand, refused to accept it and instead used her hand to point to her cheek.

Niall narrowed his eyes, but did as instructed. After a few rotations upon his cheek, he inspected the handkerchief to see it stained with a validation of her suggestion. He nodded, and managed to de-bruise his pride enough to add, "Thank you."

But she refused to accept the return again.

From his peripherals, her hand blurred some as her gesture went south and Niall was reluctant to follow. It was ridiculous for him to second guess how he would be perceived for following, especially considering she had little to offer. Well, anyway, he knew his intentions well enough, and, if need be, he could always defend himself as having warned her seconds prior to take care of the consequences of her actions.

So, his gaze followed and, as speculated, he found nothing to satisfy. Granted, her directions had settle at the base of her neck, rather than his over-calculation.

Anyways, she was directing him to another task of cleansing and choose to refocus himself on complying. His egg-white cravat was demolished. "Jesus Christ. How can you tolerate such an instrument?"

Niall was in the midst of spreading the contamination, with each rub, when Miss Barrettmore began to walk past him.

Adding three additional rubs, for good measure, he turned to face her and offered to return the handkerchief. "Here, don't forget this."

She stopped but only turned to partially face him. She glanced at his hand with scrunched brows and turned her gaze towards the direction she had been heading in. Niall followed her gaze and found a Negres observing them beside one of the cabins.

Narrowing his brows, he opened his mouth to speak, but halted when Miss Barrettmore retrieved her belonging and scurried off. As the girl retreated to that particular cabin, Niall derived a peculiar notion. That the Negres had summoned her. And Miss Barrettmore had complied.

It was roughly a few weeks later when Niall finally contacted the phantom sailor. Niall awaited his return as he stood above deck. Meanwhile, he did his best to refrain from encouraging rowdy teens from using him as target practice and his hands from itching during his impatience. He'd already lost one cravat.

After an exaggerated wait, Niall heard steps near his hide-out. Rising from his seat, he impatiently went to meet the man half-way. However, as the steps silenced and Niall looked up, he found that he hadn't rose for the sailor.

Peter chose to puff his chest, rather than to address Niall. Meanwhile, Miss Barrettmore examined both men with her hand in the nook of Peter's arm and cyclically clasping and releasing her lower lip under her teeth.

So, it was incumbent upon Niall to make the initial bow.

Miss Barrettmore complied as best as she could while attached to the curmudgeon. The later replied, "I hope you've not risen to harass my employees."

"Well, I see they've done a terrific job with their repairs. I don't see what else they would be occupied with."

"We're in open waters. Their dedication to this vessel is constant."

Niall frowned. "Peter, you're an entrepreneur, not a captain. As if you know what your men are contracted to do."

"You're not a captain?" Miss Barrettmore retired from inspecting the surrounding waters.

Peter had enough decency to soften his features as he turned to her. "No. Of course not."

"But...you own this ship?"

"Actually, his father owns this ship," Niall chipped in, earning a cheeseparing glare from Peter.

Softening his gaze once more, Peter boldly covered Miss Barrettmore's hand with his own. "My fathers own the company, but I assist in business affairs. My family owns this vessel, but I'm not a captain."

"So...you're not in charge of this vessel?"

"Well, I...I have a final say and influence, but I leave the majority of the decisions to the captain."

"So, how are you not the captain?"

Peter raised a brow. "Would it please you to know that ownership of an enterprise surpasses that of the title 'captain'?"

Miss Barrettmore crimsoned. "Oh, no, I didn't mean to imply--I'm just confused as to where the differentiation lies."

"A captain is more of an employer," Niall answered. "Peter could be a captain, but sea travel can be a high risk employment."

"Don't you have a sailor to harass, Claremont?"

Niall grinned. "What? Miss Barrettmore is curious. Or perhaps you wish to enlighten her with our tales of 'Navy and Buccaneers'?"

"Do you have any intention of growing--," Peter attempted before Miss Barrettmore's fluid giggles interrupted him.

"See, the lady is my ally." Niall directed a hand towards the girl.

Peter glanced between Miss Barrettmore and Niall, before settling upon the lady at his arm. "Well, it was a childish game. I don't remember much."

"Oh? You mean I endured all that torture to no avail?" Niall earned Peter's attention once more.

"Well, I can't image the 'torture' you speak of, but if it was so, I'm certain it was just." Peter smirked.

"Then you were the Buccaneer? Enduring punishment by the Navy?" Miss Barrettmore prompted Niall.

Said man shook his head. "No. I was forced with the incessant assignment as Naval Officer."

Peter placed a finger to his chin. "Yes, I remember. We decided that whoever lost would be assigned such."

Niall nodded. "Yes. Followed swiftly by your rule that you had diplomatic immunity to losing."

Miss Barrettmore giggled and turned to Peter. "I never pictured you to be a tyrannical child."

Peter smiled and even dared to release a laugh. "Well, I suppose I did overcome my need for constant gratification at my leisure."

'Overcome' would be giving too much credit, but given this was the closest the two had come to speaking in months, Niall chose to minimize his retorts. Seeing enough repair for satisfaction, Niall opted out of this affair. "Well, I suppose I'll return to harassing that sailor."

Peter raised a brow. "Still having trouble receiving your luggage?"

Niall turned on his heel to face the two again. Upon this review, he noticed a shadow behind Miss Barrettmore. It was the same Negres from before (or so he believed, considering they all looked the same). He cleared his throat as he attempted to overcome the disturbed idea that she had been there for the duration of their conversation. "Yes. I just managed to contact him, but he has yet to return."

Peter smiled, apparently unfazed to have a second shadow. "Well, if he doesn't, I'll make sure to have a word with him."

Niall nodded.

"Here is your luggage," The phantom sailor said a week later. And the same day of their settling in the home land.

Niall instructed the sailor with the placement of his luggage, all the while holding back a line of obscenities. After freeing the bridge of his nose of pressure, he caught sight of Miss Barrettmore wringing her fingers. Sans shadow, for once. Thumping a knuckle against his palm, he contemplating giving farewells.

"Have you been attended to?" Niall indulged the idea of crossing the anchored deck to speak with her.

Miss Barrettmore jolted to face him before settling her glance towards her hands. "A sailor is fetching my luggage, thank you for inquiring."

Niall nodded. Then flexed his fingers. "Well, then. I suppose I will say that I hope my country treats you well. And that I look forward to your assistance in caring for Talwin."

He bowed and instinctively reached for her hand. At the touch of his lips, her hand twitched in his grasp. Niall halted as he began to considered how to accommodate for what may have been a breech of boundaries on his part. The only option he could settle with was to return Miss Barrettmore's hand and turn to attend to the location of his luggage.