made for somewhere brighter

“You could come with me, if you like.”

Jane knows as soon as she’s made the offer that he’ll never take her up on it. This place is his home, and the things that that man will do to it if he ever goes against him… They don’t bear thinking about. All she knows is that this is the best window for escaping she’s ever going to get, and that regardless of whether she’s alone or not, she’s going to leave tonight.

If she keeps moving, the guilt won’t have the chance to settle, and so she keeps her eyes off of his sad little face and focuses instead on the tiny bag into which she’s packing the bare minimum. “They can’t blame you,” she says, knowing full well that they will. “Tell them I gave you no choice. That I attacked you.”

   She draws back, hands smoothing out her skirt. “Or you could come with me.”

Raphael didn’t look at her. He’d been watching her hands as they pushed her meager belongings into the bag, but after she spoke he stared hard at the floor and didn’t look up. The idea of telling Mr. Martel that he had let the woman escape because she’d attacked him would have been laughable if it didn’t make him feel so sick with dread. 

“Come with you,” he said flatly, “And leave a village full of sick people to fend for themselves. Good idea.”

His arms were folded, and he looked as immovable as ever, but he wasn’t blocking the doorway. He had known from the moment she said she was leaving that he had two choices: confine her against her will, or let her go. If he did the former, his village would be safe - but she wouldn’t. Raphael had done horrible things. He had done them to protect people, or he had done them for Martel, but this--

He took a deep, silent breath through his nose, willing himself to stay calm. His hands were shaking the way they did after losing time. 

“Where are you going to go? You’re in a country you barely know, you’re a white woman travelling unaccompanied - I don’t need to tell you the kind of trouble you could get in, and that’s even if no-one realises you’re a runaway.” 

Frustrated now, he added: 

"Sometimes when their eyes catch too long he thinks they see each other reflected there" i am weeping softly into my pillow

[Her brain might not be functioning at full capacity, but her body has an immediate visceral NOPE reaction as soon as she sees him touch raphael]

[Eilidh @ Martel: ALL THE KNIFE EMOJIS AND NOT IN A FOND WAY]

There was nothing wrong with Eilidh, as far as he could tell, but he wondered how she would fare in New Bethlehem and whether she would insist on doing everything herself, or expect Raphael to do it for her. He would acquiesce, of course - he was by nature stronger than anyone else - but he wondered, all the same, what her inclinations would be. 

He sat opposite her at the table, cat’s-cradling his rosary and watching steam rise from the mugs of tea that had been set out for them - mostly for Eilidh, for the mountain sickness. He suspected his own had only been set out because the innkeeper had been afraid of him. 

Not for the first time today, Raphael felt heavy. He wondered if another freeze was coming and hoped it wouldn’t be here, away from home and in front of this stranger who had come here for art, and whose voice and manner were unlike any Raphael had witnessed before.

You’re not so heavenly, she said. Raphael lifted his eyes to hers. His fingers went still. He stared through her, thinking, then slowly let the rosary resume its natural shape. 

“I’m ordained,” he said flatly, slipping the rosary back around his wrist. “You’ll see when we get to Bedlam.” 

She would see more than that, and she would probably - rightfully - come to the conclusion that the priesthood was little more than a safe skin over the surface of something much deeper, but he would worry about that later. It was too late and too much to have all of his worries stacked on top of one another. 

Jack is trans. As is his wife, Caroline; the two met when they were both fairly young, and understood one another very quickly. Jack had been living as male for nearly his entire life by that point, but Caroline had yet to fully discover herself; it was during the course of the initial friendship with Jack that she realised that being female was something that could be done, and not just something she had to quietly wish for. 

Jack, as mentioned, had already been living as male. As a young child he had no real feelings of being any particular gender, though he wasn’t interested in any ‘lady-like’ pursuits like many of the the girls his age. It was during a trip back to Peru from England with Harry, his father, that he decided to disguise himself as male and take up an alias while he was there; not only to better protect himself during the journey, but because it also meant nobody would question the things he did as much as they would if they perceived him as female. A young boy rooting around in the dirt with plants and animals was acceptable; nobody would expect him to be interested in taking up embroidery, or to be quiet and demure, or whatever else society expected of young girls. 

Before long, Jack realised that being Jack felt better than being anyone else. He was comfortable that way, and even though he hadn’t been particularly unhappy as a girl, he decided to ask Harry if he could be Jack at home as well as in Peru. Harry agreed, and referred to Jack only as his son from that point forth. It’s likely that Harry had to lie about his ‘daughter’ and his ‘new son’ in England to some degree, but in New Bethlehem nobody really minded that [redacted] was now known as ‘Jack’, even if they didn’t always fully understand it. 

Charles and Merrick were both born at home, with the assistance of a trusted doctor and his midwife, rather than anywhere near a hospital; Jack couldn’t risk either himself or Caroline being outed. During the pregnancy itself, both Jack and Caroline never left the house, which was only possible because of their combined wealth and the servants they had on hand at the time to help (who were, of course, also paid to keep quiet about it).

tw: martel, abusive dynamics implied

He won’t look at her. Sometimes when their eyes catch too long he thinks they see each other reflected there, and it unnerves him. He stares down at the unfinished glass of wine Mr. Martel had left him instead. 

It’s rare that he’s left alone in a room with anyone. Mr. Martel must not see Jane as a threat. Presumably, Jane’s–guardian–must believe Martel has a tight enough leash on Raphael for him to not be a threat, too. If he listens carefully, he can hear Martel and Quispe in the kitchen, talking in Spanish. He doesn’t know where Jane’s guardian has gone; outside, maybe. He’ll have a hard time getting anywhere, speaking only English in a place like this.