Morning everyone. Didn’t sleep well. Want to go back to bed but can’t. Thinking about taking my coffee intravenously. For now, the prompt. Timers set and off we go.
I think Casey is the wrong name for this story, but I like it as a start.
Thursday, May 15th: That can’t be Casey.
“That can’t be Casey,” George thought. He squinted as he looked. He sighed and reached for his glasses. He peered through the lenses and out of the window opening. There he was standing bold as brass in the courtyard. George’s workshop window was just a square cut in the masonry, no glass had ever been fitted in it. Woth his own glasses in place, there was no mistaking him.
‘There is also no mistaking the changes,’ George thought. He watched as Casey moved, pacing, waiting for a reply from his message. When the old Duke sent him away, Casey had been small, scrawny even. There were some signs he would grow to be a big man, in time, but other than hints around the edges of height there was nothing to suggest the current mass of the man.
Casey went away a scrawny child, time and effort brought him back a tall, broadly built man with dense musculature.
‘Looks like he apprenticed with a blacksmith,’ George thought. It wasn’t unreasonable given his size and mass, but George knew when his mother Henretta took him away at the Duke’s insistence she hadn’t gone with enough money to buy him such an apprentice ship. She had barely been sent with enough to keep them fed for the first year they were gone.
George had helped with that, seeing the boy and his mother settled somewhere safely. He asked not to be remembered. He was certain Henretta remembered him, but he wanted no debts owed. He had been friends with Henrietta’s father and couldn’t stand to see how events played out, but he would rather his part remain secret.
He didn’t want the boy thinking he owed him any more than he wanted the old Duke angered. ‘Or his wife more likely,’ George thought easing himself back from the window. The duchess was the one who had the most issue with Casey’s being born and would most likely punish anyone who assisted with the continued survival.
‘Wonder why he’s back,’ George thought. He made certain he was far enough back not to be seen, not to draw attention. He felt he should probably leave, knowing no one would want a witness for the next events, yet he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Curiosity kept him watching even as caution kept him from openly showing his curiosity.
‘The boy was old enough when they left to know he wouldn’t be welcomed back.’
The lad paced and in time the duke arrived. He took his time. Descending the stairs slowly. ‘Although he isn’t going anywhere fast these days,’ George observed. Age and high living were taking their toll on the duke. His muscle had run to fat, and his joints were stiff. Gout afflicted him more often then not, yet as he arrived there was no mistaking the relationship between the two. Casey looked very much as the duke had when younger. ‘Save his mother’s eyes,’ George thought.
He wondered how the old Duke felt about seeing the image Casey presented. The Duke had always been a vain man and often liked to pretend that age had not changed him. That he remained in the flower of youth. George knew he would never ask. No one would. He fairly held his breath, leaning in to hear the words spoken.
Ten til Midnight 