A cold, dark night. A rainy, frightening night. A terrifying, sad night. Edward Rivers stepped out of his carriage and into the shadow of the Lowood School. “Go”, he told the carriage driver. “Flee. You are no longer wanted here”, however his strong words could not sway the carriage driver, a hard, experienced man, who cared for his master, who insisted upon his staying. “You will not be able to return, and will surely die of starvation!” he said, trying not to appear too firm. “The nearest village is more than a fortnight away on foot!”. Edward stared at his carriage driver, incredulous, and was about to reprimand him when he found that the driver was correct. But another soul on his conscience would be too much. “I will meet you half a mile down the road.”, he said assertively, making sure the carriage driver
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A black waistcoat, with a black tie, a black hat, and a black cravat covering something a little more gruesome than a cross. They blended in so well that Edward did not notice the dark denizens until Robert Brocklehurst began to speak. “Have you the twelve thousand pounds?’, he asked, in a voice so booming that Edward was forced against the wall by its sheer power. Edward lifted the burlap sack that contained his entire fortune. “It is here”, he said, trying to get some power in his powerless position. “I brought the money. Now where is my son?”. Brocklehurst looked puzzled, until a few of his accomplices prompted him. “Oh, that thing”, he said in a nonchalant manner. “We’ll give him back to you once you give us the money”. Foolishly- so, very foolishly, and out of pure desperation to have his son back in his arms- the response out of Edward’s mouth was “okay”. Still scared of the man, Edward threw the bag of money at Brocklehurst, whose masterful reflexes were the only things that caught the bag in time. Brocklehurst took the money- and slowly, a smile started to spread across his
A black waistcoat, with a black tie, a black hat, and a black cravat covering something a little more gruesome than a cross. They blended in so well that Edward did not notice the dark denizens until Robert Brocklehurst began to speak. “Have you the twelve thousand pounds?’, he asked, in a voice so booming that Edward was forced against the wall by its sheer power. Edward lifted the burlap sack that contained his entire fortune. “It is here”, he said, trying to get some power in his powerless position. “I brought the money. Now where is my son?”. Brocklehurst looked puzzled, until a few of his accomplices prompted him. “Oh, that thing”, he said in a nonchalant manner. “We’ll give him back to you once you give us the money”. Foolishly- so, very foolishly, and out of pure desperation to have his son back in his arms- the response out of Edward’s mouth was “okay”. Still scared of the man, Edward threw the bag of money at Brocklehurst, whose masterful reflexes were the only things that caught the bag in time. Brocklehurst took the money- and slowly, a smile started to spread across his