Chapter Text
It was a simple life, apprenticed to a clock maker in London. Sure, the gears were small and the mechanics complicated- but after nearly a decade of work, the challenge had faded into monotony. The only issues that plagued his day to day was the increasing pressure from his mentor to settle down and marry his daughter. Of course, Miss Francesca Bordure was a lovely lady, with eyes that sparkled like sapphires and soft hazelnut hair, but even so, not even Aphrodite herself could sway him.
Stone had been left behind when his parents had attempted to sail to America, losing their lives to a storm. No one knew him by any other name, though some had attempted to give him one.
“My dear apprentice,” Mr. Bordure, Francesca’s father, announced. “You have served me and my family for several years, please allow me to reward your efforts,” Stone rolled his eyes, angling himself so Mr Bordure couldn’t see, before returning to his desk to work on a particularly detailed grandfather clock.
“I appreciate everything you have done for me already, Mr. Bordure, you hardly owe me any more.”
“Stone, I know you can tell, my dear boy, but I've gotten quite old in recent years, surely you do not mean to leave my only child disgraced, scorned , by society and my shop unmanned?”
“Francesca knows just as much as I about clocks sir, I’m sure she’ll run the shop just fine.”
“She’ll- A woman? She’s far too fragile a thing to leave to such grueling labour, surely you agree?”
Stone slammed his hands on the table, standing up.
“If in all your years you cannot see her merit or her hard work, then you hardly have the right to peddle her out, against her will, to any man.”
Mr. Bordure visibly snarled and left the room, limping with his cane.
“I can hardly see why you let him insult you like this while you're in the room, Francis.”
“I know far better than you what he does behind closed doors, Stone.” Francis left their spot in the corner, typically reserved for sulking.
“What did he do this time? Let me see.”
“It’s just more of the same, really- more lashings across the wrists, just high enough to be hidden under the sleeves, thankfully.”
“One of these days you ought to start fighting back,” Stone mumbled, reaching for the ointment and bandages on the shelf above him.
“You know what happens to women when they fight back, Stone. They’re branded as witches or heretics, or, if you’re less imaginative or religious, simply insane .” Francis sighed. Stone gently took Francis’ wrist and started to apply the ointment. “You don’t have to do this, you know. I’m more than capable of doing it myself.”
“The last time I let you run off with bandages, you nearly passed out because you bound your chest too tight. I can hardly let that happen again in front of your father .”
Francis winced, and whether it was from the bruises or otherwise, neither one could tell.
“You’ll have to agree, eventually. Or maybe run away, though knowing my father he might just track you down and march you back in here anyway.”
“I am not going to marry you, Francis. I don't care what “gifts” your father offers, I have no intention of-” Stone stopped himself, before lowering his voice to a strained whisper. “I’m afraid my love does not rest with ladies, Francis. Not to mention, you are well aware I don’t think of you the way your father assumes I do.”
“I’m not asking you to love me, Stone.” Stone returned Francis’ wrists, now gently wrapped. “My love doesn’t rest with anyone,” Francis muttered, “But that doesn’t have to be an issue! We can pretend! We’ll both appease my father, I can keep the shop, and no one will even think to stop and ask if we’re liars.” Francis paused. “I love this shop as much as my father does, Stone. I can’t lose it over something as silly as law.” Stone sighed, turning back to his work.
“I’ll think of something, Francis. Just hang on and I’ll fix this.” Francis huffed a small laugh.
“You cannot fix things like you would a clock, Stone. Life is far more complicated than that.”
By the time Stone looked over his shoulder again, Francis was gone.
~~~
He would be lying to himself if he didn’t think this was a worthy challenge. Every second he wasted was another chance for Mr. Bordure to take out his anger on the only thing he had power over, his own child. It was sickening, and Stone simply had no way to end it. If Mr. Bordure was out of the picture too soon, people would come looking for him and take the house and shop right out of Francis’ hands. If Stone found Mr. Bordure’s house deed and signed it over to Francis, that would give them the leverage they needed legally, but Mr. Bordure would very quickly take out his anger on both of them, likely ending in a bloody mess. If both happened too close to each other, people would suspect foul play and pin it on Francis. It was all a matter of timing, and nothing short of a miracle would allow it to happen correctly.
A week later, said miracle arrived. A friend of Mr. Bordure wanted his clock fixed on site, said friend being a wealthy noble in the countryside. Plenty of space and few people. Swiping the deed wasn’t hard, Stone had known him for years after all, and the man had gotten both nearsighted and short in his age, leaving the deed in a drawer next to his bed, underneath a layer of books. Stone had warned him to be more cautious, but Mr. Bordure was known to be both cocky and stubborn.
Feigning the signature was the issue, one that took Stone two whole nights to fix. He needed to write Francis’ full name in Mr. Bordure's handwriting perfectly . Halfway through writing Francis’ name on the document, Stone paused and shortened their name simply to Francis E. Bordure. If, one day, Francis were able to fulfill their dream and appear as they liked, having a legal document with the name they preferred would be helpful, to say the least. Even if they didn’t get a chance to achieve that, Mr. Bordure and Stone alike referred to them simply as “Francis”, the issue could easily be blamed on poor eyesight and old age. With a forged document tucked deep into the pouches of Stone’s bag, He followed along with Mr. Bordure obediently to their next job, doing his best to hide his malice.
Stone had very few memories of his father, and the ones he did have were very brief. He had fought in the American Civil War on the Union’s side. ‘If someone fights you, you fight back,’ he has said, though whether that was decent advice or a product of his environment was unclear. If Stone could protect someone
worth
protecting, he was glad it was his childhood friend.
The job went well, just a routine cleaning and replacement of a few gears and the clock worked like new. Stone climbed into the front of their carriage, a small one pulled by a single horse, but a gift from another of Mr. Bordure’s rich friends, and took the reins as Mr. Bordure climbed in next to him.
They rode quietly for a while, Stone waiting until the woods darkened to off him. Wild animal attacks were common and Francis wouldn’t question the matter- or rather, Francis would know, and simply wouldn’t care.
“I do hope Francis is doing well at home,” Mr. Bordure said, suddenly.
“Why wouldn’t she be, sir?”
“I heard guests were coming over and I told her to entertain them before I arrived.”
If Stone came home with a half-empty carriage, Francis would go on like nothing happened, but if his ‘guests’ didn't see him, Stone would immediately be suspected and he could hardly turn over the document to Francis then . Stone had planned to hand it over that morning, but the forging took longer than previously thought and Francis had to go out to go grocery shopping.
And so, Mr. Bordure had to stay alive just a while longer.
~~~
“Mr. Bordure, a pleasure to see you again.” One man, Sir Lionel possibly, quipped. Stone brought the horse to its stable and put away the carriage while the useless pratter continued. The men had to leave, or else this wouldn't work. While Mr. Bordure was distracted with introductions, Stone (almost) bolted inside and found Francis sneaking looks out the window while preparing tea.
“I finished it at the very least,” Stone shoved the paper into Francis’ hands, before Francis immediately turned around and shoved it into a tall cabinet. Stone nodded favorably.
“I thought you would have set him out by now, Stone!”
“You know how that would have looked! I’d like to get out of this quietly for the both of us.” Francis sighed heavily, rolling their eyes before immediately slipping into a fake smile full of cheer as Mr. Bordure’s guests entered, Mr. Bordure in tow. Stone followed suit, stepping forward as a means to introduce himself and dismiss suspicion. There were three men, other than Mr. Bordure, all quite close to the older man in age. Although, why Mr. Bordure had sent for them the same day as an on-site job was a mystery. As it had turned out, two of the men were simply attendants for Sir Lionel, a noble with land in the east, or so he claimed. Mr. Bordure motioned them over to the table for tea and other such refreshments
“It’s a pleasure to have you, Sir Lionel. Regarding my letters, I would like to introduce you to my dear daughter, Franchesca Elizabeth Bordure.” Francis gave an albeit strained, wordless curtsy before Mr. Bordure motioned them to sit. Stone made the motions to join them, before Mr. Bordure shooed him away to have him ‘continue your work.’
This was something he needed to be present for, he knew- something in his stomach twisted as he left the room, Francis looking him in the eye with a panicked stare. Something wasn't right. He should have offed Mr. Bordure as planned. Of course, he had grown up in this household and he knew every one of its faults. He knew there was a hole in the kitchen and workshop walls where a pipe was removed, a perfect spot to listen in.
“..You wouldn’t find a more suitable wife elsewhere, Sir Lionel- She’s obedient, young and beautiful.” Something in Stone’s chest fell like a frozen, dead bird. Mr. Bordure did this on purpose, didn't he? Stone must have missed something in his efforts and this whole plan was a way to circumvent it. He could either marry Miss Bordure here, or she would be shipped off to an old sick bastard in the east- or wherever he claimed to live. ‘They’re young because they’re 16. They’re obedient because you force them to be. They’re beautiful because they live in spite of you .’ Stone wanted to smash through the wall and strangle him, and from the looks Francis was giving him, they very well wanted to do the same.
The next hour trudged on as slow as a snail stuck in molasses, until the rot dressed as a prim and proper finally gave his leave. Stone had snuck back to his desk, feigning concentration, when Mr. Bordure returned.
“I’m sure you heard the hearsay, Stone,” Mr. Bordure snarled, trying to hide how smug he was.
“Hmm? Oh, welcome back sir, did you need something?” Stone looked up from his desk, bored, as Mr. Bordure’s smugness turned to brief fury before returning to a resting frown.
“I’ve decided not to betroth you to my daughter as you’ve requested,” Mr. Bordure announced. “I’m sure she’ll be very happy with Sir Lionel, even if he is rather..” Mr. Bordure trailed off without detail, leaving Stone to decide for himself. He was trying to set him off, trick him into demanding Francis’ hand.
“Sir. Has it not come to your attention that Francis can function perfectly well with or without a suitor?” The words were getting caught in Stone’s throat as he stared Mr. Bordure in the eye. Mr. Bordure did a double take, confirming Stone’s suspicions.
“Are you not going to rescue her hand for yourself, Stone?” Mr. Bordure’s voice was raised. “I can hardly have an apprentice as experienced as you leave my family’s legacy in the dust! You can either take her hand,” He motioned awkwardly towards the dining room. “Or you can watch as she becomes a lady and the shop becomes obsolete and you relish in your pitied squalor!”
So that's what he was after. With several rich friends, it's no surprise the class gap got to him.
“Sir, we can talk about this reasonabl-” A gunshot ran out and Stone watched as Mr. Bordure became less animated than his clocks. Stone took a deep breath and turned to Francis, holding the rifle Mr. Bordure had used to hunt. They were shaking, with both fury and fear.
“Oh my-”
“Francis, I need you to scream as loud as possible right now.” Stone cut in as he stepped over and took the gun out of their hands. Francis’ eyes went glossy as they nodded, and screamed as loud as their lungs would allow.
Stone snatched his bag off the hook, slung the rifle over his shoulder, and dashed out the back door, an invisible timer now playing in his head, numbers missing, but running down all the same. He had purposely forgotten to take the bridle off the horse, swinging himself up and over and suddenly far away from the closest thing he had to a home. He was about five miles out on a hill when he bothered to look back. The overcast, polluted sky hid him from his inevitable pursuers, and from getting a last glimpse, a mockery of a goodbye. Onward and upward, he told himself. He had the whole world to run to, he only needed to get there.