The Heart Thief

Chapter 1: The Heart Thief

In the middle of England’s East Midlands there was a small town called Bellwood. The town was just like any other. It had its shops and its local library. It even had a cinema, with only two screens. The houses were slightly large, with most of them having between four and five bedrooms.

The people of Bellwood were as normal as normal could be. They watched the match on Saturdays, went to the town ceremonies on Sundays, and they worked Mondays to Fridays. Everything was normal about the town of Bellwood.

Everything but one street, the street called Moros Way. It stuck out like a sore thumb in that prefect slice of suburbia. It was this street, which the rest of Bellwood was built around. The large oak trees that grew from the path arched over the cobbled road. Dark gates imprisoned the thirteen large manors, which hid behind their small oak forests. The sound of crows never left that street and it always had a sickeningly sweet aroma about it.

It was dark and gloomy on this cold midsummer’s night. The Casey’s manor was an old derelict building, built by an old lord over a century ago. Its arched windows and gothic statues brought an air of eeriness to the place. The sheer size of the house was over-whelming. Three stories high, with more rooms than any of the maids dare count. However this size of building was common for the dark street of Moros Way. Outside, in the moonlight, this house seemed positively haunted.

Inside, however, was an entirely different matter. The largest room in the house was well lit and filled with men dressed in suits and women garbed in fine dresses made from imported silks and embedded with rare gems. There was talking and giggling occurring in every corner of the room. Beverages were being passed around like a peace pipe and constantly more of the surrounding bedchambers were becoming occupied. This was Mr Casey’s midsummer night ball, his last party of the year.

Francesco Stellano was lounging in one of the ridged wooden chairs, which surrounded the ballroom. He was wearing a simple black tux and he was gently massaging an, almost empty, wine glass against his temple. He despised balls. They were far too formal for his tastes.

Across the room was a pretty girl, who couldn’t have been more than one year younger than him. She had been trying to get his attention for almost two glasses of wine. This didn’t come as a surprise to him. Francesco was fully familiar with female attention.

He was a tall man, although most of the older gentlemen here still considered him a child. His hair was as dark as the night and flowed to a perfect rest just above his collar. Unlike most of the ghosts in the room he had a tanned complexion and a brilliant genuine smile. No matter how many compliments he got about his chiselled jaw, high cheekbones or sculpted eyebrows he dismissed them all.

For the only thing Francesco found remotely interesting about his own appearance were his eyes. They were a deep shade of green flecked with the richest gold. People told him they were a mixture of his parent’s eyes.

The girl was growing impatient, apparently two drinks was the customary waiting time, before a man was meant to have someone introduce him. Francesco got up and walked confidently towards the girl. When he reached her she performed that stupid pose, which she thought was cute. The one were the girl puts hers hands together, has her face pointing towards the ground and she’s looking up with a terrible attempt at ‘puppy-dog eyes’.

Francesco tried to ignore this and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Let’s forget about introductions, I find them tedious. Firstly and finally I want to thank you for waiting for me to finish.” He slyly slipped his empty wine glass into her hand before disappearing into the dance. “A memento.” He called back to her.

The girl stood completely perplexed by the situation before storming off, undoubtedly in search of one of her parents. Francesco wasn’t bothered and continued to dance and throw dazzling smiles at his partners. Francesco loved dancing, even if it was with these proud, arrogant people. For him it was a true introduction, without the formal rules of conversation to hide behind.

As he finished dancing the Furlana with a girl roughly six years his elder - it’s hard to pin an age on women these days - he noticed Joshua was standing against one of the marble pillars. He was wearing his ‘lucky’ purple suit, which he only wore when he was hoping to get some female attention. But tonight, like most nights, he wasn’t doing very well.

You see everything Francesco was, Joshua wasn’t. He was short and plump, his brown hair was usually greasy and wild and his skin was as a white as milk. He had large bushy eyebrows atop his bright blue eyes. His face was in a constant frown except for when it was smoking on a cigar, which was rather frequently.

He was the same age as Francesco, however all of the eating, drinking and smoking made him look far older than his best friend, and the purple suit wasn’t helping matters. It was dull, worn and had a few stains around the collar that just wouldn’t come out.

As Francesco began to approach the man he’d known his whole life, when he noticed Joshua was nervously glancing at a pair of girls. It was the same look he had when he was seven and staring through the baker’s window. There was desire in those eyes, but also the fear of being caught.

“Josh calmed down, you look like a man who’s bet his entire fortune on a single horse. They’re just women and honestly they’re not really that pretty.” Francesco said, looking at the girls. He caught one of their eyes and gave her a small smile, one that kept his dazzling teeth concealed. The girl looked away with a blush.

“Would you stop that, you’re provoking them!” Joshua whispered, afraid the girls might hear him.

“Provoke them? Did you fail to notice the way she smiled at you?” He lied.

“The one in blue?”

“Yes, her. Be a good brother and join me as I provoke these dangerous creatures.” They both walked over to the duet, Francesco looking like a prince out of an old child’s tale. Whereas Joshua looked like the prince’s over abused squire as he tripped over his own feet. “Ladies, we hope you’re having a wonder evening.” Francesco said taking the hand of the girl dressed in white and placing a kiss upon it. Joshua offered to take the girl in blue’s hand, but she pretended not to notice his gesture.

“Indeed we are. I had this dress purposely made for this ball.” She said, still ignoring the floating hand next to her. “Do you know this is Mr Casey’s last ball until next summer?”

“Really and what possible reason could he have for waiting that long before throwing another celebration?” Francesco asked. He knew the reason it was the same every year. Mr Casey only held balls in order to make money and the best time to make money was in summers. But Francesco still liked to know what the rumours around town were.

“Apparently he’s bringing his family to France for a year.” The girl in white said. “I really wish I could meet him, before he left.” She pouted moving closer to Francesco. This girl knew exactly what she was doing. But Francesco decided to give his brother a chance.

“Unfortunately I’m not acquainted with this Mr Casey, although my friend here just happens to be his son.” The girls’ interest immediately turned towards the son of Mr Casey, the town’s wealthiest businessman. The girl in the blue dress grabbed his hand like it was the last drop of water in the Sahara. After Joshua placed a sloppy kiss on her gloved hand, and told the girls a bit more about the Casey manor, Francesco suggested they should go somewhere more private.

Unfortunately Mr Casey turned up, gave the girls his apologises and said he had to discuss business with his two boys. He led the pair of them into his office and locked the door. He did this so swiftly, Francesco didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye to the girls.

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