History

To understand Fred’s story, you’ll need to know Tomlin Tonks, once known as Hamish MacKenzie.

You see, dear Tom used to be a man like any other, living the hard-working life of a farmer with his beloved wife, Suzanne. A happy, ordinary marriage—friends who had become lovers once they reached adulthood—and soon, they wanted to call themselves parents. Of course, the end of this tale wasn’t a happy one, or else we wouldn’t be here. Or would we?

Sue’s body wasn’t strong enough to survive childbirth, but the child did. As if God couldn’t be so cruel as to leave Tom alone, He left him the most beautiful gift after having paid the most horrid price. He named the girl Eileen, and he cherished her as if she were his only reason to live. And truly, she was. They didn’t live a life of luxury; there was much to do on the farm, many animals to care for. But they were happy. They took good care of each other, with Eileen seeing her father as her hero—the only person she needed.

And here comes the twist no one saw coming: it didn’t last long.

It wasn’t malaria. Sometimes, it’s the simplest of causes that wreak havoc on someone’s life.

It was whooping cough. What started as a common cold turned out to be the end of sweet little Eileen. Tom was heartbroken. He turned to anyone and everyone in search of coin, promising to pay his debts. The Duke of the land laughed in his face. "Perhaps you shouldn't have had children if you couldn't afford them. Now get off my property," he said to Tom. He just needed a doctor. He tried to sell a cow, a horse, but the money didn’t come in time. It was too late. His little girl was gone. Pure horror turned into sorrow, and that sorrow turned into grief—which soon morphed into anger. Was it really so hard to help the needy? Was there truly a God? Had he not done everything right? Had he not been a good person— a good friend, husband, and father? If so, why? Why was the world so cruel?

He swore vengeance. Like any madman who doesn’t think of the consequences of his actions, he took his time. He sold everything he ever owned. Then, he moved to London, where he befriended a man who had surely sold his soul to the devil. Soren Rowland had once been a good man, too, but his hatred for the government he once adored had changed him for the worse. War changed him. Bad luck changed him. The darkness that resides in every man changed him, and he chose to step out of the light into the darkness. He embraced it.

So, when our sweet, vengeance-blinded Tom came to him asking for help in kidnapping the Duke’s daughter, Soren thought of the ransom and agreed. He sent a few of his thugs with Tom, not knowing that this innocent, pure-hearted man would fall in love with the girl— the way a father who had lost his only daughter might. Tom refused the ransom, refused to let her go, and so, for the first time, he killed— the men who had accompanied him now lying cold on the ground.

Of course, Soren found him. Tom owed him two men, money, and a girl who was none other than the daughter of a duke. But a desperate man is no easy foe, and Tom made a deal with the devil. He would work for Soren, becoming his best worker, and he would give him children— little thugs to bring in money, little thugs to hear secrets— as many as needed, as long as he could keep the girl.

The pact was made.

Winifred Readman grew up in poverty, never knowing what luxury was or that her parents had never stopped searching for her, the reward for her return only increasing. But she grew up surrounded by what she believed to be love, with what she called a family. Her world was the boxing house on the outskirts of London, filled with gang members whom her father called brothers, and to her, uncles. There were other children— some younger, some older. Many never made it to adulthood, few became her friends, cousins— whatever they chose to call themselves. But her reality was blurred and mistaken. She was part of something far greater than herself, in a world where she neither belonged nor fit. Though Tom worked hard to ensure she never lacked for anything.

You see, being the man who does the dirty work in a big gang has its perks. By age five, Fred knew how to read and write. They could have lived in the boxing house, with their own bedrooms, but she refused, preferring to live with the other children. Two became her inseparable companions— Jerome and Gregory, two troublemakers just like her. As the only one with privileges like a tutor— one Tom could afford, though not a great one, but good enough to teach the basics— she often took them with her to other houses. Some of the people they knew had once been teachers or doctors before falling from grace, and some still held onto books or tools from their former lives— items with sentimental value that no one dared sell.

At age eleven, she befriended maids and butlers, all of them struck by how beautiful Winifred was— that is, when she wasn’t covered in dirt or bruises from fighting with the children who resented how special she seemed. Tom could hardly bear it. Thankfully, Jerome and Gregory taught Fred how to defend herself, a passion she developed, which Tom took full advantage of to encourage her to box. The more she fought, the more the other boys— all of them— accepted her. And the more she was accepted, the less "lady-like" she became. Soon, her only friends were the ones she should have— and Tom no longer had to worry about maids or butlers. He had to worry about Soren.

You can only keep the wolf at bay for so long, and Fred was becoming popular. She was smart, stronger than some, fast, and oh-so-pretty when she chose to be. Now, Tomlin Tonks is known as the right hand of Soren. But his little girl is untouchable— thanks to that. Yet, Fred is growing tired of being her father’s doll. She wants to be someone, whoever that might be, and stop being overshadowed by him. And Soren’s growing interest may be the beginning of something new.

And you might ask, "Isn’t this Tom’s story?" It could be, but how can one tell the story of a bird in a cage, if not through the eyes of its master? That is, until the bird breaks free...