I was born in Shrewsbury.  It’s a lovely town, dating back to around 800CE; my family have been there since the fifteenth century.  My father was a goldsmith, which meant that although we were still trade’s people we were well off trades people, my childhood was fairly comfortable. I was born on October 21st 1805 and I had two older brothers, one to inherit the family business and one to join the military.  My eldest brother was ten years my senior, the other was five years younger and they both did as was expected of them.  Then there was me, my father decided his third son should go into the clergy, which was destined never to happen.
My early years were fairly usual, babies rarely have exciting lives.  When I was seven I fell ill with diphtheria and nearly died, the family hailed my recovery as a minor miracle.  They weren’t so charitable about the side effects of my recovery; every time I touched an old object I saw things.  Things that weren’t there, for a child of a religious household this was terrifying.  It only got worse when it was found out that my ‘visions’ were accurate.  My father decided that I needed to be sent away to be taught, my mother decided that I should wear silk lined leather gloves.  The gloves worked. It was only years later, after my mother died, that I wondered how she knew that silk would dampen my ability.
I was sent to live with my Uncle Edward who had agreed to teach me what I needed to know and to discipline me as a boy needed to be disciplined.  Uncle Edward lived in nearby Bayston Hill, and was the local doctor.  A confirmed bachelor he had no real idea of how to raise a child, but had never been able to refuse his little brother anything.  Following my father’s advice he subscribed to a spare the rod and spoil the child philosophy, so I quickly learned how to stay on his good side.  But not before I had discovered that he not only knew how to use a cane but enjoyed doing so.  He taught me to read and write, count and made me learn Latin as well as English.  Church was optional: if I wanted to go I could although he never told my father that, and he had guests in most evenings that I was strictly forbidden to talk to.  As a very young boy going to bed as early as I did was something I never questioned, but as I grew older I wanted very much to stay up later.  I was allowed to stay up until nine o’clock on the condition that I did not leave my bedroom after seven thirty; I developed a voracious reading habit which my uncle happily fuelled.
It was 1815, I remember because the newspapers were full of Wellington’s victory, when my secret got out.  I was still a little shy of ten years old when it happened, my Uncle caught me coming out of the bath and handed me a beautiful watch to look at.  Unthinkingly I took it and the visions came straight away, and I started screaming.  The next clear memory I have is of waking up in bed with my uncle and a companion looming over me, when I saw his companion’s face I started screaming again.  I had seen that face in my visions and I had seen the deeds it had done.  My uncle slapped me hard, his companion’s eyes locked with mine and a quiet voice told me to be silent.  I obeyed.  The adults backed off and conferred in whispers then my uncle left closing the door.
“I am going to ask you some questions.” Said the nondescript man, in that soft voice, “and you will answer me honestly.  Do you understand?”  His eyes seemed to fill the room, they were huge and a deep, almost glowing green. “You may speak.”
“Yes sir.” I replied, and the interrogation began.  I know it took a while because when my uncle finally returned it was my bedtime and I had taken my bath at seven.  I do not recall a word of that conversation, and I have tried.  Three days later my father turned up and told me that I was to go away to a preparatory school and that I would be boarding there.  I didn’t argue.
I travelled to London as I was told to and was taken to my very first school, Merrete House.  It was a very small school, there were only sixty boys.  I was allowed home for two weeks at Christmas, one week at Easter and Four weeks in summer.  This was generous at the time; Christmas wouldn’t become a national holiday until I was thirty.  I didn’t like it at first, but I soon learned that all the boys treated my ‘gift’ as perfectly normal and never once asked me to remove my gloves.  I grew to like the school; indeed the masters never used a cane and only rarely raised a voice.  It was the first time that I felt valued.  I told my father all about the school, the other boys, and the lessons.  He wasn’t really interested.  So when things changed I didn’t tell him.
When I returned to school after my first summer break I found that my studies had changed, not a lot but in a way that I didn’t fully understand.  We began to learn about the history of the Order of Hermes, and my uncle’s friend turned up.  In the privacy of his study he fed on me.  I had seen him feed before, in my visions, now I felt it.  I had never felt so calm, so happy, and so...content.  I wasn’t familiar with the concept of ecstasy, but that is what it was.  He fed from my wrist, and told me that he would feed from me regularly.  I returned to my daily routine.
That year I did not return home for Christmas, instead I went home with a friend from school.  My father approved of me making friends, if he had known what happened that Christmas he would not have been so pleased. My friend’s family had served the kindred for generations, so over the holidays I was fed on regularly.  That would have been bad enough, however both my friend and I were exposed to a sensuality entirely inappropriate to our age.  When I returned to school we were introduced to other subjects, such as herbalism and the occult.  I was fascinated, my father would have been furious.
When I returned home the following summer my father greeted me brusquely and, after the usual report, left me alone.  All summer.  I learned that my older brother had been promoted to Captain and my eldest brother was doing well in the business.  I amused myself as best as I could, reading and probing into the history of Shrewsbury.  I swam in the Severn, boated and fished there. My mother’s health was not good, but she had the best physician money could buy.  My friend spent Christmas with us that year and we had a good holiday.  He liked Shrewsbury.
In the October of 1818 I turned thirteen and my eldest brother gave me a beautiful pocket watch, it was gold and had a proper chain on it for wearing with a waistcoat.  He assured me that it was brand new and had no dark secrets to surprise me with.  I smiled and thanked him.  Three days before Christmas I received a letter from home, it told me that my mother had been buried four days after my birthday.  I penned a reply thanking my father for the news and apologising for being unable to be with him at this time as I had already made arrangements for the Christmas holidays.  I hadn’t.  I spent them at school.  I never forgave my father for that, and I doubt if I ever will.
However, life goes on and, at that age everything begins to change.  That year I threw myself into my studies and I lost my virginity.  We were taken to a large house in the city and introduced to ‘young ladies’ who were to teach us about sex.  They did, over a period of three days and two nights.  Then we were taken back to school and our studies resumed.  The summer of 1819 was not a pleasant holiday for me.  My father barely spoke to me, my brother was less than friendly and the servants were scared of something.  I did manage to persuade one of the maids to share her favours, without that the holiday would have been intolerable.  I was glad to return to school.  It was the last time I ever went home.  I was not yet fourteen.
The school were very understanding and, officially, I worked in the school office doing administrative tasks.  In fact I was taken aside by one of the masters for special tuition.  He taught me about the creatures of the dark.  Each evening after classes we would sit in his study, talk and share a bottle of wine.  Three weeks later he introduced me to a vampire that I had never met before.  I found myself fascinated with the tall, dark man even though we had never met.  It took me a while to figure out that the wine had been laced with blood.  I had been blood bound without ever knowing it.  We stayed at school for another few months while he mapped out my immediate future for me.  Unable and, truth be told, unwilling to argue with him I did as he wanted.
I wrote my father a letter informing him that I had taken a position as a gentleman’s travelling companion and that meant I would be travelling for a while and was likely to be out of touch.  My new employer had generously supplied me with everything I needed so I would not be returning home before leaving. We left for Paris the same day I posted the letter, with no return address.  The school had been instructed to return any mail that arrived with my name on it.  My normal life was over.
The journey to Paris was uneventful and accommodation was arranged for us.  I had two tasks to complete, first to find us a suitable flat outwith the chantry, and secondly to learn French.  I’m not sure who was the most surprised to find that I had a flair for languages.  At school I had learned Latin and, on reflection, found it easy. French came easily to me.  I found a flat that my master, for lack of a better term, found acceptable and we moved in.  My main job was to protect my master during the day, as I was confined to the house I improved my language skills.
We remained in Paris for just over five years and I learned how to look after my master in a world that didn’t believe in vampires.  Only once did I have to clean up one of his kills and I was given a great deal of help from the chantry.  I followed instruction carefully and asked lots of questions, more wanting to know why rather than how.  I had just been shown how in a way it was unlikely I would forget.  The skills and knowledge were to come in useful in later years.  After Paris we returned to London, it was 1825 and I was fast approaching my twentieth birthday.
London had changed.  There were horse drawn buses in the streets and, at the end of the month we arrived home, the Stockton to Darlington railway opened.  The following month I turned twenty.  We settled into London life fairly quickly, and were soon embroiled in the almost constant intrigues between Clan Ventrue and Clan Tremere. For three years things went well then on October 25th 1828, the day St Katherine Docks opened we received a hand delivered letter.  Two kindred that I hadn’t seen before turned up at our flat and insisted on handing the letter to my master personally.  If at all possible he went pale when he read it, he left with the two men and I never saw him again.
I found a job translating academic texts for a publisher, after all I was now fluent in Latin, Hebrew and French, and I was learning Greek.  I was twenty-three years old.  The job wasn’t particularly interesting but it allowed me to pay the bills.  I started going out in the evenings, living a normal life.  I drank modestly, and bought books.  The chantry kept in touch, I wasn’t fooled.  They were looking for something.  I was told that my master had met his final death, and then I was told why.  I felt the blood drain from my face, if they thought for one moment that I knew anything about it I would be the next to die.  Fortunately I didn’t. 
They started to renew the links, paying me a fee for translations, giving me jobs to do.  Even asking me, as if I could refuse if I wanted to, to help clean up on three separate occasions when someone wasn’t as careful as they should be.  I learned to fence with both foil and sabre, I attended the theatre.  The chantry continued to tighten our relationship. In 1829 I travelled with a few friends to see the first Oxford/Cambridge boat race, not that we realised that at the time.  The Metropolitan police force was formed the same year which threatened to make life difficult for the kindred; they solved that problem in typical fashion.  Within the year they had control of enough senior officers to ensure their safety.  The following year King George IV died and a new king, William IV, took the throne.  For me, life went on.
Then at the end of September 1835 I was given a letter, in that letter I was given a choice.  I could go to a certain house and accept the embrace or I could simply die.  It wasn’t much of a choice and I was given a month to decide, a month during which I was kept under close observation.  So, on a cold windswept October night, three days after my thirtieth birthday I did as I had been told.  I took a hansom cab to the corner of a London street and walked along the street, stopping at a house with a beautiful oak door.  I hesitated before I knocked.