by SincereJester
And here’s part 4, dear readers…
Lucille was stiff and sore the next morning when she opened
her eyes to the gloomy surroundings of her mother’s bedroom. Her face ached,
the scratches raw and itchy. The fire had burned down, and she knew it would be
her responsibility to build it up again. At least she could light it from the
embers. It wasn’t long before the flames were crackling in the fireplace.
She was stirring the porridge on the stove in the kitchen when
she heard the furtive creak of the floorboards behind her. Dropping the spoon
on the tabletop, she turned around and gathered her brother up into her arms,
hugging him close. His hair was wild and uncombed, but he had pulled on a pair
of trousers and socks and partially tucked in his shirt before sneaking down
the winding staircase. For a long moment, the siblings simply held each other,
shaking in their combined misery. Abruptly Lucille drew back and took up the
spoon. She gave the porridge a few more
brisk stirs. “She mustn’t find you here,” Lucille muttered. She took up a bowl
and dolloped a generous amount into it, pouring honey from the new jar over it.
She took out a bit of sacking and bundled up an apple and a handful of walnuts
and shoved it toward him. “Take these upstairs and eat. Wait there for me.
There’s a great deal to do today, but I hope to be sent up sometime. Do wash up
and dress, Thomas.“ She paused, staring
at Thomas’ sad, somber face. “Did you sleep at all, my darling?”
Thomas shrugged, picking up the bowl and packet. “I was all
right. Your little fairies kept me company,” he replied quietly. He meant the
dark-winged moths that fluttered in the rafters of the nursery roof, and she knew
that he had slept in her bed rather than his, poor lonely lad. “I probably
slept better than you, at any rate. I love you, Lucille.” He leaned forward and
gently kissed the cut on her forehead, then her still-sore lip. “Come up when
you can, dearest sister, so I can comfort you.” He left the room as quietly as
he had arrived, balancing her gifts in his wide hands, vanishing like mist.
Lucille stared after Thomas, wanting nothing more than to
follow him up to their haven, to barricade them in and forget everything
outside of their little world. They loved each other; they needed nothing
else. She sighed. Despite the fact that
they weren’t infants, they were still considered children and thus dependent on
their mother, regardless of how she treated them. Lucille’s expression hardened
into a bitter mask. Well, she had cared for her mother before, in fact was
still required to, and she could be sure that didn’t change…for as long as
necessary. Patience, she told herself. She reached for the red tin of tea.
@8@ * @8@
Thomas was properly dressed, his hair brushed back and face
well-scrubbed, when Lucille came up bearing a tray with soup and bread for him.
She was exhausted and aching, but pleased. The larder was full, everything
meticulously inventoried and stored away. Mother’s other purchases had arrived,
carried by the porters into the foyer: bundles and packages, even a large flat
portrait of Lady Beatrice, extravagances the likes of which Lucille had not
seen for a long time. She had no expectation of there being gifts for them
among the many parcels; she could not recall ever having received gifts from
her parents. There were no celebrations at Allerdale Hall, not even for
Christmas. The children made do for each other, instead.
“I made you something,” Thomas greeted her shyly, holding
his offering out in his hand. It was a slender little stick figure on a string,
waxed paper wings and little dress fluttering as he stood it up. It had a tiny
carved face with wide glittering eyes, its arms and legs delicate twigs. With a
few tugs on the string, it twirled and danced in the air like a living thing.
“Oh, it’s a little fairy!” Lucille exclaimed, enchanted. It
looked similar to the bug-like creature in their mural, a disguised little
sprite about which they had made up stories. “You are so clever, little
brother.”
A warm smile brightened his face, his eyes gleaming. “You
like it, then?”
“Of course!” She took
up the puppet string from him. “Where shall we put her? By the window, perhaps,
so she can catch the breeze and the sunbeams and dance?” Thomas nodded
enthusiastically, and Lucille deftly placed the toy on a branch she had set in
a vase to brighten the little sitting room. She stared as it swung and rocked,
half-insect and all magic. “Eat your food, Thomas,” she commanded suddenly, as
if coming back from a reverie. “Mother wants us to attend her at tea. Mr.
McFarlane is coming to visit.”
Mr. McFarlane was Mother’s solicitor, and they couldn’t
imagine why he would come from Scotland to Cumberland to visit, nor could they
fathom why they both needed be present. Lucille went to dress as Thomas
hungrily consumed the welcome meal. Once finished, Thomas helped Lucille comb
out her thick, black hair as she dabbed powder over her cuts. “It will fester,
Lucille,” he cautioned.
“Better that than fail Mother’s demands, since I must be
presentable,” Lucille muttered. Her skin looked all the more pale, but that was
fashionable in a young lady of high birth. She plaited her hair into thick
braids, pinning it in place.
Thomas did up his collar and neck scarf, nervously smoothing
his waistcoat. He always felt clumsy and timid around Mother. Knowing he must
stand as still and impassive as a statue when he was in her presence, he
fidgeted now, as they went down to the great room.
Thomas played the part well when he was sent to open the
door and usher in Mr. McFarlane, taking his coat and hat graciously and leading
him into the parlor as Lucille, dressed in her somber best, swept in carrying
the tea set aloft and set it on the long table. Thomas took up position near
her, standing more like a page or footman than the heir to Allerdale Hall as
his sister offered tea to their guest and mother.
Mother was sitting straight and unbending in one of the two
high backed wingchairs and took the offered cup from Lucille, meeting her stare
with one of her own. She pointedly took a small sip of the tea before beginning
her conversation with their guest, apologizing for not rising to greet him, as
she had just concluded her visit to London and had been feeling poorly. Mr.
McFarlane replied with some sympathy, hoping she would be well soon, as he sat
and sipped his own tea. Wordlessly, the children sat on opposite sides of the
sofa facing them and looked down in their laps, the model of polite dignity.
Lady Beatrice could act charming when she so wished, but the
darkness never seemed to leave her prematurely aged face, nor the cruelty from
her piercing gaze. “I do appreciate your prompt attention in visiting Allerdale
Hall, Mr. McFarlane; I do hope we can conclude our own business as swiftly as I
was able to do so in London. “
“As you know, I have been occupied for some time in
discharging the various debts incurred by my late husband,” she continued, her
expression sour at the mention of Sir James Sharpe. “I am pleased to say that
those duties have now been fulfilled in their entirety and Allerdale Hall is no
longer beholden to any creditors; I have the documents for you to look over,
and took the liberty of having copies done for your records. Our holdings are
secure and in the clear, as depleted as they are. You’ll see that there is
scarcely enough for our continued care, but it is intact. At this time we
cannot reopen the mines, although I’m certain they could yield a great deal
more in income should we ever be able to do so. “
“Lady Beatrice, this is most welcome news!” the solicitor
exclaimed. “I’m most pleased to hear it.”
She gave a disdainful sniff. “I am merely glad to have the
business behind me. I was able to retain some of my own fortune and personal items,
at least. He was not able to lose everything.” She set down the cup and folded
her hands in her lap. “It does bring me to my next subject, however, and the
reason I wanted you present. We are
forbidden from selling any part of the estate by law, and the land is unable to
produce at this time, so it will have to remain as inheritance to Thomas when
he comes of age, to do as he may with it. He of course has the Sharpe title,
not that it will do him much good. To put it plainly, Mr. McFarlane, I find
myself in some difficulty in regards to the children’s education and society
under these circumstance.
“Allerdale Hall is remote and even inaccessible during part
of the year; this will only impede Thomas’ progress. He is of an age when such
matters must be considered, and I have given it a great deal of thought. There
is some allowance due to him for his maintenance, which should be sufficient
for his needs. Sir James wished for Thomas to have a military commission, but I
think his temperament is not suited for such a profession; we shall see as he
progresses. My conclusion is that his education as a gentleman and advancement
in society will best be served by attending school in Surrey. My sister,
Florence, has graciously accepted to have Thomas to her estate as ward in this
endeavor. There is some need for haste, Mr. McFarlane, since Thomas is to leave
for Surrey tomorrow. I’ve just had my sisters’ confirmation, you see, and why I
sent for you immediately. “
The siblings
stiffened in surprise at this news and risked a sideward glance at each other.
Lucille felt some relief that Thomas would not be given a commission. Thomas
really wasn’t likely to make a good soldier, and she couldn’t bear the idea of
him in such rough and violent surroundings. But to be sent away from Cumberland
to distant Surrey, to an aunt they hardly knew? The thought made her quake
inside. Allerdale Hall was their home and they had never before gone farther
than the town.
“Most generous of your sister, milady,” Mr. McFarlane
commented.
“Not at all,” Lady Beatrice countered. “As a childless
widow, Florence is in need of something to occupy herself. She places a great
deal of importance on the proper education of today’s youth, but never had the
fortune of having children. I imagine having the stewardship of her nephew will
allow her to reassert her position among her peers.”
“No doubt, no doubt,” the solicitor murmured soothingly.
“Lady Florence will also be instrumental in the instruction and presentation of
Miss Lucille, I presume?”
Lady Beatrice gave a tight, thin lipped smile. “On the
contrary, Lucille will not be going to Surrey. It does not suit her
temperament: she is far too studious and retiring for such society. I have been
corresponding with a convent in Switzerland that I find to be suitable to her
vocation: the sisters there are skilled in the healing arts, and I am certain
Lucille will find her calling among them.”
Thomas’ eyes widened in dismay at the revelation of
Lucille’s fate. He was well aware that Lucille would rather be hunting
butterflies in the surrounding meadows than pay a visit to other ladies of fine
breeding, or that she’d prefer reading about plants and herbs and such rather
than entertain their peers with her musical talents. Yet, the idea that Lucille
would be shut away in a nunnery was absurd. Even worse was the idea that they
would be separated, exiled from the only home they had ever known. None of the
Sharpes had ever been especially religious. Their parents had attended church,
of course, and had seen to their religious education, but their father in
particular couldn’t be bothered with such blatant expressions of the spiritual,
and only did the minimum in obligation. The children couldn’t remember any sort
of merriment or cheer even on holidays; observances were usually somber affairs
devoid of celebration. He turned his face toward hers, only to see her give a
small shake of her head, warning him to stay still and silent.
Mr. McFarlane set down his empty cup. “Ah, but of course you
know your daughter best, milady. She has been such a caring and devoted
daughter to you for some time, I know. What a considerate mother you have,
children. What say you to her?”
With their intense gaze locked on Lady Beatrice, sister and
brother rose and gave formal, stiff bows. “We thank you for your kind
consideration, Mother,” Lucille said, the coldness evident in her response.
“Your efforts on our behalf are most appreciated,” Thomas
added, his gentle voice hiding his inner upset.
A more loving mother would have embraced them; Lady Beatrice
merely nodded. “Both of you are dismissed. If Mr. McFarlane is done with his
tea, please clear it away, Lucille. Thomas, I suggest you begin your packing.”
Turning her attention back to her lawyer, she continued. “Is it possible to
expedite any remaining paperwork, then?”
“Certainly, milady. We should be able to resolve everything
before this evening.”
“Will you be joining us for supper?”
“I thank you for the invitation, but I regret I must
decline. At our conclusion I must away to the depot and wire my office. I’ve
arranged to stay there the night; I wouldn’t want to impose.” He was only being
polite; it was obvious that there wasn’t staff for a proper dinner, nor had
there been enough time for its preparation, even if they had. Lady Beatrice
accepted his refusal with a gracious nod as Lucille gathered the tea set and
Thomas returned the man’s coat and hat. The siblings filed out wordlessly
through the doorway to the kitchen before rushing to the nursery, scarcely able
to contain their turmoil.
Lucille fluttered around the sitting room of the nursery
like a butterfly caught in a net, picking up and straightening items out of
habit. Thomas slumped against the wall by the window, staring dully at the
little stick fairy puppet he had made. It twirled in the wind, a mockery of
Lucille’s frantic spinning.
“Lucille, stop,” Thomas begged as his sister began to stack
his linens. “Please, Lucille, stop! I won’t go. Not without you. “
“We have no choice, Thomas, don’t you see?” Lucille burst
out. “We are hers and we must obey her wishes.”
“Then I’ll go, but you must come with me,” replied Thomas.
“I know it will be hard for you, but we would be together in Surrey, away from
her.”
“That is why she will never allow it, my darling! She saw
us, little brother; she saw the love that she could never have, and all she
wants is to destroy it as she has destroyed all the rest of our happiness! Oh,
how I hate her! She will never allow us see each other again!” Lucille slid to
the floor, shaking with resentment and sorrow. No matter how steady and aloof
she might pretend to be, she was still a child just on the verge of womanhood,
and at that moment she looked like a lost and frightened bird in a storm. “I’ll die, Thomas, I’ll die without you!”
Thomas collapsed down beside her, drawing her into his embrace.
“No, you won’t, Lucille. There’s a whole world out there, a whole other life we
could live. And we won’t be parted from each other; I don’t care what she wishes!
I’ll find a way.” Lucille clung to him, and he held her. “We should leave here,
tonight.”
Lucille sighed. “We’ve talked about this; where would we go,
and how? At least you’ll finally escape this place as you’ve wanted to: you’ll
be given an opportunity to become true heir to Crimson Peak, a baronet. I have
nothing without you. A cloistered life, imprisoned in a nunnery to tend to the
sick and diseased, forced to kneel and beg and pray, to live without love? Even
now I must do my duty toward her, that spiteful witch, and she takes my effort
and twists it into chains to bind me in misery. No, Thomas, there’s no escaping
her wrath. We are damned, the both of us, for daring to love.” She kissed his forehead, and stood. “Finish
your packing; I need to see to supper. Mother will insist I remain with her
again tonight, no doubt, but I will try to come up to you later.”
“Lucille….” He sobbed, grasping her hand in his and bringing
it to his lips.
“No, no more of this now. Later, my sweetest, let us hope
for later.” And then she tore herself away from the only one she loved, and who
loved her in return.
Slutty Yorick 