He strode out of the room and locked the door. There was not a servant in sight and although his steps were muffled by the carpet in the hall, in the emptiness even that seemed magnified.
He cast an eye around the hall, cataloguing everything and noting even the slightest piece that was out of place. He straightened a painting, shifted a vase not even an eighth of an inch and then nodded to himself.
He filled the space as he walked through it, glancing at his pocket watch. “I will check Phoebe’s rooms, then the lessons.”
He made a point of checking in on his niece's rooms and the girl herself every day. He moved briskly, though he did not run. Urgency without consideration only ended in pain. In his mind, he heard the sound of coughing of cries of pain, and he pushed them viciously away.
Her room was as he expected. The bed perfectly made, clothes arranged carefully in her wardrobe and collection of toys organized and tidied.
He double-checked her fireplace, inspecting the flue and the mantle for anything that could pose a danger. He knew that the staff did this every day, but he would take no chances.
Theodore glanced around again, his fist clenching and unclenching, the muscles in his back growing more tense as he turned and made his way towards the lessons room. With each step he took, his jaw tightened.
She is just a child.
The reminder did nothing to ease the tightness of his body and as he peered through the open door, his heart sped up. Phoebe sat at her desk. Her dark blue eyes were distant and unfocused, her hair, black like his own, was tied neatly in two plaits.
She looked small, curled into herself as though shielding her body from a mighty wind. Theodore reminded himself that she was only nine, but he was sure he had not been so small at that age.Had Rose?
The smell of rot and unwashed flesh rose in his mind, mingling with the sickly-sweet smell of treacle, and he pushed it away roughly.Do not dwell on that.
“Lady Phoebe, you must practice your letters. Penmanship is important for someone of your station.” The governess, Mrs. Agnes Morton, an older woman with streaks of grey in her hair, pointed to the blackboard behind her.
Theodore watched Phoebe’s eyes flick towards the governess, saw her mouth tighten and for a moment, thought she would say something. He caught himself leaning forwards, and stopped, his heart beating faster. But Phoebe said nothing, instead she gestured at the paper in front of her.
At least she is not being disrespectful.The thought offered little comfort. He saw Mrs. Morton’s eyes widen imperceptibly and then her lips thin.Apparently, she shared my hope.One would think we would both know better by now.
“I know you are an accomplished artist, but you must learn to write just as well – if not better.” Mrs. Morton was clearly trying to keep her voice light, firm but not unkind. “You are not a simpleton, you can do this.”
Phoebe’s fingers tapped quickly against the desk, and she shook her head.
“You should listen to Mrs. Morton, Phoebe.” Theodore saw Phoebe flinch away, as though he had shouted, and he redoubled his efforts to keep his voice neutral, his tone flat and his volume level.How does one speak to children?
In the two years since she had come to live with him, he had asked himself a version of this question daily and was no closer to a satisfying answer.
Mrs. Morton swept into a curtsey, her mouth open but Theodore waved her greeting away, his eyes fixed on Phoebe. He saw a flash of something in her face, and at that moment, she was not his niece but his sister, staring at him.
No.He forced his mind to obey him, feeling his jaw clench as he did. Phoebe reached for a small drawing, holding it tight to her chest as if she feared it might be snatched away.She does this when she is scared.
“You must focus on your lessons.” His words came out distant, as though someone else was saying them. “If you are to be a proper lady, you must learn all the skills one needs. That is the only way you will succeed in life.”
It is the only thing that will keep you safe.He took a step into the room, and Phoebe clutched her drawing more tightly to her chest, leaning further back in her chair.
You do not need to fear me.I will not take your drawing from you, not when it is the only thing that gives you comfort.The words stuck in his throat, and he glanced down at the sheets of paper on the desk. How could a child who brought paper to life—in paint, in pencil, in whatever she could get her hands on—struggle so with her letters?
“Your B lacks definition, and you must take greater care when dipping your quill – ink blots will undermine even the most well-crafted message.”
He was about to reach for the quill to demonstrate but saw her lean even further away. He stopped himself. He turned to Mrs. Morton. “You will demonstrate the proper technique, Mrs. Morton.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Mrs. Morton curtseyed and moved towards Phoebe’s desk.
He glanced at the blackboard then down at the paper. “You must understand the motion of the lines – some will run to the left, some to the right as the hands on a clock. Then you have vertical lines, which are the simplest and finally letters that combine these.”
Theodore studied Phoebe’s face, hoping she would meet his gaze. She stayed gazing at the paper, nodding slowly, clutching the drawing to her chest. He felt a cold hand snake its fingers around his heart as he watched his niece shrink even further into herself.
“Perhaps it would be best to take a rest – a short one. Would you like to spend some time in the garden, Phoebe?” Theodore nodded his head towards the light streaming through the window.
Your indulgence will ruin the girl.His father’s voice, dripping with disdain, echoed through Theodor’s head. Phoebe met hiseyes with her own, it was no more than a heartbeat, but that was all it took to drown out the voice.
