Nine Shillings

Toast And Marmalade

London - 1842

'Spread, spread, spread,' Mary sang, sitting on my lap as I helped her spread marmalade on her toast, she hadn't mastered spreading without stabbing holes in everything.

Bran was beside me at the head of the table drawing with Merry and Patches, politely ignoring the intruder into our domestic idyll. Millie was at the other end of the table with a pile of books next to her. She was trying to eat with one hand and hold a book on algebraic equations in the other with mixed success.

Veronica was sitting in the middle, eating her breakfast with an elegance I could only aspire to, and watching our family gathering with an expression that said it wasn't what she'd expected.

'Miss Ronni, are you our sister?' Mary asked around a mouthful of toast.

'Miss Mathers,' Veronica corrected.

'Miss Matters,' Mary repeated.

For a moment I thought she'd done it on purpose before it occurred to me, she'd never tried to say Josef's surname. He was always Daddy, there was no reason for her to use it.

Veronica frowned at her plate. 'No, Miss Mary.'

'But,' Mary said, screwing up her face, the expression she deemed most appropriate for deep thought. 'But, if Daddy is our daddy and Daddy's your daddy don't that make you our sister?'

'Papa isn't your daddy,' Veronica said.

'Yes, he is,' Mary said.

'Technically speaking –'

'Yes, by a hundred-hundred!' Mary snapped.

'Ten thousand,' Millie muttered.

'Do you know your numbers good like Millie?' Mary asked, argument forgotten.

'Do I know my numbers as well as Millie?' Veronica corrected.

'S'what I said.' Mary scowled at her. 'You're not clever teacher, Miss Ronni.'

Bran and I exchanged a look. Perhaps it would've been kindest to stop the discussion but Veronica was going to have to get used to being sucked into roundabout Mary-logic conversations.

Merry turned Patches' head to stare at Veronica as if he was silently judging her while Merry frowned at the crayons. Veronica stared back, teacup halfway to her lips.

'What colour are you going to do the grass?' Bran asked Merry.

She picked up the yellow crayon and started colouring. 'Mummy touched it and it died.'

I coughed and Bran put his hand to his mouth as if he had indigestion.

'Daddy says Mummy could kill the... the... whatsit big bush from the hyenas,' Mary said. 'You dig out aaaalllll the roots or it grows an' grows an' eats aaaalllll other plants. Munch. Munch. Munch.' She swung her legs and kicked me in the shins.

'Ow, Mary.'

'Sorry, Mummy.'

Veronica stared, I could see the cogs in her brain trying to disassemble the sentence and work out if Mary knew she'd got the words wrong. Mary knew what she meant and we knew what she meant. That was all that mattered.

Veronica seemed to decide it was wiser to daintily eat her eggs than pursue conversations about bushes from the Himalayas. It was a pity, there were adults who didn't know as much about soil and plants as Mary. Me, for one.

Mary finished her toast and reached for a fourth slice; her arms were too short to grab the rack so she tugged the tablecloth to bring it closer. Bran picked up the rack and put it next to her plate. Mary put her face close to it looking for the slices with the perfect level of toastiness.

'Don't you think you've had enough toast, Mary?' Veronica asked, cutting a slice of bacon into the smallest pieces possible.

Mary didn't look at her. 'No.'

I looked at her.

'A lady must learn self-control and discipline through self-denial, it's the correct and proper way. All modern educators...' She stopped cutting bacon.

Millie peered over the top of her book. Merry and Patches eyed Veronica.

'Children eat as much as they want in this house,' I said, then added quietly, 'Within reason.'

'Hungry sailors can't hunt sea monsters.' Mary took two slices of toast, put them on the plate then thrust the knife at me. 'Spread, Mummy.'

I stared at Veronica.

'Help me spread my toast, Mummy,' Mary demanded.

Bran nudged me under the table with his foot.

I pulled my gaze away from Veronica. 'Sorry, sweetheart.' I adjusted Mary's grip on the knife before she impaled me with it.

'I like marmilade,' Mary announced and stuck out her tongue in concentration as we spread an extra thick layer of marmalade on her toast.

'I didn't...' Veronica said. 'It's... I mean...'

Millie's chair creaked as she leaned towards Veronica. 'Mum grew up in the workhouse,' she said in a loud whisper. 'Food's a touchy subject.'

'Oh.' Veronica looked at her plate. 'Apologies, Miss – Mrs O'Connor.'

Bran cleared his throat without looking up from the illuminated letters he was sketching for Merry. Each copperplate letter of her name was woven with Celtic knots and little bears, it wasn't a skill he'd ever expected to use for his children when he was a medieval priest.

He cleared his throat again.

'You got a cold, Pappy?' Mary asked then crunched through her toast. 'Mummy, will you tuck Pappy up an' read him stories? Can I listen? I like leprechaun ones. Can leprechauns fight dragons over gold?'

I wiped marmalade from her face. 'Your pappy is trying to tell me I need to apologise to Miss Mathers for giving her my scary look.'

'There's really no need, Mrs –'

'You're not scary, Mummy,' Mary said as if Veronica hadn't been speaking. 'You're all little like a leprechaun.' She gasped. 'Maybe your Mummy an' Pappy were leprechauns and that's where you gotted your magicness from. Do you have a pot of gold, Mummy?'

I glanced at Bran and he gave me a look that verged on sardonic. I laughed and he grinned at the paper. Veronica's heartbeat settled down.

'What's funny, Mummy? You could to be a leprechaun.'

'Your Pappy is making me laugh.' I kissed the top of her head. 'For all I know you're right.'

'Pappy is silly,' she muttered and offered me the knife again. 'More marmilade.'

'He's very silly,' I agreed and helped her spread her last slice of toast.

'Pappy,' Merry said quietly. 'When will Daddy come home? He's been away all night and he didn't say he would be.'

Bran looked at her watery eyes and he was thinking about going straight to Josef and apologising when it was Josef who'd been the arse.

'Daddy was naughty and needs to apologise,' I said. 'So he went to his house to think about what he did.'

'What if monsters get him?' Merry started to cry and stuck her arms out to Bran. 'Papppppy.'

'Monsters won't get your daddy.' Bran lifted her onto his lap.

'Want Daddy home,' Merry wailed into his chest.

Millie picked up her books and slipped out of the room.

Not one to be outdone Mary burst into tears too. As soon as one of them started it was guaranteed there would be a crypocalypse. Given both their birth parents had died I couldn't say they were unjustified in their worry whenever any of us went away.

Veronica sipped her tea with an expression that said she wanted to leave the room but it was her job not to. I didn't offer her an escape route, I was more concern about Mary trying to use everything as a handkerchief, except a handkerchief.

I hoped Josef hurried up with his apology.