The Girl Who Came to Bedlaam

V. Observations

Darkness came early that evening and when the unseen boy began to play noisily amongst the leaves and rush through the open windows with his dreary cries, I knew my night should be a restless one. The rain created a muddy retreat beneath the front windows and the rattling shutters welcomed the stormy breeze that disrupted Uncle Jeff's papers and tugged at Aunt Winnie's fawn locks. 

"You're still afraid of storms, niece?"

I glanced up at my uncle who was watching me with one of his amused smiles.

"No, not scared. Simply thoughtful."

"Ah, yes... thoughtful," there was the shuffling of his newspaper. "If I am not mistaken, you were dreading the hour your aunt and I should turn in for the night, thereby leaving you alone with the wind and rain for company. And seeing how you've settled yourself near the fire and are hugging your knees as you did during a storm when you were little, I must assume you still dread them." He laughed. "Yes, I can perhaps see far more than you'd like me to."

Aunt Winnie held up the sock she was mending.

"Oh, stop it, Mr. Browton an' leave her be. She's only just returned an' I won't have you teasing her tonight." She withdrew another sock from the basket at her feet. "You may start that tomorrow," and they laughed with childish glee.

"I'll have you know Eres Dacklefoy's done enough to test my patience for the day. But I can tolerate you both far better than I can him, and I'd very much rather hear your jests than the sad duet outside and the awful banging of the shutters."

Uncle arose from his armchair "Eres Dacklefoy, eh?" and was about to toss his papers into the grate.

"Jeff, how many times must I remind you that the papers are to be saved for the wrappin' of porcelain? I received a fine old set from Mrs. Dunnbury earlier today an' mean to give it to my good friend Ada Birch. Last time we spoke she said her youngest boy broke the one her late uncle had given her after his final voyage, so she'll be needin' another."

Her husband smiled, then turned to me. "Lia, could you put these papers away for my charitable wife who is most given to being charitable?"

"Yes, Uncle."

He disappeared and I heard the latching of shutters.

"Did I mention," he said when he'd returned, "what a lovely scarf you're wearing, Lia?"

Without thinking, I ran my fingers over the smooth fabric and smiled to myself. I hadn't realized I still wore it and was about to say a simple thank you when Aunt Winnie said,

"Where'd you get it, love? You most certainly weren't wearin' it when you left me on the path."

I observed Uncle Jeff's raised brow.

"Umm, no I wasn't. It was a gift."

"Oh, how lovely," said my aunt and to her husband, "An' you remember what Mrs. Ivanhallow said the last time she came up for a visit? That Lia is the exact mould of her father; of sound spirit an' mind that whoever crosses their paths are bound to respect and remember them hand an' foot!"

Then what of Ms. Cotts and Ms. Petruny, I was tempted to ask. They clearly weren't too fond of me. Pheobe Fiatson once said it was because they wished to control every girl that stepped within Bedlaam's halls. And as I was neither poor nor orphaned and was very well known throughout Gordorf due to our respectable family name, my very presence choked the air out of everything they stood for. I had dismissed Phoebe's words and gave her the silk ribbons from my hair to occupy that much too active brain of hers. For such a small child, she was in the habit of knowing things and what was worse, speaking of all she knew.