for a moment ( and just a moment ), elizabeth mercy looks every bit like a frightened deer; so unexpected the address, and so used to fading into the patterns of damask wallpaper and murals is she in the face of her family, who all seem much larger than life, with quirks and personalities far louder than her own. her hands flex, for a moment; net gloves and a small engagement ring upon her finger — plain and unobtrusive, just as she is — smoothing down the pleats of her skirts. “ thank you, miss barker. ” and the middle child of the family finds her lips parting before she can stop herself. “ you looked very presentable this morning at mass with your lace collar —” archibald clears his throat; and the young woman’s words die as quickly as they had formed.
it is an unspoken rule, as are so many other things between sixty-one and fifty-nine, to not comment on the state of miss barker’s dresses; for she was always dressed far too maturely for a girl of her age, and far too revealing for a girl of good status. six heads ( three gold, three dark ) turn at once, looking down the dim gloom of the hall to where the earl of bridgewater’s study is; a strange place known only to very few, as if the mere mention of such a thing might summon the judge more quickly than anticipated. the missus mercy that breaks the tableau first, pale eyes looking upon her husband and a flurry of unspoken words passes between them; a conversation told in the arch of the mister mercy’s brow, in the petulant way the missus mercy’s mouth puckers, a solitary and strange language known only between married couples; an argument that ends when archibald mercy rolls his eyes up to the high heavens and silently prays to all the saints for patience, his own hand moving to land sure and steady upon elizabeth’s shoulder.
“ why not go ahead to the parlour, dottie? your mother and i will be along in a moment. ” it is as quiet of an ushering he can give; his voice a low, rumbling timbre; and elizabeth does not linger, cheeks flushed pink as she pushes past her father, steps quick and light despite the creaking of floorboards and the rustle of petticoats. all is still, then; until the man himself gives a long-suffering sigh, drawn out, fingers pinching the bridge of his hawkish nose. “ you must forgive our daughter, miss barker. she meant nothing of it, and often muddles her words when full of nerves. ”
a trait, no doubt, exasperated by the missus mercy’s wicked tongue and disproving gaze. and that, it seems, is a constant cloud over the lives of the two middle mercy girls; as even victoria shrinks, pressing close to johanna, her hand tightening around frail fingers with a sharp breath. thankfully, archibald is adept at redirecting the ire of his wife; a hand to the small of her back ( brief, fleeting; the children might not even notice it ), guiding her along with practiced ease. the mister and missus mercy might have even made it into the drab and worn sitting room of sixty-one, too; had jo’s dainty foot not connected far too close to somewhere precious between alexander’s thighs; a muffled groan leaving him as he doubles over, followed by two quiet sets of chiming laughter, both victoria and christopher muffling themselves ( the latter trying — and failing — to disguise his joy by pretending to cough ) as their brother grunts, wheezes, pale eyes watering as pain radiates through him, hands cupping his pelvis as though it would alleviate whatever suffering johanna barker had deemed him worthy of.
“ alexander william elias mercy! ” the missus’ voice cracks like a whip; and all stand to attention from husband to child. if looks could kill, no doubt that the eldest mercy boy would already be six feet under ( and by the sheepish smile he offers his mother, perhaps alexander would have preferred such a fate ); and her expression twists, churns; a cold fury in her eyes. she is surprisingly quick for a woman of her height; soundless — and christopher wastes no time in easily moving to the side, taking both johanna and victoria out of the warpath his mother forges, ringed fingers moving to pinch alexander’s ear. what a rare thing it is, to see the missus mercy disciplining any of her children; especially her eldest boy, who winces, casting a glance to johanna with what almost seems like a wounded look. still, he keeps his mouth shut — death, perhaps, before the dishonour of tattling at their ages.
“ we will speak upon this after we have dined, when we are home — but you will apologize to our hostess for such language. now. ”
“ — do forgive me, miss barker; i am so very sorry for sullying the air around you with my expulsion of —. ”
“ enough. ” archibald’s voice is low; rumbling — a quiet sort of command from a man who is used to being obeyed, and does not suffer fools lightly. he stands tall; looking down his nose at his family, at the scene before him — and is, perhaps, thankful that the earl of bridgewater has yet to grace them with his presence, or else the evening would be spent hearing remarks of how ‘ill-bred’ his own children were. his jaw ticks; grinding slightly; and places his hands to rest behind his back. “ we will indeed discuss this later. ” he’d allowed lillian to spoil the boy; truly, and there was the crux of the matter — something he would remedy in his own time. “ lillian, my dear, why don’t you take alexander and join elizabeth in the parlour? we will follow shortly. ” lillian, for once, offers no retort; but does not let go of her son’s ear, all but dragging him into the parlour with a hiss.
a quiet settles between the patriarch of the mercy family and the trio before him; his features softening. when archibald mercy looks upon victoria, christopher, and johanna; he does not see a young woman of twenty, a growing boy of seven and ten, or a girl of six and ten; no. he sees them as they were ten years ago; in smocks and stockings, half wild; and amusement glimmers in his eyes.
“ why, pray tell, is it always you three? ” thick as thieves since little johanna had begged to go into the garden next door, and the children, in turn, had begged for her to join them. the distance closes between them in a few long strides; a hand at victoria’s cheek, thumb brushing over bone; then to christopher, too. “ you might learn to ignore alexander’s antics, hm? you know once he smells blood in the water, he is relentless. ” for a moment, it seems as though his hand might cup johanna’s cheek in the same way he had given an easy affection to his own two favourites, before it falls to her shoulder instead; giving a gentle squeeze — and falls back to his side. “ and as it is the sabbath, i must ask you to do at least one hail mary come your prayers this evening, miss barker. now, shall we? ”
