sundays were always thus — a small parade through the garden of fifty-nine lancaster gate; silken slippers and patent leather shoes marching through a well worn path upon the grass ( now covered in paving stones at the missus mercy’s insistence ). such a spectacle had been easier to manage when they were children, when they had needed a hand to hold and could be quieted by a gentle hush or a stern look; the very image of domesticity — now, it had become difficult to do thus, with children now all adults far more eager to be independent, always bickering and whispering ( alexander had stepped on elizabeth’s hem, victoria had bumped into elizabeth, elizabeth had stepped on the back of christopher’s heel, christopher had tripped into alexander ); a symphony of sound against archibald’s low baritone, soothing and pleading in turn, for quiet — that all of this might be sorted later, when they were not within earshot of the street, perhaps? a look from the matriarch, cold and pinched and wicked, followed by a shrill series of words — i could pitch myself into the thames and not one of you would cease your bickering to see it happen, let alone jump in after me! that finally brings quiet, aside from the shuffle of feet and the whisper of cotton.
the sabbath were kept holy within the walls of both households; the mercys, at least, knew how to keep them thus — the maids had scrubbed the floors and walls until all had shone, polished crystal and silverware and bone china until reflections could be seen. there had been an argument in the strange space between mass and dinner; when travelling shawls and bonnets and top hats were littered in the foyer, when the children were sat in the parlour — and both master and mistress of the home had gone into his study, a world normally closed to all but victoria and christopher. must such a farce continue, long past any chance of finding humour in it? as if all of london did not know of such a closeness between two houses — christian neighbours, good and true. and shall we abandon miss barker, who is most certainly waiting for us this very minute? would you leave her with him? that had ended any further dissent, just as the missus mercy preferred.
it is why they are here now; arm and arm at the head of the line, passing through the wrought iron gate that seemed to give entrance into a vastly different world; no longer pristine and lush, but soot-stained and greying, choked by the smog of london. god bless archibald and his soft heart, all too easy to push and prod when needed — when warranted. it is a good thing that the man looks forward, or else he might see the smirk upon his wife’s features. and it is young christopher, at the end of the line as always, who shuts the gate behind him; who looks up to the window he knows miss barker will be in, a bright spot in the gloom — how he smiles; unabashed, unashamed at the sight of her, lighting up his features as he stretches up, up, up — and waves as though they were children of six and seven once more. he would stay there, too; a moment too long, falling behind — until victoria turns to glimpse the house, and hisses to come close before mama sees you acting thus!
for a moment, he scrambles in the gravel path, closing the distance in a few short strides ( and earning such laughter from his elder brother, until his eyes roll back in his head ) in what must be a moment of luck sent by the good lord himself, straightening his waistcoat, his cravat — before both of his parents have turned to examine their brood. they must be perfect, all, in their mother’s eyes ( it was always father who never begrudged them a childhood scrape or stain ). and never was there a gaze more unkind than hers; a hand to elizabeth’s jaw — chin up, my dear, your posture is poor these days — a smile for alexander, as always.
“ i need not say it, but i shall regardless — i do expect you all to be on your best behaviour here. ” a pointed look to alexander, then; an incline of his head. how low archibald’s voice is; rumbling and soft — a quiet authority that would, perhaps, be misplaced in a courtroom, but suited him more than enough when it came to managing his own house. as if he would allow the most honourable judge a smug smile when it came to his own children, or a comment about undue influence upon his ward — strange girl, stranger circumstances — hand moving to rap thrice upon the side door they had entered through for near sixteen years.
the gloom is worse after crossing the threshold, old and dark and damp — dust filtering in silvery light through velvet curtains. victoria, ever delicate, sneezes. there is no valet, no butler; never in all of their sunday visits has there been anything but a long-faced footman to take their coats and gloves and hats, piling up into his arms one by one until it is a miracle he can see at all.
“ not even a butler, still – ” “ hush, my dear. ” pale blue meets green then; frozen in a tableau of challenge in the weak light that comes from the still open door behind mister and missus mercy; not broken until archibald decisively reaches over his wife, and firmly ( gently ) shuts the door. a commonplace occurrence, none of the children bat an eye at it, elizabeth instead shifting nervously, stepping forwards; only to be quickly passed by christopher, his steps determined, his gaze focused on what can only be seen as a pale blur.
“ miss barker! ” how wide his smile is, how overjoyed — he reaches forwards, then stops himself, falling just short of grabbing @skywaits hands. it is not proper, not here; at least, and to bring trouble to such a kind and strong soul would be, in his opinion, a terrible sin. victoria is the one that closes the gap in a flurry of satin and lace; cotton shawl at her elbows flying behind her, to grasp at johanna’s hands; pale ( so pale ) next to her own rosy ones, warmed by summers at the coast. “ johanna! how are you faring, my dear? we hardly spoke at mass today, there was no time, so you must forgive me — besides, lady brighton’s daughter was there, and did you see her gown? it is a wonder that she was allowed to leave the house! ”