Phillipa Dawson

Chapter 1

Scene I

Thursday, 12th January 1837

The only sound that rang through the living room was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Everything else in the room remained still and unexciting in their shades of red, gold and brown. Even the crackling fire was in an especially sombre mood, dispensing large clouds of smoke which spread around the room like a lady's perfume. It wafted over the ceramic crockery adorning the oak table, which on closer inspection, had received rough treatment over the last few years.

A sudden burst of wind broke through the open window, making the small girl shiver from her seat on the golden settee. She looked little older than a six year old, with eyes too large for her round shaped head. Her bright ginger hair was fastened in a loosely tied plait that descended to her waist. Every couple of seconds, as if she was searching for something, her head would turn quickly to the open window, before snapping back into place. It was an action that happened swiftly and ended wordlessly, and left an onlooker with a sense of curiosity. From the window, the only thing of interest was the frail white picket fence, which swayed precariously in the wind and enclosed cold, carved marble.

Her perpetual action, however, was disrupted when another person entered the room. She had willowy blonde hair that was secured in a tidy French plait, and dubious blue eyes. She looked older than the other girl, who regarded her through her wide, fretful eyes.

"What are you doing in here?" The older girl inquired with heavily laced scepticism in her voice. She inspected the living room in great detail, though her eyes narrowing into slits when they were obscured by the watery smoke. "Why'd you start a fire, Philly?"

Philly shifted anxiously in her seat, glancing to the window one last time. She gnawed on her bottom lip, reopening a cut from a few hours ago. "It's cold." Philly replied quietly. Her juvenile tone resounded through the room.

"It's warmer today," said the blonde girl. She paused for a moment before continuing. "Warmer than it was yesterday. You didn't start a fire then."

Philly looked rather stuck. She tangled her pudgy hands in her dress; opening and closing her mouth in an expression that closely resembled a fish out of water. However, a few moments later, her chest deflated as if the air had been taken out of her. "I–I'm sorry, Dah'li," she whimpered, reluctantly lifting her gaze to meet Dahlia's. Her large blue eyes were welled with tears.

Dahlia's gaze softened, and she promptly sat on the settee beside Philly. She gingerly patted the girl's knee, with an expression that said she hadn't thought this situation through. "It's okay, Philly. Why'd you start the fire, though?"

Philly had to lift her head even higher to meet Dahlia's gaze. "Promise you won't tell," she pleaded, tugging at the older girl's clothing. Her eyes were widened with fear. "Please Dah'li."

A conflicted expression crossed Dahlia's face, forcing her to choose between her little sister and what was right. She stared down at the little girl, before sighing exasperatedly. "I promise," she said grudgingly.

Philly frowned suspiciously. "Pinky swear?"

Dahlia looked disgusted. "Seriously, Philly? Grown-ups don't pinky swear," she said indignantly, folding her arms.

"Please?" Philly begged.

"Ugh, fine." Dahlia scowled frustratedly. She reluctantly entwined her little finger with Philly's. An awkward pause lapsed into the conversation. "Well? Go on then."

Philly sniffed. "I—I wanted to see Mummy," she whispered despondently, wiping away a tear that was forming beneath her eye. "But Daddy said no."

Dahlia stared at her. "Of course he said no," she replied curtly. "He's sensible, whereas you're not. You're meant to show the town that you have moved on and are no longer mourning."