The Garden's End (MLM)

CHAPTER THREE.

His sister Isolde was talking to him of preparations made for his arrival, the large dinner they were to have, when he cut her off.

"Has someone been in my chambers?"

"Yes, Robert," she said calmly, clearly having expected such a question. "They needed cleaning."

"I specified that I did not want my chambers touched," he said stiffly. He felt as though there was a pole attached to his spine, preventing him from being comfortable. Every step he took, every new revelation of the manor he had not seen in two years, every change or vase or plate moved a reminder of the stranger he now was.

"I know," Isolde said with an impatient huff. "But as I said, they were filthy. Nothing was moved."

Robert kept his eyes narrowed at the horizon. In the far distance, he could see smaller homes and cottages amongst hedges and trees. Robert could swear he saw men peeking out from the hedges—soldiers—but he would shut his eyes tight, inhale slowly through his nose, and see the soldiers for who they really were; children, neighbours, dogs, or sheep. He exhaled slowly, silently.

It's not real, he reminded himself. I'm safe, they are all safe, none of it is real.

His sister, evidently, was not soothed. She put a hand on his shoulder, and Robert's eye twitched. As it was when she hugged him, and when Jane had jumped into his arms; the touch felt heavy, as though every hand had the weight of a full grown man, tossed onto him.

"Has it gotten any better?" she asked softly. "Was your time away fruitful?"

Tap tap tap.

"Yes," he lied. He used to argue that he was all right, that he did not need the rest or the change of scenery, that the battlefield had stopped haunting him. But it was no use. Isolde never seemed to believe him. "It did me a world of good."

Isolde said nothing a moment as she searched his face, but his eyes remained fixed outside the window.

Tap tap tap tap bang bang bang BANG!

Robert flinched. "What are they doing in those kitchens?" he snapped. "Shooting the walls?"

Isolde stared. The sound of the kitchens had turned muffled again, and Robert turned away from his sister with a sigh, unbuttoning his coat.

"Stop it, Isolde," he said quietly. "For the love of god, stop looking at me like that. I'm only tired from my long trip."

"Yes," she murmured. "Only tired. Would you perhaps like me to send Charles up to help you prepare for bed?"

"Goodness no," said Robert. "He used to look at me as though he were waiting for me to erupt."

"Sebastian, then?"

"He looked as though he wanted me to erupt."

"What about Emily?"

"I can't say two words to her without her bursting into tears."

"Then, what about—"

"Isolde, I don't need anyone staring at me," he said, exasperated. "I am perfectly capable of readying myself."

She sighed. "Then, I will leave you to rest. Dinner is at eight."

"Still?" he scoffed. "Mother's here even when she isn't, eh?"