Those Lovely Children Of Lys

Chapter Four ~The Briarwood Home for Children~

The gravel crunched underneath the van's tires as it screeched to a halt in front of an old, weather-beaten manor. Its facade was crumbly but elegant, and I sensed history as I stepped out of the van. Lester had called before I'd left the hotel, told me to save this number, and said he'd very soon take me somewhere else. I trusted him, and my grief was raw, but I still tried to be hopeful as I gazed at the building.  

A woman stepped out of the heavy oak doors to greet us. Her hair was greying at the temples,and was gathered high on her head. Her eyes were ash-coloured, and her lips were set in a warm smile. 

"Leta," she said as she welcomed me with a short hug. Her eyes grazed over me. "So much like Ava." I didn't know what she was talking about. Mum's hair was light blond and short. My hair cascaded to my hips and was ebony. Maybe there was facial resemblance to her, who was I to tell properly?

I smiled, but it couldn't pass of as genuine. She patted my cheek, and looked at the driver to gather up my things. He grunted. No. 

Just then, a guy with curly black hair who was wearing trousers and a shirt walked up to the van, and carried out my suitcase. She smilingly nodded, giving him an appreciative glance. "Enoch." I extended my hand, resolving it would be rude to not at least shake his hand, seeing that he was carrying my suitcase. He took it, and firmly shook my hand. "Enoch Lesterly. Pleased." I fake-smiled, and said, "Leta Conran. Thanks for the help with my luggage." He nodded, and went inside with my suitcase just as quick as he'd come out. 

"Enoch," The lady sighed, "Introvertive but with a good heart. I'm Miss Wiltshire, dearie. Come along." I followed Miss Wiltshire inside the heavy oaken doors. I gaped. They had a proper, carpet-and-chandelier hallway leading inside. Their umbrella and hat stand was over-crowded, with small kiddy ones like pink fluffy monkey caps to stylish black velvet hats. I had worn my jacket, but didn't take it off. I was still new, and I needed it. 

She signalled me to take off my shoes, and I did so, my sneakers on the shoe stand, my sock-wrapped feet against the carpeted floor. I followed Miss Wiltshire to a honey colored, warm kitchen. The walls were yellow wood, the burning lamps hanging quite unnecessary as the big windows let in copious amounts of sunlight. 

There was a king's breakfast on the table; toast, marmalade, kipper, bacon sandwich, chocolate milkshake, and custard. I stared at her. "Is this all for me?" "Who else, dearie? Today's a Sunday, none of the rest have woken yet. It's still 9.00. No, contrary to the stereotype, I don't force them to the Church. Enoch angel is always up in type for the service, though"  I laughed a little, and sat on one of the many chairs in the gargantuan dining table. "Can I share this with Enoch, then? It's all quite a lot for me, and I want to make at least one friend." 

She nodded. She walked out of the kitchen, and came back with Enoch, who was staring at me a little confusedly. "Sit, dear." She urged him gently. 

He sat down, facing me. I gave him a small smile, though it was killing me. This same manor. This same dining room, where my mother must have once lived and talked and laughed. "The tutor will be here in some time. I've got work to do. And darling Old Mathilda--God bless her soul--has poor eyes and will knock something over. Enoch will keep you company, Leta. For now, I shall leave you here." Saying so, Miss Wiltshire left the kitchen.

"Why did you tell Miss Wiltshire to call me?" He asked me, once she was out of earshot. His voice was dulcet, but layered. He sounded like he was used to singing, that voice of his. "I can't eat all this by myself. Also, I wanted to properly thank you for carrying my suitcase in. Where is it, by the way?" I said, making my voice overly casual. I didn't want him to see how awkward I felt underneath all of my facade. I picked up a bacon sandwich, and took a bite. 

For some reason, he looked astonished. "I've kept it by the fireplace, in the sitting room. Maybe Miss Wiltshire will take you there later." He said, and then picked up a sandwich himself. "It's just that...usually nobody wants to sit with me." 

"That's mean. I'm not like that, and besides, most people are stupid. What are you--a serial killer?" I laughed a little at it. He turned white, I don't know why. He finished his bacon sandwich in two bites, and poured himself some chocolate milkshake from the jug. He sipped it for a bit, and then said, "Why did  you come to Briarwood?" I scraped by fingernail against the table as I swallowed and answered, "My mum used to live here when she was young. Now she's dead, so I've been brought here on temporary notice." I tried to sound normal, but my voice had a wobble to it. 

"I'm sorry," He said, and nudged my glass of chocolate milkshake to me. I liked that gesture. No exaggerated hugs or hand-holding. Just a nudge of something sweet that'll console you. I sipped it, and then resumed my bacon sandwich expedition. "If you want," he said after some time, "I could take you to The Room of Records sometime. It has information about every single child who's ever lived in Briarwood. No matter for how little of a time. I bet in two days, you'll have a record of your own." 

My eyes brightened, thinking of knowing more about mum. "That'll be great." I tell him, and move on to the kippers. He laughs at my hunger, and joins me in the kipper marathon. I let him have more, because he's relaxed a bit, and color's come to his face. 

By the time we're scraping the dishes, I've come to know that he's been living in Briarwood since he was two, people think he's weird (he didn't say why, though), he doesn't love God--just the church architecture, and he plays the violin. 

"Darling, I'll take you to your rooms now." Miss Wiltshire said as she came in. She beamed as she saw Enoch. "You both've been good for each other." she said. "Come," she added, flicking a glance towards me. I waved at Enoch, mouthed see you, and followed her deeper into the corridor. The lighting was provided by dusty lamps, and it felt like evening. Eventually, she stopped in front of a large room, where was a fireplace, and two sets of stairs leading down. The left was decorated but a blue-and -gold carpet, the other one with a blue-and-silver one. There were lots of cozy-looking couches, bean bags, armchairs, and there was also a radio on a small stand. 

A radio? How old was this place?

I spotted my suitcase next to the fireplace. 'So this is the sitting room!' I exclaimed. 'You've been talking to Enoch,' she observed with a smile, 'Yes, this is the inner sitting room. We have one for outsiders too. You know, visitors.'