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."
"I don't care!" Philly cried frustratedly. "I don't want to!"
Her sister rolled her eyes. "But, I suppose you will always be a brainless little girl," Dahlia said, straightening the creases in her dress. She stood up, and sent Philly a withering look. "Father wants you to meet him in the dining room." Dahlia said, before leaving through the open door.
Philly watched her sister walk away with miserable eyes. A lone tear was creeping down her cheek, but the little girl paid it no mind. Instead, she regarded the open window once again; but now, it was with a look of sheer determination.
She clambered to her feet, which only just reached the floor from the settee. From there, she glanced ponderingly at the scorching fire – before grabbing one of the nearby flower vases, seizing the flowers inside it, and pouring the vase's content onto the flames. A satisfied smile crossed Philly's face as she regarded the dying flames, before her attention returned to the open window.
Another burst of wind shattered the fire's warmth, causing the crimson curtains to shudder and retreat into the living room's protection. It felt like blunted daggers against Philly's skin, and sent a cold shiver down her spine. But – she still persevered, gritting her baby teeth and reaching for the window ledge, despite every thought in her mind willing her to remember the consequences of such an action.
It was colder in the open air; where the brutal wind could assault her from every direction. Philly desperately clung to her thin clothing in the hope of retaining some of her dwindling warmth, but it wasn't her main objective.
Just meters away from her was the frail white picket fence – and within it was cold, carved marble that testified the death of Cecelia Dawson, as of January 1836.
Philly shoved at the frail white gate, which swung open with an eerie creak, emphasising the maltreatment of the vicinity.
The small girl collapsed into a heap; a bunch of arms and legs and unrestraint tears. They fell from her eyes like mortal bullets, slashing at her pale flesh and leaving her with raw, excruciating emotion. She was cradled into a tight ball, rocking back and forth; shielding herself from the outer world. But still, Philly wept into her tiny hands; bemoaning the loss of a sweet, caring mother, and all the connotations of living without her.
There were words engraved in beautiful cursive writing. Where there is much light, the shadows are deepest.
Philly caressed the brown dirt with an expression of profound desire; leaving thin, tapered channels where she had scraped her podgy fingers through the sticky mud. Tears streamed down her face, but Philly remained in that position for a while; staring expressionlessly at the cold, carved marble.
Hence she heard it before she saw it – the skinny boy with long brown hair and startlingly green eyes. The boy with the tailored blue coat and gold buttons. The boy that resided at the Caulfield Manor; a well-established family that governed the province.
And coincidently, the boy with a dead mouse cradled between his two palms, and an expression that conveyed a small melancholy. He was heading in Philly's direction; his neck hung low, and his attention focussed on the creature in his care.
He hadn't yet realised that he had company – Philly had remained utterly silent since his arrival, either because she was intimidated by his hereditary pre-eminence or because of an insatiable curiosity. Philly hadn't even realised she had stopped crying, when she watched the boy draw nearer with each step through the strands of her loose plait, which hung over her shoulder and shielded her tear-encrusted face.
About two meters away, the boy knelt down on his knees, with the mouse still nestled comfortably in his hands. Now that he was closer, Philly could see him in closer detail. His long brown hair was tied with a plain-coloured band, and his gold buttons stretched from his neck down to his waist.
Philly soon become aware of how uncomfortable her position was, and attempted to shift her limbs into a simpler arrangement. However, this sudden movement caught the boy's attention from the corner of his eye, and his head snapped up very quickly.
His face held the soft curves of childhood, with a smooth, button-shaped nose and a flush on his cheeks. Even his eyes, the colour of green leaves, rarely seen in Kahr, held a childlike innocence while they scrutinised Philly and her tear-stained cheeks.
"I'm Fred." He said suddenly. Philly continued to stare at him. The boy noticeably frowned, before reaching out to offer a hand. It seemed he had forgotten about the mouse previously nuzzled in his palm, because this action caused it to fall onto his lap with a light thump.
He stared down at his momentarily, before offering Philly a shamefaced grin. He quickly scooped up the mouse again, before asking, "What's your name?"
Philly pondered over whether to answer the question – she wasn't really supposed to be inside the picket fence at all. She was supposed to be meeting her father in the dining room, whilst he rattled on about the current state of society, and if this boy, Fred, knew her name, he could just as easily contact her father to tell him where she was.
She eyed him suspiciously – should she trust him? He looked reliable enough, but she remembered the saying 'don't judge a book by its cover.' Philly decided that a first name would suffice, for now.
"Philly."
Fred nodded, as if he was noting the name for future reference. "Hi Philly," he said, testing the name on his tongue. He seemed to like it, because his mouth spread into a grin. He looked as if he was going to offer his hand to her all over again, but he remembered his mouse earlier this time.
He stared at the mouse contemplatively, before shuffling closer to Philly, and gesturing that she looked at the creature in his hands. It was tiny compared with his hands, and had coarse grey fur with specks of white. There weren't any perceptible injuries maiming its body, so Philly assumed it had eaten something that hadn't quite suited it. However, that still didn't quite explain why this boy was holding it.
When she glanced up, her eyes must have expressed her curiosity, because he opened his mouth to explain. "He's my friend," Fred said, looking down at the mouse with a certain fondness which Philly wished she saw more often from her own family. "I give him food, but I gave him something bad."
Philly blinked her eyes inquisitively.
"I want to bury him," Fred explained. "I don't know where though."
The little girl's eyes flickered to the cold, carved marble and made a quick decision. "Bury him here," she said quietly, pointing at the ground she had previously dug tunnels in. Philly offered him a small smile.
"Really?" He said enthusiastically. "You don't mind?"
Philly shook her head straight away. "Don't let Daddy see it though. He's really mean." She told him, a firm scowl on her face at the thought of her father.
The boy peered at the Philly's face curiously. "You too? My daddy's nasty – he won't let me go here."
"I went out the window," Philly said. She looked delighted at the prospect of someone hating their father too.
Fred pouted. "The windows are locked all the time," he replied despondently. "Had to go out the back door. Miss Henderson will get in a lot of trouble when I go back."
"Miss Hen'derson?" Philly repeated confusedly.
"My maid," Fred explained nonchalantly, whilst digging a shallow hole for his mouse.
Philly's mouth fell open. "You have a maid?"
"Yes?"
She blew up her cheeks with frustration. "I want a maid," Philly complained. She looked quite the sight, with tears encrusted on her flushed cheeks. She crossed her arms indignantly while she scrutinised the boy.
"You can have Miss Henderson," he huffed. "She's awful – she never lets me do anything."
Philly's face lit up. "Can I?" She asked enthusiastically, "does she cook?"
Fred lifted his head, having just finished digging a hole and placing his mouse inside it. "Erm, I'd have to ask Daddy," he said. Then he repeated her other question in his head and shook his head vigorously. "She's rubbish! She never makes me snow muffins."
The little girl blinked curiously. "What are snow muffins?"
Now, Fred was regarding her strangely. "What are snow muffins?" He repeated with incredulity. "Only the best thing in the world! Haven't you been to the bakery before?"
Philly's lip quivered. "My daddy can't afford to go to the bakery," she replied shamefacedly, retreating back into her shell.
"You've got to try it!" Fred exclaimed, completely discounting her sudden guardedness. "I'll buy you one. Where do you live?"
"O–over there," she replied, pointing at the house. Philly quickly withdrew her finger when she realised what she had revealed. She peeked at Fred's face, overcome with inexplicable anxiety.
Just across the meadow, the small house integrated with the surrounding trees surprisingly well. The walls were a sickly yellow which harmonized with the brittle leaves, whereas the roof was a shade of light brown, with decaying tiles that left cracks in the ceiling for unremitting snow. All things considered, there was a feeling of quaintness about the house which didn't come with just any building.
Fred was regarding the house with an expression of great interest. He appeared to be growing gradually more excited as time went by.
"Can I come in?" He asked fervently. His eyes averted back to Philly.
Philly frowned, shifting her position uncomfortably. "I—I'm not allowed to be here," she mumbled embarrassedly.
"Me too," Fred replied shortly after. "I know! We can meet at the square tomorrow. We can pretend we met there."
The girl mused over this proposition, and found it impossible to find a fault in it. So instead, she nodded her head in agreement.
"Great!" He cried enthusiastically, before jumping to his feet. "I've got to go now though – Daddy will look for me."
Philly nodded her head again.
"Bye Philly!" He yelled over his shoulder as he ran away, towards the centre of town. For a few seconds, Philly watched him run, before she averted her attention to the mouse that lay in the hole Fred had dug out earlier.
She smiled to herself; the boy had forgotten to finish the mouse's burial. So, without a second thought, she dragged a handful of dirt and began to finish Fred's job. Philly found that she didn't even mind doing someone else's work – because today she had made a new friend, and he went by the name Fred.
Scene II
Monday, 18th December 1837
Phillipa moved quickly, weaving in and out of towering lamp posts with surprisingly acute ease. There was a vicious tear that stretched from the hem of her dress, which was a vibrant shade of sepia that did well to conceal all of the dirt stains covering it. It now sat satisfactorily above her knees, and that was how she liked it. Phillipa was capable of ignoring the condescending stares and malicious remarks, as long as she was allowed to be herself – because in her short life, somehow, she had acclimatised. Or perhaps it was the person that she was going to meet that enabled her to do so? Whatever it was, she hardly gave it any thought.
There was a certain confidence about her as she walked, with her orange tresses swishing in her wake. Her heart lifted considerably when she saw it; the small crevice between the two pine trees, which led to a beautiful, welcoming grove behind the bakery. It was the spot in which she and Frederick often convened, because of the tantalising aroma of fresh pastries and because no one else knew about it. It was a secluded alcove, sheltered by the surrounding trees. It was only suitable for children with small physiques, and thus, Phillipa began to giggle at the thought of a boy named Charles Prowse, trying to wedge his overweight body through the grove's entrance.
She sunk to her knees and began to crawl through the cranny, akin to an agile fox that crept closer and closer. The prickly leaves of the pine trees scratched at her skin and left thin, red streaks down her cheeks. Phillipa soon spied the person she had come to meet.
"Fred!" She exclaimed passionately, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. "I missed you so much! Daddy's wouldn't let me go," she griped, breathing in his soothing scent. She released him, and the two of them sat facing each other.
Frederick tilted his head in a questioning manner.
"He says I've been bad girl," Phillipa explained wretchedly, wringing her wrist with her hand. "He told Dah'li to follow me all the time."
She had escaped Dahlia's vigilant supervision by clambering out of the window when her sister had disappeared to use the lavatory. Phillipa didn't wish to find out what would happen when she returned home to Dahlia's wrath.
Phillipa hugged Frederick again, catching the boy off guard. Once she released him, the two children fell into an uncomfortably silence.
"I got a present for you."
The little girl glanced up, her brow furrowed together. She had been fiddling with the hem of her dress, and had been taken aback by Frederick's announcement. Their discrepancy in terms of upper and lower class meant that they had agreed to not purchase presents for each other, because it wouldn't be fair on the other.
Frederick's cheeks were flushed red as he added, "for Christmas."
A feeling of unworthiness surged through Phillipa's veins, as well as overwhelming gratitude and desire to make it up to him. But then, she remembered their agreement, and allowed a small amount of anger to swallow her up.
"I–I know we said no presents," Frederick explained, looking guilt stricken and ashamed, "but it didn't cost me anything…"
Phillipa crossed her arms and jutted out her bottom lip. "You promised," she reminded him pointedly. "You said 'no presents', just like me."
"I know!" Frederick exclaimed, shifting uncomfortably in his spot. "Please take it…" He pleaded.
Phillipa scrutinised his expression for a few moments, before she sighed and nodded in acquiesce. "Fine." She huffed, shooting him a glare. "Only 'cause you said it didn't cost you anything."
She could tell from his expression that he was pleased by her decision, and that comforted her to a small degree. Over the past few months, he'd gotten used to the way in which her mind worked – or at least Phillipa thought he had. However, this display had caused her to pause and think about whether or not this was true.
Phillipa studied him thoughtfully. Frederick lifted his gaze to meet hers, and flushed pink. Then he told her, "close your eyes." He reached into his pocket, but withheld whatever was inside it until she had followed his instruction.
All of a sudden, she held a smooth silk in the palm of her hand, which tantalised her skin with its soft touches.
"You can open your eyes now."
Phillipa's eyes sprung open in anticipation. They were greeted by a beautiful flower, with rich crimson petals and citron anthers that resembled the glistening stars that could be seen in the clear midnight sky. It was adorned with viridian leaves and a small pink bow that was attached to the stem.
Her mouth stretched into a wide grin. "It's so pretty!" She gushed fervently, unable to take her eyes of the beautiful flower. She could scarcely believe that something so wonderful could grow in Kahr. "It's just like Christmas."
Phillipa lifted her eyes to meet Frederick's. "What is it?" She asked in an inquisitive tone.
Frederick matched her expression with his own grin. "Mother told me when I asked," he admitted, his eyes held captive by the flower's beauty. "She said it was a po'setta or something."
"A po'setta?"
Frederick nodded. "It doesn't grow very easily in Kahr," he explained. "It likes the dark. That's how I found it."
He reached forward and took the flower out of her hand. He then proceeded to tuck it behind her ear. "There you go."
"Thank you," Phillipa began, smiling slightly, "I'm sorry—"
There was a sudden rustling in the surrounding trees, which caused Phillipa to jump in surprise. Frederick stood up immediately and grabbed a long, pointed stick, which they had prepared for such an occasion. Phillipa hid behind Frederick's comforting authority.
"Come out!" Frederick exclaimed, jabbing his stick at the branches suspiciously. His voice wavered at the end of his command and revealed his anxiety.
A small body lurched into the grove with abruptness and toppled to the ground. From what she could tell, it was a small boy with willowy blonde hair, wearing a cobalt jacket and ashen white trousers.
Frederick etched closer to prod the boy with his pointed stick.
"Owww!" The boy cried, clambering to his feet. His eyes were wide and glistening silver, rimmed with unshed tears. His pudgy arms and face were smeared with mud.
Frederick released his weapon immediately, and rushed forward. Phillipa watched this action with great confusion.
"Will! Why are you here?"
The little boy was snivelling, and a small tear escaped his eye. "B–but I want to see!" He wailed, his wide eyes imploring with the elder boy. "I–I wanted to see where you go—"
Phillipa furrowed her brow, and leant closer to Frederick. "Who is he?" She whispered.
Frederick sighed exasperatedly. "He's my brother, Will. He's really nosy."
She scrunched her nose, unable to see any similarities in their appearance. "Really?" Phillipa asked.
Her friend nodded with reluctance.
Phillipa knelt down on her knees and offered the boy her friendliest smile. "It's okay," she reassured him, "you're safe here."
William glanced up into her face with awe stricken eyes. He sniffed before saying, "A–are you a girl?"
The confusing question caused Phillipa to furrow her brow. "Yes…I am a girl," she confirmed hesitantly.
"You have fire hair!" The boy cried out, reaching for a strand of her orange tresses. However, he seemed exceedingly confused and frowned. "I–it doesn't hurt."
Phillipa blinked. "Why would it?"
William disregarded her question. "Is it magic?"
"Of course it isn't," Frederick huffed, crossing over his arms. "That's a stupid question."
Phillipa removed his hands from her hair and straightened her legs. "My hair's not fire, anyway." She pointed out, folding over her arms. "Mummy said that orange hair is only for brave soldiers."
William stared at her, before wiping his eyes and standing as tall as possible. "C–can I be a soldier?"
She paused to consider it. "Maybe," she consented, before turning to look at Frederick. "What do you think?"
Frederick shrugged. "I think he should go home."
Phillipa glanced at the little boy, noticing that immense fear had overtaken his expression. She could tell that he was trembling. It was then she remembered her sister.
It caused a feeling of frustration to boil in her stomach; Dahlia rarely placed her sister before the rules and expectations of society, and Phillipa found this grossly unfair. It was the role of older siblings to care for them.
"I think we should all go together."
Her declaration caused William's face to lighten up considerably. However, Frederick looked put out by this decision. "But you only just got here!" He whined childishly.
Phillipa ignored Frederick and gestured for William to crawl through the small crevice between the trees. She and Frederick followed shortly afterwards.
The snowflakes had begun to fall from the sky; gently, prettily and cold. Passersby in the street held their parasols over their heads to shelter their clothes from the weather. Some young ladies stood alone on the pavement, looking rather grumpy. Phillipa speculated that they were visualising the warmth of a burning fire – whilst others basked in the opportunity to link elbows with the ones they loved. Phillipa herself often wondered about being older. It confused her a great deal, for she couldn't see anything to look forward to. She'd never had the chance to live in her own way, but she supposed that if she could, then there was some glimmer of hope.
Phillipa had grabbed hold of William's hand in sudden determination, which gained his bewildered attention. He scrunched his nose, "what is it?" Will asked.
Searching for something to say, she wiped her head around sharply to see Frederick far behind, dragging his feet.
"Your brother is being slow," she suddenly smiled.
All of a sudden, she began to run towards the unsuspecting boy, dragging William alongside her. She reached him within moments, and grabbed hold of his hand with her own.
"You're slow!" She teased, bursting into frivolous laughter.
Frederick grinned. "Oh, really?" He questioned mischievously. "Well, what's this?"
He burst into a sprint, which took Phillipa by surprise, and caused him to drag her in his wake. Before long, the chain of children snapped, due to William's inability to keep up on his short legs.
As they approached the metal gates that surrounded Caulfield Manor, their laughter began to die down, and became a silence which could only be filled by their deep breaths. Phillipa had never been this close to the manor before; she felt like she was breaking the law just by standing outside. The building was huge and irrefutably terrifying. All the curtains were still closed; she couldn't help but imagine the darkness that consumed the inside.
"Come inside."
Phillipa felt a tugging on her dress, and glanced down at the little boy, who stared at her with wide eyes. "No, I don't think that's a good idea." She shook her head.
"Only for a little while," Frederick pleaded softly, imploring with his eyes. "I won't see you for a few days. We'll go through the servant's entrance."
The redhead shifted uncomfortably, before nodding apprehensively. She hoped this would quench her undying curiosity for the Caulfield Manor.
The servants' entrance was as dismal as its name suggested. The door was constructed out of rotten wood, which forced Frederick to kick open the door in fear of receiving a splinter. However, much to Phillipa's delight, the kitchen was empty.
Despite the size of the manor, the kitchen was abnormally small. There was only a single fire alight, its flames licking the sides of a brown ceramic pot. Copious ladles hung from hooks on the ceiling, well out of the children's reach.
The children shuffled inside, the snow melting off of their shoes and creating splashes of water on the floor in their wake. As they travelled through the kitchen and through another door, her surroundings began to change. The wooden floorboards turned to marble; copper handles turned to gold roses and plain wall paper became elaborate paintings. This did nothing to calm Phillipa's nerves.
"Freddy," Phillipa whispered, her voice trembling slightly, "I don't think I should be here."
Frederick turned to face her. "Stop worrying, no one...will..." Phillipa's heart sank as she watched his eyes widen in realisation.
"Now, who is this?" the voice was deep, but was not harsh in its delivery.
Phillipa quickly hid in Frederick's shadow, as he stuttered to get out an answer. "Erm, well, I—"
To her surprise, the elderly man crouched to his knees, so that their heads were at the same level and met her gaze. His hair had traces of dark strands, but it was mostly grey, and shone in the dimly lit room. There were wrinkles that surrounded his eyes. "What is your name?" He asked softly.
"I–I'm Phillipa Dawson," she replied quietly, stepping to Frederick's side and wringing her wrists.
"Well, Miss Dawson," he said, straightening to his full height. "You had better go somewhere a bit more private." The elderly man turned on his heel, sweeping down the corridor and bidding the children to follow.
"Who is he?" Phillipa whispered under her breath as they entered a small room.
Frederick glanced at her. "He's the butler, Geoffrey—"
"Mister Cartwright to you, Master Caulfield."
Frederick shot Mister Cartwright an apologetic grin, though Phillipa could tell he was surprised the butler had heard him.
The room they had walked into was very different from what she had seen so far. In the far wall, there was a small fire, which spat embers that danced like fireflies before extinguishing. It felt homely; hundreds of books filled the shelves with knowledge, whilst small personal touches created a feeling of comfort. Phillipa was hypnotised by the swaying of the rocking chair beside the fire, so much so that it took Phillipa a while to realise that there was someone occupying it.
"And to whom do I owe the pleasure?"
"This is Miss Dawson. She is a friend of Master Caulfield."
The woman examined Phillipa with a raised eyebrow. She didn't look very much like anyone she had seen before, but Phillipa decided right then and there that she was incredibly pretty. Her dark velvet skin held an attractive glow, whilst her brown eyes reflecting the orange tones of the fire. She wore an apron that was remarkably clean and crisp, tied neatly around her waist.
The woman glanced down at her leather-bound book in her lap. "She shouldn't be here, Mister Cartwright. You know that." She spoke softly.
Geoffrey folded his arms. "Miss Henderson, they are only children. Surely they are deserving of a small amount of freedom."
Miss Henderson didn't lift her head to meet the butler's gaze. Instead, her eyes followed the single finger that slid back and forth across the page of her novel. "Some of us simply do not have the choice of freedom."
Her voice resounded discordantly through the room, and caused Phillipa's heart to beat incredibly fast. Despite the crackling fire, her surroundings had become bitterly cold.
She turned to meet Frederick's gaze, and hoped that she could convey her discomfort through her expression. "I–I'll leave," she whispered. However, even the quiet words could be heard in the overwhelming silence.
"B–but—!" William protested.
Miss Henderson met William with a fierce stare, which caused him to hide behind Frederick.
With a half-hearted wave, Phillipa walked back through the kitchen and left through the servants' entrance. From that point on, she vowed to never cross Miss Henderson's path again.
Scene III
Sunday, 17th June 1838
All that could be heard in the foyer was the creaking of the wooden floorboards as Phillipa treaded softly across the room. She had snuck out of the house whilst her father was out doing business, and had made the instant decision to visit Caulfield Manor, knowing that Frederick's parents would be at the church with their eldest heir, Edward. However, now that she was here, she became aware of how eerie the manor truly was.
Her piercing eyes flitted back and forth, examining the fascinating ornaments that adorned the wooden shelves. They flickered over a majestic clock, which was rimmed with gold, and ticked with each and every second. Then, there was a collection of porcelain crockery, in such perfect condition that Phillipa doubted they had ever been used.
As she swept down the foyer, she spotted a small wooden carved chest, concealed behind a bizarre orange trinket, which caught Phillipa's undivided attention. It was made of rosewood that had been whittled with a knife; engraved with intricate gold patterns that stretched across the cover. However, most curiously of all, there was a small slit which welcomed a key.
Phillipa couldn't help but stare, as if staring would encourage the chest to reveal its tantalizing contents. Her attention wavered, however, when she got the uncanny impression that she was being watched. Instinctively as a small girl, Phillipa began to turn slowly on her heels, an expression of innermost reluctance and fear marring her face.
Her eyes were greeted by a big portrait that reached the tall ceiling, featuring the magnificent Caulfields in their irrefutable splendour. For a moment, Phillipa allowed the deep breath that she had taken to escape her lungs, and rested her eyes on the young face of Frederick Caulfield. His eyes were twinkling with mischief, distinguishing himself from the remainder of his family and their solemnity. Edward Caulfield, the eldest and inherent leader, was stood beside his father with a definite expression and his blonde hair swept to the side. His eyes held little of the mischief that was concealed within Frederick's; instead, it exposed his motivation to succeed and prove his worth. Then again, Phillipa scarcely knew Edward at all. She had stumbled across him once or twice whilst visiting the Manor, but even then it was just short-lived, before he disappeared behind one of the many doors.
Phillipa shook her head, turning away from the portrait. She'd come to the Manor to visit Frederick, not to encroach upon the Caulfields' privacy.
She travelled down the foyer, glancing only through open doors. She'd done enough investigating for the day, and for now, all she wanted to do was find Frederick. However, it seemed fate was somewhat unkind, because she stumbled across something else first.
Phillipa had just arrived at the play room, which contained every toy that she could possibly think of and where she often found Frederick when she visited.
As she peered through the open door, she noticed a small boy with willowy blonde hair, who was towering blocks of colourful squares before punching them with his little fist and giggling delightedly. It was William, Frederick's little brother.
A sigh had escaped Phillipa's lips before she'd even realised it. Over the past year, the five year old had been constantly in her shadow. He held this strange belief that by following her around, her red hair would give him courage. The number of times she and Frederick had tried to dispel the preposterous notion had regretfully fell on deaf ears. Thus, here she was, reluctant to ask the small boy if he knew where Frederick was.
Sadly, it didn't matter, because William had heard her gentle sigh and looked up in curiosity. His small mouth stretched wide with excitement as he desperately clambered to his feet. William's silver eyes were practically sparkling as he barrelled forward, and swathed her in a tight embrace.
"Philly!" He cried zealously, glancing up at her face. "You want to play!"
Phillipa carefully removed his arms and shifted uncomfortably on the spot. "Not exactly," she replied hesitantly, fiddling with a loose strand of her hair.
"Why?" William said indignantly.
She bit her lip. "I came to visit Fred," she explained eventually, a heavy reluctance in her tone of voice.
A scowl appeared on William's face. "Why?" He reiterated harshly, puffing out his cheeks. "I'm better than Fred'rik!"
Phillipa smiled amusedly. "I'm sure you are," she agreed, entertaining his trail of thoughts. She stretched forward to tousle his hair, and watched as he jigged his way out of her reach.
"I am!" He exclaimed, jutting out his chest so that he looked very much like Edward had in the family portrait.
She shook her head to withhold the giggles that threatened to break out. "Like I said, I'm sure you are." Phillipa repeated, sounding even more patronising than before. "Do you know where Fred is?"
William pouted again, folding over his arms. "Fred'rick?" He questioned.
Phillipa rolled her eyes. "Yes, Frederick."
The little boy pondered over the question, before nodding his head. "I want a present first!" William declared.
"A present?"
"Yes!" William replied, his chest still jutting out. "I want a kiss!"
Phillipa's eyes widened dramatically. "A kiss?" She repeated, feeling her throat turn dry. Boys his age weren't even supposed to like girls, yet alone kiss them.
William nodded fervently, before pointing at his cheek. "Right here!"
So, it was just an innocent kiss then. Phillipa shrugged her shoulders before leaning down to the boy's height. Her lips brushed softly against his skin, barely there. As she straightened her back, she watched amusedly as the boy's face turned a bright red.
"Well?" Phillipa asked when the boy looked as if he wasn't going to speak any time soon.
It appeared as if William couldn't look at her at the moment, because his eyes were focussed on the section of wall he could just about see over her shoulder. "H—he went to the toilet."
An exasperated sigh made its way through Phillipa's lips. That meant he would've been back any second now, and it wouldn't have been necessary to kiss the poor boy's cheek.
"Why are you kissing my brother?"
Phillipa swung round on her heel, and met eyes with Frederick's characteristically mischievous grin. "I—I wasn't!" She exclaimed embarrassedly, feeling her cheeks reddening under his presumptuous gaze. "He was telling me where you were!"
"With a kiss?" Frederick questioned, with a wide smirk. He glanced at William, who was glaring at his intrusion. "My brother is quite the sly gentleman."
"Am not!" William huffed. His cheeks were starting to return to their natural colour.
Phillipa chuckled, covering up her mortification. "Sure you are," she disagreed amusedly.
"No point in denying it, Will," Frederick said, grinning. He turned to meet Phillipa's gaze. "He's been trying to act like Edward ever since a few days ago – it's because Edward caught him playing in the mud and told him off."
Phillipa turned to grin at William, who had a resentful yet guilty expression on his face. "Pretending to be a pig, were you?"
Surprisingly, William shot her a glare. "No!" He snapped with a disgruntled grimace, before grumbling, "I was playing with 'Tori."
"Tori?" Frederick questioned.
He elaborated, "She lives in the shop!"
Phillipa furrowed her brow, scrutinising the small boy in front of her. "You're…not talking about the shopkeeper's daughter, are you?"
William nodded. "She helps her Daddy," he said.
Frederick watched his brother. "Father," he corrected subconsciously, deep in thought. Then, his lips stretched into a wide grin. "Edward won't be happy about this at all, you know."
The little boy faltered before scowling. "I don't care! She's my friend."
"If you say so," Frederick replied mockingly. He raised an eyebrow as he glanced down at his brother. "Why don't you go play with her now?"
William frowned. "Mummy told me to stay here," he pointed out.
"Mother," Frederick corrected again. "What does it matter what Mother said? She's not here to tell you off, and I'm not going to bother. What's stopping you?"
"Mummy will get mad!" William cried out, easily dismissing his brother's correction.
Frederick rolled his eyes. "It's fine, Will. I'll cover for you…don't want you missing out on friendships," he said.
Phillipa watched as the boy faltered in his thoughts. She could tell that he wanted to get out of the manor and certainly wanted to see his friend. However, the mischievous glint in Frederick's eyes made Phillipa doubt that helping William make friends was his true intention.
Finally, William nodded.
Frederick's mouth stretched into a grin. "Make sure you're back by three o'clock," he told him, waggling a finger.
"Yes, Fred'rick!" William consented, before running out of the room. Phillipa couldn't help but smile as she thought of him covered in mud.
There was a momentary silence as the two friends watched the boy disappear; however, soon enough, Frederick averted his gaze back to Phillipa, his grin still intact. "Well, that's him out of the way." He said cheerfully.
Phillipa furrowed her brow. "What?"
"We can go on our own walk now," he explained amusedly, "without your personal shadow following us."
Phillipa immediately pieced it together and laughed. "And you call Will a sly gentleman," she teased, prodding him on the shoulder.
Frederick raised his hands in mock-surrender. "What can I say? I'm a genius."
"Of course you are," Phillipa grinned, light-heartedly shoving him through the door. Frederick went without much force, and the two of them strolled down the foyer with wide grins on their faces.
"I am," Frederick agreed humorously. They reached the front door and he held it open, a comical expression on his face as he gestured for her to walk through it first. "Ladies first."
Phillipa giggled and walked outside, before grabbing hold of Frederick's arm and running across the miles of greenery that surrounded the manor. The boy stumbled over his feet in surprise, but he quickly caught on and matched her pace. Phillipa couldn't help but relish the feeling of the wind blowing in her face; the feeling of her hair flapping in her wake and her friend running beside her. She watched as her surroundings became a blur; as Frederick became a blur of brown, blue and gold.
They'd been running for at least quarter of an hour when they finally saw the magnificent metal gates that enclosed hundreds of acres. As they approached it, their pace barely dwindled, as they hopped over a lower division of the fence. However, the moment they landed on the other side, Frederick collapsed against the gates, gasping for breath. Phillipa couldn't help but grin through her own breathes at the sight.
"What're you laughing at?" He snapped in jest.
Phillipa's grin grew wider. "Oh, nothing," she replied, waving her hand. "Just your face, that's all."
Frederick's expression twisted into a scowl, until he couldn't contain his laughter. "You got me good," he admitted through his guffaws.
"Well, I know you well," she said shortly, grabbing hold of his hand to hoist him up.
"You sure do," Frederick agreed. He tugged at her hand, so that they were walking in time with each other down the winding path.
Phillipa examined their surroundings. "We're going to the grove?"
Frederick shook his head, grinning.
She waited for him to elaborate but was met with silence. "Where then?" She asked frustratedly, pulling her hand out of his grip so that she could cross over her arms.
"The bakeries." Frederick replied effortlessly.
Phillipa frowned, peeking at the boy through her peripheral vision to check if he was being serious. "Why?"
Frederick shrugged his shoulders. "I said I'd take you there before."
The girl furrowed her brow. "I didn't think you were being serious though," she said, tugging on his arm. "Let's go somewhere else. I don't want you to buy me anything expensive."
"Who said anything about buying you something?" Frederick grinned, continuing to walk towards the bakeries despite Phillipa's protests. "All I said was we were going to the bakeries."
Phillipa's cheeks turned red in embarrassment.
Frederick looked sideways and laughed at her discomfort. "Of course, you were right. Today is officially the day you try a snow muffin!"
"B–but they're so expensive!"
He swatted his hand in reply. "Oh, come on, Philly. I've got tons of money to spare and you know it. What's one little muffin going to do?"
"Kill me."
Frederick raised an eyebrow at the tone of her voice. "How so?"
"It'll be like tasting Heaven," Phillipa complained, "and I'll be desperate to have more. It's not fair on me at all!"
"I'd just buy you more," Frederick pointed out imperturbably.
Phillipa shot him a glare. "I don't want you to buy me anymore." She said morosely. "What part of 'no charity' don't you understand?"
Frederick grinned mischievously. "Every single word."
She whacked him on the shoulder, before speeding ahead and leaving Frederick in her wake. He jogged to keep up with her.
"I thought you didn't want to go to the bakeries." He pointed out.
Phillipa huffed. "I didn't. But now I'm going there to give you a taste of your own medicine."
Frederick lifted an eyebrow, a small trace of curiosity on his face. "If you don't mind me asking…how exactly do you plan to do that?"
"By buying you a snow muffin."
"B–but you can't!" Frederick spluttered. "I'm buying you a snow muffin."
"So am I."
"You can't afford to buy me a muffin."
Phillipa threw him a glare. "I've been saving up." She said, before speeding up her pace. She was now virtually jogging.
"You're being ridiculous," Frederick pointed out bluntly.
"I'm not the ridiculous one."
Frederick gaped at her. "How aren't you being ridiculous? You're trying to buy something you can't even afford – for someone who doesn't even need it!"
"Shut up," Phillipa huffed.
He grabbed the sleeve of her dress, forcing her to reluctantly face him. "Look, I won't let you do it, so we might as well head back now."
A pregnant silence fell over the two children as the wind whistled in the background. Phillipa stared at his face for a while, as he tried to implore with his expression that she needn't bother.
Suddenly, a wide grin spread across her face and she poked him painfully in the chest. "You didn't actually believe me, did you?" Phillipa looked into his eyes and her grin stretched even further. "You did, didn't you? And who said I was a bad liar?"
Frederick allowed a reluctant smile to spread across his face. "Ugh, fine. I take it all back! You're a master at the art of deception."
Phillipa nodded sincerely. "Yes, yes I am."
Another silence fell upon the children. Frederick glanced at Phillipa mischievously.
"Still fancy that muffin?"
Phillipa shot him a glare. "No!" She exclaimed forcefully, "Of course I don't! You really never learn, do you?"
"No," Frederick admittedly cheerfully, "I don't."
"You're awful," Phillipa told him. "We might as well hang out in the grove now – we're already here."
"Are we?" Frederick questioned, turning around. His eyes were met with the bakery in all its absolute glory, with the tantalizing smell of freshly baked cookies drifting through the open window. Both of the children felt their mouths drooling at just the thought of it.
Frederick turned to face Phillipa and noticed her expression of longing. "You sure you don't one?" He teased.
She shoved his shoulder. "Obviously not," she said, scowling, "It's not as if I haven't been saying that for the last hour or so."
"Details, details," Frederick swatted his hand. "Let's go then."
Phillipa nodded, and the two children began their trek behind the bakery. Normally, they were careful to make sure that the bakery didn't spot them; however, the excitement of the day had caused them to forget. Instead, they simply clambered under the wild, bristly branches and through the oversized bushes.
The grove itself was quite well concealed amongst the overgrowth; it was surrounded by a circle of pine trees, and held only a small entrance at the very bottom. Quite often, Phillipa and Frederick would find some kind of woodland creature nesting inside the grove, because it was an excellent spot to hibernate.
"Well, hurry up," Frederick said, when Phillipa remained standing outside the entrance. The redhead turned around and stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter with a grin.
"Ladies first."
Frederick laughed. "Oh, good one," he said, as he sunk to his knees so that he could crawl through the entrance. Phillipa followed soon after him.
"I do try," Phillipa teased, lying down in the centre of the grove. Frederick lay down beside her, as they both examined the gloomy skies through the twigs of the bare trees.
For a moment, the grove was utterly silent; not even the birds were singing their blissful tunes, nor were the mice scampering through the overgrowth. Only the sound of the clouds rumbling in preparation for a storm was an indication of what was to come.
They always say it's calm before the storm.
"Don't you wish we could stay like this forever?"
Phillipa turned her head to face Frederick out of curiosity. "What do you mean?" She asked.
Frederick rolled over that they were looking into each other's eyes. "Here, we don't have to worry about anything; here, we're free to dream about whatever we want."
The redhead shook her head. "Dreaming is for fools," she said. She glanced up at a bird's nest, balancing on a thin branch above their heads. One of the chicks begun to flap its wings in an early attempt at flight, but its mother forcibly restricted it from such a suicidal attempt.
Phillipa smiled softly and closed her eyes, relishing in the feeling of relaxation that took over her body. Slowly, she felt herself slip into a deep slumber.
"Philly, wake up!" cried a voice. She was being shaken by the shoulders. "For goodness' sake, wake up!"
Her eyes began to crack open, but an overwhelming light caused Phillipa to shield her eyes with her arms. "W–what?" She groused in her lethargy.
"We've got to go!" Phillipa realised the boy was Frederick, but he held a rather frenetic expression on his face. "It's five o'clock – my parents will notice I'm missing!"
She sat up, stretching her arms out wide and watched half-amusedly as he jumped to his feet. But then the severity of his predicament caught up with her and she gasped.
"You've got to get back!" She exclaimed immediately, shoving him towards the grove's exit. "Why did you bother waking me?"
Frederick crawled through the gap in the trees, and pulled Phillipa through. "I could hardly leave you there," he said, as they sprinted down the winding path towards the manor.
"Yes, you could!" She replied in earnest, struggling to keep up with him.
The boy shook his head, an action which Phillipa almost missed due to their circumstances. "I couldn't," he said.
They reached the mansion in record-timing, and Frederick turned to look at Phillipa with a gratifying smile. "Thank you," he said, through deep breathes.
Phillipa nodded, before shoving him towards the gate. He didn't have any time to lose. When he hesitated, she shouted, "Go!"
Frederick hopped over the fence and began the long run across the acres of greenery surrounding the Caulfield Manor. Phillipa watched after him with a feeling of anxiety, before carrying on her way back home. Whilst her late return would not receive the same level of sanctioning that Frederick would receive, due to her lack of responsibility, she would still be in a lot of trouble.
Thus, her walk home was considerably faster than normal. As she sped through the streets of Finnegan, she realised that her scolding wasn't the only explanation behind her haste. The street lights flickered ominously above her head, and the wind sliced into her skin from all possible angles. However, what spooked Phillipa the most was the elderly man that hobbled down the pavement. His eyes appeared to bulge out of their sockets, darting back and forth in search of victims. He was bent over his walking stick, which he used with his right hand, whilst the other clutched a stack of crumpled newspapers.
His scratchy voice echoed through the empty streets, ringing through the open windows of the houses:
"Lord's son abducted by Heudian soldiers! Master William Caulfield!"
A/N: Well, this is the first chapter of Phillipa Dawson, a novel planned by CE Alvin. We've posted our story on other sites so don't be alarmed if you see it elsewhere under that name.