**Written for FanFic100!**
Sounded Out
037. Sound.
I had been taken ill.
It was only my second or third sickness in the few years that I had spent at the good house in Canterbury, and it was nothing particularly romantic, I was rather mortified to learn. Though, of course, it made far more sense that I had contracted a common cold instead of the African death.
Agnes had insisted upon caring for me, and was quite a little nurse (at the time, I couldn't imagine how she had learned so much so young!), but she was soon drawn away to lessons by her governess, all the while protesting so much about my health, and insisting that I needed her to administer such a long list of treatments, that I began to wonder if my prognosis were very promising after all.
Bereft of Agnes, feverish, and my eyes too tired to read a book or study, I thought I would avail myself of the opportunity to take some rest. I believe I imagined my aunt would want me to do so, and thusly I settled among the cushions on the little sofa and closed my eyes.
It was very silent for quite awhile, with Agnes attending to her studies in a distant corner of the house. So quiet, it was, that I only heard the rapid scritching of Uriah Heep's pen, or a shuffling of papers, in the office nearby, and a step or two on the street outside.
Presently, I was aware of a door closing, and then I began to hear two voices. I knew one to be Mr. Wickfield, just come back from business in town – the other was Uriah. Mr. Wickfield's was very low. It was slow, and cast down. Uriah's was also very low, but in an affected way, I thought; it sounded continuously, like the hum of a summer insect, talking over and winding around Mr. Wickfield's concerns, and erupting, like a chirp, in what I assumed to be protests of humility.
Suddenly I was jarred from my half-dose by a cry from Mr. Wickfield. "But, you mean – why, show me the books!" It rang through the house, in its fervor and mortification. All was silent, even Uriah's voice, until I heard him move toward the safe, and pull out what I assumed to be a stack of volumes. His insect-like murmuring resumed, broken only by a moan or two of shame from Mr. Wickfield.
And just as suddenly as the cry that had burst from her father, both Mr. Wickfield's and Uriah's voices were drowned out, silenced by the sweet notes of Agnes' piano.
I thought (for, as I said, I had been nearly half-asleep) that Agnes must have been roused by the cry, and come to play so I could go to sleep, for I could think of no reason but my own benefit Agnes might wish to silence those voices.
And indeed, I drifted away to the land of dreams, carried by the gentle notes of Agnes' song.