What a morning.
What a morning.
Victor sat, alone, in a leather armchair, staring out of the window. He'd banished himself to the study without lunch. Although the rest of the family was probably too occupied to notice his self-imposed punishment. He felt very guilty. And very, very stupid.
What in the world had he been thinking when he left that butterfly net right in the doorway to the nursery? Would it have hurt him to just carry the thing into the washroom? If he had, the family doctor, Dr. Van Ekel, wouldn't have had to come over and tend to Lydia's ankle. Luckily she hadn't broken it when she'd tripped over the butterfly net, merely sprained it. It seemed she'd managed to break her fall a bit with Catherine, who had met the nursery floor face-first. And got a split lip in the bargain. But then again--why had they all decided to make the pre-lunch freshening up a group activity? He would have had time to move the silly net if they'd given him time.
No, he thought, rubbing his temples. It wasn't their fault. I did something asinine all on my own. That thought, though, really didn't help.
Victor had stuck around long enough to hover uselessly while Victoria had calmed the children down, sent Mr. Reed, their man-of-all work, for the doctor, and then to hover uselessly some more while Dr. Van Ekel arrived and assessed the damage. Mrs. Reed, the housekeeper, had taken Anne and Mary into the kitchen to keep them occupied. And Victor had simply slunk away, trying not to be noticed.
He'd never forget the look on Dr. Van Ekel's face when Victoria had explained how all of these injuries had been sustained--tripping over a misplaced butterfly net, being knocked over, and getting hit with a wayward piece of furniture (the doctor had had a glimpse of Anne on the way upstairs). Dr. Van Ekel had seemed somewhat disbelieving, suspicious, even, but he hadn't said a word. Victor would also never forget the look that Victoria had given him when he'd had to admit that he'd been the one to leave the butterfly net lying about. Actually, it had been more of a Look, with a capital "L". But she hadn't said a word, either. The silence, in Victor's opinion, was quite a bit worse than being dressed down.
So he'd made his escape into the study. It seemed like the last safe place. Victor wasn't one to gamble, so he had no real idea about how odds worked, but still he figured that the odds of four children all managing to injure themselves in the space of an hour were pretty slim. Though Lydia and Catherine's injuries had been his fault. They all had a right to be annoyed with him. And they'd certainly all seemed quite annoyed when he'd left them.
Perhaps...perhaps he should have stayed to help instead of fleeing with his guilt and embarrassment. No, perhaps not. Fleeing was easier. Being alone was easier. Victor rather missed being alone, at least once in a while. Real privacy was a hard thing to find when one had a family. When it had been just him and Victoria, they'd both taken some time each day to be by themselves, alone with just their thoughts. But not anymore. Now there never seemed to be any time for privacy, for quiet. There was always something--this had just been a more dramatic day than most.
There was always something.
A sudden knock on the door startled Victor out of his brooding. Always something, was the thought still echoing in his head, even as he called out to ask who was there.
"Mrs. Reed, sir," came the housekeeper's voice through the closed door. "The doctor is waiting to be shown out."
"I'll be right there," Victor said, hauling himself out of the armchair. On his way out the door, he took a look over his shoulder, surveying the study. His own little world, in the midst of a bustling household. He wished he could spend more time in it.
But now, as much as he didn't care to, it was time to acknowledge the world again.
O---O
"Thank you very much for coming," Victor said as he walked Dr. Van Ekel, a stout and tiny-footed older man, to the door. This man had been the one to deliver all of Victor and Victoria's children, and they'd kept him on as the family doctor. Despite the fact that neither of them could stand him. Still, out of the three doctors in the village, Dr. Van Ekel was the only one that didn't double as a barber or a taxidermist. So the Van Dorts put up with him.
"It's been one of those days," Victor continued lamely, not quite sure why he was bothering to try and make conversation. The doctor seemed to be having none of it--he just walked along, looking to be lost in thought. Perhaps to allay his own guilt, Victor kept going. "Accidents, you know how children are...getting into little scrapes...It's really no one's fault. Accidents."
The doctor didn't speak. He just stood there next to Victor, staring at the door with pursed lips. The atmosphere was becoming distinctly uncomfortable. Finally Dr. Van Ekel turned and eyed Victor up and down.
"I'm not one to tell a man what to do in his own home," Dr. Van Ekel said, his hand on the doorknob. "And truly, you never struck me as the type...But..." He trailed off. Victor watched as he pulled the door open. It was clear the doctor was thinking about whether to continue or not.
"Excuse me?" Victor asked, completely confused. The doctor merely shook his head. Halfway out the door he turned and said in an undertone,
"You might want to try a bit harder to keep control of yourself. But as I said, it's your business," Dr. Van Ekel finished with a shrug. With that, he was out the door and onto the porch.
It took Victor a moment to fully appreciate what the doctor meant. Once he had it, he gasped, and took off onto the porch himself. Dr. Van Ekel was already nearly to his carriage.
"Just a moment!" Victor said. "You don't believe that I...You can't possibly..." Victor was incapable of finishing a coherent argument, he was so shocked and offended.
"It's not any of my business," Dr. Van Ekel called over his shoulder as he climbed into the carriage.
"But...I...I didn't...Impossible..."
It was no use. Victor dropped his arms to his sides and slumped his shoulders, watching the doctor's carriage head away down the drive. Doubtless, he was on his way to relate the entire visit to his butler in strictest confidence. Which meant, of course, that the butler would be spreading the story about the three injured Van Dort girls as quickly as he could. Things always happened that way here. The town was just too small. And nosy.
Wonderful. By teatime the entire village would be getting the news that Victor Van Dort, contrary to popular belief, was in reality some sort of malicious brute straight from the pages of a dime novel (not that anyone read that sort of thing in this village, of course).
For quite a few moments Victor just stood in the drive, staring at his shoes and wondering why life had to be such a big, dramatic mess.