Arnold - Three weeks later
While his mother is attempting to tease out his gift for piano, and his teachers are still mystified as to whether he has an aptitude for anything academic at all, unbeknownst to either, Arnold is developing a talent of his own: Eavesdropping. He knows, for example, how much his mother has been forced to raise the housekeeper's salary in order to persuade her to stay on and that his father isn't happy about it. It's always seemed one of the great injustices of his life that no one ever wants to test him on the things he does know. If his father quizzed him on this kind of stuff, he'd ace it.
His latest attempt has so far yielded the usual queries about his school performance, but he hopes that something more juicy will eventually come up. Tucked behind the sofa, he listens to his father start what his parents called discussion, but which often strikes him as more of a quarrel.
"So how's our son doing?"
Arnold knows exactly which son his father means when he uses that tone. He braces himself for his mother's reply.
"According to his teacher, quote unquote not nearly as abysmal as last term," Mrs. Rimmer says.
"And Aurora?"
"Fair."
"Well, that is truly reassuring," his father snaps. From behind the couch, their son winces.
"Dear," his mother tone oozes sarcasm, "I think what it means is that Arnold has finally brought his marks up to near average, and Aurora is doing well. He did say the same thing about John. This man doesn't praise anyone."
"Oh. And I'm supposed to be happy about all this?"
Pointed pause. "They're eight." It looks like his mother is finally satisfied - at least for now, but his father is determined not to be, no matter what he hears. Why is he even surprised at this anymore? He shouldn't be.
Even more pointed pause. "I'm aware of their ages." Another pause, then his father adds in a slighter softer tone, "Is Arnold still having problems with the other boys?"
"I didn't ask. Maybe. Probably."
"What about the girl?" his father asks.
"I don't know that either. If Aurora is having problems, though, we won't be able to tell. Girls are a lot more subtle when they want to give someone a hard time," Mrs. Rimmer points out.
"I suppose that's true." Then his father speaks again: "I've received the paperwork for the girl's adoption. Once we sign, there's no going back."
"I know. And I wish you wouldn't keep calling her the girl."
At that point, there's a shout from one of his brothers, and his mother heads out. Arnold waits until his father has vanished, too, then creeps away to tell the Aurora the news. The good news. At least, he hopes that's the way she'll see it.
"Well," is her verdict, "I'm glad, I guess. I mean, I couldn't stay in the Home forever."
"What was that like?"
"Like here - no, I mean, your home is much grander. But there are a lot of rules here, too," Aurora says.
"Was it rough being in there?" her cousin asks.
"Not really...I think I was pretty much just sleepwalking, especially, after I heard the news."
"That must have been awful," Arnold says, with Dickensian pictures in his head, but she shakes her head.
"I guess, but maybe not as awful as some people seemed to think it was. If that makes any sense. When I was at the Home, a woman took me into this room like an office and kept telling me it was all right to feel the way I did, only I had no idea what exactly that was. Does that sound weird?"
"No," he says after a moment.
"Being pitied was the worst thing about losing them, you know," Aurora tells him.
He doesn't, but he kind of does if he thinks about it. What can he possibly say that will sound comforting? Nothing, but maybe that's okay. Maybe sometimes there just isn't any right thing to say.
"Anyway, I'm glad your mother and father want me," she says. "Even though..."
Even though they are who they are, Arnold thinks. But he doesn't say that either. Instead they just sit there in silence. It's not necessary to do anything else right now. After all, there will be plenty of time for talking ahead.
Aurora - Three weeks later
When morning comes, another day, Aurora still feels a twinge of disorientation but only briefly, and then it's gone, as fast as it arrived, and then it's time to get up and go to school. The boys get ready with a great deal of shouting, arguing and punching each other, but she just gets dressed, has breakfast, then gathers her things to leave.
That evening at dinner marks her first time her uncle gives her a quiz before she's allowed to eat. Suddenly being the object of his attention after so many weeks of feeling invisible flusters her, and she flubs even a question she knows perfectly well, which will make her wince every time she happens to remember it later. And what he says as she leaves the table - "I thought you told me she was bright," will also retain its sting, even after she gets used to the routine and no longer messes up. Then after a pause: "What about you, Arnold? Are you going to disappoint me, too?"
Later on, her aunt comes in, dressed to go out, and sure enough, tells Aurora that she and her uncle will be back around ten. Needless to say, the prospect of not running into her uncle for the rest of that day isn't unwelcome.
"The boys will be here if you need anything," her aunt tells her.
Aurora wonders if maybe she should apologize for what happened but can't quite form the words. She settles for a nod instead.
"Oh, and you can have a snack later, if you clean everything up and don't leave a mess for Mrs. Maitland tomorrow."
A reprieve of sorts. Of course, she knows what isn't being said; she's getting very good at that.
"You'll get used to your uncle," Mrs. Rimmer adds. "I know his methods may seem a little - harsh, but he really does want the best for you. We both do."
"I know...I don't know what happened this time."
"You probably just got nervous," Mrs. Rimmer says encouragingly, though her mind's mostly on the evening ahead. "You'll do better next time, you'll see."
Aurora nods. She's beginning to.
She sees that her uncle is most definitely mad, and perhaps her aunt is, too, but maybe there's a reason for what they do that she hasn't yet figured out. Still, she knows why her cousin has allied himself with the housekeeper and gardener - they're the only sane adults in this place. And they aren't even related.
And there are worse things than missing dinner. True, Aurora can't think of any at the moment, but there must be some. Anyway, it's better not to focus on what happened since she can't travel back in time and change the past.
Aurora waits until her aunt and uncle depart before she leaves her room (she's not absolutely sure if she'll be punished for venturing out), picks up the borrowed stuffed dog, then eases down the hall toward Arnold's. She knocks softly, but there's no reply, so she pushes open the door. He's not there, but she goes in anyway, then looks around for a place in which to drop it off. Then she hears a noise.
"What are you doing in here?"
He doesn't sound mad, but he does sound confused. His eyes look a little red, but then she suspects hers do, too - she'd started to cry but then made herself stop because she didn't want anyone noticing. Maybe her cousin had done the same thing for the same reason.
"I just thought I'd bring this back," Aurora says, holding out the dog. "But thanks for lending it to me."
Arnold nods. "Are you sure you don't want to keep it longer?"
She has a feeling that he needs it more than she does. Or maybe not - but it's only fair to return it since it isn't hers. "No, I'm good."
He looks at her; he knows she's lying, but maybe he shouldn't call her on it. "Father and Mother have left," he says. "So...if you want to go down and forage, feel free."
"Yes, your mum told me."
Arnold nods like that's settled, and she says goodbye to go do exactly that. As Aurora descends the stairs, she tells herself again that tonight, as mortifying as it was, doesn't necessarily have to happen again. She was just...flustered, and her aunt is right, she'll do better next time.
Still, this is an undeniably odd family she's about to be adopted into. But they're the only family she's got. And she's stuck with them.
For better or for worse.
End