Aftermath ~ part of your world
Dickon wonders if he has ever been so nervous. Archibald Craven can be an imposing man, for all he is slightly hunched and elderly. The way he stands behind his desk reminds Dickon forcibly of a vulture, and he cannot help but feel some impending doom is lurking above.
However, beside him, Mary is smiling at her uncle in that disarming way which women alone seem to possess, and she innocently inquires, "You wished to speak to us, Uncle?"
Too innocently. God help him when he marries this girl.
Archibald Craven flicks his eyes once at Dickon after Mary's question, and it is as though a stone has dropped into his stomach. He feels awkward and out of place, and he wonders, in dismay, if the man is deliberately trying to make him feel this way. He knows very well he is a commoner, and he has always known it, but these days he hates to be reminded of it.
"Please sit down."
The man's voice is quiet but commanding, and together, Dickon and Mary slowly sit in the chairs opposite the mahogany desk.
"There have been some...complications," Lord Craven begins. "Edwin has informed me that your injuries from the war have completely healed, Dickon. But he believes your body is still weak."
"We are working on that," Mary interrupts, her back perfectly straight. Like a lady. "By doing strenghtening exercises -"
Archibald's eyes dart once to his niece, silently telling her to be quiet, and she falters under his gaze and closes her mouth.
"Yes, I am aware of that. Still," he goes on, a bit pointedly, his gaze still on Mary, "We cannot send you home just yet."
Dickon has no idea what to make of this, and is afraid to speak without permission. Fortunately, Mary has courage enough to speak on his behalf, despite being silenced once already.
"Send him home?" she stammers.
"Yes. Edwin has informed me that several of Dickon's siblings are currently running high fevers and showing other symptoms of... influenza."
And it feels as though his heart stops beating for a moment. As though his world stands still. As though this can't possibly be happening. His mother has already lost too much as it is, just from Phil's death. They've lost too much. This can't be real.
Beside him, he vaguely notices that Mary's face seems to have grown paler, and she whispers, "No..."
"There are also several other local cases as well. And there is nothing that can be done about them, but we can keep you both here for the time being."
Dickon finally finds his voice, and whispers, "I am sorry, sir. I know I've been an inconvenience –"
"You've been nothing of the sort," Lord Craven says calmly. "And my brother is hoping these concerns will pass quickly, and that the cases are not influenza. In the meantime, you will remain here, at Misselthwaite, with Mary."
"What of Colin?" Mary asks, worried.
"He seems safe enough at the moment. The sickness appears to be non-discriminatory in where it attacks. The country is no safer than the city. I have written him this morning to inform him of what is taking place here. Otherwise, we should never hear the end of it if we didn't tell him."
"That," Mary says dryly, "is true enough."
Her uncle ignores this. "Since the two of you will be together for a while longer before your marriage, I feel I should make a suggestion regarding the use of your time. I will soon be in need of a new head gardener; I spoke with Mr. Roach this morning and he intends to retire within a year or two. Dickon, you would be my first choice for this position, given your abilities. Still, there may be things even you do not know yet. I should like to give you the opportunity to expand your horizons a bit. The library contains many books on a variety of subjects, thanks to Colin's obsession with books. Mary graduated at the top of her class in London, and would be a suitable tutor to assist you in furthering your own education. It would be a good use of time, and the two of you will have plenty of time while we wait to determine if the cases in the area are indeed influenza."
Dickon has no idea what to say to this, and for a few seconds he is silent before he is able to form the words to murmur his thanks. He glances nervously at Mary, who seems suddenly pensive.
"Mary?" Her uncle prompts.
"I think it is a good idea, if Dickon agrees."
Dickon nods. "Aye, I would be willin' t' learn."
"Excellent."
"Will you be assisting us?" Mary asks her uncle, almost suspiciously.
"Not unless you require my assistance. I have other pressing matters. After all, Colin," Lord Craven says sarcastically, holding up a recent letter from a stack of papers on his desk, "is determined to have Misselthwaite surveyed within the next two months."
"He mentioned a hunting lodge," Mary begins thoughtfully.
"Yes, I know all about that idea. But he has never been there himself, to my knowledge, and if memory serves me correctly, it is a ruin. The renovation would be too great a cost, Mary. But don't worry. I am looking into other options. While you help Dickon with his studies, I shall be inquiring into these."
Dickon feels a knot building in his stomach where the stone seemed to drop earlier; had Mary remained in London and married a gentleman, her uncle would not be considering housing options for her – because the man she loves is too poor to offer her more than a cottage on the moor. If even that. Because he doesn't have much money to his name right now. Only a bit left over from his stint in the army.
Lord Craven smiles, as though seeing Dickon's discomfort. Whether he desires to put his future nephew-in-law at rest or not, however, remains unknown. "Not to worry," he says lightly. "I feel certain I can find something suitable. That is all I wished to speak to the two of you about. I will let you know when it is safe for you to return home, Dickon."
Dickon nods, and rises with Mary, for there is nothing more to be discussed, apparently. A jumble of thoughts crowd his mind, and he worries for his family while wondering what Mary will teach him in the forthcoming days in the library. And he resolutely pushes aside the thought of being closeted in a large, dark room with her for hours at a time, knowing that they will have to focus on book learning in case her uncle quizzes him.
Which seems a likely possibility, given the man's unpredictable nature.