1931

"Daddy! Aunt Edith!

George, a wiry nine year old, with golden hair bleached by the summer sun, bounded into the upstairs library, followed by his cousin Sybie, whom was a half head taller, her dark hair in plaits. "Daddy, mummy's up from her rest. She says she's going to have tea with Lady Cecelia. So will you come and have tea with us and play cricket afterwards, because you don't like Lady Cecelia."

"Little Lord Wroughton's mother?" Edith asked.

Matthew sucked in a breath and nodded. He didn't like the idea that she was trying to set up her son, who was only fourteen, for a possible future marriage with one of his daughters;(the oldest of his daughters was not even ten), a barbaric tradition that had no place in modern society.

"You can come too, Aunt Edith. I mean, he corrected himself, we would like your company. Lady Cecelia doesn't like children, even though she has two sons. She lets them do whatever they want. Will you let me do whatever I want, daddy?"

"That's not the behavior of good little boys. You know better George. Parent's behavior these days...Let them do whatever they want and it's no wonder you have no law and order."

"But you will come, daddy? Say you will come, Auntie?"

"I think not. If Lady Cecelia is expecting me, I'm afraid she may feel justifiably offended if I make myself scarce."

"I'll come with you. May I?" Sybie asked.

"I suppose." George considered. "Cricket's more fun with three than two, and Andy doesn't count. You can't help being better than he is, even though you're a girl."

Sybie excepted the comparison of her sporting skills with that of her five year old cousin's. "Alright." She said, shrugging her shoulders.

They all went out on to the terrace, where Mary was sitting. Andy was playing with his horse and cart, rolling it between the legs of the chair. The dog, Thunder, lied in the shade.

"I'm bidden to the garden, darling, for a round or two of cricket. Is that all right?"

"Yes, do go with the children. Nothing amusing will happen here. And take Andy with you, will you?"

"Come on, Sybie, I'll race you!" George called, "Come on, Thunder." The grey mutt shot up to follow, jumping alongside George's ankles and rather a bit close to Andy.

"Maybe I should hold Andy's hand?" Sybie asked, worried that the dog would accidently knock him over.

"Go on, I'll bring him." Her uncle said. "Come here, old man." He reached out so he could sit on his lap, and wheel him downstairs, using the lift.

"No. I want to run too." He lumbered off after the others. Matthew, a little hurt for a moment. Andy had always loved sitting in his lap to take a ride and go down in the lift with him, at any chance.

He's growing up and becoming his own independent person. He's getting too big for the chair.

He still had his little girl. Nanny brought her out and placed three year old Caroline on his lap. He gave her a quick hug, before handing her off to her mother, and headed downstairs.

"You whoo! Darlings!" A woman about forty, wearing a sun hat and sunglasses, had arrived, whom could be no other than Lady Cecelia herself.

"Roy and Ivo will be attending the church bizarre before they go back to school." Lady Cecelia said, referring to her sons. "So many people go away in August." She added disapprovingly. "What common farmers and shopkeepers want with a day by the seaside, I'll never know."

"A change and rest, and a bit of fun for their children, I would imagine." Mary said, trying to keep the tartness out of her voice, defended the Bate's, as they were doing the exact thing, going to the beach for a day or two, while Mary looked after the shop. Their son Johnny would be coming to stay with them while they were away.

Mary would love to see Cecelia's expression when she learned that a 'commoners' son would be staying with them, but if Lady Cecelia was to be family someday, she wanted things to remain civil. She was glad that her husband wasn't here. Cecelia would always flush or falter whenever she was in his presence, either out of embarrassment or attraction for her husband, Mary didn't want to know.

"Will you be staying for it, Edith, dear?"

"I don't know. It depends on how much I get done while I'm here. It's a working holiday for me."

"Working? I couldn't imagine an Earl's daughter working!"

"Edith is a writer" Mary explained, well to be more specific, owns a news paper, and writes jolly good articles for the Tattler."

"This weeks theme is going to be town and country."

"Town and Country, of course. For a moment...I thought you were involved with those modern novels. Utterly disgraceful."

"Lady Cecelia...our father's been dead six months ago now." Mary reminded her. "And I can quite say he approved, even if she were to go into the book publishing business. Come on, now lady Cecelia, don't try to fool us, we know you read them. They're every women's guilty pleasure, are they not?"

The other woman's lips pulled into a smile, a silent sign of agreement.

"Your secret is safe with us." They locked eyes with each other, the way one never takes their eyes off a venomous snake.

As she did so, Mary discovered that Lady Cecelia was a welcomed equal match for her, enemy or ally.

She heard the trampling of footsteps. "That'll be the children. Though I can't imagine them being back so soon. Don't let them bully you into playing." She said to her sister.

George came running into the room, tracking mud into the house. Sybie walked in behind him, holding Andy's hand. The hem of Sybie's dress ringed with it.

"The ball went into the creek but we couldn't find it." George said with disappointment. "Daddy got fed up and went to write some boring letters or something. So do you want to play with us, Auntie? We can use a tennis ball instead."

"No. I'm much too full to run after stray balls. I have some errands to tend to in the village. You can come with if you like."

"Yes please! Can I, mama?"

Mary bent her head, giving him a stern look. "May I?"

"May I?"

"Yes, you may. Go and change you clothes first." The children headed for the stairs. "And your shoes, Master George. And remember to take them off next time before you wade. Also take Andy with you. It's time he went back to Nanny."

"Yes, Mama."

"I would like to come too but my frock is awfully dirty." Sybie looked down at it despairingly. It was her favorite frock too.

"I'm sure it will come out once it dries." Her aunt Mary said.

"Tell you what, you go up and change and we can buy you some shorts and a few blouses in the village." Her Aunt Edith offered.

"I only have two shillings. And Granny Violet doesn't approve of shorts on girls." Boy's haircuts on girls, boys shorts on girls, what's next? Women will be taking over all the men's jobs. Had been her words.

"I don't see anything wrong with that." Aunt Isobel had replied. Granny Violet only opened and closed her mouth in utter disbelief. The way the world's going. A lot of jobs have opened up for women since the war."

"Well I should hope that I am cold in my grave long before that day happens."

"Well, Granny isn't here, is she?"

Sybie asked if they could go in and look around the store. Edith was in mid-conversation with the Vicar, whom had stopped her while mailing some letters. He was hoping to change her mind if she'd like to attend the bizarre, (word certainly got around fast. She missed the days of solitude and privacy, when people didn't own many phones, back when people minded their own business) to which she politely declined.

When he went on his way, she saw that children weren't anywhere in sight. She had seen them go into the shop. Now they weren't there. It had only been but a moment. Where could they have gone?

She ran up to the Vicar to ask if he'd seen them.

"No. But I'll help you look!"

She ran into the shop, the shop keeper telling her that they had just left. "Tried to sneak that mangey dog in here."

But she was out the door again. She looked around frantically. Then she heard the sounds of shouting.

"I can't get my foot loose!"

Then the sound of a loud engine. A few feet down the road, George was lying off the shoulder of the road, his foot stuck in a mud puddle, his cousin holding him by the arms, trying to pull him out. George tried to pull his leg out but the more he struggled the mud made a suctioning sound, holding him in place. He could feel it encasing his shoe like a bag of bricks had been tied to it.

Before she knew it she was barreling toward them as the out of control car headed right for the two children.

Thunder lunged at George, growling, teeth bared. Sybie was trying to get the dog away but was unsuccessful, falling back on to the sidewalk, her package of new clothes falling into the mud, a piece of lace fluttering in slow motion, like angels wings.

The dog pulled off the shoe, and George was free. The car came burling past, and then a yelp.

"Thunder!" George shouted over the squeal of the tires.

"There's not thunder lad." Came one of the bystanders.

"No. Thunder's my dog!" The vicar came up, putting his hand on the boy's shoulder. "My dog." He cried, wiping his eyes, not wanting to see the bloody carnage.

The vicar, who was a very old man, somehow found the strength, lifted the whimpering dog into a villagers truck, coming back to the young Viscount. "We'll pray for him. See that he pulls through." He got into the truck and it drove away.

Matthew went in to check on his son. Mary said that he had wanted him.

"Will Thunder be ok, daddy?" George asked. "Is he going to die."

"No."

"How do you know?"

"The veterinarian said he'll be fine. He just needs his rest."

"But we can never be sure can we?"

"No." Matthew said, softly.

"I hoped that he wouldn't die. Because he's the only thing left of Donk."

"You see now, that's not true. He's all around us, if you look."

"He is?"

"He's in these walls."

George's eyes widened and started looking at the walls.

"No. No." Matthew laughed. "Not like that. He's the one that build this place up, not by his own hands, but he made sure to keep it going for you. And I'm honoring his memory by keeping it going for you. You see it's not the places or things that connect us to the people we care about. It's the memories. In here." He tapped his head, and then touched his son's chest. "And in here."

"You mean in my heart, like baby Bethie?"

Matthew stiffened a little. She will always be a baby. He still can't fathom that the fact it never ceases to surprise him. It had only been five years, since he held her, his and Mary's stillborn daughter, Andy's twin, in his arms, to say goodbye. There was still a deep ache etched in his heart, to this day, that he was sure would never leave him. He hoped to think of only positive thoughts when he walked his other daughter's down the aisle someday, that she was looking down and not wishing she was there, on a day she will never have.

"Yes. Exactly like that." He kissed the top of his son's hair.

He's sad but he doesn't want me to see it. George thought as his father hides his face. It still makes him sad.

"Try to sleep, alright? If you need me or your mother, we'll be right down the hall." He closed the door gently behind him. Edith had been waiting outside the door.

"I only took my eyes off them for a few seconds." Trying to tell the Vicar to politely buzz off. Mary wouldn't even speak to her, for almost getting her son, the heir killed. Not her words exactly, but it was there in her eyes.

"It could have happened to anyone. She'll come around."