May 25th 1904
They turned into a road of tall, white, immaculate buildings, with black railings up the steps to the front doors, and built in a semi-circle, over- looking a small park, with tall slender trees and benches in secluded spots by the paths.
The coach jerked to a standstill outside one of the neat houses, and the driver swung down to open the door. A dark-haired man stepped out, and paused to look up at the house before him with a sigh.
"Number sixty-two Sir," the driver, still holding the door provided cheerily.
Christian handed him a coin and watched him tip his hat in return,
"Much obliged Sir," he turned to look inside the carriage with a broad smile, "Now, come on little Missy, can't have you sittin' in here all day now!"
The coach bobbed around as someone jumped down from the seats inside, and Christian turned to lift his small daughter off the steps and into his arms.
"You have a nice day now Sir,"
The driver pulled himself back on top of the carriage,
"And yourself," Christian called back, somewhat less cheerily.
It was five years since he'd last seen this house. He'd hardly missed it if he was honest, but now as he climbed the steps and reached forward to ring the doorbell it felt like he'd never left.
He let his daughter slide down his side to stand beside him, and took up her little hand in his. She looked particularly pretty today he noted with a smile. In her white frock and pink sash. She looked nothing much like either of her parents, not at first glance anyway. As her bright blonde hair resembled neither, however she had big green eyes, that sparkled with excitement and mischief the way her mother's had, and she had his infectious smile. Not that he had much to smile about any more, except her.
The door clicking open drew his attention back to the present, and he looked up into the very startled face of his parent's housekeeper Mrs. Beckett, who began to turn a ghostly shade of white.
"Master Christian?" she asked, her face crumpling into a disbelieving frown,
Christian straightened up at once, and nodded a greeting,
"Mrs. Beckett,"
There was a small pause before she stepped aside to let him in, staring hard as the pair walked past and straight into the parlor.
Christian sat his daughter up on a chair, and crouched down to face her,
"We won't be here long. But papa's just got to do this ok? Then how about we go and see that puppet show we passed on the way here?"
Her eyes grew wide in excitement,
"Punch and Judy?" she whispered, keeping her voice low in this strange house.
Christian gave a small smile at her pleasure and nodded.
"Promise?" she whispered again.
Christian threw her a wink,
"Promise."
Footsteps sounded in the hall outside and he stood to face the door, which opened seconds later.
A tall man appeared in the doorway, pale and weary with age, his face fiery with barely controlled rage, eyes cold and piercing. Behind him, was a woman, with short dull blonde hair, and who looked almost apprehensive.
"Christian?! - " Theodore Molland snapped savagely, but stopped suddenly as his eyes came to rest on the small girl perched on one of his armchairs.
Christian followed his gaze, and his daughter looked up at him, uncertain and frightened under the harsh glare of the strangers in the doorway.
"Who is this?" his father, voice wavering, trying to stay calm, asked. Christian drew himself up tall.
"This is your grandchild, my daughter, Marie-Aline,"
Years ago he would have been frightened stiff telling his father something of this nature, but now he himself was a father, and he didn't want his daughter to see him frightened.
His mother, who had been staring at him intently now gasped,
"My what?" asked Theodore, incredulously,
"Your granddaughter," Christian replied calmly,
"Christian," Josephine Molland breathed out in shock and looked up to stare at him. She sighed, "Why didn't you tell us?"
Christian looked at his mother somewhat apologetically,
"There's never been a good time. Besides, I didn't want an offer of help. I wanted to do this by myself."
Josephine now walked past her husband and bent down next to Marie with a sad smile,
"Hello," she smiled softly,
Marie blushed and bit her lip timidly. She looked up to Christian for guidance and he nodded reassuringly,
"Hello," her answer was barely audible, but an answer none the less, and Josephine seemed pleased with it, her smile widening.
Theodore now broke his gaze,
"Where is your wife?" he asked gruffly, as if he neither needed nor cared for the answer,
Christian swallowed.
"I have no wife."
Josephine turned to look,
"You are widowed?"
Christian looked down at his feet in order to fight away the lump that was forming in his throat,
"Marie's mother, the woman I loved..." he saw his father's eyes flicker at the last word, "...and who loved me in return, died in my arms four years ago when Marie was but a few days old. I am not a widow. We were never married."
His father let out a sigh of anger and his mother gasped, standing up and backing away from Marie as if she were diseased.
"My god," Theodore, his head clasped in his hand groaned from beside the big bay windows, he looked up, eyes blazing angrily, "You stupid boy..."
Christian glared back,
"Don't raise your voice in front of Marie father,"
Theodore fumed,
"I'll raise my voice in front of who I damn well like in my house!"
Josephine sat down as if overcome by all the news and shook her head,
"Five years, and not a word. Now this."
"And now you waltz back in and present us with the bastard grandchild of a French whore!"
Theodore's outrage came out as more of a growl, and Christian shot back a look of anger, his voice edgy with emotion
"Don't talk about either of them that way."
"Why not?" Theodore was not put off, "Is it not true? Tell me it's not true?"
Christian kept silent and Theodore snorted,
"Didn't think so."
In the silence that followed Christian turned and picked Marie up,
"I think we've out-stayed our welcome."
He strode past his parents into the hall and towards the front door where Mrs. Beckett was still waiting.
"Christian!"
His mother was in the parlor doorway,
"Where are you going? You can't leave again!"
Christian paused on the front door step,
"I'm renting an address in town. I'll forward it to you."
He caught sight of his father glaring at him from the windows and lowered Marie to the ground as the door shut behind them.
He sighed and stared up at the blue clouds, suddenly wishing, with an almighty urge that she was there to throw her arms around him, sing into his ear, just touch him, hold his hand, anything.
Someone took his hand up gently, and he looked down into Marie's worried eyes,
"Smile papa," she said quietly,
He couldn't not when asked so innocently.
"How about that puppet show now?" he asked wearily,
Marie nodded eagerly, and they walked down the steps and into the park.
Chancing a last look over his shoulder, he saw a watching figure in the front room window and sighed.
It was going to be a long road back.
They turned into a road of tall, white, immaculate buildings, with black railings up the steps to the front doors, and built in a semi-circle, over- looking a small park, with tall slender trees and benches in secluded spots by the paths.
The coach jerked to a standstill outside one of the neat houses, and the driver swung down to open the door. A dark-haired man stepped out, and paused to look up at the house before him with a sigh.
"Number sixty-two Sir," the driver, still holding the door provided cheerily.
Christian handed him a coin and watched him tip his hat in return,
"Much obliged Sir," he turned to look inside the carriage with a broad smile, "Now, come on little Missy, can't have you sittin' in here all day now!"
The coach bobbed around as someone jumped down from the seats inside, and Christian turned to lift his small daughter off the steps and into his arms.
"You have a nice day now Sir,"
The driver pulled himself back on top of the carriage,
"And yourself," Christian called back, somewhat less cheerily.
It was five years since he'd last seen this house. He'd hardly missed it if he was honest, but now as he climbed the steps and reached forward to ring the doorbell it felt like he'd never left.
He let his daughter slide down his side to stand beside him, and took up her little hand in his. She looked particularly pretty today he noted with a smile. In her white frock and pink sash. She looked nothing much like either of her parents, not at first glance anyway. As her bright blonde hair resembled neither, however she had big green eyes, that sparkled with excitement and mischief the way her mother's had, and she had his infectious smile. Not that he had much to smile about any more, except her.
The door clicking open drew his attention back to the present, and he looked up into the very startled face of his parent's housekeeper Mrs. Beckett, who began to turn a ghostly shade of white.
"Master Christian?" she asked, her face crumpling into a disbelieving frown,
Christian straightened up at once, and nodded a greeting,
"Mrs. Beckett,"
There was a small pause before she stepped aside to let him in, staring hard as the pair walked past and straight into the parlor.
Christian sat his daughter up on a chair, and crouched down to face her,
"We won't be here long. But papa's just got to do this ok? Then how about we go and see that puppet show we passed on the way here?"
Her eyes grew wide in excitement,
"Punch and Judy?" she whispered, keeping her voice low in this strange house.
Christian gave a small smile at her pleasure and nodded.
"Promise?" she whispered again.
Christian threw her a wink,
"Promise."
Footsteps sounded in the hall outside and he stood to face the door, which opened seconds later.
A tall man appeared in the doorway, pale and weary with age, his face fiery with barely controlled rage, eyes cold and piercing. Behind him, was a woman, with short dull blonde hair, and who looked almost apprehensive.
"Christian?! - " Theodore Molland snapped savagely, but stopped suddenly as his eyes came to rest on the small girl perched on one of his armchairs.
Christian followed his gaze, and his daughter looked up at him, uncertain and frightened under the harsh glare of the strangers in the doorway.
"Who is this?" his father, voice wavering, trying to stay calm, asked. Christian drew himself up tall.
"This is your grandchild, my daughter, Marie-Aline,"
Years ago he would have been frightened stiff telling his father something of this nature, but now he himself was a father, and he didn't want his daughter to see him frightened.
His mother, who had been staring at him intently now gasped,
"My what?" asked Theodore, incredulously,
"Your granddaughter," Christian replied calmly,
"Christian," Josephine Molland breathed out in shock and looked up to stare at him. She sighed, "Why didn't you tell us?"
Christian looked at his mother somewhat apologetically,
"There's never been a good time. Besides, I didn't want an offer of help. I wanted to do this by myself."
Josephine now walked past her husband and bent down next to Marie with a sad smile,
"Hello," she smiled softly,
Marie blushed and bit her lip timidly. She looked up to Christian for guidance and he nodded reassuringly,
"Hello," her answer was barely audible, but an answer none the less, and Josephine seemed pleased with it, her smile widening.
Theodore now broke his gaze,
"Where is your wife?" he asked gruffly, as if he neither needed nor cared for the answer,
Christian swallowed.
"I have no wife."
Josephine turned to look,
"You are widowed?"
Christian looked down at his feet in order to fight away the lump that was forming in his throat,
"Marie's mother, the woman I loved..." he saw his father's eyes flicker at the last word, "...and who loved me in return, died in my arms four years ago when Marie was but a few days old. I am not a widow. We were never married."
His father let out a sigh of anger and his mother gasped, standing up and backing away from Marie as if she were diseased.
"My god," Theodore, his head clasped in his hand groaned from beside the big bay windows, he looked up, eyes blazing angrily, "You stupid boy..."
Christian glared back,
"Don't raise your voice in front of Marie father,"
Theodore fumed,
"I'll raise my voice in front of who I damn well like in my house!"
Josephine sat down as if overcome by all the news and shook her head,
"Five years, and not a word. Now this."
"And now you waltz back in and present us with the bastard grandchild of a French whore!"
Theodore's outrage came out as more of a growl, and Christian shot back a look of anger, his voice edgy with emotion
"Don't talk about either of them that way."
"Why not?" Theodore was not put off, "Is it not true? Tell me it's not true?"
Christian kept silent and Theodore snorted,
"Didn't think so."
In the silence that followed Christian turned and picked Marie up,
"I think we've out-stayed our welcome."
He strode past his parents into the hall and towards the front door where Mrs. Beckett was still waiting.
"Christian!"
His mother was in the parlor doorway,
"Where are you going? You can't leave again!"
Christian paused on the front door step,
"I'm renting an address in town. I'll forward it to you."
He caught sight of his father glaring at him from the windows and lowered Marie to the ground as the door shut behind them.
He sighed and stared up at the blue clouds, suddenly wishing, with an almighty urge that she was there to throw her arms around him, sing into his ear, just touch him, hold his hand, anything.
Someone took his hand up gently, and he looked down into Marie's worried eyes,
"Smile papa," she said quietly,
He couldn't not when asked so innocently.
"How about that puppet show now?" he asked wearily,
Marie nodded eagerly, and they walked down the steps and into the park.
Chancing a last look over his shoulder, he saw a watching figure in the front room window and sighed.
It was going to be a long road back.
