Spring, and Elizabeth's arrival, passed. Summer bloomed triumphant, and
perished exceptionally early, descending into an premature, sharply cold
autumn, much to the delight of Mrs. Foster, who had spent a good deal of
the summer months moaning on a shaded daybed.
Elizabeth, like the hothouse plants, the bonsai trees, the writing, the
quilting, the scrapbooks, had passed. She no longer held any delights for
Helena.
Elizabeth played on the floor of her nursery. Around her, fanning outwards in chaotic display, were the sheets of drawing paper with which she had been provided. They coated the rich and luxuriant pink carpets thickly, their garish colours idealistically childlike. Elizabeth wanted to show them to Mummy, yet Mummy had not been in to see her yet. Mummy had not been in for several days. It had been months since Mummy last took care of her, when it was still warm. Since then, Jennifer had been purchased. Elizabeth was not particularly fond of Jennifer, who was rather too apt to cuddle and coddle.
Helena was not too fond of Jennifer. She was not fond of the whole arrangement, truth be told. Earlier that day, at elevenses, she had been talking to Mrs. Hobby. Lovely woman. She'd let her figure go, of course, but so do all older women. Helena had confided to her that she didn't really think mecha children would really work. It had been Mrs. Hobby's opinion from the very beginning that the whole venture was doomed. Mrs. Hobby had asked how they were coping with their model. Helena had confided that theirs wasn't responding so well to its new nursemaid. Mrs. Hobby had replied that her husband's blood pressure had risen since the mecha child business failure. Such a pity, had been Helena's reply. And the same thing had happened to Catherine's husband, the one who had that heart attack during a business meeting last year...
Evening was approaching. Elizabeth had been bathed and bedded by Jennifer, to whom she addressed plaintive questions as to the whereabouts of her Mummy that the new and inexperienced nanny mecha had been unable to answer. Downstairs, Helena and Thomas were enjoying an after-dinner glass of wine, and discussing the problem at hand.
"Of course, the whole thing was flawed from the beginning. Caroline Hobby said as much earlier this morning at my little morning tea. Which went splendidly, by the way. In any case, we can't go on like this. I daresay we were a tad hasty in rushing into parenting it, but we can't be blamed for this." Helena's eyes wore a fierce and persuasive glint that invited her husband to be complacent. "Of course not." His voice was limp, for he was tired, and vaguely depressed to see such an important experiment be irrevocably tainted by his wife's fickle ways. Any chances of promotion were obscure – vice presidency certainly wouldn't be on the cards this year or next. "Not should we be sentenced to a lifetime of this. It's obscene. The thing is not a child, it's a machine. That's the fundamental of it. We can't have it cluttering up the house for evermore. What happens when we need a room handy? When we have a child of our own?" Helena's husband made no reply. "Then we are agreed. Elizabeth will have to be sent back."
Elizabeth played on the floor of her nursery. Around her, fanning outwards in chaotic display, were the sheets of drawing paper with which she had been provided. They coated the rich and luxuriant pink carpets thickly, their garish colours idealistically childlike. Elizabeth wanted to show them to Mummy, yet Mummy had not been in to see her yet. Mummy had not been in for several days. It had been months since Mummy last took care of her, when it was still warm. Since then, Jennifer had been purchased. Elizabeth was not particularly fond of Jennifer, who was rather too apt to cuddle and coddle.
Helena was not too fond of Jennifer. She was not fond of the whole arrangement, truth be told. Earlier that day, at elevenses, she had been talking to Mrs. Hobby. Lovely woman. She'd let her figure go, of course, but so do all older women. Helena had confided to her that she didn't really think mecha children would really work. It had been Mrs. Hobby's opinion from the very beginning that the whole venture was doomed. Mrs. Hobby had asked how they were coping with their model. Helena had confided that theirs wasn't responding so well to its new nursemaid. Mrs. Hobby had replied that her husband's blood pressure had risen since the mecha child business failure. Such a pity, had been Helena's reply. And the same thing had happened to Catherine's husband, the one who had that heart attack during a business meeting last year...
Evening was approaching. Elizabeth had been bathed and bedded by Jennifer, to whom she addressed plaintive questions as to the whereabouts of her Mummy that the new and inexperienced nanny mecha had been unable to answer. Downstairs, Helena and Thomas were enjoying an after-dinner glass of wine, and discussing the problem at hand.
"Of course, the whole thing was flawed from the beginning. Caroline Hobby said as much earlier this morning at my little morning tea. Which went splendidly, by the way. In any case, we can't go on like this. I daresay we were a tad hasty in rushing into parenting it, but we can't be blamed for this." Helena's eyes wore a fierce and persuasive glint that invited her husband to be complacent. "Of course not." His voice was limp, for he was tired, and vaguely depressed to see such an important experiment be irrevocably tainted by his wife's fickle ways. Any chances of promotion were obscure – vice presidency certainly wouldn't be on the cards this year or next. "Not should we be sentenced to a lifetime of this. It's obscene. The thing is not a child, it's a machine. That's the fundamental of it. We can't have it cluttering up the house for evermore. What happens when we need a room handy? When we have a child of our own?" Helena's husband made no reply. "Then we are agreed. Elizabeth will have to be sent back."