Chapter 2
Victor's mother had vanished from the parlor that now was radiating with the soft finish of piano music. He turned around, ready to ask to be excused, and was greeted with the loud hollow ticking of the grandfather clock in the main hall. This was a sure sign of lifelessness.
Victor's heart pounded. What if they left me? He thought, and then shook the idea from his head. Foolish ninny. He stepped out into the hallway, and called softly, "Mother? Father?" This received no reply. Then he thought, what if Mayhew was there? He wasn't always at the Van Dorts home, as he didn't live there. He was their feeble excuse for a driver, and he was only called over when he was needed.
"M-mayhew?" Victor called into the gloom of early evening. "Are you there? Is anyone here?" A diminutive row of coughs answered his echoing calls. "Mayhew!" Victor sighed in relief. The slightly stooped twenty-five-year-old stepped into the parlor. He had a slight smoking problem that left him with a terrible cough. He could never seem to say anything without coughing. "What are you doing here? Where are my parents? Do you know? Are they here? Why are you here, anyway?" Victor demanded.
"What- (cough)" answered Mayhew as he coughed into his fist. "Too many questions, Victor. Your parents are here, they're just- (cough)-out back talking with the- (cough) Everglotts."
"Talking with the who?"
"Everglotts. I'm just here to see that you don't get into- (cough)- trouble little sir." Mayhew ended.
Victor sighed up at the man. He was practically a nanny; whenever Victor's parents weren't going to be nearby, as in the next room Mayhew was there. "And-err-would you mind… telling me why they're talking to the Elm-the… those people?"
"I'm not sure I know. I just- (cough) - know that you're involved. But- (cough) - don't worry. Are you- (cough) - all finished with your--" his sentence was ended in a violent fit of coughs.
"Practice?" Victor finished. "Yes. I've just finished a moment ago." His tone suggested that the answer should have been obvious. He wasn't as reserved with Mayhew as he was with his parents. As far as Victor thought in his seven-year-old mind, Mayhew and he were equals.
"Yeah. That. (Cough). Well then, come on. Nell and William told me to come and get you as soon as you were done."
"Are you sure? Because I- my mother would want… no… wouldn't want me to, well… get dirty." Victor admitted. He knew that his parents, well, his mother,would go into conniptions if he got so much as a single grain of nature on his shoes.
"She must not care now. Come on- (cough) - we've got to head outside to get to them."
Victor looked up at Mayhew with immense gratitude at the prospect of leaving the creaking, gloomy house. "Can I-"
Mayhew finished with a half command. "Bring the dog- (cough). If you like- (cough)."
"Scraps! Wake up, time to go out for a walk!" Victor cried out. Rapid little puppy footsteps were heard almost immediately after, rushing down the long stairway. The dog soon emerged from the dark corridor, his little puppy tail wagging the back half of his splotched brownish-reddish body, and his huge doe eyes staring at Victor with all the love in the world. At once, Victor cracked a smile. "Such a cutie, such a little cutie you are! Yes, you are my good boy!" he while rubbing Scraps' back. Mayhew shifted uncomfortably, and coughed overtly, as though telling Victor to salvage some of his dignity and put a leash on the dog. Victor looked up suddenly, and seemed to remember only then that Mayhew was present. He cleared his throat, and leashed the dog with his red collar. "Erm- well- yes then. Come on Scrapsey-boy."