"Aoife, love, rise 'n shine!" Elsie called over her shoulder — she stood at the sink, drying her hands on a dishcloth. Charles had already gone over to the big house to start his day, but Elsie lagged behind trying to rouse their six year-old daughter from sleep. On cold mornings like these, it was almost as though the bairn wanted to retreat back into Elsie's womb; the warmth of her cozy bed, with its down comforter and the crackling fireplace beside her, was far better than any life she could imagine outside of it. Tossing the dishrag aside, Elsie smoothed her skirt and headed out of the kitchen down the hallway, a chill in the air sending shivers up the back of her neck.
She opened the door to the child's bedroom and was greeted by a rush of hot, dry air. The fire had all but gone out, but the room was still warm. She could just make out Aoife's mop of red hair, which peeked above the blankets.
"Aoife," she whispered, her voice low as she approached the side of the bed. She pulled back the covers — to which the little girl responded with a resolute yank in the opposite direction.
"Don't start, young lady." Elsie said — but she was laughing. The little girl turned to face her, eyes still heavily lidded with sleep. She yawned and held her arms up and out, wordlessly in request of an embrace. Elsie sat down on the edge of the bed and reached down to lift the girl up into her arms, kissing her hair, which was still baby soft and a bright auburn, like Glenna's. Still half-asleep, Elsie hugged her tighter for a moment — the child's soft, milky breath against her neck. Aoife nestled closer into her bosom, both for comfort and, no doubt, warmth — which was quickly escaping from the room, as Elsie had failed to shut the door behind her when she came in.
"Ma, I don't want to get up." Aoife whispered — her burr slightly lilting like Elsie's, with just a hint of her father's crisp and refined dialect.
"You start your lessons at the big house today, jo." Elsie said, smoothing Aoife's hair back, "You best be excited for that."
Sighing, the child sunk down into the covers, her head burrowing in Elsie's lap. "Won't the girls be mean to me?"
"Oh, love, the ladies like you" she rubbed the child's back in soothing circles, "And besides, you aren't there on a social call."
Aoife didn't respond, just grasped Elsie's skirt and pulled it up against her cheek. Elsie clucked her tongue, lifting the girl into her arms. Aoife's cobalt eyes were moist — either leftover from sleep or impending tears.
"Mary doesn't mind you and you know that," Elsie said, sensing the source of her daughter's anxiety, "And you know Sybil thinks you a friend."
"Mary doesn't like me!" Aoife cried, "I don't think Edith does neither - Mary don't even like her and she's her sister!"
Elsie rolled her eyes instinctually and quickly tried to hide it; for a child, Aoife already seemed to have a firm grasp on the Crawley girls' nuanced sisterhood.
"The Crawley's have been kind enough to let you be tutored with the girls, jo. Put aside any rows you might have with them and think only of your studies."
"Why?"
Och, Elsie thought, such a question for this early in the mornin', lass!
"Because, my love, your studies will help you when you are grown up — you'll be able to live wherever you want to live, do any job you please, have a family and all the bairns your heart desires," at this, she touched her finger sweetly to Aoife's nose. The girl giggled.
"What if I don't want any bairns!"
Elsie huffed, leaning in to tickle the girl, "Then you don't have to have any, love! But you do have to get up or we'll be late!" With that, she swooped down and grabbed the girl around the waste, playfully hoisting her up. Aoife squealed, wrapping her arms around her mother's neck, inhaling her familiar scent.
