Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who
Chapter 4
The conversation died down and everyone gradually trickled into the next room for supper. Michael managed to move closer to Maddie as they passed through the doorway. He had guessed she was pretty, but her friendly, awkward charm topped it off.
"Is Tom always this exuberant?" Maddie whispered to Michael, saving him fro a potentially bad conversation starter.
"Generally, yes," Michael answered as he pulled out a chair for Maddie. "Helps offset Geoffrey's perpetual foul mood." Upon hearing his name, Geoffrey turned his head and gave Michael a quizzical glance. "Nothing," Michael mouthed as soon as Maddie looked away.
As he began to pull out a chair for himself, Michael caught Tom's murderous look and released it. Remembering Tom's "off limits" warning, Michael took a seat nearby the headmaster and Geoffrey.
"Well," Geoffrey muttered to Michael as the headmaster said grace. "Now we know it pays to be friends with the upper class. I have never seen this dining room before." The blessing ended, and Tom started up in one of his exaggerated stories. "How about you invite your family next month."
Michael grimaced. Most of the boys were forced to eat outdoors, rich or not, rain, shine, or snow. But his family would never come if her could help it, even if it meant never eating this posh food and sitting at the mahogany table again. Being the youngest (and only) son of a blind, widowed mother had some merits, but she held him to impossible standards while doting on her daughters. And since she held ownership of his inheritance until he reached the age of twenty-one, he had to do whatever she wanted him to.
"Michael, Chap!" Tom exclaimed, drawing Michael's attention back to the dinner table. "What on earth is that expression for?"
"Tickle in my throat," Michael covered with an arrogant smile. "Nothing more."
Maddie prepared to head up to the North Wing guest bedrooms with her family, but she lingered to watch tom and Michael climb the opposite stairwell. Geoffrey had excused himself earlier than the others.
When the two boys reached the first landing, Tom stopped while Michael continued up. Maddie shifted to see what had delayed her brother. It was a young maid, crouched over a bucket and scrub brush.
The servant, Maddie thought, was beautiful. She had lovely, dark skin and thick, shiny black hair. As she scrubbed, she hummed a hymn.
Tom stepped up, smirking. "You, maid."
"Yes, sir?" she said, looking up momentarily before returning to her work. Maddie could've sworn she saw the maid roll her beautiful brown eyes. Michael stopped his ascent, and Maddie saw his shoulders drop.
"When you're checking to see if the floor is clean," Tom continued, "is it had for you to tell since your skin is the same color as the dirt?"
The maid flinched and frowned, but ignored them. She started humming again, though the tune was more forced. Tom chuckled and jogged up to Michael. Maddie stood frozen. She couldn't believe what she had just heard. Her own brother. Not letting the indignant tears well up in her eyes, Maddie reached down and picked up her bag, that she had dropped.
Maddie climbed up to the maid and sat down next to where she was working. She pulled out a handkerchief and held it out to the tearful girl.
"What's your name?" Maddie asked when the servant glanced up.
"I'm Christine, Miss," the servant replied, scrubbing harder than ever.
"I'm Maddie," Maddie said quietly. "Take this. Wipe your eyes."
"Yes, Miss," Christine replied, not looking at Maddie as she took the handkerchief.
Maddie turned around and took off for the other stairway, bee-lining for the first open door she saw. Someone had put her trunk at the foot of her bed and folded down the porridge-colored quilt.
Door closed and locked against intruders, Maddie undid her trunk and changed into her nightgown. Rather than go to bed immediately, she pulled out her dolls. Being sixteen, he was much too old to be playing with such childish toys, but she felt like taking them out. Before she knew it, she was creating a conversation between the two silent playthings. The doll that resembled Maddie was a psychiatrist and the scarecrow was one of her patients.
Since it was childish and embarrassing to still be playing with dolls, Maddie whispered the conversation between the two toys. She hoped no one decided to take an evening stroll through the corridors as the door was awfully thin.
"Hello, sir," Maddie said in her normal whisper, shaking the doll and making it take the scarecrow's hand. "How can I help you?"
"Hello, Doctor Maddie," Maddie whispered, using a more gravelly voice to imitate what she had thought scarecrows might sound like. "I could sure use your help. I'm afraid of little girls with auburn hair and green eyes, like you!"
"But I' not a little girl, anymore," doll Maddie protested.
"Oh, you're right," the scarecrow admitted.
Maddie's eyes bean to droop and her movements with the toys became more sluggish. She stopped making the voices. Reluctantly, she replaced the playthings in her trunk and climbed into bed where she fell into another dreamless sleep.
Geoffrey had made it to their room first, and he sat on his bed, reading until the others arrived. Trevor slouched in and dropped off as soon as he hit the mattress, although he was fully clothed. Michael and Tom entered some ten minutes later. Michael immediately started taking off his coat and dropped onto his bunk where he proceeded to remove his shoes. Tom stayed standing, pacing, bursting with an energy that made Geoffrey feel sick. He loved fear, but he couldn't stand excitement. It was a too happy and out of place feeling in a world of cruelty and sadness.
Michael swung his legs onto his bed and started humming. That was interesting. The excitement radiating off of him was just as disgusting and sappy. Geoffrey had encountered that feeling before. What was it again? Oh, yes. Michael was in love. The odd thing was that it wasn't like his normal fancies. This reeked of infatuation. The sensation died down and Michael fell asleep.
Tom yawned and took off his cost and shoes. Running a hand through his auburn hair, he stretched across the bed and his breathing deepened.
Geoffrey removed his jacket and shoes but continued to sit up in bed. He took the glass from Michael's nightstand and started tossing it. He didn't do it as deftly as Michael, but he didn't drop it either. The cold glass felt good in his callused hands. Even now, that overwhelming, ipossible fear reached out to him from across the school.
Geoffrey couldn't sleep. His heart was pounding and he felt his first real excitement in over seven years. He blew out all but one candle then continued to toss the glass in the air until his own light went out. Once the room was plunged into darkness, Geoffrey slid underneath the covers, but remained awake until morning.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I wrote this in hopes that
You'd read and review
