In the year that followed the Cholera outbreak, life in Allerdale slowly regained its usual pace. A beast waking up from hibernation. After the loss of their caretakers, one thing become crystal clear for the young Sharpes, they were by their own, really by their own. The maids come and went, they did their jobs, served the meals, cleaned the rooms, speak with the children when necessary, only the necessary. "The mistress asks for the young miss to come to the Hall". "Please Master Thomas, it is time for your bathroom"," Mr. Sutton sent me to fetch the masters for their lesson". None of the maids, not the older, not the young ones, none of them bother to socialize with the children beyond the Mistress instructions. They didn't care about them; they care for being paid, and be out of that horrible place as soon as possible. The tutors on the contrary incremented, for now the children had three, in different times during the year, to made 30 out of 52 weeks boring, annoying or miserable, depending if they will have the spring, summer or fall classes. The art teacher, Mr. Earl, was a narcissist young man with interest in the human anatomy and any artistic form that represented its nudity. Lucille tended to be more positive toward his lessons, which included painting and pottery, only for the fact that the man was not a pain like Mr. Sutton. He never yelled, not paid her much attention in general. But these crafty activities were dull for her. Thomas would have enjoyed them for sure, but he was excluded. "These are not activities a man should cultivate", father had said, - "but the teacher is a man", Lucille had commented, "Well he certainly is not my son" the father had replied. Mr. Earl also taught her music, in which she excelled, an innate talent, the tutor had said, undoubtedly inherited from her mother. The comparison wasn't welcome for neither the mother nor the daughter, but none of them expressed it. Still, Lucille appreciated that the teacher showed her how to read the notes and play them, no more memorizing like mother used to teach her. Her only regret during this lessons was that meanwhile, Thomas was doing writing with Mr. Sutton, and then she only could think about the stick striking against her brothers knuckles again and again.
Another subject included in their education was social studies, which included geography, history and politics of England. Regarding Thomas, the teacher had said that these topics were important to be known by him as a future land owner and business man. England first, then the rest of the countries, "you must know the countries and their rules, to understand the economy and make wise decisions in commerce, but for now we will start with the basis..." What is commerce, the boy had asked. Mr. Branigan was a teacher cut from the same fabric than Mr. Sutton was, another stick devoted, with the additional ability of speak for long periods of time without a pause. He also pretended that the children memorized every detail, and delivered punished upon wrong answers. Poor Thomas sometimes bobbed his head trying to keep awake during the lectures, and then Lucille had to divert the teacher's attention when a unexpected question was thrown to the puzzled boy. It was decided that Lucille will be taught social studies along with Thomas, but only during the first summer, for women needed to have general culture, in order to not shame their family name and their husband's name, as told in her mother's words. After that she would be spared in favor of more women like topics, like manners in society.
While Mr. Earl arrived with the spring, and Mr. Branigan replaced him on summer, fall lessons were the worst part of the year. Then it was only Mr. Sutton. Except for the winter, he remained in Allerdale for the rest of the year. The man had become a constant unwanted presence in the children lives. He had grew empowered over the years, imparting unfair punishment. And as soon as Thomas started formal instruction under his care, he took the courtesy of including the boy as a target for the stick. During Fall lessons, he focused in Literature mainly. While Thomas hand writing was firm and legible, the reading was a different issue. It was not easy for him to remember how each combination of letters should sound in new or unfamiliar words. He sat in front of Lucille, in the other side of the desk. The desk was wide, so he could not reach her if he stretched his arms. In more than one occasion had he tried to catch her attention desperately, making gestures with his face. Thus, his ears had being pulled until red more than once, and he ended standing up in a corner for the rest of the lesson, holding a considerable pile of books over his head. "Maybe boy if you are not fond to listen to the reading, the knowledge will enter into your head in a different way, let's try..." Thomas could swear that they were more books than people in England or maybe in the world. The books he and Lucille have in the nursery were fun to read, stories and rhymes. Those he could read without complain because the tales were interesting, the adventures of King Arthur and his knights, Sir Lancelot, and Merlin the sorcerer. Mr. Sutton instead had a knack to force on them the most boring topics. Thick tomes with aplenty elaborate words, most difficult for them to pronounce or remember. Nobody spoked like that anyway.
There were times in which Thomas was taken out from the nursery or excused for the lesson. These were the moments he shared with his mother. He usually knew when they came, he felt expectant, but not in a good way. He felt like being observed by shadows, that was his cue. Some things his mother said to him, he didn't tell to Lucille. His first lie had been taught by his own mother. He had been in the hall, the maid had left him there waiting. He had been there in few official occasions, without counting the sibling's night escapades. Never had he lingered there enough time, he knew Lucille liked it, but he thought the place was creepy. Nevertheless, Lucille always seemed to be comfortable in any place of the house. She was not afraid of the dark, and the prospect of a punishment didn't deterred her from doing things. Secret things, mainly. There were good things too, like their collection of treasures, kept under the bed in the wooden planks of the bed frame, or the passages they had discovered, Lucille mostly, to wander out of the nursery. There was also the attic, but Lucille was not fond of it, and always discarded the place when Thomas proposed it as a exploring destination. The attic was old, piled with old things. It was where the ghosts lived. Lucille had said ghost didn't exist, that it was the living to be afraid of. Thomas knew different, he had listened, he had watched, he had peed on himself becoming the object of his mother reprimand once more.
His mother found him there, looking at the piano, standing in his own yellowish puddle, his pale white skin trembling.
"What Is This Thomas!?" she demanded. The tone was stern and matched the anger in her factions. "Are you not big enough for this behavior? Look what you did, you dumb boy!"
She went to grab him, but stopped in the middle of the motion, and then Thomas noticed she was looking at the piano too. The shadow was small, but not defined, it moved like the coal dust shaken from the chimney by the East wind. A note sang in the piano, and the ghostly shadow vanished the moment the maid entered in the room.
"Clean this mess girl, immediately!" the mistress barked at the new girl, while pulling Thomas to follow her.
Thomas was bathed with icy cold water, and dressed with a only a shirt, one of his father shirts. He trembled while sit one corner of his mother's bed.
"Does it want to hurt me... the shadow?"
"Nonsense, you saw nothing, and you would talk no more of this"
"But you saw it too, don't you?"
"I saw a stupid boy peed on his pants. Really Thomas, I'm beginning to think that you do this on purpose"
"But moth-"
"Silence!" she told him. "And do not move, dare you to repeat your last feat over my bed, and I swear you will sleep in the stables with the beasts!" with that she left the room.
After what felt like a lot of time, she returned carrying a tray of tea.
"Drink" she handed a cup to the boy. It was bitter and sweet at the same time. Too much sugar to conceal the bad taste. He drank it anyway to not upset his mother more.
"You look tired, maybe you should rest a while, forget this, only those wrong at heart are tormented by visions in their lives. You know what they show you boy?" He shook his head no. "Your faults, they chase you, a prelude of the torment what you will endure after you're dead. Or maybe is this place, it craves for young souls you know, wants to claim them, only the weak are taken."
Now he was really scared, and mother she spoked like a stranger. He was terrified of her.
"Will you be my good baby boy Thomas? yes, drink your tea." Now this was unusual but not new, his mother turned into a different person from time to time, one he barely recognized.
"When I was small, my mother had me, but more than anything she wanted a baby boy like you. My father wanted a boy too. They tried and tried, only gaining more girls. Six you know, those girls wasted her up, the last one actually killed her. You see, she was in a wrong position inside her womb. Mother left me with a bunch of baby asses to wipe, and I did it, I care for all of them, such a party of ungrateful girls. Each of them left, married and make her own life, forgot about me. They didn't care I remained there, enslaved, cast away from society, taking care of the old man. Men you know, most of them are bad, like your father, mine was no better. Still, I loved him, with all my heart. Comply with his every whim. But he always wanted a boy. At last I had you, but you were not meant to be."
Thomas was silent, in these occasions she was usually gentle, but her mood may sometimes change drastically.
"Are you bad too, Thomas?" He denied with his head. "Liar" she said. "Good boys don't see shadows wandering around the house. Tell me, are you lying to me?"
He denied.
"Then you are a bad boy, is that what you want to be?"
He denied again.
"Speak up boy"
"No... mother"
"Do you love me Thomas, do you love your mother?" He was afraid and couldn't articulate, tried to nod. She slapped him, "Oh no, you love your sister better, right? But she will leave, like my sisters did, marry a fancy man and move far from Allerdale, to London maybe. Will you love me then when she is not here anymore? I'll be here for you my dear, but I won't be always. What will you do then, you poor, poor thing, who will take care of you?"
"Mo..ther..?"
"That's right Thomas. Now, did you see anything out of place in the hall today, did anything bother you there?"
"No... I.. didn't"
"That's my good boy."
He didn't dare to cry, but the tears rolled out of his eyes, nothing he could do to avoid it. He felt sleepy and didn't notice when he felt asleep.
He thought it was a nightmare, when he did wake up in his room the next day. Still, he wouldn't try his luck. When Lucille met him later on the day, she noticed he was particularly quiet, "What happened Thomas, did mother punish you yesterday? I had to eat in the kitchens and mother locked in my room early" He had denied with head, shrugging his shoulders "Thomas look at me, is something the matter, what bothers you, are you hurt?" He looked at her trying to give way nothing with his eyes, "No" he said, "Is nothing", and the lie burned his throat and he didn't feel like a good boy.
/\/\/\/\
After the window incident by end of July, the children action range was limited severely. Jory has seen Thomas trying to climb out from his window and he ran into the house alarmed for the little master might fell from the roof. Thomas was really climbing back to his room, very early in the morning, but that was beyond the point. Jory's good intentions and his concern for the boy health were not unattended. His mother caught Thomas red handed. Metal bars were installed in the nursery and the children rooms' windows, for their own security. The boy had been punished, and Lucille too, for in mother's reasoning she was the master mind behind the boy's actions. Nights became long and pointless, so they both sleep, in their own rooms. Mister Sharpe approved his wife decisions, without much interest in the topic. Children are children, and always get themselves into trouble, he thought. He didn't realize that the children were locked most of the time, not that he visited the nursery or the children rooms ever. As the master of the house, he saw the children in the usual family settings, meals, sometimes the inner garden, the hall, the library. He thought they were both mainly quiet and obedient, never running around, or stomping in the stairs like he used when he was young. Maybe they spend too much time indoors, their pale skin could tell, but summer was too hot and Thomas fainted easily, his wife had told. Anyway the incident does not escalate in any harm, and there were more urgent matters that required his attention. He will have to travel before the mining season finished.
His uncle Edmund health had been emaciated during the last year, and Arthur finally will see results from working under the old man's governance. While he was Master in Allerdale, the one who decided and commanded others, his station worth nothing in his uncle's eyes. He always has criticized his mother for being so light handed with the boy. "Really Louise, the boy will believe himself from royalty." -" Oh! Edmund, stop it wouldn't you pampered him yourself if he were your only child". The comment always hit him back, cause Edmund never had married nor had any children, at least not recognized. He loved his nephew of course, wasn't he one of the responsible of the exaggerated amount of presents the boy received every Christmas? But he valued hard work beyond anything, and the boy was so used to have all given to him that took many things for granted. When Louise died, he convinced Jacob to take Arthur under his care for a season. That extended into a year.
The young man was careless, like his father he had bad eye for business. That, and his fondness toward unproductive pleasures like bets, women, and drink was a dangerous combination that only lead wealth men to bankrupt. Arthur Sharpe will only obliterate the Sharpe name and its remaining fortune. Beyond counsel the man listen to no one and in occasions was disrespectful toward Edmund or anyone with authority. Also, there was resentment, deep rooted in his nephew's soul; it boiled waiting to be released anytime. He tried to tamed as best as he could, put him to work, carrying the finances, managing the farms operations. Maybe he can learn and be wise enough to provide for himself and his family when the time comes. But something unexpectedly happened that appeased Arthur defiance. A girl, a seven years old orphan that Edmund decided to take in his house. He had not sons of his own, and he used to say there were already too much Sharpes in this world. He may not have the name, but he and his sister Louise were Sharpes nonetheless, cousins of Jacob Sharpe in a degree, descendants of Lilian Hertford, formerly Sharpe, sister of Arthur Sharpe, the first.
The girl had come to Edmund in strange circumstances, a new born baby in a basket carried by a nun, a note from his sisters inside the basket. Edmund was temporary residing in London at that time, he was a business man, no time for wife or children of his own, and of course he was not fond of taking another's child under his care. When the woman left the house, she carried the basket with herself, took the baby to the Foundling Hospital of London, with a second letter, this from Edmund Hertford himself, offering a generous amount to be donated periodically, if they take good care of the baby and keep his contribution anonymous. The name was not in any of the letters, but a blanket. The baby was wrapped on it. The uneven stitched were handcrafted in a corner of the fabric, Camile. Edmund feel sorry to reject the baby, but he was not the man for the task. He did the best he could and ensure the child's care, he wrote periodically to get notice of the child's development, only to get disappointing responses. As a baby, the child had danced into several country houses, it was a difficult task to find a wet nurse willing to the full day commitment that a child in her condition required. And as she grew older it became evident that she could not learn. The institution wrote Edmund Hertford inquiring about his plans for the girl's future, as they offered orphaned children with primary care an education in order to teach them an office so they could be placed into an apprentice work when they reached the age of fourteen, the girls usually became maids at sixteen, or governess if they were smart and lucky enough. Eight years passed, and solitude had taken his toll on Edmund's spirit, he had changed his mind. Who was the baby girl, the letter didn't said, neither his sister, but she sister wanted the baby to be as far of Allerdale as possible. Was it for her heritage or her birth condition he didn't know. For the parents' identity, the only response he got was "She may be a Sharpe, but a bastard nonetheless. I don't want her close to my Arthur" interesting, Arthur and Camile turned to get along just fine. More than fine indeed, a connection broken and lost he may tell. For he suspected the girl was one of Jacob's deeds, not the first one that he suspected. Louise had a golden heart to forgive his husband's 'slips', but she was wise enough to forbid them to grow under her same roof.
After eight years he barely recognized the girl, if not by her singularity. She was not exhausted nor excited about the travel from London to France. Camile needed special attention, and he was already hired a full time caretaker. Was she developed right physically except for her peculiar face expression and her inability to communicate with the world. She was isolated in her own mind, like unaware of the people around her. Only under some occasions she interacted with the rest, brief moments of awareness, none words though. She had the mind of a baby the doctors had said, a born condition, irremediable, lifelong. But beyond what anyone had though, Arthur became seriously interested in the girl, devoting his time to her after his daily work. That seemed to lighten the burden of his troubled mind. A year later, Edmund could swear the young man had cried, when he said goodbye to return to London, on the notice of his father health condition deteriorated. He place head in place and occupied of Allerdale business, found a wife and married before the Jacob had died. Still he made a routine two travel at least twice a year and spend one two four months in Lyon. During that time, he frequently visited Camile, and even convinced to move her to the cottage he bought close to the farms, the countryside air he had said will do marvels in the girls' health. And it had been true, the girl crisis had receded the caretaker had said, her expression lighted up when she was taken to see the horses, they had made a daily ritual to take her to the stables and she will move her hands along the animal's back endless. She allowed herself to be handled by different people, when it was only barely her caretaker in the beginning. He has thought, he can confide in Arthur to succeed him, but the years had not been kind to him. Arthur had slowly turned back, growing wary, arrogant, elusive, and secretive. After his first child's lost Arthur had travel to France and drank himself until unconsciousness. Then again, and again, and again. He went neglecting his work, and Edmund was getting to old to deal with him, he had a handful already with his health, the farms, and Camile. He wrote Finlay to come back. This only bring quarrel with Arthur, which only saw Finlay as an intruder. In the last two years, he tried to kept distance from Arthur, discouraging him about the farms' activity and the income they were generating. "There is few I can afford in this situation dear nephew, we have to tight our pants as well, I had to sell 'Les Peregrines' and with less to handle it is enough for me to take care. Please do not waste yourself in traveling and use the time wiser to run Allerdale, with luck you'll get better profit from England soil. I'll hope for the season change to bring better winds for us". It was a lie, except that he did sell 'Les Peregrines' farms, if not a true sell, he had legally passed them to Finlay's oldest and only live son.
So, the business in France was as bad as in England, this Agnes new from prying into letters addressed to her husband. She knew more than she claimed to know, she had found the key on the floor. The one that was he always carried under his shirt, hanged around his neck in a cord. She had felt that bloody key thousand times. When they were face to face, him over her, the little key dangling against her collarbone like a drumstick. A memento he had said, from his grandfather, "I don't even know if it open any door for real". But it was too small to fit a door lock. Something smaller maybe, a chest, a drawer, sure he was holding the information from her. She had tried every place she found in the house. He had been searching for the key like a maniac when he realized it was lost, and then she knew it opens something for sure, something Arthur guarded zealous. Abbot and Jory had spent two days searching on the nearby grounds. She had convinced Arthur he may have dropped it outside. Her search was unfruitful, there was no place it will fit, and the only revelation was the secret compartment she found in her husband desk, all the way behind the drawer. They were letters, a stack of them tied with a string. The content she couldn't decipher, they were in another language, Swedish maybe, maybe more than one language. One thing she could recognize was the name of Edmund Hertford in one of the envelopes that was separated from the rest, thrown in the bottom of the box, it was in plain English. She read it twice not quite understanding its content, only a reference of a woman or it was a child? A child she though, by the way Sir Edmund referred to her. She didn't know Arthur's uncle was in charge of raising an adoptive daughter, who were the parents? Men were all the same ..."it is a concern to me the health of dear Camile, and I'm vowed to respect my sister's last wishes in that regard. As I promised I have taken care of her as my own child, and through the years I have developed a truly fondness for the sweet girl she is, even if she doesn't has the words to express herself, she has a bright mind. She has always been tranquil of character, but now her nerves are quivering, and we are afraid she hurt herself in her anguish crisis. Finlay is as concerned as I am, we are both abated by this news, but we need to focus on the child's health. Be sure, as sure as she is the depositary of my fortune and not you, and that she will be under care of Finlay when I pass away. He as a gentleman has denied to take the control of my properties and asked me to put them in benefit of his son Joffrey. The only favor I can grant him is allow him to return to Allerdale one day, until the rest of his days. Such a noble man he is, after so much he had been denied there. Don't think I'm a fool nephew, for I was schooled as you, and can do math as well, but for now I'm giving you the benefit of doubt, and will listen the explanations you may feel in need to tell. Even so, I'm telling you this, I have no interest in that patch of land, nor the house that stands there as a cruel remainder of the past. But I won't die before see that's it has not grasped it clutches on more innocent souls. And if my fears are true, and has you acted wrong as your father before you did, then I'll make sure that the true heir of Allerdale return to take his place, with all my support and money. Fear not for your descendant and wife, for they'll be cared, but I will not stand between justice and you." In which way had Arthur wronged his uncle that made the man write these hard words for him, and who was this rightful heir of Allerdale? Secrets, she knew the answers she needed will be found with the lock opened by the key she held in her hand.
/\/\/\/\
The winter after Lucille's eleventh birthday turned to be one of the hardest Allerdale had seen. The snow covered the roads isolating Allerdale from the town. The maids went with their families, and only Jory and Abbott remained, but they were rarely being seen inside the house, only to deliver news to the Mistress. It also happened that her mother declared Lucille's was old enough to help with the house chores. And so, part of her free time was stolen by other activities like mopping the floors, washing the kitchen or the bathrooms, mending clothes, laundry or helping cooking. The tasks were easy to handle, but repetitive and tiresome. She delivered breakfast and super to Thomas in his room, and cleaned the dishes after. The meals were simple and Lucille hated the house work.
She had burned her hands again, and that only gained her a scorn. The blister bothered her painfully with every touch of the dirty potato she was trying to peel. The mother had said she had to learn, she cannot expect a life of servants, she will grow and marry and who will marry her if she didn't knew the basics of running a house. Agnes frequently diminished the girls' virtues and mocked her on the possibility of live a spinster, remaining alone in Allerdale, "...you'll tend to your brother's ghost, for he won't be lucky enough to grow and marry and have children of his own. The great Sharpe legacy, it will die with the two of you". One good thing was that she was given a set of keys, five in total, altogether hanging in a metal ring, this she tied to her apron with a cord. One key was for the nursery, Thomas was moved there every morning, the other of course, Thomas room, there was one for the storage room next to the kitchen, and a fourth one for the elevator.
Some of the chores were not indispensable, and it only purpose was to keep the girl occupied, dusting out the trophy room, for example. If the intention was to make Lucille fear or die in boredom, the mother had failed. That was by far Lucille's favorite, but she always remembered to put a face of desolation when her mother ordered the task. If she suspected that Lucille actually enjoyed it, she will find another thing for the child to do instead. The room was creepy for sure, with all those animal's carcasses standing there like frozen in time, dead pretending to be alive - the bodies conserved, not rotten- trapped immobile forever. Lucille could sympathize with that feeling. The collection of moths displayed in crystal cases was something worth seeing, there were so many, from tiny ones to full hand size, colorful ones and those that mimicked the rotten wood on the door frames. Lucille could see hidden faces in the dark patterns of their wings. It fascinated her, the moths, all the same and yet so different. She had rummaged in the drawers of the big desk, finding strange utensils, apparently using to manipulate the insects, and prepare them for display. Also, she found a sort of diary, every specimen named and tagged with a number. Draws and notes about the type of moth and where it had been caught. She wanted to take the book to her room, but it was too big and heavy, she couldn't change its place and expect her mother won't notice. So she read a bit every day and marked the page before her mother yelled for her, asking why had she had spent too much time dusting some old animals. For Thomas she sneaked small books from the shelves, most were about animals. While Thomas was now a very fluent reader, he preferred listening tell-tales to reading anytime. She also sneaked out some of the tools she'd found, hiding them in her apron. The boy was frequently trying to fit things together.
He had engaged himself lately in assembling a diorama, he had asked for books with draws of animals on them. Finally he was ready to show Lucille how he had copied the drawings and glued them to blocks using wax from the candles, others he hanged from the box roof using a thread.
"Look Lucille, I made it for you." The eager boy said when Lucille entered in the nursery one afternoon.
"What is it Thomas?"
"A jungle with all the animals, see the snake and the tiger. We can pretend to go there, and I will be a Rajah, and you, you will be the queen... no, a goddess, and will make everyone to bow their head when they stand in your presence."
The full toothed smile with dimples on his cheeks was one of a kind, and Lucille didn't have the heart to tell Thomas that the penguins didn't live in the jungle neither can fly. He was proud of his making, enjoying the smile he brought to his sisters face, pushing the little penguin picture so it moved, pretending it was flying and not just hanging there.
The merriment didn't last, and that evening Lucille had to put the pieces together as best as she could in the same way that she had to sooth her brother cries and collect the broken pieces of his self-confidence together. The trigger had been a intent of her to add an elephant, she had got the carved piece or ivory from under the bed, a layer of dust covering it. He had denied, saying that it was his own making and the trinket didn't belonged there. Not because elephants were not in the jungle, for of course there were elephants in India. He has asked where she got the piece, and she had told him it was boy one that had been in the house years ago. " 'This for you little girl, 'this a present", bright green eyes over in between a freckled nose and a tuft of orange hair, the boy was but three at most. She didn't remember his name, nor with whom he had arrived, but she was sure it was on Thomas first birthday, the only occasion in which children other than Lucille and Thomas had stepped a foot in Allerdale.
"No, I don't want it, Lucille". Thomas remained in deep thinking. Why had been another boy, had she liked him more? Jealousy nagged deep in the boy's stomach, crawling up his throat.
"But Thomas I'll give it to you"
Being mad was an unusual feeling for him, one difficult to contain, and it flew out of him as free as the regret that followed.
"You want him better than me," he accused. "Then go find him, leave me alone, I will die and you won't miss me a bit. I am not good, I wish I never had born!" With these last words, the craft flew to hit against the wall, the pieces scattering in every direction.
For the girl it was the first time she faced with a tantrum, she didn't knew what to do. The words they boy spoke were horrible and hurting, she wanted to get mad too, to respond and argue and throw something, and yell and get in her room until he apologized. But this was her Thomas and never had been like this before, he was always nice and gentle, and frail and maybe a little too scared. He would cry silent tears without telling what bothered him, and ask her permission before even blink or touch anything new. He was a good boy, the good one she knew, unlike her the defiant, the sneaky, the liar. It was not Thomas speaking, it couldn't be. He was acting as he had seen.
So... mother. The winter was about to end and it had been only them and mother, none had visit, and father was amiss. She knew her mother frustration because of that. Lucille replayed in her mind the same words Thomas had just spoke, and now they make sense it her mothers' voice, swapping up like poison from a snake's teeth, banging into the scared boy's ears. She could not act as a child, and for once she agreed with her mother, she needed to grow up. Thomas needed a mother's love, not a sister's and for him she will do anything.
They boy trembled sitting on the floor hugging his legs to his body, the face buried over his knees. Sobbing. He felt overwhelmed. He was not mad with Lucille, not really, he was just afraid to be left aside. His sister will grow and married and leave. And he will be alone if he not die first, as his mother had told. She had, because on the boy the mother could only see a copy of his father, one than she can overpower and won't manhandle her back. But Thomas, he was just a small child, and as one he looked up to the adults to seek reassurance and protection, he found none. A had passed on his shoulder and other lifted his head up, his tears were cleaned with his sister's hand.
"Are you mad because I think I won't love you? Silly boy, I would never stop to loving you, never ever. I don't remember the boy who gave me that figure, I took it only because it was pretty and I save it for you when you were older."
"But you never show it to me before, you keep it secret."
"Not secret, forgotten. It was long time ago, you were a bay. I remember now when I saw your present, and I wanted to give something to you too".
He tried to digest what she had said to him in sweet soothing voice, he felt bad and regretted acting like he did, he was a fool and a baby. Lucille was not mad with him, and she never had lied to him.
"I'm sorry" he said now more calm. "I don't want to die. I don't want to be without you ever."
"And so I want, come here" She cradled the boy on her arms.
They stood up and she took him to the bathroom and ran the water, making sure it was warm enough. He remained sat in the chair on the corner, watching Lucille arrange everything as Adelaide used to. Then she guided Thomas towards the tub, undressed him as a mother would his child, and bathed him. He only watched her in silence, the warm water felt nice on his back, dripping from his hair. She washed him with the sponge and combed his hair untangling the knots. It had grown at least four inches below his ears, and it felt over his face bothering him, but it was Adelaide who used to cut it. Lucille stood leaving him a couple of minutes and returned with scissors. She combed his hair and cut it as straight and she could, making it just a thumb long. She motioned him to stand up and he did, allowing himself to be wrapped up in a towel before getting out of the tube. She cared of him so tender and after he was safe under the covers in a clean pajama, she sang him a lullaby, in a soft humming voice that made him fall asleep. Lucille stood up and left him on the bed, she had too many things to do, and she had already a new plan in mind.
That night Thomas dreamed. He was standing alone in a hall, feeling watched, the lights went off and gradually the darkness approached to engulf him, he ran to the opposite direction, a light at the end, but he was not fast enough and was surrounded by nothingness a few steps before reaching the door at the end of the corridor, and in the dark there was pure fear and horrors, claws and hiss and screams nailing his ears, he still ran until he missed the step and felt, his face hitting hard on the ground, they will crawl over him, he roll his body in fetal position but something seize his legs pulling him hard, 'Lucille, please help me' he screamed, but no sound came from his mouth, none, as hard as he tried, his hands scanning the floor, searching for something he could hold onto. His leg got free as he was pulled quickly, something holding him by the wrist, in blink of eyes he was blind again but now light, he had landed in the nursery, Lucille had pulled him save, and the light was a flicker around her as if she was a candlestick. In the dim light he can see around only part of the room, the rest remained in penumbra. He cannot see the walls, the piece of the room he could half illuminated by the light irradiated by Lucille, was like floating in an intense darkness, there was no rest of the house, he looked around and throw his shoe hard, but it didn't made any sound, shouldn't be if it hitter the wall? It just disappeared into the black nothingness. He turned around to see Lucille, she didn't spoke but move close to him and the light moved with her, making part of the room disappear, while other appeared, there was no wall indeed and they stood in the hall and we're now in his room, only that there were no doors or walls, Lucille? She looked like an in a picture on a book, her dark hair and her skin, almost transparent, he almost could see thought, Lucille? She turned into vapor and it swirled around him, and he was not afraid anymore, and he wished to feel like that forever, and his own body started to vanish until he feel no more, and see no more, nor listen not hear, only a scent remained like the salts that Lucille had put in his bath today, sandalwood, he tried to think but he suddenly woke up. The dream had been awkward but not a nightmare, he rolled to his side for his sister but he was alone in the bed, he noticing that he was in his room, but he had felt asleep in the nursery.
He ran to the door, it was locked. He dressed and waited. And waited. He waited for a knock at the door. Lucille, he knew, she always knocked twice, it was their cue. She had come with the idea to set a way for her to let him know when someone was going upstairs. He came with the solution of tying a bell at the line of the service tray. Lucille may pull the cord from any floor, and the bell will sound, she can signal him that mother was coming up and she'll never know. But the doorknob was turning without any knock, he noticed because he had been staring at the door for the last fifteen minutes. So it only could be... mother.
It wasn't. He released the air he had been holding in his lungs and ran to meet her, hugging her in the waist. "You didn't k-" Shh, she hushed him "come", he told in a whisper, taking his arm, guiding him to the nursery, silently, small steps, like robbers do. Thomas thought that if they can tie stuffed animals to their feet, they could walk without making any sound. He laughed quietly of his own absurd idea. In the nursery they will open the hidden door; she had found the key while cleaning one of the guest rooms. But the door was open when Thomas pushed it. She blinded him with a handkerchief over his eyes. For the first time she guided him to the attic, through the spiral stairs. He was not afraid, holding safely to his sister's hand. Once up she take out the fold. Thomas was marveled, he couldn't believe what he saw.
"Lucille?" He looked at her in awe.
"This is for you Thomas. This will be our secret, only for you. Your special place" She smiled and he jumped over her, his eyes shining in happiness.
She had not much to give him, they had nothing after all, but she could figure out a way to made their lives better, she always found a way. Thomas pulled her over the place, holding her hand. He wanted to enjoy all of it with her. She had cleaned up the attic, moving the boxes and thing to the sides, opening the space it was bigger than she first imagined, because the things were piled up close to the stairs, blocking the view behind. She found tables and brought up some stools from the furniture stored in the old maids quarters. She had bring the painting tools and paper and all the tools they had been collected, scissors and rules and ink and carving tools and wooden pieces, a lot of them from old broken chairs, and all the things from under the bed. She had bring the wooden blocks and arranged the letters to for a word, two actually, 'Thomas' workshop'. In the table there was the fixed diorama, as well as she could fix it. It must suffice. It did, for Thomas it was more than good enough, much more. His first creation was a wooden elephant, the carving was uncouth but the trunk distinguished it. He gave it to her, and she added it to the diorama. "It's perfect" he said. "Thank you Lucille, I love it, this, everything! I love you", - "and I love you Thomas, I love you dearly". He painted moths and hanged them from the ceiling planks, to add to the living ones that were already fluttering over the place. He didn't mind them, because Lucille liked them. So if he would spent time here by himself they will remember him of her.