47

Several days had passed since Lucy's arrival. The days fell into their old routine, swims every morning, Andre and Katrina dividing the afternoon.

Lucy proved to be more willing to be polite than her brother, but was just as stubborn. Katrina found her to possess a sneaky streak and took stern measures to stop it.

One afternoon, Katrina had them out on the beach with Philippe building sandcastles. She had once again been dreadfully sunburned but was not about to give in until the younger ones did. Fergus and Minerva were watching from the shade of the porch.

"In a way," Fergus mused, "she is almost a child herself."

Minerva frowned. "I suppose so. I hadn't given it much thought."

"That's because you have no imagination."

She snorted and didn't respond, intent on the bills from the grocer.

Her went on, "You said she read the book, Minnie?"

"Yes, and I've told you what she said. What about it?"

"Strange, very strange." There was something in his tone that made her glance over her spectacles at him.

"Fergus?"

He had hooded his eyes, hiding them from her. Oh, how she hated that. But his voice had given him away. He was thinking of that time many years before that had troubled them so much. The world might not have known or cared, but it was an ever present beast that ate their calm and infested their hearts.

"Fergus Jamison," she started warningly.

His eyes opened all the way at last. "She reminds me of…well you know who I'm thinking of."

"That's not very fair, to Katrina I mean."

"No, I suppose it isn't. But it's there all the same. I'd nearly gotten over it until I fetched Lucy. Don't deny it, Lucy looks just like them, just like the Golden Lot as we called them."

Minerva remembered the group of golden haired girls that had become friends. The Golden Lot, she and Fergus had jokingly called them, but then their younger half-sister had become one. One of the Golden Lot. It had begun her decline, and was linked directly with their own pain.

"I remember, you know I do. What's it to do with Katrina?"

"Paint her in your head with yellow hair, blue eyes, and a worldly bearing. Ah, you see it now. She could have lead them."

"Don't, please don't." Minerva felt a stab of fear. She remembered all too well the late nights of hovering near her brother, afraid for what he would do to himself if she so much as dozed for a moment. What he would do when he learned the whole truth. And when he had learnt the truth, he had become even worse. Soulless. Hard. Empty.

He leaned back so that he could rest the chair against the wall behind him. "Pay her well, and never let her come back when the summer is over."

"She didn't come for pay; she came because Andre asked her to."

A silence descended, with the waves and gulls bouncing against it. He let the chair fall forward with a crack, and stood to pace.

"I endured their insults, and their games, their laughter, and when it was done I found it worthless. I found a great deal of pleasure knowing what had happened, did you know that? No? Well, you have a morbid brother, Minnie, and I was glad afterwards. I was glad that the gold plating had been stripped away, glad that the gargoyle was let out of the cage. Things had fallen into their place at last; it was really a beautiful thing, this trouble we went through. Really beautiful."

Minerva felt cold, and whispered, "You're scaring me."

"Do I frighten you? It's nothing like then, I've no desire to check out before my time. Yes, I suppose it does frighten you. I suppose it would be worse if you could understand me. You've tried, that's more than anyone else has given me. I only wish you hadn't had to give up Mr. Cormack for me. I'm a poor trade for a husband."

"You're my brother; do you think I'd leave you?"

He turned and smiled, almost fondly, but the look was replaced with his usual indifference. "All the same, I have frightened you, and still do. I will until one of us dies, and the fear will be over."

"Oh, Fergus stop, stop it!" She dropped her bills and covered her ears. "Don't think it, don't say it, be like everyone else! Oh, please bury it, please come back!"

He sat down again, and said nothing for a long time. At last, Minerva composed herself and gathered the fallen papers. If they shook a little too much, it could have been the wind. The group on the sad started up to the deck and shade.

"I wonder," He ventured, "I wonder what she would say?"

"Don't you dare!"

Before anymore could slip from them, the children charged to the kitchen, shouting for water and Katrina called that some bread and fresh butter had been left out. She sat breathlessly on the steps, running a hand over her red face.

"I really ought to stay out of the sun for a while."

"It's not going to get any cooler," Minerva agreed, hoping weather would stall the words her brother had threatened. It didn't.

Fergus hooded his eyes, and asked casually, "My sister and I were holding a theoretical discussion before you arrived. Tell us your opinion: What can man do when his pain becomes his beauty? To clarify, when something is accepted, lived with, it becomes normalcy. When the memory of the trouble comes again, makes it worse, what then?"

Katrina gave them a strange look and frowned. Fergus had a triumphant gleam in his eyes as Katrina said, "How strange."

"Strange?" He pressed.

"Yes, very. The letter from my uncle this morning asked me the very same thing. Oh, different words, of course, but the same thing. He has his answer, but he insisted I consider the implications."

"What cause could he have to ask you such a thing?" Minerva asked, remember the allusion of insanity from Henry.

The young woman seemed suddenly withdrawn, cautious. Her eyes studied the water carefully before she turned back and answered softly, "That, I'm afraid, is none of your business. Though I dare say, you two would understand better than most. I can't tell you."

"You still have not answered my question." Fergus said evenly, though it was clear he didn't care any longer.

Katrina stood, dusted sand off of her skirt, and said sharply, "No, and I think you did not really want me to. What you do with your pain is your business. If I can help, I will, and you have but to ask. Until then, it is not my affair."

With that, she walked away and went into the Gerard's home. The cry of the gulls echoed sharply against the rocks, and fell silent a moment later.