He’s black and glossy like a crow. I guess Crow or Raven would
be an odd name. Jackdaw sounds better.” I began to babble, the confidence I displayed in flirtatious situations abruptly dispersing. “There was an old peg-legged sailor used to live in my building. He kept a raven in a cage. Seemed cruel to me. I snuck into his place and let it out one day.”
Recalling that I was meant to be a genteel man who’d only recently been forced to
assume teaching positions, I snapped my mouth closed on any more stories of the
colorful inhabitants of the shabby tenement where I’d most recently lived. My accent was slipping too. I righted it like a woman adjusting her hat and jabbing in a couple of pins.
Sir Richard poured oats into Jackdaw’s feedbox, and the horse moved away from
me to docilely enter his stall. His master stroked the beast’s neck and didn’t turn toward me again as he said, “Thank you for your help. You may go now.”
“Yes. All right. And thank you again for saving me from a long, wet walk.”
I had no more excuse for lingering. I put on my coat and headed out into the rain, jogging swiftly toward the house.
I mentally ran through the events of the last hour, with some imagined
embellishments, and realized that something had shifted. In telling his worries about old Albert McGrew, Sir Richard had opened a door through which confidences might be exchanged.
And in that magnetic moment when we’d been a breath away from giving in to
temptation, that door had been taken off its proverbial hinges. I couldn’t help but believe that sooner or later, one or the other of us would walk through it.
Chapter Eleven
Over the next week, the weather announced that winter truly was just around the
corner. Every day was overcast, blustery, and sometimes rainy. The boys and I couldn’t spend more than five minutes outdoors before freezing wind drove us back inside. With that loss of freedom and sunlight, a gloom settled over me again.
This despair was much deeper and longer lasting than the previous brief bouts I’d
experienced since coming to Allinson Hall. In my life, I’d known hard times and had lost loved ones, but I’d never experienced such a debilitating hopelessness. It took every ounce of my strength to drag my body out of bed and adopt a cheery demeanor for the twins’ benefit. My responsibility to those boys was the beacon that kept me from wallowing in darkness. I was there for them, and to me that meant much more than their education. I’d grown quite fond of the lads and protective of their wellbeing and happiness.
Everyone in the household either accepted or ignored the fact Clive never spoke.
At first, I’d been too new to bring up the subject, particularly with the master of the house. But as I grew more confident in my position as the boys’ teacher and caretaker, I decided it was time to address the issue.
I resolved to seek out Sir Richard and discuss both of his sons’ welfare, whether
or not he wanted to hear what I had to say. But first I would try to learn just a little more about the center of this storm of intense emotions, Lavinia Allinson. Such a sensitive topic must be broached carefully with the twins.
An opportunity presented itself one day during our afternoon art time as I looked
over Clive’s shoulder at his drawing—yet another depiction of a woman haloed in light facing a sinister entity. Whitney had gone to use the WC, and Clive and I were alone in the schoolroom.
“Who is the woman, Clive? Your mum?”
He ignored me and scrubbed with the side of his pencil to make the dark being
even blacker. But then he inclined his head slightly.
I squatted so I was on his level. “And this?” I pointed to the darkness. “What is
this thing?”
Of course he didn’t answer, so I elaborated. “Something bad happened?”
His hand stopped moving.
I lowered my voice. “I understand. My father, brother, and two of my sisters died
almost all at once.
be an odd name. Jackdaw sounds better.” I began to babble, the confidence I displayed in flirtatious situations abruptly dispersing. “There was an old peg-legged sailor used to live in my building. He kept a raven in a cage. Seemed cruel to me. I snuck into his place and let it out one day.”
Recalling that I was meant to be a genteel man who’d only recently been forced to
assume teaching positions, I snapped my mouth closed on any more stories of the
colorful inhabitants of the shabby tenement where I’d most recently lived. My accent was slipping too. I righted it like a woman adjusting her hat and jabbing in a couple of pins.
Sir Richard poured oats into Jackdaw’s feedbox, and the horse moved away from
me to docilely enter his stall. His master stroked the beast’s neck and didn’t turn toward me again as he said, “Thank you for your help. You may go now.”
“Yes. All right. And thank you again for saving me from a long, wet walk.”
I had no more excuse for lingering. I put on my coat and headed out into the rain, jogging swiftly toward the house.
I mentally ran through the events of the last hour, with some imagined
embellishments, and realized that something had shifted. In telling his worries about old Albert McGrew, Sir Richard had opened a door through which confidences might be exchanged.
And in that magnetic moment when we’d been a breath away from giving in to
temptation, that door had been taken off its proverbial hinges. I couldn’t help but believe that sooner or later, one or the other of us would walk through it.
Chapter Eleven
Over the next week, the weather announced that winter truly was just around the
corner. Every day was overcast, blustery, and sometimes rainy. The boys and I couldn’t spend more than five minutes outdoors before freezing wind drove us back inside. With that loss of freedom and sunlight, a gloom settled over me again.
This despair was much deeper and longer lasting than the previous brief bouts I’d
experienced since coming to Allinson Hall. In my life, I’d known hard times and had lost loved ones, but I’d never experienced such a debilitating hopelessness. It took every ounce of my strength to drag my body out of bed and adopt a cheery demeanor for the twins’ benefit. My responsibility to those boys was the beacon that kept me from wallowing in darkness. I was there for them, and to me that meant much more than their education. I’d grown quite fond of the lads and protective of their wellbeing and happiness.
Everyone in the household either accepted or ignored the fact Clive never spoke.
At first, I’d been too new to bring up the subject, particularly with the master of the house. But as I grew more confident in my position as the boys’ teacher and caretaker, I decided it was time to address the issue.
I resolved to seek out Sir Richard and discuss both of his sons’ welfare, whether
or not he wanted to hear what I had to say. But first I would try to learn just a little more about the center of this storm of intense emotions, Lavinia Allinson. Such a sensitive topic must be broached carefully with the twins.
An opportunity presented itself one day during our afternoon art time as I looked
over Clive’s shoulder at his drawing—yet another depiction of a woman haloed in light facing a sinister entity. Whitney had gone to use the WC, and Clive and I were alone in the schoolroom.
“Who is the woman, Clive? Your mum?”
He ignored me and scrubbed with the side of his pencil to make the dark being
even blacker. But then he inclined his head slightly.
I squatted so I was on his level. “And this?” I pointed to the darkness. “What is
this thing?”
Of course he didn’t answer, so I elaborated. “Something bad happened?”
His hand stopped moving.
I lowered my voice. “I understand. My father, brother, and two of my sisters died
almost all at once.
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