SHACKLES

CHAPTER NINE

Of late, Papa had been most industrious—on his feet from morning till dusk—all in anticipation of the arrival of the stranger now known to us as Aunt Eloise. His efforts were tireless, yet curiously, he made no changes to the garden, as though it had been forgotten or no longer worthy of attention.

Mama took no part in the preparations. She neither objected nor assisted. The house remained unusually quiet, save for one conversation I happened to overhear. Louisa, ever gentle and well-meaning, clasped Mama’s hand and whispered, “If you continue thus, he shall slip through your fingers.”

Then the day came. Papa ushered Aunt Eloise about the house, conducting what could only be described as a grand tour. He presented her to what seemed a veritable army of maids, all of whom curtsied and offered the usual pleasantries.

As for myself, I spent the afternoon with Gregory. We rifled through my collection of toys, creating kingdoms and adventures of our own making, and when we tired of that, we spoke in hushed, giggling tones about George’s peculiar ear—how it curled ever so oddly at the top, like the petal of a wilted flower. It was the sort of thing that, once noticed, could not be unseen.