Part XVII: The Marlowes and Mr. Haddock

Haddock rode into town with Mrs. Haddock’s gift basket tucked under his arm, causing many heads to turn and leaving a wake of gossips in his path as he made a beeline for the Marlowe residence on the other side of the village.  He brought his horse to a halt in front of a small house surrounded by an army of naked trees.  Shrieks of playing children could be heard from somewhere around the back, along with the crunch of snow and the sound of snowballs peppering the yard.  Haddock was instantly reminded of his childhood.  He carefully dismounted with the basket and tied the horse up to the hitching post, beginning to stride to the blue front door of the house when a blustery voice stopped him.

              “Hello there!”

Haddock looked around to find the owner of the voice, then saw a middle-aged man emerge from that narrow path to the house.  He was barrel-chested and grey-headed, his weathered jacket exposing calloused hands.  His face was the type that looked like it wore a continual smile, lined skin crinkling around glassy blue eyes.  The stranger strode up to Haddock and looked him over.  He squinted his eyes as he itched his chin.

              “I don’t owe you money, do I?” he finally said.

“No.  Actually I—”

The man snapped his fingers as his eyes cleared.

              “Oh ho!  Now I’ve got it!”—he cupped a hand to his mouth—"Izzy!  Someone here to see you!”

That’s why he looks so familiar!  So this was Isolde’s father.  Haddock held out his free hand.  Mr. Marlowe stared at it.

“What do you want me to do with that?”

              “Um, you’re supposed to—”

Mr. Marlowe roared with laughter, and Haddock felt very stupid.

“I’m just pulling your leg, Son,” the older man said as he pumped Haddock’s hand up and down heartily.  Isolde came out from behind the house with a young girl in her arms.

              “Mrs. Hart ask you to look after little Viola again, did she?” Isolde’s father inquired as he mussed the child’s golden curls.

              “The poor woman needs a break.  Violet is colicky, and Mr. Hart has the flu, so Viola here will be staying with us until the rest of the family are feeling better.”

              She smiled at Haddock.

“Hello, Mr. Haddock.  I wasn’t expecting to see you until next week.”

              “My mother would prefer it if she could see you sooner.  She even made this basket of treats to bribe you with,” Haddock said, raising the heavy basket for her to see.  Mr. Marlowe’s eyes moved from his daughter to Haddock.

“So, this is my future son in law, eh?”

Isolde ducked her face behind the girl she was holding.  Haddock could still make out the scarlet coloring her cheeks.  A muffled moan of “Papaaa” came from behind the child.  Haddock tried to play off the gregarious Mr. Marlowe’s insinuation with a nervous laugh.

              “Oh, well—"

The big man slapped Haddock on the shoulder, causing him to stumble.

“All in good fun, Mr. Haddock.  Why don’t you join the rest of the family inside?  I’m sure Milly is fixing up a fine lunch right about now.”

              “Really, I couldn’t intrude—”

“Nonsense!” Mr. Marlowe bellowed. “You’re practically family now!  You wouldn’t have to stay very long; and if you’re just too busy to mix with us blundering common folks, that’s fine by—”

This time, Isolde did interject loudly.

              “Papa!”

“I’m just teasing, Izzy,” Mr. Marlowe said, holding up his hands. “Mr. Haddock knows that, doesn’t he?”

Both looked at him.

              “Ahh, Yes, of course.  I suppose I could stay for a few—”

“Excellent!”

Mr. Marlowe practically flung them into the house, shouting: “Milly!  We have a guest!” before heading back outdoors to round up the gaggle of children.  Isolde helped Haddock to shrug out of his long coat and hang it and his hat up to dry on the already crowded rack in the hall before leading him into a whitewashed sitting room.  She kept apologizing profusely for her father’s brash behavior, but Haddock was merely amused.

“Now I know where you get your impetuous streak from,” he teased.  They sat on a worn loveseat, leaving a rather large gap between them.  Haddock sat with the gift basket on his lap, the aroma of minced pies and preserved jams and cinnamon filling his nostrils.  The room was lit up by soft candles in the corners and the frosty winter sunlight.  Haddock took note of the overflowing bookshelves and the evidence of children, which included a wooden horse peeking out from under a seat, an abandoned ragdoll slumped in a chair, and a puzzle that had been recently strewn across a table.

“I’m so sorry about the mess,” Isolde said as Viola clambered off of her lap, snapped up the ragdoll, and tottered out of the room.  Haddock gave her a mock stern look.

“If you keep apologizing I’m going to leave.  Besides, I don’t mind it.  Reminds me of when I was young.”

              Isolde looked like she wanted to ask about what growing up as a werewolf boy was like, but she instead picked up the gift basket and carried it over to the table.  Haddock cleared his throat.

“Were all those children out there…?”

Isolde laughed as she met his eyes.

“Oh, no!  I’m helping Mama look after the neighbors’ little ones.  Some of their parents are sick, and some are working extra hours for Christmas.  You can easily tell which are Marlowes since they’re all older than thirteen.”

              She walked back over to the seat, sat down, and smoothed her skirts.

“How are you feeling?”

              “Better…thanks in part to you.”

“That was mostly Mr. Evans, you know,” Isolde said, tossing her head to hide a blush.  Haddock really did mean what he said.  He just wasn’t sure how to express it to Isolde in words without sounding like a hackneyed character from a sentimental romance novel.  His hand, still covered with healing scabs, wandered over to hers across the gap on the loveseat.  Haddock couldn’t see Isolde’s face.  Her head was lowered so that her curls obscured her features.  The room was beginning to feel very hot from the small fire in the grate.

A loud bang from a stray snowball hitting the window caused them both to jump, hands retreating to their respective laps.  Muffled squealing child’s laughter overpowered by Mr. Marlowe’s scolding mingled with the crackling fire.  Haddock and Isolde turned their heads as one to shuffling in the hallway as a middle-aged woman entered the room with a tray of tea things. 

“Oh.”

Her eyebrows and the corners of her mouth rose when she took in the scene.  Haddock jumped up like he was sitting on hot coals.

“You must be Mrs. Marlowe.  It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said with a bow. “Ah, I brought a gift basket from my mother for your family,” he added, motioning to the basket on the table.

“Ohhh, how lovely!”  Mrs. Marlowe exclaimed.

Mrs. Marlowe had the same brunette hair as her daughter, though with more of a grayish tint to her curls.  Her face was rosy and lined but still held a youthful look, and she was about Isolde’s height with a thickset figure. 

“It’s very nice to meet you too, Mr., um…”

“Ah, Mr. Haddock, Ma’am.”

              Mrs. Marlowe ducked her head.

“Mr. Haddock”—she turned to her daughter, motioning with the tray in her hands to the table occupied by the unfinished puzzle—“Isolde?  If you wouldn’t mind giving your mother a hand?”

              “Oh, yes,” Isolde said, bustling over to her mother’s side and brushing the puzzle into a box while Mrs. Marlowe began to set the tea things down.  From the table, Haddock heard Mrs. Marlowe whisper loudly: “…He’s so polite too!  Not what I’d expect a wealthy hermit to be like at all!”  Haddock made a mental note to start coming down to the town more often.  He needed to get rid of this recluse stigma surrounding the Haddock family.  Mrs. Marlowe returned to the sitting area carrying two cups of tea.  She handed one to Haddock with a, “There you are, Mr. Haddock,” then sat across from the love seat.  Isolde resumed her place on the other side of the love seat, cradling a teacup on her lap.  With the addition of Mrs. Marlowe came the feeling of an awkward atmosphere having descended upon the room.  Mrs. Marlowe sat beaming from Isolde to Haddock while the latter two stared into their undrinked teacups.

              “Do you not like tea, Mr. Haddock?” Mrs. Marlowe inquired with a slight frown.  Does she think I think her tea is unrefined?  This could very well be his future mother-in-law.  First impressions are everything, Malcolm.

              “Oh, no, no.  I love tea,” Haddock said, then gulped down half the contents of the cup.  His throat felt like he had just swallowed fire.  He held up a hand to clear his throat and to hide his watering eyes.  Oh, that hurt. 

              “So,” Mrs. Marlowe said, “I heard from Isolde that you’ve traveled all over Europe, Mr. Haddock.  Biscuit?”

Haddock confusedly thought that the woman was calling him “Biscuit,” until he realized she was holding out said article of food in front of him.

              “Uh, yes.  Thank you,” he said, taking the proffered treat.

“I’ve always wanted to go to Venice, myself.  It has such a very romantic atmosphere!  Have you been there?  Of course you have.  I remember when I was just a girl my aunt and uncle took me on a tour of the coast and let me tell you, I had the time of my life!  I haven’t been back since, well, not since having to take care of Isolde and the rest of the children, but I would love to go back again sometime.  More tea?”

              “No thank you—”

“Will you be staying for lunch, Mr. Haddock.”

              “Ah, well, I didn’t plan on it…”

Mrs. Marlowe’s face began to fall.

“…But I guess I could stay,” Haddock said.  Mrs. Marlowe handed him another biscuit and began to detail the lunch in store when a resounding crash from somewhere in the house interrupted her.

              “Peter!  I thought I told you to stay away from those cookies!” Mrs. Marlowe said as she slammed her teacup down and bounced to her feet.  She flew in the direction of the destruction with a disciplinary exclamation falling from her lips.  A combination of distant scolding and the interminable ticking of a grandfather clock somewhere in the house drifted back to Haddock and Isolde in the sitting room.  Haddock inched closer towards Isolde, who looked thoroughly embarrassed.

              “I’m so sorry—"
“What did I tell you about apologizing?” Haddock said teasingly.  Isolde smiled, the bright red softly going down in her cheeks.  Haddock leaned in close to quickly ask Isolde about accompanying him at his mother’s extravagant Christmas ball before Mrs. Marlowe returned.

              “I didn’t tell your mother and father this, but I also came to invite…you…to…”

A crowd of children ranging from six to eighteen had filtered into the sitting room and now acted as a whispering, goggling audience.  A fourteen-year-old girl with large brown curls came up next to Isolde and whispered loudly: “Is this the handsome man you said is courting you, Izzy?”

Isolde’s face reddened once again.  Meanwhile, Viola was trying to scramble onto Haddock’s lap, impeded by his height and the beat-up ragdoll she was fiercely clutching.

              “Viola, no!” Isolde hissed, starting to move to snatch the girl away.

“It’s fine,” Haddock said with a smile as he lifted Viola up the rest of the way and sat her on a knee.  The little girl swung her legs and looked up at Haddock with a gap-toothed grin.  Haddock noticed Isolde watching him out of the corner of her eye with an odd look on her face.  He raised a heavy eyebrow.  Isolde’s fingers twisted into her skirt as she fidgeted under the watch of their juvenile audience.

              “Oh, I, um…you didn’t strike me as the type who liked…”

Haddock merely grinned at her.

              “I’ll let you make a more concrete assessment on that unfounded observation of me once you meet my nieces and nephews.  That is, if you would be interested in coming to my mother’s Christmas ball—?”

              “Of course!”

Isolde blurted out her reply as her mother’s tones could be heard coming down the hall.  Mrs. Marlowe entered the room, patting her skirts with her hands, the annoyance at having to scold Young Peter shifting to slight surprise.

              “Oh!  Are you all ready for lunch then?” she asked, addressing the flock of children.  She was met with a chorus of energetic affirmatives.

              “Kitchen,” she said, and she didn’t have to say anything more.  The children scurried out of the room as if it was suddenly the last place they wanted to be, pouring around her like she was a rock amidst a stream.  Haddock made to let down Viola, but she squealed and planted her stubby fingers into his arm.  He let her remain on his lap, and she resumed amiably swinging her legs yet again.  Mrs. Marlowe turned a smile upon Isolde and Haddock.

              “Well, come along then!  It’s not just a meal for the little ones.”

Carrying Viola, Haddock followed Mrs. Marlowe and Isolde down the hall and into a cramped kitchen where even more children had gathered.  Mr. Marlowe was sitting squeezed at the head of the table, shirt sleeves rolled up exposing strong and hairy arms.  Isolde looked like she wanted to apologize to Haddock about the horde of children and the overcrowded eating situation, but Haddock shot her a “don’t even think about it” look.  They squashed in around the old wooden table as Mrs. Marlowe helped serve food to the younger children.

              Overall, the meal was loud and messy, but the food and company were enjoyable.  Haddock wasn’t able to leave until two hours afterwards, as Mr. and Mrs. Marlowe had herded him back into the sitting room to learn more about their potential new addition to the family.  Isolde mysteriously disappeared when the children finished with the lunch and left to go back outside or into their rooms.  Haddock found that he was still holding Viola when he finally said he ought to be leaving, and almost walked out the door with her when Mrs. Marlowe laughingly pointed out his error.  She exchanged his coat and hat for the girl, wished him farewell, and thanked him profusely for the gift basket as she and her husband waved at him from the door.  Haddock saw that Mr. Marlowe had thoughtfully seen to his horse while he had been distracted by Isolde’s family.  There was evidence of oats strewn across the snow, and his mount looked relaxed and amiable, a hindleg cocked as he swished his tail.  Haddock patted the horse and began to untie the reins from the post when something compelled him to look back at the house.  He saw Isolde in the upper story window.  She waved then began writing on the fogged window: See you soon M.  Haddock smiled and touched a hand to his hat in acknowledgement.  Mounting his horse, he threw one last look back at her before taking off down the road.