Part XXI: New Year

A storm deposited an inordinate amount of snow on the town of Broadburn, making carriage travel to and from the castle impossible.  Haddock had to wait three days until the storm passed before he could make the ride down from the family estate, his horse puffing and panting by the time they made it to the village, having to traverse through thick snowbanks that went up to the animal’s knees for most of the trek.  Thankfully, the sun was out and provided horse and rider with some warmth, and a feeling of hope in Haddocks’ case.  When he arrived at the Marlowe’s house, he had one of the children running around in the yard hold his mount before rapping on the door.  The hurried sound of skirts gliding down the hall made his heart beat faster with the hope that it was Isolde before the door opened a crack, revealing a sliver of Mrs. Marlowe.  Her curious expression immediately changed to match the frigidity of the outdoors.

              “Mr. Haddock,” she said, voice clipped. “We weren’t expecting company today.”

The door was still held like a shield between the two of them.

              “I hope you’re doing well, Mrs. Marlowe?  I came to see how your daughter was faring.  I realize that the snow has made it unbearable for her to come to the castle, and my mother is anxious to have her back.”

              “She hasn’t been feeling well as of late,” Mrs. Marlowe responded from the sliver. “I think it’s because of all that time she spends in that drafty castle of yours.”

              Ignoring the slight, Haddock instead said:

“Will you please send word to us when she feels better?”

              “Yes.  Good day, Mr. Haddock,” Mrs. Marlowe said, and slammed the door.  Haddock felt his innards coil into a tight, cold ball.  When he retrieved his mount from the boy out front he saw movement from the second story window of the house.  He could have sworn it was Isolde he saw duck behind the curtains. 

The ride back to the castle felt twice as long and cold.  The sun was hiding behind a heavy bank of stone-grey clouds, and a strong wind blew down from the mountains.  Haddock found his way from the stables to his room without even remembering how he got there.  Evans wordlessly drifted in and promptly disappeared with Haddock’s wet coat and muddy boots to have them cleaned, a fresh set of clothes on his bed.  Haddock dressed, his mind still in a fog.  He went straight to the library where he sat in front of the fire and mechanically opened up the book he had been reading.  The words, however, were gibberish to his unfocused mind.

The castle was empty, guests and siblings having left to celebrate the coming new year in their own respective homes.  Mrs. Haddock was still upset about what had occurred following the Christmas Ball, staying in her chambers while a select few maids attended on her.  Haddock didn’t blame her for going out of her way to avoid him.  He had acted irrationally when he was supposed to be the mature son.  Grant had had the sense enough to withhold from bringing up the incident, knowing how much their mother had been rattled by it.  He was the first to leave, his excuse being that he “didn’t want to overstay his welcome.”  Ainslay and her brood left soon after, followed by Fiona and Monroe.  The castle that had been bursting with life a few days prior was now back to its silent, uncrowded normalcy.

Haddock stared at the ink-filled pages, trying to force himself to read and distract his mind.  Isolde was still hurt by his actions.  She must have told her mother, otherwise Mrs. Marlowe wouldn’t have treated him so brusquely.  Well, he’d just keep going to their house until the woman finally let him in.  He thought about bringing a bouquet, but quickly realized that all the flowers were dead or dormant.  Then he got another idea.  He got up and began scouring his library.  It took him an hour to find the book he was looking for since it was wedged in the back behind a second row of books.  It was a very small, leather-bound volume with wispy engraving on the front and a slightly-peeling spine.  He brought the small tome over to his writing desk and pulled out a clean sheet of paper.  The words came slowly, and it wasn’t until the sky had darkened to a rich blue that he had filled up the entire piece of paper.  Haddock let it dry before folding the letter up and stowing it in the small book.

The door to the library creaked open revealing Evans in the candlelit hall.

“Dinner is ready, Sir.”

              “Thank you, Evans, but I won’t be dining this evening,” Haddock replied.  Evans cleared his throat then said:

              “Her Ladyship has requested that you dine with her.”

Haddock leaned heavily on the writing desk, releasing a frustrated sigh through his nose.  The book sat squarely between his hands, reminding him of his mistakes from That Evening that needed to be addressed.

              “Tell her I’ll be there momentarily.”

Evans bowed and left, his footsteps ringing down the hall.  Haddock took a few minutes to compose himself before leaving the library and wending his way to the dining room.  His mother was seated at the head of the table, wearing a light mauve dress with a colorful shawl she had received as a gift from Fiona over her shoulders.  She had an expectant look on her face that she hid as she dropped her gaze to the food things on the table.  His mother’s thin fingers rubbed the rim of her soup bowl while Haddock served her then himself.  They sat in silence for half a minute before Mrs. Haddock said:

              “Would you say grace, Malcolm?”

“Oh.  Yes.”

              Haddock said a quick, mumbled prayer, just loud enough for his mother to hear.  They dined in silence for the most part, cutlery clinking against plates and bowls while the wind started howling outside.  A half an hour had passed in which Haddock had mostly shifted his food around his plate.  His appetite had disappeared as he kept ruminating on how he ought to apologize to the woman seated inches away from him, and the one back in the village.

              “Is something wrong with the food, Malcolm?  I could send for Cook to—”

“No, no.  It’s all right, Mother.  It’s just—”

              A yellowish reflection of Haddock stared back at him from his cold, untouched soup.

“I’m sorry.  I was out of line after the Christmas Ball, and I know I shouldn’t have let Grant get to me, but…I didn’t know that Miss Huntington had been invited and that rattled me a bit.  Her engagement to Grant came as something of a shock since the two of them hadn’t been on the best of terms the last time I saw them, and, well, because I had been courting her—seeing her with Grant made me a little upset”—Haddock paused to look up from his reflection to his mother—"I hope I didn’t ruin your holidays entirely.”

              Since it seems as if I already ruined Isolde’s…

Mrs. Haddock had her head cocked at her son, looking like she would have twenty years ago when her little boy had given her a teary apology after he had tried running away because his father had caned him for hitting Grant in church with a hymnal.  She reached a veined hand across the tablecloth and grasped Haddock’s closest hand.  She gave it a soft squeeze and said:

              “It’s all right.  I already forgave you for that little thing.  And I had a talk with Grant too—he should have known better than to act the way he did but that’s Grant for you.  Now eat your food.  Don’t think I didn’t notice you moving it around over dinner, especially your greens.”

              For the first time in three days, Haddock smiled.

                                                                                      *

Now that Mrs. Haddock was back on speaking terms with her son, she made up for lost time by spending most of the evening telling him what had been on her mind and gossiping about relatives who were now outside of the castle walls.  Haddock in turn told her about his visit to the Marlowe’s house and his intention to go back and right things.  Mrs. Haddock suggested he take some of their preserved jams with him to distract Mrs. Marlowe with.  Isolde had told her about her mother’s love of cooking on multiple occasions, and Mrs. Haddock hadn’t forgotten.  She had Cook put together a small gift basket that she was sure would put Haddock back in Mrs. Marlowe’s good graces before she retired to bed.  Haddock fetched the book from the library on his way to his chambers and set it on his nightstand.  Surely enough time had passed for Isolde to let him talk to her…

              He spent a restless night fighting with his sheets as Mrs. Marlowe’s tight-lipped face haunted him in his dreams, slamming doors in his face as he tried to get in from a raging snowstorm.

                                                                                      *

Haddock woke up feeling optimistic about the day until he drew open his curtains and saw a sheet of white.  Another storm had blown in during the night, this one stronger and longer than the last as it prevented even the heartiest from venturing outside.  Haddock spent most of his time pacing the halls like a caged lion, staring out the windows at snow pelting the grounds for long periods of time while Mrs. Haddock knitted and told him to calm down.  The storm howled on for three days, rattling the windows and poking cold gusts through the cracks and under doorways, causing the fire to flicker in the hearths as it moaned in the chimneys.  Haddock began to wish that there had been a full moon this week, at least then he could have braved the storm to the village to see how the Marlowes were faring.  He checked himself when he realized he wouldn’t have been able to express his apologies to Isolde in that form.  Besides, her father might take some shots at him for use as a nice winter coat.

              The New Year arrived with blue skies and wispy clouds, the storm having blown itself out.  Haddock dressed in record speed, skipping breakfast and almost leaving before his mother reminded him about the jams and a flustered Evans came running at him with a coat.  Haddock once again rode down the path to the village, balancing the small basket of jams in one arm while the small book poked his chest from inside his vest pocket.  It took nearly an hour to get to the valley, and both he and the horse were hot and sweaty from the ride.  Snow was piled up on the sides of the streets and caked the rooftops of the buildings.  Long icicles dangled from the roofs and overhangs, slowly melting in the sun.  Townsfolk bundled up in thick coats, hats, and scarves flooded the streets, enjoying the sunshine and cloudless sky.  Haddock saw a pack of children hiding in an alleyway and pelt any unsuspecting passerby with snowballs before one such victim of a larger stature turned on them with an angry growl, causing the children to scatter in all directions with excited squeals.

              When Haddock finally made it to the Marlowe residence, his heart was hammering with apprehension.  As he had expected, the Marlowe children and the neighbors their age were frolicking in the thick snow.  He dismounted and tied his horse to the hitching post, shuffling the basket in his hands before walking up to the house.  Don’t let this be a repeat of last time…  He slipped the book out of his pocket before knocking on the door, nerves twisting his guts.  Just like last time, the sound of swishing skirts came from within.  Mrs. Marlowe opened the door.  Haddock blinked.  He felt like he was experiencing a case of déjà vu.

              “Mr. Haddock,” she said, still not offering him a smile or invitation inside.

“I came to speak to Miss Marlowe, if she’ll see me.  I, ah, also brought this for you,” Haddock said as he held out the basket to her.  Mrs. Marlowe slowly took the gift and lifted the cloth to inspect what was inside.  This took an edge off her sour look.

              “Is Miss Marlowe feeling better?  If not I’ll come again tomorrow, and the day after that if she’s still feeling under the weather…”

He paused.

“I know you’re aware of what happened at The Ball and I would like to express my deepest apologies for my actions then to her.  I behaved like a fool and treated her poorly.”

              Mrs. Marlowe’s eyebrows rose and she colored a bit.  Apparently she thought she had been clever with her knowledge of The Ball.  Haddock held up the small book.

              “If she won’t see me today, will you give this to her?”

Mrs. Marlowe bit her lower lip.

              “I’m sorry, Mr. Haddock.  But I can’t do that for you.”

Haddock’s spirits plummeted.

              “Oh.  I see.”

“Oh, no!  What I mean is, Isolde isn’t here—”
              “Do you know when she’ll be back?” Haddock interrupted eagerly.

Mrs. Marlowe looked genuinely sorry as she said:

              “Well, no.  She was very upset at the time and my brother had sent a letter to offer to have her join him and his family on some travels and well...he said she could stay with them indefinitely.  He’s very well off and another addition to the family—even a temporary one—is no trouble for him.  She departed shortly after you left the last time you were here—I’m so sorry.”

                        This felt much worse than being shot by Sir Drexel.

“And…you don’t know where they will be traveling?”

              “My brother likes to spring these trips on his family as a surprise.  He’s the only one who knows their routes and destinations.”

              Of course.  Haddock nodded in understanding as he slipped the book back into his vest pocket.

“Thank you for letting me know.  Would you send a letter to the castle as soon as she returns?”

              Mrs. Marlowe smiled.

“Of course, Mr. Haddock.”

              Haddock gave the woman a small bow and returned to his horse.  He had mounted and was just swinging the snorting horse around towards the road when Mrs. Marlowe burst out of the house.

              “Wait!  I almost forgot!”

Haddock watched perplexed as Mrs. Marlowe ran up to him and breathlessly handed him a letter.

              “This is for you,” she gasped, “from Isolde.”

Haddock’s insides did a little squirming dance again as he took the letter from Mrs. Marlowe’s extended fingers.

              “Thank you.”

“Mind you, I wouldn’t take all of what she says in there to heart.  She was feeling very raw when she wrote it,” Mrs. Marlowe said with a furrowed brow.  Haddock placed the letter in his pocket with the book.

              “I’ll keep that in mind.  Thank you again, Mrs. Marlowe,” Haddock said, then nudged his mount in the side, sending the horse trotting onto the cobblestone street.  He felt like the letter from Isolde was burning a hole through his clothes and to his skin as he rode back up to the castle.  All he could focus on was that small piece of paper on the ride back to the castle.  When he got back, however, he couldn’t bring himself to break the seal and read what was inside.  He left the letter lying next to the small book on his writing desk and avoided the library for the rest of the day.

                                                                                      *

Mrs. Haddock asked her son to bring her to the library so she could knit in his “book cave” before heading off to bed.  She had Haddock read from one of her favorite books while her needles clicked and the fire popped.  Haddock’s mind was a million miles away from the story, tethered by the letter on the table just a few feet away from him, waiting to be read.  What had Isolde written in there that had made her mother warn him about the contents?  Was she so upset that she was leaving Broadburn for good?  Don’t be stupid, the little voice in his head chided, but it wasn’t convincing enough.

              “Malcolm?”

Haddock jerked out of his thoughts and his mechanical dictation.

              “Yes?”

“I think it would be best if you stopped reading for now.  You were starting to sound very monotone,” Mrs. Haddock said with a small smile. “You also sounded a little distracted.  Were you able to see Miss Marlowe today?”

              Haddock let the book fall closed.

“No.  She’s on a trip with her uncle.”

              “Oh!  For how long?”

“Uhm, I don’t know for sure.  Mrs. Marlowe said that Miss Marlowe’s uncle invited her to travel with him and his family for an extended amount of time.  She doesn’t know when her daughter will be back.”

              Mrs. Haddock stared into the low fire with a frown.

“She could have at least given me notice,” she said quietly.  His mother looked upset, but Haddock knew her better.  She was sad her young friend was gone.  Haddock extended a hand to touch his mother’s forearm.

              “I’ll look into getting you another companion as soon as possible.”

“We shouldn’t be so hasty—she might come back sooner than we expect,” Mrs. Haddock replied with an optimistic note to her voice.  Haddock withdrew his hand and placed it on the cover of the book.

              “As you wish.”

The log in the fireplace broke in half, sending a rush of cinders up into the chimney.  Mrs. Haddock tucked her knitting things in the basket by her feet and wrapped her shawl closer around her shoulders.

“It’s rather late.  Would you mind taking me to my rooms, Malcolm?”

“Of course,” Haddock said with a smile.  Haddock bid his mother goodnight while her attending maids entered the room to help her ready herself for bed.  He lingered in the hallway by the library, mentally sparring with himself on whether or not he should read the letter.  His curiosity won out.  Haddock closed and locked the library doors, then snatched the letter off of the writing desk.  Seating himself in a chair in front of the fireplace, he ripped open the envelope and began reading while he hunched closer to the dying light of the fire.  It was very short:

Mr. Haddock,

I think it would be in the best interest for the both of us if we spent some time apart.  You led me to believe that you were going to ask me something important during the Christmas Ball, and now, quite frankly, I’m not entirely sure of your intentions.  I gathered from the way you acted when Miss Huntington arrived that things had not settled between the two of you—moreover, that you had been in a relationship with her prior to our acquaintanceship.  If you see me as some sort of replacement for her, then your reasoning is very misguided.  It was very clear who your heart was tethered to after Miss Huntington joined the ball as you seemed to forget about my own existence in her wake.

            I implore you to make up your mind on who it is you are attached to before we see each other again.  Please don’t try to seek me out in any way, shape, or form as I would prefer to remain at a distance for the time being.

            Tell your mother that I recommend my sister to her as a companion as I will be gone indefinitely, and that I am very sorry for the sudden inconvenience and that I will miss her dearly.

Thank you for the stole.

Sincerely,

Isolde Marlowe

Haddock still sat bent over by the fire, rereading the letter for the third time and feeling every frosty sentence like a physical stab wound.  His hand twitched to toss it into the dying fire, but he stopped.  No.  He ought to keep this as a reminder. 

Carefully, Haddock folded up the innocent-looking piece of paper and placed it in his vest’s breast pocket.  He moved unconsciously to his writing desk and sat down heavily, lighting a candle.  He pulled a fresh sheet of parchment towards him.  Though he didn’t know where Isolde was, he could still write to her in hopes that once she returned to Broadburn, she would read at least one of his letters of apology…