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Chapter Text

Saturday, 2 April 1927

“Mam, are we there yet?”

The nine-year old had been asking the same question at regular intervals since they’d left their home in Scarborough the previous evening. The journey, a combination of rail and bus, had taken mother and son about 10 hours.

“Just a little further, love,” Mrs Audrey Hall told him, trying to hold back her exasperation and weariness. They had to depart their home swiftly, and her son took every opportunity to voice his displeasure at being suddenly uprooted and expected to move to an unfamiliar place.

“How much more further?” he whinged, kicking the seat in front of him out of boredom. She knew he was tired after such a long journey. It was a confusing time for her boy, but there was little she could do about it at present.

The elderly man in the seat turned around and gave them a sour face.

“Sorry,” Audrey said quickly, putting a firm hand on her son’s knees. “Edward, stop. We’ll be off the bus soon. When we get to Darrowby, I have an interview with my new employer. I want you to be on your best behaviour.”

Edward gave her an impish look, and she responded with her signature, unyielding gaze that brooked no argument. “I need this job. This is our chance to start over and make a new life.”

“But I don’t want a new life. I want to go home.”

His continued whinging was grating on the last nerve Audrey had left. She was usually so patient and understanding. She adored her son, yet the last 48 hours had so thoroughly tested her resolve that she wasn't convinced she was made of sturdy stuff, often fighting back sudden tears that threatened to flood her cheeks. As overwhelming as life was currently, the only thing to do was move forward. There was no other choice. She had a little boy to look after, and ensuring he stayed on a good path was just one of many worries currently cluttering her mind. She hoped that a new start would do them both good. Scarborough held many ghosts that she was grateful to leave behind. She prayed they wouldn’t follow.

“I know you want to go home, son, but that’s not possible. I need a job and the job is in Darrowby. You’re going to be on your best behaviour, yeah?” She gave him another look, one that told him it was no use arguing.

He sighed. “Yes, mam.”

“Good.”

The countryside rolled past in a blur of dew-damp hedgerows and misty fields, the window panes rattling with every rut in the winding dirt road. Edward pressed his forehead to the glass, shoulders slumped, watching sheep nibble at tufts of grass and imagining the sea at Scarborough, the cry of gulls replaced now by the distant bleating of lambs. Every so often, he cast longing glances at his mother, as if hoping she might change her mind and instruct the driver to turn back.

Audrey clutched her gloves as tightly as she could, her knuckles whitening. She mentally rehearsed what she would say at the interview, each phrase turning over in her head, half-drowned by Edward’s complaints and the persistent ache in her injured wrist. She read the last letter she’d received from her prospective employer in which he detailed her responsibilities and expectations, including the instructions for finding his house. The bus juddered to another stop, letting on a farmer with mud-caked boots and a basket of eggs, filling the air with a faint, earthy aroma.

Soon, the bus took a sharp bend, and a sign appeared, painted white with black letters: “Darrowby – 10 miles.” A ripple of anticipation ran through Audrey, mingled with apprehension. She straightened Edward’s cap and brushed a stray lock of hair from his brow.

“Not long now,” she said, her voice softer, almost lost beneath the engine’s growl. Edward met her eyes just for a moment, then looked away, cheeks puffed out in silent protest.

Audrey’s heart ached for him, but she steeled herself, determined to see this through—for both their sakes. There was simply no other choice.

A half-hour later, the bus arrived in Darrowby. Looking around, Audrey saw a small village of stone buildings and a cobblestone road surrounded by rolling green hills. Edward scuffed his shoe against the road, chin tucked into his coat. Audrey looked down both directions of the road, then took a deep breath, determined not to let her weariness show. She carried a bag in each hand, even though her wrist ached, with Edward clutching his one, and they started down the lane, going by the instructions in her letter. She and Edward had to leave most of their belongings behind in Scarborough. They had packed in haste, taking only clothes and a few personal items. Edward had grabbed a few toys that were dear to him. He was in tears when they left, which broke Audrey’s heart.

A short walk brought them to the heart of Darrowby. Audrey stopped, checked the instructions once again in the letter she clutched in her gloved hand, and tried to orient herself. “Nearly there, love,” she murmured. He nodded, silent and stony-faced, but didn’t resist when she gently guided him forward.

Soon, they were standing in front of the house. Upon arrival, she took out a handkerchief, wet it with her tongue and cleaned Edward’s face.

“Mam!”

“I don’t need a nanny!”

“For the hundredth time, I’m not hiring a nanny!” Siegfried Farnon bellowed from the stove where he was burning bacon and toast but didn’t particularly care because he had a full day ahead that included an interview with yet another prospective housekeeper and a bunch of farm visits. He’d gone through three housekeepers in as many weeks, all quitting within 24 hours. The house itself was a disaster zone, its clutter practically breeding smaller clutter, and one run-in with the curmudgeonly vet was all it took. They were out of there faster than one could say "flea bath," and that was even before factoring in the constant parade of animal patients through the house and Siegfried's brother's rather enthusiastic dramatic re-enactments of literature's most tragic death scenes using kitchen knives and jars of strawberry jam. The last housekeeper was treated to a montage from “Titus Andronicus”.

Siegfried knew that it would be difficult for anyone to work at Skeldale House, what with his proclivity to be loud and dramatic, and his 12-year old brother who could be…a ham. But he also knew that they needed help. His wife had died three years ago, an event that shook him to his core and had cast a dark cloud over his life, a cloud that had remained. His and his brother, Tristan’s, mother had died unexpectedly a couple of years back. With their father having passed when Tristan was a toddler, Siegfried had been suddenly thrust into the role of caretaker for the boy. He got on with it, but having to be a father to a 10-year old while still mourning his wife, and now mother…it was overwhelming, and he was secretly somewhat resentful. He tried to never show it, as it wasn’t Tristan’s fault, but it bubbled up at times, especially when his little brother displayed his more mischievous or shiftless attributes. He loved his brother, and he tried his best, but he was drowning.

“Doesn’t matter. She won’t last long, anyway.” Tristan said confidently, taking a drink of his milk.

“Tristan, listen to me.” Siegfried thought about begging the lad to go easy on the newest hire. He thought about telling him that he was overwhelmed with work, that he needed someone to keep the house clean and to do their laundry, that they might fall apart without someone to help with the work. Instead, he went for, “I’ll give you a shilling if this one lasts a week.”

“Make it two bob and I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

“Two bob??” Siegried exclaimed, waving smoke away from the burning bacon only for it to completely engulf the kitchen. “I’d sooner send you to the workhouse!” A goat made its way into the kitchen, grabbing a piece of toast from the table, chewing it as it walked away, a trail of bready carnage left on the floor in its wake.

Siegfried sighed. “Fine. Two bob.”

Just then, a knock came at the door. The older Farnon brother stopped what he was doing and pulled the bacon off the stove. He hurriedly wiped his hands. “Remember, I want you on your best behaviour,” Siegfried said emphatically, pointing at him.

“Is that my new nanny?”

“Once again, she is not your nanny!”

Tristan loved getting a rise out of his big brother. It was so easy. He laughed and got up from the table, following him to the door.

Siegfried threw the door open and was stunned. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.

“This is Skeldale House, yeah? You’re Siegfried Farnon?” a slender, brunette lady in a blue dress and coat asked. She couldn’t be older than 30, and dare he say, pretty.

“Yes?” He stood there dumbfounded.

“I’m Audrey Hall. We’ve corresponded about the available housekeeping position. … Is there something wrong, Mr Farnon?” she questioned.

“Pardon, Mrs Hall. I just didn’t expect you to—”

“He’s saying he’s shocked you’re not old with warts. Do you have warts, Mrs Hall?” Tristan grinned.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she gave him a look that quieted him. “I’m here for the interview.”

“Yes, yes, please come in.” He stepped aside, nearly tripping over a stack of shoes and boots, and pulled Tristan to him to allow her room to enter.

The first things she saw was smoke clinging to the ceiling and a goat with a ribbon around its neck making its way through the house, several strips of blackened bacon in its mouth. The three of them watched it disappear from sight.

“Aunt or sister?” Audrey deadpanned, causing a grin to break out on Tristan’s face.

“Patient!” Siegfried faced turned red as he puffed his cheeks in indignation. “My surgery is in my house, after all.”

Audrey let out a small laugh. “Is that what you call it?” She raised an eyebrow at Tristan, who only grinned wider.

Before Siegfried could offer any explanation, a muffled bleat sounded from somewhere in the house, followed by a clatter as a chicken attempted, and failed, to perch atop an umbrella stand.

“It depends on the day,” Tristan interjected. “They’re the only living things that will put up with my brother. He doesn’t get on well with people, you see. I personally think they’re more friends than patients. They fill a void deep in here.” He dramatically patted his chest under which his heart lay. “Today, I’d call it a friend.”

Audrey lowered her head and put a fisted hand to her mouth to suffocate the laughter attempting to escape.

“Tristan, will you shut up??” sighed the vet, trying to keep from shouting and risk scaring off the lady.

“I see you like to keep things lively,” she observed, suppressing a smile. She caught Tristan’s eye as he stifled a snort of laughter, and the two shared a conspiratorial glance. Siegfried ordered him outside to feed the patients in the shed so he could continue the interview in peace.

Once they were alone, Siegfried then showed her the ground floor of the house, including his surgery. As they rounded the corner into the parlour, he paused, the colour rising in his cheeks as he noticed the remnants of straw laying on the seat of a nearby armchair. “My apologies, Mrs Hall. We do try to keep order, but as I said in our correspondence, the house needs a lot of care. More care than I’m capable of giving it. With patients streaming in and out daily, cleanliness is a priority. There’s also the laundry and the cooking.”

“Do I need to set a place for the goat, as well?”

Just as Siegfried started to bluster again, Audrey gave him a little mischievous smile to show she was only teasing.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from a house like this,” she replied, her tone warm. “I’m sure there’s never a dull moment.”

“Right. Well, you have a room on the second floor. There is indoor plumbing. It was installed last year. It became a necessity due to the surgery. It helps make things easier. I had a telephone put in last month to make it easier to reach me in case of emergencies. I don’t get many calls, but you’ll be expected to answer the phone when it rings.”

If he hadn’t been talking, he would’ve held his breath. He had been anticipating an older woman, and, if he was telling the truth, a less…attractive…woman like the previous housekeepers. He needed someone with experience. His concern was that she’d find a suitor soon enough and leave, and he’d be right back to where he started. He sorely needed a break to catch his bearings. Since the deaths of his wife and mother, he’d been circling the bottom of a short spiral.

What he couldn’t have known was that Audrey was in desperate need of a job and would have taken it even if all his animal patients were boarded inside the house. There weren’t a lot of options for her currently, and she would make the best of any situation she was fortunate enough to find herself in. She could deal with boisterous boys and blustery men.

“I’ll take it,” she said without pretense.

“Sorry?” he asked, thinking he had heard incorrectly. “You will?” The other housekeepers had accepted the position with a wariness that showed on their faces. This one had a steely determination about her that rendered him speechless and, admittedly, somewhat impressed.

“It’s a job, iin’t it?”

“Well, yes.”

“Then why are you surprised?”

“No reason,” he said quickly, thinking it better to keep his mouth shut and count his blessings. He couldn’t risk scaring her off after having just met. Although, she seemed to be made of stern stuff and didn’t look like she could be scared so easily.

“There is one thing, Mr Farnon,” she added, a little hesitantly. “I didn’t mention it in me letter, but I have a son. He’s nine. Name’s Edward. He’s with me and—”

“No problem at all, Mrs Hall. He is welcome here.” Siegfried couldn’t afford to say no. She hadn’t run away screaming yet in spite of everything she’d seen; he could deal with her child, if need be. He was already dreaming of meals that weren’t burnt and crisp shirts and a clean floor.

“I promise he won’t be in the way,” she assured him.

“And I promise my 12-year old will be in the way and often. Now, where are your bags? I’ll take them upstairs and show you and your boy to your rooms.”

Siegfried led them out the front door, finding Edward where his mother left him with the bags, kicking a rock around. “Hello, young man. Welcome to Skeldale House. Farnon. Siegfried. Don’t ask.”

Edward stared at him like he was the strangest creature he’d ever seen. Audrey gave her son’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, silently encouraging him forward. Edward looked up at Siegfried with wide, cautious eyes, as if measuring the man and the house in a single glance. The moment hung between them, tinged with curiosity and uncertainty.

“Go on, Edward,” Audrey prodded him gently.

“Hello, Mr Farnon.”

Siegfried managed a warm, if slightly awkward, smile. “You look like you’ve had a long trip. Come inside and we’ll get you and your mother settled. This is your home now, too.”

With a glance at his mother who nodded, together they squared their shoulders and prepared to step across the threshold of their new home.

Chapter Text

In the face of life’s challenges, Audrey Hall lived by one simple philosophy: "get on with it." No matter the hand fate dealt, she saw little point in bellyaching or wallowing in self-pity. Tears, she'd discovered, neither put food on the table nor settled the accounts. Life, she came to know with grim certainty, wasn’t always easy, and so one's only recourse was to keep plodding forward. Yet, even as she submitted to this unavoidable reality, a quiet ache settled in her heart for her young son who was now forced to learn such a bitter lesson far too soon.

Audrey tried not to dwell on where she'd gone wrong in her life; there was simply no point. Her choices wouldn't change owt. Robert, her husband, had been utterly broken by the Great War. They'd married at seventeen, a whirlwind romance she'd once believed was true love. They'd only been courting for two months when Robert received his notice to ship out. On a whim, clinging to the naïve belief that love conquered all, they'd tied the knot without rings, without money, and truthfully, without much of anything at all. He sailed the very next day. Audrey, wanting to be of use and do her duty to her country, joined the Women's Royal Naval Service.

She'd become pregnant during one of his rare furloughs. It had been nearly a year since they'd last seen each other, and they spent every moment wrapped in each other's arms. Yet, even then, Audrey had glimpsed the war's toll on his person. His eyes, she noticed, were already haunted by the horrors he'd witnessed, or perhaps even committed. By the time he finally came home, he was a mere specter of the man who had left, already firmly in the grip of drink. Though married life had its difficulties, her baby boy gave her immeasurable joy. Audrey doted on little Edward, making him tiny clothes and packing him everywhere. She was a proud mother who fell asleep each night inhaling his soft baby scent as he slept in her arms.

As the years marched on, the family of three barely scraped by. With Robert incapable of contributing financially, Audrey had taken to working outside the home, which drew no small amount of scorn and wagging tongues from her neighbours. Yet, she kept her head held high, doing what was necessary to keep her family, especially her precious son, fed and clothed. Even though their circumstances were dire and the family was always one crisis from being on the streets, Audrey’s employment and miraculous ability to somehow make something from nothing kept them afloat.

Robert's drinking, however, continued to spiral out of control, and with it, his temper. The first time he ever raised a hand to Audrey was after discovering that she’d hidden a portion of her wages to keep him from drinking them away. He'd erupted in a violent rage, storming out of the house with her hard-earned money, no doubt to squander it on liquor. In the early days, Audrey managed to shield her beloved son from the worst of his father's behaviour. But as Edward grew, Robert further deteriorated, and it became increasingly common for the boy to hear his father breaking things while shouting furiously at his mother, calling her vile names. Audrey had believed she'd done a decent job of shielding her boy from the worst of it and had kept Robert’s harmful influence at bay, yet when whispers reached her that Edward was running with a known gang of young ruffians, notorious for thieving and other mischief, she was forced to confront a painful truth: despite her every effort, her husband’s conduct was, irrefutably, affecting him.

The past year had seen more stern letters from Edward's headmaster than all the previous ones combined, each a grave warning, threatening expulsion if his behaviour didn't improve. The breaking point came one afternoon when Edward joined her at the house where she worked. She didn’t trust him to be left alone, concerned he’d get into more trouble, so she’d dragged him with her. But apparently, he didn’t need to be alone to find trouble. Audrey's heart shattered into a million pieces as she watched him deftly slip a small figurine from the mantelpiece into his pocket. Furious and heartbroken, she confronted him instantly, and as expected, he lied, even after she told him she saw him take it. Retrieving the pilfered item and replacing it on the mantel, she finished her duties with a heavy heart, then regretfully resigned. Mercifully, she’d already seen the housekeeping advertisement for a man who ran a veterinary surgery in Darrowby, a rural farming village in the Yorkshire Dales. Desperate to save her son and give him a better future, and also get away from her husband, she made a plan to take her son and leave Scarborough. Of course, it hadn’t gone smoothly, as she was reminded anytime her wrist ached. But when it came to pain, nothing—not even her injured wrist—could rival the ache in her heart.

These ghosts haunted Audrey, but she stood resolute in the face of such hardship, unwilling to betray even a hint of her suffering. This opportunity was a fresh start for both her and Edward, and she was determined they would make the very best of it. In her quiet, steadfast way, Audrey truly believed that sometimes, simply carrying on was the greatest act of hope imaginable.

Siegfried was off to farm visits for the rest of the day. He'd offered Audrey the day to settle in and rest after her long journey, but one look at the house's lamentable state had her quickly deciding to start cleaning immediately. Besides, the more she scrubbed and polished, the less time she had to think about anything else, which was a welcome reprieve in itself. Edward, however, was still moping about, completely miserable about the move and, most grievously, about being forced to share a bedroom with a boy he didn't know. Tristan, in contrast, had taken the news in stride. The housekeeper and her son had piqued his curiosity.

“How are you settling in, darling?” Audrey asked her boy, leaning over to drop a kiss on the top of his head. She’d slipped on a floral pinny and was standing in front of the mirror in her new room pinning back her dark hair.

“Mam, I’m not a baby!” he scowled, running a hand through his hair trying to shake out the invisible remnants of the kiss. He detested being treated like a child, especially with his mother having hovered oppressively close for the better part of a year now. Whenever she wasn’t working, she had an eye on him. Even when she was working, she always seemed to know what he got up to. It was uncanny, like she had eyes everywhere.

He sat hunched on the edge of her bed, wary of wandering the unfamiliar house and seething with resentment for being dragged to the middle of nowhere by his mother. As for the man and the boy who lived there, he wasn't sure what to make of them. All he knew was that he certainly didn't feel like talking to anyone and he knew he was going to hate living there.

“You’re my baby,” she smiled softly, putting the last pin in her hair. Her sleeve hitched up slightly as she fiddled with the pin, revealing a nasty, deep purple bruise encircling her wrist. Noticing, and slightly panicked that her son had seen, she immediately lowered her arm, the sleeve covering the bruise once more. She truly didn’t think Edward had seen, so she continued on as if nothing was amiss. Edward did see it, however. He had seen everything. As much as she tried to protect him from his father, he heard and saw more than she knew. And he spent a lot of time pretending he didn’t.

“Let’s go to the kitchen. You can keep me company while I work.” She patted his back tenderly, prompting him to stand and follow her.

A defeated "Fine," was all he could manage.

Before they even stepped into the kitchen, however, they saw Tristan sprawled out on the floor, eyes shut with his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth, a butcher knife in his hand and what appeared to be a healthy dollop or ten of strawberry jam smeared all over his chest. Audrey approached him, her arms crossed in front of her.

“If you used the last of the jam, Tristan Farnon, you’ll help me make more. Get up, now, lad. I think your goat did her business just about where your head is lying.”

He sighed, opening his eyes and patting the back of his head—just checking for rogue goat droppings, naturally. "Didn't I scare you even a little??"

“Aye. I’m scared we’ll be out of jam for tea,” she said, turning on the tap and starting to gather the dirty dishes.

Hearing voices in the kitchen, the goat guest promptly decided to circle back, convinced there was probably food involved. She sauntered in, bold as brass, and immediately set about trying to lick the jam right off Tristan. Audrey saw and went immediately over to her.

“Ey up! That’s for our tea, you silly creature!” Audrey petted her affectionately and laughed, belying her stern voice. “Tristan, put her outside or she’ll eat everything in the whole bloomin’ house. Surely, she has her own home and food out there.”

“She’s staying in the shed while Siegfried treats her. That where the animals stay when they’re here,” Tristan explained, standing up to address the goat. “Vera, this is Audrey, the new housekeeper. Audrey, this is Vera, the house wrecker.” Vera proceeded to bleat her greeting or perhaps protest her newly given epithet, one couldn’t be too sure.

Out of the corner of her eye, Audrey saw a goose waddling around the place like it owned it. From what little she knew of her new employer, it probably did.

“How about you boys collect all the animals loose in the house and return them to the shed?” she suggested, starting to wash dishes. “I’m going to be scrubbing the floors soon enough and I don’t want owt to soil them.”

A smile spread across Tristan’s face, and he nudged Edward playfully with his elbow. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone. They love new people.”

Edward, who had remained quiet beside the door, gave a rueful glance at the goat nibbling on a stray dish rag. “I can’t tell if you’re taking the mickey or if you’re being serious. How many animals are we talking about, exactly?” he inquired with a hint of apprehension. He’d never dealt with animals before. There was no room for farm animals where they lived in Scarborough. He’d never even had a dog before.

Tristan continued to grin, eyeing Vera playfully. “Well, Vera found her way in, and I think the hens are still under the table. Oh, and the duck. Her name’s Pamela. I heard her in the hallway earlier. I feel I must warn you, though. She’s partial to shoelaces; tries to take them right out of the shoes. I think there’s a piglet on the run too. Her name is Greta, after Garbo. My brother fancies her so he named the pig after her. Haven’t seen her in a while, though.”

Audrey didn’t turn around, but her voice carried a note of exasperated amusement. “Go on, boys. I expect a house free of feathers, fur, and whatever else before tea. And Tristan—wipe that jam off your chest before you go, or you’ll have all manner of creature trying to attack you. Edward, try your best to keep clean.”

She got immediate replies—“Yes, Mrs H” and “Yes, Mam”—and the boys escorted Vera to the shed before returning for the rest of the menagerie. Catching the hens, the duck, that bold goose, and apparently a secret rabbit hiding in the parlour, proved to be a loud, boisterous affair. Audrey caught snippets of the chaos—squawks, shouts, hisses, and frantic flapping—as she deftly washed all the dishes, a silent smile playing on her lips.

Finally, only Greta the piglet remained, and she was proving herself a magnificent menace. She led the boys on a terrific chase through the house, thwarting their every turn. Furniture was bumped, spills were taken, and the boys collided with each other a time or two in their frantic pursuit. In an attempt to work smarter, not harder, Tristan and Edward decided to split up and corner her, but Greta was simply too cunning and far too fast. Audrey, amidst her dishwashing, could hear the boys loudly strategizing, their voices echoing through the house as they tried to outwit the elusive piglet. Eventually, when Greta had apparently had quite enough of the game, she sought refuge in the kitchen from her would-be captors, coming to a halt right beside the housekeeper. The slight nudge against her shoe caused Audrey to glance down, only to find the tiny, bright pink piglet gazing up at her.

“You’re terribly cute, sweetheart. But you don’t belong in me kitchen.” She dried her hands then lifted the little piglet into her arms. The boys came running in, panting.

“How did you do that?? That pig’s a nuisance!” Tristan exclaimed, doubling over to catch his breath, one of his blonde curls falling over his forehead. Edward followed close behind, cheeks flushed, one shoelace nearly pulled out of his shoe in a way that suggested Pamela had tried to claim her prize.

He replied confidently, “Me mam can do anything.”

Audrey’s lips curved into a little smile at Edward’s compliment, a smile she quickly hid lest he catch on. She didn't want to make him self-conscious, but hearing those words meant more to her heart than he could possibly know, especially considering his blatant unhappiness about being brought here. She dared to hope this was the beginning of a breakthrough for their strained relationship.

A faint trail of muddy footprints and feathers marked the path of chaos the boys left behind—evidence of their valiant roundup. She handed the piglet to Tristan to take outside to join its two-legged and four-legged friends in the shed.

Tristan held the squealing, squirming piglet, his face alight with the thrill of their adventure. “After Greta here, that’s everyone—except the goldfish, but I suppose you don’t mind him in the parlour.”

“As long as he doesn’t make a mess on me floor, he can stay. Now, out with you. I need to clean the floors before the next animal comes through.”

“Historically speaking, it’ll probably be a cow,” Tristan proffered, leading Audrey to believe it had absolutely happened before and would likely happen again in the near future. Audrey fixed him with one of her patented no-nonsense looks. She was beginning to suspect Skeldale House was an animal pilgrimage site, given the sheer number of creatures trundling through its rooms.

“I’m just pulling your leg, Mrs. H. … Or am I?” he arched his eyebrow and attempted to look serious.

“Out with you,” she laughed, and the boys high-tailed it out the backdoor to return Greta to the shed.

“Do you want to do the honours?” Tristan asked Edward, offering him the pig.

“All right.” Edward took the wiggly piglet and sat her on the ground. She quickly scurried off to her pen.

“Since you’re new and all, want me to show you around?”

The younger boy simply shrugged. There was nothing else for it, so why not? "Sure," he mumbled, casting his gaze about. As far as the eye could see, they were enveloped by the rolling, rain-freshened green hills of the Yorkshire Dales. The sky might have been cloudy, but everything felt wide open, wild even—a stark, almost shocking contrast to the familiar urban clamour of Scarborough. Here, the quiet was profound, broken only by the whisper of the wind or the distant call of an animal. It was not, Edward realised with a knot in his stomach, surroundings he was used to in the slightest. He felt even more alone and slightly claustrophobic.

“You’ll get used to it, I’m sure,” Tristan told him, as though he could read his mind. “I’ve been to Scarborough once. Not like Darrowby, that’s for sure.

“Ah reckon,” the boy responded, not wanting to continue this particular conversation, not when it was so close to his heart. He couldn’t quite voice all that disturbed his heart and mind, and his mam didn’t need any more trouble.

Tristan seemed to understand and stuck to showing Edward around all the outbuildings. He introduced him to each of the animals and gave him interesting tips and tricks for exploring Darrowby that all boys their ages should know. According to him, of course.

“If you ever want to be alone, the barn’s a good place to hide. You might not be totally alone if there’s a cow or horse in there. You never know what’s going to show up. But no one can see you if you climb to the loft and go all the way to the back,” he said, showing him the inside of the barn.

Edward thought it sounded like just the place he needed. They quietly walked around the field, kicking rocks around and spotted sheep and cattle on distant hills.

“I like your mother,” Tristan mused, seemingly out of the blue. “She’s not like the other housekeepers we’ve had. She’s nice.”

“Where’s your mam?” Edward asked, wondering, for perhaps the first time since arriving, why Tristan lived with his brother. The boy hadn’t mentioned his parents once.

“Dead as a doornail, I’m afraid.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Edward replied, feeling horrible for asking. He blinked, not sure what else he should say.

“S’all right. My dad’s dead, too. I don’t remember him. He died when I was a tot. After my mother died, my brother took me in. Not sure he’s too happy about it, though,” he shrugged. “What about you? Where’s your dad?”

“Dead.” He said the word with such blunt finality that Tristan didn’t question him further and simply offered him a heartfelt, “I’m sorry.”

“Show me the village?” Edward asked him all the sudden.

Tristan grinned and put an arm around the lad’s shoulders. “Come on, young Edward. I’ll show you the best of Darrowby.”

Siegfried arrived home that evening at dinnertime.

Something was off.

He walked through the door and stopped dead in his tracks, a wooden crate containing a rather dishevelled stray cat clutched in his hands. There was something decidedly different about his home. The air, he noted, was uncharacteristically thick with something rich and scrummy, a scent that promised deliciousness. The wireless murmured softly from the corner, and more astonishingly, there wasn't a single animal in sight.

“Leave your boots by the door! And you better not let an animal loose on me clean floors, Mr Farnon!” he heard from the direction of the kitchen.

How did she know? He toed off his muddy boots and looked down at the cat, secure in its crate. “You heard the lady.”

Something was indisputably different about the place, he could feel it in the air, yet he was apprehensive to uncover the precise nature of the change. He was already picturing 136 distinct ways she might have rearranged things, or worse, tossed away some precious item, or—and this was the true horror—meddled with his three dozen meticulously ordered piles, each containing information in the order in which he’d convinced himself would need it. The longer he stood rooted to the spot, he reasoned, the longer he could pretend everything was perfectly fine. He was briefly, desperately, rethinking the entire housekeeper situation, but then the indisputable aroma of roast beef tickled his nose, and his stomach let out a ferocious, traitorous growl. Oh, right. He'd entirely forgotten about lunch. Mainly because he’d forgotten to make himself any.

“Mr Farnon, the food’s getting cold!”

Sighing, he gradually ventured further into the house, his entire body tensing, bracing for the inevitable shock of finding his beloved home utterly intruded upon and unrecognizable. As he crept along, however, he saw nothing remotely out of the ordinary—save for the startling fact that every last shred of evidence suggesting this was a veterinary surgery had vanished. Not a single errant feather graced the floor. Even the familiar clumps of animal fur that usually decorated the place had disappeared. His precious piles, mercifully, remained in their hallowed spots, now straighter, neater, and held steadfast by bookends on either side of each teetering stack.

Everything, to his eyes, was precisely as it should be, only startlingly, impossibly cleaner. He could scarcely believe it. Hurrying to deposit his feline guest in the surgery—he'd examine her after dinner—he then strode into the dining room. There, to his absolute astonishment, plates and silverware were already set out, and his brother, Tristan, was patiently seated, awaiting his presence so he could eat. His eyes roamed hungrily over all the food. It was a positively luxurious spread.

“Siegfried, we’re going to have real food that doesn’t come from Drovers! And it’s not burnt!” Tristan exclaimed with an excitement he hadn’t seen from the last in some time.

The tired vet slid into his chair at the head of the table, still half-expecting to spot a wayward lamb under the table. There was roast beef, pudding, chicken pasties, mashed tatties, boiled cabbage, and an assortment of greens. He couldn’t believe his eyes. There hadn’t been a spread like this in this house since before his wife, Evelyn, had died. He was momentarily wistful, as his grieving mind conjured up the last big meal they’d shared together.

“Mrs Hall even made a sponge for dessert,” he whispered, as Audrey came in with a fresh pot of tea.

"I hope everything's up to your standards, Mr Farnon," she said, pouring a stream of hot tea into their cups. "It's a bit more fancy than what I normally rustle up, but I thought it'd be grand to do summat special for me first day on the job."

“It’s—it’s wonderful, Mrs Hall,” he managed, his gaze still stupefied by the sheer richness of the food. He hungrily eyed the pasties, already dreaming of pairing one with some mashed tatties for tomorrow's lunch.

“I hope you don’t mind me using one of the hens for the pasties—”

“What?!” he bellowed suddenly, wide-eyed and red-cheeked in a panic.

"Just checking," she grinned, a flash of mischief in her eyes before she turned to leave. Tristan giggled, the lad clearly becoming quite appreciative of the woman's humour.

"Wait, where are you going?" he asked, not entirely certain she was joking about the hen, but finding himself rather desperate for adult company.

“Edward and me are taking our meal in the kitchen,” she informed him.

“Nonsense. You’ll eat in here with us. No need to eat in two separate places.”

“If you say so, Mr Farnon.”

Audrey collected her son, then set two more places at the table. Once everyone was settled, dinner was finally served. For the first time in what felt like an age, a lively conversation blossomed, weaving its way between both sets of families, knocking down the walls that existed between adult and child. At least for now. A fragile sense of belonging began to knit itself quietly around their little families. It was a whisper of a promise that just maybe, Skeldale House could become a proper home again.

Chapter Text

Siegfried Farnon relished being a veterinarian. He was rather good at it, and he took it very seriously, to put it mildly. He was a man of several niche talents, stretching from the exquisite timing of a late cut in cricket to the artful pilfering of Mrs Hall's shortbread, but veterinary science was where his genius lay. And for a man like Siegfried, whose tolerance of people was notoriously thin even when he was in the best of moods, animals were a breath of fresh air; straightforward souls unburdened by ulterior motives or the baffling labyrinth of human emotion. They were largely predictable, entirely lovely, and, perhaps most crucially, blessedly free of small talk, a conversational affliction Siegfried regarded as a criminal waste of his ever-dwindling time.

Regarding people, the curmudgeonly vet considered their so-called logic a frightful mess, their antics frequently bordering on the idiotic, and their conversations, more often than not, a dreadful, soul-sapping banality. Why, if one couldn't muster genuine enthusiasm for the utterly fascinating intricacies of a rat's superior intellect, especially how it's the flea, mind you, the nefarious Xenopsylla cheopis, that truly deserves the credit (or rather, the blame) for bubonic plague, not the much-maligned rodent itself, then what, pray tell, was the point of discourse? Honestly, Siegfried often mused, he'd sooner host a convention of intelligent rodents than endure a single evening with most human beings. Few, he lamented, truly grasped the profound implications of trace mineral deficiencies in a bovine's delicate constitution, or indeed, the wondrous efficiency of a pig's peculiar dentition and jaw structure, a veritable masterclass in foraging. A genuine pity, that.

Siegfried's inner sanctum was a highly exclusive club, its membership astonishingly scarce. Yet, against all odds and the formidable gruffness he so carefully cultivated, a rare few managed to tunnel their way past the barricades to discover the surprisingly soft heart beating within. Among these extraordinary souls was Evelyn.

Their paths first crossed on a windswept hilltop, both on the desperate hunt for a valuable prize bull that had somehow escaped his pen at the Dobson’s farm. It was, naturally, a frantic community endeavour with volunteers from all over Darrowby joining the search. After a series of escalating calamities, including the very unfortunate loss of one of Evelyn’s not-so-sensible shoes to a gloriously sticky patch of mud, and a terrifying, albeit brief, chase initiated by an entirely different and rather put-out bull they had mistaken for the Dobson bull, they collapsed into peals of laughter, the sheer absurdity of it all washing over them. He found himself rather charmed by her joyous laugh, and she was quite taken with how the relentless rain had loosened his usually neat hair, transforming it into damp, endearing curls that tumbled boyishly across his brow.

Evelyn didn't merely tolerate but actively delighted in his passionate, highly technical pontificating on subjects like the strategic eradication of snails for optimal ovine health. And he, in turn, discovered a deep, almost desperate, appreciation for her musical gifts. Almost nightly following dinner, he would suggest that she coax yet another melodic tune from the piano keys. She would never say no, happy to play for him. It put him at ease, and she loved that he’d taken an interest in her endeavours.

Evelyn had become, almost imperceptibly, the axis around which Siegfried’s eccentricities could safely orbit. She possessed the rare skill of listening with intent, her gaze neither glazed nor impatient as he digressed, as he was wont to do, into, for example, the anatomical marvels of sheep hooves or the tragic history of hog cholera. She never tired of seeing his numerous veterinary journals strewn across anything with a hard surface. The questions she asked were never trite; they spurred him on, sharpening his wit and banishing any creeping sense that his obsessions were mere curiosities best kept to the confines of one of his veterinary journals. He’d met his complement. For the first time in his life, he was invested in ensuring the happiness of another human being.

His life was hectic, and sleeping and eating often surrendered to the relentless demands of his profession. Animals roamed freely through the house, a testament to his calling. He himself was prone to dramatic pronouncements and sudden fits of temperament depending on who he was dealing with and what had happened during the day (or night). Evelyn instinctively knew when to leave him be and when to offer comfort. Her heart, exceptionally open, embraced Siegfried for his complete, complex, chaotic self, an unconditional acceptance he'd found nowhere else save in the very creatures he devoted his life and service to.

Even in the busiest seasons, when the practice was overwhelmed by summons to farms and the desk in the study buried beneath a mound of paperwork, and, invariably, a wayward kitten or two, Evelyn padded the pandemonium with stability. She could persuade a begrudging Siegfried into brief respites with her piano, her fingers conjuring joy from the old, slightly out-of-tune keys. He would linger in the doorway, arms folded, pretending to inspect some paperwork while secretly transported by her music, each note a gentle antidote to the day's relentless stream of emergencies and exasperations.

On Sunday evenings, if the weather permitted, they’d stroll together along the hedgerows, Siegfried striding ahead, Evelyn ambling at her own pace, sometimes stopping to collect wildflowers or debate with him the merits of badgers. Their rapport had evolved into a kind of dance, his gruffness met by her warmth, her curiosity matched by his encyclopedic knowledge. And while Siegfried would never admit it outright, there were moments, rare and golden, when he thought perhaps the world of people wasn’t so confounding after all, at least, if they were like Evelyn.

But three years ago, it all came crashing down. It was a wound so deep, Siegfried still wouldn’t talk about it. The day Evelyn Farnon departed from the world, he attended two farm emergencies. There was no mourning period for the vet and the doors of Skeldale House remained shut to anyone who came to grieve. It was if Evelyn had simply vanished. He hadn’t mentioned her name since. He plunged into his work with a furious, unrelenting intensity, ensuring he never once came up for air, never allowed a moment for any stray thoughts to intrude. Some of the villagers even said he created problems for himself to solve on the days business was slow. Work offered him a blessed reprieve: animals didn’t ask how he was coping or offer poorly phrased condolences.

He sustained yet another cruel blow when a year later, his mother died unexpectedly. Naturally, he offered to take in his young 10-year old brother, Tristan. The boy had nowhere else to go and they were one another’s sole remaining family. However, Siegfried was no father. Calves and kids, he excelled at nurturing. But he had no clue how to parent a child, and after two years of being a guardian, he was still struggling. It was a huge responsibility, and he was failing spectacularly. Throwing himself into his work was a convenient escape, but as time went on, it took more and more to keep him oblivious to the goings on around him.

And he was drowning.

It had been a brutal night. A blustery thunderstorm had swept through the dales, turning the landscape into a quagmire of mud and standing water. Siegfried had been called out late to two separate farm emergencies: one was a difficult calving which resulted in loss, and the other was a death of sheep, the cause still a mystery to the vet, which was of no consolation to the farmer who had considered the sheep her very best friend. Siegfried had taken both cases exceptionally hard. After pulling up to the house, he'd sat in the Vauxhall for a good twenty minutes, unable to bring himself to go inside. It was nearly two in the morning.

“Mr Farnon?” he heard as he hung his rain-drenched hat and coat by the door. He turned, surprised to see Mrs Hall still awake at such a late hour. She stood in her blue dressing gown and her hair still pinned back, watching him closely.

“Mrs Hall. I hope you didn’t stay awake on my account.” He felt her gaze, a silent assessment no doubt cataloguing the bleary exhaustion in his eyes and the defeated slump of his shoulders. He felt utterly broken, weighed down by the night's relentless events, which only added to the burgeoning mountain of burdens accumulating on his soul.

"Couldn't rightly turn in before I saw you safe home. Besides... Vera and Greta were quite put out by the storm."

He felt a faint chuckle escape him despite himself. "Don't tell me you put them on a blanket in the parlour?" The thought of his housekeeper soothing a tempestuous goat and pig was oddly amusing. She was full of surprises tonight. The animals of the surgery were obviously growing on her. "And what, pray tell, would you have done if I'd truly gotten myself into trouble?”

Her nose crinkled charmingly as a playful grin spread across her face, her eyes glittering. "Oh, I'm quite resourceful. I might commandeer a neighbour's horse and ride after you or simply don me wellies and brave the mud meself!"

He managed another weary chuckle. "Commandeer a horse? I'd pay good money to see that."

She arched an eyebrow, fixing him with a look that dared him to doubt. "After all, I were a Wren, you know. We didn't exactly sit around cooking and cleaning all day, waiting for the boys to come home."

"You've been here a mere three weeks, Mrs Hall," he said, an uncharacteristic gentleness lacing his voice, “and I can already see you are a woman of many talents.” A strange, unbidden calm beginning to settle in the storm raging inside him. Her presence was having an unexpected soporific effect on him.

She reached out, a surprising, gentle squeeze to his upper arm. He looked down, almost shocked to find her hand there, the first human touch in years. Warmth radiating from it. "Come into me kitchen," she murmured. "I've made you a cuppa and some shortbread. Though I'll have to find a better hiding place for it, seeing as someone keeps pilfering it." Her knowing glance made him blush, a rare and startling sensation.

“Yes, well, you should probably ask the boys about that,” he coughed, following her into the softly lit kitchen where a cup of steaming tea and a plate of shortbread waited for him on the table. He began feeling unfamiliar pangs of something. It was ridiculous

"Are you really going to blame the boys?" she scoffed, a hint of amusement in her tone. "When there's a trail of crumbs from the kitchen to your study every single day?" She then smiled again, and damn, her whole face lit up when she smiled. That wrinkle of her nose…

He swiftly changed the topic, his voice stiffening with a familiar, defensive force. "Mrs Hall, thank you for waiting up, but I assure you, I'm quite fine. Please, don't let me keep you awake. I'm certain you have a busy day ahead."

Her face softened, and she simply pulled out the chair for him, resting her hands on the back. To Siegfried’s surprise, her reaction wasn’t the sharp response he was expecting. “Of course, Mr Farnon. Don’t stay up too long and don’t worry about cleaning up. I’ll get it in the morning. Good night.”

With a quiet rustle, Audrey exited the kitchen. He sank numbly into the chair, the foreign feeling that had settled within him profoundly unwelcome. He felt detached, as if not quite in his own body, the world around him inexplicably topsy-turvy. Sleep would elude him that night, the late hour having stirred up ghosts of responsibilities and regrets.

The following morning was a whirlwind of activity, as was the perpetual reality at Skeldale House. Siegfried was scheduled to be in the surgery for the day, and as usual on these days, a jumble of pet owners would be haphazardly spilling out of the crowded house, all vying for his renowned (and occasionally infuriating) expertise. His "protocol" on surgery days was to simply glance into the hall and bellow the name of the first person he spotted and usher the unsuspecting patient and their furry companion unceremoniously into the examination room. This inevitably led to disorder and confusion spreading through the waiting throng. Those who'd been patiently, or not-so-patiently, waiting for hours would inevitably find themselves fuming as a recent arrival skipped ahead. The ensuing complaints were less whispers and more full-throated pronouncements of injustice. When tempers flared, and they did with regularity, it fell to either Siegfried or Audrey to smooth ruffled feathers. Audrey, ever the diplomat, would materialise with the calming balm of tea and biscuits. Siegfried, on the other hand, often met disgruntled patients with a temper that admirably mirrored their own. In a battle of wills, there was no doubt among anyone that he would emerge the victor.

After patiently enduring weeks of such disorganization, Audrey's quiet competence took charge. She saw the urgent need for order and, with a stroke of genius, devised an appointment system to streamline Siegfried's practice, which in turn, helped with her own duties. As a happy consequence, his patients were far more satisfied. No longer would he need to keep the surgery open until late in the evening, sometimes even into the night, just to squeeze everyone in. She found a way to ensure every creature saw the vet, while also ensuring Siegfried had a modicum of time to himself (whether he wanted it or not). Audrey was impressively natural and deft at welcoming and directing the villagers who came to the surgery seeking Siegfried’s services, and they, for the most part, were grateful to encounter such a friendly face in the home of the rather surly, eccentric vet.

In between receptionist duties, Audrey seamlessly juggled her myriad housekeeping duties and ensured the boys of the house were kept deliciously, and most heartily, fed. As she settled into her stride in her new position, she came to the realization that no matter how diligently she scrubbed or how sternly she warned, there would always be an animal loose somewhere, probably leaving a delightful trail across her freshly gleaming floors. She was learning to live with it, but make no mistake, it would be on her terms.

Between greeting and calling patients into the surgery that morning, Audrey was engaged in the never-ending task of doing the wash. All morning long it was wash, hang, take down, iron, put away—rinse and repeat. As she walked the well-trodden path between the house and the clothesline, a persistent fan club of two, namely Greta the piglet and Vera the goat, shadowed her every move as she hauled the freshly dried clothing and linens indoors. She only registered her furry stalkers when Vera, apparently fed up with being "ignored," delivered a sharp nip to her backside. With a surprised yelp, Audrey jumped and spun around. "Oi! Out you two!" she declared, setting her basket down with a thump before shooing the persistent pair out the door, and probably not for the last time.

She was going through a pile of Tristan's clothing when her fingers brushed against a wrinkled, folded paper in one of his pockets. A flicker of curiosity, perhaps a mother's intuition, prompted her to unfold it. It was a letter addressed to Siegfried from Tristan's headmaster, bluntly stating that the boy had been caught skipping school and that another infraction would lead to suspension. The date on the letter was from the previous week. Tristan, the poor boy, had clearly hidden it from his brother; if Siegfried had read such a missive, Audrey would most certainly have heard about it. The whole house would have. A pang of concern, deep and maternal, stirred within her. Tristan was such a good lad, but a tad adrift, needing the steady hand of guidance and firm boundaries. Despite only three weeks under this roof, she already cared for him immensely. Siegfried needed to know. Tristan needed his brother.

She folded the letter once more and tucked it carefully into the pocket of her pinny. Around lunchtime, Audrey went in search of Siegfried, finding him making notes in the now empty examination room. The surgery was momentarily quiet, offering what seemed the perfect moment to speak to him about Tristan before the afternoon rush began.

She stood framed in the doorway. “Mr Farnon?”

Siegfried, hunched over his notes at the exam table, peered over the top of his spectacles. “Yes, Mrs Hall, what is it?” Audrey, ever observant, noted the weariness etched on his face, no doubt owing to his late night tending to emergencies at nearby farms.

Stepping into the room, she retrieved the folded note from her pocket and handed it to Siegfried, whose brow furrowed in a curious expression. “I found this tucked into Tristan's trousers. It's from the headmaster. Seems he's been playing truant."

"What?!" Siegfried roared, the sudden eruption of his voice making the medicine bottles on the dresser tremble. He slammed his pen down onto the table with a resounding thwack, snatching the note and throwing it open. As he read, his face began to redden, a furious crimson spreading from his collar to his hairline. With a disgusted flick of his wrist, he tossed the offending paper and his pen aside, then strode with heavy, thunderous steps towards his study. Audrey, without a word, followed close behind. He flung himself into his armchair behind the grand oak desk and the rhythmic clatter of a typewriter immediately filled the air.

"Tristan's a good lad, he just needs a bit of proper guidance, that's all..." Audrey began, but her words were swallowed by the insistent clicking. "What in blazes are you doing?" she snapped, the machine's incessant chatter grating on her nerves.

"I agree wholeheartedly, Mrs Hall," Siegfried declared, his fingers still flying across the keys. "That's precisely why I'm penning a letter to the Commandant of the Duke of York's Royal Military School, asking them to take Tristan on as a student."

Now it was Audrey's turn to be stunned, her eyes widening in disbelief. "What?! You're sending Tristan, a lad of twelve, off to--to a bloody military school?!" She'd been a rock of calm amidst Siegfried's rather theatrical performances up to this point, these kinds of dramatic reactions she'd come to expect from him, though this particular flourish was certainly taking the biscuit. This, his readiness to ship his own brother off to military school for a boyish infraction, she decided, was simply going too far.

"You said it yourself, Mrs Hall. Tristan needs structure and, dare I say it, discipline. He'll get plenty of that there."

"Absolutely not!" she retorted, her voice firm as the dales bedrock. She planted her feet, her expression resolute. There was no way she was having any of this. "Besides, I've heard dreadful tales about those places. You can't do that to him. He's your brother, for heaven's sake!"

“It will be good for him,” Siegfried replied, his gaze fixed on the letter as he continued to type.

“For him or for you?” Audrey fired back, her arms now crossed defiantly over her chest. The unexpected retort caught Siegfried completely off guard, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He hadn't anticipated such steel from his housekeeper. In that moment, Siegfried Farnon knew, deep down, that he had well and truly met his match.

"Mrs Hall," Siegfried roared, raising his voice in anger at his interloping housekeeper, "I am simply not equipped to raise a boy with Tristan's needs!"

“What he needs is a blooming family that cares about him!” she argued. Audrey stood her ground, her stance as unyielding as the fells themselves. She would not allow that boy to be cast aside. Over her dead body would such a thing happen.

“You don’t understand—" he scoffed, but she interrupted.

“No, you don’t understand, Mr Farnon. Your Tris, he needs love. He needs someone interested in him, someone who cares. And I know you do. You care deeply about him. You wouldn’t have taken him in if you didn’t. But you can’t show it, you daft beggar, not when you’re wallowing in all your own heartbreak.” Her words carried the weight of painful experience; years spent watching her own husband wrestle with his demons had taught her to recognize the signs. She was determined not to let Siegfried follow a similar, solitary path. Where her husband had sought refuge in the bottom of a glass, Siegfried buried himself in his work. Tristan and Siegfried both deserved better.

“Heartbreak?” he yelled, his booming voice cutting with impatience. “And what do you know of heartbreak?”

"Heartbreak, Mr Farnon," she replied, her voice dropping to a whisper, her face instantly softened, and her eyes growing glassy, "it hasn't got favourites. Comes knocking for all of us, man and woman, young and old alike."

A heavy, aching silence descended upon the room. Siegfried looked down at his clasped hands, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular. Audrey's eyes found a spot on the wall, and she stared, unblinking. Neither spoke for several long minutes. Her heart bled with compassion for him. Despite his blustering, she knew him to be a tender-hearted man. She’d witnessed it in the quieter moments of Skeldale House, and she’d seen him thaw since her first week in his employ.

Eventually, Audrey broke the profound stillness. "Your wife were very beautiful," she said gently, her eyes resting on Evelyn’s photograph on his desk.

"Don't." He closed his eyes, a pained expression on his face. Audrey leaned over the desk, her hand reaching out to tenderly cover his, giving it a soft, loving squeeze.

"Mr Farnon, we've only known each other a few weeks, but there's enough room in me heart for Evelyn, too. When you're ready, I'll listen." Their eyes met, and with a kind smile and a gentle squeeze of Audrey's hand, she left the study, making her way to the living room. She settled onto the worn sofa, retrieved a piece of mending from her basket, and set about making the garment good as new.

She was meticulously mending a tear in one of her Edward’s shirts when, some fifteen minutes later, Siegfried emerged from his study. He quietly crossed the room and sat on the other side of the couch, his hands resting on his knees. Audrey continued her quiet work, yet his presence beside her was palpable, a silent force louder than their earlier argument. It took him a minute to speak, as if he were wrestling with the very words themselves.

"Evelyn and I met on a hilltop," he began, his voice barely above a murmur, "in the pouring rain, and from that moment on, we became inseparable."

Chapter Text

The air in Skeldale House had thickened with a peculiar discomfort in the weeks following the contretemps between the veterinarian and the housekeeper. Though there seemed to have been a restoration of harmony following their disagreement, with Siegfried and Audrey talking to Tristan together about the note from his headmaster, something had managed to shift in the immediate aftermath. It had caused both parties to be beset by dreadful feelings, but for entirely different reasons. Siegfried, a man prone to operatic moods and dramatic outbursts, had a fleeting, rather inconvenient moment of self-awareness. It dawned on him, with the unwelcome clarity of a sudden toothache, that his recent behaviour concerning Tristan’s truancy and his festering raw grief over Evelyn (not to mention all the other incidents of temper flares and shouted words) might be enough to repel the one person who kept his chaotic world from spinning completely off its axis.

Though he'd rather gargle cod liver oil than admit it, Audrey Hall’s arrival hadn't just meant a tidied house and prompt meals; it had, in fact, almost imperceptibly, made his entire shambolic existence unusually more tolerable, even, dare he think it, functional. The thought of navigating life's relentless chaos without her steady hand was, for once, disconcerting. He had come to rely on her.

Change, it was safe to say, was not Siegfried's friend. So, when the seemingly innocuous suggestion of an appointment system for his surgery was proffered by Mrs Hall, he was, to his eternal shame, riddled with doubt. In his mind's eye, a veritable kaleidoscope of impending doom unfolded: discontented patients, riots, and his practice crumbling into disrepair after his patients—affronted and inconvenienced—abandoned him.

None of his apocalyptic visions came to pass, however. Instead, his days, though still filled to the brim with the usual veterinary mayhem, began to flow with an almost unsettling smoothness. The waiting room, once like a boxing ring for the legion of patients impatiently fighting for his attention, was now devoid of fisticuffs. He found his legendary temper flaring only once or twice a day, a personal best, frankly. And it was no longer due to his patients’ dissatisfaction with the way he ran his surgery. To his acute bewilderment, there was even an unexpected bounty of free evenings (emergencies permitting). This newfound liberation presented its own unique challenge, as Siegfried, not being a social butterfly, found himself puzzled as to how to actually fill them.

Praise was not something to which he was accustomed to lavishing on people. Yet, after several weeks of experiencing what could only be described as something short of a miracle, even he had to reconsider. Scrumptious meals consistently filled his belly; servings of delectable cakes, biscuits, and tarts were tucked in his lunch tin alongside his favourite sandwiches. His clothes, which could only be described as a tragic testament to entropy, had been looking good as new lately with every missing button replaced and all tears perfectly stitched closed. No more toes poking through the holes of his socks. Also, the days of dodging random animals on the way to the lavatory or finding fur and feathers littering every surface of his house, were thankfully over. For the most part.

Mrs Hall, he realised with a slow, dawning wonder, was nothing short of a miracle worker. And he would keep her at all costs, even if it meant biting his tongue completely off. That clever woman ran Skeldale House with the precision of a Swiss timepiece, a truth that had gently, then firmly, impressed itself upon him during her first month. She was competent in all the ways he wasn’t. And he, Siegfried Farnon, would not jeopardize her invaluable presence if he could help it. Their partnership had, for the first time since Evelyn's passing, quietly made his life…enjoyable.

Not trusting himself to keep his customary irritability or bellowing from reaching her ears, he had retreated to, alternately, his study and surgery, where he spent much of his days. It wasn't exactly hiding, he told himself. A palpable, unsettling fear had taken root in his gut and reared its head whenever the recent contretemps sprang to mind, including what had transpired afterward when he’d talked to her—or rather at her—for over two hours about his beloved late wife. It felt so natural at the time, but looking back, he worried it had been over the top.

Mrs Hall, he now recognised, had woven a thread of calm through the constant chaos of Skeldale House. She was the steadfast anchor that consistently reeled him back from the brink of whatever tangent he was on or mood he found himself in. He told himself that her departure would be nothing short of devastating for his veterinary practice and for his patients, who had grown accustomed to her warm, grounding presence at the surgery door. What he wasn't quite ready to admit, however, was that her absence would undoubtedly affect him in ways he was entirely unprepared to feel.

The housekeeper, by the sheer grace of a deity Siegfried wasn't wholly convinced existed, had defied all historical precedent. She'd not only outlasted but positively thrived where previous housekeepers had famously clocked out within hours of being hired. (There was one, a particularly brave soul a couple of years back, who'd managed a full three days before the pandemonium, and Siegfried himself, proved utterly overwhelming.) He didn't honestly mind being "too much," but the undeniable truth was, he desperately needed assistance keeping Skeldale House in order.

Then, of course, Tristan arrived, adding another layer of anarchy. Siegfried, lacking experience with the inclinations of children, found himself at a complete loss. Yet, Mrs Hall and the boy appeared to forge an easy camaraderie from day one, leaving Siegfried gobsmacked but certainly not displeased. He observed how his younger brother, like a moth to a flame, gravitated effortlessly towards Mrs Hall's warmth.

The curmudgeonly vet, despite their disagreement, was privately, deeply appreciative of his housekeeper's unflappable assistance in addressing the matter of Tristan’s truancy. After the fact, a sincere, if grudging, admiration had settled over him. Most people, he knew, would have bristled or retreated under the force of one of his more pompous outbursts, particularly if they hadn’t known him very well; Mrs Hall, however, had simply steered him forward with the calm resolve of a lighthouse beam cutting through a storm, making him see reason where he'd previously seen only red.

Without pretence or a hint of judgment, and with the dexterity of a seasoned mother, Mrs Hall subtly guided Siegfried as they navigated the conversation with Tris about the note from the headmaster and created a path forward without causing hard feelings between the brothers. One thing was certain: Siegfried knew he never, ever wanted to argue with her again. She was simply too good at it; unsettlingly so. He had a nagging suspicion that she was, frustratingly, always right.

And the way she'd managed to coax him into discussing Evelyn? Positively criminal. Vulnerability, to Siegfried, was a foreign language he preferred not to speak, and feelings were, to put it mildly, dreadfully complicated and uncomfortable. Yet, there he was, perched on the sitting room sofa beside her, recounting the absurd tale of how his and Evelyn's third date had been spectacularly interrupted by a stampeding flock of sheep, whose cloven hooves had mercilessly flattened a trifle she'd admitted took three attempts to perfect. He hadn't meant to burden the housekeeper with such trivialities, even if he was fairly certain she was, somehow, the one cajoling them to the surface.

He needed her. Tristan needed her. They absolutely could not afford to lose her. Thus, Siegfried was on high alert, tending to his own work with a razor-like focus, reluctant to lose his temper lest he drove his steadfast, capable housekeeper into the household of a notably less bombastic employer. He could all too easily picture Mrs Pumphrey swooping in to engage Mrs Hall's services. Hadn't there been an advertisement in the paper recently for a housekeeper, he suddenly recalled? Mrs Pumphrey's sprawling estate would offer Mrs Hall multitudinous opportunities to truly showcase her exemplary skills.

His newfound strategy, he decided, was to remain unceasingly engaged in his professional duties or, failing that, entirely absorbed in his personal endeavours. This, he reasoned, was his failsafe against any catastrophic consequences should a loose, sharp tongue or temperamental mood suddenly overtake him. More importantly, it afforded Mrs Hall a wide berth to run Skeldale House as she saw fit, free from his interference.

Unbeknownst to Mr Farnon, Audrey had her own hushed anxieties. While his ears had become incessantly vigilant, straining to catch any whisper from Darrowby’s finest busybodies about any impending departures from his household, Mrs Hall was also feeling a dreadful pang about their disagreement over the situation involving his young charge. Her reasons, however, were completely different. Reflecting on the incident in the days that followed, she'd been mortified to admit her own error as household staff: she had interfered in her employer’s personal affairs. The matter had solely concerned Mr Farnon and Tristan, yet she had, inexplicably, inserted herself into her employer's private business anyway.

What had possessed her to so boldly cross the line of propriety that existed between employer and employee, Audrey hadn't the foggiest notion. While she harboured no regrets about wanting to ensure Tristan felt loved and cared for—seeing how he was clearly adrift, desperately needing the guidance and attention of an elder brother seemingly blinded by his own grief—she was nevertheless gripped by a fierce anxiety that she had gravely overstepped. What if Mr Farnon, in a fit of pique, simply relieved her of her services? He'd made his feelings about "busybodies" abundantly clear in the weeks since her arrival, and she was convinced she’d presented herself as the very definition of one.

Her own intense, unconditional love for her son, Edward, had undeniably fuelled her defence of young Tristan Farnon, sparking in her the unyielding passion of a mother's heart. Perhaps the sacrifices she'd made to keep Edward by her side, to steer him away from the perilous path of delinquency, had caused her to overly identify with the Farnon brothers' situation. She genuinely cared for the lad; it was painfully obvious he was starved for attention and affection, and she’d, quite naturally, scooped him up alongside Edward, becoming utterly devoted to both boys.

Audrey believed with every fibre of her being that Tristan deserved to be at home with the only immediate family he had left, not at some impersonal boarding school surrounded by strangers. And, eventually, Mr Farnon had reluctantly come to see that truth as well. But only after she'd taken it a step further and brought up his feelings around his late wife, Evelyn. She’d only wanted him to realise his grief was causing him to push his brother away.

Among all her previous employers, Audrey had never possessed the audacity to do anything so impertinent. However, she found herself caring for the tender-hearted vet, having witnessed firsthand the immense compassion and concern he heaped upon his animal patients, a stark, delightful contrast to his gruff, often ill-tempered exterior. His underlying gentleness softened him to her, allowing her to see beyond his familiar outbursts, which she didn’t take to heart. It would take a lot more than shouted words and longwinded expositions about bovine anatomy to run her off. One thing was abundantly clear: Tristan was so very dear to Siegfried, and that he would, in his own blustering way, do anything for the boy.

Still, her own situation remained delicate. Should she lose her position, she and Edward would be left with precious little money and nowhere to go. One of the first things she had learned during her tenure at Skeldale House was that in Darrowby, news travelled faster than wildfire; everyone would soon know she’d been sacked. She’d be forced to seek employment outside the small village should Mr Farnon decide her services were no longer required, as there weren’t many people needing a housekeeper in the rural farming village. This frightening realisation had left a tremulous ache in the pit of her stomach.

Unwilling to gamble with her and Edward's future, Audrey had immediately reined herself in, resolving to stick strictly to her housekeeping duties. Except, of course, where Tristan was concerned. While the responsibility of general child-rearing naturally fell to his older brother, she reasoned it certainly wouldn't hurt to help him provide the boy with a loving, stable home. An abundance of affection was never a bad thing, and the lad, she noted with quiet satisfaction, was positively thriving. Regarding Edward, however, her heart remained on tenterhooks, as she prayed morning and night that their own strained relationship might finally mend.

Edward, it was plain to see, was miserable about their relocation to Darrowby, and he seized every available opportunity in the last month to voice his displeasure. The chasm that existed between them had grown even larger. It was one she desperately tried to bridge, but it seemed the more she attempted to show her love, the more he recoiled. Though he remained reserved with her, a flicker of hope emerged: he and Tristan seemed to be getting on famously. They frequently kicked a football around and the older boy appeared to have absorbed him into his friend group.

Vowing never again to meddle in her employer's personal affairs (a resolution she muttered under her breath with impressive solemnity), Audrey diligently maintained a professional distance. This wasn't particularly difficult. There was always a mountain of chores to tackle or some errant animal requiring a firm but polite escort back to its rightful place. In her rare moments of leisure, she became involved in the local chapter of the Women's Institute and the parish church.

For the most part, Siegfried and Audrey maintained their own distinct domains within Skeldale House, an environmental separation that conveniently precluded them from spending an inordinate amount of time in each other's company. They continued taking their meals together with the boys, engaging in polite, rather meticulously curated conversation. Local events, the weather, and the intricate minutiae of their respective professional duties were deemed acceptable and safe topics.

Siegfried, meanwhile, was exacting an almost superhuman amount of self-restraint in keeping his notoriously volatile temper under wraps, which was no small feat, considering Tristan was almost always nearby. Audrey, for her part, was especially mindful not to offer any unsolicited opinions, as she believed it wasn't her place as the housekeeper.

A fragile disquietude permeated Skeldale House. Each adult was wary of accidentally antagonizing the other and thus widening the gulf between them. They gravitated to their own spheres within the household where they undertook their responsibilities separately.

This rather delicate dance held until one evening when Siegfried, with a bounce in his step, practically skipped into the sitting room, making a joyful beeline for the gramophone. Audrey, mid-stitch in her knitting, snapped her head up, a look of mild alarm crossing her features. It was, of course, entirely inevitable that sooner or later they would find themselves in the inescapable predicament of having to talk about things utterly unrelated to ailing animals or the state of the dustbins.

“Good evening, Mr Farnon,” she greeted him with her usual courtesy from where she sat on the sofa, her knitting needles clacking softly.

Siegfried, having breezed in with a singular focus with something clutched in his hand, spun around, genuinely startled by her presence. "My apologies, Mrs Hall. I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"Not at all," she replied smoothly.

"Would you mind terribly if I listened to the gramophone? I've just acquired a record I've been waiting an age for and am, shall we say, itching to give it a listen."

"Of course not," she said, offering a small smile and beginning to gather her knitting basket, preparing to depart.

Catching her movement, a sudden worry seized Siegfried that he'd somehow given offense. He quickly added, nearly tripping over his words, "Oh! You needn't leave. Unless, of course, you wish to. I wouldn't wish to impose on your free time."

Audrey hesitated, her knitting needles still clutched in her hand, not yet tucked away in her basket. She was caught between accepting his unexpected invitation and maintaining the careful distance she'd so diligently imposed upon herself. The silence stretched, thin and taut as the very yarn she'd been working.

"If it's nowt too much trouble," she finally replied, her voice measured but with a hint of warmth, "I'd welcome the company."

"Then please stay." Siegfried offered a genuine smile, hoping to convey the true sincerity of his invitation.

A distinct grunt from the basket by the fireplace cut through the quiet. Both Siegfried and Audrey looked over to see Greta, seemingly quite content with an evening indoors, perkily interested in the unfolding conversation. Siegfried, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly agape in minor shock, glanced at Audrey, who appeared to be struggling with not appearing sheepish.

"Why, Mrs Hall," he teased mildly, bending to bestow a few adoring pets on the piglet, "I do believe Greta has rather grown on you."

"She wouldn't leave," Audrey replied, her tone firm, as if this simple statement explained why the pig, who was becoming increasingly domesticated by the day (and not by Siegfried’s doing), was nestled by the hearth.

"Perhaps you should try opening the door," Siegfried offered, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

Audrey fixed him with a stern expression that included raised eyebrows and a firmly set mouth, silently challenging him not to push his luck. It managed to render him speechless and prompted him to remember why he’d entered the room in the first place.

Relieved by her acquiescence to share the sitting room with him, Siegfried removed the record from its paper sleeve with a reverence reserved for sacred objects. He set the needle down, and moments later, a soaring, ethereal cadenza filled the air—a melody from another world, unburdened by recent missteps or unspoken regrets. He settled into the armchair next to her, fingers absentmindedly tracing invisible patterns on the armrest, allowing the music to carry his imagination away into the ether.

This particular musical piece had been a favourite of Siegfried's for years, a loyal companion that had, in its own way, eased him back into civilian life after the war. Music, for him, spoke with the intimacy of a friend privy to his innermost thoughts. He loved music, and so, too, had Evelyn.

It had been at least three years since his last record purchase. His schedule had been too swamped and his life too full to allow for such self-indulgent pleasures. Pushing down one’s grief took up a lot of time. But with this recent, almost alarming abundance of free time these past few weeks, he had to fill the void with something.

As fate, or perhaps simply good fortune, would have it, he'd visited the village shop earlier that day for a very different, mundane reason, only to spy the record beckoning him from its display. It was such a happy coincidence, such a serendipitous moment, that he'd immediately snatched it up. All day long, all he could think about was relaxing in the armchair of the sitting room and listening to his precious purchase.

For a while, neither Siegfried nor Audrey spoke. The music did the talking, weaving its way through the room and softening its edges, inviting a gentler mood. Mrs Hall, emboldened by Siegfried's visibly relaxed posture, allowed herself to unwind, resuming her knitting and letting the rhythmic click of her needles blend harmoniously with the lyrical tune. Gradually, the stiff formality that had encased them eased, replaced by something quieter, more companionable. So tranquil was Siegfried that he retrieved his pipe from his pocket and, with a contented sigh, lit it. As the melody swelled, he closed his eyes, took a deep, deliberate draw, and exhaled far more than just smoke.

Seeing her employer in such a placid state, puffing contentedly on his pipe, gave Audrey permission to finally let her own guard down. If he were about to unceremoniously sack her, she reasoned, he likely wouldn't be so serenely enjoying his evening.

“This is beautiful music, Mr Farnon,” she remarked after a spell, trying not to sound as apprehensive as she felt. Music was a neutral enough topic, she’d decided. “Reminds me of the birds flying about as I hang out the washing.”

Siegfried opened his eyes, his face brightening considerably as he offered a genuine, enthusiastic smile. "Very perceptive, Mrs Hall. The piece is called The Lark Ascending, and the violin soloist, you see, perfectly mimics the skylark. The upward movements and those glorious high registers? That's the skylark's soaring flight. And the more delicate ornamentation, the rapid figurations? That's the skylark's song. Did you know," he continued, leaning forward conspiratorially, "that only male skylarks possess such a prolonged, elaborate song? Female skylarks do sing, of course, but their songs are decidedly shorter and, well, rather subdued."

"Oh, naturally," she countered, a dry, knowing smile playing on her lips. "I suppose it was inevitable your preferred music would involve summat that chirped or, perhaps, mooed."

As if on cue, Greta let out a loud grunt as she turned around in her basket. The housekeeper and the vet looked at her, then one another for a beat, and laughed. Audrey’s face lit up and Siegfried took notice of her dimples and the way her nose wrinkled slightly. He took another puff on his pipe.

Audrey was teasing him, of course, but she was also sincerely enjoying the music...and, if she were honest, the company too. Despite Skeldale House always bustling with creatures great and small, she had been feeling lonely.

"A mere coincidence, I assure you," he responded to her teasing, taking another thoughtful draw from his pipe, a distinct twinkle in his eye. "I simply enjoy the work of the composer. A fellow Englishman by the name of Ralph Vaughan Williams. This piece always manages to capture my imagination in the most exquisite way."

“I don't recall if I've ever heard a skylark's song. Even if I had, I don't reckon I'd be able to tell what it were.”

"The poet George Meredith describes it as a 'silver chain of sound,' which I believe is quite accurate," Siegfried expounded. "The bird sings as it soars high across the countryside, and you can hear a continuous series of trills, chirps, whistles, and warbles. It's magnificent to behold! It can sing for several minutes at a time, seemingly without taking a breath. Quite the remarkable little creatures, really. Male skylarks, you see, sing to attract a mate; it's thought that the more intricate and complex the songs are, the more successful it will be in attracting a female."

Siegfried, oblivious to the rosy blush steadily rising in Audrey's cheeks, abruptly interjected, "Mrs Hall, would you care to join me for a sherry?" He was unexpectedly feeling quite cheerful.

"That sounds rather nice," she replied, a faint smile touching her lips. "Aye, I think I will."

Ignoring the warmth in her cheeks, she saw no harm in joining him for a little nightcap. It was, after all, rather pleasant to have a proper conversation with him again, one that didn't involve the insipid topic of the weather.

Just then, the Edward and Tristan came tumbling down the staircase, clad in their pyjamas and ready to say good night.

"All washed up and ready for bed?" Audrey asked, laying her knitting aside and rising with a warm smile.

"Yes, Mam."

"Yes, Mrs H."

"Me love," she said, turning to Edward, "I mended the hole in your jumper. And if you're going to the pitch tomorrow, do take it off before playing. You've been bringing me clothes with holes big enough to span the channel lately."

"Aye, Mam. I will" he replied dutifully.

"Also," she continued, her face beaming with pride, "I got a report from your teacher that you passed your maths exam! I'm right proud of you, me bright boy!" She pulled him into a hug, truly surprised and deeply touched when he not only allowed it but hugged her back.

Since their arrival at Skeldale House, he'd been trying, with all the intensity of a young boy asserting his independence, to prove he was grown up and self-sufficient. Audrey had met his efforts with a quiet patience, understanding he needed time to adjust to the upheaval of the move and his new surroundings. However, his detachment and the cool distance he'd kept, had gnawed at her, making her ache for her "little boy" once more. Her only real solace had been knowing Tristan, bless him, had been looking out for her Edward. They'd become somewhat close, and she was immensely relieved he had someone.

“Thanks, Mam. Will you make me and Tris extra sarnies so we can go to the pitch right after school? We’re always hungry then and don’t want to run all the way home.”

With him still in her arms, she smiled, her voice soft with tenderness. "I reckon I can manage that. I don't want me growing lads going hungry! I'll pack them with your lunches tomorrow. Good night, darling." She pressed a kiss to his forehead, her fingers affectionately combing through his thick, dark hair.

She was further, wonderfully, shocked when Edward actually kissed her cheek, and then Tristan stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug. "Good night, Mrs H."

Audrey's heart swelled, quite literally, with love as she enveloped him in her loving embrace. Her heart, she knew, possessed an infinite capacity to embrace all who needed love and understanding; there was always room for more. And she already cared so very deeply for this boy.

"Good night, love. I know you've been going to school every day and trying your best; that's all we can ask for. I'm proud of you, and I know your brother is, too. Aren't you, Mr Farnon?" she asked, her eyes boring into the older man with a pointed expression, her arm still fondly around Tristan.

Siegfried’s head popped up from where he was pouring sherry for the both of them. “Oh yes. Quite proud. You’ve been putting in a notable effort, my good lad, and I couldn’t be prouder of you. And you, too, Edward. Congratulations on passing your exam. We have two fine boys, Mrs Hall.”

“Aye, we do,” she beamed.

Edward gave him small smile, but Tristan absolutely glowed; the simple bit of praise transformed his whole face. “Thanks, Siegfried! As a reward for my stellar behaviour, could I drive the Vauxhall around the village?”

"Not a chance," Siegfried replied flatly, already returning to Audrey and handing her a copita of sherry.

Tristan merely shrugged, turning to Audrey with a mischievous grin. "Had to try."

Laughing softly, she watched as the boys ascended the stairs and listened for the click of their bedroom door.

“Do you think they actually go to sleep when they go to bed?” Siegfried asked, as they settled back into their seats.

"Absolutely not," Audrey replied, taking a measured sip of her sherry. "They keep magazines under their pillows that they read until they either get too tired or simply pass out."

“You know about it, and you let them??”

"If I recall correctly, Mr Farnon," she retorted, shooting him her patented look accompanied by a perfectly arched eyebrow, "I'm not the only adult and parent in this house. Besides, don't tell me you didn't do the same. I can easily imagine you with a stack of veterinary journals at your bedside, even as a child."

He chuckled, taking his own sip of sherry. "Not quite. I was more enthralled with Treasure Island and, to my mother’s dismay, The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket. She let me read just about what I wanted, but she rather firmly drew the line at cannibalism."

“And you didn’t?”

"You don't know this about me, Mrs Hall," he confessed, a mischievous glint in his eye and his mouth twitching with amusement, "but I do believe a truly good book must contain a certain amount of gore."

"You ridiculous creature," she giggled, a sound that brought both happiness and immense relief to Siegfried. Perhaps, just perhaps, her laughter meant she wasn't in any hurry to abandon Skeldale House as he had feared; perhaps there was indeed a chance she would stay.

"What about you?" he pressed, emboldened. "Did you hide books under your pillow and read them when you were supposed to be asleep?"

"No, I were a good girl," she replied with a smirk that suggested, quite strongly to Siegfried, that she was, in fact, telling a magnificent lie.

“Fine, keep your secrets,” he gave a soft laugh, his face reddening.

"Mr Farnon," Audrey ventured, a faint blush creeping onto her cheeks, "might we listen to more of your records? I noticed them when cleaning but haven’t had the time to look through them."

Later, she would undoubtedly blame the sherry for this sudden, uninhibited boldness. If she were being perfectly honest, the evening's rather jolly conversation had thoroughly assuaged her earlier fears about her employment being in jeopardy. Surely, if her employer were still cross with her, he would have made his displeasure known by now? Mr Farnon, after all, had never been shy about vociferating anything that displeased him.

"Mrs Hall," Siegfried suddenly interjected with an idea forming in his head accompanied by a hopeful glint in his eye, "might you be interested in a dance, by any chance?" It had been years since he'd donned his dancing shoes, but he was willing to look the fool for a promising moment of happiness. Besides, he could certainly use a bit of levity himself. And, perhaps, if she agreed to dance, it might just be an unspoken confirmation that she wasn't planning to skip off to greener pastures with a more genial employer.

“I haven’t danced in—” she caught herself and finished sombrely and barely above a whisper, “—a very long time.”

"Neither have I. We’ll step on each other’s toes together. Oh, and I've got just the song," he declared, already flipping through his modest collection of some thirty records until he found the perfect one. Placing it on the gramophone, an upbeat little ditty immediately filled the room, and Siegfried, with a surprising lightness, danced over to her, pulling her gently to him, making her laugh.

I want to be happy

But I won't be happy

‘Til I make you happy, too.

Life's really worth living

When you are mirth giving

Why can't I give some to you?

Tristan slowly lowered his copy of Boy's Own, his ears twitching.

"Teddy, do you hear that??"

Edward, utterly engrossed in the latest Chums, kept reading, his face hidden by the magazine. "What of it?"

Tristan, with the speed of a startled ferret, snatched the magazine away. Edward instantly let out a squawk of protest, but Tristan shushed him with an urgent, "Listen!"

Rolling his eyes, Edward did as he was told, even holding his breath to better pinpoint the source of the interruption. Faint music drifted up from the ground floor, punctuated by something even more startling: his mother’s laughter.

"Is that... Mam?" Edward whispered, absolutely incredulous. He had to be mistaken. Sitting bolt upright, he strained to hear, convinced his ears were playing tricks on him.

“Sounds like they’re having a good time,” Tristan grinned. “There’s a proper party going on down there!”

Not knowing quite what to make of it, Edward sat frozen for a long moment as the boys listened to the muffled conversation and muted melody, punctuated every now and then by that unfamiliar sound of pure, unadulterated joy.

"She hasn't laughed like that in ages," Edward mumbled, almost to himself. He couldn't ever recall his mother laughing quite like that. Oh, she laughed with him, and she laughed politely with friends and acquaintances. As a young boy, he lacked the discerning knowledge of all his mother's various laughs. This one, though, stood out. It was markedly different.

"Neither has Siegfried," Tristan declared, a plan already forming. "We should definitely use this to our full advantage, young Edward. I wager they'll be in a ripping good mood in the morning, so we should start thinking about what we want and then ask them for it. I bet they'll say yes!"

“You’re not going to ask about the car again, are you?”

“Why not?! I’m a grown man of twelve. It’s time I learn to drive.”

Edward merely rolled his eyes and flopped back down, pulling the blanket firmly over his head. "Good luck with that. I don't reckon Mr Farnon will ever be that happy."

Both boys soon drifted off, the mirth wafting up from the sitting room serving as an unexpected lullaby, lulling them into a deep, peaceful slumber.