Chapter 21 #2
That brought a chuckle from Charles. “An extremely compelling argument. Go on, Henry. Give us the list.”
The boy frowned. “I don’t know all the things they do at school. He tells George about them, when he comes home. Cricket and races and games that happen in the dormitory.”
Was it simply a matter of Henry needing more to keep himself busy? That was not at all what she expected, and it still did not seem quite right. Tamsin did not need Charles’s raise of eyebrows to prompt more gentle probing. “And you would like to do those things too?”
“Yes.” He scratched Apollo behind the ears as the dog dropped the ball at his feet again.
Honestly, it was more difficult than pulling the most stubborn of weeds. The roots of Henry’s desire to leave home were more tangled than he let on. “Is that the only reason?”
Henry’s fingers tightened around the ball while Tamsin waited. He looked toward the garden, then at Charles, then at his sister again. “Daisy and George don’t let me play with them.”
Ah. There it was. Tamsin’s heart sank. It had been a rather persistent problem of the last few months. “Oh. I thought they were doing better at that.”
“Sometimes.” Henry shrugged. “But not often. Not most of the time. They have their own games. They say three is too many, because they have to tell me what to do. I’m…I’m not good at their games.”
The twins were rather prone to forget Henry craved to join their play. Daisy and George had entered the world together and seemed determined to continue through it in much the same fashion. Even when other children joined them, they remained a unit unto themselves.
And that would pose its own set of problems, in time…
“And when they have friends at the house,” Henry continued, “the twins don’t want me there because I’m too little.”
That made Tamsin huff. “You are not much younger than they are, only two years apart.”
“They say almost-eight isn’t the same as already ten.”
Charles shifted in his chair, bringing Tamsin’s attention back to him. He gave a slight nod. So that much, at least, he had already heard.
Henry threw the ball for Apollo rather harder than necessary. The big dog took off with a bark this time, and Athena raised her head, obviously tempted to correct her mate for his breach in etiquette.
“Edward isn’t home anymore, he’s at school with his friends. Daphne is always doing things with Seraphina and Pearl, to get ready for her great big ball. Leopold is old. Charles is—you’re busy, you’re not home very much.” Henry did not look at her as his tone quieted. “And you’re here.”
Oh. Tamsin’s chest tightened. She had known Henry would miss her. She had not really understood what her leaving had done to the shape of his world; perhaps because she had not wanted to feel the associated guilt which now stole into her heart for abandoning him.
Seraphina and Pearl had their own concerns, both of them out and occupied with society.
Daphne was rapidly following them, consumed by gowns and the approaching prospect of her own debut, with two sisters to support her.
Edward was away enjoying school. Daisy and George had one another.
Tamsin had married, leaving the household and not making a great effort to visit as of yet.
She had been one of the few people at Sycamore Lodge who noticed when the twins shut Henry out. Who let him follow her from room to room when everyone else found his questions tiresome. Who knew when his complaints meant he was bored and when they meant he needed attention.
Without her, he had not simply lost his eldest sister from the house. He had lost the person most aware of his existence.
“Oh, Henry.” Her throat tightened.
He shrugged again, the violent little shrug of a child who had already said more than he intended. “At school there would be boys who are also almost-eight.”
“Yes,” Tamsin said, composing herself while Charles watched her, brow furrowed again.
Henry picked up the ball and simply handed it to Apollo rather than throwing it. The dog tilted his head to one side, but took it. “I could find friends there.”
“Yes,” she agreed again, folding her hands tighter in her lap.
“So I can go?”
No.
The answer rose immediately to Tamsin’s tongue, but she did not say it aloud.
No. He was too young. He had not thought through what leaving home actually meant.
Roman had employed an excellent governess for precisely this reason; sending an almost-eight-year-old away from home was hardly the obvious solution to his loneliness.
She wanted to say it all, but she kept her lips pressed together as she considered his list of reasons. She had wanted someone to listen to her, for years, in that household. No one ever had. She had told Roman that was why she should go to Henry and take care of the situation.
That meant listening now…and listening was not the same thing as deciding what was best before he had finished speaking. “Do you know that you must sleep there?”
Henry frowned. “At school?”
“Yes.”
“Like Edward?”
Tamsin smiled. “Exactly like Edward.”
He considered that for a moment. “Every night?”
“Yes. Usually,” she said lightly. “Edward does not come home very often, does he?”
His expression changed. “Oh.”
It was delicate, her next statement. “And you would not see Daisy and George every day, as you do now.”
That made his chin rise, rather stubbornly too. “I don’t care.”
“You might eventually,” she pointed out, though Henry looked doubtful. “You would not see Seraphina, Daphne, and Pearl, except when you came home for special occasions or holidays.” He shrugged, so she added, “Or Father and Mother.” His eyes widened just a touch at that. “Or me.”
That did it, apparently. He answered quickly, and with a touch of accusation. “You don’t even live there anymore!”
“No, but you are here right now, at my house.” Tamsin gestured to the room around her. “You are always welcome here, darling. I promise. If you were at school, you could not simply come to Hartwell House with Charles on any afternoon because you wanted to.”
The little boy had plainly not considered this. “What if I asked the headmaster?”
“You would have to remain at school. They have a lot of rules about visits home.”
His face fell, and Tamsin immediately wanted to take the entire conversation back.
She wanted to tell him he needn’t worry, and he certainly did not need to go away at all.
She would arrange everything. She would invite him twice a week.
She would speak to the twins. She would find him companions.
She would make certain he never felt left out again.
Half a dozen solutions began arranging themselves neatly in her mind. And yet, with the way Charles was watching her, and the conversation with Matilda still in her mind, she hesitated.
What was it Roman had said?
“You were expected to solve everyone’s problems, always at hand to take upon yourself what others were capable of doing,” was what Roman had leveled at her.
Was this what he meant? Would it be wrong of her to take Henry’s problems and make them her own?
She bit her lip and looked down at Athena, who watched her with an unnervingly knowing expression.
“Can I go, Tamsin?” Henry asked in a pleading tone.
Tamsin examined him. “I…I do not know if you should, Henry.”
“You don’t?”
“No.” She forced herself to smile. “But I understand why you want to.”
“You do?” He stared at her for a long moment. “That isn’t the same as saying yes, though.”
“No,” she said softly. “I am afraid not. But I am certain Father, Mother, and Mrs. Keating will make a good decision for you, and I will certainly talk to them to see if I might help.”
Henry appeared dissatisfied with this, but Apollo rescued her by dropping the ball directly onto his foot. Within moments, the dog had reclaimed the child’s attention.
Tamsin watched him return to the game of fetch with a sigh. The problem was not school—or at least, school was not the whole of it. Henry was lonely.
What bothered her most in that moment was that she knew what he needed, but it was not up to her—or her alone—to decide what ought to be done about it.
She was his sister: not his parent or guardian, not even his governess.
He was not her prerogative. Though she loved him dearly, her role was to be one voice on his behalf, not the final voice.
After he tossed the ball a few more times for Apollo, Henry poked his head back inside. “May I explore your house, Tamsin?” He patted the dog on his back. “I can take Apollo with me as my guard dog, then you and Charles can talk about the things grown-ups always talk about.”
That brought a laugh from Charles, the first sound he had made in several minutes. “The things grown-ups talk about? What do you imagine we have to say that you cannot hear, Henry?”
“Boring things.” Henry wrinkled his nose. “Parliament or taxes. Or ballgowns.”
Biting back her own giggle, Tamsin gave permission. “Very well. Go on and explore, but do not go into the bedrooms. Stay on the ground and first floor, please—and be polite to Cook, and my housekeeper Mrs. Briers if you meet them.”
“Yes, Tamsin. Come with me, Apollo.” He went to the door and patted his leg.
“Go on, Apollo,” Tamsin commanded, pointing. She trusted the dog would stay with his new little friend, and out into the hall they went.
Athena lifted her head again, but when she was neither invited nor asked to leave, she settled on the ground with a deep sigh, perhaps relieved that she could remain near her mistress.
Charles looked down at the large dog. “She has laid claim to you, I gather? Does Hartwell mind?”
“It seems to please him, as a matter of fact.” Tamsin bent to stroke Athena’s long back, the coarse, short fur a now familiar texture.
She hadn’t spoken to her husband except briefly at breakfast that morning. He had seemed distracted, then left to speak to more people about saving the barbican and bar. Now she rather wished he was home to tell him about Henry.
But he wasn’t. And she did not know when he would return.