Daniel Vincent Humphrey â Vincent to all who loved him â was uncomfortable. This was not entirely unexpected.
He was standing in the corner of the parlour, back pressed against a bookshelf. One row rested against his skull, his upper back, his hips. It was uncomfortable, but in a helpful way. It stopped his mind from wandering as he listened to the conversation in the room.
The discussion was mainly between two. The first was Vincent's eldest brother, Simon Humphrey, Duke of Germaine. Simon was tall, medium-build, with the same brown and beige complexion as the rest of the Humphrey family. In that moment, he was smiling, lounging back in an armchair with one leg crossed over the other. The position put his boots on display â Vincent doubted this was deliberate â and highlighted the excellent shine put on them by Simon's valet. Perhaps he was using a new cleaning product? Or did he regularly massage them with oil? Vincent glanced at his own shoes with a frown, wondering if he should begin putting more effort into them. It would not do to embarrass his family by walking about in ill-oiled shoes.
The shelves at his back dug in and he returned his gaze to the room before him. And the room looked back at him.
The other person in the parlour that had been doing the bulk of the talking was a matron with greying black hair, a sharp nose, and a bulky dress that had sounded like a rainstorm as she'd sashayed into the room a half hour earlier. Now she watched him with a smile that slowly faded.
Vincent looked at Simon.
He was too far away to hear the sigh that undoubtedly escaped Simon's lips; he saw it in the shift of his brother's shoulders though. "Our aunt asked how your schooling proceeds, Vin."
Vincent nodded. He was studying the law. In truth, he was fascinated by the law. It was all rules and agreements put firmly on paper for all to see. There was debate and discussion, but it was rigorous and without feeling. There were none of the pitfalls of normal conversation.
But his passion for the law did not make the law easy to talk about.
"It..." No, he shouldn't say it that way; too impersonal.
"If..." It would be idiotic to begin theoretically.
"I have one week of term remaining. Within the month I will be qualified." Once the words began, he had no trouble maintaining their flow; it would be most improper and inconvenient to have to consider and reconsider every sentence. He was most grateful to only be slightly broken.
In that moment, his relations were quite convincingly appearing not frustrated with him. Simon's smile was still in place, hidden from Vincent as his brother directed his attention back to their aunt, and the tension in his neck that sometimes appeared was absent. For her part, their Aunt Delia was looking quite... happy.
Mrs Cordelia Kilroy was their paternal aunt, the sister of their deceased father. She had taken much care over the years to check in on her nieces and nephews. Vincent wondered to himself briefly whether this was due to affection or a sense of duty since their parents' early demise. He hadn't been present at enough visits to know. It was only since Vincent's elder sister's marriage the previous year that these calls had begun to include him and some of his other brothers.
Aunt Delia smiled. Her hands clapped in front of her. "Oh, that is so wonderful to hear, Vincent. I am sure your late parents, may they rest in peace, would be so glad to know you're doing well."
Perhaps they would, Vincent thought. Or perhaps not. It depended on one's definition of 'well'.
"Unlike one of your brothers, eh Vinny?"
This was from Matthew, the youngest Humphrey brother. He quirked his brow at Vincent and raised his glass a fraction before taking a sip. It was always comforting when Matt spoke. This was for two reasons. Firstly, the brothers were possibly the closest out of any of the siblings. It must have had to do with their ages â they were born almost a year apart to the day â because it was most definitely not a similarity in personality. Where Vincent was sedate, Matthew was exuberant. Where Vincent was stern, Matthew was ... well, exuberant.
Which led into the second reason Vincent was comfortable when Matt spoke; the man was always joking.
Their aunt tutted at him. "Oh, Matthew, do be serious-" This was folly on their Delia's part â Matthew was almost never serious "-If you put your mind to something, I have no doubt that you could achieve it."
"No, no, I cannot be consoled," he pressed a hand to his forehead, playacting dramatically without risking his drink, "I am the layabout of the family, the embarrassment. Even Phil outperforms me, and she's nine!"
The child in question was in the room. She was small â though not for her age, Vincent supposed â with straight brown hair tied back in a severe bun, and intelligent eyes. They crinkled at Matt now.
"Too right!" she said, giggling as Simon reach out to ruffle her hair.
The bun was less severe now.
Aunt Delia tutted again. "Well, I'll never be able to have a normal conversation with you all in this mood!" She stood quickly.
Vincent watched her cautiously. Was she upset? Did he need to begin forming an apology? Her lips were pursed, her hands clasped genteelly in front of her. After a moment her expression cracked, a wide smile forming that included â Vincent checked â her eyes. She embraced Phil, gave Simon a kiss on the cheek, and slapped Matt's hand gently as he reached for the decanter as she crossed the room to Vincent.
She was probably the same height as Vincent, so their eyes were aligned as she took his shoulders gently. "They would be very proud," she said quietly, only to him, before bending forward and pressing a kiss to his cheek.
She pulled away and paused. Perhaps for a response. It would have taken Vincent too long to figure out what he should say, so he settled for a nod. Something changed in Delia's expression, though he wasn't entirely sure what, but she patted his cheek and turned away before he could figure it out.
He'd ask Matt later.
"Be good, all of you," she looked at Matthew pointedly, "and pass my love to Beth and Bart. Oh, and David."
Bart. The second eldest Humphrey sibling. Away at present checking on his estate.
Beth. Between Bart and Vincent in age. Not present because she now resided several hours away with her husband.
David. Husband of Beth.
Her visit complete, Delia hurried from the room.
Simon stood a few moments later and extended his hand to Phil. "Alright," he said, "We've both time for some study before dinner is served."
'Study' for him surely meant looking over the estate's books or corresponding with tenants. For Phil it would be more traditional, although she had been without a governess for three months again, so it might also mean looking over the books or corresponding with tenants.
Vincent stayed with his back against the bookshelves until they left. Then he took a seat near Matthew, whilst his mind came up with the question he wanted to ask. Matt watched him, gently sipping his port, with no hint of irritation.
Vincent wanted to ask about their aunt. Whether he'd upset her or said something he shouldn't have. But he needed the question to sound how he meant it; concern for his aunt, not for himself.
After a few false starts, he finally asked, "Did you think Aunt Delia was well-disposed as she left?"
Matt was already shaking his head. "We were joking at the end there, Vin. I didn't upset her."
Even the most carefully crafted questions could sometimes miss their mark. Vincent shook his head.
His brother frowned at him. "You think you upset her?" Vincent nodded, even as Matt let out a snort. "You think too much, Vinny."
So he'd been told.
"She was not put-out, I promise you." Matt sobered suddenly, leaning forward in his seat so that his elbows rested on his knees. Sometimes looking between them it was easy to imagine they were twins. Compared with Bart and Simon, they had slim frames â though Matt was taller â and both had curlier hair than the rest of the family combined. It was the set of their lips that made in particularly easy to tell them apart usually. Less so when Matt was serious.
"Aunt Delia cares for us. She just wants to see you happy. I think sometimes she mistakes your seriousness for unhappiness and it makes her sad." He saw Vincent's frown and raised a hand. "Not properly sad, just a hint of sadness. Like..." he thought for a moment and then clicked his fingers, humour reappearing. "Like dropping a fresh scone! Sad for a moment, but easily fixed by getting another scone."
Somehow that helped. This was another reason why Matthew was comforting; he understood what Vincent didn't and was happy to explain it.
Outwardly, he nodded. Matt settled back in his chair again, swirling his glass, and his brother decided to leave him to it. With another nod, he rose and left the room.
Briefly he considered going upstairs to pack. He had returned to the Humphrey estate only two days prior to visit with his family. The university was in town, a few hours away by coach, but despite the distance he often found himself returning home for the weekends. Without classes, town held little appeal for him. He had comfortable accommodations that he could stay in to study or read, but the activities â the opera, gentleman's clubs, balls â did not interest him in the slightest. Better to return to the Humphrey estate where he could still study and read, but perhaps listen to his siblings' chatter or go for a ride as well.
The thought of riding piqued his interest, and rather than continuing to loiter outside of the parlour, Vincent clasped his hands behind his back and set off for the stables. When moving by himself throughout the house, Vincent preferred to stay in the staff corridors where possible. Not only was it more efficient, but it was also quieter. A maid shuffled passed, glancing up with words prepared only to realise who she'd encountered. She bobbed her head, but let him pass without speaking.
Much quieter.
The hallway he was in now snaked its way towards the stables, passing the servants entrance to the dining hall and then the kitchens on the right. It was bare of decoration or colour, and Vincent began to tack his horse systematically in his mind, preparing for the approaching task.
"Going for a ride?"
Vincent glanced up sharply.
Thomas Thorne was leaning against the wall towards the far end of the corridor. His arms were folded, his ankles crossed, and his red coat puckered awkwardly where his shoulder met the wall. He didn't seem to mind; he was grinning, one dark eyebrow hiked as was common for the man.
Gradually, Vincent slowed to a stop a few steps from him. He could feel the frown forming on his face, but did not know how to stop it. Or if he should. There was something about Thomas that he did not trust.
Perhaps it stemmed from the man's family. His father and brother â the Duke of Thorne and his heir â were undoubtedly criminals, though the precise nature of their crimes still eluded Vincent. What they knew for certain was that they had some involvement in the violence that led to David's arrival on their doorstep over a year earlier, battered, bleeding and without his memory. And that in the aftermath they had ordered the murder of the man. Twice.
Even as he considered the Thornes, Vincent's lip twitched. It irritated him no end that they had no real evidence against the men. As a man who had made the law his career â his passion â it felt as though convicting the Thornes was his responsibility, and that weighed on him heavily.
The load was not lightened by the fact that Thomas Thorne was not telling them everything. In a meeting to argue for David's life, he had prevented all of their deaths by threatening to reveal a secret. The thought of others knowing had been so alarming to the Duke of Thorne that he had abandoned the plan to kill them almost instantly. Such a sacrifice from Thomas, yet his only request of them was not to ask about it.
His family were grateful.
Vincent was sceptical.
Now, he blinked, realising that it had been several moments of them standing silently in the corridor.
He mustered a sharp nod.
Thomas' eyes were bright, and he looked away from Vincent to assess the corridor briefly. "An excellent route you've chosen. Very efficient." He punctuated his statement with a nod, his lips pursing slightly.
Vincent wasn't sure if he was serious or mocking him. He played it safe by simply nodding again.
"By the way," Thomas leant forward slightly, his coat mostly falling back into place. "I think I have a lead on that flower. You've not solved the mystery without me, have you?"
The flower. About eight months prior, at that same meeting to bargain for David's life, Thomas had found a small purple flower amongst the wheel tracks. They hadn't recognised it â neither had any of Vincent's family when they showed them later â but Thomas was certain the blooms origins would hold some clue to his family's activities. As such, he had been hounding Vincent on and off for months to try and determine the nature of the flower.
Unfortunately, Vincent was only a passable horticulturist. And an academic one, at that.
To the question, he merely shook his head.
Thomas grinned at him. "Well I may very well have found it!" He patted his pockets briefly. "Damn, I left the book in Simon's study. I'll go retrieve it." He took off at a slight jog down the corridor, waving a hand behind him. "Don't wait for me â I'll find you by the stables."
Vincent blinked.
How was that man more comfortable in the house than he?
With a small sigh, he clasped his hands behind his back again and continued on his way. It was only a few steps to the door, and as he opened it, Vincent took in a lung-full of air as a light breeze swept into the corridor. This was what he missed in town. The last weeks of winter brought with them the melting of snow, but the same clean chill remained in the wind. It carried the whinnies of horses in the stables, the scrape of leafless branches against each other, and the snuffles of a baby.
Vincent glanced down abruptly.
There, nestled at his feet, was a baby.
A living â he paused for a moment to be sure the chest rose and fell â baby.
The infant was lying on the top step, wrapped in a coarse brown fabric that wound its way across and around the baby until the end was tucked into a fold across its chest. It did not look particularly warm. This was further evidenced by the decidedly blue tinge dusting the child's lips.
"You didn't get very far!" Came Thomas' observation from the hallway, the sound of trotting footsteps echoing slightly as his voice grew louder. "Now, take a look at this and tell me it doesn't carry a marked resemblance-"
Vincent wasn't always certain when other people noticed things, but he was certain when Thomas noticed the baby. The man stopped suddenly, immediately to Vincent's left with his shoulder wedged against the wall. He looked from Vincent to the infant, and then back to Vincent. His eyebrow was raised, but there was alarm more than humour in his eyes.
"How long was I gone?"
~~~
Hello lovely readers and welcome to the 2nd instalment of the Humphrey Chronicles! I am so very excited to be continuing this journey with you all and cannot wait for the adventures ahead.
Now the bad news - I have no update schedule... I will try to update once a fortnight, probably on a Sunday, but unfortunately I cannot offer any guarantees. I understand if you want to wait to read DohD until after it's completed, although comments, votes and engagement in general does spur me on and will help the book finish faster - the choice is yours!
As always please leave me any feedback, suggests or questions, and please don't forget to vote if you've enjoyed the first chapter of DohD!
xx Flo