Sins of the Mother

By Anna Rigg

In early 19th-century rural Suffolk, England, young shoemaker Charles Barber's world is transformed when he falls in love with Penelope, the blacksmith's daughter.
Rachel, Charles' mother, whose shrouded past and shocking secrets threaten to unravel the fabric of their idyllic romance, is staunchly opposed to their union.
As tensions rise, Penelope's aunt, the enigmatic Mrs Skinner, reveals unsettling premonitions of the future, both hopeful and haunting.
Enter Charles' estranged brother, whose malevolent deeds set in motion a cascade of chaos and heartache, leaving an indelible mark on the Barber lineage, including Mary, Charles and Penelope's darkly ambitious daughter.
Straddling a thin line between victim and villain, Mary's desires for a life beyond the village's confines ignite a chain of events that will forever alter the course of the Barber family.
Sins of the Mother invites you to step through a portal to another era, where the intricacies of love and loss are intertwined with the unyielding bonds of family. This captivating saga lays the groundwork for a journey that transcends generations, making you yearn for the next chapter in the Barber Legacy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Apr 17, 2024
• ISBN: 9781998454266

Anna Rigg

As an Australian writer, Anna is deeply passionate about tracing her family's roots and crafting stories. Her debut novel, Sins of the Mother, is the first in a series of five captivating books that blend her personal family history with the vibrant world of historical fiction. With years of experience gathering family stories and photographs, combined with a fascination for all things historical, Anna has a unique ability to bring the past to life in a way that touches the hearts of her readers.But there is more to Anna than just her love for storytelling. She has an unwavering passion for Photoshop, animation and video editing and enjoys dabbling in 3D modelling. When she's not busy with her creative projects, you will find her wandering through museums, meandering through old graveyards and hunting for treasures in antique shops, always on the lookout for inspiration.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

1831

Slivers of afternoon sunlight sliced through the leafy elm canopy, dappling the yellow-gold light as Charles made his way along Mill End Lane toward the neighbouring hamlet of Barrington. The short distance from his own village felt liberating. ‘Just a mile away, yet worlds apart from the suffocating air at home,’ he mused, feeling the weight of his mother’s expectations and relentless bickering fade with each step.

As he paused by a thicket of mulberry bushes, his thoughts were interrupted by a friendly horse and her foal approaching. He leaned forward to pat the mare’s neck. You’re a beauty, aren’t you? he murmured, more to himself than to the horse.

The horse neighed in response.

She sure is, an elderly farmer’s voice came from seemingly out of nowhere, startling Charles slightly.

Oh, good afternoon, sir. Charles’ smile tinged with a hint of embarrassment.

And where might you be heading on this fine day? the man asked with a friendly curiosity.

I’m seeking Edwards Aldous, the blacksmith.

Ah, he’s just up the road, about a hundred yards. You’ll smell the forge before you see it. The man nodded toward the horse. Wanted to get shoes for this beauty here, but Aldous is swamped with work.

That’s actually why I’m here. I heard he needed an assistant. It’s only for a few weeks, but…

A fine, young, strapping lad like yourself will be a welcome sight for him, no doubt, the man said, waving goodbye and disappearing behind the almond trees.

Charles resumed his walk, his stride more confident. This was more than just a job at the forge. It was a chance to breathe, if only for a short while.

A thick plume of smoke drifted from the rear of a nearby two-storey thatched cottage. Ivy and moss crept up its walls and amongst the crevices. He pushed open a rickety wooden gate and headed up the cobblestone path. He stopped to take in the sight and brushed his hand over a wild bush, breathing in the sweet aroma of lavender. The leaded windows were fogged from the inside. After a moment, he removed his cap, placed it in his jacket pocket, and knocked on the heavily weathered door, the upturned horseshoe above it glinting in the sunlight.

A dignified, middle-aged, slightly built woman with piercing grey eyes opened the door. How may I help you?

The sharp gasp and shiver she had exhibited upon seeing him were puzzling. He wondered if something about his appearance or arrival unsettled her. Maybe she had been expecting someone else. He shrugged it off with a smile. Good afternoon. I’m Charles Barber. Here to see Edwards Aldous to offer my assistance in the forge. Over her shoulder, he glimpsed a young woman disappearing up the stairs.

He’ll be here in a moment. He’s finishing for the day. Please come in. I’m Mrs Skinner, his sister-in-law. She opened the door further and waved him in. Sit down, Charles.

As he entered, he felt her eyes follow him. Thank you. He sat on one of the green, well-used armchairs by the fireplace. As he sat, a black and white cat jumped into his lap.

Hello. Where did you come from? Charles said, running his hand along its fur.

That’s Sebastian, my niece’s adopted child. He followed her home one day and ended up staying. But this is most unusual. Generally, he makes himself scarce when there are strangers in the house. May I offer you some water?

That’s very kind of you. He gazed around the sparsely furnished but homely abode. Dried herbs and flowers hung from the walls and the exposed rafters. Several mortar and pestles, jars and vials rested on wall-mounted shelves. The timber floors were covered in braided rugs. A worn pine dining table with six mismatched chairs took pride of place in the centre of the room. Overall, it was a warm and inviting atmosphere.

When she filled the mug from the cream-coloured jug and handed it to him, her movements were nurturing, almost motherly. He observed her small, thoughtful smile, which seemed to light up her eyes, revealing a warmth and kindness that put him at ease.

Charles downed it in a single gulp. Thank you. I needed that. He placed the empty mug on a side table next to him. His attention was distracted by laughter coming from the top of the stairs.

My nieces are upstairs, Mrs Skinner said, stirring the simmering casserole over the fire as flames crackled in a rough stone fireplace beside him. They’ll be down shortly.

Charles smiled. The armchair creaked as he shifted his weight. Just as he got comfortable, the front door flew open. With a start, he jumped to his feet. As did the cat.

Evening all, said the blacksmith, ducking his head as he stepped into the house.

Edwards, this is Charles Barber. He’s come to lend a hand in the forge, Mrs Skinner said, grabbing a towel and lifting the pot lid.

Edwards approached him with an extended hand and a broad smile, and they shook. Welcome, lad. By jingles, I’m pleased someone answered the call. Unfortunately, the old shoulder is playing up, and I need help. Sit, sit. How long can you stay? And what experience do you have? Edwards said, stroking his handlebar moustache.

He sat in one armchair, Charles in the other. The lingering smell of metal emanating from the blacksmith brought comfort to Charles.

Pleased to meet you, sir. I can stay for at least a month. I’m a shoemaker by trade, but business is slow in Thistlehall during the harvest season. As far as experience goes, my father – now retired – was part-owner of a foundry, and I spent several years learning from him.

Excellent. We’ll begin at dawn. I’ll clear out a section in the stable for you to sleep in while you’re here. It’s not luxury, but it’ll be warm and dry. I’ll pay you what’s fair. Edwards got up and strode to the fireplace, rubbing his hands. Mmm. Smells delicious. You will eat with us tonight, Charles?

I’d… um … Two young women descended the stairs. The sight of the taller one hit him like a sudden blast from a furnace.

Hello, Father, they said in unison before pecking his cheek. They glanced at Charles, who leapt to his feet. The taller one smiled sweetly.

Edwards proudly splayed out his arms, showing off his daughters. Penelope, Priscilla, I’d like you to meet Charles Barber. He’s come to lend a hand.

Hello, Mr Barber, I’m Penelope. Nice to meet you. She flashed a smile and dipped into a curtsy.

And I’m Priscilla, said the shorter one with an equally warm but cheeky smile.

His gaze was firmly fixed on Penelope. He intended to say, It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. However, a garbled cacophony poured from his mouth instead.

Penelope covered her mouth, suppressing a giggle.

Charles’ cheeks heated with a flush, and he tried again, clearing his throat. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Aldous.

Penelope stifled a smile. Likewise, Mr Barber.

Charles thought he heard Edwards’ distant voice telling him to sit down. But in a transfixed stare, he remained upright and watched Penelope glide across the room. Her dress, a soft-lilac hue, shimmered in the candlelight. Her auburn hair pulled into a loose bun with a few strands cascading down her back and shoulders.

In a much louder, amused voice, Edwards said, Son, sit down.

Charles shook his head several times. Oh yes. Of course. Ooh, it’s hot in here, he muttered, wiping his forehead and settling into the chair.

How far away is dinner, Priscilla? I’m ravenous, and I’m sure Charles has worked up quite an appetite, Edwards said, chuckling. He ushered Charles to the dining table.

I’m serving it now, Father, Priscilla said, ladling bowls of stew with Penelope.

Charles felt a rush of heat and prickles spread across his face as he caught the hushed whispers and giggles of the two girls. He was not accustomed to such attention, and their comments about his looks left him both flattered and slightly embarrassed. He took a seat next to Edwards and opposite Mrs Skinner.

Mr. Barber, your rabbit stew, Penelope said, setting the bowl before him. The delightful blend of her lavender fragrance and the stew’s aroma made his head spin.

My favourite, stabbit rew... I mean, rabbit stew, Charles stammered, smacking his forehead as laughter filled the room. He was sure Penelope saw him as a fool.

Was her smile patronising or reassuring? His cheeks reddened as he adjusted his jacket. I’m not usually like this. Something’s off with me today.

Edwards eyes shifted between his daughter and Charles.

Meanwhile, Mrs Skinner, with a raised eyebrow, quietly muttered something to herself. It sounded like ‘he’s the one,’ though it could just as easily have been ‘it’s finally done.’

As they were about to take their first spoonful of stew, Mrs Skinner leapt from her seat, raising her index finger. Do you hear that? Sounds like shouting outside.

A hush fell over the room. Edwards reacted instantly, leaping to his feet and bursting through the front door. Fire! he yelled, dashing outside.

Charles, Mrs Skinner, and the girls hurriedly followed him. Across the street, a fiery glow bathed the evening in an orange light. Smoke billowed into the sky, thick and suffocating.

Mrs Skinner, Penelope, Priscilla, grab buckets, now! It’s Maria’s house! Edwards said as he and Charles raced toward the inferno, weaving through flying embers and sparks.

Amid the inferno’s deafening roar and scorching heat, a distraught woman clutched at Edwards’ arm. My twins, they’re still inside! she cried, her face streaked with tears and soot.

I’m sorry, Maria. It’s too late, Edward whispered.

The raw panic in Maria’s voice sent a shiver down Charles’ spine. Tell me where they are, he asked.

In their bedroom upstairs. She sobbed, her eyes begging him for help.

Charles’ heart raced with a fierce determination. He took a bucket of icy water from Penelope, dousing himself. Your shawl, quick, he said with his hand outstretched.

Edwards gripped his shoulder. Don’t be foolish, son. It’s impossible.

Penelope’s voice trembled. What are you thinking? she asked, hesitating to hand over her shawl.

There’s no time to waste. Charles snatched it from her grip. The fire hasn’t reached the upper floor yet. He soaked the fabric, then wrapped it around his head, leaving only his eyes uncovered.

Edwards’ grip tightened around his arm. No, Charles. It’s suicide.

Charles stood frozen for a moment, staring into the core of the blazing inferno. But then, the desperate cries of Maria echoed in his ears, her tear-streaked face flashing before his eyes. He thought of the innocent lives at stake, their helplessness.

Then, with a resolute breath, he broke from Edward’s grip and plunged into the raging flames.

CHAPTER 2

As Mrs Skinner comforted Maria Woodland, Penelope stared despairingly as the blazing fire engulfed the cottage. Every window of the cottage was lit with an orange-red hue while the fire slowly consumed the roof. Wooden beams cracked and snapped as they were charred to a crisp. She turned to Edwards with a broken voice. Father, he hasn’t come out yet. Do you think he will? She covered her mouth with her shaking hand.

The scorching heat seared her skin, the acrid smoke filled her lungs, but it was her heart that ached the most. It was as if it recognised something in him that her mind could not yet understand.

Her father, Edwards, stood beside her. His silence was more telling than any words could be, his face etched with a raw dread that mirrored her own.

Then, a thunderous crash resounded from the cottage, the flames roaring higher. Oh, dear lord, the roof... Edwards encircled her with his arm. Lass, it’s unthinkable for anyone to survive this. But Penelope’s thoughts were with Charles, the man she barely knew yet felt a curious connection to, her heart clinging to the faintest hope that, somehow, he would emerge unscathed from the raging flames.

Her heart leapt into her throat at the sound of a man’s desperate shouts coming from the rear of the cottage. With a newfound surge of hope, she dashed toward the source of the voice, her father close on her heels.

What’s happened? Edwards called out, his voice rough with urgency as they navigated the debris-strewn ground.

Drawing closer, they discovered a man frantically unwrapping the shawl from around Charles’ face. Nearby, the twins lay, silent but breathing.

Dropping to her knees beside Charles, she placed her hand on his heart – he was alive.

Good god, Edwards said. He gripped Penelope’s shoulders firmly. Lass, we need more hands here. Inform Maria the twins are safe.

Pushing through her panic, Penelope took a deep, steadying breath and sprinted to the front of the property.

Despite her swiftest efforts, her return felt agonisingly slow when she reappeared with Mrs Skinner, Priscilla, Maria, and several men from the village.

Maria rushed to her sons. My babies are alive. Thank god, she sobbed, her eyes turning gratefully toward Charles. He’s a saviour, an angel.

Charles’ bravery had not just saved the children; it had touched something deep within her, solidifying the perplexing bond she felt toward him.

As Mrs Skinner, the village healer, confidently took charge with a lantern in hand, she inspected the twins closely. No burns, and they’re alert, she said in a steady voice, addressing Maria. They’re going to be fine, dear. We will arrange somewhere for you and the boys to stay.

Maria, cradling her boys, stood in silence, her gaze fixed on the charred remains of what was once her home, when a man from the crowd stepped in. They will stay with us. My wife and I will tend to them.

Turning her attention to Charles, Mrs Skinner checked his pulse. Her brow furrowed, and a soft Hmm escaped her lips. I need to treat the burns. Edwards, help me get him inside.

A knot tightened in Penelope’s stomach. The anxious undertone in her aunt’s voice didn’t sit well with her. Mrs Skinner always had a tendency to shield her and Priscilla from the harsher truths. The thought that Charles’ injuries might be more severe than they appeared weighed heavily on her mind, deepening her concern for him.

As Edwards and a neighbour carried him into the house, he stirred back to consciousness. With a faint, hoarse voice and in between coughs, he asked, The children? Are they... safe?

Yes, dear. Focus on resting; let us take care of you, Mrs Skinner reassured him as they settled him onto her downstairs bedroom bed.

Penelope, assisting her aunt, felt her cheeks warm with a blush as they carefully peeled off Charles’ charred clothes, leaving him in his undergarments. His right forearm bore the brunt of the fire’s fury, marked by blisters and scorched skin, but fortunately, the rest of him seemed unscathed. Gathering his soiled shirt and trousers, Penelope handed them to Priscilla, requesting her to wash them.

I’ll pump some water for you, lass, Edwards said as he and Priscilla left the room.

Penelope, stay here while I get the salve. I’ll be back in a moment, Mrs Skinner said, rushing out of the room.

Penelope wished her aunt would hurry back. Although she didn’t want to leave his side, she felt awkward being alone with a partially clad man. She gently lifted the sheet to cover his bare chest, then took a seat beside the bed. Carefully, she cleaned his soot-streaked face with a damp cloth. A surge of warmth filled her when his eyes fluttered open. You’re going to be fine, Charles. You’re in a safe place now.

Mrs Skinner returned with a bowl of sweet-smelling salve. Charles tried to sit up but couldn’t quite manage it. Don’t you move, dear. She perched on the edge of the bed, taking care not to jostle him. With gentle, practised movements, she applied the mixture of honey and lavender to the raw, red skin of his arm.

Her aunt chuckled with a hint of mischief as she tenderly wrapped the bandages around his arm. Was this a brave move or a foolish act, I wonder?

Penelope gazed at Charles, admiring him more with each passing moment. His courage, his selflessness - it all seemed so remarkable. Oh, Mrs Skinner, how can you even question it? Charles risked everything for people he didn’t even know. That’s the truest form of bravery. Her heart swelled with pride and affection for the man before her, a hero in her eyes.

After thanking Mrs Skinner, he looked up at Penelope with the most beautiful smile, which made his blue eyes stand out even more. I’m afraid I lost your shawl.

That’s the least of my worries. I’m just thankful you’re here, Penelope replied, unable to tear her gaze from him. Although his fair locks were smeared with ash and partially singed, it did not detract from his handsome, chiselled features.

Her father leant against the door jamb. His giant form filled the doorway, allowing little room for Priscilla’s head to poke through. But she did manage a friendly gesture at Charles.

How’s the patient? Edwards asked.

Charles gave them a wave. I’ll be alright to start work by morning. But then he broke into a coughing fit.

Not bloody likely. You’ll stay here until Mrs Skinner gives you the word. He turned to Mrs Skinner. I’ll sleep in here on the other bed and keep an eye on him throughout the night. You can take my room. He faced Charles. I’ll be back in a few minutes, son.

I’ll prepare more salve for the morning, then bid you all goodnight. If you require anything, let me know, Mrs Skinner said, giving Charles a reassuring touch on his arm before leaving the room with Edwards and Priscilla.

Penelope stood by the bedside. Is there anything I can get you? Her hand remained on his shoulder for a moment too long. A tingling sensation ran through her.

He looked up, flashing a smile of thanks. No. I’m fine, Penelope.

At least you get out of sleeping in the stable. She bit her lip to stifle a giggle.

A glint of humour sounded in his voice. That was my plan all along.

She laughed. I’ll see you in the morning, Charles. I hope you have a comfortable night’s sleep.

You too, Penelope, and thank you, he said, brushing the top of her hand.

As the two sisters lay in their beds upstairs, a single candle on the shared bedside table lit the attic room.

I think Charles is so brave, Penelope, Priscilla said. I’d hate to think what would have happened to baby Frederick and Abraham if he hadn’t acted so swiftly.

I agree. I’m so relieved he survived and is under our roof. Mrs Skinner said he’ll recover. Penelope raised herself up on one elbow. Sebastian, at the end of her bed, rubbed a paw over his ear. He appeared annoyed at being disturbed. Priscilla, can I tell you a secret?

Of course. Priscilla’s wide brown eyes reflected the candle flame.

I like Charles. Something stirred inside when I first saw him. Have you ever seen a more handsome man with such broad and muscular shoulders? And a kindly face? Not to mention brave.

Judging by how he fumbled his words over dinner, I’m guessing he sees you in the same way. Not that you have broad shoulders. Priscilla giggled. However, you do have a kind face.

Oh, hush. Penelope waved her hand. Anyway, do you really think he likes me? Penelope asked, narrowing her eyes.

Come on, Penelope. Even Mrs Skinner noticed. Didn’t you see her smile? And Father had to ask him to sit down twice. He was so mesmerised by you. Priscilla laughed.

Hmm. How old do you think he is?

I’m guessing early twenties. Twenty-five at the most. I’m only fifteen, but hey, you’re nineteen. Perfect age.

The bedroom door creaked open. What are you girls still doing awake? I can hear your chattering, Mrs Skinner said, tiptoeing into the room in her white night dress. Stray strands of fair hair poked through the edges of her bonnet.

Priscilla sat up and flicked her long, dark tresses to one side. Guess what, Mrs Skinner? Penelope likes Charles.

Mrs Skinner sat on the edge of Penelope’s bed. I’m not blind, dear.

But Mrs Skinner, what do you think? Penelope asked, staring at her aunt with hope.

Her eyes focused on the candle. Mrs Skinner waited momentarily before speaking. I had a vision when he first arrived, and all I will say, my dears, is there’s no such thing as coincidence. Only fate. Now, I suggest you two get some sleep. Tomorrow is another day. Mrs Skinner patted the sleeping Sebastian.

Penelope suddenly sat up, drawing her knees close to her chest. The thought that it involved Charles sent a flutter through her heart. The accuracy of her aunt’s visions was well-known to her. What did you see?

We’ll leave that for another time. Mrs Skinner kissed both girls on the forehead and left the room.

Penelope’s sleep-filled eyes slowly opened, her vision still hazy from the night’s fatigue. The dream of Charles came flooding back to her. Her cheeks heated up as she recalled its vividness, and she quickly threw on her dressing gown and sprung out of bed. She glanced at her sister and chuckled at her limbs sprawled and tangled around the patchwork quilt. She couldn’t figure out if Priscilla’s head was at the top or the bottom of the bed. Bless, you’re still asleep, she whispered.

Downstairs, Charles sat at the dining table, comically dressed in Edwards’ oversized clothes, with Sebastian purring around his feet.

Good morning, Penelope said, bright and cheery. She picked up Sebastian and kissed his head. How are you today?

Charles’ eyes lit up, his smile warm and genuine. I’m fine, and I slept reasonably well. Your father kept checking on me. Mrs Skinner changed the bandages earlier. She thinks about a week, I’ll be as good as new. I’d like to begin work today, but she outright refused to allow me anywhere near the forge. I suspect one doesn’t argue with Mrs Skinner. He laughed, accentuating his dimpled cheeks.

Even after such an ordeal, his resilience and good humour filled her with even more admiration and a deepening sense of affection. She found herself smiling back, almost involuntarily, drawn to his infectious positivity and strength.

You’re absolutely correct, Penelope said, sitting opposite him. Where is she and Father?

Edwards is at the forge, and Mrs Skinner has gone to check on the children and their mother. Penelope, I’m curious. I know she’s your aunt, but why call her Mrs Skinner?

My late mother, Elizabeth, and she were sisters. When she met and married her husband, Uncle Thomas, everyone started calling her Mrs Skinner because that was his surname, and I suppose, over time, it stuck. There is a third, much younger sister, Rebecca, but we lost contact with her. We haven’t heard from her in many years. Apparently, she lives somewhere south of London.

I’m sorry to hear about your mother. And where is Uncle Thomas?

He passed away around the same time as Mother, ten years ago, during an influenza outbreak, Penelope said in a soft voice. Mrs Skinner has been our mother since. But she’s also our best friend and confidante. She’s taught us to read and write. We rely on her for everything. As does most of the village. Not a day goes by that she doesn’t help people with their ailments.

She noticed how intently he was gazing at her while she spoke, nodding every so often.

She sounds like a remarkable woman. I’m certainly grateful for all she’s done with these burns. Charles pulled up his sleeve, exposing his bandaged forearm.

Penelope ran her fingers over the gauze. You gave me a fright last night, Charles.

Charles leaned back, closing his eyes briefly. I didn’t think I’d make it, he murmured. After a deep breath, he opened his eyes and fixed them on her. I was carrying a child in each arm. The front way out was blocked – part of the floor had given way. Then I saw the back door through the flames, thankfully open. I ran for it. The last thing on my mind before I collapsed outside was…

Penelope leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper. What were you thinking, Charles?

His hand reached out, gently stroking hers, his voice trembling and soft. It was about you, Penelope. I feared I wouldn’t see you again.

Her heart fluttered wildly. There’s no need to worry about that now.

CHAPTER 3

Edwards had assured the governor of the local prison that he would deliver two large decorative gates by the end of the month. Even with Charles’ injuries, he was confident they would meet the deadline. His word was as good as any contract.

Hot, sweaty and shirtless, with a leather apron protecting his chest, Charles’ brawny arms pumped the bellows to ensure the fire was roaring.

That’s about right, son. You don’t want to be breathing in too much soot. You had enough of it a week ago, and you’re still recovering, Edwards said, shovelling more coal into the stone furnace. Maybe stand outside for a few minutes for some fresh air. The sun’s beautiful out there today.

It’ll be alright. We’ll be stopping for lunch soon, Charles said, wiping the sweat from his brow and streaking ash over his face.

You’re a damned hard worker, son. An admirable quality, Edwards said. Once you put your mind to a task, you’re determined to see it through. By the way, I dropped in to visit Maria. The babes, Frederick and Abraham, are doing well. And she had nothing but praise for you. The poor thing. Her husband died weeks before the twins were born. It’s relentless. She’s the village midwife and had ducked out while the babes were sleeping to deliver a child, and she returned to a pile of ashes.

Charles folded his arms, shaking his head. Pleased to learn the children have recovered, but her story is tragic. I’m sorry to hear it. If I can do anything to help, please let me know.

Makes you wonder what kind of god is up there, Edwards said, gazing upward.

I’m not sure there is a god, Edwards. In my twenty-three years, I’ve seen no evidence. My grandfather was a church minister, and although he preached it every Sunday, I suspect he didn’t live it. He was a man of science and history and a firm believer that if one understands the past, mistakes won’t be repeated in the future. I have many fond memories of him teaching me to read and write, telling me mythological tales, and spending countless Sunday afternoons foraging the fields for Roman relics. He was wonderful.

Edwards listened with interest, warmed by the nostalgic smile that crossed Charles’ face. The lad seemed wise beyond his years. Was he your maternal or paternal grandfather?

My mother’s, Charles replied, ever so slightly clenching his jaw.

The sparkle in his eyes disappeared. The mood darkened as if a brick wall had been erected between them. Quick to divert, Edwards put down his hammer and clapped Charles’ shoulder. Alright, let’s get some lunch, son.

Charles sat in the armchair, taking in the tranquil atmosphere of the room as he waited for Mrs Skinner to check his burns. His gaze lingered on Penelope and Priscilla as they bustled around, preparing lunch. Edwards was already seated at the table. The outdated furniture, although worn with age, gave the room a certain charm that was lacking in Charles’ family home. He was struck by the level of love and joy that seemed to fill the space, a stark contrast to the cold and hostile environment he was used to.

Penelope’s lively disposition did more than just brighten the room; it awakened in Charles a yearning for the familial warmth he craved. Her presence brought him a sense of comfort and a feeling of belonging. Her serene smile, natural elegance, and ability to make everyone feel welcome reignited a yearning in him for the past; the time before the tragic loss of his sister.

Mrs Skinner emerged from her room, took his arm into her hand and examined the bandages. I think they’ll be fine for the rest of the day. We’ll put a clean set on tonight. If you wish, continue to stay in my room, provided you can tolerate Edwards snoring. Last night, I could hear him from upstairs, so it must be horrendous for you.

What are you talking about? I don’t snore, Edwards said, puffing out his cheeks and waving her off. The girls and Mrs Skinner broke into a fit of hilarity.

If the walls had ears, they’d be deaf by now, Mrs Skinner said. She gave him a mocking sidelong glance.

Edwards looked at Charles with astonishment. Do I snore?

Charles rolled his tongue around his mouth, delaying. No. I don’t think so.

See? I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mrs Skinner, Edwards said.

Mrs Skinner guffawed. Oh, Charles. You couldn’t lie if your life depended on it.

Charles laughed. Thank you, Mrs Skinner, for the offer of your room. You’re looking after me so well, I won’t want to leave. But I’ll stay in the stable tonight. He walked over to the dining table and pulled out a chair opposite Edwards.

Is that a polite way of saying you can’t tolerate Father’s snoring? Priscilla asked, giggling while pulling apart a loaf of bread and hacking into a hunk of cheese.

Charles blushed without answering. Penelope shot him a sympathetic smile as she served lunch, then sat beside Charles. Her thigh touched his, sending a tremor of pure desire through him. Her nearness created a staggering challenge to maintain his composure. The whole family’s eyes were upon him. Or had he imagined it?

He undid the top button of his shirt, fanned himself and repositioned his chair.

Everything alright, son? Edwards asked, chewing on his bread.

Charles cleared his throat. Yes. I’m fine.

"Edwards, what do you say if Charles takes the rest of the afternoon