Chapter Text
We lay, my love and I,
Beneath the weeping willow
But now, alone I lie
And weep beside the tree,
Singing, “Oh, willow wayly,”
By the tree that weeps with me.
Singing, “Oh, willow wayly,”
Till my lover returns to me.
The man arises from his sleep with a startle, the remnants of a lullaby still clinging to him in his drowsy state.
His neck protests as he sits up, complaining against the decision of falling asleep in the armchair. Light spills in from the front door, cracked just the slightest bit open, the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign swinging merrily from the door knob.
Sighing, he stretches and makes his way to the bathroom. He looks into the mirror, intent, but when he sees no change, he looks down into the water pooled in the sink. No sign of what he is waiting for there either.
He moves to the bathtub instead, kneeling and leaning down over the rim to stare into the clear reflection.
All he could find was the expression of transparent disappointment on his own weary features.
Let me tell you a ghost story.
This story is not mine; and I won’t take credit for it. And although perhaps not a ghost story — that might be the wrong word for it, after all — but be content because it is full of ghosts of all sorts.
And if it is a child who gives that haunted effect, then what about a tale revolving two— a pair of twins?
Our story begins in London, 1987.
The star of our story, a teacher, was by a choice, a solitary young man. Not for lack of trying, of course, but life is strange. It leads you to doors that you shall never expect to behold. He’d come up to London in order to answer one advertisement — one put forth by Lord Martin Brenner, with regard to his niece and nephew, who were in need of an au pair.
A full-time position, assured the advertisement, with live-in arrangements in his old home at Essex. A great good place, quiet and alone in the countryside.
He sighed, tucking the advertisement into his packet and as he stepped forward to cross the road, he had to scramble backwards as a car speeded past him. Regaining the breath that had been punched out of him at the scare, he steeled himself and finally reached the other side of the street.
Shaking off the remaining nerves, he entered the company. An exercise in futile, considering he had an interview with an intimidatingly well-established man.
But it hadn’t really been the near accident that spooked him.
It had been the pale blue eyes glinting on the surface of the car window, permanently upset. The rest of her, as usual, was shrouded in the deepest of shadows.
“Mr Harrington, is it?”
“Oh, please call me Steve,” the young man replied with an easy smile. “Mr Harrington is my father.”
Brenner raised a skeptical eyebrow at him from across his desk. “And… you’re a teacher?”
“Yes,” Steve said, ignoring the judgemental slant of the other’s brows, “Fourth grade.”
The older man hummed, skimming through the application that Steve had carried in. “It says here that you were in the States. Have you been in England long?”
“Just about six months, sir,” he hesitated before asking, “Were you in the States as well?”
Quick as a shadow, Brenner’s face twitched before smoothing back out into blankness. “Well yes, I have a business there; the Brimborn Steelworks in Hawkins, Indiana. The manor that you will be residing in, provided you get the job, was also renamed after my work there.”
“That’s amazing!” Steve lit up. “I grew up in Hawkins, Indiana. No wonder the name seemed so familiar.”
The other scoffed, dismissing the topic with a wave of his hand. “You said you’ve been here six months? During which… you’ve done what, exactly?”
“Well,” he bit his lip, blurting out, “I’ve fallen quite in love with London,” in what was probably a god-awful British accent.
Brenner stared at Steve for a handful of quiet seconds, succeeding in making the latter feel thoroughly humiliated before sighing and asking, “Would you like some tea? Coffee?”
“No, thank you,” Steve breathed out in relief as the man turned his back, allowing him to compose himself. Or not, as he began a nervous ramble. “Not quite used to the tea here. I’m used to having mine come in a pitcher, sometimes with a few lemon wedges, sometimes with ginger. Though, I do plan on mastering it yet!”
“Right. You’ll find that the tea here is quite different,” Brenner said, ignoring the sudden influx of words. “You’ve no experience as an au pair, do you?”
Embarrassed and a bit bothered, Steve protested, “I do have experience with children, sir. I’ve been a teacher for many years.”
“In a classroom, sure. But this is a full-time, live-in position in a secluded manor.”
“I know, that is actually why I replied to the ad—”
“The children are exceptional,” came the blunt interruption. “Exceptional, as I said, both my niece and my nephew. But also, challenging. William, my nephew, is back from boarding school early. Now, more than ever, I feel he needs discipline. His older brother has been unable to help and I require a firmer hand.”
Steve nodded slowly, the information sinking in. “Right. Can I ask why? Spring sessions shouldn’t be over yet—”
“You’ll be expected to tutor him so he doesn’t fall behind. In that respect, your classroom experience may actually come of use,” Brenner finished with a distrustful glance at the application lying ignored on his desk.
Rude, seethed Steve internally. He interrupts twice and doesn’t hold off on the passive aggressive comments either? It’s sure gonna be a pleasure working with him.
“Same with my niece, Jane,” the piece of shit continued. “You’d tutor her as well.”
“Right,” Steve smiled stiffly, “Your ad mentioned the countryside?”
“In Bly,” came the curt answer. “The children are used to Bly. They spent their summers and holidays there, alongside their parents before they passed. It’s a great, good place; that manor. There are a few others as well. There is the older brother who acts as the groundskeeper, and a cook; they both stay in town. They do have a housekeeper, but the children? They shall be your responsibility and yours alone, should you take this job. Do not call on me unless there’s a grave emergency. I’m extraordinarily busy.”
Steve nodded once, pushing down the frown that threatened to overtake him. Busy, huh? “I understand. You know, one of my more specific assignments at my school was to take care of the highest-need children. One of whom actually lost their—”
“What’s the catch?”
“Excuse me?” This time, Steve couldn’t help but let the frown push through. What was with this man and his continuous interruptions? If not for the children, he would have long walked out.
“What’s the catch?” The man repeated with a smug tilt of his mouth, as if Steve were deaf, “You’re… what? Mid-twenties? Early thirties, at the most. Most who apply for this position are much, much older than you. So, I’m curious — What makes a young man like you give up their life to care for someone else’s children? A life in America, as well. A full-time position. To be honest, I find it quite odd.”
Steve stilled, caught off guard by the audacity. He smiled tightly, keeping his tone as light and unbothered as he could. “I’m curious too. A full-time job in a beautiful country manor to two exceptional children. There seem to be absolutely no negatives. But I saw your ad six months ago, when I first arrived in London. And I have seen it every month since.”
He shrugged, looking towards the window and letting a small smile tilt his mouth upwards, catching the way Brenner had gone pale in his peripheral vision. “Looks like an easy job to fill, really. As far as you’ve described it, anyway. I guess you’re right. What could possibly be the catch?”
The pub was loud, though not as unruly as the ones Steve had experienced back in his home. That likely had something to with the early hour, he guessed, because it was closer to afternoon than it was to evening.
Still, he nursed a beer gingerly, hunched over the countertop, staring into the liquid as the foam slowly dissipated. Sighing at the familiar taste, he cringed as he remembered the disaster of the interview that morning.
I suppose I dodged a bullet, he mused half-heartedly, what with Brenner’s attitude. Though he couldn’t shake off exactly how much the man had reminded him of his own father with his smug charade and his very obvious neglect of children. Busy, my ass…
His thoughts were interrupted by the sweet chime of a bell as the door to the pub swung open. Steve glanced towards the entrance and had to scramble in order to not drop his drink as he caught sight of who exactly had entered.
Lo and behold, it was Martin Brenner.
Speak of the devil, huh? Steve pursed his lips, making a split-second decision and walking over to slide into the seat next to Brenner’s with a nonchalance that was almost entirely fake. Still, he derived the barest bits of pleasure from the flinch that the other couldn’t control.
Clearing his throat, he began, “I know I didn’t get the job. And that’s totally cool. But that was the most awkward interview of my life, which I think deserves a toast, Mr Brenner.”
And with that said, he held up his glass, waiting with slight impatience. When all the businessman did was rapidly blink, Steve couldn’t help but snap, “What, do you prefer it in your tea or something?”
That comment did the trick. Brenner cleared his throat, eyeing his drink critically before finally taking a big swig. Pleased, Steve redirected his attention to his own drink.
Watching the liquid in his glass swirl (or maybe that was just his imagination?), Steve hummed, catching Brenner’s gaze and asked, “So, you can tell me right? To be honest, I’m very curious.”
“About what?”
Steve raised his eyebrows because really, wasn’t it obvious? “The catch, of course.”
Clearly caught off-guard, Brenner chuckled, shaking his head. Noticing the displeased frown that was being shot at him, he sighed before admitting, “Well… imagination, I guess. No one wants the job.”
“Oh, come on,” Steve laughed in disbelief. “No one?”
Brenner gulped, seeming lost in thought. “We did find someone for a little while... during last summer. A promising young woman too. The children liked her as well.”
Steve hummed, narrowing his eyes. “Yeah?”
“Well,” the other man sighed, slumping and wringing his hands. “I suppose she died. It was her own fault, to be blunt. If I have to be more blunt, I’d say it was her own choice. She died on the grounds. People in small towns are suspicious so I suppose it’s become a sort of a tale among the village-goers. These small children in their big house, with their dead parents… and now, their dead governess.”
Caught between horror and pity, Steve exhaled lowly, remaining quiet and taking a small sip of his warming drink.
Brenner continued, the words seeming to come out of their own volition. “Never mind that the parents died abroad, never mind that the governess took her own life… The job has a story that precedes it. First, in the town, and now in all of the agencies. I dare say the story discourages any of those taking a second glance at the advertisement. Now, no one wants it. Superstition… imagination.”
Finally, he set his drink down with a soft thump, sighing and rolling his shoulders. Steve watched the motions with a distant gaze, his own thoughts being consumed by the tragic story.
Brenner cleared his throat before addressing Steve, his tone a little awkward. “What about you, then? What’s your catch?”
He shuddered at the rush of memories that overtook him, “Well, I suppose I couldn’t be at home anymore. You ever taught a classroom of twenty-five kids before?”
“No, I don’t think I have,” Brenner raised an eyebrow questioningly, seeming confused about the subject of conversation.
Steve chuckled drily, his tone devoid of amusement. “You take to them. You care for them, you love them like they’re your own. Even the worst ones! You just want to help them. But there’s too many of them. And there’s too little of you."
He paused, taking in a shaky breath. The older man looked away, likely wanting to avoid looking at the vulnerability that had crept up on Steve’s face. He couldn’t stop the tremble in his voice as he continued, voice dimming to a near whisper, “The ad said two children. I may not know the specifics but I know how to handle kids. Maybe I can make a difference. I could— I could make a difference. A real difference, even if it’s with just two children. Then I noticed the position: full-time, live-in. And it clicked — they’ve lost someone.”
He grew quiet once more. The line of Brenner’s shoulder had grown tense and he, himself, had lost whatever loose-limbed fluidity the alcohol had granted him. A somber air had settled around them and Steve couldn’t help but push it further.
“I understand death,” he admitted, “I know what loss is.”
“I’ll be staying in England a little while longer. I got a job.”
“It’s only a temporary job. I’ll be busy till the end of summer.”
“No, I know I said I’ll be back—”
“Don’t say that. I hate when you say that.”
“I’m not running from anything.”
“You know it really hurts when you say that. So, don’t-”
“... Alright. I’ll call you once I’m at the house. You can reach me there.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
Steve hummed as he packed up his belongings. Casting a look over the hotel room he had been renting since he came to London, he found himself thankful to leave. Briskly walking over to the mirrors, he took off the blankets and folded them up, placed them alongside the rest in his suitcase. He’d saved them for the very last.
Zipping the two bags shut, he cast another look over the room to check if he’d missed anything.
Satisfied, he walked out, leaving the door ajar behind him.
The only thing left behind was the reflection of stark blue eyes, glaring accusedly through the mirror.
Watching the cars go by, Steve bounced on the balls of his feet. His excitement grew as a car stopped beside him and a woman got out of the driver’s seat, waving merrily.
“Mr Harrington?” She guessed, beaming as Steve nodded and smiled. “I’m Robin Buckley. You can have your bags beside you on the backseat. Plenty of space.”
“Hey, Robin,” he said, loading the baggage as she instructed. “Just call me Steve, please.”
Most of the car ride progressed in silence, as Steve took in the scenery from his window. Robin left him to it, humming or tapping her fingers against the steering wheel absently. Watching as the cityscape turn into large, never-ending fields with sparse trees and even sparser humans, Steve found his eyes drooping shut.
His pleasant doze was interrupted by the car jerking, his head bumping softly against the window. Hissing and rubbing at the spot, he straightened up. From the driver’s seat, Robin chuckled. “Sorry about that. Country roads are sort of unforgiving on sleep.”
“How long was I out?” He croaked, ignoring the amused stare being levelled at him.
“A while,” she shrugged. “You still on American time?”
“Uh, no,” Steve chuckled nervously. “Not really. Haven’t been sleeping all that well, I guess.”
Robin raised her eyebrows, curious but not pushing. “Well, I don’t think hostels are all that comfortable. Much better here. If you’re into the quiet, that is.”
“Well, it is beautiful out here,” Steve smiled, turning his gaze back out the window. He frowned as Robin chuckled, the sound too sardonic to be interpreted as anything positive. “What?”
“Nothing,” she shook her head. “Guess I’ve just gotten tired of it after all this time. I miss the big cities.”
Seeing the curious stare on Steve’s face, she bit back a grin and elaborated. “I was born in Bly. The town, I mean, not the manor. I escaped for a bit and escaped to France—” she ignored Steve’s interjected “What!” “—in order to study as a chef.”
“Wow,” he breathed. “And here I thought you were a measly driver.”
“Would you believe me if I told you I don’t actually have a driver’s license?” She said, cackling as Steve’s eyes widened. “Relax, Brenner’s a hard ass. He would’ve sooner sacked me than let loose a little.”
“You sure you’re allowed to talk about your boss like that?”
Robin paused before replying, her tone cool. “You’ll find that the adults at the Bly manor don’t really see eye to eye with him. Only the children like him, and that’s because they’re still too innocent to realise what a piece of shit their uncle is.”
“Oh, thank God,” Steve sighed, grinning as he caught the surprised look on her face. “I was scared I’d have to praise him to his employees while silently moping.”
Robin let out a delighted laugh. “You’re one of us now, Stevie. No escaping allowed.”
Stevie? He mouthed to himself before shaking it off. “Can’t believe you’re a chef. I can hardly cook. You have any other talents I should know about?”
“Only when Brenner needs a favour,” Robin said, “To be fair, I hate driving. Cooking, though? I love it.”
Steve hummed, tilting his head to meet Robin’s eyes from the backseat. “Why’d you come back, then? From France.”
“Family,” Robin sighed. “This job might not be what I wanted in life. But it pays the bills, and it keeps me close.”
Steve blinked, turning back to the window, gazing at the greenery sweeping past them. “I bet there are worse places to be stuck at.”
“Not for me,” Robin said, her voice grim, her hands tight on the steering wheel. “The people here? They are born here, and they die here. This whole town is one big gravity well. There’s no leaving it behind. It’s very easy— getting stuck here.”
The man sighed, letting the words wash over him. Catching sight of the enormous building in front of him, he gasped, leaning forward as much as he could. “Is that— ?!”
In the corner of his eye, he could see Robin smirking. “Home sweet home, Mr Harrington.”
“Can I get out and walk the rest of the way?” He asked, dazed as the behemoth of a building came into full view.
Robin’s laughter rang clear as bells.
Walking through the well-maintained lawns, Steve couldn’t help but gape at the sheer size of the property. A welcome break from the cramped chaos of city streets, he basked under the soft heat to the sound of insects chittering and birds chirping. As he walked, his ears suddenly caught the sound of soft singing, the vowels elongated and the voice pitching in a strange tenor. Likely, a child humming lullaby.
The words were barely discernible, but he could hear enough of them in order to tell where it came. As he neared, the words slowly grew clearer and clearer to him:
Singing, “Oh, willow wayly,”
By the tree that weeps with me.
Singing, “Oh, willow wayly,”
Till my lover returns to me.
As the singing devolved into humming, Steve cleared his throat, smiling softly as the girl whipped her head around. “What a beautiful song!” He beamed, watching as she blinked up at him in confusion.
She had been sitting on her haunches, facing the large lake. Of course, they have a lake, thought Steve, they’re the kind of rich who would keep and maintain multiple exotic habitats for their multiple exotic pets. The girl stood up as Steve approached, squinting up at him in barely concealed suspicion. "What song?"
“Why, the song you were just singing, silly,” Steve winked back, unable to control the wide grin on his face. She reminded him of one of his favourite students from the very last class that he had taught.
“I’m not silly!” The girl exclaimed before lighting up with realisation. “You must be Mr Harrington! And you’re so pretty. I told Will you’ll be pretty. How perfectly splendid.”
Steve suppressed a surprised laugh as the girl shot up and faced him, straightening up as far as she could. Well, that’s the first time I’ve been called pretty, of all compliments. Suppose there’s a first time for everything, huh. “You must be Jane. I hope I didn’t startle you.”
“Not at all,” she replied. “You’re expected. C’mon, we must go back to the house. Ms Dunne will want to see you. And Will! And Jonathan and Robin. I’m certainly very pleased to see you.”
She had an impressively formal way of speaking for a child her age, and Will was sure to be the same; Steve supposed it was because of their top-tier pedigree and education. In any case, they were bound to be much more articulate than he was at their age. It was almost cute, seeing such a tiny human use ‘adult’ words with no pause.
“You know, I’ve already met Robin,” Steve replied, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
“When did you do that?”
“On the car ride up, of course. What is that?” Steve asked, pointing to the little figurine that the girl had clutched in both of her hands. It was similar to what his batshit mother would call a voodoo doll, constructed of what looked like snapped twigs, hay and string twining all the pieces together.
Frowning, Jane looked down at the doll, as if just remembering she had it in her hands. “Just a silly little thing, really. Just a moment!”
Amused, Steve watched as the girl spun around, following as she took a few quick steps towards the lake. Kneeling, she set the doll upright on a relatively flat patch of ground, facing the lake.
Raising an eyebrow but ultimately not mentioning anything, Steve spoke up, “It really is a beautiful lake, isn’t it?”
“Oh, you mustn’t!” Jane surprised him by spinning back around and gently thumping both of her hands against his midsection, making him take a few steps back from the suddenness. “It’s just an old pond, really. Not to mention that there are horrible creatures in there. There are slugs, you know! Horrid little things, like vampire slugs, and the nastiest beetles. Who needs that old pond, anyway. The house is much, much better. It really is perfectly splendid to meet you.”
Quick as a flash, Jane darted to his side, grabbing onto his hand and tugging him along. On the way, she kept up a stream of steady chatter, rambling about disjointed topics Steve had no way of making sense of.
Finally reaching the house (really, mansion would be a better descriptor), he could see two figures. A woman around his age was leaning over the well, seeming to watch the water within it fixedly. Her expression was weirdly tense. Beside her was a young boy, speaking softly.
“Will!” Jane shouted. “Look, look! Look who’s with me!”
The boy jerked towards them, wide eyes widening further as he caught sight of Steve, who smiled and waved. “Are you Mr Harrington?”
Man, I’m never getting used to that title, Steve thought to himself ruefully. Maybe it’s time I try. “Yep, that’s me. You must be Will! Jane talks a lot about you.”
“Already?” Will smiled, a soft, small tilt of his lips before reaching out to grasp Steve’s free hand. He gave it a couple of pats before retreating. “Welcome to the Bly Manor and I’m terribly sorry for my sister’s rude manners."
As Jane traipsed up to Will to complain loudly, Steve took the chance to observe them both. Although they shared the same basic features with the brunette hair and tanned skin, they didn’t look much alike. Jane had a sharper, more carved look to her while Will’s features were softer, smoother. Their eye colours were different too: a stark hazel for Will and a warm brown for Jane. Though really, maybe Steve should’ve expected it. He doubted that all twins looked 100% alike. That would be a little irrational to believe.
His musings were interrupted by the children swarming around the woman, calling her name in a pitched voice. Steve watched as she visibly seemed to gather her bearings. She smiled at Steve, the gesture almost sheepish and spoke, “I’m sorry about that. I think I was spacing out.”
“That’s alright,” Steve shrugged before shooting his best smile at her, “I’m Steve. You must be Ms Dunne.”
“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “It’s Vickie. I see you made it here in one piece. Was the journey alright?”
“Perfect!” He grinned, shaking her proffered hand. “Robin’s great.”
“Yeah, Robin’s wonderful,” her features softened, “But, well, let’s get you to the house, huh? You must be eager to see the insides."
Steve chuckled as the children sprang back to life, one grabbing each hand and began pulling him into motion, Vickie sighing in fond exasperation.
Really, Steve’s first look at the Bly Manor yielded to him no discomfort, no foreboding. It was quite the opposite, actually. The blooming gardens, chittering birds, gleaming lake - they all instilled a sense of peace in him that he hadn’t felt in a long while.
It was just as Brenner had described.
A great, good place.
And it yawned open to welcome him home.
The exterior of the manor paid no justice to the beauty inside of it.
The doorway, seeming to be constructed with firwood, was a beautiful reddish-brown, a heavy knocker present right at eye level. Walking through it, he found himself in the most elaborate foyer he had ever seen. The large space in the middle was simple, decorated with a beautiful, hand-knotted rug on top of which was a rosewood table. On the table rested a large vase, bursting with a heavy bouquet of rhododendrons. The pop of purple and pink combatted well with the general dim lighting and dark furniture.
His gaze trailing further, he noticed the two sets of staircases leading into different wings, imposing and grand. What caught and kept his attention, however, were the twin portraits above the landing of each staircase.
Steve blinked, a little amused by the thought that had just struck him. The two women were clearly siblings because their faces were identical; yet, they couldn’t look more different— one with blond hair and light eyes while the other had dark hair and equally dark eyes. A complete opposite to the two milling about in front of him, aiming a barrage of information at him, which, to be fair, was completely incomprehensible to him.
Jane huffed, seeming to have finally caught up to the fact that Steve wasn’t listening at all.
Snapping her fingers, she declared, “This is the foyer! Is it not just so perfectly splendid?”
“It’s beautiful,” Steve smiled indulgently.
“Come along,” she beckoned, “To the kitchen! You will find that it is perfectly splendid.”
The four made their way to the aforementioned kitchen, where Steve had to take in another breath at how truly massive everything was. The windows stretched from ceiling to the floor, lending them the perfect view of the front gardens. In the middle of the table was a large rectangular table with a seating of ten, covered with an ivory-coloured cloth and adorned with a bouquet not dissimilar to the one in the foyer, although much smaller. To their right was a giant fireplace where Steve had no doubt believing that a pair of well-fed bears could fit quite snugly.
I was wealthy, Steve thought dizzily, but never this wealthy.
When he had finally remembered that he had company, he looked up to find Vickie looking at him in empathy. Clearly, she too realised the sheer absurdity of a manor like this. Before he could say anything though, he was cut off by Jane’s excited gasp.
“Robin!” she beamed. To Steve, she explained, “She is the cook. And she is splendid!”
“Perfectly,” Will interjected smoothly, shooting an innocent grin at the adults behind his sister’s back.
“Hey, everyone,” Robin said. Steve nodded, sending an amused grin at her, “Hey again.”
“Hi,” Jane pouted.
“Hi, Jane,” Robin smiled, reaching over to ruffle her curls, making the young girl squeak and scramble away.
“This way,” she directed, Steve and Vickie giggling as they followed the children down the hallway that Jane had apparently chosen.
“These paintings are all original,” she explained as she gestured around them. And indeed, there were multiple portraits lined up beside each other in their own alcoves, each sporting a little golden placard next to them, presumably holding the muse’s name and description. Steve assumed them to be the previous owners of this place, all of them from a long while ago, considering they all had a Victorian look to them. “Which means they are all handpainted. Will paints too!”
Swinging open a door, Jane stopped in the doorway, frowning. “This is the classroom. It’s… quite boring.”
Steve muffled a laugh, exchanging glances with Vickie at the sudden sulk in the girl’s tone. It wasn’t really boring, per se, but he supposed that was what a child would think. He hadn’t been all that different, after all. Still, it was open and well-ventilated, with a lot of space to run around in, if the need arose. Though that should have been obvious considering there were only two desks in the entire room. The walls held a myriad of bookcases and shelves with academic awards. The wall that the desks were facing had a large blackboard with a small teacher’s desk beside it.
Before he could catalogue anything else, Jane was already tugging him along. They went back to the foyer and she gestured at the stairs, finally saying, “These are the lovely stairs, but you must not run on them.”
As they made their way upstairs, Steve couldn’t help but tease, “Don’t worry. I’ll keep that in mind; it’s not like I had been planning on it.”
He giggled as all Jane did was nod sagely. Beside them, he could see that Will was suppressing a smile of his own. He looked around the manor with a smile, taken by awe at the sheer grandiose. Beside him, Vickie smirked knowingly.
“This place really is beautiful,” Steve murmured.
Vickie nodded, seeming thoughtful. “I know what you mean. A great, good place. Perfect for the children.”
“Except the stairs,” countered Will, voice quiet but his amusement was betrayed by the mischievous spark in his eyes. “They’re brutal on the knees, as Ms Dunne says!”
As Vickie mussed up Will’s hair with a scoff, Steve lengthened his steps to catch up with Jane who was waiting for them at the beginning of the wing they had yet to visit. Casting a look, Steve could see that this wing seemed to be abandoned. It made sense— the manor was entirely too large to be in use all the time. If only it didn’t seem so horrifically empty. It looked almost creepy.
“Mama and Papa used to live in this wing,” Jane said quietly. She seemed to have sensed his latent curiosity. “We don't really go in there anymore.”
“These rooms aren’t in use anymore. It’s all covered up,” Vickie added, voice just as subdued.
“Yes, but underneath it all, it is just perfectly splendid.”
After the extensive tour of the manor and the grounds was over, Steve was finally shown to his room. Vickie beamed as she swung open the door to reveal a spacious, sunlit room and Steve walked in, eyes soft with wonder.
“Let’s leave Steve to freshen up, yeah?” Vickie coaxed, guiding the children away with a gentle grasp on their shoulders. The door closed behind them, although it remained just a smidge open. Through the gap, Steve could hear Jane’s insistent voice interspersed with Will’s exasperated replies.
He smiled to himself, taking in his surroundings. In the middle of the room was a queen-sized bed with his briefcase already placed next to it. Humming, he made his way over to unpack his belongings.
A click sounded and Steve jolted, spinning around to find Will staring at him through the crack in the door. Noticing his attention, Will smiled, pushing the door open to step into the room.
“May I come in?” he asked, beaming as though he weren’t already five paces inside.
“Well, yeah,” Steve replied, hoping his tone didn’t reflect the jackrabbit pace of his heart at the sudden scare. “Although perhaps next time, ask first and then enter.”
“... Of course.”
Beside his verbal acknowledgement, Steve could get no idea of whether his words had actually sunk into Will’s understanding. The child was staring straight at him, a bemused smile playing at his mouth, head tilted like he was looking at a particularly interesting puzzle. Steve suppressed a shudder before turning around to fully face his ward.
“Was there anything you wanted?” He prompted.
Will blinked, as though coming out of a stupor. “Oh, yes! I just wanted to welcome you. After all, we’re all very glad to have you here with us.”
Steve blinked back, digesting the words. He smiled, squinting as Will seemed to begin digging around in his pockets for something.
“And!” He exclaimed, holding something in his hands. He bounded forward, stopping right in front of Steve, smiling up at him shyly. “I wanted to give you something to show you our gratitude.”
Curious, Steve held out his hand and quick as lightning, Will had deposited the item in his outstretched palm before fleeing out the room. An echoing, “Thanks, Steve!” rang out behind him, fading alongside the hurried footsteps.
Suppressing a laugh at the sudden childish act, Steve looked down, running his fingers against the smooth metal of the hairpin that he had been gifted. It looked to be an antique with unbelievably intricate details and flawless craftsmanship. Although an unusual gift for a man, Steve appreciated the thought all the same.
Stepping up to the mirror, he nudged the piece of jewelry into his hair, silently thankful that his hair had just enough volume to hold accessories in it. Once in place, he stepped back to admire it, his fingers coming up to rest against the carved butterfly adorning the pin.
He quite liked the sight of it.