[identity profile] halfaustere.livejournal.com
April 1, 1962

Outside the door of the Fitzwilliam Estate in Corsham, Robert Ellingsworth Capio (M.D.) was standing and staring at the pull of the bell. Staring, and thinking. Taking an assessment of what was going on.

Mentally talking to himself.

Inside, Charlie Fitzwilliam was chasing his younger sister Alice around the foyer. Robert didn't know that, but he did know he kept hearing screaming. It wasn't quite passing through the layer of thought currently taking up most of the space, though – if he'd realized they were Alice's screams, maybe he would have actually gotten the nerve to go indoors more quickly, in the very high off-chance she was in danger in her own home.

Danger would put off what he was about to do more. It wasn't like he wanted to put it off, either, not really – he wanted to make sure it was all right. He wanted to fix things. He wanted – he wanted Alice to be his, truth be told, and he needed to do this to make it right. )
babyjosephine: (Poor little rich girl)
[personal profile] babyjosephine
12 April, 1947. Alice Fitzwilliam's seventh birthday.

Charlie would be home from school very soon. Home from school for the weekend because it was Alice’s seventh birthday and Mummy made him come home.

Alice was bouncing about the house in her tap shoes, clicking noisily through every hall and every door. Her friends were going to arrive in an hour, and Isabella was putting off dressing her daughter for the occasion until she had calmed down, or at least was presented with birthday-related obstacles, such as cake and presents. Any premature stain would cause unneeded stress.

As she clamored down the stairs into the servants’ hall, their housekeeper, Margaret, peered out of the kitchen. “What on earth are you doing, Miss Alice?” she asked, always soft but strict, as she had raised several boys of her own, most of whom worked on the property.

“Nothing! May I see my cake?” she asked, trying to sneak past Margaret into the kitchen, but Margaret gently took her shoulders and turned her away.

“Why don’t you go put on a show for the boys whilst you wait, hm?”

“Mummy says I can’t wear my shoes out of doors anymore—” Someone called her name and Alice squeaked. “I bet that’s Charlie come home!” She raced down the hall, sliding on the floors and giving Margaret several heart attacks (“Child’s going to split her skull.”) until she was upstairs again.

Upstairs, but hardly safe. )

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