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Time had passed quickly. Gideon and I had examined his previous tutor’s work and registered where my instruction should begin. Still reluctant to converse, he answered my questions with the barest of responses. At least his diminished pout was enough to encourage me our relationship might improve a little by our next meeting. I dismissed Gideon until after luncheon and went down to the kitchen.

I walked into a hive of activity downstairs, due to the preparation of dinner for a certain Mr. Reginald Plumb the parish Vicar, and his wife. I had met several of the kitchen staff after breakfast when returning my tray, but now felt somewhat at a loss. Fearful of causing any strife, I avoided Mrs Oldershaw the cook, and instead asked a young kitchen maid where to partake of a bite to eat. She directed me to the servants’ dining room off the kitchen, and there I enjoyed a slice of crusty fresh bread and a hunk of cheese.

Contemplating my plans for the afternoon, I opted to take Gideon outside for a nature ramble. Doing so might provide a better opportunity to get to know the boy away from the stern confines of the schoolroom. Gideon was dour to be sure. Cherubic in appearance, yet as sullen as a fish. I searched my catalogue of memories to conjure past conversations with Aramintha when she spoke of her family, but found little of him there other than his escapades. I had not learned much about the boy, but it would not take long to form my own opinion, and quickly.

The remaining brother I had yet to see was Gabriel, the current Lord Clayton. This sibling was a frequent subject of Aramintha’s. Her elder by ten years, when she spoke of him, her eyes would grow misty with affection, her words revering as she described his admirable qualities, his handsome stature and pleasant ways. Perhaps I would meet him before the day was out? I considered the half-brother I had seen from my window that morning, Benedict. Of him, Aramintha had said little, yet the impression given suggested he remained somewhat aloof from the rest of the family, though why, she had not commented upon. For a bastard son to keep polite distance from the legitimate children of nobility was not considered unusual. Aramintha had told me Benedict was astute, adept at managing the Clayton estate for the legitimate heir, Gabriel. I had always surmised from her tone she cared well enough for Benedict yet adored Gabriel. I contemplated her opinion. Would mine be the same?

GIDEON AND I SPENT THE better part of a chilly afternoon traversing a well-trodden footpath. We walked along the green clifftops of the Purbeck hills while the frigid sea pounded sandy beaches far below. The air felt damp yet invigorating, and we were both wrapped in our respective thick outer garments. The salty wind stung my cheeks like kissing bees, and my lungs hungrily sucked in the fresh, clean air, so vastly different from London.

As we travelled, I attempted to coerce Gideon from his unwillingness to make conversation, and after a time he begrudgingly began to relent. Initially, we discussed items we studied along our trek, flora and fauna, then identified the variety of seabirds wheeling in the skies and the colorful, comical puffins who inhabited the terrain. But more than anything, I desperately wanted to learn about the Clayton family.

I finally plucked up enough courage to steer the conversation away from our lesson. β€œTell me, Gideon, do you spend much time with your siblings? I understand you have a sister and two brothers?”

He did not falter in his step. β€œNot really. I only have one brother, Gabriel. Benedict is half-brother to me, and he works for the estate.” He continued to walk. I kept abreast of him, my heart picked up speed.

β€œAnd what of your sister?” I endeavored to keep the tremble from my voice. β€œIs she at home often?”

Gideon stopped abruptly, catching me off guard. His solemn face turned to mine. His skin was ashen.

β€œMy sister is dead.”

*****

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The Secret of Mowbray Manor

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