Beningbrough Park, Uptown, Vienda
They had had lunch – a thick split pea soup with chunks of ham and crusty bread, which Phileander had delighted in letting dribble down from his mouth to his chin. Amaryllis, who had had a toddler long enough to know his ways, had covered him rather thoroughly with a bib and a napkin, and in the end his trousers seemed to have escaped the green-gray ooze.
It had seemed like only a moment that her hands lowered, and her eyes fluttered shut.
When Amaryllis opened them, however, there was a sense of stillness about the room; something had shifted in the light, and the toy train was toppled on its side at the edge of the carpet.
Amaryllis rose, hastily, bundling her needlepoint and leaving it on the side table; she didn’t bother trying to straighten her skirts or check the set of her braids, but went straight out into the hallway, looking up and down. She swept to the kitchen first, but there was no sign of Phileander there.
Amaryllis went back down along the hallway, stopping to check that the back door was still shut and locked. Surely, she thought, her heart pounding in her chest, he couldn’t have gotten it open and gone outside? She went further down the hall, opening each door as she passed, seeing no sign of a little boy in the dining room, nor in the receiving room.
At the end of the hallway, Amaryllis heard Horace’s voice in a low and steady murmur; she went to his study door, just slightly ajar, and listened.
“That’s right, old chap,” Horace was saying; Amaryllis could hear the smile in his voice. “This is Florne, which is all the way in Bastia; the train will run from there like this… yes, this… and there… and there… very good, follow the tracks! Here, this is the border between Anaxas and Bastia.”
Amaryllis smiled, then, standing in the hallway for a long moment. One hand went to her stomach, flattening against it for a moment. She turned and went back away, a bit more slowly than she’d come.
When Amaryllis came to fetch Phileander again, it was with her braids neatened, and the lace-edged violet skirts of her walking dress smoothed out. She knocked lightly on the door, and opened it, smiling.
Phileander was sitting on Horace’s lap, looking down at the table; he looked up when the door, opened, and beamed. “Mama!” He wriggled, and climbed off his father’s lap, and toddled rather rapidly to her, crashing forcefully into her skirts.
Amaryllis laughed. “Ooof!” She settled her hand on his head. “Were you having a nice time with papa, my love?” She asked, smiling down at him.
“Vewy nice,” Phileander said cheerfully.
Horace was smiling at them both when she looked up; Amaryllis had to swallow through a lump in her throat.
“I thought I’d take him to the park,” Amaryllis said, after a moment, glancing at the windows. “It’s practically the first sun we’ve had all week.”
Horace nodded, glancing down at the papers on his desk. “Let me finish this up,” he said, smiling at them both, “and I’ll come and join you.”
“We go pwark!” Phileander said, cheerfully.
Amaryllis smiled a little wider. “Yes, sweetheart, we’ll go to the park! We’ll feed the ducks, and then your papa will come and join us,” she ruffled his hair again, smiling.
Phileander’s small, sturdy boots were rather well-tested by the time they reached the duck pond; Amaryllis, wearing a large brimmed hat, held his hand in one of hers, and held a bag of bread crumbs in the other. Phileander seemed to delight exclusively in squirming out of her hold, running through the muddiest puddles available, then coming back looking as delighted with himself as if he’d cast the most difficult spell in existence. His stockings were splattered with mud, though the smart little yellow coat he wore remained (mostly) clean – for now, Amaryllis thought, fondly.
The lake curved through the middle of Beningbrough Park, the edges speckled with thin, waving reeds; a few willow trees dipped down over benches at the edge of the mud. Amaryllis and Phileander followed the path – or at least Amaryllis did – to one of the benches at the edge.
“Dwucks!” Phileander cried, joyously, grabbing hold of Amaryllis’s hand once more and pointing. “Mama, thewe awe dwucks!”
“Look at them all!” Amaryllis laughed; there were a few mallards, with their bright green heads, bobbing on the surface of the water, and next to them the sleeker brown female ducks. “Let’s see,” Amaryllis opened the bag, and extended it to Phileander; he reached in, and took a big handful of crumbs, and Amaryllis did as well.
“One at a time, my love,” Amaryllis said, smiling. “There’s no need to rush.”