18th June, 1888 — Killian Macmillan Household, Wellingtonshire
Emma Macmillan

Wellingtonshire was not a small place. Helena, far from being the sort of woman who had absolutely no idea of the world around her, had been aware of this for some time, but with the Fog limiting the means of travel to one’s own two legs she had never before noticed quite how far the homes were from door to door. Merlin, it was no wonder she had thickened around the middle over the years given her instinct to apparate rather than just walk!
 
Fortunately her niece lived only one street away and she was walking so slowly for fear of tripping that she was hardly exerting any energy at all. As such when she arrived at the door she looked as fresh as if she had apparated and Helena felt smugly pleased that against her own expectations, this was not an endeavour that would end with her feeling embarrassed. Certainly the butler didn’t seem to think she looked amiss and Helena settled herself fin the sitting room waiting for her niece.
 
Finally the door opened and Helena smirked at Emma as the clock in the hallway finished its eleven chimes.
 
“Sorry to call so early. Although I suppose it is hard to tell the time of day at the moment.”

  

Emma was relieved to here from the butler that Aunt Helena had arrived, particularly as it gave her something to do with her morning. She had the lady's maid finish pinning her hair into the braid before descending the stairs and opening the door to the parlor.

She smiled brightly at her aunt. "You know I'd never mind," Emma said cheerfully, "Especially not now. There's hardly anything to do!" Especially with Killian working so much - although Emma did not for a moment regret staying with him.

---

  

Concur though she might, having nothing to do was Helena’s favourite amount of things. Being stuck in the house with nothing to do but read and pass the time amusing oneself was, frankly, her idea of a holiday, though it was quite bothersome that John had been on a visit to the castle when the fog had set in and she was on her own. Still, at least she knew from their letters that he was safe. And time apart had never done them much harm.

“Is that really so bad? A year without the season sounds like my idea of heaven,” she chuckled, tilting her head thoughtfully towards Emma. “And you’ll have ample time for the children. I still have Althea with me and she’s thoroughly entertaining.”

  

Emma smiled ruefully. "Truth be told I almost regret sending the children off to Lunarbridge," she admitted, "But I couldn't very well keep them here - or leave Killian."

She knew better than to try and talk Aunt Helena into appreciating the concept of the season.

---

  

The relationship between Killian and Emma had often been a topic of discussion over tea with her sister-in-law but it seemed that, surprisingly, they were as strong as they could be expected to be. Certainly Emma didn’t seem to be put-out at being stuck in the village with her husband.

“Perhaps it’ll do you good? Just the two of you again.”

And the staff of course, but they hardly counted and could be relied upon to keep their mouths shut if their employers decided to make use of a period of time without children when nobody would expect them to leave the house.

  

Emma could not tell if Aunt Helena was alluding to sexual content; her mother never would have, but Aunt Helena was a different beast, one who drank brandy and sometimes swore and once Uncle John had whispered that she took morphine. So maybe it was.

"Perhaps," Emma echoed, with a wry smile over her tea, "And how are you holding up? How's Uncle John?"

Merlin she hoped that Elmer was not teaching poems to her children at Lunarbridge right now.

---

  

Truthfully Helena was having considerably less fun in the temporary reprieve from pretending she had any interest in the season that she would have liked. Her encouragement of Emma was borne both of love and envy: her husband was miles away and quite out of her reach.

“Probably enjoying the peace and quiet,” she replied with a fond roll of her eyes. She was far from the most exuberant of women but, well… “I’d forgotten how loud a child can be though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised Charles’ daughter is prone to tantrums.”

  

"Goodness, I forgot she was staying with you now," Emma said. She supposed she ought not be surprised - among his other qualities, Charles was a less than... motivated... parent.

---

  

"I think staying might be the right word for it," she admittedly ruefully as she took up her tea. She doubted Charles was likely to take his daughter back anytime soon and while she didn't mind, it did seem a shame for Ni-Althea to be so separated from her father. "I might have to prevail on your nanny at some point. My housekeeper could run every home in our street but she looks at Althea like she's a cauldron about to blow up in her face."

  

Emma laughed, startled by her aunt's candor. She'd rather forgotten that Aunt Helena could be fun. "Oh, you can borrow her any time," she said cheerfully, "And I'm sure she has some nanny friends with references if it comes to that. You don't think Charles will take her back?" That would not entirely surprise Emma, although her question was phrased in her politest tone.

---

  

It was one thing to believe it herself but quite another to say it aloud. She hardly wanted it to become common knowledge amongst the family that she thought Charles was a lacking father but…well, it was Emma, who of all the younger generation of her family she thought had the best perception of the world.

Namely a cynical one.

“I’m not holding my breath dear, put it that way,” she retorted with a twitch of her lips. “I wouldn’t mind if I thought for a moment he was still grieving for his wife, but I think he’s attempting to forget the whole sorry mess ever took place. And that’s not fair on Althea at all.”

  

Emma's mouth twitched into a wry smile. "He was trying to forget about that marriage while he was still married," she said. Sure, there had been times that Emma was not particularly enthused about Killian, but she had never been as disinterested in her marriage as Charles had been the whole time. "But the girl doesn't deserve any of that. Although I'm not sure Charles sees it that way."

---

  

It was a remarkably magnanimous statement from somebody that was still occasionally whispered about in catty undertones as somehow being responsible for Noelle’s death. Would that Charles could manage the passage of time with such grace!

“I doubt he sees anything at all,” she said morosely, quite aware that one person Charles probably wanted to see was sat opposite her. “Especially not his daughter.” And Emma was right, Althea didn’t deserve the indifference but the worst of it was that Helena doubted Charles would ever fully reclaim his daughter.

When he married again it would be as though Noelle, and Nimue, had never existed at all.