The letter from Miss Eleanor Griffith found Samuel at a late hour. Nonetheless, he was still awake. Perhaps it was the events of the evening, but he struggled to settle sufficiently to feel like he wanted to go to sleep; this was often the case in the old townhouse. He slept better in his room in Doubt Street where he kept his laboratory. Those belonged to him alone. But Doubt Street was located in Whitechapel, and he could hardly expect his niece to call on him there.
He had eaten dinner with his mother, Agatha, and Ebenezer. His brother strangely had decided to come down from his study to join them. Ebenezer inquired after Edmund, and Samuel told him what he told his mother — that Edmund Griffith had retired to his bed early today.
It was a delicate moment in time, and he was not yet ready to have his controlled father join them, although he would need to eventually. The atmosphere at the dinner table had been tense. Everyone but Ebenezer, who absentmindedly ate his peas, was already aware of the decision to exclude Gilbert Griffith from the estate, and as a byproduct of that decision, from the family.
The owl with the letter tapped at the window, just as Samuel was going through some offers he had received for parts of laboratory equipment he was selling off. The crumpled appearance of the letter elicited a slight frown; it spoke to a heightened state of emotion. That was to be expected, still, he was unsure what to expect. He and his niece were not very familiar with each other.
He had not been around for the years she had spent at his mother's side; as soon as he had started to take over family matters, tensions with his brothers had been ever-present. As a result, the brothers avoided each other. And by association, that meant Samuel saw little of Gilbert's wife and their daughter Eleanor.
It was not long until a knock on the door announced her arrival. Samuel went down the flight of stairs and opened.
"Good evening, Eleanor. Please come in," he said to the young woman standing in the dark. He stepped aside to make space for her and noticed that she had brought luggage with her. He flicked his wand and the bags followed them inside.
"Let us go to the kitchen," he suggested. "I do not wish to wake the others."
The way to the kitchen led downstairs into the basement. Both the tea room and the small parlor were too close to the rooms of the other family members for his liking.
In the kitchen, he leaned against the stone-top counter and looked at the young woman whom he had invited into his life and who now, consequently, had arrived.
"You must have many questions," he said.
He had eaten dinner with his mother, Agatha, and Ebenezer. His brother strangely had decided to come down from his study to join them. Ebenezer inquired after Edmund, and Samuel told him what he told his mother — that Edmund Griffith had retired to his bed early today.
It was a delicate moment in time, and he was not yet ready to have his controlled father join them, although he would need to eventually. The atmosphere at the dinner table had been tense. Everyone but Ebenezer, who absentmindedly ate his peas, was already aware of the decision to exclude Gilbert Griffith from the estate, and as a byproduct of that decision, from the family.
The owl with the letter tapped at the window, just as Samuel was going through some offers he had received for parts of laboratory equipment he was selling off. The crumpled appearance of the letter elicited a slight frown; it spoke to a heightened state of emotion. That was to be expected, still, he was unsure what to expect. He and his niece were not very familiar with each other.
He had not been around for the years she had spent at his mother's side; as soon as he had started to take over family matters, tensions with his brothers had been ever-present. As a result, the brothers avoided each other. And by association, that meant Samuel saw little of Gilbert's wife and their daughter Eleanor.
It was not long until a knock on the door announced her arrival. Samuel went down the flight of stairs and opened.
"Good evening, Eleanor. Please come in," he said to the young woman standing in the dark. He stepped aside to make space for her and noticed that she had brought luggage with her. He flicked his wand and the bags followed them inside.
"Let us go to the kitchen," he suggested. "I do not wish to wake the others."
The way to the kitchen led downstairs into the basement. Both the tea room and the small parlor were too close to the rooms of the other family members for his liking.
In the kitchen, he leaned against the stone-top counter and looked at the young woman whom he had invited into his life and who now, consequently, had arrived.
"You must have many questions," he said.
