Sensing the sudden movement like a prickle on the back of his neck, he half turned and saw his niece up from her place, frightened. He looked at the skittish girl, with something like a semblance of understanding, but no real connection to her fear.
Samuel knew, of course, what it meant to grow up wanting for security, although he had it not as bad as his niece. He had his mother back then to be a haven to him, as little as she could be part of his life, as a muggle. Eleanor could not rely on the fitful woman Gilbert married. She must be alone and alienated. He had been alienated too and learned early to rely on himself alone. It had filled him with scorn but he had grown defensive and hostile, until the abilities formed in him to make life what it needed to be.
At 16 years of age, he had been an adult for all intents and purposes, carrying himself with dignity and determination that forced his peers and his superiors alike to begrudgingly respect him.
Eleanor, on the other hand — he saw little dignity in her bearing. It was an unkind thing to think, but one he contemplated nonetheless. He was not mad or disappointed, but unsettled. How could he manage to instill that in her, after all the damage done by his pathetic brother?
Thankfully she sat down now, and drank the tea in too-fast gulps that must surely scald her tongue. He watched her.
"I am glad you accept—" he said. To be called uncle was very strange. "You can call me Samuel, if you want," he offered. He would not call her "niece" to address her, nor would Miss Griffith do. Eleanor, it would be.
"Let us get it sorted that you have everything you need, starting tomorrow. For tonight — Well, it is late. You need to rest."
He stood up. She would find her room on her own. As nervous as she was, perhaps it was kinder to give her space now.
"We'll talk tomorrow. Good night, Eleanor," he said to her and then he left, to wander upstairs to check on his father.
After making sure everything was in order, he would take his leave and spend his night at his laboratory in Doubt Street.
Samuel knew, of course, what it meant to grow up wanting for security, although he had it not as bad as his niece. He had his mother back then to be a haven to him, as little as she could be part of his life, as a muggle. Eleanor could not rely on the fitful woman Gilbert married. She must be alone and alienated. He had been alienated too and learned early to rely on himself alone. It had filled him with scorn but he had grown defensive and hostile, until the abilities formed in him to make life what it needed to be.
At 16 years of age, he had been an adult for all intents and purposes, carrying himself with dignity and determination that forced his peers and his superiors alike to begrudgingly respect him.
Eleanor, on the other hand — he saw little dignity in her bearing. It was an unkind thing to think, but one he contemplated nonetheless. He was not mad or disappointed, but unsettled. How could he manage to instill that in her, after all the damage done by his pathetic brother?
Thankfully she sat down now, and drank the tea in too-fast gulps that must surely scald her tongue. He watched her.
"I am glad you accept—" he said. To be called uncle was very strange. "You can call me Samuel, if you want," he offered. He would not call her "niece" to address her, nor would Miss Griffith do. Eleanor, it would be.
"Let us get it sorted that you have everything you need, starting tomorrow. For tonight — Well, it is late. You need to rest."
He stood up. She would find her room on her own. As nervous as she was, perhaps it was kinder to give her space now.
"We'll talk tomorrow. Good night, Eleanor," he said to her and then he left, to wander upstairs to check on his father.
After making sure everything was in order, he would take his leave and spend his night at his laboratory in Doubt Street.
