Frostwing Academy | ONC 2024

4 - Home Sweet Home

Darkness has fallen upon Kingwood Square when the cab pulls up to my house. Gas lights flicker on either side of the street, casting a gentle glow upon the cobblestone road. I sit in the cramped cab, waiting, until the driver coughs.

"We're here, miss."

Fardles, I mutter and exit the cab. I have to remember that no one will be opening doors for me anytime soon.

"Two coppers," the cabbie says, leaning down slightly, hand outstretched.

I pull out the requisite two coppers, placing them in the cabbie's gloved palm.

" 'ave a good night, miss," he says, tipping his cap. Clucking to his old roan nag, the pair are off, vanishing into the night.

I wish. Slowly, I turn around and face our house. The manors up and down Kingwood Square are ablaze with light, each room illuminated despite the late hour. It's almost as if they're mocking our ruin with such a display.

Actually, I'm quite certain some of them are.

I walk up to the gate and pause by a large box attached to one of the decorative columns. It's stuffed to the brim with letters, no doubt from Father's many creditors. I lift the lid and pull them out by the handful, stuffing them into my satchel. Mother must have forgotten we no longer have a butler to collect the post.

The gate opens with a slight whine, another reminder of how many servants Mother had to let go to save money. I slip through and close it behind me. Weak light from tallow candles flickers behind drawn curtains as I approach the front door. The gas company has yet to cut us off, but Mother doesn't want to risk it. So, we make due with volatile candles instead.

I pull out my house key and insert it into the lock, pushing the heavy front door open.

"Herleva!"

I'm barely inside when Mother bursts out of the shadows like a wraith. She catches me by the shoulders and shakes me twice. "Where have you been, girl? Your father and I have been worried sick!"

I wince and pull Mother's hands off, taking a step back. "I left a note."

Mother takes a deep breath and I watch as she visibly composes herself, smoothing her hands over the front of her wine-red silk evening dress. Although my sister Mathilda and I have had to sell our finery, Mother still retains many of her dresses. I reminded her once that no one was going to call on us, but she was insistent that the lady of the house should always dress as if expecting company. When I attempted to poke holes in her logic, she threatened to box my ears, so I never brought it up again.

"I never expected you to go through with it!" Mother exclaims. "You didn't go through with it, did you? Tell me you did not."

I stare at her.

Mother's eyes narrow and her perfectly-poised hands clench. "Herleva Eloise Marie Montrose! Do not tell me that you went to that wretched mountain!"

"Well, no one else in this household is doing anything to erase Father's debt," I counter, setting my satchel down on a decorative table that used to hold a crystal vase and open the flap. Letters spill out, falling to the floor.

Mother inhales sharply, shoulders lifting. "Your father is trying his best—"

His best? I scoff privately. Begging for trips no one will finance instead of swallowing his pride and asking for employment from Fine's or Macmillan's.

"And what about William? I've yet to see him answer any of those want ads I circled for him."

"He still pines for Arlette," Mother responds thinly.