Part Two: Where to Shop? OOC: Co-written again with wilde_at_heart
"What?” said Simon.
“Mama!” exclaimed Nathaniel.
He instinctively reached for Sylvia’s hand, to reassure himself she was still there and that some strange man did not change that, and she interlocked her fingers with his, squeezing supportively. Even so, his head was spinning. Why would his mother do this? She was independently wealthy; there was no need to risk breaking apart their bonds with the rest of their family by introducing a stepfather. Nathaniel had tried to take care of her and Jeremy as well as he could, and Uncle Alexander did it when he couldn’t, they didn’t need –
He looked between his mother and his aunt and uncle. Of course Uncle Alexander and Aunt Avery were angry – his mother was threatening to disrupt everything. And there was the issue of the money, of course, though he only briefly thought of that. More important was the fact that they might think – who knew what they might think. About how it would upset Sylvia if Nathaniel had to move away, or how Uncle Alexander had treated Mama as his own sister for all these years and maybe it hurt his feelings that this wasn’t good enough –
We can fix it, he tried to communicate to Uncle Alexander with his eyes, though he knew this couldn’t possibly be communicated non-verbally. We’ll talk to her. She must just be in a mood. I can convince her. Just let me talk to her. He was a bit hurt and confused, actually, that he hadn’t been informed of this before now, so that he could have tried to do something earlier.
Sylvia kept a tight hold of his hand, watching him flounder. Poor Nate. She had to admit that her first reaction had been surprise. Sylvia saw her Aunt Cynthia often through Nate’s eyes, and those were damning enough - much as he expressed his fondness, she also saw the frailty, caught a glimpse of the ways in which Aunt Cynthia made Nate worry - and beyond that, she also saw her through other people’s. She hesitated to have a low opinion of her aunt, because it would hurt Nate, and because she was torn between fond memories of childhood - of being indulged with pretty little iced biscuits on her saucer, and always getting the pink ones because she was the girl; of getting petted in so many ways by everyone around her for that reason, but especially indulged by Aunt Cynthia who didn’t have a little princess of her own to dress and fuss over - and between the reality she had come gradually to accept as she grew older. Aunt Cynthia could be nice but she could also complain a lot, especially to other adults, and be precious and particular about what set off her moods and her headaches. In spite of Nate’s high opinion of his mother, Sylvia found herself surprised that anyone wanted to take her on. Especially given every other circumstance that surrounded her.
“Oh, that’s not all,” said Avery, very coldly. “Do tell them the rest, Cynthia.”
And Sylvia’s immediate thought was He’s poor. It was the only thing that made sense. The main reason why someone would take the social and emotional wreck that was her aunt was money. Why though, would she bother? Aunt Cynthia was rich and comfortable. This would make people notice her and remember what had happened all over again, and unless he was some kind of impoverished prince with a flawless family tree, she could not imagine that any kind of attention would be good. She also couldn’t imagine that anyone that perfect couldn’t do better. There was no good reason, and it was just selfish of her, given that it was clearly stressing poor Nate so.
Cynthia made no effort not to glare at her sister-in-law this time, and Nathaniel bit his lip to stop himself saying anything. What was wrong with everyone? They were a family. They were not supposed to - to act like an assembly of Jeremies!
“My friend is - well - not exactly a member of society,” said Cynthia, imbuing the last word with all the scorn she was capable of.
Simon’s eyebrows drew together. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Ostensibly the question was for his aunt, but his eyes moved between his parents. It was rare, after all, that anything sensible came out of Aunt Cynthia’s mouth, and even if this was one of the rare occasions when something might do so, he had realized that something was wrong as soon as his father had given his aunt the floor. In the case of trouble, great or small, he trusted both of his own parents implicitly, and his flighty, perpetually poorly aunt not at all.
“Simon - “ said Nathaniel, but when his cousin looked at him, now raising his eyebrows slightly, Nathaniel realized he had nothing else to say. He just shook his head instead, hoping that this would all just suddenly turn out to be one of his more detailed nightmares. He looked between Uncle Alexander and his mother anxiously, ignoring Aunt Avery entirely - he refused to acknowledge it, but in the back of his head, he didn’t trust himself to speak as politely to her as a good nephew was supposed to so soon after she’d spoken to his mother that way. Clearly the two women had had a falling out, but that didn’t justify Aunt Avery speaking to Mama in that tone. “There’s got to be a mistake,” he said urgently, mostly to Uncle Alexander.
There were, as far as Avery and Alexander were concerned, any number of mistakes. There was Nicholas, and the perpetual blind eyes that had been turned to his tendency to indulge in bad habits. There had been Nicholas marrying Cynthia, who had never had the type of temperament to bring him under control. There had been their continued inclusion of her, born of their guilt at what Nicholas had done, and concern for the boys, who after all, were still Mordues. There were any number of mistakes, most of them not the fault of either of them, as far as they were concerned, but 'mistake' did not unfortunately describe the current situation. 'Lunacy' perhaps did. Or ‘disaster.’ The only mistake that was possible at this juncture was in how they extricated themselves from the situation - something they needed to do carefully but swiftly and completely - in order to avoid it touching them.
"You are all familiar with Elphwick's," Alexander stated stiffly, naming the mid-grade department store in town. "Not intimately familiar, of course," he added scornfully, because after all, no member of his family would ever have set foot in such a place. It was well known that the owner was a halfblood, and that that was the market it catered to. He and Avery watched the looks of confusion mingled with distaste flicker across the faces of the children, as they either failed or refused to connect those dots.
"Cynthia," Avery stated, and the use of her first name was a shift of tone - she was always 'your aunt' or 'your mother' when she spoke to the children. But clearly she was beginning to distance herself from those labels, that connection, "has taken it into her head that she desires nothing more than the grand status of becoming Mrs. Franklin Elphwick," she announced, her words dripping with sarcasm.