Haunted Hearts

8

The following morning, Roderick kept a watchful eye on Elphi as she ate her single poached egg, a lonely piece of buttered toast smeared with orange marmalade, and a solitary slice of bacon in silence while he jumped from one topic to another in a frantic attempt to draw her into conversation. All to no avail.

It was as though she no longer heard a word he said. She'd been this way since the blasted séance, and he didn't know what to do. So, in an act of desperation, he braced for an attack as he opened his mouth and said, "Meliphant."

However, instead of releasing a vicious hell-beast bent solely on delivering his destruction at the sound of that loathsome nickname, Elphi—her gaze locked on the frosty mullioned windows and hands folded demurely in her lap—sat in mute silence.

Roderick's gut clenched with worry, and he pursed his lips.

He scanned the table and room, unsure if he was searching for inspiration or objects to toss Elphi's way to get a reaction out of her. To do so would be reverting to childish antics, ones they now teased each other about but hadn't indulged in since the first few months after Mother's death.

But as he sat there, Roderick seriously contemplated reviving what their father had chastised him for and proclaimed, 'Uncouth behavior ill-befitting the seventh Viscount Matson' for the first time in eleven years. The situation felt that dire.

The usual weapons lay before him: A nearly empty glass with a swallow's worth of orange juice at the bottom—technically two weapons in one. And his plate with maple syrup smears holding the remaining egg and French toast crumbs prisoner.

Both pieces would be considered the perfect weapons. They were weighty and capable of delivering a solid bonk upon hitting his target, which would, in turn, hopefully, produce the desired response from Elphi, but most importantly, where his dear sister was concerned, they were sticky and dirty.

And there was nothing Elphi loathed more than touching or being touched by sticky, dirty dishes save all creamed vegetables.

Personally, he didn't see what the problem was. Maple syrup was delectable, and if anything, its stickiness enhanced its deliciousness; he'd always considered it a divinely superb sauce, especially atop his French toast. But he digressed.

Deciding against chucking his glass or plate at Elphi, he eyed his utensils for a moment, glanced once more at his sister, then back to his cutlery. He didn't wish to hurt or maim, simply gain her attention. The fork prongs definitely looked sharper than usual—bloody hell, did their butler Mr. Tucker hone them nightly?

Roderick picked up the fork and ran his thumb against the points, pursing his lips as several images of the damage the unassuming weapon could inadvertently cause flashed before his eyes. Then, with a shake of his head, he set the offending fork back on the table and made a mental note to have them blunted.

The knife was out of the question for the same reason, which left the spoon. Roderick lifted it between finger and thumb, studied the weight and edges with care, then placed it next to the fork and knife, deciding that the slender piece of solid metal could still cause grievous harm even with its curved edge.

Perhaps if Elphi were a moving target capable of avoiding his carefully aimed missiles, bantering with him, and threatening to retaliate in equal measure, he'd feel differently.

How could he throw anything at her other than his napkin when she was sitting completely motionless, staring vacantly at the window overlooking the snow-covered garden? To do so would make him no better than a monster.

Forcing down a swallow, he watched her with worried eyes as he quietly said, "Elphi, please tell me what's wrong."

"I believe I'll take the carriage into town," She murmured as she stood, her gaze still fixed on the windows. "Will you have it brought 'round? I'm going to change."