At which time, that traitorous heart of hers skipped and raced as though they had sung a jig.

Chapter Four

In winter, we find ourselves confined in places and involved in activities we might never engage in were the weather conditions more appropriate. One should never judge a person by their winter habits.

-The Spinster Chronicles, 4 February 1818

Hugh sat quietly in the library, enjoying the moment’s reprieve from the complete chaos of Deilingh. A book lay open in his lap, though he only pretended to scan the pages before him.

He had never been a very great reader, but there were hardly better options for how to spend his time this morning. He had certainly inquired, but this, it seemed, would be his position for some time.

Difficult to believe as it might have been for some.

A small hint of a smile lit one corner of his mouth briefly as a particular sound met his ears. He forced his expression into blankness and focused on the pretend reading of his book.

There was a faint shuffling, a restrained giggle, two sniffles, rustling, and then…

“RAH!” came the shout of multiple little voices, while two sets of little hands landed on his shoulders.

He gasped dramatically and tossed his now closed book in the air. “Heavens above!”

More giggles rent the air, and Hugh sank down into the chair as though their hands pressed him into it. “Oh no! Oh, I can’t escape! Oh no!”

“We got him!” one of the young boys cried, whooping as he dashed around the chair. “He’s melting!”

Hugh reacted accordingly, continuing to slide down his chair with agonized moans before flopping to the ground and rolling about until he lay still, face down on the rug.

He remained as still as possible, barely breathing.

One by one, he heard their footsteps approach him, and then, with great hesitation, a few bold fingers began to poke at his back and shoulders. Then, the hesitation seemed to fade and the fingers became more insistent, jabbing between his shoulder blades and into the back of his head.

“Did we really kill him?” one of the girls asked, sounding less timid and more dubious in her question. “Just by giving him a fright?”

“Tommy, check if he’s dead,” another girl asked.

Hugh waited where he lay, and, sure enough, a moment later his eyelid was pried open.

He roared to life, making the children screech in fright and dismay as he rose to his knees and began to bark like a dog.

It turned out that his attackers consisted of four boys and five girls, none older than eight years of age, and the youngest perhaps only three. They bore enough similarity in features to all be related, without question, but also bore enough differences to argue the degree of said relationship.

“Run!” one of the girls cried as Hugh continued to bark.

They all did, without question, but rather than charge for the door, they moved further into the library.