No Season, Nor Clime [1/5]
No Season, nor Clime
Being a Dubious History of the Affairs of one Jonathan Walker and certain Members of his Household
Jon/Ryan, Brendon/Spencer (Bob/Spencer, others) | PG | ~43k
Many, many thanks to everyone who has ever held my hand while I wrote this fic. It's been a year in the making. Originally, this was intended to be posted for clockroute's birthday. A special thank you to anoneknewmoose and supergrover24 for their beta work, nova33 for her hand-holding and beta work, and stephanometra for talking me off the bridge when I was ready to trash everything and her last minute notes and talking me off the ledge and the totally awesome title. Also to summertea for helping when my paragraphs and spaces disappeared.
Jonathan's parents die three days after his twenty-second birthday, on the boat back from the city. The ferry is too old, too rickety, and when it hits one of the very bumpers intended to keep it from running ashore, the boat shatters, and most of the passengers are swept away. He wishes nothing more than to take back his last angry words with his father, an old argument on responsibility to one's family and how Jonathan is no longer a boy and needs to begin acting like a man. He cannot, though.
He can, however, take his father's will and agree to the terms, mainly that he will return to Hanover Park and oversee the settling of accounts and handle the bulk of the estate. It is his place as the primary heir. Jonathan was not originally an only child, but his older brothers were lost to childhood illnesses.
There are two other heirs, the foundlings that his mother picked up when their own parents had died, but they are both under twenty-one and cannot be trusted to handle their own money yet. According to his father, Jonathan is also expected to settle their needs and see them off to respectable marriages.
When the estate lawyer tells him this, Jonathan sinks lower into his chair. He is twenty-two and unmarried himself, and never has had any desire to marry, as he is rarely lonely in the city. The rules of courtship and calling are much too rigid for his tastes, the selection of available hands in Hanover Park too limited. Now he is to make sure the rigid rules are observed, so there is not a breath of scandal attached to the names of the foundlings.
He signs his consent to his father's terms before shaking the lawyer's hand. It takes two days to pack, and he takes the train to Hanover Park. It takes a day longer than boat, but he does not mind. If he misses the memorial service, as the bodies were swept away and not yet found, so be it. He doubts that anyone, outside of his newly gained charges, will give mind.
Hanover Park is much the way he remembers it, with one cobblestone road leading through the center of town, past the post office and the schoolhouse where Jonathan learned his letters and sums before he went off to university. It is only two and a half miles from the train station to his family's estate; if he did not have a rented carriage loaded with trunks and parcels, his treasures from the city, he would have walked it, as he did when he was a boy.
Instead, he sits up straight on the carriage's perch and watches the estates of his father's friends pass by. Master Robert Bryar owns much of the land to the west of the city, and the main path winds him past the wooded cliffs of the Wentz and Beckett estates before he reaches his own lands. His father had put up a tall wooden fence when Jonathan was eight to mark the end of their property, so Jonathan's cousin, the first of the three boys to come live with Jonathan and his parents, would know exactly how far he was permitted to wander.
The fields look the same, same trees. Even his mother's flower gardens seem much the same, except all the colors are faded, as if they are mourning, too. He will have to remember to have the flowers tended in the spring. He hardly has the green thumb to do so, but he will not let his mother's memory leave this land, not yet.
Jonathan does not know the stable hand that runs to him when he drives the carriage up to the main house. He's a young man, barely out of boyhood, with long brown hair and pointed features. He introduces himself as Alexander and takes the reins from Jonathan without being asked. There's a black armband sewn onto his blue work shirt, and Jonathan just nods.
"Are the others about?" Jonathan asks as he tries to beat the dirt of travel from his second best black suit. There is sweat dripping down his back.
The boy shakes his head. "I think they're all still asleep, Master Walker. It's early yet." The boy gives a smile. "I'll get your things unloaded and then I'll take this back into town."
Jonathan nods and heads into the house.
He does not expect the household to be awake, outside of the steward, Zachary, but when a young man wearing scarlet trousers and a black waistcoat opens the door, he is grateful. He does not wish to go around to the front and knock on his own door where anyone could see.
"This is not the main entrance, Master Walker." There is something familiar in his face; it soothes something inside Jonathan to know that not all the servants are new, even though he cannot recall this boy exactly.
"I am aware of this." He gives the servant a tight smile. "I prefer this door, and I would like a key to it as soon as possible." Jonathan does not know what kind of kitchen boy needs to wear long scarves or waistcoats to bake bread, but he does not like to linger in the kitchens too long.
"But the main hall has its purpose, Master Walker." There is something harder in the servant's tone, mocking on his name, but Jonathan brushes it off, nodding to Zachary as the valet comes in with a silver coffee pot. It must be nearly time for breakfast.
In truth, Jonathan uses the servants' door because he is not particularly fond of the main hallway, with its elegant arches and white walls. He prefers this way, familiarizing himself with how the kitchen leads into the dining room, which opens into the parlor and then the music room.
Jonathan can hear the piano before he actually goes into the music room. The tune is fast and angry, something that he has not heard before, and he slows his progress, listening.
The door is barely open, and he can see his cousin, Brendon, one of the wards. His mother, Grace Ann, was the younger sister of Jonathan's own mother, and she died birthing the boy. Brendon's father died soon after, and there were a few years of being boarded at schools and living with great aunts before Jonathan's mother agreed to take him, six months after they lost Jon's eldest brother, Michael, to scarlet fever.
"Brendon," he says, and he knocks on the door to announce his presence.
The tune cuts off abruptly, and then Brendon is across the room with his arms wrapped tightly around Jonathan's shoulders. It is too familiar by half, mildly inappropriate considering their ages, but Jonathan returns the embrace.
"We've missed you," Brendon says. He has not been up long, his hair wild from sleep and his spectacles askew. There is sweat on his back, white undershirt sticking to his arms. "We didn't expect you to come."
Jonathan smiles and reaches over to adjust Brendon's spectacles for him. "I came as soon as I was able. There are matters to be settled."
Brendon's smile fades, and he looks to his feet. "Yes, of course. Matters."
It has been almost four years since he has seen Brendon, and time has aged him into a rather attractive young man, with thick, dark hair and an easy smile. His skin is smoother than Jonathan remembered, less spotted, and he has grown taller, taller than Jonathan is now, but with a boy's slightness to his shoulders and limbs. It makes him appear younger than twenty, and his wide, too-dark eyes do not help matters.
He sighs. Brendon had been his closest friend as a child, even if he was more adept at music lessons than Jonathan ever was, and Jonathan still responded to Brendon's long rambling letters as dutifully as he could. "And I felt that it was time to see my family. I have put it off for too long."
"You have." Brendon's smile does not come back to its full force, but it is a start. He reaches across to take Jonathan's hand in his own. "I am glad you came. It's a lot to take in, Jon." His voice goes soft on the childhood nickname, as if he is unsure of its validity.
He offers Brendon another smile and squeezes his cousin's hand back. "Are Spencer and Ross about?" Spencer is the other of Jonathan's charges, and the one who Jonathan is more concerned about, as he is the youngest and the wealthiest outside of Jonathan himself. Spencer's father had been in university with Jonathan's, and the families had remained close even after the Smiths moved far west to manage property that Spencer's mother inherited quite unexpectedly. Jonathan is fairly certain that his own mother fantasized about Jonathan marrying Spencer one day, before the fire happened and Spencer came to live with them as a coltish ten-year old.
Ross was a slightly different story.
"Spencer's still asleep. Ryan's around here somewhere." Brendon waves his hand and sighs. In that moment, he actually looks like a young man of twenty rather than a boy. "Spencer has been trying to understand Uncle's accounts, but he doesn't have all the information. It's been keeping him up at nights, and Ryan and I have no head for numbers to help him."
Jonathan has no head for numbers, either. He moved to the city to study business at university, but he ended up taking to portraiture in a dusty gallery owned by a man named Tom. "I can be sure to get him the information that he needs," Jonathan says. "And I can try to talk to him about getting more sleep. We shall manage for a few months, until things are settled."
Brendon wrinkles his nose, spectacles going slightly askew. "So formal, Jonathan," he drawls out the vowels. "Did they transform you into a proper gentleman at that university?"
He rolls his eyes at Brendon and takes his hand back. "I am going to wash some of the road away. When Spencer wakes, I need to talk to the both of you about some of the other business Father left for me."
Something flickers across Brendon's face, dark and almost angry. "What is it?" Brendon has always been impatient, as well as loud and slightly destructive. Since he joined the household, there has not been a complete matched set of dinner plates to be had.
Jonathan shakes his head. "It will be easier to discuss if Spencer is here with you."
Brendon nods, shoulders stiff. "Of course, Jonathan." Even his smile seems wooden. "I should go back to practicing. I hope to someday be able to study at conservatory." He says it without inflection. It was Jonathan's mother's dream to see Brendon go on and study music at an academic level, but Brendon is almost too old to go on to such things, especially if he is to be married.
He wishes to say something to Brendon, but Brendon begins to play again, viciously attacking the piano keys as if they are to blame for all of this. Jonathan closes the door to the music room without a sound and turns to the hall.
Jonathan makes note that he wants the portrait of his mother as a young bride removed from the hallway, at least until the mourning period has passed. He cannot look at her smile, too filled with excitement and hope, without feeling a sick roil in his stomach.
The library door is open, as it always is. When Brendon and Spencer were but boys, just after his family took in Spencer, they had been playing too roughly with the door, and its frame cracked. Zachary could still get the door closed, but it was also up to him to open it; none of the other servants has been strong enough to handle such a task.
He inspects the messy piles of books and ledgers. There is an upturned inkpot, and three chairs pulled around the stacks of books. He can almost see Brendon, Spencer, and Ross tucked close together, trying to settle the problems without him.
Jonathan decides that the library door will also have to be fixed, and Spencer should have his own office.
It is well past lunch when Spencer rouses himself from his bed and comes into Jonathan's room, and Jonathan does not know him at first. When he left, Spencer had been a rather soft boy, shorter than Ross with round cheeks and a high-pitched voice. His mother had written about Spencer's growing up, but Jonathan did not think it meant that Spencer would be taller than he is, or that Spencer would let his whiskers grow into a beard. It is only when he glares at Jonathan and says, "You could have come home before this," that Jonathan understands who the tall, bearded man is.
Thankfully, Spencer does not hug Jonathan, merely putting his hands on his hips. "Brendon said you wanted to talk to us." There is no question in his tone.
Jonathan nods and puts aside the letters that Zachary had given him. The house feels too quiet, and most of the servants are diligently ignoring him. "I wanted to discuss your plans, what the both of you had meant to do this fall." He keeps his tone light. "But it can wait until after supper." He does not have to wait to talk to Spencer about these things if Spencer wishes to go into them; Spencer is the most level-headed of the three of them--though Jonathan is aware that there is not a great deal of competition.
Spencer's eyes narrow before he looks away. He crosses his arms in front of him. "Your father had been teaching me about the accounts and how the house must run, and Brendon was working on his application piece for school. Ryan," he says with undue stress, looking back to Jonathan to glare at him, "is working in town, with the veterinarian."
Jonathan nods, and it is his turn to look off. "So you do not wish to go to university?"
"I have never wished to." Spencer edges into the room. "I know how to manage a household, and I am rather aware that will be my future, rather than the piano or animals or the city." He sounds almost bitter as he says it.
Jonathan raises his eyebrows at that. "I did not realize you were so desperate to be a housewife." He cannot keep himself from smiling, even as Spencer swats his arm lightly.
"You have forgotten your mother's attempts to have us court, then?" Spencer's voice hesitates on 'mother,' but he is smiling now.
Jonathan winces at the memories, at Spencer being sixteen and just barely old enough to be out in society, and at his own awkwardness at eighteen, not yet old enough to really do such things, not for another three years. They had taken three drives together at his mother's vehement behest, but it was hard not to look at Spencer and see the wide-eyed orphan that appeared at Jonathan's breakfast table one morning without explanation. He could not imagine taking Spencer as an intended or--worse--a husband.
"It was all I could do to keep myself sane," Jonathan replies and sits down at his desk. Spencer has raised the subject, and it is rather pressing, as neither Spencer nor Brendon are sixteen anymore. Jonathan's lack of interest, even before he has unlimited access to his accounts, in marriage is rather scandalous, but he enjoys his life as a bachelor (and is eager to get back to it, once all the affairs are settled). "Have either you or Brendon been courting?" he asks as he pretends to study a piece of blank paper.
Spencer sighs and moves over to the desk, leaning against it. He lets his shoulders slump for a moment as if there is a giant hand pressing down on them. "I have," he says, staring down at the bare wood floors. "Brendon hasn't, not really."
Jonathan leans back in his chair and waits a moment. "I see." It does not make sense to him, as Brendon appears attractive enough, energetic and affectionate. He is perhaps accident-prone and mildly fanciful, but Jonathan has dealt--and lived--with worse. "Would you mind terribly, then, if I were to have you pull out of this season?"
Courting in Hanover Park, and most of the surrounding area, is terribly ritualized. There are seasons when one may court, and seasons when couples may only see one another as part of social calls to each other's families, or perhaps at a large party. They are not to be alone together, if it can be avoided. The fall season is upon them now, and it seems in poor taste to court while his parents are barely gone.
"I would not mind," Spencer says, tone careful. "Brendon would probably prefer it." He tips his head down. "I have not actually seen Robert since before they passed, and I do not think he intends to come around again until you have given him permission."
Jonathan blinks, and he can feel himself beginning to smile again. "Robert?" he says. "Robert Bryar?" The only other Robert in the area, that he is aware of, is Robert Morris, and Jonathan knows his father would have never allowed that. The Morris family runs the hotel adjacent to the train-station and is inescapably working-class, far below Spencer's standing.
Spencer does not answer, but he does not have to. The beard does little to hide the way his cheeks flush.
It is somewhat comforting, to know that Spencer has someone outside of the household that is not Brendon or Ross. He does not count himself, as he is barely now in the household, and had not been before. "If Robert would like to pay call and stay for supper, I would not be offended," he says, reaching across to touch Spencer's hand.
"We shall see," Spencer says, and he takes his hand away quickly before standing straight. "Ryan and I are going to go riding, to see Peter and tell him that you are back. I shall see you at supper." He leaves as quickly as he can, before Jonathan can press for reasons as to why Brendon remains uncourted or perhaps if Ross intends to stay in the household.
Dinner is a sedate affair. He comes into the dining room just after six to see that the table is set and each of them has a helping of mutton and a goodly portion of greens from the garden. There is stewed pumpkin, too, sitting in the middle of the table, and it does not escape Jonathan's notice that there are five plates, three on one side of the table and two on the other. Both the head of the table and his mother's place are clear.
"Zack eats with us," Brendon says as he comes in and slides into his old chair, beside Jonathan, without hesitation. "He's been part of this family for a while, and we just needed him in the past weeks." He smiles, pleasant and open, but there is the first hint of something in Brendon's voice, something that could be reproach.
Jonathan ignores it and sits down. "Should we wait for Spencer, then?"
Brendon shakes his head and pushes his mutton to the side. "He and Ryan usually get waylaid, and our food will get cold."
He nods and takes a tentative bite. It seems strange and off to sit at this big table, the three plates across from him waiting, and he sighs, looking to the serving boy who is now just ladling pumpkin into a bowl for Brendon. "Could you please ring the dinner bell," Jonathan stops because he does not know this boy's name either.
"Johnson," Brendon says around a mouthful of beans. "Please."
"Of course, Master Walker." The boy gives a half-bow that feels rather mocking before turning on his heel and going back into the kitchens.
It takes Zachary five minutes to appear after the bell rings, and he and Brendon lapse into a conversation about some sort of town gossip, the goings-on of Miss Greta at the general store and her perhaps-courtship with one of the rail workers. It is scandalous, of course, but Brendon's eyes go soft when he sighs about things being meant to be.
Jonathan bends his head over his own dinner, more than half-way finished, and does not contribute to the conversation at all. His mother would have directed their talk back to something more appropriate, like the church building or perhaps the newest foal.
When the dining room door bursts open and Spencer rushes in, dropping down next to Zachary with his hair windswept and clothes askew from riding, Jonathan is almost too relieved to notice the kitchen boy, the one from the morning, slinking over to the table. He wrinkles his nose and carefully sinks into the seat beside Spencer. "Mutton," he says, pushing at the meat with his spoon. "I see."
And just like that, Jonathan scowls at his plate in a way that is perhaps a touch petulant. Spencer had grown up and into himself in ways that make Jonathan pleased, but he had not expected Ross to grow up as well, silly as it was. His hair is trimmed short now, and he had an air of confidence with his too-formal waistcoat and tattered scarf that seemed off when Jonathan remembered the bookish teen he had left behind.
"Ross," Jonathan says when he can force himself to look up and smile. "It is good to see you again."
Ross is reaching for the bread in the middle of the table, and there are traces of ink and dirt on his wrists. "Do not worry, Master Walker," he says, and his tone is perfectly acidic. "I do not intend to make family dinners part of my regular repertoire as long as you intend to stay."
The smile drops from his face, and Jonathan leans back in his chair. "And if I intend to remain here the rest of my days?"
"Then I suppose I shall go hungry and starve to death. I presume it shall not take long, though, so you shall not be inconvenienced by my death throes for very long." Ross calmly spreads the pumpkin onto his bread.
Jonathan opens his mouth to respond, but Spencer cuts him off by loudly tapping his knife against his plate, his mouth set into a firm line.
"We are going to finish our meal in peace." He squares his shoulders and glares at them both before turning to Zachary and Brendon.
Jonathan takes two more bites of his own dinner and finds the taste has soured. "I have to begin looking through the accounts," he says, standing and leaving his plate. He is the master of the house now, and he does not have to ask permission to leave the table. Despite this, he cannot stop the strange crawl in his skin when he walks from the table and back to his room.
Ross has always been a sore subject in their home. When the Smiths died, his father had gone to the funeral with the full intention of picking up another orphaned child to join Brendon and Jonathan. What he found, however, was that the Smiths' own foundling was just as packed and ready to make the week's journey to Hanover Park. That had not been expected.
What was even less expected was that Jonathan's father brought the foundling back. Ross was not even an orphan, just the son of the Smith's main stable hand. His mother had been a laundry maid before she ran off with a troupe of gypsies, and Ross' father had responded by drowning himself so far into the drink and the ways of loose women that the Smiths thought it necessary to take the boy in for his own protection before they let Mr. Ross go. He still lives in the town where Spencer was born, as far as Jonathan knows, and he definitely did when Spencer's parents died, when Jonathan's father could have simply left Ross on the elder Ross' doorstep.
But he did not, and Jonathan's mother had been less than pleased because of the scandal--with its theatrics and tragedy--could have been enough to make its way to Hanover Park. She did not turn Ross away, but he did not have the same things Brendon or Spencer did, his clothing usually their patched castoffs and his toys always the old ones that Jonathan did not wish to play with. He had the same schooling, though, even if it would do him no real use in the world, and he received many of the big presents that the rest of them did, horses and trunks that could hypothetically be used for travel. Jonathan's mother eventually took to buying Ross books whenever she went into town, despite her earlier reservations, and when Ross grew too skinny and gangly for anyone's castoffs to fit properly, she ordered a proper wardrobe be fitted for him. However, for all his education and finery, Ross was still the son of a laundry maid and a stable hand. Only Brendon and Spencer were in the habit of calling him by his given name. (Spencer and Ross were as real brothers, and Brendon was the only one who could get either of them to smile for weeks after the Smiths died.)
More important than any of that, though, was the way he had always grated on Jonathan. They were not friends, not nearly almost-brothers as he was with the other two. Ross was snobbish and prim when they were boys and had no reason for it, and as they grew older, he developed the annoying habit of following Jonathan around as much as possible, only to bicker with him when caught. It had been no small relief to go to the city to get away.
Jonathan had not been terribly surprised to see that his parents had left Ross a small parcel of money, enough to establish himself elsewhere, perhaps in town. It is, like most things in this new arrangement, only a matter of time before these events come to pass. He supposes that he should make an effort to hurry the process along.
When he wakes in the morning, he regrets his behavior from the night before, and he says so to Spencer as they bump shoulders in the hall.
Spencer merely smiles in a way that does not make his eyes crinkle and says, "I know," before he excuses himself back to his bedroom. The house feels quiet after that, and he spends a great deal of time pacing the sitting room.
His mother's sewing--a shirt that badly needed mending and looks too small for anyone besides Brendon or perhaps Ross--still sits in the basket, at the corner of her favorite chair, and his father's pipe tobacco is still on the small table near the fireplace. His throat feels tight when he moves the box onto one of the bookshelves.
There are reminders of the others here as well, Brendon's scribbled-on music pages beside what he expects is Spencer's book on the stars. Spencer had always been fond of the night sky, of what could be beyond their understanding. There is a well-battered book on the floor beside his mother's sewing, and he can almost picture the five of them on a cool summer evening, windows open, Spencer and Ross reading while Brendon tried to perfect his music. His mother and father would have smiled, indulgent in their way.
Jonathan does not miss the tintype on the bookshelf, one shelf above where he lets the tobacco box rest. It was one of the first he sent home from the city, a shot of a little girl with hair that reminded him of Miss Greta's. There are half a dozen things wrong with it, the lighting strange and the focus not quite steady, but he does not miss why his chest constricts when he thinks of his mother putting it in a place of honor because he was missing.
He avoids the others over the next week, mulling over the papers and exactly what his father left each of the three of them. Not surprisingly, Ross' inheritance is enough to allow him to rent a modest room in town and perhaps live off for a few months, enough time to have him established into some sort of occupation. Spencer and Brendon's are a little more complicated. Brendon was the only child of two younger siblings, so his original inheritance from them is rather small, and Jonathan's mother left him one-fourth of her own inheritance. As he stands, Jonathan thinks he may have enough for a house in town, perhaps a small manor house if he marries well. He will not need to work, but it is not enough to run a house filled with servants and orphaned babes.
Spencer is perhaps the best off. He still maintains ownership of his own father's lands, the house that burned to the ground and the fields that have fallen into misuse. If he wishes to live off them, he has the money to rebuild what was lost, or he can simply sell them and move into someone else's home. Jonathan envies the freedom in those options; Jonathan either has to live in the manor estate, or he can return to the city. He is far too old and jaded to have someone come and take call on him.
His plan to avoid the others, stopping in only for meals and the occasional word with Brendon when they pass in the halls, comes abruptly to an end when he opens his father's office door and finds Ross already there, sitting in the leather chair his father had imported, with his feet upon one of the ledgers.
"You are upsetting Brendon and Spencer, and I cannot abide it," Ross says, without preamble or apology for getting black scuffmarks on the tiny writing that fills the ledger. His head is tilted upward, and he seems relaxed, as if this is his office and Jonathan the intruder. "You need to speak with them."
"I do not think it is your place to tell me what I can and cannot do with my family," Jonathan snaps, picking Ross' shoes up by the laces to rescue the books. "You are not permitted in here."
"Your father told me I was allowed to have my run of the place, so long as I did not destroy anything or leave fingerprints on Mrs. Walker's fine glass. I am doing neither of these things, but you are being an ass." Ross raises his chin. His scarf is the palest of purples and looks ridiculous next to his black waistcoat and orange shirt.
Jonathan rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand. "They did not seem to want me around. I did not wish to trouble them."
Ross snorts and taps his heels against the ink blotter. "You have always been a horrible liar, Jonathan. You are avoiding them because you feel guilty for leaving them behind when you went to make your way in the world."
Jonathan does not respond. Ross takes too much pleasure in gloating over his own brilliance, and Jonathan will not indulge him now. He instead puts the ledger back onto its proper shelf. He then takes to straightening the books on the shelf above. Most of them are old penny-dreadfuls; his mother had a weakness for the fanciful, despite her initial hesitation with Ross.
"You forget that you are not the only one who lost them." Ross' voice is as soft as Jonathan has ever heard it, almost the tone he uses for Spencer and Brendon. "This is the second time that they have lost their parents, and they are in pain as well. There is no reason that the three of you cannot mourn together."
Ross does not usually include himself in the family, or he has not when it is just he and Jonathan talking. Jonathan sometimes wishes that Ross did not drive him into such frenzies, because he is rather intelligent when he wishes to be, like now, and his words make sense rather than seeming disingenuous.
He sighs and sits down heavily into one of his father's old chairs that wheezes and casts dust through the room. "Perhaps I should talk to them."
"I think you would find them receptive." Ross pulls his feet down. "No one expected to lose your parents, Jonathan, and no one wishes to lose the little family that is left." He leaves without excusing himself, much the same as how he entered. Jonathan does not move from his chair or look at the ledgers, instead looking at the few tintypes his father had put into the office, the images of Jonathan's long dead blood-brothers, Brendon and Spencer as children, Ross sitting beside Spencer on the carriage bench as a teenager. There are three images of Jonathan, and only one includes the other children.
Jonathan goes to the music room that evening, just before dinner, to speak to Brendon. Ross' words have rattled him, and Brendon had been much younger when his original guardians passed. Jonathan's parents had a much larger hand in rearing him. Jonathan expects that Brendon would be more receptive to conversations about his parents, and talking to Spencer after being lectured by Ross is never a pleasant experience.
He does not expect to find Spencer in the music room, though, sitting beside Brendon at the piano bench. Brendon's hand is pressed to the small of Spencer's back, as their old piano master used to do for all of them. "Try it again," Brendon says, voice soft and face smooth in concentration. His eyes are on the keys.
"This is hopeless, Brendon," Spencer grumbles before raising his right hand to play a few rather stilted bars of "Greensleeves." His timing is correct, as it was when they were taking lessons, but his fingers trip over the keys, taking loud missteps.
Jonathan waits in the doorway until Spencer's fingers slip badly enough for even Brendon to wince and reach over to adjust how Spencer is holding his wrist. Jonathan knocks then, just before he steps into the room.
Spencer stands quickly, cheeks flushed. "Jonathan," he says, and he appears to be making a conscious effort not to slouch, "Brendon is trying to teach me piano again. He thinks he can manage where our tutors failed."
Brendon's shoulders are slumped as he carefully closes the cover over the keys. "I think he hasn't found his instrument yet." His voice sounds strained, and he does not look up at Jonathan.
Jonathan smiles at them both, tighter than he means to. The room feels tense, as if his presence is unwelcome, and he supposes that it is true. Seeing both of them to discuss this simultaneously is not his ideal situation at all. Spencer and Ross are similar in their inability to handle Brendon being upset, and Brendon hates arguments above all else.
"It is a worthwhile venture," he says, finally. "Mother always did want you to play something."
"Yes, well," Spencer murmurs. His shoulders relax. "It is something to fill the time."
Brendon's shoulders dip again before he stands up. "Is there something we can help you with, Jon?" He offers a tentative smile. "We haven't seen much of you." He has the same gentle reproach in his tone as before.
"I was told to come and see how you were handling things. I have been remiss in my duty as your guardian by ignoring you. It has not escaped my notice that you both are now twice orphaned." It is a bare-faced lie, but he does not care. When he was not being a complete ass, Ross had occasional moments of intelligence.
Brendon pales and blinks before he sits back down at the bench. "It is not something that can be fixed, Jonathan," he whispers.
Spencer leans onto Brendon's shoulder, fingers gripping tight. There is something very raw in Spencer's blue eyes as he says, "You could stop acting like a stranger." He looks to Brendon, and something passes between them.
Jonathan nods. It is a fair proclamation. "I will do my best."
Brendon chews on his bottom lip before he makes his back straight. "You could also be more kind to Ryan. He's part of this family, too."
Spencer nods and takes his hand from Brendon's shoulder. "He is like our brother, as much as you are, and it's upsetting to see you at each other so much."
"It was a different matter when Uncle was alive," Brendon adds, words tripping out of his mouth. Jonathan wonders what sort of expression he is making, to elicit such a reaction from his cousin. "But now we only have each other. We would like to be able to eat dinner without another scene."
Jonathan winces at the memory of the only meal that they have all had together since his return. "I have not sought Ross out since the dinner. If there is a problem, it is as much his fault as it is mine." He does not wish to explain how Ross always manages to dig into him and make him half-mad just by giving Jonathan a look. It has been so for years, throughout their childhood and only getting worse as they became teenagers and then adults. "But I would be willing to try, if it would make things easier."
"Uncle had begun to call him by his given name," Brendon says, tone gentle. He looks at his feet rather than looking up to Jonathan. "You could start, perhaps, so it does not feel as much like you expect him to be the hired help."
Spencer sighs and adds, "We are all worried that you will make him leave."
"Don't be ridiculous," he says before he can stop himself. He regrets it, when Brendon's face falls and Spencer's mouth grows small.
"Jon--" Brendon says.
"My father left him something to make his way, but I have no intention of sending him from the house. This is his home." He sighs and leans against the wall. "I will not make him leave."
Spencer offers a small smile. "You promise." It is not a question.
"For as long as he feels he needs to stay." Jonathan does not add that he wishes that "for as long" would mean perhaps another month, but he is not going to hold out hope. He suspects that until Spencer marries and leaves the house, he will have to live under the same roof as Ross.
At dinner, Ross slides into his usual chair just after the bell rings. He is windswept as always, ink dotting his sleeves. Jonathan does not mention that Ross should be more careful with his clothing as they now lack his mother to sew shirts for them. For all Spencer's posturing about taking over a household, he is not a woman, and he has never learned how to sew. There are kitchen girls--a Katie that Jonathan has never talked to and an Erin who usually laughs when he comes in looking for his breakfast--but the rest of the staff is male.
"Jon's not going to make you leave," Brendon says just as Ryan is helping himself to the fresh bread on the table. They are eating chicken pie this evening, and so far there have been no faces from Ross. "We talked to him about it."
Ross blinks and nods. "I did not expect that he would. Master Walker is ever so kind and gracious I can only hope he will find a place in his household for me." He looks at Jonathan defiantly. "As I am not permitted in the offices."
Spencer lets out a long sigh, glaring at Jonathan. "Ryan, Jonathan does not mean to keep you as a servant."
"Brendon and Spencer have been quite clear that you are to remain part of the family, Ross," Jonathan says then, looking at his food and wondering if it is in violation of his deal with the other two to remove himself from this nightmare. "Besides, we both know you would be the worst servant at the manor. It is cheaper to board you, I would think."
Ross' lips quirk, and he could almost be smiling. When Jonathan was twelve, he tried to have Ross clean his bedroom for him. It was not an enormous task, except that Jonathan wanted to go and swim in William Beckett's pond. He did not wish to strip down his own sheets and make sure that all his dirty laundry was taken down to be washed. Therefore, he attempted to have Ross do it, and Ross responded by dumping an entire pot of ink into Jonathan's sheets and then telling Jonathan's mother.
Jonathan can still remember the switching his father gave him for that, and, by the way Ross' mouth is very determinedly not smiling, Ross does as well.
"I suppose it would be," Ross says, tone light as he takes a small bite of his pie. "I could try my hand at tending the grounds."
Jonathan grimaces at the thought of Ryan trying to tend his mother's flowers and caring for the large yard. Ross is slight, and many of the trees are thicker around the middle than he is. It would be an unprecedented disaster.
"I don't think that will be necessary," Zachary says, and he smiles fondly at Ross. "We've managed without your help this long, Ryan. We should be able to keep going."
Ross rolls his eyes, but he is smiling now. It is a small smile, but it is there. It does not fade when he meets Jonathan's eyes over the chicken pie.
After that day, Jonathan falls into a routine. He breaks his fast alone, still, before Spencer or even Brendon can drag themselves from bed, and he watches the sunrise from the porch with a pot of coffee that is always cold by the time the sun crests over the Becketts' land.
Occasionally, Zachary will come out and drink a cup with him. They do not talk about how Jonathan is going to handle his father's affairs or the estate itself. They talk about small gossip, the things Jonathan should know if he wants to be part of the dinner conversations, about Miss Greta's affair with Darren the rail-worker and how Peter Wentz had courted three people at once before settling down with a girl from town. Zachary mentions the missing whiskey and the way the stable hands, Colligan and DeLeon both, were seen in the house just prior in a way that Jonathan understands to mean he will have to reprimand them later.
After his coffee and the sunrise, he retires to his father's office and writes correspondence to old friends and business contacts, keeping those relationships alive. He dozes around then, usually skipping lunch in favor of lazy naps on one of the window seats. When he wakes, he visits with both Brendon and Spencer, wherever they may be. Brendon is usually at his piano--really, Jonathan's mother's piano, but no one plays it half as much as Brendon--and talks to Jonathan about his new piece. Occasionally, he is riding the lands, and Jonathan must ride out to find him.
Spencer is a touch harder, quieter and more prone to curl up in a room with a book. He is often with Ross, when Ross has not gone into town to work with the veterinarian, and they hold intensely whispered conversations as Jonathan approaches. Ross never keeps them from talking, and Spencer talks about the things that Zachary should tell Jonathan in the mornings, the kitchen boy that is slacking, how Colligan does not always check to see if Brendon's horse is properly shod.
It is on one of those afternoons, when Jonathan finds Spencer and Ryan sitting in the kitchen with a batch of sweet dough that appears to have no intention of going into the oven, each pulling off chunks and eating them, that Spencer looks up as he comes in and says, "We usually pay the servants on the third week of the month. You'll need to go to the bank," instead of greeting him.
Jonathan blinks. "That's this week," he says, rather dumbfounded. He does not know why it never occurred to him that the servants would need to be paid as well, on top of everything he does not truly understand. "How were they paid before?" He has been home longer than a month, but this is the first he has heard of it.
"Mr. Walker used to get the money out early, and he told me where it was kept. I paid them." Spencer takes a rather sizeable chunk of batter and tucks it into his mouth, chewing it carefully. He does not meet Jonathan's eyes. "I had thought you knew these things."
Jonathan looks away. The ache of losing his parents--of losing them and gaining everything he never wanted--has dulled to something quiet that only flutters up to cut into his ribs occasionally. He is a man now; he cannot let himself be crippled by grief and fear that he is going to let everything run into the ground, that he will fail Spencer and Brendon.
Ross turns his head to the side, as if he will be able to see better. Jonathan waits for his sharp comment, but one does not come.
Spencer pushes away from the table. "Jonathan, you have to pay our people. Come along. I'll show you how to do it." He seems older than twenty, older than all of them, and Jonathan wants to tell him not to worry about it and to go back to eating batter with Ross.
However, Ross stands and takes the last of the batter from the bowl, biting into it as he would an apple. It is a gross display of manners, and Jonathan bites his tongue, so he does not break his promise to the others.
"I will see you both at supper," Ross says, and he smirks at Jonathan before taking another bite.
Spencer touches his arm, tugging at the material. "Come along, Jonathan," he says again, sounding like an old man again, but he is smiling as he does it. "We shall be able to sort this out by supper, I should think, and you can go into the bank tomorrow and retrieve the money we need."
Jonathan thinks that Spencer's eyes are maybe a tad too bright to be looking forward to an afternoon filled with ledgers and calculation, but if it means he does not have to face them alone, Jonathan is willing to accept that his ward is perhaps a touch mad.
Jonathan is also willing to accept that perhaps he is rather terrible at managing accounts. After that incident, Spencer joins him in the mornings when he is to be doing business, and Spencer looks through the receipts to tell Jonathan what to write into the ledgers and which business associates to contact. Spencer makes the notes about the north fence needing repairs in a list of things that they will have to finish in the spring.
Having Spencer help him through the mounds of letters makes everything seem a little less overwhelming and gives him time to pen a letter to Tom. His fingers trip at using the man's full name, a habit that Thomas had almost broken him of before his parents' passing, but he presses forward. He mentions Brendon and Spencer, as Tom is familiar with them, and he talks about how much he wishes he could return to the city, even if that ache too has dulled.
He will not admit to enjoying the early morning conversations with Zachary or the small swell of pride he gets when Brendon plays a completed composition. He cannot mention that he almost enjoys working the ledgers with Spencer, even if his mind will never be able to grasp the figures the way that Spencer's can.
If anything, Jonathan is most sincere when he talks about wanting a studio here, and that Thomas should visit in the spring, after the holidays but before summer comes and makes things sticky and sluggish. The estate is always best in the spring. He writes this as his last line before the requisite ending and signing his name.
He takes the letter into town himself, not trusting the servants or Ross not to read it.
Part Two
Being a Dubious History of the Affairs of one Jonathan Walker and certain Members of his Household
Jon/Ryan, Brendon/Spencer (Bob/Spencer, others) | PG | ~43k
Many, many thanks to everyone who has ever held my hand while I wrote this fic. It's been a year in the making. Originally, this was intended to be posted for clockroute's birthday. A special thank you to anoneknewmoose and supergrover24 for their beta work, nova33 for her hand-holding and beta work, and stephanometra for talking me off the bridge when I was ready to trash everything and her last minute notes and talking me off the ledge and the totally awesome title. Also to summertea for helping when my paragraphs and spaces disappeared.
Jonathan's parents die three days after his twenty-second birthday, on the boat back from the city. The ferry is too old, too rickety, and when it hits one of the very bumpers intended to keep it from running ashore, the boat shatters, and most of the passengers are swept away. He wishes nothing more than to take back his last angry words with his father, an old argument on responsibility to one's family and how Jonathan is no longer a boy and needs to begin acting like a man. He cannot, though.
He can, however, take his father's will and agree to the terms, mainly that he will return to Hanover Park and oversee the settling of accounts and handle the bulk of the estate. It is his place as the primary heir. Jonathan was not originally an only child, but his older brothers were lost to childhood illnesses.
There are two other heirs, the foundlings that his mother picked up when their own parents had died, but they are both under twenty-one and cannot be trusted to handle their own money yet. According to his father, Jonathan is also expected to settle their needs and see them off to respectable marriages.
When the estate lawyer tells him this, Jonathan sinks lower into his chair. He is twenty-two and unmarried himself, and never has had any desire to marry, as he is rarely lonely in the city. The rules of courtship and calling are much too rigid for his tastes, the selection of available hands in Hanover Park too limited. Now he is to make sure the rigid rules are observed, so there is not a breath of scandal attached to the names of the foundlings.
He signs his consent to his father's terms before shaking the lawyer's hand. It takes two days to pack, and he takes the train to Hanover Park. It takes a day longer than boat, but he does not mind. If he misses the memorial service, as the bodies were swept away and not yet found, so be it. He doubts that anyone, outside of his newly gained charges, will give mind.
Hanover Park is much the way he remembers it, with one cobblestone road leading through the center of town, past the post office and the schoolhouse where Jonathan learned his letters and sums before he went off to university. It is only two and a half miles from the train station to his family's estate; if he did not have a rented carriage loaded with trunks and parcels, his treasures from the city, he would have walked it, as he did when he was a boy.
Instead, he sits up straight on the carriage's perch and watches the estates of his father's friends pass by. Master Robert Bryar owns much of the land to the west of the city, and the main path winds him past the wooded cliffs of the Wentz and Beckett estates before he reaches his own lands. His father had put up a tall wooden fence when Jonathan was eight to mark the end of their property, so Jonathan's cousin, the first of the three boys to come live with Jonathan and his parents, would know exactly how far he was permitted to wander.
The fields look the same, same trees. Even his mother's flower gardens seem much the same, except all the colors are faded, as if they are mourning, too. He will have to remember to have the flowers tended in the spring. He hardly has the green thumb to do so, but he will not let his mother's memory leave this land, not yet.
Jonathan does not know the stable hand that runs to him when he drives the carriage up to the main house. He's a young man, barely out of boyhood, with long brown hair and pointed features. He introduces himself as Alexander and takes the reins from Jonathan without being asked. There's a black armband sewn onto his blue work shirt, and Jonathan just nods.
"Are the others about?" Jonathan asks as he tries to beat the dirt of travel from his second best black suit. There is sweat dripping down his back.
The boy shakes his head. "I think they're all still asleep, Master Walker. It's early yet." The boy gives a smile. "I'll get your things unloaded and then I'll take this back into town."
Jonathan nods and heads into the house.
He does not expect the household to be awake, outside of the steward, Zachary, but when a young man wearing scarlet trousers and a black waistcoat opens the door, he is grateful. He does not wish to go around to the front and knock on his own door where anyone could see.
"This is not the main entrance, Master Walker." There is something familiar in his face; it soothes something inside Jonathan to know that not all the servants are new, even though he cannot recall this boy exactly.
"I am aware of this." He gives the servant a tight smile. "I prefer this door, and I would like a key to it as soon as possible." Jonathan does not know what kind of kitchen boy needs to wear long scarves or waistcoats to bake bread, but he does not like to linger in the kitchens too long.
"But the main hall has its purpose, Master Walker." There is something harder in the servant's tone, mocking on his name, but Jonathan brushes it off, nodding to Zachary as the valet comes in with a silver coffee pot. It must be nearly time for breakfast.
In truth, Jonathan uses the servants' door because he is not particularly fond of the main hallway, with its elegant arches and white walls. He prefers this way, familiarizing himself with how the kitchen leads into the dining room, which opens into the parlor and then the music room.
Jonathan can hear the piano before he actually goes into the music room. The tune is fast and angry, something that he has not heard before, and he slows his progress, listening.
The door is barely open, and he can see his cousin, Brendon, one of the wards. His mother, Grace Ann, was the younger sister of Jonathan's own mother, and she died birthing the boy. Brendon's father died soon after, and there were a few years of being boarded at schools and living with great aunts before Jonathan's mother agreed to take him, six months after they lost Jon's eldest brother, Michael, to scarlet fever.
"Brendon," he says, and he knocks on the door to announce his presence.
The tune cuts off abruptly, and then Brendon is across the room with his arms wrapped tightly around Jonathan's shoulders. It is too familiar by half, mildly inappropriate considering their ages, but Jonathan returns the embrace.
"We've missed you," Brendon says. He has not been up long, his hair wild from sleep and his spectacles askew. There is sweat on his back, white undershirt sticking to his arms. "We didn't expect you to come."
Jonathan smiles and reaches over to adjust Brendon's spectacles for him. "I came as soon as I was able. There are matters to be settled."
Brendon's smile fades, and he looks to his feet. "Yes, of course. Matters."
It has been almost four years since he has seen Brendon, and time has aged him into a rather attractive young man, with thick, dark hair and an easy smile. His skin is smoother than Jonathan remembered, less spotted, and he has grown taller, taller than Jonathan is now, but with a boy's slightness to his shoulders and limbs. It makes him appear younger than twenty, and his wide, too-dark eyes do not help matters.
He sighs. Brendon had been his closest friend as a child, even if he was more adept at music lessons than Jonathan ever was, and Jonathan still responded to Brendon's long rambling letters as dutifully as he could. "And I felt that it was time to see my family. I have put it off for too long."
"You have." Brendon's smile does not come back to its full force, but it is a start. He reaches across to take Jonathan's hand in his own. "I am glad you came. It's a lot to take in, Jon." His voice goes soft on the childhood nickname, as if he is unsure of its validity.
He offers Brendon another smile and squeezes his cousin's hand back. "Are Spencer and Ross about?" Spencer is the other of Jonathan's charges, and the one who Jonathan is more concerned about, as he is the youngest and the wealthiest outside of Jonathan himself. Spencer's father had been in university with Jonathan's, and the families had remained close even after the Smiths moved far west to manage property that Spencer's mother inherited quite unexpectedly. Jonathan is fairly certain that his own mother fantasized about Jonathan marrying Spencer one day, before the fire happened and Spencer came to live with them as a coltish ten-year old.
Ross was a slightly different story.
"Spencer's still asleep. Ryan's around here somewhere." Brendon waves his hand and sighs. In that moment, he actually looks like a young man of twenty rather than a boy. "Spencer has been trying to understand Uncle's accounts, but he doesn't have all the information. It's been keeping him up at nights, and Ryan and I have no head for numbers to help him."
Jonathan has no head for numbers, either. He moved to the city to study business at university, but he ended up taking to portraiture in a dusty gallery owned by a man named Tom. "I can be sure to get him the information that he needs," Jonathan says. "And I can try to talk to him about getting more sleep. We shall manage for a few months, until things are settled."
Brendon wrinkles his nose, spectacles going slightly askew. "So formal, Jonathan," he drawls out the vowels. "Did they transform you into a proper gentleman at that university?"
He rolls his eyes at Brendon and takes his hand back. "I am going to wash some of the road away. When Spencer wakes, I need to talk to the both of you about some of the other business Father left for me."
Something flickers across Brendon's face, dark and almost angry. "What is it?" Brendon has always been impatient, as well as loud and slightly destructive. Since he joined the household, there has not been a complete matched set of dinner plates to be had.
Jonathan shakes his head. "It will be easier to discuss if Spencer is here with you."
Brendon nods, shoulders stiff. "Of course, Jonathan." Even his smile seems wooden. "I should go back to practicing. I hope to someday be able to study at conservatory." He says it without inflection. It was Jonathan's mother's dream to see Brendon go on and study music at an academic level, but Brendon is almost too old to go on to such things, especially if he is to be married.
He wishes to say something to Brendon, but Brendon begins to play again, viciously attacking the piano keys as if they are to blame for all of this. Jonathan closes the door to the music room without a sound and turns to the hall.
Jonathan makes note that he wants the portrait of his mother as a young bride removed from the hallway, at least until the mourning period has passed. He cannot look at her smile, too filled with excitement and hope, without feeling a sick roil in his stomach.
The library door is open, as it always is. When Brendon and Spencer were but boys, just after his family took in Spencer, they had been playing too roughly with the door, and its frame cracked. Zachary could still get the door closed, but it was also up to him to open it; none of the other servants has been strong enough to handle such a task.
He inspects the messy piles of books and ledgers. There is an upturned inkpot, and three chairs pulled around the stacks of books. He can almost see Brendon, Spencer, and Ross tucked close together, trying to settle the problems without him.
Jonathan decides that the library door will also have to be fixed, and Spencer should have his own office.
It is well past lunch when Spencer rouses himself from his bed and comes into Jonathan's room, and Jonathan does not know him at first. When he left, Spencer had been a rather soft boy, shorter than Ross with round cheeks and a high-pitched voice. His mother had written about Spencer's growing up, but Jonathan did not think it meant that Spencer would be taller than he is, or that Spencer would let his whiskers grow into a beard. It is only when he glares at Jonathan and says, "You could have come home before this," that Jonathan understands who the tall, bearded man is.
Thankfully, Spencer does not hug Jonathan, merely putting his hands on his hips. "Brendon said you wanted to talk to us." There is no question in his tone.
Jonathan nods and puts aside the letters that Zachary had given him. The house feels too quiet, and most of the servants are diligently ignoring him. "I wanted to discuss your plans, what the both of you had meant to do this fall." He keeps his tone light. "But it can wait until after supper." He does not have to wait to talk to Spencer about these things if Spencer wishes to go into them; Spencer is the most level-headed of the three of them--though Jonathan is aware that there is not a great deal of competition.
Spencer's eyes narrow before he looks away. He crosses his arms in front of him. "Your father had been teaching me about the accounts and how the house must run, and Brendon was working on his application piece for school. Ryan," he says with undue stress, looking back to Jonathan to glare at him, "is working in town, with the veterinarian."
Jonathan nods, and it is his turn to look off. "So you do not wish to go to university?"
"I have never wished to." Spencer edges into the room. "I know how to manage a household, and I am rather aware that will be my future, rather than the piano or animals or the city." He sounds almost bitter as he says it.
Jonathan raises his eyebrows at that. "I did not realize you were so desperate to be a housewife." He cannot keep himself from smiling, even as Spencer swats his arm lightly.
"You have forgotten your mother's attempts to have us court, then?" Spencer's voice hesitates on 'mother,' but he is smiling now.
Jonathan winces at the memories, at Spencer being sixteen and just barely old enough to be out in society, and at his own awkwardness at eighteen, not yet old enough to really do such things, not for another three years. They had taken three drives together at his mother's vehement behest, but it was hard not to look at Spencer and see the wide-eyed orphan that appeared at Jonathan's breakfast table one morning without explanation. He could not imagine taking Spencer as an intended or--worse--a husband.
"It was all I could do to keep myself sane," Jonathan replies and sits down at his desk. Spencer has raised the subject, and it is rather pressing, as neither Spencer nor Brendon are sixteen anymore. Jonathan's lack of interest, even before he has unlimited access to his accounts, in marriage is rather scandalous, but he enjoys his life as a bachelor (and is eager to get back to it, once all the affairs are settled). "Have either you or Brendon been courting?" he asks as he pretends to study a piece of blank paper.
Spencer sighs and moves over to the desk, leaning against it. He lets his shoulders slump for a moment as if there is a giant hand pressing down on them. "I have," he says, staring down at the bare wood floors. "Brendon hasn't, not really."
Jonathan leans back in his chair and waits a moment. "I see." It does not make sense to him, as Brendon appears attractive enough, energetic and affectionate. He is perhaps accident-prone and mildly fanciful, but Jonathan has dealt--and lived--with worse. "Would you mind terribly, then, if I were to have you pull out of this season?"
Courting in Hanover Park, and most of the surrounding area, is terribly ritualized. There are seasons when one may court, and seasons when couples may only see one another as part of social calls to each other's families, or perhaps at a large party. They are not to be alone together, if it can be avoided. The fall season is upon them now, and it seems in poor taste to court while his parents are barely gone.
"I would not mind," Spencer says, tone careful. "Brendon would probably prefer it." He tips his head down. "I have not actually seen Robert since before they passed, and I do not think he intends to come around again until you have given him permission."
Jonathan blinks, and he can feel himself beginning to smile again. "Robert?" he says. "Robert Bryar?" The only other Robert in the area, that he is aware of, is Robert Morris, and Jonathan knows his father would have never allowed that. The Morris family runs the hotel adjacent to the train-station and is inescapably working-class, far below Spencer's standing.
Spencer does not answer, but he does not have to. The beard does little to hide the way his cheeks flush.
It is somewhat comforting, to know that Spencer has someone outside of the household that is not Brendon or Ross. He does not count himself, as he is barely now in the household, and had not been before. "If Robert would like to pay call and stay for supper, I would not be offended," he says, reaching across to touch Spencer's hand.
"We shall see," Spencer says, and he takes his hand away quickly before standing straight. "Ryan and I are going to go riding, to see Peter and tell him that you are back. I shall see you at supper." He leaves as quickly as he can, before Jonathan can press for reasons as to why Brendon remains uncourted or perhaps if Ross intends to stay in the household.
Dinner is a sedate affair. He comes into the dining room just after six to see that the table is set and each of them has a helping of mutton and a goodly portion of greens from the garden. There is stewed pumpkin, too, sitting in the middle of the table, and it does not escape Jonathan's notice that there are five plates, three on one side of the table and two on the other. Both the head of the table and his mother's place are clear.
"Zack eats with us," Brendon says as he comes in and slides into his old chair, beside Jonathan, without hesitation. "He's been part of this family for a while, and we just needed him in the past weeks." He smiles, pleasant and open, but there is the first hint of something in Brendon's voice, something that could be reproach.
Jonathan ignores it and sits down. "Should we wait for Spencer, then?"
Brendon shakes his head and pushes his mutton to the side. "He and Ryan usually get waylaid, and our food will get cold."
He nods and takes a tentative bite. It seems strange and off to sit at this big table, the three plates across from him waiting, and he sighs, looking to the serving boy who is now just ladling pumpkin into a bowl for Brendon. "Could you please ring the dinner bell," Jonathan stops because he does not know this boy's name either.
"Johnson," Brendon says around a mouthful of beans. "Please."
"Of course, Master Walker." The boy gives a half-bow that feels rather mocking before turning on his heel and going back into the kitchens.
It takes Zachary five minutes to appear after the bell rings, and he and Brendon lapse into a conversation about some sort of town gossip, the goings-on of Miss Greta at the general store and her perhaps-courtship with one of the rail workers. It is scandalous, of course, but Brendon's eyes go soft when he sighs about things being meant to be.
Jonathan bends his head over his own dinner, more than half-way finished, and does not contribute to the conversation at all. His mother would have directed their talk back to something more appropriate, like the church building or perhaps the newest foal.
When the dining room door bursts open and Spencer rushes in, dropping down next to Zachary with his hair windswept and clothes askew from riding, Jonathan is almost too relieved to notice the kitchen boy, the one from the morning, slinking over to the table. He wrinkles his nose and carefully sinks into the seat beside Spencer. "Mutton," he says, pushing at the meat with his spoon. "I see."
And just like that, Jonathan scowls at his plate in a way that is perhaps a touch petulant. Spencer had grown up and into himself in ways that make Jonathan pleased, but he had not expected Ross to grow up as well, silly as it was. His hair is trimmed short now, and he had an air of confidence with his too-formal waistcoat and tattered scarf that seemed off when Jonathan remembered the bookish teen he had left behind.
"Ross," Jonathan says when he can force himself to look up and smile. "It is good to see you again."
Ross is reaching for the bread in the middle of the table, and there are traces of ink and dirt on his wrists. "Do not worry, Master Walker," he says, and his tone is perfectly acidic. "I do not intend to make family dinners part of my regular repertoire as long as you intend to stay."
The smile drops from his face, and Jonathan leans back in his chair. "And if I intend to remain here the rest of my days?"
"Then I suppose I shall go hungry and starve to death. I presume it shall not take long, though, so you shall not be inconvenienced by my death throes for very long." Ross calmly spreads the pumpkin onto his bread.
Jonathan opens his mouth to respond, but Spencer cuts him off by loudly tapping his knife against his plate, his mouth set into a firm line.
"We are going to finish our meal in peace." He squares his shoulders and glares at them both before turning to Zachary and Brendon.
Jonathan takes two more bites of his own dinner and finds the taste has soured. "I have to begin looking through the accounts," he says, standing and leaving his plate. He is the master of the house now, and he does not have to ask permission to leave the table. Despite this, he cannot stop the strange crawl in his skin when he walks from the table and back to his room.
Ross has always been a sore subject in their home. When the Smiths died, his father had gone to the funeral with the full intention of picking up another orphaned child to join Brendon and Jonathan. What he found, however, was that the Smiths' own foundling was just as packed and ready to make the week's journey to Hanover Park. That had not been expected.
What was even less expected was that Jonathan's father brought the foundling back. Ross was not even an orphan, just the son of the Smith's main stable hand. His mother had been a laundry maid before she ran off with a troupe of gypsies, and Ross' father had responded by drowning himself so far into the drink and the ways of loose women that the Smiths thought it necessary to take the boy in for his own protection before they let Mr. Ross go. He still lives in the town where Spencer was born, as far as Jonathan knows, and he definitely did when Spencer's parents died, when Jonathan's father could have simply left Ross on the elder Ross' doorstep.
But he did not, and Jonathan's mother had been less than pleased because of the scandal--with its theatrics and tragedy--could have been enough to make its way to Hanover Park. She did not turn Ross away, but he did not have the same things Brendon or Spencer did, his clothing usually their patched castoffs and his toys always the old ones that Jonathan did not wish to play with. He had the same schooling, though, even if it would do him no real use in the world, and he received many of the big presents that the rest of them did, horses and trunks that could hypothetically be used for travel. Jonathan's mother eventually took to buying Ross books whenever she went into town, despite her earlier reservations, and when Ross grew too skinny and gangly for anyone's castoffs to fit properly, she ordered a proper wardrobe be fitted for him. However, for all his education and finery, Ross was still the son of a laundry maid and a stable hand. Only Brendon and Spencer were in the habit of calling him by his given name. (Spencer and Ross were as real brothers, and Brendon was the only one who could get either of them to smile for weeks after the Smiths died.)
More important than any of that, though, was the way he had always grated on Jonathan. They were not friends, not nearly almost-brothers as he was with the other two. Ross was snobbish and prim when they were boys and had no reason for it, and as they grew older, he developed the annoying habit of following Jonathan around as much as possible, only to bicker with him when caught. It had been no small relief to go to the city to get away.
Jonathan had not been terribly surprised to see that his parents had left Ross a small parcel of money, enough to establish himself elsewhere, perhaps in town. It is, like most things in this new arrangement, only a matter of time before these events come to pass. He supposes that he should make an effort to hurry the process along.
When he wakes in the morning, he regrets his behavior from the night before, and he says so to Spencer as they bump shoulders in the hall.
Spencer merely smiles in a way that does not make his eyes crinkle and says, "I know," before he excuses himself back to his bedroom. The house feels quiet after that, and he spends a great deal of time pacing the sitting room.
His mother's sewing--a shirt that badly needed mending and looks too small for anyone besides Brendon or perhaps Ross--still sits in the basket, at the corner of her favorite chair, and his father's pipe tobacco is still on the small table near the fireplace. His throat feels tight when he moves the box onto one of the bookshelves.
There are reminders of the others here as well, Brendon's scribbled-on music pages beside what he expects is Spencer's book on the stars. Spencer had always been fond of the night sky, of what could be beyond their understanding. There is a well-battered book on the floor beside his mother's sewing, and he can almost picture the five of them on a cool summer evening, windows open, Spencer and Ross reading while Brendon tried to perfect his music. His mother and father would have smiled, indulgent in their way.
Jonathan does not miss the tintype on the bookshelf, one shelf above where he lets the tobacco box rest. It was one of the first he sent home from the city, a shot of a little girl with hair that reminded him of Miss Greta's. There are half a dozen things wrong with it, the lighting strange and the focus not quite steady, but he does not miss why his chest constricts when he thinks of his mother putting it in a place of honor because he was missing.
He avoids the others over the next week, mulling over the papers and exactly what his father left each of the three of them. Not surprisingly, Ross' inheritance is enough to allow him to rent a modest room in town and perhaps live off for a few months, enough time to have him established into some sort of occupation. Spencer and Brendon's are a little more complicated. Brendon was the only child of two younger siblings, so his original inheritance from them is rather small, and Jonathan's mother left him one-fourth of her own inheritance. As he stands, Jonathan thinks he may have enough for a house in town, perhaps a small manor house if he marries well. He will not need to work, but it is not enough to run a house filled with servants and orphaned babes.
Spencer is perhaps the best off. He still maintains ownership of his own father's lands, the house that burned to the ground and the fields that have fallen into misuse. If he wishes to live off them, he has the money to rebuild what was lost, or he can simply sell them and move into someone else's home. Jonathan envies the freedom in those options; Jonathan either has to live in the manor estate, or he can return to the city. He is far too old and jaded to have someone come and take call on him.
His plan to avoid the others, stopping in only for meals and the occasional word with Brendon when they pass in the halls, comes abruptly to an end when he opens his father's office door and finds Ross already there, sitting in the leather chair his father had imported, with his feet upon one of the ledgers.
"You are upsetting Brendon and Spencer, and I cannot abide it," Ross says, without preamble or apology for getting black scuffmarks on the tiny writing that fills the ledger. His head is tilted upward, and he seems relaxed, as if this is his office and Jonathan the intruder. "You need to speak with them."
"I do not think it is your place to tell me what I can and cannot do with my family," Jonathan snaps, picking Ross' shoes up by the laces to rescue the books. "You are not permitted in here."
"Your father told me I was allowed to have my run of the place, so long as I did not destroy anything or leave fingerprints on Mrs. Walker's fine glass. I am doing neither of these things, but you are being an ass." Ross raises his chin. His scarf is the palest of purples and looks ridiculous next to his black waistcoat and orange shirt.
Jonathan rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand. "They did not seem to want me around. I did not wish to trouble them."
Ross snorts and taps his heels against the ink blotter. "You have always been a horrible liar, Jonathan. You are avoiding them because you feel guilty for leaving them behind when you went to make your way in the world."
Jonathan does not respond. Ross takes too much pleasure in gloating over his own brilliance, and Jonathan will not indulge him now. He instead puts the ledger back onto its proper shelf. He then takes to straightening the books on the shelf above. Most of them are old penny-dreadfuls; his mother had a weakness for the fanciful, despite her initial hesitation with Ross.
"You forget that you are not the only one who lost them." Ross' voice is as soft as Jonathan has ever heard it, almost the tone he uses for Spencer and Brendon. "This is the second time that they have lost their parents, and they are in pain as well. There is no reason that the three of you cannot mourn together."
Ross does not usually include himself in the family, or he has not when it is just he and Jonathan talking. Jonathan sometimes wishes that Ross did not drive him into such frenzies, because he is rather intelligent when he wishes to be, like now, and his words make sense rather than seeming disingenuous.
He sighs and sits down heavily into one of his father's old chairs that wheezes and casts dust through the room. "Perhaps I should talk to them."
"I think you would find them receptive." Ross pulls his feet down. "No one expected to lose your parents, Jonathan, and no one wishes to lose the little family that is left." He leaves without excusing himself, much the same as how he entered. Jonathan does not move from his chair or look at the ledgers, instead looking at the few tintypes his father had put into the office, the images of Jonathan's long dead blood-brothers, Brendon and Spencer as children, Ross sitting beside Spencer on the carriage bench as a teenager. There are three images of Jonathan, and only one includes the other children.
Jonathan goes to the music room that evening, just before dinner, to speak to Brendon. Ross' words have rattled him, and Brendon had been much younger when his original guardians passed. Jonathan's parents had a much larger hand in rearing him. Jonathan expects that Brendon would be more receptive to conversations about his parents, and talking to Spencer after being lectured by Ross is never a pleasant experience.
He does not expect to find Spencer in the music room, though, sitting beside Brendon at the piano bench. Brendon's hand is pressed to the small of Spencer's back, as their old piano master used to do for all of them. "Try it again," Brendon says, voice soft and face smooth in concentration. His eyes are on the keys.
"This is hopeless, Brendon," Spencer grumbles before raising his right hand to play a few rather stilted bars of "Greensleeves." His timing is correct, as it was when they were taking lessons, but his fingers trip over the keys, taking loud missteps.
Jonathan waits in the doorway until Spencer's fingers slip badly enough for even Brendon to wince and reach over to adjust how Spencer is holding his wrist. Jonathan knocks then, just before he steps into the room.
Spencer stands quickly, cheeks flushed. "Jonathan," he says, and he appears to be making a conscious effort not to slouch, "Brendon is trying to teach me piano again. He thinks he can manage where our tutors failed."
Brendon's shoulders are slumped as he carefully closes the cover over the keys. "I think he hasn't found his instrument yet." His voice sounds strained, and he does not look up at Jonathan.
Jonathan smiles at them both, tighter than he means to. The room feels tense, as if his presence is unwelcome, and he supposes that it is true. Seeing both of them to discuss this simultaneously is not his ideal situation at all. Spencer and Ross are similar in their inability to handle Brendon being upset, and Brendon hates arguments above all else.
"It is a worthwhile venture," he says, finally. "Mother always did want you to play something."
"Yes, well," Spencer murmurs. His shoulders relax. "It is something to fill the time."
Brendon's shoulders dip again before he stands up. "Is there something we can help you with, Jon?" He offers a tentative smile. "We haven't seen much of you." He has the same gentle reproach in his tone as before.
"I was told to come and see how you were handling things. I have been remiss in my duty as your guardian by ignoring you. It has not escaped my notice that you both are now twice orphaned." It is a bare-faced lie, but he does not care. When he was not being a complete ass, Ross had occasional moments of intelligence.
Brendon pales and blinks before he sits back down at the bench. "It is not something that can be fixed, Jonathan," he whispers.
Spencer leans onto Brendon's shoulder, fingers gripping tight. There is something very raw in Spencer's blue eyes as he says, "You could stop acting like a stranger." He looks to Brendon, and something passes between them.
Jonathan nods. It is a fair proclamation. "I will do my best."
Brendon chews on his bottom lip before he makes his back straight. "You could also be more kind to Ryan. He's part of this family, too."
Spencer nods and takes his hand from Brendon's shoulder. "He is like our brother, as much as you are, and it's upsetting to see you at each other so much."
"It was a different matter when Uncle was alive," Brendon adds, words tripping out of his mouth. Jonathan wonders what sort of expression he is making, to elicit such a reaction from his cousin. "But now we only have each other. We would like to be able to eat dinner without another scene."
Jonathan winces at the memory of the only meal that they have all had together since his return. "I have not sought Ross out since the dinner. If there is a problem, it is as much his fault as it is mine." He does not wish to explain how Ross always manages to dig into him and make him half-mad just by giving Jonathan a look. It has been so for years, throughout their childhood and only getting worse as they became teenagers and then adults. "But I would be willing to try, if it would make things easier."
"Uncle had begun to call him by his given name," Brendon says, tone gentle. He looks at his feet rather than looking up to Jonathan. "You could start, perhaps, so it does not feel as much like you expect him to be the hired help."
Spencer sighs and adds, "We are all worried that you will make him leave."
"Don't be ridiculous," he says before he can stop himself. He regrets it, when Brendon's face falls and Spencer's mouth grows small.
"Jon--" Brendon says.
"My father left him something to make his way, but I have no intention of sending him from the house. This is his home." He sighs and leans against the wall. "I will not make him leave."
Spencer offers a small smile. "You promise." It is not a question.
"For as long as he feels he needs to stay." Jonathan does not add that he wishes that "for as long" would mean perhaps another month, but he is not going to hold out hope. He suspects that until Spencer marries and leaves the house, he will have to live under the same roof as Ross.
At dinner, Ross slides into his usual chair just after the bell rings. He is windswept as always, ink dotting his sleeves. Jonathan does not mention that Ross should be more careful with his clothing as they now lack his mother to sew shirts for them. For all Spencer's posturing about taking over a household, he is not a woman, and he has never learned how to sew. There are kitchen girls--a Katie that Jonathan has never talked to and an Erin who usually laughs when he comes in looking for his breakfast--but the rest of the staff is male.
"Jon's not going to make you leave," Brendon says just as Ryan is helping himself to the fresh bread on the table. They are eating chicken pie this evening, and so far there have been no faces from Ross. "We talked to him about it."
Ross blinks and nods. "I did not expect that he would. Master Walker is ever so kind and gracious I can only hope he will find a place in his household for me." He looks at Jonathan defiantly. "As I am not permitted in the offices."
Spencer lets out a long sigh, glaring at Jonathan. "Ryan, Jonathan does not mean to keep you as a servant."
"Brendon and Spencer have been quite clear that you are to remain part of the family, Ross," Jonathan says then, looking at his food and wondering if it is in violation of his deal with the other two to remove himself from this nightmare. "Besides, we both know you would be the worst servant at the manor. It is cheaper to board you, I would think."
Ross' lips quirk, and he could almost be smiling. When Jonathan was twelve, he tried to have Ross clean his bedroom for him. It was not an enormous task, except that Jonathan wanted to go and swim in William Beckett's pond. He did not wish to strip down his own sheets and make sure that all his dirty laundry was taken down to be washed. Therefore, he attempted to have Ross do it, and Ross responded by dumping an entire pot of ink into Jonathan's sheets and then telling Jonathan's mother.
Jonathan can still remember the switching his father gave him for that, and, by the way Ross' mouth is very determinedly not smiling, Ross does as well.
"I suppose it would be," Ross says, tone light as he takes a small bite of his pie. "I could try my hand at tending the grounds."
Jonathan grimaces at the thought of Ryan trying to tend his mother's flowers and caring for the large yard. Ross is slight, and many of the trees are thicker around the middle than he is. It would be an unprecedented disaster.
"I don't think that will be necessary," Zachary says, and he smiles fondly at Ross. "We've managed without your help this long, Ryan. We should be able to keep going."
Ross rolls his eyes, but he is smiling now. It is a small smile, but it is there. It does not fade when he meets Jonathan's eyes over the chicken pie.
After that day, Jonathan falls into a routine. He breaks his fast alone, still, before Spencer or even Brendon can drag themselves from bed, and he watches the sunrise from the porch with a pot of coffee that is always cold by the time the sun crests over the Becketts' land.
Occasionally, Zachary will come out and drink a cup with him. They do not talk about how Jonathan is going to handle his father's affairs or the estate itself. They talk about small gossip, the things Jonathan should know if he wants to be part of the dinner conversations, about Miss Greta's affair with Darren the rail-worker and how Peter Wentz had courted three people at once before settling down with a girl from town. Zachary mentions the missing whiskey and the way the stable hands, Colligan and DeLeon both, were seen in the house just prior in a way that Jonathan understands to mean he will have to reprimand them later.
After his coffee and the sunrise, he retires to his father's office and writes correspondence to old friends and business contacts, keeping those relationships alive. He dozes around then, usually skipping lunch in favor of lazy naps on one of the window seats. When he wakes, he visits with both Brendon and Spencer, wherever they may be. Brendon is usually at his piano--really, Jonathan's mother's piano, but no one plays it half as much as Brendon--and talks to Jonathan about his new piece. Occasionally, he is riding the lands, and Jonathan must ride out to find him.
Spencer is a touch harder, quieter and more prone to curl up in a room with a book. He is often with Ross, when Ross has not gone into town to work with the veterinarian, and they hold intensely whispered conversations as Jonathan approaches. Ross never keeps them from talking, and Spencer talks about the things that Zachary should tell Jonathan in the mornings, the kitchen boy that is slacking, how Colligan does not always check to see if Brendon's horse is properly shod.
It is on one of those afternoons, when Jonathan finds Spencer and Ryan sitting in the kitchen with a batch of sweet dough that appears to have no intention of going into the oven, each pulling off chunks and eating them, that Spencer looks up as he comes in and says, "We usually pay the servants on the third week of the month. You'll need to go to the bank," instead of greeting him.
Jonathan blinks. "That's this week," he says, rather dumbfounded. He does not know why it never occurred to him that the servants would need to be paid as well, on top of everything he does not truly understand. "How were they paid before?" He has been home longer than a month, but this is the first he has heard of it.
"Mr. Walker used to get the money out early, and he told me where it was kept. I paid them." Spencer takes a rather sizeable chunk of batter and tucks it into his mouth, chewing it carefully. He does not meet Jonathan's eyes. "I had thought you knew these things."
Jonathan looks away. The ache of losing his parents--of losing them and gaining everything he never wanted--has dulled to something quiet that only flutters up to cut into his ribs occasionally. He is a man now; he cannot let himself be crippled by grief and fear that he is going to let everything run into the ground, that he will fail Spencer and Brendon.
Ross turns his head to the side, as if he will be able to see better. Jonathan waits for his sharp comment, but one does not come.
Spencer pushes away from the table. "Jonathan, you have to pay our people. Come along. I'll show you how to do it." He seems older than twenty, older than all of them, and Jonathan wants to tell him not to worry about it and to go back to eating batter with Ross.
However, Ross stands and takes the last of the batter from the bowl, biting into it as he would an apple. It is a gross display of manners, and Jonathan bites his tongue, so he does not break his promise to the others.
"I will see you both at supper," Ross says, and he smirks at Jonathan before taking another bite.
Spencer touches his arm, tugging at the material. "Come along, Jonathan," he says again, sounding like an old man again, but he is smiling as he does it. "We shall be able to sort this out by supper, I should think, and you can go into the bank tomorrow and retrieve the money we need."
Jonathan thinks that Spencer's eyes are maybe a tad too bright to be looking forward to an afternoon filled with ledgers and calculation, but if it means he does not have to face them alone, Jonathan is willing to accept that his ward is perhaps a touch mad.
Jonathan is also willing to accept that perhaps he is rather terrible at managing accounts. After that incident, Spencer joins him in the mornings when he is to be doing business, and Spencer looks through the receipts to tell Jonathan what to write into the ledgers and which business associates to contact. Spencer makes the notes about the north fence needing repairs in a list of things that they will have to finish in the spring.
Having Spencer help him through the mounds of letters makes everything seem a little less overwhelming and gives him time to pen a letter to Tom. His fingers trip at using the man's full name, a habit that Thomas had almost broken him of before his parents' passing, but he presses forward. He mentions Brendon and Spencer, as Tom is familiar with them, and he talks about how much he wishes he could return to the city, even if that ache too has dulled.
He will not admit to enjoying the early morning conversations with Zachary or the small swell of pride he gets when Brendon plays a completed composition. He cannot mention that he almost enjoys working the ledgers with Spencer, even if his mind will never be able to grasp the figures the way that Spencer's can.
If anything, Jonathan is most sincere when he talks about wanting a studio here, and that Thomas should visit in the spring, after the holidays but before summer comes and makes things sticky and sluggish. The estate is always best in the spring. He writes this as his last line before the requisite ending and signing his name.
He takes the letter into town himself, not trusting the servants or Ross not to read it.
Part Two