Arundel Castle - Big Sister Duty || Morgan

Monday, April 10, 1922
Kathryn's bedroom,
2:54PM

Breath in.

Hold.

Breathe out.

Kathryn counted each beat, measuring her breathing the way Madam Dubois had taught her to as she wound down from her afternoon practice. While she did, she leaned to her left, reaching for her toes. The little girl was as methodical with her hamstring stretches as she was with everything else she partook in. Once expectations had been set, she didn't need constant oversight to get them done. She had never suffered the ill effects of failing to properly wind down, but in the classes that she shared with the others, Kathryn had seen firsthand the pain that could quickly creep into someone should they fail to work their muscles correctly.

She leaned to the left, inhaling deeply again.

It was one of the quieter days inside the castle. Both her mother and Mr. Maddox were gone to settle things with the new house. Benji was the natural first choice to 'keep an eye on her', but he had business with their uncle that took precedence over watching a little girl who wasn't likely to get up to much anyway.

Aunt Edith had gone out for the afternoon, too, for a playdate of some sort for Adira and Evander. Had no one said anything, Kathryn might only have noticed her mother's absence, but even then, she wouldn't think she needed to be watched. Her plans were already set. Ballet for an hour starting at 2, then a walk in the garden promptly at three for exactly half an hour. Winding down with a book until 4:30 then a shower. Julia promised to be back by 5, in time for them to listen to some radio before dinner.

Kathryn was content to be on her own, but everyone else was of a different opinion. With no one else available, Morgan had been drafted for babysitting duty.

She hardly noticed as the smooth and delicate melodies of Debussy's Clair de Lune filled the room. Kate couldn't say where Morgan had got off to or whether she'd remained throughout the lesson. Her mind was singular in nature, focused only on the task that was now coming to an end.

Pulling her legs together, Kate positioned them for a butterfly stretch.

She heard some shuffling out in the family parlour but ignored it as she inhaled again.

She hadn't been asked or even told so much as she had been informed.

Morgan had plans – vague ones at best, but plans nonetheless. Her journal had been glued to her hand for months now, and her quill had seen more action lately than it ever had in class or on homework. She'd finally gotten the hang of all of the writing too, which felt like something worth noting.

Watching Kate from the doorway, Morgan felt highly chaotic by comparison. The girl was always so reserved, so careful, so precise – everything that Morgan wasn't, and somehow everything that came naturally to her without any apparent effort.

At some point during the practice she'd drifted inside, settling into a chair near the door with her journal open on her lap. The classical music helped. It was the kind that softened the edges of a room, made it easy to sink into your own head and stay there longer than you probably should.

She'd been trying to write about the baby. About what it meant, about how she felt, and kept finding that she didn't have the right words yet, or maybe she had too many of them and couldn't untangle which ones were true. It was easier when she was angry about something. Anger had words. This was something quieter and harder to name, sitting somewhere in the space between excited and terrified and a grief she hadn't fully figured out how to hold yet.

Dear mum, at the top of the page, the way it always started. The rest was slower going today.

She looked up. Kate was stretching now, moving through each position with the same focused precision she brought to everything – the kind that made it clear she didn't need reminding, didn't need checking on, had probably mapped out the rest of her afternoon down to the minute. Morgan had known her only a few months and already that much was obvious.

What was also obvious, though Morgan hadn't put words to it even in the journal, was that Kate wore her composure the way Morgan wore her recklessness – like armor. Like something that had been necessary long enough that it stopped feeling like a choice.

She didn't linger on that thought. She looked back down at her journal and pressed her quill to the page again.

2:55

Kathryn rose quietly from her stretching mat. She crouched and carefully rolled it, tying the cloth band to hold it in place with deft and precise finger work. She then tapped it against the ground to even out both ends, leaving them perfectly flat. The practised motion took her no time despite the meticulous manner in which she worked. When she was done, she crossed the room to replace it in her closet.

2:56

The little girl moved over to the mirror, instinctively scowling at the fine strands of blonde hair that had come loose during her practice. She would address them in a moment. For now, Kathryn slipped out of her leotard and into a dress appropriate for her stroll through the garden. It was a light cotton day dress in a soft lavender colour with short flutter sleeves and a Peter Pan collar. This one had buttons at the front, shortening her work, and soon, she was before the mirror again.

Next, she pulled on her stark-white socks, folding them at exactly half a centimetre above her ankles; they were scallop-trimmed.

Worn feet slipped into her polished, black Mary Janes that she clasped closed.

The white cardigan was the last to go on, slipping seamlessly onto her shoulders.

2:58

A quick slip of the navy ribbon and her locks fell loose. Kathryn ran the brush along her hair exactly 15 times – a milder routine than the one for bed – before tying it all together again into its usual bun at the back of her head. The navy ribbon was replaced then with one of lavender.

3:00

Blue eyes glanced briefly at the mahogany clock above her worktable to confirm the time as she stepped away from the mirror.

It was time for her walk.

Kathryn walked by her new sister sitting in the chair, looking only long enough to ensure she wasn't abusing the furniture with bad practices. Satisfied she wouldn't be made late for her walk by having to broom the girl out of her chair for acting like she'd been raised by animals, Kate walked through the door that led back into the family's main parlour.

From there, she followed the corridor, able to find the garden with her eyes shut.

Morgan hadn’t meant to watch.

It started as a glance while Kate rose from her mat with the same deliberate fashion she’d brought to every other movement in the last hour. Hell, not just then – the entire time she’d known the girl. The mat was rolled, tied, and tapped, and Morgan found her quill had stopped without her even noticing.

She watched everything while she still held her quill, as if she was going to begin writing again at any moment. The dress, the socks folded perfectly even on both sides, the shoes, the cardigan. The perfect way Kate brushed her hair – Morgan hadn’t thought to count, but she would be surprised if the girl hadn’t. The ribbon matched the dress perfectly.

Once Kate walked past Morgan, she looked at the clock. It was three on the dot. The younger girl had given her the briefest glance – not unfriendly, not warm, just the particular look of someone taking inventory. Perhaps making sure everything was in its right place before moving on. Morgan wasn’t sure if she’d passed or simply hadn’t failed, and she found that she couldn’t quite decide how she felt about that unknown.

She blinked, watching her go.

After a moment, she closed her journal and rose from her seat. There was nothing left for her in this pristine room. She turned in the same direction as her new little sister had, following after her mostly out of curiosity. Was everything that she did so precise and perfect?

For Morgan, who was always full of chaos, the quiet calmness that surrounded Kate was fascinating.

The bright sun caused her to squint as she stepped outside, blinking the sudden light away. Kate was already moving through the garden with total purpose, like she had every path memorized and every minute accounted for. Morgan followed at a distance, hands loose at her sides, her journal and quill clutched in her left, no destination in particular in mind.

Kate had a route; Morgan had directions her feet were going.

She was just doing her job. That’s all this was.

Kathryn paused at the entrance to the garden, as she always did.

She liked to wait until the moment she arrived to choose the route she would take. It was her own means of adding a bit of 'controlled spontaneity' to what was otherwise a rigid routine. It kept the walks enjoyable, providing an air of mystery that was suitable for her delicate sensibilities. As a general rule, the little girl didn't like surprises. Anything that might cause her heart to flutter, her blood to run cold, her hairs to stand on end, or her breathing to shallow—anything that might provoke the equilibrium she carefully maintained was to be shunned.

Walking by the peonies instead of the oleanders for an afternoon was a refreshing deviation without sending her entire system into a frenzy.

Kathryn paused only long enough to consider the path that led to the centre of the gardens, oblivious to the company that trailed her. Perhaps not oblivious. Morgan wasn't doing much to mask her footsteps after all.

'Indifferent' was a better word.

The foxgloves and clematis were starting to bloom. She'd been meaning to have a look, and that afternoon seemed as good a time as any. Her course set in her mind, she stalked forward with her gloved hands clasped loosely behind her back. The path she took would take her by the roses. They were among her favourites and always a treat to linger by. Once, she'd found a robin just beneath the brush. Barely decomposed, it couldn't have been dead longer than that morning. Her mother had been the only one to display any interest in her find.

With some luck, she might find another. Julia was less inclined to entertain dead things as she entered the final stages of preparation for the baby, but Kathryn liked to think that if anyone would care about her finds, it would still be here.

The trail of ants caught her attention.

If there was one thing she'd learned, it was that where there were ants, there was likely to be something of interest. She followed them deeper, losing sight of the flowers for the sake of maintaining visual on the tiny insects. Her shoes crunched softly against the white gravel as she moved, announcing her presence in the silence of the garden.

There was a stirring inside her chest, subtle but tingling with each step she took. Anticipation built as she imagined what she might find and what her mother would teach her to do with it.

The garden was bigger than Morgan had expected. She had only been to the castle a couple of times, and most of the time she stayed near Benji. As she realized the size of it, she was not surprised. Anything smaller would honestly look silly next to such a large piece of architecture.

She followed at a distance, her hands loose at her sides, watching Kate move through it with the kind of certainty that suggested she had walked this exact path a hundred times before. Perhaps she had. That seemed like something the younger girl would do: memorize a garden, have a preferred route and a reason for it.

Morgan had no route, and no preference. She just followed.

When Kate paused at the entrance, Morgan slowed too, hanging back without fully stopping. She watched the younger girl consider something, though Morgan couldn’t tell what, and then set off again with total purpose.

Morgan trained after her through the roses, past the foxgloves that were just beginning to open. It was nice enough, she thought. She really wasn’t much of a flowers type of person. Her idea of nature was more along the lines of the Black Lake at dusk, or overturning rocks to see what lived underneath.

Then Kate turned.

Away from the path and away from the flowers, but toward something Morgan couldn’t immediately identify. She slowed further, watching more intently now. The younger girl’s attention had fixed on something low to the ground, something small and unplanned.

Morgan stopped completely.

She didn’t get any closer. But she watched. Properly. For the first time since they’d come outside.

Further and further she went into the garden, following the scurrying line with intent. When they dipped into the hedges, so did she. Careful to move the twigs and branches from her path, Kathryn disappeared into the shrubbery. When she came out the other side, the little girl paused to remove the leaves and broken sticks that had come through with her. Her lips dipped into a faint scowl as she brushed away the debris.

Before moving again, Kathryn reached up to feel her hair. It was always a little difficult to tell through the gloves whether she had strands flying, so she smoothed it all down out of habit anyway.

Back in perfect order, blue eyes scanned the ground for the trail of ants. It didn't take long for her to return to her fixation. This time, with a reward.

There, lying on the floor was a badger, long gone by the swelling and the number of flies that had descended.

She crouched right by it, her nose wrinkling delicately at the stench. Putrid. It would require careful cleaning and preservation. She noted the indentation by the face, already mentally assessing the work she would ask her mother to do for her. If the smell made it difficult for her to accommodate – her mother had grown quite sensitive to most strong odours – she would track down her uncle to see whether he might be amenable to lending a bit of aid. Aunt Edith would be no good on this front. She wasn't particularly fond of the little girl's proclivities.

It was an exasperating thought. Uncle James was always so busy being a duke. Sometimes, he made Benny busy with him. He was nice at meals and during times the family came together, but she didn't suppose she knew enough about him to know whether he'd help either.

Kathryn could try fixing it herself, but there was only so much she could do with the potions her mother had taught her to brew, and Julia had made it clear that some of the ingredients were off-limits without proper supervision.

Morgan wasn't proper supervision.

Kate had heard Mr. Maddox say once that she shared a brain cell with Evander. It didn't lend itself to much confidence. In the end, she might have to abandon her find.

She couldn't.

It wasn't often that she found bigger samples, and she didn't like the wringing feeling in her chest at the thought of walking away. Kathryn glanced over her shoulder, wondering whether Morgan had gotten herself lost. Perhaps she would know what to do...doubtful as that seemed.

Morgan watched as Kate moved through the hedges, off the path. She stood for another moment before the girl vanished completely from sight. Then she pushed through the branches and her nose was immediately assaulted. She almost threw out profanity, but stopped when she saw the girl crouched on the ground.

The smell was undeniable; she knew what it was without even seeing it. But the way the girl was positioned by it, inspecting it, she knew what she wanted.

Morgan stood momentarily by the hedges, part of her wanting to grab Kate and move away from the creature as quickly as possible. But that’d be a mistake. For one thing, the girl had a routine – a strict one – and needed things to be as level as possible. This wasn’t part of that.

She moved closer and crouched down beside her – a bit off, though, not too close. “He’s been here a while,” she commented, her eyes skimming the body. “Few days at least, by the look of it.”

The swelling, the flies, the smell… it was all only going to get worse. She could hear her father in her head, in the matter-of-fact tone he used for things that weren’t up for debate.

“We should leave it.” Morgan said it plainly because that was the only way she knew to say things. “It’s outside. It’s doing what it’s supposed to do out here.”

Rotting.

Morgan turned and looked at the blond girl’s face, tilting her head to the side slightly.

“But –” she began before the little girl could respond. “If you tell me what you actually want to do with it, I’ll see what I can figure out.”

Leaving that door open was the only thing she could think of. She wasn’t promising anything, and in fact if her father found out she helped bring a rotting corpse into the house she’d never hear the end of it.

But while Morgan was still unsure about the way her family looked now, she had to try to make it okay. Kate was struggling as much – probably more – than she was. They could relate in that sense, though it was unspoken.

“He’s been here a while. Few days at least, by the look of it.”

Kathryn didn't acknowledge either the girl's words or her approach. Like Morgan, she'd already been able to deduce that the carcass had been there for a few days. The putrid smell didn't bother her the way it seemed to offend most. In the same way, she wasn't deterred by the bloating and the breakdown of flesh. These were all a part of death and the inevitable fate of everything that lived. Some things went more gracefully for a time, usually flowers and other plant life, but in the end, rot came for them all.

“We should leave it. It’s outside. It’s doing what it’s supposed to do out here.”

The little girl continued staring down at the badger, ignoring Morgan's words. She sounded like Mr. Maddox. He wasn't any fonder of her taking dead things inside, though he'd never tried to intervene while she was still in Arundel. The condition had largely been for his hut back at Hogwarts, and even then, he usually waved her off if she waited long enough.

Would Morgan be the same? She didn't know what she would do if the girl turned out to be persistent and had decided to finally step in to be the one in charge. It would be an unfortunate turn of events but not one she could stop should it ultimately come to pass. Kathryn supposed she should brace for such an outcome, finding herself perturbed by the sudden heaviness in her chest.

“If you tell me what you actually want to do with it, I’ll see what I can figure out.”

She wasn't expecting that.

For the first time since Morgan had joined her, those impassive blue eyes shifted to the girl who was meant to be her sister.

She would help.

Did she know how? It was another worry to be added to the vault of doubts, one that was getting increasingly full with each passing moment. Kathryn stared in silent contemplation. Her mother had already been ruled out. Benji wouldn't entertain such wishes. Aunt Edith would make it a bigger crime than murder itself. Was Uncle James in the castle? Could Morgan convince him to see them and help her? She didn't have her notebook and quill – never needed them on her silent walks – but now she was finding she may have to go back to her room.

Kate looked down at the watch that clung to her wrist, over her glove.

It wasn't time for the walk to end.

Carefully, she peeled each glove off before folding them neatly and placing them within the small front pocket of her shoulder bag. In the pocket to the left, she pulled out a second pair of gloves and, with the same meticulous movements, pulled them on. Next, she reached for the badger, scooping it before rising to her feet.

She glanced only once at Morgan to see whether she was planning to continue on with her before turning to crawl back the way she'd come. Her path would take her to the other side, and she didn't fancy having to double back when she was through. That would unnecessarily eat into the next batch of time and throw out the rest of her day. This unexpected surprise was enough disruption, and she had only until 4:30 to take care of it. When the walk was finished, she would head to the kitchen with the corpse.

Some sunshine was very much needed after an entire day being cooped up in Arundel's library.

Still playing at occasional consultant to the various museums around Europe, she'd spent the morning pouring over some old texts sent by the National Museum of Ireland. The organization was in the midst of cataloguing a private collection recently donated by an old Irish family which included medieval devotional manuscripts with older magical annotations hidden in the margins.

She had spent the morning going over them carefully, comparing the annotations to similar texts she'd reviewed before to decipher whether they were harmless folklore, actual working magic or evidence that the texts were used in ancient ritual practices.

She'd had her fill of reading over funerary prayers and household protection charms, needing a warm breath of fresh air. The texts would still be there tomorrow, but for now a little break was in order. Especially as the little one in her stomach intended on declaring war on her ribs.

Using the ball of her hand to gently nudge the tiny foot away from her lungs, Julia made her way out onto the terrace, her gaze drinking in all the beauty that Arundel still managed to take her breath away with. She'd thought to call for Fidèle and ask for some tea, but the sight of her girls emerging from the forest tree-line sent all thoughts of a treat right out the window.

Kathryn was carrying something and -

Oh Merlin.

Her stomach turned over in tandem with another kick to her side.

Julia had never been repulsed by the dead - their proximity, their process of decay, or even the slightest reminder of her own mortality brought on by their sight. But since Maddox's child had decided to take up residence in her womb, even the thought of decay was enough to make her gag violently.

It was a sad state for the woman who had been in the midst of teaching her daughter the basics of necromancy.

"KATHRYN ELISE! MORGAN CELESTE!" Her voice carried across the garden and out towards her girls that were quickly making their way back to the castle. "YOU'LL DROP THAT NOW AND NOT BRING IT AN INCH CLOSER TO THIS HOME, UNLESS YOU WANT TO SEE WHAT REAL PUNISHMENT LOOKS LIKE!"

She leaned against the rail as she gagged, brutally. Her hand went over her mouth, but she didn't allow herself to get sick. She summoned her strength, swallowing down the nausea as she pointed at her daughter and Morgan who was now guilty by association.

"NOW!"

Kate’s blue eyes focused on her, something that Morgan hadn’t expected. The girl had only acknowledged her existence with the least amount of focus as possible. But this was different.

She watched as the girl carefully switched gloves – why she was wearing them to begin with was beyond Morgan – and then gently picked up the dead creature.

She stood at the same time and followed Kate’s steps, her brain spinning out a bit. What the hell was she getting herself into? Her father would be furious. But, she supposed, at least she wasn’t the one holding the dead animal.

Lost in thought, it was only Julia’s screaming that pulled her back to the current situation.

"KATHRYN ELISE! MORGAN CELESTE!"

Morgan froze. Her father never even used her middle name. The only person who had ever spoken to her like that was her own mother. Very very briefly, she felt like a scared child who had gotten in trouble. But a moment later, she was back and staring at the woman who had changed everything about her family.

"YOU'LL DROP THAT NOW AND NOT BRING IT AN INCH CLOSER TO THIS HOME, UNLESS YOU WANT TO SEE WHAT REAL PUNISHMENT LOOKS LIKE!"

The woman gagged – violently almost – before finishing.

"NOW!"

Morgan felt a blush to her cheeks, a pain in her heart, and a weird urge to laugh. Darkly, maybe, that the woman was struggling so hard to not throw up everything she had ingested earlier.

Instinctively, Morgan wanted to yell out that she did nothing wrong. But perhaps Julia would notice that; she was not the one holding the corpse afterall. She opened her mouth, as if she had something to say in response. But instead, she closed it and then continued walking to the terrace.

What was Julia going to tell her father? Guilty by association, but at least she was watching the girl. Like they had asked.