The Haddocks and Isolde

Haddock half expected Sir Drexel to waltz over and attack Miss Marlowe and himself after the spurned lover had witnessed the new couple walking down the high road from the Haddock Estate.  Sir Drexel instead pulled down his hat and quickened his pace.  He positively radiated ire.  It had been two months since Haddock had started “courting” Miss Marlowe.  Tongues began wagging just days after Miss Marlowe and Haddock formulated their plan and put it into action, spreading gossip not quite as scathing as when the man involved had been Sir Drexel, but still questionable nevertheless.  Haddock and Miss Marlowe chose not to include Mrs. Haddock in on their scheme, hoping to keep their cards close to their chests to avoid any risk of their real motives leaking out from the elder woman’s loose tongue to her staff.  She was, however, delighted about the turn of events and praised Miss Marlowe with having chosen her son.  This embarrassed Haddock more than anything, but seemed to amuse Miss Marlowe in watching him endure a loving mother’s effusive praise.

    A few changes were made to Haddock’s daily routine, mainly being that he was required (if not explicitly, implicitly) to tag along with Mrs. Haddock and Miss Marlowe when the latter came over to the manor to keep the elder woman company.  This at first meant that he had to endure sitting with the two as they discussed banal topics of the latest bits of gossip Miss Marlowe brought to deliver to Mrs. Haddock, along with twittering over the romance books that Mrs. Haddock loaned out to Miss Marlowe and their continual giggling over certain plot points.  Haddock would have much preferred throwing open the balcony window and hurling himself out after enduring a day of this.  He instead proposed that they convene in the library where he pulled up three chairs and let the women run their mouths while he sunk his consciousness into a dusty tome.

    Today had been chillier than normal, so Haddock had started a fire before Miss Marlowe arrived at the manor.  He carried his mother to the library and gently seated her in her favorite wingback chair directly in front of the fireplace.  Haddock went to retrieve a book she had been reading when Mrs. Haddock’s cheerful voice stopped him:

    “That won’t be necessary, Malcolm.  I wanted to talk with you before Miss Marlowe arrives.”

Haddock returned to sit next to his mother, eyeing her suspiciously.  She sniffed.

              “Oh, don’t give me that look.  You’re as bad as your father—rest his soul.  Now about you and Miss Marlowe: have you asked her yet?”

“Asked her what?”

              “To marry you, silly!” Mrs. Haddock said with a laugh.

“Mother, don’t you think that would be going a little too fast?”

              “Well I can’t help it if I want grandchildren to pamper and my son refused to marry that nice girl two years ago!  I’m not getting any younger!” Mrs. Haddock huffed.  She wrinkled her already lined brows as she tapped a finger to her upper lip.  “Ohhh, what was her name?  Malcolm, what was her name?”

              Florence.  A name laced with bittersweet memories and an unused engagement ring that had been flung into the sea.  Haddock shifted in his seat, hoping his mother wouldn’t notice his sudden discomfort.

              “I don’t remember,” he lied.  Mrs. Haddock, however, was still in her brown study.

“It began with an F…or was it an E?  Flora?  No, I distinctly remember thinking of Italy whenever I heard her name…”

    Haddock picked up his book on the nearby table and cracked it open.  Reading proved difficult since his mind kept traipsing down rabbit trails that led to Florence Huntington.  She was very similar to Miss Marlowe in some respects, if not in looks, in personality.  He had been the one to ask her to dance at the ball when she first moved to Broadburn.  Mrs. Haddock thought she espied a wedding on the horizon after six months of courting, but had been proven wrong when Florence grew tired of Haddock’s increasing evasiveness and hesitancy to propose while he was diverting his efforts to stopping Sir Drexel.  She grew restless and expressed intentions of leaving to live with a rich aunt and uncle if Haddock didn’t stop her.  In a bout of frustration over his futile efforts at curbing Sir Drexel’s murders and Florence’s unhappiness, he had snapped at her.  Florence broke off the relationship and left with her aunt and uncle a week later, never to return to Broadburn.  Haddock would have proposed once he had dealt with Sir Drexel, which ironically, he had succeeded in driving out of the village a few days afterwards.

    He tiredly rubbed his face, bringing his book up higher.  He had no worries about a similar incident happening this time.

                                                                        *

Miss Marlowe arrived within a half an hour and was escorted to the library.  Haddock stood when she was conducted into the room and stiffly pecked her hand while Mrs. Haddock patted the window seat beside her chair, eager to talk.  They started off with the latest gossip, diverted to new dress patterns that just arrived in the village, somehow wound up on the topic of fine china, and were gabbing about a novel that Miss Marlowe had induced Mrs. Haddock to read when the continual droning and soft heat of the fire caused Haddock to fall asleep.  He came to when he heard someone say his name.

              “…So happy that you and Malcolm are getting along.  Personally, I think that you’re a much better woman than that—hmph—I still can’t remember her name.  Anyways, you show more spirit than that other one, and I’m sure that you and Malcolm will be happy together.”

              Haddock kept his eyes closed, pretending to still be asleep so he could eavesdrop.  Miss Marlowe softly laughed.

    “I don’t think that your son is planning on proposing anytime soon, Mrs. Haddock, if that’s what you’re implying.  Who was—?”

              “My late husband—rest his soul—waited a year and a half before proposing to me.  He could go on a bear hunt without a visible bit of fear, but when it came to asking me to marry him…well, he turned into a nervous schoolboy.  Just be patient, my dear.”

              “You won’t have to worry about that,” Miss Marlowe muttered.

“Eh?  What was that?  Speak up, dear.  My ears aren’t as good as they used to be.”

              “Oh, hm, nothing.  Who was this other woman you were referring to?”

“She was—"

    Miss Marlowe didn’t need to know about Florence Huntington.  Haddock straightened himself up in his seat, making sure to exaggerate his movements to let the women know he was conscious again.  Mrs. Haddock and Miss Marlowe looked over at him at the same time.

              “Well, well.  Look who finally decided to return to the land of the living,” Miss Marlowe remarked.

    “I’ve told you time and again that you need to pace yourself when dealing with Estate Business,” Mrs. Haddock scolded. “You’ll end up just like your father—rest his soul—if you keep burning both ends of the candle.”

    Haddock picked up his book and began thumbing through the pages, searching for his spot.

“I had a restless night.”

Mrs. Haddock understood the code.  She returned her attention to Miss Marlowe.

              “What were we talking about?  Oh, I remember: the Harrison’s new colts.  Pureblood Thoroughbreds, which seems extravagant for use as carriage horses.  Now we only use—”

Haddock allowed a small sense of relief to come over him.  Miss Marlowe didn’t need to know about Florence Huntington.

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*Background information sloooowly leaks out*  Now I'm going to have to draw Florence, huh?  I have the next bit typed up, all I gotta do is color the picture.

Characters/Story©LadyPep