Professor Jules Emsworth stood looking out of one of the tall windows in his study, he was trying to put the letter he had just read out of his thoughts. Jules held the fluttered paper behind his back fiddling with its wax seal until it fell to the floor. He tried to sigh the weight off but it was only a moment of relief. He stooped to retrieve the bit of crumbled wax, fearing the look Mrs. Weatherlark would give him on her return. The house seemed emptier then it ever had been, he tossed the letter onto the piles of his desk and trundled out to the corridor. Quiet and dark, it was still a few hours to sunset but the heavy woodwork and a determined drizzle conspired to fill gloom upon the halls. The Professor tucked his hands behind his back and set off slowly in no direction. Barty was overdue to arrive, he was supposed to have been there weeks ago “not that it would have changed anything.” The Professor directed this at a picture of a vase of dead flowers, it didn’t have the heart to respond.
“Just as well he wasn’t here I suppose, doubt he would have held his temper well” the dead flowers positively didn’t do a thing. Off somewhere in a distant part of the house a bell rang. It took The Professor two more rings for it to take his attention away from itself. “Barty! good-good.” Jules rushed off in search of the front hall, the house was sore over his earlier damage to a window, and kept his path jumping. Jules let out a fermented bellow when he found himself in a root cellar masquerading as the front hall, a lazy turnip betrayed had its comrades. Finally finding himself in the proper Hall The Professor flung open the door triumphantly with turnip in hand. “Barty you old dog, took yo—” he was addressing a nearly empty stoop. “Oh?” he inquired with accusation rich in his voice at the innocent topiaries. He was normally a very calm and pleasant man but at the moment he was acutely aware of how itchy his sweater was around his wrists. He looked down at them with the intention to sever there contract and noticed a well over swaddled basket at his feet. “Oh!” All thoughts of fleece were flung form his mind, a slightly wilted professor with itchy cuffs and a turnip in one hand standing dumb in the drizzle looked at the most unexpected thing he could have un-expected.
As he stared at the bassinette completely unsure of his afternoon, turnip in hand, there was a sudden tug at his heart as an inquisitive eye caught the scrawl on a letter. Tucked deep in the folds was a canary yellow envelope with a soft loopy Professor Jules Emsworth written across its vibrant breast. The professor plunked down on the step next to the package and plucked the letter carefully out. Twiddling it once around before sliding a shaky thumb beneath its fold, the turnip-forgotten rolled off the stoop. A solid slippery feeling wriggled its way into his middle as he began to read.
Dear Brother
Oh how I wish you will never read this, though I don’t doubt that you will. If you are surprised here is the short version of a long tail. I met an archeologist named Burt on a dig, we fell delightfully in love. We never married, he never knew his children. I got word of his death two days before I gave birth, they said his ship was dashed in a storm. I am giving you full custody over the children, Barty may be their godfather if you insist. Their names are Burt and Jules after the two pillars of my life. I do hope I have spoken to you before this letter ever may come. I know you’ll love them as much as I ever could, don’t worry brother.
-Mary P. Emsworth
On the back of the letter was an address for a barrister with a name he recognized as his second cousin “Well that covers one little mystery at least.” The Professor re read the letter several times hoping to catch a detail missed in the fog of happenings. He sat starring off into the soft green damp relizing he would never see his sister again. It had been so long since they had talked, ages. “The things we wish we knew eh?” The Professor nearly jumped with the realization that he was actually addressing somebody, and those somebodys probably shouldn’t be sitting in cold October drizzle.
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