Christopher Kendall sat in his study, hunched over his papers, brow furrowed, his sweaty glasses sliding down his nose. A few steps behind him was his wife. She had a book in her hand, but it was closed. Charlotte was done reading for the evening. She had been watching her husband for a good while and found this a good time to move in.
"I’m tired," she announced.
"And well you might be," he replied, not looking up from his work.
"What ever do you mean?" she chirped, knowing full well what he was insinuating.
"Only that you have good reason to be tired," he said, obviously also tired, or too occupied for her games.
"Will you come to bed?"
"Yes, in a while.This must be ready in time for a meeting tomorrow morning."
She moved closer and put her book on his desk.
"Do it tomorrow. Come to bed."
"Not quite yet."

She moaned impatiently. Only now did he turn to look at her for a moment, his eyebrows raised. He had finally understood what it was that she really wanted, and it surprised him. It had not been long since the two of them had last snuck away for some very private time together. Perhaps three hours, perhaps four. He shook his head incredulously and turned back to his papers without saying anything. Charlotte stomped her foot like a small entitled child.
"Christopher!"
"I am right here, my love. I am busy. And very tired." His voice sounded so mild that it was impossible for her to stay annoyed at him. She wanted him.
"I’m hot," she panted into his ear. He sighed, but she could see him trying to hide a smile, and a small noise in his nose told her he had just let out a small laugh. Perhaps he was not too tired for games after all? Now she wrapped her arms around his neck and practically danced up against him, singing softly.
"My Christopher, my Christopher, he works and he worries – aaall daaay throoough," she sang.
"If you would..." he muttered, waving an arm. She paid this no heed.
"My Christopher, my Christopher, he will not come to me, ever busy, ever busy."
"Ever busy? It has been but a few hours since I was last with you," he mumbled. "Was it that insignificant – have you forgotten already?"
"Oh, I have not forgotten," she crooned, rubbing his shoulders now. "I have not forgotten."
"I need to finish this before morning. I will be in bed within the hour." He put a hand on one of hers, gently rubbing it. "Now, off you go."
"An hour!" she exclaimed dramatically. "An hour - that long I could never wait!"
"Charlotte..." he said impatiently.
"Christopher..." she mimicked him.
He sighed and continued working. She imitated his sigh and continued carressing him. "Double, double, toil and trouble," she whispered in his ear, kissing it gently.
"I must finish this," he repeated.
"He must finish, he must finish," she sang. She saw him close his eyes for a few seconds and draw his breath, but then he continued working, as if unaffected.

She needed him. More now than ever. He was making her beg, but there was no way she would give up now. If begging was what he wanted, begging was what he would get.
"Christopher..." she breathed intensely, sinking to her knees beside him. "Come to me!" she coaxed.

He faced her now, propping his elbows on his knees and pushing his glasses even further down his nose so that he could peer over them at her. She looked back up at thim, hopeful.
"Is it really that bad?" he asked, his face serious, but something in his eyes still twinkling with amusement. It was bad. It really was.
"I want you," she complained. This made his crooked little smile appear, giving him an overbearing yet compassionate and loving expression.
"What ever am I to do with you?" he asked her, resigned. She crawled forward and began climbing his lap. He let her.

Anna was in the library.

She was very nearly swallowed by an armchair in the upper gallery, silently reading a book of essays by Thomas de Quincey. She neither shifted position nor made a sound, noiselessly turning the pages. This was just Anna’s way; she was a very quiet person, having learned very early in life that it never paid to be noisy. Discretion, silence, and total submission were how she had survived her early years, and the ingrained habit carried over to her adulthood. Despite Charlotte’s enthusiastic support for it, she still felt odd—as if she were bad or mad, slightly wicked even—asserting herself or making excess noise. The most common phrase in her daily vocabulary was, “I’m sorry,” and it often was uttered after having cause some unnecessary noise, such as shutting a door too loudly or accidentally clanking the dishes at table. It was simply habit for her to be silent and sorry.

Tonight she was silent, but not particularly sorry. She was slouched low in the armchair, very ungracefully, with her feet curled up beside her, and she was indulging herself in considerations of murder. The subject of her thoughts had naturally followed from what she was reading: Thomas de Quincey’s essay On Murder, Considered As One Of The Fine Arts. She knew that it was a satire, of course; one could hardly miss that. She imagined from the perspective of a person who had never committed murder, nor seriously thought of it, who was entirely free of it by association as well, the essay was an amusing and well-received criticism on a great many social issues connected to murder. But she was not such a person, being very intimately acquainted with a murderer and further wholeheartedly approving of the person in question.

And thus, she was allowing herself to read it not simply as a satire and social commentary, but also as if the surface ideas presented had some value to them. Obviously, some things could not be taken seriously at all, such as the preposterous conclusion that a philosopher must be murdered, or at least the attempt made, in order to prove that his thoughts were of any substance. But the part she was currently considering might have more merit, she thought. The world in general, gentlemen, are very bloody-minded; and all they want in a murder is a copious effusion of blood; gaudy display in this point is enough for them. But the enlightened connoisseur is more refined in his taste; and from our art, as from all the other liberal arts when thoroughly cultivated, the result is—to improve and to humanize the heart…

There was no doubt in Anna’s mind that Charlotte’s murders had greatly improved and humanized the collective heart of society. That two such as Ormsby and Humperdink were missing from the world could only be seen as a great good thing; a connoisseur of murder as depicted by de Quincey would be more than satisfied on that point. Additionally, she thought wryly, the world in general ought to have been quite happy, for there had been quite copious effusions of blood involved, possibly even to the point of gaudy display. Anna read the next part of the essay. A philosophic friend, well known for his philanthropy and general benignity, suggests that the subject chosen ought also to have a family of young children wholly dependent on his exertions, by way of deepening the pathos.

Would de Quincey theorised connoisseur of murder have found a deep pathos in Ormsby’s execution? In Humperdink’s? Anna considered the subject, unbothered by its morbid nature. In the safety of the house, Christopher and Charlotte nearby, both of them knowing, comforting, protective people, the names and memories of Ormsby and Humperdink lost their vivid, immediate threat and became only bugbears and the stuff of nightmares. Ormsby had been a priest and a righteous man of God, of highest charitable character; or that was how he seemed to the world, anyway. He had been responsible for the religious health of hundreds of people, and had worked tirelessly for an entire orphanage. The children had relied on him for many things. Surely his murder would have a great deal of pathos, in de Quincey’s book. Humperdink, too; the selfless guardian of the young girl’s ward. Her gruesome death would inspire pathos in the heart of anybody.

Unless, of course, the body in question had known about the other lives those two had led. Anna wondered if a person who took de Quincey seriously, who failed to recognise the satire and believed in the surface message of the essay only, might not find their deaths lacking a certain character. She was distracted from her consideration of the matter when Charlotte’s voice came from below. Anna glanced over the arm of the large armchair. Charlotte was down at Christopher’s desk, talking to him. She was tired, and trying to get him to come to bed. Anna wondered if Charlotte was very tired why she didn’t sleep in her private room, since Christopher wouldn’t disturb her in there, but then realised it must be a ploy. She thought Christopher worked too hard and was attempting to get him to leave over and take an early night off.

Charlotte was being rather more persistent than she usually was about such things, though. Anna had heard her ask him to leave off his work before, but today she seemed much more determined to get him away from his work. Anna smiled, thinking it was cute, and was about to go back to her book when she heard Christopher comment, “I am right here, my love. I am busy. And very tired.” Well, if he was tired, why wasn’t he going to bed then? It must be something very important he was working on to make him keep saying that he wasn’t going to bed when he was so tired. Anna shrugged to herself. It was not her concern, seeing as how she was neither tired nor engaged in working. She turned back to her book, content to let her sister persuade Christopher that going to bed now would be better for his health, when she caught the soft words. “I’m hot.”

What has that got to do with him being tired… oh. Oh.

Realising that this was a private conversation of a very… private nature, as opposed to a private conversation about universal topics, Anna quickly stopped paying attention and looked for the nearest exit. It was halfway around the gallery, and she felt her heart sink. That left her with three options. She could stay here and be forced to listen as Christopher… as things unfolded, which would be both highly uncomfortable for her and invasive of her sister’s presumed privacy. She could try and sneak out, and she might make it all the way to the door without being seen if she went on hands and knees, but certainly they would catch the door up here opening and closing, seeing as it was in full view of the desk. Or she could stand and announce herself, which might be uncomfortable at the first, but seemed like in the long run would be the best option.

But once she had decided on it, she waffled on the best way to do it. Would Charlotte and Christopher be offended if she just stood up and walked out? Charlotte’s singsong voice rose from below, distracting her train of thought. What was Charlotte so happy about anyway? If that was going to happen, Anna would have thought that Charlotte would be a little more sober about it. Had she forgotten what Ormsby had done, what it was like?
Christopher’s voice was murmured but audible to Anna, given the utter lack of ambient noise. “Ever busy? It has been but a few hours since I was last with you.” Aaagh! Gross! Why did he have to say things like that in front of her! “Was it that insignificant – have you forgotten already?” And that was very unkind of him to try and remind Charlotte. These things were best forgotten, if one was able to do it.
“Oh, I have not forgotten,” Charlotte cooed to him. “I have not forgotten.” I bet not. Anna had no doubt that Charlotte was a dutiful wife and tried very hard to oblige Christopher while erasing the more sordid parts of marriage from her mind as fast as they occurred, but even Charlotte would be hard-pressed to recover so soon after such a personal invasion as that.

Christopher said he would come to bed within an hour and Anna put her book down and pressed her hands over her ears, wishing she’d never heard. Now she would have to know that… that… Oh, poor Charlotte. It must be so much worse for her, personally involved in it and with a time set for her dread.
Charlotte’s loud exclamation cut through the hands Anna had over her ears. “An hour!” Anna sunk deeper into her chair. Poor Charlotte. But there was nothing Anna could do; Charlotte had chosen to marry Christopher, know that this would be part of it. Anna couldn’t interfere.
“An hour - that long I could never wait!” Wait, what? She didn’t want to wait?
“Charlotte...”
This was an exceedingly odd situation. It almost sounded like Charlotte was the one pestering for… for that. Christopher had a very distinct tone of impatience in his voice, as if he did not want to be bothered at this moment. Weren’t men supposed to be… er, well… that just wasn’t the way it went. Mrs Humperdink had said not. Although Mrs Humperdink was wrong about nearly everything, Anna reminded herself. But Charlotte had never said anything on the subject because Anna had never dared to ask, and so Anna had no better knowledge to replace the old assumptions with.

But now Christopher was protesting that he needed to work. He wasn’t eagerly standing up to take advantage of his wife, he was insisting that he needed to finish with his business matters. Anna peered down at her only family in the world as Charlotte sang at Christopher again. They didn’t know she was up here, otherwise they would not have brought up such a subject; they were very good about avoiding uncomfortable topics around her. Thus there was no reason for them to be anything other than honest to one another, and Charlotte was never shy about it in any case, so it was reasonable to assume that this was a legitimate conversation, not some odd play-acting that Charlotte was putting on for Christopher’s benefit. All of which ended up implying that it really was Charlotte that was instigating this. It was her doing the pestering.

Why, though? Why would she do that?
Movement from below caught Anna’s attention and she looked just in time to see Charlotte kneel beside Christopher. Anna stared. Charlotte was kneeling beside Christopher… begging. That was the only thing that Anna could think it must be; she had seen Charlotte kneel to Christopher a couple times before, most recently when they had told him about their early lives, and each time she had begged him for something. “Christopher... Come to me!”
“Is it really that bad?” Anna, less panicky now that she was beginning to become accustomed to the idea that Charlotte was not simply passively allowing that to happen, but actively seeking it, realised that Christopher’s question meant that this had happened in some fashion before; if it had not, he would have had no basis of comparison. He could not have asked is it that bad. She goggled at Charlotte. How long had Charlotte been doing this sort of thing?
“I want you.” Why? It was a question that Anna had never dared to ask Charlotte. It was too personal; it betrayed that she didn’t understand why Charlotte had married Christopher. It was all very well to have Christopher for a friend, and Anna could understand why Charlotte let him hold her (even if he did it in a different manner than when he was holding Anna like a brother should). That was comforting. But you could have that without marrying someone, a very good friend would do that for you, and so what if he happened to be male (although in Anna’s case the said friend would never be male, she knew, as she didn’t trust them enough)? But marriage… it encompassed some rituals that Charlotte would have been aware of, and she had gone and done it anyway. Why?
“What ever am I to do with you?” Christopher asked as Charlotte climbed onto his lap. Anna wondered the same thing, only about the both of them.

She supposed that this would just have to be one of those things she didn’t understand but accepted, like kissing. She had seen Christopher kiss Charlotte, and vice versa, many times. The first time she had seen it she hadn’t been brave enough to stop him, but had maintained her silence and snuck away to cry. But the very next time it happened, Charlotte had been the one starting it, and Anna had watched, dumbfounded. Gradually the shock of it had worn off, and she had been able to identify certain markers about her sister’s face; she liked to kiss Christopher. That had made it all right, even if Anna didn’t understand, and over the years she had grown more accustomed to it—even enough, she thought, that seeing other people kiss, providing they both had similar expressions to what Charlotte and Christopher while kissing, did not bother her. Lord Wothersham and Nora were a good example of that…

Nora! Anna brightened. She could ask Nora! It wouldn’t be a case of her not trusting Charlotte, as it had been before when she had thought about asking Nora’s advice, so this time it would be acceptable. It was just because she didn’t want Charlotte to know what she thought. And besides, Nora would know. She did that for a living; she must be able to explain why Charlotte would want it. And she wouldn’t be shy talking about it, because it was normal for her. She would be the perfect person to ask! Oh, but Anna couldn’t stay hidden up here until then, of course. She stood up. “Um, excuse me?” Anna said hesitantly, not wanting to draw any irritation upon herself for interrupting but at the same time thinking that it was the only decent thing. “Should I go away?”

Their lips met in a kiss that was more intense from Charlotte’s side than Christopher’s. He lifted his hands gently to her face, while hers roamed his back up and down, restlessly, and one of them found its way under his waistcoat and then his shirt. Feeling the bare skin of his back against her hand only caused the fire that was already there to blaze up full force, and she wrapped her legs around him, pressing herself against him with all her strength.

“Um, excuse me?" They were both immensely startled when the sound of Anna’s voice made them realize that there was someone else in the room. Christopher reflexively shoved Charlotte away from himself at the very same moment as Charlotte tried to stand up, resulting in a very unelegant display as she fell to the floor and landed firmly on her backside. "Should I go away?”

"Anna!" Charlotte breathed, scrambling to her feet with some difficulty. Christopher took her hand and helped her up, standing up from his chair also.
"We thought you were already in bed, darling," he said, sounding calmer than his wife.
"No, I’m sorry, I wasn’t."
"Ohh..." Charlotte straightened her messed up hair and rubbed her burning neck where she could feel that she was flushed. "Well, uh..." she said, trying to gather enough thoughts to actually say something useful. "Well..."

"Don’t be sorry," Christopher said, because he knew that was what his wife would have said in this situation if she could find her tongue. "We are sorry to have made you uncomfortable."
"Yes!" Charlotte pointed stupidly at her husband as if to say what he said.
"Oh, it's all right," Anna said understandingly. "I wasn't very uncomfortable. Except you know, because you might want some privacy. I'm sorry for interrupting."
"No, no, we shouldn’t have... Er..." Charlotte began, now straightening her dress out and looking at Christopher for assistance. To her great surprise she could see a blush on his face as well. Calm, collected Christopher, blushing!

"Er..." she said again. "I’m... We sh – it won’t happen again. I promise." She took a few breaths and then gave a little laugh. She was calmer now, while Christopher looked mortified.
"Yes, it will never happen again, Anna. We didn’t know you were here."
"Right... Right." Charlotte smiled at her little sister. "So, er... Is there something you would like to talk about, maybe? Should I... I’ll come with you, I’ll..." She cast a look at Christopher, who nodded. "I’ll come upstairs with you."

As soon as Anna spoke there was a very undignified scuffle on the lower level of the library. Christopher shoved Charlotte away from him, and she fell straight off his lap onto the floor. Anna gave a reflexive wince; it was never very comfortable to land on your bum on a hard floor. At the same time, however, it was very hard not to laugh at how guilty they both looked. Charlotte exclaimed, “Anna!” as she tried to pick herself off the floor. Christopher leaned down to help her, probably sorry that he had pushed her in the first place. Anna wondered why they were so very guilty, when it was her that had interrupted them. Did they think it was a guilty thing to be doing in the first place? If so, why would they do it at all? Christopher called up to her, “We thought you were already in bed, darling.”

Well, he looked less flustered than Charlotte. In fact, except for initially pushing his wife off him, he didn’t look that embarrassed at all. Only Charlotte looked very guilty. Feeling bad for having made her sister feel so awkward, Anna said, “No, I’m sorry, I wasn’t.”
This only served to make her sister even more flustered; Charlotte looked very embarrassed indeed, and Anna was very careful not to smile. She did feel bad, but still, it was funny in a way.
Charlotte tried to stammer something, but it wasn’t anything Anna could make out, and Christopher took over for her. “Don’t be sorry. We are sorry to have made you uncomfortable.”
“Yes!” Charlotte agreed with him, as if he had just said something inspiring.
“Oh, it’s all right,” Anna tried to reassure them. “I wasn’t very uncomfortable. Except you know, because you might want some privacy. I’m sorry for interrupting.” It was true, too. Once she had realised that the situation had not risen of Christopher’s instigation, but rather at Charlotte’s, she had not felt uncomfortable, except for the feeling of intruding on their privacy.
Charlotte, however, seemed too upset with herself to pick up on this. She stuttered, “No, no, we shouldn’t have... Er… Er… I’m... We sh – it won’t happen again. I promise.”
Anna smiled gently, trying to tell her sister that it was all right, but immediately confirmed what his wife said, “Yes, it will never happen again, Anna. We didn’t know you were here.”
Charlotte hastily confirmed this, in turn. “Right... Right.”

They were being too embarrassed, Anna thought, and also slightly patronising because of it. Of course it would happen again, she knew that! They didn’t have to pretend for her sake. So when Charlotte smiled and said, “So, er... Is there something you would like to talk about, maybe? Should I... I’ll come with you, I’ll...” Anna was just a little bit put out. “I’ll come upstairs with you,” Charlotte finished.
Peeved but at the same time understanding that this was all her fault in the first place for being in the library at an inconvenient time, Anna said airily, “All right, if you want. You don’t have to.” Then she thought she might clear up their mistake regarding her understanding of this sort of thing. “But I’m sure it will happen again. Not in front of me or anything. But it will. I’m not stupid, you know.”
Charlotte laughed. “I know. We meant it wouldn’t happen again like this.”

Oh. Anna immediately felt contrite for having ever been peeved at all. How horrible of her to assume they were being patronising when they were just trying to make her more comfortable. She felt like saying sorry, but Charlotte had said so many times that she didn’t need to, and she never accepted Anna’s apologies anyway. She always said they were unnecessary. Now embarrassed herself, Anna watched Charlotte come up the stairs, and glanced over at Christopher, who was standing around a bit uselessly. When Charlotte was at the top of the stairs, Anna bent down to scoop her book up from the armchair. Her sister came over and put a hand on Anna’s back, leading her towards the door. She said quietly, “Did we frighten you?”

Anna noticed that she said it softly, so that Christopher wouldn’t overhear. Did she not want Christopher to think that… that… he was frightening in any way? “No,” Anna replied just as softly, cradling On Murder, Considered As One Of The Fine Arts to her chest with both arms. She hadn’t been frightened, exactly. Just very uncomfortable and sorry that she could not do anything for Charlotte, and then confused but accepting when it turned out that Charlotte was the one who was responsible for the situation. “I don’t think so, anyway. Should I have been?”
Charlotte assured her at once, “No, no, of course not. I’m glad if you weren’t.” They were at the library door now, and Anna turned to wave to Christopher, who smiled and waved back. Charlotte continued in the corridor, “But I know you have not always been comfortable when it comes to... this issue.”

“Oh, to be sure,” Anna said. “But… but, I don’t think Christopher would hurt you. Um. You know. Er. I-I can’t say it very well, but, but, but…” Anna could feel herself start to quiver. It was never easy to talk about this subject. “But. Um. He would be… less. You know. Um. Less v-violent. H-he w-w-w-would…” Anna took a deep breath to calm herself down. “Try to be c-careful.” Unable to say anything more about such things, even to Charlotte, Anna suddenly held out the book she was carrying to Charlotte with both hands. “This is a very good book, you know!”