Close calls

As his coach pulled up by the large, formidable doors to the house, more rational, collected thoughts began to slowly chase away the more chaotic and distracting of his anxieties. Standing tall and proud by the doors, with all his impressive height, he let the servants open for him, and with his elegant, if affected movements, he strode in.

“Dad! You’re home!”

Ah! His daughter!

“Emi! La, you’re a sight for sore eyes, what?” He laughed, as the girl came running towards him. Picking her up was easy. She was quite small for her age, and when stood next to either of her impressively tall parents, one might almost mistake her for little more than an unusually well-spoken toddler, rather than a child of 11. Even so, despite how easy it was to pick her up, it required a most formidable amount of strength for Sir Percival, with his aching muscles and wounded body, to avoid grimacing in pain as he did so. In fact, he wasn’t quite sure he succeeded, as the child’s expression soon turned from one of glee to one of stern mistrust.

“Faith, little lady,” he said with a slight pout, hoping for an ounce of sympathy, “what has your poor father done to deserve such a face? Odd’s fish, I’ve hardly stepped foot inside, surely I have not had the time to do you any wrong, what?”

“Where have you been all day?” Asked Emilienne. Sir Percival’s plea for sympathy would not be answered by his daughter, that much was clear from her tone. “What did you do?” She added, almost accusingly.

“Well,” He allowed himself a small sigh, “it was a surprise trip, and...”

“A surprise trip?”

“Aye. Why, I had the terrible realisation that the the cut of the sleeves on one of my better shirts have gone something so terribly out of fashion. ‘Tis quite embarrassing to imagine meself in that thing now.” Sir Percival shuddered.

“Which shirt?”

“Sink me.” Percival chuckled, masterfully hiding the growing concern he felt in the back of his mind. She was prodding him. “Little lady, since when have you begun to care for my shirts?”

“I have not,” she responded, promptly and curtly, her arms crossed firmly across her chest. “I simply believe that you are lying to me.”

“Begad! That is a big accusation for such a little lady.” He exclaimed, looking right and properly surprised. “Sink me, dearest Emi. Why would I lie to my darling baby bat?”

“I dunno…” She admitted. “I just… Get suspicious sometimes… Who can spend that much time on clothes anyway?! It is quite absurd!”

Sir Percival smiled softly. He found something very charming about his daughter’s rather blunt honesty.

“… Also, you have not brought anything back with you! You’ve gone shopping for clothes and returned empty-handed, what?” She suddenly exclaimed a triumphant look in her eyes, quite certain she had caught her dad in his lie. “La, and you have not brought the stupid shirt with you either? What say you?”

He hesitated for but a second. With his aching muscles and bruises, and while trying to remain composed, it was harder to think of explanations, even if he knew he had one. What was it again…? Ah, of course! Very simple!

“Faith, dearest Emi,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “you expected me to be wearing some piece of garment that was not made for my form specifically? Sink me, then I’d rather wear the hopeless shirt of which I spoke. Clothes take time to make, you know. Lud, little lady, my tailor won’t have any garments for me to bring home right away, he must make them first, what?”

Emi pouted, a furrow appearing between her brows.

“As for the hopeless shirt, why should I bring it with me? Gads no. My tailor made that one too, I trust that he remembers it just fine. I wouldn’t want the embarrassment of being caught carrying it around in public either way.”

Percival breathed an internal sigh of relief, upon seeing his daughter’s face. She looked begrudgingly satisfied with his answer.

“You win for now…” She huffed. “… I suppose…”

“La, my little Emi. Shan’t we forget about it for now, then?” He smiled before gazing toward a large grandfather clock, that he heard chiming from across the grand entrance hall. “Gad, it is becoming rather late, is it not? Sink me, if it isn’t frightfully past your bedtime.”

“Maman said I could stay up until you came home. To bid you goodnight.”

Ah. So it was his wife, the clever Lady Justice Scarletwing, who had let Emilienne act as his welcome committee. Perhaps she had been worried too? He should go to her and ask later.

“Did she now?” Sir Percival hummed. “Well, then I must beg your pardon for not arriving sooner, little lady. Staying up for me? At this hour? Dear lady, we should get you to bed then, what? Or I fear you shall be frightfully fatigued come the morning.”

“A story first!” The little lady insisted. “And then I will sleep. I swear it!”

“But of course. A story for Mam'zelle Scarletwing! Do you trust me with this task? Or shall we go find your maman?”

“Well, you can read, can you not sir?”

“La, that I can manage,” he chuckled, before carrying Emilienne off to her room.