George de Haviland

Waarom was dit allemaal zo chaotisch, zo moeilijk? Azalea was in paniek, en het leek er ook echt op dat ze pijn had, Bartholomew probeerde zich los te trekken uit zijn armen om Priscilla aan te vallen, en Priscilla ratelde zo snel dat hij haar nauwelijks kon verstaan. Iets over slechte heks?! Een boek?! Een kandelaar? 

Hij wilde geloven dat Priscilla onschuldig was hier, dat ze Azalea en wie dan ook nooit wat aan zou doen, dat de therapie echt had geholpen, maar... 

Maar ze had wel ooit iemand geprobeerd te vermoorden. 

"Oké, iedereen stil," zei hij, zo streng mogelijk. "Ik..." God, wat moest hij in vredesnaam zeggen?! "Lea, gaat het? Moet je naar de heler?" Dat moest zijn prioriteit zijn, ervoor zorgen dat Lea in orde was. De rest kwam later wel. 

Soms, heel soms, had George er spijt van dat hij Priscilla weer in zijn leven had gelaten en dan voelde hij zich daar direct schuldig om, want het was niet alsof zij er wat aan kon doen, maar vooral Bartie, en nu blijkbaar ook Lea, hadden een gigantisch probleem met haar aanwezigheid. En George begreep het niet! Waarom kon alles niet gewoon... makkelijk gaan hier?! Kijk, Lea had een hekel aan mensen, dat was één ding, maar Bartie was best goed met mensen! 

"Wat is er aan de hand?" riep hij geschrokken, toen hij de gang in stormde omdat er ineens gegild werd. Hij zag Priscilla, in paniek, Lea, in tranen, en Bartie die nu langs zijn benen dook om boos tegen Priscilla's arm te slaan. 

"Laat mijn zus met rust!" schreeuwde Bartholomew ook boos. 

"Bartie!" riep George weer en hij probeerde snel zijn zoon vast te grijpen om hem uit de buurt van Priscilla te trekken. 

"Bartie!" George gasped, because sure, his son had been difficult before, he was only a young boy, but George had never expected that he would be cruel. To his own mother, of all people! And alright, perhaps he didn't have a good bond with her, perhaps George should've explained more about who Priscilla was, but Bartholomew was never this cruel to anyone else. He had no trouble with meeting strangers, so why on earth would Priscilla of all people be difficult?

Even though he was quite on edge himself, with the way Priscilla was responding to the whole situation. But man, if Bartie had just... given her a hug... 

He was going to have a stern conversation with his son after this. 

"I'm so sorry," he told both Priscilla and the chaperone. "I... I didn't realize that he would behave this way." Poor Priscilla, all she wanted was to meet her son... For god's sake, Bartie. "'is she... going to be alright?" 

"You shouldn't say that," he sternly told Bartie, but he had to admit that now that Priscilla was losing his composure, he too started to feel uncomfortable with the whole situation. He wanted his son to have a relationship with his mother, he wanted Priscilla to have a relationship with Bartholomew, but it seemed like neither of them had been ready for this. 

"Your mother has been through a lot, she just... she just wants to get to know you." But he felt unwilling to push Bartie towards Priscilla as well, at least as long as she couldn't calm down. "Is she alright?" he asked the nurse. "Would it be better to just... remove Bartie from the situation for a bit so she can calm down?" 

He didn't know what to do. 

It had been a mistake. George stared at his own son in horror, the young boy who just glanced at Priscilla from the corner of his eye and seemingly determined that had been enough. He should've asked the boy somewhere else, probably, might've asked the maid to at least tell him that his mother was waiting for him, but now Priscilla seemed incredibly hurt and Bartholomew just seemed to inch away from her. 

"Bartie," he sighed, standing up so he could guide Bartie towards her, "come on. It won't be long." 

Ah, yes, Bartie... of course she would want to see her son, if he had been in her position... (which he was, with his daughters) he also would want to see his children as soon as possible.

So without considering if this was a good idea or not, he immediately gestured towards another maid that she should bring Bartholomew here and when Bartholomew entered, he smiled at the boy and said: "Hello Bartie, would you like to meet your mother?" 

Sure, he had that. So he assumed at least, because let's be honest, he didn't do his own grocery shopping, but surely a maid could figure out how to get Priscilla some mint tea. Didn't they grow that somewhere in the garden? He nodded towards a maid. 

Yes, after years of... well. At least she was doing better now, taking medications, apparently. He nodded slowly at her. "Alright," he smiled, a little awkward. "I'm glad to hear that you're doing better." 

It was rude, right? To just ask what she was doing here? "Where do you live now?" 

Priscilla Pearson was currently in his sitting room. 

Priscilla Pearson. 

Of all people George had ever expected in his sitting room, Priscilla Pearson wasn't one of them. She had been so broken, the last time he had seen her... or perhaps broken wasn't really the right word. Angry? Frustrated? Complicated?

Can you tell he was desperately trying to avoid the word insane? 

But according to his maid, yes, he had quickly asked, she seemed... normal. Subdued. A little uncomfortable, but not splattered in blood, throwing furniture around. 

Yes, he had indeed asked if she was throwing around furniture. 

"Well, hello," he said, smiling, when he entered the sitting room, nodding at Priscilla and her chaperone. He took a rather awkward route through the sitting room from the door, to sink down in a chair opposite of Priscilla. "Tea?" 

What was she doing here? 

"It's been a while."