When we arrived home, I went up to my room as fast as my ankle would allow me but still trying not to show that it hurt. Father hadn't said anything else during the ride to the house and for once I was grateful for his stony silence. Before it would have been a sign that something was wrong or that I was in trouble, these days I was always in trouble and the silence was a welcomed relief from the lectures.

Upstairs, I changed out of my school dress and sat on the edge of my, untying the laces of my boots. The leather still sat too close to my ankle to the point that it hurt even if I hadn't just run up the stairs. Slowly, I inched my boot off my ankle and let it fall to the ground with a light thud. Once the boot was off, I removed my stockings but I had to be extra careful around my ankle so I didn't knock it accidentally.

My ankle has a slight purple tinge to it, almost like a bruise had started to form because of how I rolled it coming down the stairs. The bruised area of my foot looks at least double the size it should be, making my ankle and foot look fat. I huffed and removed my other boot and stocking to compare my ankles to each other. My right ankle, the one I rolled coming down the stairs, is definitely bigger than it should be and I know if I didn't wear my boots, Father would notice.

I pulled my stockings back on and then slipped my good foot into my boot. The next bit would be the hardest one as I slowly slid my right foot into my boot, sinking my teeth into my lip so I wouldn't make a sound at the pain that coursed through my leg. Father would no doubt tell me off if he knew I was putting my boot on over a sprained ankle, but he didn't know and I had no intention of telling him. I would deal with it on my own.

"Miss Isabel," Helen said, drumming lightly on my door, "supper is ready."

"Alright, thank you, Helen." My voice shook a little from the pain that had started to subside after I jammed my foot into my boot. I hoped Helen didn't notice.

I limped across the room, using everything within my reach to help move me forward so I didn't put too much weight on my ankle. It didn't help much because the pressure on my ankle from the boot was enough to keep a dull throb going and every step I took turned that dull throb into a wave of pain. Still, I bit back the pain as best I could and made my way down the stairs with the help of the bannister. It didn't matter as much if I limped down the stairs since no one saw me, but the moment I reached the hallway I'd have to put weight on my ankle.

The first step in the hallway almost caused my entire leg to buckle and I had to grab onto the bannister to stop myself from falling over. I don't think anyone heard anything since no one came out into the hall or even asked if I was alright. There would be no way of avoiding the pain so I grit my teeth, push off from the bannister and try to ignore the pain as I walk into the dining hall.

No one said anything when I walked into the room so I assumed my acting skills were at least mediocre enough for people to believe me. The moment I sat down felt like a welcomed relief, even if the pain did remain. I would have to find a way to deal with my ankle because ignoring it certainly didn't seem to be working.

"So, Izzy, what's this school work that causes you to stay after school?" Mother asked, her tone remarkably formal for supper time conversation. I suppose the tension in the room makes a usual conversation impossible.

"Oh, we're having a debate on Friday." I stabbed a carrot with my fork.

"A debate? On what?"

"Whether women should have the right to vote. I'm arguing for, Mildred is against."

"Do you need any help? It sounds like an excellent topic and one I am sure you'll excel at."

"I think Evelyn and I have it covered, the conversation came up on Saturday when we were out with her sister so I think we have everything we need."

"Well, you can always ask if you need any help."

I almost laughed.

How would I ask for help after everything that happened? Regardless of whether it was schoolwork or something else, I knew it would turn into a lecture sooner or later and I had had enough of those to last me a lifetime. They didn't want to help me. They just wanted another reason to lecture me and I would not give them the ammunition to do so.

We ate supper in silence with Father refusing to even look at me for most of supper and instead focused entirely on his food but he barely ate anything. I ate a little bit of supper but mostly cut everything into small pieces and pushed it around my plate to make it seem like I had eaten more than I had. Instead, my eyes were drawn to the portrait of Grandfather over the mantel in the dining room.

If he hadn't decided to take that trip, he never would have died and everything would have stayed the same as it had been. Only it will never be the same again. Everything had changed and it would be impossible to return it to the way it was. There was only one person to blame for all of it.

"Have you packed up all of your things?" Father asked, speaking for the first time since I sat down.

"Not yet," I said. I hadn't even started.

"We only have a few days left before we have to leave so you should get on it, Isabel."

"I know, and I will. I've just been busy with schoolwork."

"Your schoolwork can wait half an hour or so, this won't."

"Yes, I know." I rolled my eyes. "This whole thing is stupid. There is no way Grandfather would leave everything to a woman he hasn't seen or spoken to in twenty-four years."

"Well he did and you need to pack."

I stabbed a pea on my plate and sent it flying across the table and directly towards Father. He glared at me and I smiled down at my plate, trying to act as nonchalant as possible so he wouldn't know I did it on purpose.

After supper, of which I ate very little and just pushed it around my plate, Mrs Smith served chocolate brownies and ice cream which I did eat. I would never turn down the opportunity to eat chocolate brownies even if I didn't feel very hungry. No one mentioned packing or having to leave, or anything. We just ate in silence and I preferred that to the questioning and lectures that had come with every other supper.

Once we had finished supper and dessert, I made my escape from the table and headed back to my room. My ankle hurt more going up the stairs than it had going down and by the time I reached my room, I almost started crawling just to take the pressure off. I collapsed back against my bed and squeezed my eyes shut to try and fight the pain but a few tears escaped my eyes and ran down my cheeks.

I wrestled my boot off my foot and then pulled my stockings off, throwing them onto the floor. Either my eyes were playing tricks on me or my ankle had swollen even more during supper and I didn't know which was worse. Every slight movement caused pain, even a little thing like wiggling my toes. It felt like the time I slipped whilst running around the grounds and ended up breaking my wrist, but I didn't want to believe that I had done anything other than twist my ankle.

It took me a little while longer than usual to change into my nightgown since I tried to keep my ankle as still as possible. Once changed, I buried under the blankets and tried to fall asleep, but the pain in my ankle became too much. After what felt like several hours of trying and failing to sleep, I knew I needed to go in search of some ice to see if it would make a difference to the level of pain.

So no one would hear me, I ended up practically crawling my way across the floor of my bedroom and towards the door which sort of made me look like a strange bug creature or something out of a child's nightmare. Still, I could move while making very little noise and that was an achievement in my book. The fewer people who heard me the better.

I opened my bedroom door and dragged myself out into the hallway, trying to ignore the continuous throbbing in my ankle. Mother and Father's door had been left partially open and their voices carried out into the hall.

"I just don't understand what is going on with her," Father said alongside the sound of something being put down.

"Me neither. Matthew seemed to make some sort of progress with her, but he won't say what it was. He said he made a promise not to tell us."

"Great, that's really helpful. Isabel is our daughter and we have a right to know what is going on with her. I mean, she's acting out, talking back, pulling faces, she's like a different person!"

"I'm not saying I don't agree with you, but you haven't exactly been helping, Robert."

"What do you mean?"

Mother sighed. "Nothing bad. I'm merely saying that your behaviour recently hasn't exactly helped matters, especially on Sunday. Florence was the one who knocked the plate and yet you immediately went for Isabel. That, and the comment you made afterwards, didn't help matters."

Father mumbled something, but I didn't hear what he said. It sounded like he was talking to himself rather than Mother. I settled myself against the wall outside one of the empty rooms so I could continue to listen and hopefully not be caught had they decided to peer out of their room. Mother always said that listening outside doors was rude, but when they're talking about me, I think I have a right to know.

"Alright, I accept I may have gone too far, but I don't understand how we are supposed to help her if she won't talk to us. Given this started last week, I doubt my comment on Sunday would have caused it," Father said.

"Hm, perhaps not." Mother seemed to pause. "We have received no negative reports from her behaviour at school and Marsh has reported nothing unusual about her behaviour. It only seems to be here or with family."

"If we don't work out a way to help her, I don't know what we're going to do. Perhaps, if her behaviour does appear to be influenced by being around family, we should consider sending her to a boarding school until she finishes her current schooling."

"That's a last resort, though. It has to be."

"At this point, it might be our best solution."

Mother sighed and I could hear the sound of her footsteps on the floor. I pressed my back against the wall so she wouldn't see me, and with the hallway basked in darkness, she didn't. When the door clicked shut, I began shuffling my way back down the hallway and to the top of the stairs, but my mind kept repeating Father's words to me.

Boarding school. The place parents send their children if they don't want to look after them or they're too much trouble. I had known people in my first few years of school who ended up being sent to boarding school and I never saw them again. Their parents just sent them away and I don't know if they ever allowed them back home, even during the summer months. If they really didn't think they could handle me, then I knew I would be just like them.

If Father had his way, I had no doubt he would have packed me and sent me on my way the moment we were due to leave Grandfather's house.

At least I knew what he thought of me.

~~~

A/N - SURPRISE! Since we hit 1K reads, I thought I'd drop an extra update to all you lovely people to thank you for reading and following this story! It means a lot to me.

Questions! Do you think Robert would send Izzy to boarding school? Is there someone else impacting Izzy's behaviour?

Comment below!

First Published - October 9th, 2021