Between the Night and Morning

Duncan Todd sat in chapel one fine morning and felt that he was the only one paying the least bit of attention. That wasn't quite true, of course. There were the dolts, for whom religion was the only thing that would fit in their rigidly inflexible minds. Duncan was quite contented to say that they did not count. For how could one consider oneself a truly religious person without having to sacrifice something in return. Their lives were little more than garnishing for religion and therefore there could be no sacrifice in their taking time out for chapel.

Duncan supposed the others were hardly less excusable. They couldn't be bothered to give a wit about religion because they hadn't a wit to give. They surreptitiously read for classes, which they should have done long ago, or they dressed for outings under their formal attire. Duncan was certain the latter could not be comfortable but he didn't spare the idiots any pity, either.

Duncan was just a touch distracted, himself. He had just received a letter from his younger brother, detailing the insanity of the family he'd left.

His grandfather was still happily working on his memoir, a book that would ruin Duncan's life were it ever to be published. His grandfather had already nearly done so already, leaving a legacy ridiculous enough to send even the sanest man to a mad house. Still, the man had been revered enough as an intellectual to have spent some time as a professor at Edinburgh, though he'd resigned years before Duncan was born. Poor Duncan had not even been aware of his grandfather's legacy for the old man had openly regarded his time at university to have been time wasted and he never elaborated on where he'd gone. Duncan had refused to attend Edinburgh, which was much closer to his family's Scottish home, in order to escape the insanity of his grandfather's claim about the existence of elves. Instead, the reminder was often brought unwillingly to his attention by professor and student alike.

Duncan's grandmother was hardly better than his grandfather. While she wasn't nearly as vocal about his grandfather's belief elves, she agreed with them. She'd recently been caught taking weeds from the neighbour's garden in order to make some potion. She was always making potions. The town where Duncan's family lived was so superstitious that, were they not so fond of Duncan's grandmother, they would have accused her of witchcraft long ago.

Duncan's mother was frazzled as usual, when his brother wrote him. She had been a normal English girl from London area, who had fallen in love with a dashing young Scottish fellow. Thankfully, she'd had three older brothers and her family's status was not high enough to make marrying the son of a Scottish scholar a disgrace. Now, Lizzy Todd was a nervous woman, as prone to fits of rage as she was to fainting spells. If she knew what life at Oxford was really like for her eldest son, she probably would be driven to fetch him home for he was the most normal in the family and therefore her favourite.

Finlay's letter only touched briefly on the subject of the family's oddity because he knew how it distressed his older brother. He spent most of the letter, instead, gossiping like an old woman. He discussed how their sister Abigail had just informed them that she was with child. Their Uncle William had visited, which was never a good thing. Uncle William hated their father and grandmother, the latter was because William was a happy bachelor and their grandmother insisted on trying to pair him with each of the girls in town on his every visit.

Because of its recent arrival, the letter was unfortunately taking up more of Duncan's attention than he would have liked. Paying attention to the sermon, condescending on the intellects of his fellow students, and analysing the letter proved more than he could handle. The former two suffered for it. Chapel was finishing up by the time Duncan realized that he'd been no better than the others. Humiliated with himself, he tried to rationalize that the sermon was rarely any good regardless. It was easier simply to run.

Duncan forewent his usual leisurely and thoughtful stroll between chapel and his classes and sequestered himself in his room instead. The time usually spent enjoying nature was instead put to use for the self-punishment of reading a particularly dull text on botany. Botany was one of Duncan's least favourite subjects because it was difficult for him to grasp. By the time he was reminded that he needed to attend class, he was scowling down at the book, fingers thrust into his naturally unruly red hair.

Duncan straightened his appearance only minimally before going to class. He was therefore quite a sight in class, careful in all his mannerisms but scruffy in appearance. This was, of course, partially due to his relative poverty, juxtaposed against the famous gentleman-commoners who flaunted their wealth without shame.

Still feeling guilty for his earlier lapse, Duncan kept his eyes riveted on the professor and tried to keep a tight reign on his roving thoughts. Rather than returning to his room after class, so as not to be tempted to write his brother back and reinforce his lack of self-control, Duncan went to the library. He found himself a seat by a window and settled down to read, this time something more enjoyable than botany.

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