Chapter Text
Crowds of rowdy showgoers and mobs alike were not an unfamiliar sight at PT Barnum’s Circus. Yet the scene that greets Phineas upon his return from his long weekend away is still enough to bring him pause.
For one, it is unusual for the crowd on his doorstep to consist entirely of the people on his payroll. Everyone from the performers and dancers to the stagehands, animal handlers and riggers were flocked around a waiting carriage, their voices clamouring one over the other in a worrisome cacophony.
He’s halfway through the throng before anyone seems to realise the senior ringmaster is there, and even then it only makes the task of maneuvering through the crowd marginally easier.
At last, breaching the inner circle of onlookers, he’s greeted by the unanticipated cause of the furor.
WD stands tall and stoic beside the open door of the waiting carriage, his jaw set in a way that hardens his expression and keeps any inner turmoil locked away. Phineas has only seen that indurate expression a handful of times, most memorably when he’d first interviewed the Wheeler siblings and again when WD had come with the troupe to pull him from his sorry state following the fire.
He rests one protective hand on Anne’s shoulder, and Phineas realises he’d completely overlooked her, largely hidden as she is by Phillip’s shoulder as he embraces her. She clutches his jacket in turn, speaking quickly and with a forced steadiness not quite belied by the sheen of her unshed tears and the subtle disarray of her hair and clothing.
Phineas doesn’t know what’s said, only that Anne refuses to relinquish her hold on Phillip until he nods and utters an assurance to her with a rarely seen gravity. Only then does Anne allow WD and Lettie to guide her from his arms and into the waiting carriage.
As the door shuts with a wooden clack and the wheels groan under the stress of the carriage pulling away, Phillip’s voice cuts through the ensuing noise with short directives. It’s clipped, but assertive in a way that makes Phineas’ chest expand with something he could liken to pride.
Dutifully the performers and crew disband and filter back into the circus, their speculative murmurs fading beneath the canvas.
Soon only Phillip and Lettie are left, conversing in low tones in the wake of the vacated carriage, Phillip shaking his head in refute of whatever words of reassurance the woman is offering him. After a brief back and forth Lettie seems to finally relent, and with a wordless pat to Phillip’s shoulder, which Phineas can only interpret as sympathetic, she too enters the tent.
“Well, that was certainly something to return to,” Phineas speaks up at last.
If Phillip had not been aware of his presence, he shows no sign of shock or startlement. Instead, he blows out a lengthy breath.
“Did you have a pleasant weekend with Helen and Caroline?” Phillip asks, as if Phineas hadn’t spoken at all.
He considers the question and decides to humour the man’s deflection.
“It was lovely. I would have rather slept in a stick-shack on the beach than be hosted by Charity’s parents, but otherwise I had a wonderful time. The girls are insisting you come with me to visit next time.”
He comes up to Phillip’s side. “Now, do you mind telling me what that was about, and why I’m missing my headlining trapeze artists?”
“Our headlining trapeze artists,” Phillip corrects the man’s teasing, more from habit now than annoyance. “They received a telegram this morning. Their mother’s taken ill and requested they visit, just in case she…” the sentence rolls off with an uncomfortable shrug of his shoulder.
Phineas ‘ahs’ in sympathy, rubbing his chin in an absent motion. “All the way to Louisiana? That’s quite a...” He trails off, his line of thought suddenly overcome by a more pressing concern. “What about-” and that’s when he looks down and finally registers the bundle of cloth in the crook of Phillip’s arm, what Anne must have surrendered into Phillip’s care with the sincerest promise he could have sworn her.
Phillip raises his head then to meet Phineas’ questioning stare, and ever so gently rearranges the cloth to reveal the tiny slumbering face of Rosie Anne Wheeler.
---
Sweeping aside several sheafs of paper, Phineas sets two tumblers down on the cleared desk space and fills each glass with a generous measure of whisky.
“She’ll be fine there?” Phillip asks, and Phineas smiles gaily as if he hasn’t answered the same question not five minutes before.
“Perfectly safe,” he assures again, pressing a glass into Phillip’s hand as they set a watchful eye on the tawny-skinned babe, swaddled in her blanket and cushioned in a nest of pillows on the couch. She looked humorously out of place in their office, and Phineas would have voiced this had Phillip not looked like he was in the process of swallowing rocks.
“So,” he says instead, “Anne left Rosie with you?”
Phillip slumps down into his seat with a lack of decorum usually reserved for their late nights tackling paperwork, and Phineas wonders if the reality of the situation is only just catching up to him.
“She did.”
“I see.”
“So... it would seem for an uncertain length of time I am responsible for a child, an infant…” Phineas has to bite down on his smile when, upon processing the statement, Phillip takes a long swig of whisky with barely a flinch.
“So it would seem,” Phineas repeats gravely.
“I can hear that grin in your voice, you dorbel,” Phillip snipes without heat, and Phineas chuckles openly.
“What about Jonathan?”
Phillip shakes his head at the mention of his valet. “He’s still visiting his family in Queens.”
“Ah. Regardless, I’m sure you’ll be fine-”
“I know that.”
Phineas pauses, brows arching as Phillip sits back, abashed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so... I know it’s meant well.”
“But?”
“But…” Phillip sighs, forehead creasing in frustration. “Between the patronising assurances that people have faith in me and the offers to take care of Rosie in my stead, it feels like no one has any faith in me at all.”
His expression shifts to something more sullen as he takes another mouthful from his glass, and a part of Phineas can’t help but ponder how familiar and foreign the expression now looked on the younger man’s face. It had once been so commonplace, his perfectly handsome features doured by a brooding demeanor, but it had been almost completely absent in recent months, replaced instead by broad smiles and cheeky smirks and endless exasperation, the latter largely thanks to Phineas.
Phineas looks down into his drink, patiently nursing it in expectant silence.
Phillip places his empty glass on the desk, the heat gone from his voice. “I know I’m not the most experienced, but Anne wouldn’t have entrusted me with Rosie if she thought I was incapable...”
They both recognise the wavering certainty as Phillip drifts into silence and grimaces at his own blatant wheedling for consolation. It endears Phineas nonetheless and he swirls his glass thoughtfully, voice lowering to a sincere pitch.
“No, she wouldn’t,” Phineas agrees, and that alone seems to lift a weight of doubt from Phillip’s shoulder.
---
“Do you have everything you need?”
Shouldering the bag Anne had left for him and tucking his own satchel under his arm, Phillip pops open his umbrella. They stand just inside the mouth of the big top, keeping their attention on each other rather than the conspicuous onlookers busying themselves around the edges of the ring. Phineas cradles the gurgling baby with a sure tenderness, all five of Rosie’s dark little fingers wrapped tightly around one of Phineas’ own in a heartwarming contrast of age and parity.
“I doubt Anne would have left anything unchecked,” Phillip returns wryly, and Phineas chuckles.
“I think you’re probably right.” With that, he gently places Rosie down into the humble baby carriage between them without making any move to extract himself from Rosie’s hold. Partially succeeding in masking a smile at the exchange, Phillip brings his hands to rest almost uncertainly on the stroller’s long wooden handle, running his fingers thoughtfully along it.
When Rosie had been born, Anne had flourished in her new role as they’d all expected - with resilience, grace, and, above all, pride. It made helping provide for their newest addition very difficult, with all offers being kindly but firmly turned down. Phineas had only dared to offer financial assistance once, and after witnessing the lambasting even the likes of Phineas couldn’t escape from, Phillip had slipped his wallet back into his pocket and slunk away, leaving Phineas to his fate.
Yet the stroller had been a gift from the circus to her that they hadn’t let her refuse. They had chosen one modest in both cost and design, and it was nothing compared to the more splendid options available, like the ornately weaved wicker baskets and chestnut-panelled carriages Phillip himself had languished in as a babe. But it was sturdy, reliable, and brought a remarkable joy to Anne that Phillip had witnessed each and every time he’d accompanied her and Rosie on a walk around the park.
Now it felt strange to be at the helm of it, Rosie babbling away and watching him with large dark eyes through thick fluttering lashes. She would grow to be every bit the beautiful strong-willed woman her mother was, Phillip was certain of it.
Angling the umbrella to shelter Rosie, Phillip nods his farewell to Phineas and starts the stroller towards the open flap, but before he can make it to the threshold of the tent Phineas calls out to him.
“Phillip, wait.” In two strides Phineas is back at his side, hand falling onto Phillip’s shoulder.
“I know you can do this-”
“Phi-”
“But,” he stresses, before Phillip can further interject, “-parenthood, as wonderful and rewarding as it is, is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I know you want to do right by Anne and will care for Rosie as if she were your own, but no one will think less of you if you need to ask for help. I’m here if you need anything, ok?”
Phillip sighs, initial ire visibly doused as he nods with some reluctance, “You’re right... thank you.”
Phineas beams, clapping the man’s shoulder fondly. “Good. Now, I don’t want to see you back here until you and Rosie are settled.”
Phillip’s lips quirk; “Good thing you just had a holiday in that case,” he remarks. Phineas’ responding laughter is muted by the rain as Phillip steps out of the canvas shelter, leaving the ringmaster and their circus behind him.
It takes two days with no word from Phillip for Phineas to get restless. He waits with growing agitation for a third day only because Lettie reminds him that Phillip would be less than pleased with Phineas’ lack of trust, and rightly so.
Yet still he finds his usual focus waylaid by distraction, paperwork providing little interest or clarity as he finds himself more often than not lost in thought.
He couldn’t help but feel slightly offended by Lettie’s accusation. Of course he trusted Phillip. Unquestionably. He would trust Phillip with the care of his own daughters in a heartbeat. But still the persistent feeling of unrest wouldn’t leave him.
It’s during the fourth agonisingly interminable day that it finally clicks, and Phineas has to set aside his pen. He would never doubt Phillip’s capability, like he would never doubt Charity’s, or Anne’s, or his own. Phillip was by all accounts an astute, compassionate, and dependable man.
But when you factored in the demands of a child, few men knew better than Phineas that you needed, at the very least the knowledge , that you had someone to lean on. Charity had had Phineas, and he had had her. Anne had WD and an entire circus willing to uproot the city’s very foundations if she asked it of them.
And then there was Phillip; Phillip who had his sense of pride and duty and a fear of letting Anne down to keep him ploughing silently onwards.
So it wasn’t due to mistrust he worried, because he didn’t doubt Rosie was in the safest hands imaginable, but rather he worried for Phillip.
With that thought lingering in the forefront of his mind, Phineas whips his jacket and hat off the hook by the office door. He calls his farewell to the performers as he passes through the ring on his way to the exit, and flashes Charles a smirk as the general throws a quip about part-time workers at his back. Turning up his collar against the brisk autumn wind, he departs the circus in the direction of Phillip’s apartment.
---
The quiet yet distinct wail of a child greets Phineas as he steps into the stairwell of Phillip’s apartment block. The despairing noise cascades down the staircase as Phineas ascends, resonating off the stone walls as he steps aside to allow a surly faced older couple to pass him by, muttering about the incessant noise.
He follows the cries to Phillip’s door, much clearer now despite the solid wood between himself and whatever scene awaited him on the other side. He gives three heavy knocks to be heard, and waits, tracking Phillip’s hasty approach to the door by the clarity of Rosie’s squalling.
The door is wrenched open.
“Mrs Pendleton, please . I apologise for the noise but— Phineas?”
Both men pause, and Phineas takes in the flustered young man in front of him. His regular grooming routine had seemingly been abandoned as his hair fell in loose strands in a way Phineas had never seen before. His shirt was severely creased, slept in, he assumed, and the collar sat comically askew. He kindly didn’t linger on the spattering of food stains he attributed to grabby little hands. Little hands which currently fisted the fabric of Phillip’s shirt as Rosie dribbled and wailed into his chest.
Yet the most pronounced detail was the exhaustion. It lined Phillip’s face and painted dark circles beneath his eyes, which blinked sluggishly as if a daze, brow furrowed like he was questioning that Phineas was indeed standing in his doorway.
Abruptly Phillip straightens, free hand running through his hair to restore some semblance of order to it.
“Phillip,” he greets warmly, as if nothing was amiss.
“Come to check up on me?”
The thinly veiled petulance makes Phineas smile. “May I?” he asks instead, hands disarmingly proffered.
After a brief internal debate he can see taking place, Phillip at last sighs. Shoulders slumping in submission, he gratefully hands Rosie over and stands aside to gesture Phineas inside.
---
It takes some hours, but Rosie is eventually subdued to quiet babbling and Phillip’s apartment is steadily brought back to a habitable state. Phineas is hanging the last of the freshly washed diaper cloths when Phillip emerges freshly clothed from the bathroom, hair still damp and cheeks flushed with warmth from his bath.
“Ah, good to see you looking somewhat human again.” Phineas smirks.
Phillip sits at the table with a sour expression. “Don’t be like that,” the ringmaster teases, placing a steaming cup of tea in front of his partner. As expected, the facade promptly falls away as Phillip gratefully cups the warm porcelain in his hands.
Phineas takes the seat opposite him with his own cup and lets the companionable silence take precedence. By the way Phillip sits with his eyes closed, face angled down towards the warmth of his cup, it’s probably the longest bout of peace he’s had in a while.
He’s reading the titles of several parenting books piled on the table ( The Mother at Home, or The Principles of Maternal Duty, Familiarly Illustrated by John S.C. Abbott, The Duties of Parents by J. C. Ryle) when Phillip sighs.
“I don’t know why I thought I could do this,” Phillip mutters, watching Rosie’s small hands wave up at her circus mobile, colourfully painted animals prancing and acrobats twirling slowly above her head.
“What are you talking about?” Phineas frowns. “You’re doing a fantastic job.”
Phillip looks at him, incredulous. “Phineas, I’ve barely slept in three days, let alone changed. Rosie has been crying so often the neighbours have threatened to lodge a noise complaint. You’ve been here four hours and managed to do the dishes, the laundry, calm Rosie down, change her diaper, and feed her. How can you possibly say I’m doing well?”
“Well, those last two are what really calmed her down, so that really shouldn’t be credited as its own task,” Phineas reasons, chuckling when Phillip releases an annoyed breath.
Taking a long sip of his tea, Phineas wordlessly places the cup down in front of him, props his elbows on the table, and leans forward to regard Phillip with an unsettlingly pensive expression. “Have I ever told you about the time I mistook Caroline for a bag of flour?”
Phillip stares, experiencing a farrago of reactions which fail to overcome his visible dumbfoundment. “I… can’t say that you have…”
Phineas sits back in his seat with a surprised ‘ah’, as if this was a careless oversight on his part. “In that case, allow me to explain. Caroline’s birth took a substantial toll on Charity; she was exhausted and very sick for some weeks after. Even then, it was difficult getting her to stay in bed for the recommended nine days let alone anymore than that. But I was adamant she should rest. So, for the first week of her life Caroline was my full responsibility. It was without question the most terrifying and difficult experience I’ve ever had, to suddenly be responsible for this tiny, vulnerable little life that’s dependent on you getting things right.”
Phillip listens with undivided interest, and even Rosie’s gurgling has subsided, seemingly enraptured by the gentle baritone of storytime.
“I was five days in, exhausted, discouraged, and very very tired. I remember I was putting away groceries while trying to shush Caroline so Charity could sleep, so when I finally got her to settle I went to sit down with her - just for a few minutes. Next thing I know Charity is nudging me awake and asking me where Caroline is, and of course I say ‘She’s right here’. “Phineas sighs. “I will never forget the way she looked at me and said ‘Phin. That’s a bag of flour.’”
A bark of laughter erupts from Phillip, and Phineas’ perfectly serious facade bleeds away into an open grin.
“You were holding a bag of flour?” Phillip manages to gasp between breaths.
“Looking back, I should have been more suspicious about how complacent she was being,” Phineas chuckles. They share a matching, understanding grin as Phillip slowly regains his composure..
“I have to ask, where was Caroline?”
“Well, it took five minutes of searching, but we eventually found her in the cupboard napping next to the potatoes, happy as you please.”
Phillip sniggers into his cup, and Phineas is pleased to see the man’s mood seems genuinely lifted.
“On a more serious note,” Phineas continues, “you’ve taken on the full-time care of a very young child with no warning or preparation. In my opinion, you are doing spectacularly.”
Phillip’s thumb rubs across the rim of his cup, and Phineas recognises the signs of shyness as Phillip keeps his gaze averted and mumbles a sincere thank you.
Taking pity on his partner, Phineas drains his last mouthful of tea and stands from the table.
“Well, I best be off.”
Phillip rises as well, standing patiently by as Phineas peers into Rosie’s carriage and plants a kiss on the back of her tiny hand. “Goodnight, little darling. You be good for Phillip,” he sweetly chides, then steps back and walks alongside Phillip down the hallway.
Donning his hat and coat while Phillip opens the door for him, they both hesitate on the threshold.
“Thank you,” Phillip says again after a moment.
“Any time,” Phineas returns.
They pause, like they’re both waiting for the other to speak.
“Well then, I sh-”
“Will you be stopping by again?”
They awkwardly chuckle as they talk over one another. “Sorry.”
Phineas brushes off the apology, “If I would not be intruding, I would be very happy to drop in again,” he answers carefully.
Phillip tuts at the reply, as if Phineas was a fool for thinking otherwise. “Of course you wouldn’t be.”
“Then tomorrow?”
Phillip nods, lips quirking upwards ever so slightly. “Tomorrow,” he agrees.
“Very well then, have a good night.”
“Good night, Phin.”
As Phineas makes his way down the stairs, he’s accompanied only by the sound of his footsteps echoing off the walls. He smiles.
When he enters the circus the next morning he greets everyone as normal, passing through the ring and pointedly ignoring the inquisitive looks and casual enquiries about his ‘errand’ the day before.
He’s just settling down at his desk when there’s a light rapping on the office door and Lettie is closing it behind her before he’s even finished saying ‘come in’.
“So,” the bearded woman starts, taking a seat in the chair in front of Phineas’ desk. “How is he?”
“How’s who?” He parries innocently.
“Don’t play games with me, Phineas Taylor Barnum,” Lettie admonishes. “How’s Rosie and Phillip?”
“They’re fine, of course. As I knew they would be.”
“Oh, don’t give me that,” Lettie huffs. “You were just as antsy about how he would manage as the rest of us, more so, in my book.”
Phineas straightens in defense. “I never once doubted him,” he protests. “Rosie is perfectly safe with Phillip.”
“Oh, don’t get your knickers in a bunch,” Lettie sighs. “No one thought he was going to forget Rosie in a bar or something, but he’s barely more than a boy himself.”
“He’s a thirty year old man.”
Lettie merely shrugs and smiles as Phineas rolls his eyes, unable to stifle a smirk.
“You coddle him,” he accuses.
“He needs it,” Lettie returns airily.
Well, she certainly had him there.
“In any case, he’s not doing badly at all, just a few rough nights by the looks of it.”
Lettie clicks her tongue sympathetically. “Poor thing, probably all out of sorts without her mama. I hope Anne and W.D are doing alright.”
“I’m sure they’re fine. They’re likely halfway to New Orleans by now. I imagine we can expect a telegram letting us know they arrived safely.”
Lettie hums, adjusting her shawl around her shoulders. “Are you going to see Phillip again?”
“I said I would stop in tonight,” he confirms, absently rifling through some papers in his desk drawer; Phillip had insisted he find the income statements he’d meant to hand over the week before.
Lettie smiles knowingly, an expression that would have made Phineas suspicious had he not been skimming paperwork. The woman rises from the chair.
“I’m glad you boys are looking out for each other. Tell Phillip we all say hi,” she requests on her way to the door. Phineas glances up briefly with an oblivious smile.
“Of course, Lettie. Have a good rehearsal.”
The woman leaves, shaking her head fondly as she closes the door behind her.
The stairwell is blissfully quiet save for the pattering of rain against the building as Phineas makes his way up to Phillip’s apartment. It starts to strike Phineas as odd when he still can’t make out the slightest peep nor the barest shuffle of movement, even when standing outside Phillip’s front door after a succession of gentle knocks.
He knocks a little harder, hesitant to be too loud should Rosie be sleeping, but he finds the lack of response unusual. Had Phillip forgotten he was coming? Or taken Rosie out for a walk and been delayed?
Waiting a moment longer, Phineas glances up and down the empty corridor before trying the doorknob, lips pressed into a tight line. To his surprise, the door opens with a click, and Phineas steps into the apartment.
The warmth of the dwindling fire in the living room grate washes over him as he removes his hat, scanning the room which seemed undisturbed; a parenting book lay open on the coffee table next to a cup of coffee left to grow cold.
“Phillip?”
The silence is unsettling, and beyond the light of the fire the rest of the apartment is dark. Setting his hat on a side table, Phineas begins making his way through the rooms for any sign of Phillip or Rosie. Without any luck, he stops at Phillip’s bedroom door which sits, quite unusually, wide open.
It’s there he finally makes out Phillip in the darkness, a street lamp outside providing just enough light to distinguish the younger man’s figure reclined against the headboard, cushioned by a small mound of pillows.
He’s breathing softly, asleep, and Phineas is just about to leave the man to rest when something catches his eye. A step closer and Phineas realises with a rush of heat to his cheeks that Phillip’s shirt is unbuttoned, and more so open to reveal the pale private skin of his chest and abdomen. But a different emotion starts to proliferate in the depths of his chest when he discovers Rosie, equally bare save for her diaper cloth and protectively cradled in Phillip’s arms, slumbering flush against Phillip’s skin.
Phineas can’t immediately will himself to leave, too struck by the tenderness of the scene before him. It instills, no, unearths a infinitude of feelings and thoughts that seem too loud for the quiet comfort of the bedroom, so Phineas removes himself, stripping off his coat and heading to the kitchen to busy his idle hands.
---
Feeling more collected a short time later, Phineas returns to the bedroom, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed so he can reach across and touch Phillip’s shoulder.
The man wakes with a start, and Phineas hushes him. “It’s just me,” he reassures him as Phillip peers blearily up at him, eyes struggling to open.
“Phineas?” Phillip sighs sleepily, pressing his palm to his eyes. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.
“Looks like you needed it.” Phineas returns easily. “Both of you.”
Brows drawing together, Phillip looks down, breath catching in embarrassment when he realises his state of undress and his no doubt questionable position.
“Ah, I-” he clears his throat, “I was reading a book proposing some interesting if rather...unconventional methods of child rearing during the early stages of development. Of course it was intended for the- the uh- mothers themselves, but the research into the emotional benefits for the child seemed sound, and I didn’t want to disregard it completely if it could benefit Rosie.”
Phineas listens with quiet interest, taking care not to react at all to the admission Phillip had put himself into an implicitly maternal position. That alone seems to ease Phillip’s subtly fluctuating agitation; Phineas had no doubt that many men in Phillip’s prior circles would have had something to say about it.
“It sounds progressive. What was this research?” Phineas prompts, and Phillip looks down at the babe, brushing a thumb over her dark downy curls.
“That prolonged skin to skin contact provides more comfort for the infant and encourages a stronger bond. In theory, it should improve their sleep and general wellbeing in other areas of development, but I thought with Anne gone, the least I could give Rosie was as much comfort as possible.”
The sentiment is sweet and beautifully compassionate, stirring up a nostalgic feeling in Phineas. It reminds him of Charity, and the times she cradled their newborn daughters to her breast with a look so tranquil and complete it touched him in unexplainable ways. “And how is it for you?” he asks, curious.
Phillip goes quiet, and Phineas is unsure if he’s going to answer. Then, quite softly, he admits, “It’s really nice.”
Phineas smiles. “I wish I’d thought to do the same with my girls.”
They sit in comfortable silence, listening to Rosie’s delicate snuffles. Phillip has just begun to doze again when Phineas clears his throat and says, not without an underlying rumble of amusement, “I think I should go and prepare her a bottle.”
Before Phillip can question him, Phineas inclines his head with an unbridled grin. “Someone’s hungry.”
A quick glance down and Phillip’s face blushes hotly upon discovering Rosie had latched and was now fruitlessly trying to nurse from him.
“Stop sniggering and go make that bottle!” Phillip hisses, trying to cuff Phineas who deftly avoids his swipe and backpedals from the room, his chuckling audible even from the kitchen.
---
They relocate to the parlour once Phineas returns. Phillip, now properly dressed, sits on the sofa with Rosie fussing in the crook of his arm, offering her the bottle while Phineas attempts to reignite the fireplace.
Dusting off his knees with the fire lit, Phineas takes his seat in the armchair. He's about to re-engage Phillip in conversation when he stops short, taken in quite suddenly by the tranquil scene. Warmly lit by the fireplace, Phillip looks sweet and youthful as the light catches his eyes and plays across his face; his often stern expression softened as he murmured nonsense to Rosie and rocked her gently.
“I always thought this would be you.”
“Sorry?”
Phillip looks up, brows knitted together in puzzlement, and Phineas realises he’d spoken aloud. Well, there was no avoiding it now, he supposed.
“I mean, Rosie, Anne.” He works his throat, uncertain if he is treading on too sensitive a topic. “Even just a year ago, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find you in this very same position. You were captivated by each other the moment you met; you adore Anne and Rosie without measure. Had he never come into the picture, I would have never had any doubt that she was yours.”
Phillip is quiet for a long, tense moment, gazing down at Rosie with a distant expression. A rare apology is on the tip of Phineas’ tongue when Phillip beats him to it.
“Sometimes I wish she was,” he admits, and even though the response is almost expected, it twists oddly in Phineas’ chest. “If only to ensure Rosie grew up with a devoted father. And Anne was wed and loved and supported for all her life ahead of her.” He inhales deeply, letting it out in a shuddering breath. “She deserves better. She deserved better.”
Phineas nods in solemn agreement, “She did.”
“Even though we both realised there were things we couldn’t change and it was best to end our relationship, I despised myself for hurting her.”
Phineas hums sympathetically. He recalled that time clearly; it had been tumultuous and tense, and for quite a few nights he’d found himself staying late in the office with a despondent Phillip and several glasses of whisky.
“When I introduced Roberts to her I never considered anything developing between them. But when it did...he treated her so kindly, and Anne looked so happy after so long, I thought...this was it, this was the happy ending she deserved…”
“It’s not your fault, Phil.”
Phillip snorts. “I should have known better,” he mutters. “I’d known Roberts since university, he’d always been a respectable character and a good friend. But I know what men from my world are like, and Anne… Anne was beautiful and enchanting and untouchable. He probably couldn’t resist the challenge.” Phillip’s lip curls unpleasantly.
“He’s shown his true colours now. He’ll think twice about showing his face at the circus again.”
“He wouldn’t dare. He knows what will happen if I see him back in New York.”
The tone in the younger man’s voice is one Phineas has never heard before. “It sounds like there’s a story there.”
Phillip takes a minute to mull over whether to tell Phineas or not, then he sighs. “Do you remember the day Anne told us what happened?”
How could Phineas forget? He’d never seen Anne so broken; kneeling crumpled in the ring amongst concerned friends while trying desperately to stop the tears from falling. The glorious news that she was pregnant had raced through the circus amidst excited chatter, only to be quickly followed by the bitter revelation that Samuel Roberts wasn’t sticking around. Anne had been distraught, and, in defense of one of their own, the circus had fostered a defensive and hostile atmosphere for several days after.
Taking Phineas’ grim silence for confirmation, Phillip continues. “Remember how I was late the next day without explanation?”
Phineas nods.
“WD had to come pay my bail at the police station.”
“You were arrested?” Phineas stares at Phillip wide-eyed, as if seeing him in a new light for the first time. But there’s a deep-seated vengeance in his tone that demands an explanation, sensing the promise of long-denied satisfaction. “What did you do?”
“It was by chance; or fate, if you prefer. I was on my way to the circus the next morning when I saw him, walking into the train station looking completely invulnerable, as if he hadn’t just crushed a perfectly innocent woman beneath his foot. Next thing I know I’m beside him on the platform and...I hit him.”
Phillip laughs, a short sharp sound. “I suppose that’s an understatement. My report officially says I ‘set upon him like an animal’. I just remember being so enraged . I would have dragged us both onto the tracks had I not been pulled off him.” He takes a breath. “But I was able to do Anne some justice. He apparently arrived at his destination with a fractured arm, dislocated shoulder, two black eyes courtesy of a broken nose, and a big fat split lip. I’m sure he made quite the picture on his wedding day.”
“Wedding day?” Phineas breathes, expression contorting into something more perturbed. Phillip’s own darkens.
“I discovered through a mutual friend that Roberts was actually moving to Maine to settle down with his fianceé. He was getting married the next day.”
There’s a beat of thick, unpleasant silence.
“Does Anne know?”
“God, no. Having her believe he was just a pithless coward is one thing, but to have her know it was all a lie from the beginning? I could never do that to her, Phineas. Please, she can’t find out.”
Phineas raises his hands in a placating gesture, but Phillip is already distracted by Rosie who starts to squirm and whimper. Immediately his expression softens as he murmurs reassurances to her, cradling her with a tenderness that made it difficult to believe he was a man capable of enacting violence like he’d just described.
It was a surreal feeling, watching Phillip cosset another man’s offspring so adoringly, especially knowing the lowest of scum he’d turned out to be, more so than Phineas himself had known. But in a way it seemed only right, because Phillip could no more put the sins of the father onto a child than Phineas could.
“Thank you, for telling me.”
Phillip looks up, stroking the back of Rosie’s hand as she holds tight to his thumb. He nods his head without anything more to say, and Phineas understands.
They’d shared many silences together, but this is the most heavy and thoughtful, broken only by brief, intermittent conversation.
Phineas decides it’s time to take his leave when Rosie begins to give wide sleepy yawns. Collecting his things, Phillip sees him out, Rosie repositioned against his shoulder for support as he holds the door open for Phineas.
“Are you going to be ok?” Phineas asks, standing at the threshold of the apartment. The dark cloud that had beset the room hadn’t fully dissipated, but the tension in Phillip’s brow had since drained and been replaced by something akin to weariness.
“I’ll be fine,” he assures Phineas. He offers a small smile as he gently bounces Rosie who burbles into his shoulder, one tiny fist rubbing her eye. “Are you going to say goodnight to Uncle Phin?” he coos.
Phineas chuckles and leans forward, planting a light kiss on the baby’s crown. “You be a good girl,” he hums into her hair. Then, as he makes to stand up straight, without thinking of the fleeting impulse that urges him forward, he presses a featherlight kiss to Phillip’s lips as well.
Phillip inhales sharply and Phineas jerks back as if burnt. “I- ah - goodnight, Phillip,” he bids in a rush of breath. With a curt nod, Phineas touches the brim of his hat and retreats swiftly down the corridor without looking back.