Alan Rickman Flights of Fancy

"Day the Sixty-sixth, in the month of January – In which we find a mysterious gift that someone left in my room."

My thoughts were in a tumult as I lifted the lid of the chest. I stared down at the few contents: two tunics, extra underclothes, a belt, letters of instruction from Mauger and copies of my reports to him. Everything was in place, barely covering the bottom of the chest. Nothing was missing that I could see. What had the intruder been looking for?

A loud knock on the door sounded behind me. Before I could get up it swung open and Joya entered. "Am I interrupting your housecleaning? Nice try, but we're still going to talk about your little plot." She shut it with a good slam and crossed to my side, her tone dripping sarcasm.

"No, not housecleaning." I waved her over. "I had a visitor this afternoon. I'm trying to determine what he was looking for."

"Really? How do you know?" She leaned over to examine the chest. A long tawny lock of hair landed on my shoulder and I inhaled the faint scent of lavender. It had the usual stirring effect on me and I clamped down hard on my instincts. They would have to wait for a while.

Instead I held up the wooden chip. "This was moved from under one of the legs. But it's strange that nothing is missing." I let the lid fall back into place.

"It was probably one of the servants, cleaning. Your imagination is running away with you." Joya strolled over to the hearth and dropped into one of the chairs. She tucked one leg under the other and watched me with a sceptical expression, swinging her foot back and forth.

"No, I don't think so." I pulled the chest away from the wall and looked behind it. Nothing. "Not when we have someone watching this place from the top of a hill."

Joya shifted position and frowned. "You think there's a connection?"

I pushed the chest back into its former spot. "I don't know. Yet." Stepping back, I subjected the surrounding area to a minute scrutiny. Again there was nothing out of place that I could see. I considered. Perhaps there was something out of place where I couldn't see.

My sword was leaning against the bed. Holding the scabbard tightly I knelt on the floor and swept it under the chest. There was a slight obstruction about halfway back and I wriggled the scabbard to free it. For a moment nothing happened and then a narrow object tightly wrapped in dirty cloth popped out from under the chest. I picked it up and unwrapped it. Joya came over and knelt beside me to watch.

I'd never seen anything like it. It was some sort of dagger, shaped like a long and narrow "S", with small wavy squiggles marching along the handle. The case was of fine leather but splotchy and warped as if it had been dropped in water and not wiped properly. The handle was inlaid with semi-precious stones, some of which were missing.

"It's a Saracen dagger." Joya ran her finger along the squiggles. "That is how they write. At the convent pilgrims who'd been on Crusade would sometimes leave things like this behind as offerings. I could never understand why."

"Interesting that someone would leave an offering here." I turned it over to examine it from all sides. It looked too exotic to be a real weapon. I tried to pull the blade out of the case; it stuck fast. I tugged harder and it finally came out. Beside me, Joya gasped at the sight.

One side of the blade, from the tip to the handle, was streaked with dried blood.

“Of the events of these days, I swear to describe them true and whole. On my oath, as I hope to become Lord Nottingham and High Sheriff again.

Magda
- Monday, May 15, 2000 at 18:57:28 (PDT)

It was later, the boys were safely tucked up in bed. Ed had a fresh bandage on his cut hand, and was staring at the empty wine bottle.

“Its no good Doctor – I can’t sit here and do nothing. Where’s that phone number Commander Hudson gave you?”

The Doctor rummaged in his pockets, bringing out an odd collection of junk – spoons; string; sonic screwdriver; bag of jellybabies (at which he frowned at, wondering how they’d got in that particular coat). Eventually he found a tightly folded piece of paper and carefully undid it. He squinted at it, then passed it on to Ed. “Here you are, my boy. Though I don’t know if they will appreciate a call early in the morning.”

“Rubbish,” said Ed, “It’s easily 9am over there, no self respecting soldier will be in bed.” He got up and strode purposefully to the kitchen, and grabbed the phone from the wall, quickly dialling. It was answered almost immediately, and the Doctor heard Ed’s frantic voice asking about Claudia, and arguing with the responses he got. Eventually, he slammed down the phone and stormed back into the livingroom.

“Well?” said the Doctor.

“They are only taking her to the Palace, where HE is being held!! How stupid can they be?” He ran his fingers through his longish scruffy hair. “They can’t let HIM close enough to influence her again. I know she will go willingly – thinking this part of her plan. But it isn’t – its HIS plan, and HE will turn her against us all, I know HE will!”

“Calm down. I can’t pretend to understand you humans and your emotions. But you know how she feels about you…”

“And I know how she feels about HIM, which is why I have to get back there now! I have to make sure HE doesn’t get the opportunity.”

“Alright, we’ll go in the morning, if it will make you feel any better. Though whether the Empress will look kindly on someone bent on interfering with her plans…”

“We’ll go NOW Doctor, I can’t leave it to chance.”

“The boys are asleep. Leaving now will not get you any closer to Claudia. Get some rest, my boy. I’ll take you first thing. Though I really need to get back to Gallifrey, straight afterwards. Its all very well being used as an intergalactic taxi service, but I’m a Timelord, and I’ve been away from my work far too long.”

“I’m sorry Doctor, thank you for your help. Though I will not be able to sleep tonight, thinking of them together.”

The Doctor shook his head sadly, as Ed grabbed a new bottle of wine and a fresh glass, and slumped back down into his chair. Funny creatures these humans, but he couldn’t help worrying about them.
Claudia
feel free to help any time you like!, - Monday, May 15, 2000 at 17:29:17 (PDT)

The Imperial Palace:

"Just look at HIM . . ." murmurs The Empress.

"I am looking," replies Rupert. Quietly. Ironically.

The two of them are close together in a small room, and the camera gradually pulls back to reveal that they are standing in front of what appears to be a window . . . and further still, to reveal that it opens into The Interrogator's cell. What looks like a mirror from HIS side, that plaque of polished metal, is a two-way viewing panel. HE can see only the reflection, but whoever is watching from the other side can see all that takes place in the cell.

They watch as HE paces about, deep in thought.

The Empress turns to Rupert. "Do you think he knows?"

Rupert does not take his eyes from the panel of two-way glass. "That the mirror lets us watch him? Probably. For a man in his line of work, it should be obvious." A pause. "And I don't know that watching will do us any good. A man like that is trained to hide his feelings."

"He wasn't hiding them so well just now when he awakened," replies The Empress. "Did you see? How he sat up so quickly, with his arms around his chest? As if he were in pain, or protecting himself from something . . ."

"Or embracing something. Or someone." So softly it is doubtful she hears him.

If she does, she gives no sign. She waits a few moments and then turns from the viewing panel, all business. "What reports from Delaford?"

Rupert shrugs. "You had asked for information on Andrea's responses to HIS pain. On that, there is little definite information; our Delaford contacts report that Doctor Mesmer has noticed no signs of undue stress." Rupert shakes his head. "I gather that neither he nor Andrea is at all sure about how that connection with The Interrogator works, where Andrea is concerned. Perhaps something to do with proximity? At any rate, it needs further investigation."

The Empress nods. "And what about that matter with Claudia?"

Rupert grimaces. "There has been an . . . interview . . . between Claudia and Mary Anne."

The Empress' smile is completely without humour. "How would you like to have been a fly on the wall for that?"

"No, thank you!" Rupert expression changes, turns thoughtful. "Actually, it wasn't like that at all, based on the reports. There was a guard present throughout the conversation, and it was more sad than anything else. But Mary Anne said she wanted Claudia off the premises--for Claudia's own protection, really. Can you imagine if Mister de Valera . . . ?"

"I would rather not imagine it. And what does the Colonel have to say about all of this?"

"Colonel Brandon flatly refuses to have anything to do with Claudia at this point. Not that I blame the man. From what I've been able to gather, whatever happened must have embarrassed the five senses out of him."

"He's an honourable man. I've known that for a long time." The Empress turns back to the panel and watches The Interrogator for a long moment, then shakes her head and turns away. "So, is Claudia to be brought here?"

"Right away, as per your orders."

"Good. See to the preparations for her arrival."

"At once, Your Majesty."

Rupert bows and leaves the room.

The Empress remains where she is, gazing at her prisoner as he walks about his cell.

And so, the game takes another turn. You have been playing black king against my white queen. And now, another piece will be placed on the board--but what is her side, black or white?

Or is she even playing the same game . . . ?

MA--brava, Claudia! Seems like old times!
Anything I can do to help? *grin*, - Monday, May 15, 2000 at 06:45:21 (PDT)

“So, what will you do now, my boy?” said the Doctor, and sipped his glass of red wine. He’d told Ed he didn’t drink, but then taken the glass without another protest.

Ed leant back in the comfortable armchair, and sighed, watching the sun setting across the sea. They were in the little beach house in New Zealand he had bought for Claudia – for them to run away to and have some quiet time alone together. It had never happened. He twisted the stem of his own glass in his hand. “Get on with my life, I suppose. There is nothing I can do until I know the outcome of this trial. Claudia won’t see me.”

The sound of laughter came from the beach and two blonde boys in shorts and carrying boogie boards ran up to the house, then on passed Ed and the Doctor, up the stairs to the bathroom.

Ed’s face crumpled and he took a large swig of his wine. “And I don’t know what I’m going to tell the boys.”

“They’ll be just fine. I’ll take them back to school on Gallifrey in a few days. Their heads will be too full of the new things they are learning to worry.”

“They’re children, they ask questions. Its what they do.”

“Just tell them the truth. They know their mother.”

“I just wish… I just wish it was like it was in the beginning. When you appeared in Claudia’s livingroom and took us all away, she came alive. She’d found herself. I couldn’t help loving her, then. Now she’s taken it too far. Without me there to guide her, to give her a good shake when she needs it – goodness knows what she’ll try to do next.”

“Remember where she is from, my boy. She’s strong, and she has brains, when she decides to use them.”

“You can’t tell me you’re not worried too, Doctor. When I think of the things she’s done. She was so sure it was all worthwhile. That leaving me was worth it to stop HIM.” Ed downed the rest of his drink. “I can’t bear to think of HIM touching her. I can’t stand it.” He gripped the empty glass so hard it shattered in his hand. He stared blankly as the blood welled in his palm.

“Here now,” said the Doctor, pulling out a large paisley handkerchief and winding it round Ed’s hand. “That isn’t going to help anyone. I’m worried for her, yes. But there is nothing either of us can do now. We have to wait.”

“I don’t want to wait. HE could have done anything to her mind. She may think she knows what she is doing, but HE could be directing the whole thing, just to get HIS way. She might even think she loves him. I have to do something to get her back.”

“You can’t do anything if she has already made up her mind. Let's think on it a while, and wait until we get news from the Alliance.”

Ed nodded, slowly, and reached for the bottle of red wine
Claudia
- Sunday, May 14, 2000 at 21:22:48 (PDT)

As Claudia sat in the moving armoured transport, hands cuffed for her ‘safety’, and staring blankly across at the two guards, she wondered again what she was doing. She had no plan. And the prospect of seeing the Interrogator again sent shivers through her body – not all to do with fear.

Would Commander Hudson or the Empress let her anywhere near the Interrogator if they really knew how she felt. She tried to feel angry at HIM, but she couldn’t. It was odd to realise this – when surely it had been anger at HIM that sent her on the crazy mission in the first place. How dare HE treat Mary Anne… all of them, the way HE had and think HE could get away with it. But she’d done the same, all in the name of helping them. She couldn’t blame Mary Anne for not wanting to see her again. She was truly alone.

To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves ... Where had that come from? It sounded like a quote, but what made her think of it at that time? She knew. She wanted to be in HIS arms again. The danger of it, the thrill… never knowing if HE will be tender, or push her roughly away. Why did that draw her to HIM so much?

She felt like asking the driver to turn the car around. She couldn’t go to HIM, she couldn’t trust herself anywhere near HIM. But she kept silent.

The other thing she desired, but kept quiet about… Ed. She so longed for none of this to have happened. To be back in a time when they had fun together. When nothing serious got in the way, and they could just enjoy each other. Why she would push away a love so strong, so right, for something that terrified, yet thrilled her, she didn’t know.

She wondered what Ed and the twins were doing now. Where were they? Had he moved on, blocked her from his thoughts as she’d asked? She hoped for his sake, he would find someone to love and look after him. She hoped for hers that he could love her again, one day.
Claudia
- Sunday, May 14, 2000 at 16:47:20 (PDT)

Claudia looked up as the door opened. She was sitting back at the table, but jumped to her feet, trying to look calm, collected, and ready for anything as Commander Hudson walked in. It didn’t work.

The two women looked at each other, assessing. The Commander’s brow was furrowed deeply, the strain of the last few days clearly telling. Claudia wondered if the commander had had any sleep. The Commander noticed Claudia’s eyes were red-rimmed, and her face flushed.

“Are you alright?” she asked Claudia.

“Yes. And Mary Anne?”

“The same as you.”

“When do I leave?”

Hudson sighed. There was no use being anything other than direct with this woman.

“Mary Anne wants me gone, so when do I leave?”

“Straight away, I have an armoured car ready to take you now.”

“And where am I going?”

“You are being taken to the Palace. It will then be up to the Empress what happens to you. She has been fully briefed of the situation.”

“And I will see the Interrogator? I will get my chance to finish this?”

“I don’t know. HE is there, but the Empress is dealing with HIM. You may not fit into her plans, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“My hopes? You think I want to be with HIM? I want to get more out of HIM, make HIM confess to things that HE knows we have no proof of…”

“I don’t know your motives, but its now up to the Empress. Let her decide where your loyalties lie, and what to do with you.”

Hudson looked so tired, Claudia wanted to put her arms around the other woman and hug her, have some human contact, and perhaps say things she couldn’t out loud. But that would ruin the hard exterior she was already failing to keep up.

Claudia scowled. “Let’s go then.”

Hudson held the door open and let Claudia go through first. Two guards appeared at either side of her, and marched with her to the front doors. Hudson took a deep breath, and followed.
Claudia
- Sunday, May 14, 2000 at 14:15:05 (PDT)

The Interrogator's cell:

HE is awakened by pain and thirst.

The thirst is easily remedied--a little too easily, Therese might say if she were present to pass an opinion of HIS living arrangements, and Dev would doubtless concur. It is simply a matter of rising from the bed and walking over to the sink.

Nevertheless, HE does not stand up immediately but sits on the side of the bed, allowing his heartbeat to slow and his muscles to relax.

The dream.

Two of them, actually.

HE had not expected to fall asleep, but after that encounter with The Empress and his continued efforts to puzzle out what had happened--How did she do that to me?!--he realizes that it is only natural that he should succumb to fatigue. He realizes it but does not like it in the least, how the body will assert its demands.

To sleep . . .

HE may have many nights of unbroken rest, but that is always when the dreams return--and small wonder that they should, in such a place as this.

One dream: that he is again in the hands of Mary Anne. They are in the Valley of the Moon, and he is HER prisoner, and there is no hope at all. None. He has suffered it again and again, the icy, strangling panic of lying upon the table, immobilized, and seeing that beautiful face just above his . . . beautiful, and heartless, and prepared to savour his pain as if it were a rare and exquisite wine.

A second dream: Renie. They are together again; she is in his arms and all his terrible choices are unmade, his deeds undone. He has gone back, but remembers as if from another world what his career had led him to become, and always, always, he is breathing in her scent, embracing her warmth and whispering to her, My darling, I have been having the most terrible dream, and ahhhhh, the sweet relief of it, all a dream, it never happened . . .

And then, to awaken.

Do you pity HIM, readers? Seeing him now, some would and some would not. To balance the demands of retribution against compassion is a delicate and exacting business, at best, and some would say no human scale is fitted to determine such balances, but there is no help for it: this is the world in which we live, and justice must be served by such human agencies. Likewise, mercy. This is part of the burden of The Empress, who spends much thought upon this prisoner in her custody--a prisoner who cannot simply be pardoned, or the resulting outrage would shake The Realm to its foundations. But if justice were carried to its full extent--and it may be that she must choose this course, with HIM--her reign, already noteworthy for its clemency, will be stained with an execution so gruesome that later generations may exclaim in horror, if HIS present victims are granted their full rights under the law.

Think, readers. Think upon those such as Brandon who have had their chance to strike down this Interrogator but have resisted, submitting their impulses to a higher ethic. Or think of Mary Anne, who has been granted the rare opportunity--if opportunity it can be called--to test the French proverb, Tout comprendre, c'est tout pardonner. To know all is to forgive all. But to know all of HIM . . .

Think on Hans Gruber. Not noted for his mercy, Hans nevertheless keeps his promise to Mary Anne. Spare HIM, so far as your honour allows. Hans has not yet reached the point where his honour can allow no more, but if any harm were to come to Renie, then . . .

And Renie herself. What would she pronounce upon this former love of hers, if she were summoned to the bar of justice?

Many thoughts along these lines pass through HIS mind in a matter of seconds, but having little or no pity, even for himself, it is not a subject he dwells upon for long. The brief expression of vulnerability upon his face disappears and his features harden once more into their habitual domineering cast as he rises from the bed and walks to the sink, helping himself to a cup of water--small flicker about his lips as he recalls Therese--and then splashes water upon his face, for good measure. Cold water.

After all, HE is in no hurry to go back to sleep.

The Interrogator gazes for a moment into the mirror--a plaque of polished metal with a polymer coating to prevent scratches; with this prisoner, they would take no chances with a conventional glass mirror, even supposedly unbreakable glass.

HE rakes his fingers through his hair, settling it more or less into place, and smiles a little at his dulled reflection before turning away to pace about his cell, thinking and waiting . . .

MA--" . . . when I wak'd
I cried to dream again."--Shax, who else? 8-), - Saturday, May 13, 2000 at 19:32:52 (PDT)

LOL, Magda! 8-D

As a long-term resident, I can add my assurances that this is a very pleasant place to dwell, and safe (for the most part).

Actually, though, I'm worried that some of our other long-term residents have been silent for so long. Perhaps it's time to knock on their doors and see if they're still alive . . . ? *wink*

MA
Okay, hint taken . . . (rolling up sleeves), - Saturday, May 13, 2000 at 18:37:48 (PDT)

Magda
Any customers?, - Saturday, May 13, 2000 at 10:28:27 (PDT)

"Day the Sixty-sixth, in the month of January – In which I make two discoveries - one welcome, the other not."

"Just put it there." I pointed at the small table in front of the fireplace. "That's all. You may go."

The servant set the wine down and then bowed his way out, pulling the door shut behind him. I ran a calculating eye over my preparations: full flagon of wine, two goblets, nicely burning fire, bed furs piled at the foot of the bed, covers thrown back, pillows plumped up and silk ties draped around one of the posts. Right. I was ready for battle.

I took one of the chairs by the fire and stared into the flames. Dinner hadn't been as bad as I'd feared because it wasn't much of a dinner. Joya and Melisant sent word that they would be eating in their rooms and would retire to bed immediately after. Adam and I shared a meal that was somewhat less than festive. He wasn't inclined to conversation and tried my patience severely by his habit of staring into space for long periods followed by deep sighs. I escaped to my own room as soon as common courtesy would allow. Adam didn't seem to notice.

The various noises made by the servants gradually died away and the lodge fell silent. The only sounds to be heard were the crackling of the log in the hearth and the rattling of the frozen branches outside as the wind caressed the trees. I poured out a cup of wine and made my plans.

I could safely assume that Joya would be here very soon. She would not wait long before she came to finish our discussion of the afternoon. Any moment now the door would open and she would stand on the threshold, the light of battle gleaming in her eyes. I smiled at the thought.

It was a mystery why I tolerated this behaviour. In Nottingham - in the good old days - I would never have put up it. Joya would have learned early on that my will was law and my wishes were instantly obeyed. She'd have to be subservient, careful not to upset me. When I wanted her, she would have to come; when I was finished with her or wanted someone else, she would fade into the background. Lady Joya would know who was in charge.

And such a transformation would occur at the same moment as, and not a second before, hell froze over. Somehow a timid Joya was impossible to imagine.

I sipped my wine. The warmth of the room was starting to make me drowsy. I closed my eyes and conjured up my favourite vision: my triumphant return to Nottingham. I would ride through the town gates on a great black horse, my armour gleaming in the sun. Peasants and townspeople would back away fearfully, knowing how the slightest resistance could arouse my temper. My hired mercenaries would march in behind me, their swords and bows both a threat and a promise. A heavy silence would fall as we advanced through the town to the castle.

And riding behind you will be the Lady Joya, splendid in a gown of deepest blue and her veil secured by a jewelled coronet, looking neither to the right nor the left but keeping her gaze on you the whole time.

My eyes popped open and my heart pounded. Where had that voice come from? I reached for the flagon of wine and refilled my cup. To my annoyance, my hand was shaking slightly.

I settled back in my chair and closed my eyes again. It was ridiculous. Joya and I would part company in France. Silly to think anything else could possibly happen. Ludicrous. Asinine. Foolish. I waited but the voice did not reply.

After I led my army to my reclaimed castle, I would deal ruthlessly with any Locksley supporters unlucky enough to fall into my hands. Their heads on spikes would decorate the walls so that for miles around people would know that I was back. Their goods and wealth would pour into my treasury - whence they'd probably had them in the first place, the thieving scum. And their families would be annihilated; I wanted no one left with any reason to stand against me.

You know that Lady Joya would beg you to spare the women and children. And you know that you'd agree so that she could thank you in her own special way. You can't deny her anything when she's in that mood.

Dammit, where was this voice coming from? I stood up. Air, that was what I needed. The room was too stuffy and it was no surprise that I was starting to imagine things. I pushed open the shutters and inhaled the cold night air. I took several deep breaths to clear my head. It worked. I was completely awake. Everything was fine again.

I leaned forward and looked at the view. The moon was full and illuminated the bare trees and the buildings around the lodge. Everything was bathed in silver light. As near as I could judge from the positions of the stars, it was close to midnight. I had been waiting longer than I thought. Perhaps Joya had gone to bed after all.

Lady Joya could have the tower bedroom at Nottingham castle. It has a alcove where her maid could sleep. It wouldn't bother you; Joya would spend every night in your room anyway.

I slammed my fists on the window ledge and shut my eyes tight. Joya was not coming to Nottingham with me and that was the end of it. Do you understand, whoever and whatever you are?

She would be a great asset to you in governing your lands. People would feel that she could intercede on their behalf and they wouldn't hate you quite as much.

Joya wants to go to Provence. And I don't care if people do hate me as long as they obey me.

That's only because it was her original plan before she met you. You don't know that she wouldn't be willing to go to Nottingham instead. Why don't you ask her?

It's not going to be a picnic. There will be fighting first, lasting days and perhaps weeks. I cannot ask Joya to live in a military camp surrounded by paid foreign mercenaries. She is a lady and not used to such things.

Lady Joya is not some court lady so delicate she'd faint at the sight of a sword. She is a strong woman and there is much she would endure for the right cause - and the right man. And it would be nice to be the right man for a change, wouldn't it?

The voice was a little too divining for my taste but I couldn't really argue. But it conjured up a vision of a future totally different than the one that I had imagined. I looked out the window, no longer seeing the view. In truth, my imagination had not really gone past my return and the wonderful revenge I would take. But that wouldn't take more than a few months. After that, life would return to normal and other things would have to be dealt with.

You need an heir. What's the point of taking back your lands if there's no one to leave them to? Just think of the strong, handsome, brave sons Lady Joya would bear you. And the magnificent, beautiful, wilful daughters.

My knees gave way and I sagged against the wall. Joya's children. Our children. Suddenly the extended future opened in front of me like a great tapestry. Me, in the stableyard teaching my sons to ride and fight. Joya listening to my daughters repeat their lessons with their tutors. Evening meals with the oldest ones dining with us while the babies were put to bed in the nursery. Going to church on Sunday with the family taking up an entire bench.

I had never imagined such things when I plotted to wed the Lady Marion. That was so long ago that I could barely remember why it seemed so important.

So you like the idea?

I considered. Married to Joya. A warm feeling spread over me. I liked the idea very much indeed.

Then go ask her. Why wait?

Yes, that was the thing to do. I pulled the shutters closed. No time to waste. She might still be angry with me but I would point out the practicalities of such an arrangement. Joya was too intelligent not to appreciate the advantages for both of us.

The fire was almost out but I didn't feel the chill. There was no reason to get fully dressed again. I tugged off my robe and tossed it on the chest against the wall.

And then stopped dead in my tracks.

The chest was gently rocking on its unmatched legs. I went over and crouched down. The piece of wood I used to balance the chest was gone. For a few moments I groped around in the dark and finally closed my fingers on it. I distinctly remembered placing it in the proper position this afternoon. The only way it could have been dislodged was if someone had been poking around in the chest. No servant would have done such a thing.

Who had been in my room since this afternoon? What had they been looking for? And did they find it?

“Of the events of these days, I swear to describe them true and whole. On my oath, as I hope to become Lord Nottingham and High Sheriff again.

Magda
Time for a dry front to move in..., - Sunday, May 07, 2000 at 08:59:42 (PDT)

Delaford. Mary Anne’s "private" room.

After leaving Claudia, Mary Anne had kept her presence of mind long enough to thank Sifuentes for standing by through the conversation, and had been able to tell Commander Hudson what she wished to know: namely, that Claudia had told the same story to Mary Anne and there is nothing new to add.

Nothing new, thinks Hudson, except that Mary Anne is about to fall apart into a thousand bits if she doesn’t get a chance to sort this out. Hudson had tactfully suggested that Mary Anne might want to go and "think over" what Claudia had told her, and that if she thought of anything new she could report it later.

Mary Anne had seized on the suggestion gratefully and escaped up the stairs to her room. Escaped, to be sure, with dignity and grace and the unhurried tread that best becomes the Colonel’s Lady and the Mistress of Delaford, but it was nevertheless a retreat in good order with all flags flying—one that lasted until Mary Anne was safe within the chambers she shares with Brandon, at which point she had gone into her room, dropped upon her bed, and begun to sob.

For Mary Anne to weep (as she would admit with some chagrin) is nothing new. Tears come easily to her, those of joy as readily as those of sorrow. Now those tears would be a relief to the pain that grips her as she pushes her face into her pillows, heedless of the elegant silk coverlet on the bed, and feels herself wrenched again and again by dry sobs and racking gulps that cannot find release, that sound like smothered screams of an outrage that would tear her body open to its bones if only one such cry were allowed its full voice.

Fury. Misery. Bewilderment.

Betrayal.

After a time she quiets long enough to hear a soft tapping on her door—one that she senses has been going on for some time.

"Come in . . ."

Brandon steps through the door. Well, of course,she thinks, I should have known it would be Christopher. He said he’d always knock if that door was closed . . .

Brandon remains at the door, his fingers grasping the delicate copper-traced handle in a manner that suggests he will leave if she finds his presence unwelcome. "Mary Anne . . .?"

She nods in response to the question he does not ask, and Brandon seats himself on the bed beside her and lays a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Claudia," he says. It is not a question. And though his expression remains calm and neutral, Mary Anne can feel the weight of his voice pressing upon her. What he can say in a single word . . .

"I suppose the Commander told you." Then, rather defensively: "I did as you asked. I didn’t see her alone."

"I would have preferred," says Brandon gravely, "that you had not seen her at all, but I can understand the Commander’s motives. And your own. And I can hardly imagine a better defender for you than Mister Sifuentes."

"Except yourself, you mean," replies Mary Anne with a glimmer of her usual humour. "And it’s a good thing he was there, really, because I think Claudia was in more danger from me than I was from her! I was . . ."

They take her by surprise, the tears. She could not summon them to her aid when those sobs had torn through her body, but now they flow freely, in streams, and Mary Anne abandons herself to them with relief.

"I was," she continues, " I am . . . so angry. It isn’t just what she did, do you know? It’s that she did it . . . someone I trusted . . ."

"I understand," soothes Brandon. "That is always the worst, is it not? An enemy can harm you, but . . ."

"But it isn’t the same kind of hurt," agrees Mary Anne, when she can draw breath. "Christopher, don’t ever betray me, please! If you hurt me, don’t let it be like that—"

Brandon stares at her for a moment, utterly taken aback. "Mary Anne, have I given you cause to think--?"

"No, no!" She sits up, scrubbing at her eyes with her fists before putting her arms around Brandon. "I’m sorry, sir; I should never have said such a thing. I don’t for a minute think you’ll do anything like—like that. Forgive me. I just—"

"Never mind it." Brandon remains still, allowing her tears to quiet themselves. "You are tired and sad." He pulls back from her a little. "And hungry, too, I expect." In response to Mary Anne’s quizzical look, Brandon elaborates. "After I spoke with the Commander, I knew you would probably need some time to yourself. But when midday came and went and you did not come down--"

"Midday?" exclaims the embarrassed Mary Anne. "Have I been up here that long?"

"I doubt that anyone has noticed. The routine of the house has been a little disordered, to say the least—but I thought I should find you."

"And make sure I was all right." Mary Anne pushes her disordered hair back from her face. "Thank you, sir." She kisses his nose teasingly. "I see you kept your promise, too."

"Promise?"

"That if my door was closed, you would knock before you came in."

Brandon recognizes the glint in her eye and responds, hoping to joke her from some of her grief—for this moment, at least. He raises an eyebrow at her. "Quite true, my dearest. You will recall, though, that I only promised I would knock before I came in. Not that the closed door would keep me out if I saw fit to enter. So do not attempt to lock yourself away from me."

Mary Anne grins, and is privately grateful that she is already lying down, for she doubts that her suddenly weak knees would support her. "I don’t think there’ll be any need for that, sir."

With studied nonchalance, Brandon turns his gaze to the door. "A very fine repair."

"Yes. We can thank Mister Winterbourne for that."

A puzzled look from Brandon. "Not Mister Giles Winterbourne?"

"No. His brother."

"Ah, yes. I had forgotten." There is a moment of silence, and then Brandon rises from the bed and stands looking down at her. "Do you wish to be left alone, my dearest?"

No, that is the LAST thing in the world I want. Now that some of this is out of my system . . . "No, sir. I promised Therese a visit today, and she probably thinks I’ve forgotten all about her. Just as soon as I get myself put to rights . . ." I probably look like the wrath of God, or worse. "Would you get me a handkerchief, please? Second drawer, right hand corner."

Brandon brings her one of her handkerchiefs, a dainty trifle of linen with lace at the corners, then bends down and kisses her gently in his favourite pattern: her forehead, and then the corners of her wet eyes, and finally her lips, though he breaks the kiss before she has a chance to turn dizzy from the tingling rush of feeling, tasting the salt of her own tears mixed with the touch of his mouth upon hers . . .

And then Brandon is gone to wait for her in the next room, as she mops her face with the wispy handkerchief. It is, of course, immediately soaked through and Mary Anne stares at it in mingled annoyance and amusement, thinking Beautiful, but useless! and resolving that at the first opportunity, she will go down to Barton Village and purchase at least half a dozen plain cotton handkerchiefs. This resolve taken, she goes to wash her face and make herself presentable. She is calm again—at least, calm enough to be seen, though she is aware of a hard little pain lingering in her heart.

She can still hear herself.

Goodbye, Claudia.

MA--"balshiness"?
Sorry, Clods, but this one's a weeper, too . . ., - Saturday, May 06, 2000 at 18:52:16 (PDT)

And then the tears came. Flowed freely down her face. Claudia was alone in the room, and all pretence of bravery or balshiness had gone. She seemed tough on the outside, but inside she was as sensitive and craved love as much as Mary Anne did. She needed people. And now, she wasn’t just alone in the room – she was truly alone. The pain was overwhelming, and she let it wash over her and through her, sobs wracking her body, as she fell in to self-indulgent despair.

What else had she expected from Mary Anne? Renie had understood her, but things wouldn’t be the same between them again. She’d done worse things to Mary Anne – what reaction had she hoped for? At least forgiveness. Not even that.

All her male friends must hate her. Ed had been pushed away so many times, he wouldn’t be coming back. Hans had murder in his eyes last time she’d seen him. Christopher had threatened to kill her, and when Dev found out what she’d done, he would do more than threaten. She felt like running out into the grounds and shouting - I’m here! Come and get me! and letting them do whatever they wanted. Kick and punch and scream at her. It is what she wanted to do to herself.

I know I took on too much. HE set me tasks, I didn’t choose them myself. But HE chose them specifically to put me in this position. I knew what I had to do, but I had no idea how I would do it. I was letting the tide sweep me along, waiting for my opportunity. But did I ever truly know what I was doing, or have a concrete plan?

She got up and paced the room, trying to calm her sobs, and get in some rational frame of mind again. I have nothing now. All I have left is HIM. That is what HE wanted. If I go to HIM now, HE will be expecting it. HE’ll hold out his arms and pull me in, and I’ll be lost to the world forever.

She knew she was being dramatic, but this was her despair, and she was going to make herself as miserable as she could. It was what she deserved.
Claudia
MA - I cried both times I read your post... sob!, - Wednesday, May 03, 2000 at 14:10:26 (PDT)

Mary Anne almost leaps from her chair once more.

Almost.

But two things hold her back. One is Sifuentes, who would certainly stop her again before she could reach Claudia.

If a physical attack is out of the question, there remains the prospect of a verbal one--but that brings Mary Anne to her second consideration.

There but for the grace of God go I.

Yes, she is seething with rage. For Claudia to go off on this damned fool "mission," and break Ed's heart, and abandon her children, and endanger innocent people--all of that is infuriating. "Big picture," indeed. She DECIDED that what she had to do was worth some suffering. Therese may never be the same again . . .

However . . . as Mary Anne studies Claudia through her narrowed eyes, she is remembering her own sojourn into those dark places of her psyche--and The Interrogator's. Claudia did the bidding of The Interrogator, but I BECAME The Interrogator. She shivers at the memory, and Claudia lowers her eyes, thinking that it is shiver of disgust.

Mary Anne, absorbed in memory, does not notice. Useless for her to remind herself that what had taken place was not her decision and not her fault. Part of the evil had been her own, and she had reveled in it--releasing her shadow self, with all of its lust and depravity and cruelty . . .

Seeking revenge.

Those she has told of it have loved and pitied her, and understood, and forgiven what there was to forgive. Renie and Hans, Andrea, Brandon--especially Brandon. What he must have suffered, yet he had forgiven.

Mary Anne shifts uncomfortably in her chair. Everyone has forgiven me. Everyone . . . except HIM.

"Claudia."

Claudia jumps as if someone had fired a pistol, then lets out the breath she had been holding; Mary Anne's speech after her long silence had been unexpected. Well, it doesn't sound like she's planning to kill me . . .

"--can't stay here," Mary Anne is saying as she stares down into her lap. "I'm going to speak with Commander Hudson about having you removed from the house, to wherever they've set up their main station. It can't be comfortable for Christopher to have you here. Not that he'd say anything to the Commander; he's a gentleman. But," and Mary Anne allows herself a tiny flash of her ironic humour, "I'm not a gentleman." (homage)

"Will you feel safer with me gone?" Claudia hopes it doesn't sound sarcastic.

"Maybe. But you'll be safer if you are gone. After what Therese went through--" Mary Anne raises an eyebrow, somehow conveying suggestions that make the bile rise in Claudia's throat. How does she make herself LOOK like that!

"--I couldn't answer for what Dev might do, if he could get at you. You're much safer away from him, believe me."

Claudia forces down her nausea. She is about to protest that Dev wouldn't do anything of the sort--but remembers that the man in question is a revolutionary and knows more than a few tricks about guerilla warfare, acts of terrorism . . . and assassinations. And he adores Therese. What wouldn't he do to me, if he got the chance?

Still, she tries to brave it out. "I have guards around me," says Claudia. "How could Dev get to me?"

Mary Anne shakes her head. "There might be people around here who'd be glad to let him get at you, after what happened in that raid, if they knew how you were involved."

Almost exactly what that guard said to me, thinks Claudia.

There is a long silence.

"So, Mary Anne," Claudia murmurs, "you said I'd be safer away from here. Does that mean you care what happens to me?" Please, let somebody care something! I thought I was strong enough to stand it if everyone hated me, but it's even harder than I thought.

Claudia's appeal is not entirely in vain. "I'm angry," Mary Anne finally replies. "And I'll go on being angry for a long time. As for caring what happens to you . . ." Mary Anne shakes her head, not in denial but in bewilderment. "I don't know. I must." A pause. "Only somebody I cared about could . . . make me hurt this much. In this way. Such a story. One minute it's full of holes, and then the next minute it seems crazy enough to be true--though I'll bet HE had a lot more say in what you did than you imagine. You may think you did these things as part of your own plan, but--"

Mary Anne is rising from her seat, preparing to leave the room, when Claudia interrupts her. "Mary Anne, I swear to you by my children that what I told you is the truth as far as I know it." Leaving out whatever HE might have done to twist my mind. "I've told you just what I tried to do and why I tried to do it. Please, believe me."

"I don't know what to believe," says Mary Anne unhappily as she moves toward the door. "We could go back and forth on this all day, and I still wouldn't be sure. But I hope it's so."

Sifuentes moves to open the door, and Mary Anne clears her throat long enough to say, "Goodbye, Claudia," very softly, before she and Sifuentes step through the doorway. She turns to look back and Claudia catches one glimpse of Mary Anne's blue eyes and her paper-white face, before the door is gently but firmly closed.

MA
You can look now, Clods . . . ;-), - Tuesday, May 02, 2000 at 20:41:57 (PDT)

I dunno, Clods . . . sometimes I miss those 10 pages a day . . . *tiny sigh*

Wistful MA
OFTEN I miss those 10 pages a day! (To tell the absolute truth), - Monday, May 01, 2000 at 21:02:20 (PDT)

Hi Kate
I don't mind if you cosh a good guy again. It was most helpful last time you did it! Aren't you glad we don't write at the old rate of 10 pages a day, or you'd still be reading come the turn of the next millennium!
Claudia
- Monday, May 01, 2000 at 17:24:23 (PDT)

MA, You lot are excruciatingly prolific. If you care to send me the Cliff's Notes version of things so that I don't cosh another good guy, I'll be diving in sooner.
Kate Jones <rickmaniac@ilovethemovies.com>
Hugs and kisses to you all., - Monday, May 01, 2000 at 06:57:28 (PDT)

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