Wimsey-fic
Feb. 6th, 2007 04:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nineveh_ukA missing scene. I rather regret that we don't see more of Harriet's friends in canon - still, at least Sylvia and Eiluned actually have names, unlike the "friend of the European trip" and "the barrister's wife".
Sticks and Stones
The first cutting was from a gossip column in the Daily Herald. Having restrained the urge to fling it in the fire, Lord Peter smoothed the crumpled paper. Forewarned, he supposed, was forearmed. Rumours abound that in saving the notorious mystery novelist Harriet Vane from the gallows, Lord Peter Wimsey may have had more than the interests of justice on his mind. We can only hope his stomach is stronger than her last beau’s. So that was what was being said. He hoped it was only involuntary defiance of the article that had suddenly made him feel rather sick.
*
“Well, hurrah for Lord Peter, and may there be many more like him!”
Sylvia was wearing a new hat. In the damp air of January, the bright green felt was a beacon of Spring. She wasn’t supposed to be out and about as yet, but ankle or no ankle, she had had no intention of staying away from the prison a day longer than necessary, even if it meant limping in on crutches. After all, she had not, until a few minutes ago, known how much longer she would have to see Harriet at all.
“I suppose so,” said Harriet. “I mean, of course, I’m relieved, but I don’t know…” Her voice trailed off. Sylvia looked dismayed.
“Suppose… Harriet, you do believe him, don’t you? That they’ve found who really did it? You surely don’t think Lord Peter’s making it up. Why would he?”
“I don’t know,” said Harriet rather wanly. “Of course, he wouldn’t say it if he didn’t think – only it’s so hard to believe it. You see, it means thinking ahead, and I’ve rather been avoiding that. It isn’t proved yet or anything. What if something goes wrong?”
“But Lord Peter wouldn’t - I’m sure he wouldn’t want to give you false hopes or anything. And he’s a ‘celebrated amateur criminologist’ as the papers put it, not some young fool mucking around not knowing what’s he’s doing.”
“No-o. But he might be mistaken. He’s so absolutely certain of things, as if he thinks that’s enough. It isn’t.”
“Well, I’m going to believe him,’ Sylvia said firmly. ‘I always said that solicitor was an oily type,” she pantomimed applause, “and Lord Peter’s really very nice. Even Eiluned thawed a bit.”
“Good heavens!” Harriet smiled. “And I am glad really. Of course I am. It’s just taking a while to sink in. It’s hard to let myself believe it – to hope, you know.”
“I know.” Sylvia laughed and shook her head. “Of course, I don’t. I haven’t the least idea. But I’m so glad.” Sylvia leant back in her chair. “I say Harriet, let’s talk about something completely different. Tell me, what do you think about Peter Wimsey? Aside from all the noble criminologist stuff, I mean.”
“Well, I don’t know. I’m grateful to him, of course. I could hardly not be. He’s nice enough, I suppose, and I can’t say his visits haven’t been a breath of fresh air, some of them, that is. He’s certainly amusing, and obviously very clever, and – and he’s got nice hands. He sits with them on the table,” she explained lamely at Sylvia’s quizzical look. “Why?”
“Sheer nosiness,” Sylvia grinned. “When he came to the flat the other night, I thought he seemed a bit sweet on you.”
“Really?” said Harriet, with studied neutrality.
“Eiluned says I’m imagining it, but I’m sure Marjorie Phelps noticed too. She was awfully quiet after he dashed off; you know she used to be rather keen on him herself or year or so ago, but nothing came of it. He was definitely feeling a bit personal about it all.”
“He’s asked me to marry him.”
“What?” Sylvia’s jaw dropped in almost comical outrage. “And there was I giving him credit for not being the silly ass he looked. But I suppose the aristocracy always do think they can get whatever they want. That’s the point of it.”
“No – he didn’t mean it like that. He didn’t know about all the others, and he really was quite apologetic afterwards; I’m afraid I wasn’t very kind to him.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t throw him out!”
“I could hardly do that, could I? Not if – ”
“No. I’m sorry. Oh dear, and to think I once thought that the artistic life was one of beauty and simplicity.”
Harriet gave a wry smile, “That I’ve never believed. Too much early influence of Edgar Allen Poe. I’m sure the disappointment won’t be lasting; in a month’s time he’ll probably be relieved he’s not about to be sued for breach of promise, not that any jury would ever find for me if I tried.”
The conversation wandered on to other topics, and the guard did not follow them. His collar was scratching the back of his neck. It was a harsh life for a man, shut up with all these murdering females. The pay was barely tolerable, and all of them looking like hags, too - might have been worth it for a real femme fatale among them, but there never was. He’d thought this writer might be promising, but she was the hardest of the lot. No question, but she’d done him in. It all came down to educating women. No question of that for his Gertie; the headmistress wanted her to pass for the grammar school, but the wife had stood up to her and sent the girl into service straight at fourteen. That was all the training a woman needed to do right by her family.
It was hard for a working man to keep a family these days. Opportunity must be seized. He watched the woman in the green hat limp out. It had been an interesting bit of conversation. Taking everything into consideration, it would probably be best to wait until after the new trial – whatever the outcome the press would pay good money for a titbit like this. He flexed aching knees, and dreamed of newspaper headlines. Titled ‘Tec takes Murderess as Mistress, that was a good one. Scandal in Society: Wimsey’s Wicked hmm. He wouldn’t get his name in print, of course; our source, the story would say, but he’d know it was him. Fashionable society must be hoping that Lord Peter Wimsey is careful with the sugar in his coffee, after the latest rumours of his liaison with acquitted murderess Harriet Vane. He must be intending to get something out of her, and God knows he couldn’t be after her for her looks. Perhaps after all it would be best if she didn’t hang. This one could run and run.
Sticks and Stones
The first cutting was from a gossip column in the Daily Herald. Having restrained the urge to fling it in the fire, Lord Peter smoothed the crumpled paper. Forewarned, he supposed, was forearmed. Rumours abound that in saving the notorious mystery novelist Harriet Vane from the gallows, Lord Peter Wimsey may have had more than the interests of justice on his mind. We can only hope his stomach is stronger than her last beau’s. So that was what was being said. He hoped it was only involuntary defiance of the article that had suddenly made him feel rather sick.
*
“Well, hurrah for Lord Peter, and may there be many more like him!”
Sylvia was wearing a new hat. In the damp air of January, the bright green felt was a beacon of Spring. She wasn’t supposed to be out and about as yet, but ankle or no ankle, she had had no intention of staying away from the prison a day longer than necessary, even if it meant limping in on crutches. After all, she had not, until a few minutes ago, known how much longer she would have to see Harriet at all.
“I suppose so,” said Harriet. “I mean, of course, I’m relieved, but I don’t know…” Her voice trailed off. Sylvia looked dismayed.
“Suppose… Harriet, you do believe him, don’t you? That they’ve found who really did it? You surely don’t think Lord Peter’s making it up. Why would he?”
“I don’t know,” said Harriet rather wanly. “Of course, he wouldn’t say it if he didn’t think – only it’s so hard to believe it. You see, it means thinking ahead, and I’ve rather been avoiding that. It isn’t proved yet or anything. What if something goes wrong?”
“But Lord Peter wouldn’t - I’m sure he wouldn’t want to give you false hopes or anything. And he’s a ‘celebrated amateur criminologist’ as the papers put it, not some young fool mucking around not knowing what’s he’s doing.”
“No-o. But he might be mistaken. He’s so absolutely certain of things, as if he thinks that’s enough. It isn’t.”
“Well, I’m going to believe him,’ Sylvia said firmly. ‘I always said that solicitor was an oily type,” she pantomimed applause, “and Lord Peter’s really very nice. Even Eiluned thawed a bit.”
“Good heavens!” Harriet smiled. “And I am glad really. Of course I am. It’s just taking a while to sink in. It’s hard to let myself believe it – to hope, you know.”
“I know.” Sylvia laughed and shook her head. “Of course, I don’t. I haven’t the least idea. But I’m so glad.” Sylvia leant back in her chair. “I say Harriet, let’s talk about something completely different. Tell me, what do you think about Peter Wimsey? Aside from all the noble criminologist stuff, I mean.”
“Well, I don’t know. I’m grateful to him, of course. I could hardly not be. He’s nice enough, I suppose, and I can’t say his visits haven’t been a breath of fresh air, some of them, that is. He’s certainly amusing, and obviously very clever, and – and he’s got nice hands. He sits with them on the table,” she explained lamely at Sylvia’s quizzical look. “Why?”
“Sheer nosiness,” Sylvia grinned. “When he came to the flat the other night, I thought he seemed a bit sweet on you.”
“Really?” said Harriet, with studied neutrality.
“Eiluned says I’m imagining it, but I’m sure Marjorie Phelps noticed too. She was awfully quiet after he dashed off; you know she used to be rather keen on him herself or year or so ago, but nothing came of it. He was definitely feeling a bit personal about it all.”
“He’s asked me to marry him.”
“What?” Sylvia’s jaw dropped in almost comical outrage. “And there was I giving him credit for not being the silly ass he looked. But I suppose the aristocracy always do think they can get whatever they want. That’s the point of it.”
“No – he didn’t mean it like that. He didn’t know about all the others, and he really was quite apologetic afterwards; I’m afraid I wasn’t very kind to him.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t throw him out!”
“I could hardly do that, could I? Not if – ”
“No. I’m sorry. Oh dear, and to think I once thought that the artistic life was one of beauty and simplicity.”
Harriet gave a wry smile, “That I’ve never believed. Too much early influence of Edgar Allen Poe. I’m sure the disappointment won’t be lasting; in a month’s time he’ll probably be relieved he’s not about to be sued for breach of promise, not that any jury would ever find for me if I tried.”
The conversation wandered on to other topics, and the guard did not follow them. His collar was scratching the back of his neck. It was a harsh life for a man, shut up with all these murdering females. The pay was barely tolerable, and all of them looking like hags, too - might have been worth it for a real femme fatale among them, but there never was. He’d thought this writer might be promising, but she was the hardest of the lot. No question, but she’d done him in. It all came down to educating women. No question of that for his Gertie; the headmistress wanted her to pass for the grammar school, but the wife had stood up to her and sent the girl into service straight at fourteen. That was all the training a woman needed to do right by her family.
It was hard for a working man to keep a family these days. Opportunity must be seized. He watched the woman in the green hat limp out. It had been an interesting bit of conversation. Taking everything into consideration, it would probably be best to wait until after the new trial – whatever the outcome the press would pay good money for a titbit like this. He flexed aching knees, and dreamed of newspaper headlines. Titled ‘Tec takes Murderess as Mistress, that was a good one. Scandal in Society: Wimsey’s Wicked hmm. He wouldn’t get his name in print, of course; our source, the story would say, but he’d know it was him. Fashionable society must be hoping that Lord Peter Wimsey is careful with the sugar in his coffee, after the latest rumours of his liaison with acquitted murderess Harriet Vane. He must be intending to get something out of her, and God knows he couldn’t be after her for her looks. Perhaps after all it would be best if she didn’t hang. This one could run and run.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-02-06 05:54 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-02-07 11:44 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-02-06 06:03 pm (UTC)(you have two typos, btw: a wsa for was in the first para, and a Lord Peer Wimsey in the last.
On the whole, it's Gertie I'm sorriest for!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-02-07 11:48 am (UTC)Thanks for the note re. typos. They have been shown a firm hand.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-02-07 02:21 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-02-07 03:46 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-02-08 03:10 pm (UTC)Heh. Before I'd even finished reading, I decided I wanted her to hook up with Beatie Wilson and start a motorcycle shop together, but your way works too :)
Loved seeing Sylvia get some screen time.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-02-09 03:32 pm (UTC)Perhaps they could invest in it?
And there should be more Sylvia in general.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-02-06 06:15 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-02-07 11:51 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-02-07 06:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-02-08 03:38 pm (UTC)And yes, yay for Harriet's friends (Marjorie's about to pop up elsewhere - have come up with a nice reason for her slight coolness concerning Harriet).
(no subject)
Date: 2007-02-08 02:57 pm (UTC)And the unpleasant guard - reminds me rather of Annie Wilson - was this intentional?
(no subject)
Date: 2007-02-09 01:12 pm (UTC)Not at all! The guard was there purely as a deus ex machina when I had the central bit of fic (Sylvia and Harriet talking), and needed some way of finishing it off and introducing a plot so that it didn't degenerate into pointless fluff (::now imagining Sylvia, E. and H. after supper on Harriet's first night of freedom, with Sylvia whipping out a Cosmo quiz). The guard stepped in. Clearly my literary sub-conscious was working overtime that day.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-14 06:07 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-16 02:33 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-09 08:04 pm (UTC)“Sheer nosiness,” Sylvia grinned. “When he came to the flat the other night, I thought he seemed a bit sweet on you.”
“Really?” said Harriet, with studied neutrality.
Loved this bit especially... Harriet all casual, then dropping the bomb that he'd proposed. *g*