Wimsey fic: Escorted home
Aug. 12th, 2009 04:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nineveh_ukNot the fic you were supposed to be getting, or even the other fic that you were supposed to be getting, but the fic you've got.
Peter/Harriet/Bunter missing scene following the end of Murder Must Advertise, recalled by Harriet in Gaudy Night.
Escorted Home
Lord Peter replaced his glass carefully on the white tablecloth, and decided that he could probably keep himself together until he got home, if only things didn’t go on too long. He reflected grimly that it was the first time he had ever wished an evening with Harriet to be ended. At least she was not in combative mood. Indeed she was remarkably cheerful and wearing a new frock, a rather nice silk one with a low collar, and though doubtless it was more in honour of the Ritz than his company, he wished he were in the mood to appreciate. He had managed the mild compliment she probably preferred, and let her do the talking. The restaurant’s glitter and glass broke too brightly across his eyes, and his head throbbed horribly. He poked at his dover sole, and fled to the lavatory. A splash of cold water made him feel a little livelier, but the face that showed in the yards of glass and marble was grey and tired. Still, he could last an hour or so, and then make an excuse. It wasn’t as if Harriet ever came on to a club when he asked her anyway.
She smiled at him as he sat down.
“Peter?” Her face across the table was impossibly far away, her familiar, musical voice echoed painfully in the hollow bones of his skull. “Peter, you really do seem off-colour. I think you ought to go home.”
“I’m sorry; I’m being rotten company. I’ve a bit of a head, that’s all. I’ll be better when I’ve had something to eat.”
Harriet’s look of scepticism reminded him of the matron at his prep school.
“I don’t believe you’ve eaten anything. You look dreadful.” She reached across to squeeze his hand, “And you’ve got a blazing temperature.”
“It’s not important.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Peter. Come on, I’m going to take you home.”
He gave in. “You don’t mind too much?” Of course not; when had she minded an excuse to escape from him? Perhaps that was unfair. She bundled him firmly into the taxi, slipped his arm through hers, and took his hand. Only when they swung round Piccadilly Circus did he understand that they were heading for his flat, and he was too weary to protest that he ought to see her home.
She told the cabbie to wait, and whisked him upstairs.
“Have you your latch key? No, don’t worry, you said Bunter would be in.”
Bunter, thank God. The black and white figure swam up out of the warm light of the hall on the other side of the frosted glass to open the door and take control of things as he always did.
“My lord. Good evening, Miss Vane. If you would be so good as to wait in the library, you will find the cocktail things on the far wall.” The door to the dressing room closed behind them.
*
“My God, Bunter, what did you tell her?” His lordship, pale and dark-eyed, but to Bunter’s experienced eye well on the mend, groaned over the bacon and eggs.
"My lord?"
"Miss Vane, Bunter. What did she say?"
Do you think you ought to leave him, she had asked, as Bunter escorted her to the waiting taxi and he had responded with the truth, that his lordship would prefer to know her properly attended to before he could be comfortable.
"I apologised on your lordship's behalf, as your lordship had requested, and assured Miss Vane that your lordship had merely suffered a slight reaction to the strain of the recent case, that this was not exceptional, and that there was no cause for concern.”
“I see. Thanks.” Fair, discreet, but nonetheless embarrassing. He waited for further information, which was not forthcoming. Nothing for it, but, “And, er, Miss Vane?
"I should best describe Miss Vane's demeanour as outwardly satisfied by the explanation, but retaining nonetheless a certain apprehension concerning your lordship."
Lord Peter, attacking an egg with a buttered soldier, observed that it looked suddenly sunnier and applied himself to the task with renewed vigour as Bunter withdrew. Concern was, after all, something. Of course, it might not be personal. Harriet had been kind to Mrs Weldon, too, and though Harriet was kind at heart, when she wasn’t unhappy, he couldn’t insist that kindness was necessarily accompanied by respect, let alone affection. On the other hand, she had been worried, even he had seen that last night, and that was hopeful, wasn’t it? Nor had she been embarrassed. Some women would have kicked him out of the taxi and fled. He raked up a dim memory of her face in the restaurant, dark brows puzzled and uncertain, her hand on his shoulder as they went up the stairs, and tried to ignore the crawling worm of relief beneath it all: now he wouldn't have to tell her about it himself.
Peter/Harriet/Bunter missing scene following the end of Murder Must Advertise, recalled by Harriet in Gaudy Night.
Escorted Home
Lord Peter replaced his glass carefully on the white tablecloth, and decided that he could probably keep himself together until he got home, if only things didn’t go on too long. He reflected grimly that it was the first time he had ever wished an evening with Harriet to be ended. At least she was not in combative mood. Indeed she was remarkably cheerful and wearing a new frock, a rather nice silk one with a low collar, and though doubtless it was more in honour of the Ritz than his company, he wished he were in the mood to appreciate. He had managed the mild compliment she probably preferred, and let her do the talking. The restaurant’s glitter and glass broke too brightly across his eyes, and his head throbbed horribly. He poked at his dover sole, and fled to the lavatory. A splash of cold water made him feel a little livelier, but the face that showed in the yards of glass and marble was grey and tired. Still, he could last an hour or so, and then make an excuse. It wasn’t as if Harriet ever came on to a club when he asked her anyway.
She smiled at him as he sat down.
“Peter?” Her face across the table was impossibly far away, her familiar, musical voice echoed painfully in the hollow bones of his skull. “Peter, you really do seem off-colour. I think you ought to go home.”
“I’m sorry; I’m being rotten company. I’ve a bit of a head, that’s all. I’ll be better when I’ve had something to eat.”
Harriet’s look of scepticism reminded him of the matron at his prep school.
“I don’t believe you’ve eaten anything. You look dreadful.” She reached across to squeeze his hand, “And you’ve got a blazing temperature.”
“It’s not important.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Peter. Come on, I’m going to take you home.”
He gave in. “You don’t mind too much?” Of course not; when had she minded an excuse to escape from him? Perhaps that was unfair. She bundled him firmly into the taxi, slipped his arm through hers, and took his hand. Only when they swung round Piccadilly Circus did he understand that they were heading for his flat, and he was too weary to protest that he ought to see her home.
She told the cabbie to wait, and whisked him upstairs.
“Have you your latch key? No, don’t worry, you said Bunter would be in.”
Bunter, thank God. The black and white figure swam up out of the warm light of the hall on the other side of the frosted glass to open the door and take control of things as he always did.
“My lord. Good evening, Miss Vane. If you would be so good as to wait in the library, you will find the cocktail things on the far wall.” The door to the dressing room closed behind them.
*
“My God, Bunter, what did you tell her?” His lordship, pale and dark-eyed, but to Bunter’s experienced eye well on the mend, groaned over the bacon and eggs.
"My lord?"
"Miss Vane, Bunter. What did she say?"
Do you think you ought to leave him, she had asked, as Bunter escorted her to the waiting taxi and he had responded with the truth, that his lordship would prefer to know her properly attended to before he could be comfortable.
"I apologised on your lordship's behalf, as your lordship had requested, and assured Miss Vane that your lordship had merely suffered a slight reaction to the strain of the recent case, that this was not exceptional, and that there was no cause for concern.”
“I see. Thanks.” Fair, discreet, but nonetheless embarrassing. He waited for further information, which was not forthcoming. Nothing for it, but, “And, er, Miss Vane?
"I should best describe Miss Vane's demeanour as outwardly satisfied by the explanation, but retaining nonetheless a certain apprehension concerning your lordship."
Lord Peter, attacking an egg with a buttered soldier, observed that it looked suddenly sunnier and applied himself to the task with renewed vigour as Bunter withdrew. Concern was, after all, something. Of course, it might not be personal. Harriet had been kind to Mrs Weldon, too, and though Harriet was kind at heart, when she wasn’t unhappy, he couldn’t insist that kindness was necessarily accompanied by respect, let alone affection. On the other hand, she had been worried, even he had seen that last night, and that was hopeful, wasn’t it? Nor had she been embarrassed. Some women would have kicked him out of the taxi and fled. He raked up a dim memory of her face in the restaurant, dark brows puzzled and uncertain, her hand on his shoulder as they went up the stairs, and tried to ignore the crawling worm of relief beneath it all: now he wouldn't have to tell her about it himself.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-12 03:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-12 08:19 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-12 08:21 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-12 04:32 pm (UTC)I have to admit, I felt really sorry for him when he found himself wishing an evening with Harriet was over. He must have been feeling really grotty. And Bunter handles it all so wonderfully, even provoking Harriet's sympathy while reassuring her that it will be okay.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-12 08:23 pm (UTC)Bunter is very good at his job (I love his letter in HHC, carefully crafted to be read-outable to Harriet whilst evoking the suggestion that Peter needs a nice girl to take care of him).
(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-12 09:42 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-12 04:50 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-12 05:42 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-12 08:35 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-12 08:23 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-12 06:14 pm (UTC)In my mind, Have His Carcase comes after Murder Must Advertise. Is that wrong?
(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-12 08:33 pm (UTC)HHC comes about 2 years before MMA, which probably 1933. It's after HHC that Harriet does the failed attempt to get away from P. by going to Europe, and MMA is probably the summer following her return.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-13 05:34 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-13 08:49 am (UTC)That said, as Harriet's date of birth is inconsistent by 3 years, a bit of parallel time-lining here probably doesn't matter much! I wonder what the stories were like...
(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-13 10:44 am (UTC)I wonder what the stories were like...
I was pondering that in bed last night. I fear, given what we know of Harriet's literary tendencies at this point, that they were, at the very least, retrospectively in very poor taste.
By the way, I forgot to mention how much I like the lines The restaurant’s glitter and glass broke too brightly across his eyes and The black and white figure swam up out of the warm light of the hall on the other side of the frosted glass . Not only are they eminently savourable, but they really capture that light-headed-and-nauseous feeling.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-13 04:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-14 10:35 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-18 03:19 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-12 06:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-12 08:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-12 07:03 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-13 01:35 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-12 08:04 pm (UTC)(You've got 'to long' instead of 'too long' in the second line)
(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-13 01:37 pm (UTC)(Oops, thank you for pointing it out.)
(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-12 11:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-13 01:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-12 11:21 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-13 01:39 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-13 06:46 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-13 01:40 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-13 06:01 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-18 03:19 pm (UTC)one question I always had about this
Date: 2009-09-23 11:52 pm (UTC)Re: one question I always had about this
Date: 2009-09-24 10:17 am (UTC)Re. canon, I would imagine that Peter would have to be all but incapacitated not to pay for the dinner he's invited Harriet to, and would feel appallingly guilty and embarrassed if he couldn't, so that his having to accept her paying would be the sort of one-over on him that Harriet would certainly note (if only to say that it doesn't count because there's no pleasure in the humiliation of the sick ;-) )
(The above relates to 1930s codes, not my thoughts on modern ones!)
Re: one question I always had about this
Date: 2009-09-24 05:09 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-11-25 04:33 pm (UTC)Precisely the mixture of emotions I would expect from Peter at this stage of things--poor man, desperately hoping that she does care, even a little, but so willing to attribute it to the same level of care she'd give a sick dog. And Bunter, all propriety and exactly the right balance of remove, knowing that more would simply embarrass his master and upset the delicate balance of things. This is quite beautifully rendered!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-06 03:09 pm (UTC)Thanks for your reviews, by the way - I am a little late answering, but they are always appreciated.