Wimsey ficlet, and tease
Oct. 14th, 2009 09:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nineveh_ukIn a good mood, having cleared the table last night and spread out vast quantities of notes in order to get down to writing some fic at last. Moral: write the blasted fic before the notes file is 3/4" deep and you're battling through the scene thinking "I know that I've got this somewhere - or was I only thinking about it on the bus?". Not to mention the challenge of choosing between different versions of the same scene jotted down five times.
In the course of this virtuous pursuit (for a given value of virtuous, but really anything that can engage my fleeting work ethic deserves note), I came across this little sequel to this fic, on the subject of the Disastrous Christmas Present, and since it isn't going to turn into anything larger, thought I'd post it.
Return to Sender
The shop, of course, would have wrapped and sent it, but he wanted to put in a note, and he could not deny the slight qualm at the thought of giving Harriet’s address to the girl. Happily, Bunter was a whizz at parcels and could make brown paper, string, and sealing wax around a little glass vase look fit for Egypt’s queen.
He had not, of course, waited in all day for the telephone. It was simply that the weather was appalling, and he felt a slight chill coming on so that it would be foolish to go out.
Perhaps the telephone was a little much to expect. It hadn’t been much, after all. A mere token of regard. It hardly deserved even a note.
For a moment his heart had lifted at the sight of his address in her handwriting, until he took in the size of the box. The smash had been the fault of the post, of course, but that was no consolation.
***
A tease from something else entirely
She was in the garden, shredding a sunflower head between her fingers, when she heard the kitchen door open.
‘My lady.’
‘Bunter.’
He looked old. Grey streaks in the dark hair, hollowness about the eyes. And heartbroken.
‘His lordship has accepted my resignation.’
***
The Yuletide Challenge is here! Time to start thinking whether to make the Serious Requests I always have in the past, or perhaps be a little bit more imaginative. The challenge is being imaginative without being evil. I mean, I know how I felt for a moment when I was faced by Miss Climpson. It's all very well to think something would be entertaining to read, but one must have some sympathy for the writer faced with e.g. Bunter/Saint-George.
In the course of this virtuous pursuit (for a given value of virtuous, but really anything that can engage my fleeting work ethic deserves note), I came across this little sequel to this fic, on the subject of the Disastrous Christmas Present, and since it isn't going to turn into anything larger, thought I'd post it.
Return to Sender
The shop, of course, would have wrapped and sent it, but he wanted to put in a note, and he could not deny the slight qualm at the thought of giving Harriet’s address to the girl. Happily, Bunter was a whizz at parcels and could make brown paper, string, and sealing wax around a little glass vase look fit for Egypt’s queen.
He had not, of course, waited in all day for the telephone. It was simply that the weather was appalling, and he felt a slight chill coming on so that it would be foolish to go out.
Perhaps the telephone was a little much to expect. It hadn’t been much, after all. A mere token of regard. It hardly deserved even a note.
For a moment his heart had lifted at the sight of his address in her handwriting, until he took in the size of the box. The smash had been the fault of the post, of course, but that was no consolation.
***
A tease from something else entirely
She was in the garden, shredding a sunflower head between her fingers, when she heard the kitchen door open.
‘My lady.’
‘Bunter.’
He looked old. Grey streaks in the dark hair, hollowness about the eyes. And heartbroken.
‘His lordship has accepted my resignation.’
***
The Yuletide Challenge is here! Time to start thinking whether to make the Serious Requests I always have in the past, or perhaps be a little bit more imaginative. The challenge is being imaginative without being evil. I mean, I know how I felt for a moment when I was faced by Miss Climpson. It's all very well to think something would be entertaining to read, but one must have some sympathy for the writer faced with e.g. Bunter/Saint-George.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-20 02:49 pm (UTC)Don't know what the etiquette is on these things...
Date: 2009-11-19 12:26 am (UTC)He picked up the box, the same box Bunter had wrapped the vase in. It rattled with a sharp sound of broken glass. He hoped it was because the vase had broken in the post. He considered opening it, but decided against, and pushed it firmly to the back of a drawer. Out of sight, out of mind.
The following year, as Christmas approached with no news of Harriet, he remembered the package. He picked a time when Bunter was safely out of the house on an errand, and retrieved it from the drawer and opened it. With some relief, he noted that at least the vase did not seem to have been smashed against a wall. There was a note inside. He unfolded it gingerly. "Dear Lord Peter..."
So this was how she felt. Humiliated by his attentions. He had known it for some time, but had been afraid to admit it to himself. Now he could not pretend any more. He sat looking at the broken shards of vase, and wondered bleakly whether he had alienated her beyond all hope of retrieval. He winced as he thought back to their first meeting. She, so grave and dignified, despite the shadow of the gallows. He the selfish brute who thought not of her, but only of his own overmastering desires. He could hear her saying wearily, "I'll live with you if you like, but I won't marry you," and he acknowledged for the first time the note of defeat in her voice. In the end, was he no better than Philip Boyes, who had badgered her to death, and then, in her words, "made a fool" of her?
He cursed once again the dirty trick of fate, which had tantalizingly shown him the woman of his dreams, but made it impossible for him to pursue her as he would any other woman. He did not doubt his own attractiveness, to women in general, and to Harriet in particular. Indeed, on occasion, she had appeared to his experienced eye to be susceptible. But stubbornly, perhaps perversely, he refused to consider that approach. If he had learned anything in the two years he had known Harriet, it was that her prickly integrity was central to his desire. He wanted all of her, or nothing, even if nothing seemed increasingly likely to be what he would get.
Where was she now? He reflected that sales must be good, to sustain her prolonged absence from England. Would he call her when she returned? He thought, on balance, that he would. If he were to be honest, he did not think he could stop himself. But things would be different. Enough of humiliation. Enough of discreet little restaurants and obscure roadside inns. He was not ashamed to be seen with her; he would not act as if he were ashamed. But he would give her space. Thinking with distaste of his burst of free speech in Wilvercombe, he vowed that there would be no more displays of emotion.
He refolded the note, putting it back in the drawer with the newspaper cuttings. The broken remains of the vase and the crushed package he swept into the wastepaper basket. Bunter would clean it up later, and think.... God knows what.
Re: Don't know what the etiquette is on these things...
Date: 2009-11-20 12:48 pm (UTC)Indeed, on occasion, she had appeared to his experienced eye to be susceptible. If he had learned anything in the two years he had known Harriet, it was that her prickly integrity was central to his desire. But stubbornly, perhaps perversely, he refused to consider that approach. He wanted all of her, or nothing, even if nothing seemed increasingly likely to be what he would get.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-11-20 09:33 pm (UTC)Re: Don't know what the etiquette is on these things...
Date: 2009-11-20 05:12 pm (UTC)Re: Don't know what the etiquette is on these things...
Date: 2009-11-20 07:46 pm (UTC)