A/N: Here's the story behind Emily's hen party, as promised! I'll be the first to admit that I'm not as proud of this one as I am the ones that have proceeded it. Something about the characterization makes me give pause. The title is lifted from a lovely Cut Copy song, although the connection ends there. There's a reference to fralinger's tantalizing story A Honeymoon Mystery or the Tie That Binds. I highly recommend it, if you are of age. I'd be nowhere if it weren't for inspiration from my fellow authors!
I had the inkling of an idea that the Crabtrees would honeymoon in Chicago. There's also a few plot bunnies running around in my head about Julia's childhood, mostly due to the fact that I've just now been able to view The Devil Wears Whalebone. G-d bless that American production delay. I don't know when my next story will be up, because I'm moving back into the dorms this weekend, and then it's full throttle orientation programming until university proper starts back up in August.
I'd just like to take a moment to thank everyone that has favorited and commented. You've made the Grinch's heart grow several sizes. Now, sit back and enjoy the return of George's aunts in all of their liberated glory.
Eternity, One Night Only
"Oh my stars," Aunt Marigold exclaimed from her place on the porch swing. "Could that be our little boy?"
Iris stood suddenly, nearly causing her companion to fall face first into the deck. She was a lady of advanced age, and hadn't bothered to bring her spectacles out for her morning constitution. Peering at the gathering of figures approaching, she concluded, "It is! It's Georgie Porgie!"
The man in question raised his hand in greeting. Upon hearing their housemate's exclamations, several other ladies came out onto the porch.
A safe distance behind the reunion that was about to take place, William muttered under his breath, "Prepare yourself, Julia."
His wife squinted into the sunlight and smiled, as if she didn't know what he could possibly be implying. Truthfully, she'd heard enough stories of the beguiling Flower Girls of Flower Hill to fill a novel. Perhaps William would be taken aback by the boisterous personalities, but she was more than willing to take it in stride.
The four of them, the Murdochs, Detective Crabtree, and Dr. Grace, were in Newfoundland for a very special occasion. Indeed, the latter two members of their traveling party were soon to be joined in holy matrimony. Surely a trip back home was in order.
William had been skeptical when George approached him with the idea of eloping without much fanfare. The station house could not spare their two top lawmen and its coroner for a weekend, even if they would both be only a telegraph away. But when Julia had caught wind of their plans, she'd found it incredibly romantic. What could be more enchanting, she argued, than marrying on a hill overlooking the sea in the company of one's closest friends? Surely, after nearly three years of marriage, he hadn't given up on romance. Then she had set to convince him that at least she hadn't, and had kept the good inspector up most of the night in the process. Really, he didn't know why he bothered to argue with her.
Once the aunts had confirmed among themselves that George had arrived in one piece, they turned their attention to Emily, who had been standing apart from them trying to steel her nerve. Some part of her, the tiny, fearful part that had held her back from many a decision in her life, was concerned that the aunts might not take to her. And if they did not, they might forbid her to marry their boy. That notion was a little far fetched, but she knew how much of an affect they'd had on George since childhood.
"This must be his lovely bride!" Dahlia cooed, the first to extend the olive branch. "Isn't she beautiful, ladies?"
Daisy, the oldest and most reticent of the aunts, moved to take her hand. Emily couldn't help but blush at the sheer amount of attention she was afforded, as each of the ladies took turns running their palms over the fabric of her dress and twirling tendrils of her hair.
"The very picture of health, that she is," Azalea nodded. "Tell me, Miss Grace, what is it that you do for a living?"
She had the impression that they already knew the answer to that question. How could they not, after the scores of letters George had written them? Nevertheless, Emily ducked her head and replied, "I'm a doctor of pathology, ma'am."
Several of the women started at this, clapping their hands together in excitement.
"And educated, too! Georgie, my boy, you'd better be keen to keep her around," Iris chirped.
"I have every intention of doing so," he assured her, and opened the screen door to urge the greeting party inside.
As soon as a majority of the aunts had entered, bracketing Emily's sides like an armed guard, Azalea moved to address their other guests. Julia had been waiting patiently to be recognized, a small smile adorning her features. There was something about the ladies that reminded her of her eccentric mother. It brought forth very welcome memories.
"Now, Inspector Murdoch," she began carefully, beaming up at her son's idol. "Are you quite sure you and your better half wouldn't prefer to stay in one of our guest rooms overnight?"
Julia was very close to accepting the invitation when her husband cut in as if Satan himself was on the tail of their discourse. "That's rather kind of you, Miss Azalea, but we've already reserved two rooms at St. John's Inn in town. Besides, we wouldn't want to disturb any of your long standing appointments to...ahem...entertain."
For a moment she was afraid that the Newfoundlander would take offense to William's refusal, but then she threw her head back and laughed boisterously. "Don't you worry. We've taken the liberty of telling our regular clients to call again tomorrow."
He shifted uncomfortably in a way his wife recognized, adjusting his tie and pulling at his jacket's sleeves. "How very generous of you."
Being very careful not to bump elbows with the genteel woman of the night, William followed the rest of his companions into the home.
-0-
A few hours later, Julia found herself nursing a mug of tea in the kitchen. She'd felt out of place among the already tight knit group, so when one of the aunts offered her an escape outlet, she had taken it in earnest. Besides, the view from the bay window out onto the bustling residential street was lovely. Her tea was fragrant, a strange brew of local herbs that she was sure she couldn't procure in Toronto.
From the sitting room, she could hear George's lilting tone rising and falling like the tide as he related the particulars of one of the constabulary's greatest triumphs in vivid detail. Every now and then, her husband's rich tenor cut in as he corrected this and that, bringing the story back down to a more reasonable tone. She didn't blame him. The detective certainly did have the mind of a writer, and the tendency therein to embellish.
A hand touched the inside of her elbow, nearly causing Julia to jump out of her skin. Indeed, she did let out a rather ungraceful yelp, pressing her palm to her chest.
It was only Aunt Daisy, who seemed to be more shocked by her response than anything. She had to stumble forward to keep the bottle she was carrying from dropping to the floor and shattering into dozens of pieces.
"Pardon me, Mrs. Murdoch. I would just like to say what an honor it is to have you in our humble home. Georgie has written so very much about you and your husband," she said.
So he had. Julia smiled indulgently, taking another sip of her beverage. "Really, the pleasure is mine. Your son is quite the fine young man. William and I are honored to have been invited to the wedding."
"Oh, nevermind that," Daisy tittered, much to her surprise. "I understand that you're good friends with Miss Emily. Please, accept this gift on behalf of the other women and I."
Suddenly, she found in her hands the single largest bottle of malt whiskey she'd ever laid eyes on. Julia was unprepared for its weight, and nearly let go of it herself.
"Thank you, Daisy. May I ask whatever for?"
The older woman looked this way and that, a conspiratorial smirk crossing her featured. It crossed her mind how much the courtesan resembled herself, albeit a few decades her senior and a great deal heavier. If that type of revelry was proven to be in Julia's future...well, perhaps she might not mind growing older after all.
"For the hen party, of course. This is the strongest liquor we keep in the house. It's made at a distillery in Mount Pearl. However, I will advise you to take it slow. Under the right direction of the wind, it can pack quite a punch," she cautioned.
The psychiatrist's features split in an accommodating grin, while a debaucherous plan began to form in her head. Setting her tea cup down and taking care in examining her prize, Julia said, "Thank you very much, Miss Daisy."
-0-
As it turned out, Julia didn't have to do very much persuading in order to get Emily to go along with her plan. The gentlemen, they argued, were surely in need of a stag night. And although they both had only brought dress clothes, it would behoove the both of them to indulge for a single evening.
Neither were a habitual imbiber of spirits. George seemed oblivious to their motives, but William seemed to catch on. He didn't bother to admonish them, however, only collecting his coat and beginning to guide his friend to one of the bars in town.
At the appointed time, nine post meridiem sharp, the two women met in the largest of their rented rooms. It was Julia who pressed the bottle to her lips first, taking a massive swig and falling backwards onto the lush bedspread.
"This is so exciting," Emily babbled as she gently freed her hair from the pins that had been holding it back all afternoon. "Just like a party we might have had as girls."
"I didn't have very many overnight visits," Julia confessed.
Across the room, her friend was taking great care in situating her dressing robe around her petite frame. Once she was satisfied that she was appropriately prepared for what was about to transpire, Emily turned back to her, hands on her hips. "You had Ruby, and I only had brothers. It's different."
The two were silent for quite some time. The only light in the room came from several stout candles resting on the clapboard dresser. They were on the highest floor of the inn, with a quite satisfactory view of the city center. On the outsides of the windows, branches and leaves caught the wind and used it to make their presence known, filling the immediate vicinity with an odd disembodied tapping noise.
"Are you frightened?" Julia said rather suddenly, staring up at the ceiling.
Emily joined her on the bed, interlocking her fingers behind her head. Her expression had inexplicably changed to one of unmitigated thoughtfulness. "I wouldn't quite use that word. Perhaps anxious, maybe expectant."
She frowned, for she had very clear memories of the night before her wedding only three years prior. For the first time in a matter of months, sleep had evaded Julia. She'd paced the length of her bedroom in her bare feet, wringing her hands and wracking her brain as she desperately tried to determine if she was making a mistake.
Of course the concern had faded once she brought to mind William, and his unrelenting love for her. But that didn't mean she hadn't woken up multiple times in the night, apprehension gripping her stomach and threatening to make her surrender her dinner. However, all things considered, it had been much worse when she had been preparing to marry Darcy. Much, much worse.
"I suppose you're also planning a way of surprising your husband tomorrow night, then," Julia said slyly, trying to distract herself from the unsavory memories.
"A surprise?" Emily wondered aloud, her voice raising an octave in confusion. Then, her eyes suddenly widened in recognition, and she flew to rummage through one of the many valises she'd brought along on their excursion.
Julia propped herself up on one of the pillows as she waited to view the beginnings of her friend's collection of unmentionables.
She didn't disappoint, holding up a lacy slip of a thing and posing provocatively. The entire skirt was translucent and made from the lightest of silks, while the entire bodice was supported by intricate boning and corset work. It had surely cost a fortune at one of Toronto's few boudoir shops. "Do you think George would prefer winter maiden…"
Her entire upper body disappeared once again, then reappeared swathed in a crimson slip. It had no sleeves to speak of, although its linen hem reached down to dust the floor. As Emily gave it an experimental twirl, her decidedly more modest dressing gown intermingling with the fabric, Julia could see that it also sported an impressively high slit. "...or scarlet seductress?"
Well, at least she knew her dear friend wouldn't start marriage of the prudish temperament. She stroked her chin experimentally. It wouldn't be a difficult decision. Both would certainly cause George to break out in the most vibrant of blushes.
"In either one, you're sure to be a woman of scandal," Julia concluded, her eyes bright with amusement.
"Thank heaven for that!" She exclaimed, returning the garments to their hiding spot.
Julia was sure that she didn't have to lecture Emily on the use of prophylactics. She was a doctor in her own right, after all, and had been a vocal supporter of her efforts to provide the women of her city with proper contraceptive methods. Really, there was not a lot she could do to further prepare her companion for marriage. Like most major milestones in life, it was best to experience it and make judgments later.
"I've been meaning to tell you something for quite some time now, Emily, but I've held off on confessing to it because I was afraid of what you might think."
Emily took a long drag from the bottle of whiskey, as if she was preparing herself for what she was about to hear. Together, the two friends got underneath the covers and pulled them up to their chins. "I once told you that George was a very honorable man," Julia began carefully.
"Your exact words were 'George Crabtree is as fine a man as ever walked the earth,'" Emily recited it back to her, as if it had been stuck in her mind since then. Smiling dreamily, she continued, "And you were right."
The longer she held off the admission, the more amusing she found it. Perhaps it was the alcohol in her system, for in her sober state Julia would not even think of mentioning such embarrassing occurrences. "Do you recall the case of the murder of a member of the nudist colony that had set up camp by the river?"
Whiskey was now being passed between them as if it was the elixir of life. Emily thought this over for a moment, then nodded, "Yes. I'd just arrived in the city and been hired as coroner."
"Well, in that time, there were few people that could infiltrate the camp unrecognized. Thus, George was sent in to gather more clues about the reclusive bunch."
"Go on," the younger woman urged her, her eyes slitted in suspicion.
"I was there on a flight of fancy. I wanted to paint in the presence of nature, and get away from my problems with Darcy. He came upon me and my easel, and was quite shocked to see me in such a state of undress. Then my eyes strayed downward, and I beheld-"
"Stop there!" Emily shrieked, her words barely decipherable from her giggles.
Julia sat up, clenching her fist in firm declaration of what she had seen. "That was when I knew I was correct in my initial assessment. George Crabtree truthfully is as fine a man as ever-"
She didn't have time to finish her sentence, for a pillow came flying from the opposite side of the bed and hit her square in the face. Seconds later, the two friends were nothing more than a tangle of limbs as their playful banter devolved into an expression of their mirth.
-0-
"And then he said to me, 'I've just been swimming in the cold river!'" Julia managed to gasp out in between her hiccups.
Emily fairly howled with laughter, gripping her sides and pitching forward. Long after their gifted bottle of whiskey had been drained, the two friends had remained in high spirits, albeit entirely tipsy. Now, they were sitting Indian style on the end of the bed, a square of thin plywood between them.
The purchase of the ouija board had been an afterthought, the product of an hour's train layover in Montreal. Julia simply couldn't resist the novelty shop adjacent from the station, nor the imploring gestures of the haggard old gypsy woman that stood out on the deck sweeping the steps. While her traveling companions were busy negotiating with the conductor, she'd stole across the street and made the investment.
Together, the women had spent the past hour or so calling forth every historical figure they could remember from their days in grammar school. They'd called on the spirit of Genghis Khan, for example, just to say that they disapproved of the way he'd conquered and made slaves of countless ethnic groups in the orient. Queen Elizabeth I received congratulations on her long and illustrious reign, as well as having been an inspiration for the both of them as young girls. Heaven knew if any of the deceased actually received their messages, but Julia and Emily were too far past the realm of sobriety to care.
"And to James Gillies," Dr. Grace said loudly in the general direction of the center of the board, "I hope you're enjoying whatever circle of hell you wound up in."
It was anyone's guess what the tenants to either side of their room could hear, but if she didn't miss her presumption, Julia knew that they were most likely keeping them up. As the icing on the cake to Emily's insult, she brought out a hand from the folds of her nightclothes and made a lewd gesture at the board.
"Julia Ogden, you are wicked!" Emily cackled, just as the pointer began to spell out Y-E-...
With the kick of a foot, the ouija board went sailing off the bed. They'd had enough of a good scare for the evening. Falling backwards onto the mounds of pillows, Julia cried, "Not as wicked as he!"
The two enjoyed a good laugh at that, before Emily suddenly grew serious and said, "You know, I wish we could stay like this forever."
"What, two middle aged women carousing like children in their dressing gowns?"
Emily shook her head, snuggling up to her companion under the covers. "As good friends. You've always been by my side, Julia, and I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am for that."
Outside the window, they could hear the whoops and hollers of the men who were coming home late from the docks. In the back of her mind, Julia wondered if their significant others would soon return. "With the exception of Lillian," she replied ruefully, her lips in a tight line.
In her state of drunkenness, Emily had begun to cry, salty tears forming at the corners of her eyes. "No, that's just it. You saw her true colors before I even could."
She was about to open her mouth to say that she was just doing her job, that it was her obligation as a mentor to the young woman, but settled on letting the moment evanesce between them as quickly as it had come.
"Thank you for everything," Dr. Grace pushed herself up to deliver a sloppy kiss to Julia's cheek. Turning over and settling herself in the lush folds of the comforter, she was soon fast asleep.
So her attempt at a hen party hadn't exactly gone as planned. Really, as this point, Julia couldn't expect anything else. Sparing one last affectionate glance in the direction of her best friend, she allowed the sporadic sounds of the Newfoundland evening to carry her into Morpheus's realm.
-0-
It was long past midnight when the men returned to the inn, so late that the sun was already threatening to make an appearance on the horizon. George's hair was thoroughly disheveled, and William had lost his hat over the course of the evening.
"All I'm saying, sir, is that it was most unwise to challenge that dock worker to a battle of wits," the detective seized the opportunity to express his opinion on the matter for the umpteenth time in the space of the hour.
Murdoch's head was pounding as he inserted the key into the lock and turned the knob. Every time he indulged himself in alcohol, no matter how small the quantity, his evening devolved into a series of increasingly regrettable activities. He wondered how marriage to Julia had changed him. Only five years ago, he wouldn't have even considered letting his inhibitions go as he had.
Within the room, he was not entirely surprised to see that pillows had been thrown about and the curtains nearly pulled off their dowels. The two women lay motionless in bed, seemingly dead to the world.
His friend pushed past him and into the narrow space. He needed to secure his necessaries from the luggage they'd brought before joining the inspector in the other room. Out of habit, he found himself asking, "What have we, George?"
His hasty investigation didn't disappoint as he produced an empty bottle of whiskey from the wastebasket in the corner. Suddenly, William didn't feel so bad about his evening.
"Look at them, snug as two bugs in a rug," Crabtree muttered.
As the younger man joined him out in the hall, the door coming softly to a close behind them, William clasped his hand around his shoulder.
"You know, on the way to the chapel, Brackenreid once let me in on a few things about married women…"
The End