Bells
Spoilers: Sanctuary for all.
Set: 1949
Rating: K
This is my second entry for the March Diehard/Magnitt challenge and was written in something of a hurry. In this fic, Sarah refers to Sarah Churchill and Mr Beauchamp to Anthony Beauchamp, her erstwhile husband.
The poetry cited is Christina Rosetti's `Goblin Market`. Only read it if you have time to spare. It is longer than this fic.
Enjoy.
Magnus inhaled softly, feeling the cool, still air of the little church, alive with joyful, laughing voices of men and women, the echoing bells soaring down scales high above. She felt warmth rise up over her boots, the long skirt of her dress, her torso, finally touching her face as she stepped out into the sunlight of the churchyard. But it only touched her, glancing off like water on rock.
She sighed deeply.
Hawthorn blossom. She didn't come across that in Canada often, if ever; hedgerows in general, come to that. She saw eight-foot high, imposing hedges of box or privet often enough, but not wild bushes like these, martialed begrudgingly into a line, still budding, flowering, seeding, wilting, dying in their own seasons, at the whim of no man.
Men and women, young and old, but none as old as she, ambled by her still, their voices, spirited, joyful, echoed against the bells which broke her focus as a whip breaks a horse, driving her mind in tight, irregular circles.
"Helen!" The sound of her name broke the spell of the bells. She turned. James approached, smiling and tapping her hand in mock anger. "I look away for a moment and you disappear after your mind, like
`Laura in an absent dream,
One content, one sick in part.`"
"Don't cite Rosetti to me James." James smiled at her for a moment, then was off again at twice the speed."
"`One warbling for the mere bright day's delight,
One longing for the night.`"
"James, I said don't, unless your sole intention is to irritate me..."
"`At length slow evening came:
They went with pitchers to the reedy brook;`" Magnus turned and began to walk away again. "`Lizzie most placid in – alright. I'll stop, sooner than drive you away again." Magnus halted and let him catch up. He stared into her face for a moment. "Can he never let you be?"
"What?" Magnus asked, startled, "Who?"
"Oh, Druitt, of course."
"Sorry?"
"I'm right, am I not? Throughout the service you were watching with that wistful look in your eyes, which hasn't receded, doubtless seeing what his madness denied you." Magnus looked away, feeling old pain surge as though she'd torn the stitches. It didn't escape James's notice.
"Helen, I'm sorry. I should have kept my thoughts to myself. I've been looking forward to seeing you for weeks and now all I've done is upset you."
"It's not your fault James, I..." But the sound of a voice, deep, woody, familiar, lisping slightly, made her stop.
"Helen Magnus and James Watson. Sarah didn't tell me she'd invited you." The portly form of Sir Winston Churchill strolled towards them. He extended his hand to each in turn, still speaking. "How are you both? You look well; neither of you has aged a day."
"Had you expected us to Winston?" James asked, smiling.
"Come now, what do you take me for? Helen, is Canada treating you well?"
"Well enough, old friend."
"Evidently well enough to keep you from your homeland." He paused. "I speak as if I were still Prime Minister." He commented idly.
"If you stand in the next election," James said, "you may well be again. I'd say your chances are good."
"I will take great heart in that," Winston replied, "as it comes from a man who's usually right." He turned and walked away again, calling another name. Magnus turned to James.
"I suppose we're obliged to go and congratulate Mr and Mrs Beauchamp." James nodded.
"I can't help but wonder how long this one will last."
"`Till death do us part` has a rather different meaning to us, though I'm surprised you don't already know, James, accurate to the hour."
"Very funny." James drawled. "`Laura most like a leaping flame,
They drew gurgling water from its deep.`" Magnus walked away, shaking her head a little. James followed still reciting "`Lizzie plucked purple and rich golden flags,
Then turning homeward said...`"