Disclaimer: Me owning AGATB and RA? And all the characters, including Kartik? Oh, boy. Imagine that.
So, I guess I was, well, am, rather, interested in Mrs. Nightwing. She's a very interesting character. The line, "I wonder what it must be like watching yourself soften under the years, unable to stop it", in Rebel Angels. That line made me wonder. What must it be like?
Oh, I would love you to read on. And tell me about this after. Much appreciated!
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My eyes snap open, filled with tears.
"No." My weak whisper scratches against the dead silence of Spence. The images of my nightmare flashes by in my mind: the lovely young lady, the baby huddled in her arms, the love in his eyes -
"No!" I moan, shutting my eyes tightly, trying hard to stop the heartache I feel. But the pain stays, and tears slide down my cheeks. Stop it. He's been gone for twenty-five years, he wouldn't remember you now. He won't know of the pain - oh, the pain!
I shake my head forcefully. No, I don't care. I won't. But I know, I did. I do. I always will.
My hands reach under the bed, nimbly lifting the lid of an old hatbox. I instictively place my fingers around the corner of a photograph. However close I place it to my eyes, I cannot see; the darkness swallows my sight. I cannot see the lovely elegnace of his features, the love and tenderness in his eyes and mouth. The love, and tenderness, for me. Only for me.
I feel sick at the thought of seeing his face again, but I have a sudden feeling that if I don't -
He only loved you for so long. He couldn't love you any longer than those six years.
What has he done? What has he done to me? He's trampled and ripped me into a thousand pieces. Too many pieces. Oh, no. No one can put me back together. Never again. How could he? I thought he loved me, cherished me, always wanted me. How could he?
I tear the photograph into tiny shreds. Only a heartbeat later, I start to despair. What have I done? The only memory of him. I bury my head into my pillow, sweeping away the tiny torn pieces of paper onto the floor.
-
"Missus Nightwing, ma'am?" Brigid's voice comes from behind me.
Turning around, I say, "Yes, Brigid?"
"Miss Doyle is ou' at the lawns. You said you wanted to talk wit' her?"
I nod. "Yes, thank you, Brigid."
I don't move until Brigid shuts the door firmly behind her. I peer out the window behind my desk outlooking the great lawn. A group of girls surround the archery area, bows held high, their thin arms straining. A blond girl stands before them, waving her hands dramatically. I sigh, shaking my head.
The empty hall echoes with my even footsteps as I make my way outside. I immediately walk towards where Miss Doyle is resting on her chair, wrapped in blankets. As I step closer, I see that she is biting her lip, holding a tiny box in her hands, her mind clearly elsewhere.
I pretend to be worried about other things, to cover up my signs of sympathy. I cluck, looking at the group of girls shooting arrows. "I am not at all certain about this."
Miss Doyle's voice shakes as she speaks. "It's nice to have choices."
Yes, it is, isn't it? Especially when you choose to leave your wife behind. "In my day, there were not such choices. Such freedom. There was no one to say, 'Here is the world before you. You have only to reach for it'."
The girls suddenly errupt in cheers, and I shake my head, eyes turned up to the blue sky. "No doubt the fall of civilization is at hand." I cannot help smile at the happy squeals of the girls in the distance, but my heart drops as I think about Miss Doyle's current situation. Oh, how she saved herself.
I clear my throat, and say carefully, "I undertand you've decided against Mr. Middleton."
"Yes," she says. " Everyone thinks me mad. Perhap I am mad." She attempts a small laugh. "Perhaps there is something the matter with me that I cannot be happy with him."
There is nothing wrong, my dear. I rest my hand lightly on her shoulder. "It is best to be sure, through and through," I say, trying not to reveal any emotion. The girls tumble around together in the grass, squealing and giggling. So care-free.
"Else you could find yourself one day coming home to an empty house, save for a note: I've gone out. You could wait all night for him to return. Nights turn into weeks, to years. It's horrible, the waiting. You can scarcely bear it. And perhaps years later on holiday in Brighton, you see him, walking along the boardwalk as if out of some dream. No longer lost." Oh, the delicious hope. "Your heartbeat quickens. You must call out to him. Someone else calls first. A pretty young woman with a child. He stops and bends to lift the child into his arms. His child." Not mine. Oh, no, not ours. "He gives a furtive kiss to his young wife. He hands her a box of candy, which you know to be Chollier's chocolates. He and his family stroll on. Something in you falls away. You will never be as you were. What is left to you is the chance to become something new and unsure. But atleast the waiting is over." A strange sense of calm floats onto me, though hard and cold as steel.
Miss Doyle is astonished. I silently curse myself for revealing so much, but she needed it. She needed to know how being a widow felt, how she would be if she didn't do the right thing.
"Yes. Thank you." She gaze darts in my direction before settling on the great lawn again. I pat her shoulder gently. Make the right decision, Gemma. I take my hand away to brush my dress free of its wrinkles. A sudden cry and excited chatter catches my attention. I can spy a tiny thing of a bird in the careful hands of a young girl as she races towards me, her white skirts flying.
"Oh, what madness is this?" I murmer absently, meeting the girl halfway.
"Mrs. Nightwing, please...may we keep it?" I almost smile when the girl says this. Oh, so innocent and happy. "Please, please!" the other girls chime in.
"Oh, very well." I say. The girls holler and dance about, the joy lifting their lithe feet.
I raise my voice, not wanting to seem too submissive. "But I shall not be responsible for it. It is your charge. You keep it. I've no doubt I'll come to regret this decision." I sniff. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I should like to finish my book, alone, without the presence of a single ringleted girl to disrupt me. If you should come for me at dinner and find me in my chair, gone to the angels at last, you shall know that I died alone, which is to say in a state of utter bliss." I take my leave, shooting a final glance at Miss Doyle out of the corner of my eye. A faint smile is on her lips, the previous tears glistening on her cheeks.
A troop of girls scramble to catch up with me, asking me questions and chatting away about how happy or grateful she is about a baby bird to take care of. I try desperately to answer all of those questions, but eventually entering Spence with a trio of girls, a pinch more curious and stubborn to leave me. My heart warms a bit, knowing that they need me, appreciate me. I silently pray that nothing would ever kill their pleasure and merriment.
-
I sit at my desk, resting my head on my palm. My unfinished book sits on one corner of the old and scratched surface, threatening to fall off. I hope that my short talk with Miss Doyle will show her, perhaps giude her, in the, somewhat, right direction.
I suddenly realize how lucky I am. Here among the pupils I love, doing what I do best, showing them the safest path in life. I belong here. Not in an empty house, wondering if he ever thought of me, if he ever remembered me. Twenty-five years. If I survived for so long, I could survive for the rest of my life. Here, doing what I love. Here. At Spence.
My home.
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The end. That particular part moved me when I was reading the book. Mrs. Nightwing is an interesting character. I liked writing this oneshot very much. The emotions, oh, boy. It was like laying in bed all day. Ok, maybe not...
Please review! I would love to see what you think about Mrs. Nightwing.