A/N: Hey, Happy Halloween all! You know I'm bad at deadlines, and this year I'm pushing against even more of a tide than usual. But the show is open at last, which means as co-director and designer I can take a breath and sleep normally again. Still working on getting my muse to fully rouse herself, but fortunately I had this fic mostly written last Halloween. I just couldn't bear the thought of sitting on it another year, so here it is—better late than never. I hope you can enjoy it all the same. You're all darlings.
Behind the Wall
Edith ran a critical eye over the festooned façade before her. Orange electrical candles glowed behind arced windows, cotton cobwebs stretched from turned post to turned post, studded with black foam spiders and hanging bats, and a skeleton couple in Victorian dress waved to passersby from behind the ornate porch railing. She grinned in anticipation. Painswick House was ready for its Halloween haunting.
And, she realized with a glance at the sinking sun, she had better get ready too. She hurried inside to don her costume: an evening gown in faded cerulean velvet. The bodice was trimmed in delicate lace and violet furbelows, and the whole right side of the dress was riddled with carefully crafted tears and crimson stains. Her face would be made up in an equally grisly fashion, with large scars marring her right cheek. When her audience shuffled over the threshold on creaky wooden floors, they would be met by a rosebud complexion as she gave her left profile, telling the story of her idyllic marriage to a handsome man of substance. Her excitement would melt into horrified terror as she rotated to her right side, recounting how, on her first night in her new home, she'd been mauled to death by her husband's pack of ruthless hounds.
Hers was just one of the many stories visitors to the Downton Historical Society's annual ghost tour would hear this All Hallow's Eve. The experience began with Charles Carson, who portrayed a dour and mildly menacing Victorian butler, gathering guests and giving them the rules in rhyming verse. From there, entrants would join one of three guides: Elsie Hughes (his wife) as an austere and forbidding housekeeper, Anna Bates as a maid with an overactive imagination and an addiction to horror periodicals, or her husband John as an enigmatic valet with a pronounced limp. They would be shown from room to room in the resplendent 1870's house (each appropriately dressed in its own array of faux spiderwebs and flickering electric candles), encountering spirits of the past, both historical and imagined. The portrayals were only partly history and mixed with large doses of campy horror, but the ghost walk was a big moneymaker for the DHS, and helped to preserve the beautiful old house and sponsor educational opportunities the rest of the year.
As a result of the walk, local actors had become honorary members of the Society, and thanks to them the walk now included nine stops. In addition to Edith's gruesome bride, there was Beryl Patmore, who, stationed in the kitchen, gave an unsettling monologue about how one ought to consider how one treated one's cook, as the slightest slip of the hand might conjure up horrors of agony just after the soup course. Thomas Barrow recounted a true story of a former son of the family, who turned his own father's cane upon him during one of that man's cruel beatings to crush the young man's 'unnatural' tendencies. But it wasn't all gloom and gore. Tom Branson gave a humorous monologue about a nervous inventor (with plenty of steampunk flair) whose brilliant (fantastical) creations and good looks made him such a celebrity that he'd taken to hiding in all manner of places to escape overeager admirers. One day, he'd been mobbed by ladies as he left a demonstration of his newest invention, and had jumped straight into the Thames to escape…before realizing he had his rather heavy apparatus strapped to his chest. However, he noted with a grin, death brought blissful solitude…
Daisy Mason inhabited an upstairs parlor and, in the role of one of the nieces of the family, invited ladies in the audience to try their hand at any manner of All Hallow's Eve divining methods to determine what sort of man they were to marry or to have their romantic fortunes told. Edith's own sister Sybil acted as one of the daughters of the household who had famously worked to rescue 'fallen women.' She acted with Ethel Parks, whose story had her being attacked and left for dead in the street. The vignette ended with a fiery curse on male privilege and a hint at women's suffrage. There was John Moseley, who'd died in an explosion when the railway expanded a line into the area, and Sarah O'Brien, who'd had to flee the household after she'd been accused as a witch.
And then there was Edith's favorite story, one of the true ones. It told of an army major who'd loved the daughter of the house. Though the girl, Carol, had failed in her first two seasons, her father had refused the match, considering Major Roberts beneath her and too old, especially when he'd returned home from fighting the Boers with a lame arm. Neither one of them ever married, and two years after her father had rejected his suit, Carol had died of a contagious fever. The major had followed her days later, on Halloween, freeing his spirit through an overdose of laudanum, so that it might be reunited with hers in the afterlife.
Perhaps the reason Edith favored this story was that for the past three years Anthony Strallan had played the part; and because for the past two and a half years she had been in love with him. She wasn't sure exactly when he'd begun to return her feelings, but it was plain that he was just as enamored of her as she was of him. However, much to the consternation of the rest of the DHS, neither of them did anything about it. They'd never said a word to one another about their feelings, and yet it was clear to both of them that those feelings ran deep and strong just below the veneer of affectionate friendship they maintained. Edith coached herself to be contented with that much; relationships between young women and men of Anthony's age just didn't happen—like Carol and her major. And even if they were to fly in the face of societal standards and act upon their feelings, surely the difference in their ages would doom the relationship in the long run when one of them became dissatisfied with the other. Better to keep the warm easy report they had as friends, rather than shatter it by acting upon the mad yearnings of her heart. Even if those yearnings sometimes seemed impossible to resist.
"I've come to give Cinderella her finishing touches," Anna entered the bedchamber that served as Edith's dressing room. She was wearing the black and white costume of an 1870's maid, and her complexion had been artificially whitened, with forboding purple circles under her eyes. She had a fine hand for makeup, and she would provide Edith's face with some wicked gashes.
"Is everything alright?"
Edith realized she'd been frowning at her reflection.
"Oh, yes, sorry. I was…"
"Asking yourself why the hell you haven't thrown yourself into Anthony's arms yet?"
Edith sighed sadly. "No, I'm perfectly aware of why I haven't."
"Oh Edith," Anna said, leaning down and plying a brush on Edith's cheek, "every time the Society meets you torment yourself by telling yourself how much you don't deserve what you desperately want. And every time I feel compelled as a friend to tell you: you know that's a load of bollocks, right? The world couldn't care less if you want to jump into bed with a man who's two years older or twenty."
Edith seized on the break in both Anna's painting and her speech to protest, "It's not about jumping into bed! I—"
The brush returned, smearing what Edith was sure was a deliberate path over the top lip, meaning she must keep her mouth closed unless she wanted a mouthful of cream makeup.
"Yeah," Anna said, "but you can't deny that's part of it. I've seen the way you look at him when he's working with archives…reaching for files on the top shelf…"
Though she was receiving a pallid wash Edith was sure her pinkening cheeks were evident. She did admire Anthony's bottom. And the line of his spine as he reached upwards. And the flex of his arm and broad shoulders as he lifted down boxes of files… And his smile, and his strong jaw, and the way his Adam's apple…
"Right," Anna said reading her thoughts, her voice drenched in sarcasm, "completely platonic."
Edith gave up her pretense and grinned sheepishly at her reflection.
X
X
A blur of blue appeared at the edges of his vision. He didn't look up from his book, but he was always aware of her when she was in the room. Memories of last year filled in the peripheral vision; Edith laced into a fetching blue gown which perfectly suited her slender form and set off her deep brown eyes. Even with crimson wounds carved over one cheek she was utterly enchanting. When Anthony finally looked up, he realized his memory had played him false. He was never able to accurately conjure the living grace, the intelligent vitality of her movement; enhanced tonight by fluttering bows and flouncing ruffles. His heart began to beat more loudly, and a familiar ache pressed in on its edges.
Damn but he loved her. And it didn't take an antique gown or even her presence to make him want to discard all decency and beg her to have him. She captivated and complemented him in every way, and it was the greatest sorrow of his life that he couldn't have her. But it was a tacit understanding between them. They loved, and they showed it in several considerate, benign ways without ever pursuing a romantic attachment. It simply wasn't their lot, and they were partners only in stalwart resignation.
But that didn't mean he couldn't beam with delight when she came to greet him. Or that he couldn't tease her into laughter. Or tell her how lovely she looked. Or stand beside her as they received their pre-show speech from their director, Isobel.
And then, all too soon, they had to part company; he to the library, she to the dining room.
For the performance was about to begin.
X
X
X
Edith exhaled blissfully as she shucked her corset. While it was nice to step into the trappings of the past for a few hours, she found she was grateful to get back into a pair of jeans.
They'd had an excellent turnout for the tours, with over two hundred people coming through the house. In spite of, and perhaps due to, the light rain that had begun about 9:00, their last hour had been particularly packed. She smiled with satisfaction as she mentally replayed the yelps and gasps which she'd received, meaning that she had done her job well.
Now it was time for an equally cherished tradition, when the performers and society members gathered for a post-performance party; featuring card games, spooky stories, and fellowship. They were a varied bunch, but they were family, and it wouldn't be Halloween without them.
The thought had barely entered her consciousness when a deep roll of thunder sounded in the near distance. As if on cue, the rain grew heavier. She couldn't help but smile. What was better on Halloween night than a storm?
X
X
"What are you two scheming about?" Charles Carson rumbled, his bushy brows knit together in curiosity.
Elsie and Anna looked up from where they had been conversing, heads together, mouths pursed conspiratorially.
"Just planning a little Halloween magic," Anna answered, nodding towards the corner of the room where Anthony and Edith sat in a group with Thomas and Beryl, though they didn't seem to have eyes for anyone other than each other.
"A-haaa. And what makes you think you can convince either of them to make a move when not one of us has had even an iota of success over the past two years?"
Elsie grinned playfully. "Because," she said adopting a thick highland burr, and waggling her fingers menacingly, "I'm a wetch."
"That ye are—" he rejoined warmly, coming closer to slide an arm around her waist, "an ancient hag from the highlands," she swatted reproachfully at his chest and he grinned mischievously, "who has had me completely bewitched for the past fourteen years." He leaned down to plant a fond kiss on her cheek.
"Elsie and I have decided that we need to find some way to get them alone," Anna said. "They never go anywhere without another member of the society around."
As if in answer to her request, the storm thundered loud against the house, and the lights flickered twice and then went out.
"Well done," Charlie murmured to his wife.
"Never told you I could manipulate the weather did I?" she replied.
The room was still dimly lit by the orange glow of electric candles, and people began to rise and organize to work on getting the power back on.
"Anthony," Elsie called, striding over to him. "Why don't you go look for more lights. It may be some time before we get the electricity restored." He nodded. She turned and pretended to notice Edith standing by for the first time. "Edith, why don't you go with him? I'm sure I've seen a stash of oil lamps in one of the upstairs closets."
Anthony rose to his feet and gave a showy heel-clicking bow. "We shall not fail you, Madame," he promised, before offering his arm to Edith with a flourish. She laughed and took it, and they trotted off in the direction of the stairs.
Using their phones as flashlights they searched the upstairs linen closet and two bedroom closets. On their fourth attempt, Anthony gave a triumphant "Eureka!" as he extracted an oil lamp.
"It looks like there's a whole box of them in here," he told Edith, "hang on…"
He leaned down again, and Edith heard a box slide across the floor, then stop.
"Hmm, what's this?" he murmured. "Edith come here, take a look at this."
Edith twisted herself into the narrow space beside him, bending low to see a small panel of ornate carving no bigger than her palm. At the center was a carved rose, its leaves spiraling out from the central flower in exquisite curlicues. She reached forward to run a hand over the polished ebony blossom, the redistribution of weight upsetting her balance slightly so that she teetered forward. In the next instant Edith registered three sensations all at once: Anthony's strong fingers stretched over her waist, steadying her, the movement of the wooden rose beneath her finger, and a blast of musty, dusty air washing over her face.
She blinked and coughed. Beside her, Anthony sneezed. Together they straightened, now facing a narrow opening beyond which they could glimpse what appeared to be a furnished room.
"A hidden room!" Edith exclaimed.
Anthony grinned at her, matching excitement gleaming in his eyes.
"Shall we investigate?"
"But of course!" she replied eagerly.
They stepped through the doorway and into what appeared to be a cozy, if cramped, parlor. What must once have been a well-stuffed sofa stood against one wall, its cushions mere remnants of cotton and horsehair after much plundering by decades of mice. Before the sofa was a delicate mahogany tea-table upon which stood an empty bottle and two crystal glasses. Fitted into another wall was a bookcase which held books and assorted boxes, a chest or two, a few blue and white plates. Impossibly the room also just accommodated a small spinet piano, piled with yellowed pages of music. Still another wall featured a small grate fireplace, and Edith wondered where the flue came out. A round window about two feet in diameter opened in the ceiling, which would have provided some natural illumination in better weather. Suited to Halloween, everything was strewn with webs and coated in a layer of ghostly dust. Candlesticks set on the table, shelf, and piano held dripping, long-forgotten stubs, and the air smelled of secrets long forgotten.
"I wonder who used this place," Edith mused aloud.
"And why?" Anthony asked, moving towards the shelf and taking up one of the small chests.
He set it on the tea table, easing back the lid. He and Edith peered down at a pile of letters.
"Ohhh," Edith breathed in excitement. "We are going to need more light!"
Several minutes later she and Anthony were perched carefully on the threadbare sofa (which mercifully held their weight despite audible complaint) in the added light of two candles Edith had managed to find and plug into one of the old candelabras.
"My darling," Anthony read from a letter in his hand, "I heard by mere chance that the doctor came to see you today. My heart rejoiced to discover that you had not forsaken me these past days. When I had no word from you I was in despair, thinking you had given me up at last. How foolish a captive heart can be! I made myself quite miserable last night, wondering how I would endure if I could never again see your beloved face, hold you in my arms, taste your sweet lips…"
He stopped reading, his eyes straying to Edith's. Her face felt hot, her heart felt swollen and sore, and her lungs didn't seem to be taking in enough air. To hear such tender words coming from his lips when he was so close… For a few mad seconds she forgot all the reasons why she shouldn't reach for him, shouldn't caress tentative fingers over his jaw to see what he would do…
Thunder rumbled and a blinding bolt of lightning flickered through the small window above. Both she and Anthony started, the tension between them shattered. Edith leaned over the letter once more.
"Let's see who the correspondent is. I have a theory…"
"Major Hurst Roberts," he read, peering at the conclusion.
"So then 'my darling' must be Carol Laurence!" Edith exclaimed, coming to her feet and crossing to the bookshelf. "What's the date of that letter?"
Anthony brought the letter closer to the candle. "1882," he answered, excitement in his voice, "just a year before Carol died. Perhaps this was the beginning of the illness that took her."
A second, more masculine box had been placed on the bookshelf next to the one Anthony held. Edith seized it, tearing off ancient cobwebs and sending a shower of dust down over her shoes, but she didn't heed it. She hastened back to join Anthony on the sofa.
Reverently, she lifted the lid and placed it aside. There too, was a pile of letters, neatly tied. She took the topmost and read,
"Dearest Hurst,
Jeanette tells me I called out for you in my delirium two nights past. Though my body is burning my heart longs for you, and in dreams I keep you close. I am better this afternoon, though weary. Forgive these few short lines. I hope soon to rise from my bed to find you waiting for me. As I write I can see the garden wall—how I wish I could see you climbing to our tower, come to kiss me to life like a fairy tale princess. You are my life, my darling, my love.
Now I must rest. Perhaps you shall meet me in my dreams.
Your C"
They sat in silence for a few moments.
"Look at the date," Anthony murmured.
"October 24, 1883," she whispered, a lump rising in her throat. "Do you think they ever saw one another again?"
He stood slowly, surveying the room.
"They must've met here, secretly for months."
Edith also stood, looking at her surroundings through new eyes. She imagined the lovers here, reading to one another late at night, sharing music, food, kisses. She scrutinized the sofa; probably there hadn't been anything beyond the Victorian equivalent of 'heavy petting.' Still, the letters spoke to an intimacy, a devotion, a passion that brought the tears to her eyes as she imagined them here, stealing happiness in their own private world. An envious longing swept over her.
"I think he did see her again," Anthony said into the stillness, his voice gruff. She looked to him, and noticed the glimmer of tears in his eyes. "He must have. He loved her too much to stand by and wait for news of her death. A man like that—if he loved such a woman…" he trailed off, and she saw a deep regret in his eyes, one she'd only glimpsed before, but understood too well.
She nodded. "Yes," she choked past the lump in her throat. "I think he came…. Perhaps he even stole into her chamber in the dead of night, held her as she died…."
His brow furrowed. "Then maybe it wasn't suicide. Maybe…"
Edith's grief was diminished by the spark of discovery. "If Major Roberts died of the same fever that killed C…" she took a step towards him sharing the idea…"If it was known that he was here, alone in her chamber…surely they'd want to cover it up, put it about that it was suicide…"
"Perhaps even bribe the doctor!" he continued, advancing with excitement.
They grinned together at their deduction. The seconds passed.
"I'm glad we found this place," Edith whispered.
"So am I," he agreed.
Edith stood still, gazing into the depths of his warm blue eyes, eyes which opened to a soul so kindred and dear to her. She took a slow breath, as if she could inhale the tenderness she saw in his gaze, let it be enough to sustain her when she left this room and she and Anthony returned to their separate corners. Gradually, she registered a sound beyond their own soft breaths: a faint piano drifted around them; a waltz, plaintive and romantic. Without a word, Anthony held out his arms, and Edith stepped into them, the seal of palm in palm like coming home. They stood together like that, in the stature of a waltz, Anthony's other hand warm at her waist. To Edith, it was the room that seemed to spin and change.
The candles seemed to burn brighter, glowing with soft cheery light. The air seemed to expand and freshen, and she had the sense of rose petals and sweet wine. She never took her eyes from Anthony's, but somewhere at the back of her mind she registered a woman's laugh, a gentleman's murmur. She was filled with a sense of hope, of optimism. Everything she had thought about Carol and Major Roberts had been wrong. It hadn't mattered that he was older than she, that her family had objected. They'd loved one another so strongly that they'd created this sanctuary. And though death had parted them, Edith felt a certainty that their love would have endured the ravages of time. Indeed, it had endured death, hadn't it?
As if urged forward by some ghostly presence, Edith leaned in, resting her forehead on Anthony's.
"Anthony," she breathed, "I think—"
But he didn't let her finish. His lips took hers, a tender yet secure seal, as if she would vanish if he didn't hold her fast. A sound that was almost a sigh, almost a sob hummed through his kiss. His jaw relaxed, then tightened as he kissed her again, his large hands rising to cradle her face, one thumb tracing the arc of her jaw in a savoring caress. He dipped his head again and kissed her slowly, thoroughly, every movement a declaration. She sighed, and to her chagrin she felt her knees give a slight wobble. He upheld her and she steadied, leaning into his broad chest, pulling him closer. She was faintly aware of a heavy drop rolling down one cheek. Her heart felt raw and achey, as if it was slowly shedding a tough outer casing. She'd never thought she could have this…something so good, so right…she'd told herself it wasn't meant to be, and to suddenly have it, to be holding ecstasy in her arms… More tears flavored her kisses, as she greedily pursued the sweetness he gave as he took, each draw of her seeming to simultaneously strengthen and torment him, so that he eagerly dipped his mouth to taste deeper, unable to find satisfaction in the breaths between. Edith let herself fall, giving herself over to the urgency of the wondrous love surging through her.
After some time their kisses slowed, but their arms still twined about one another, holding close, their thudding heartbeats thumping in tandem behind the seemingly insignificant barrier of their joined chests.
"Oh, my darling," Anthony sighed, nuzzling his cheek against hers, kissing her nape. "I don't think I can let you go. I can't go back—I can't pretend anymore that I don't want you. I could spend my whole life up here just kissing you, just loving you…but I can't- "
Instead of finishing he buried his lips in her neck, his touch imploring, as if begging Edith not to send him away, not to reconstruct the wall that had kept them apart.
Edith tried to respond to reassure him, but was temporarily choked. A surge of utter joy and love had formed another lump in her throat and she swallowed against it, letting her fingers trace a soothing pattern through the fine curls at the base of his skull. He exhaled a shaky sigh.
"I don't think I can go back either," she murmured. "I don't want to go back. I want you, Anthony. Us. We."
He didn't respond immediately, and in the stillness icy doubts rushed in. Maybe that's not what he had meant. Maybe he regretted it all. She was being clingy, overreacting. 'We' sounded too official, too much of a burden. That's not what he wanted…
He pulled back just far enough to catch her gaze. Candlelight gleamed in his eyes and spilled over his long cheekbones. He looked so handsome. His eyes softened as he read the uncertainty, the fear in her own, and he shook his head infinitesimally, leaning forward so that his nod became a caress, his caress a kiss, then two kisses, then four.
"We," he breathed against her mouth, seizing it again, nipping and adoring until she felt her knees wobble again.
XXX
"There," Tom said, grunting slightly as he reached for the breaker switch at the back of a deep closet under the cellar stairs. Above him, a small light flickered to life, and on the main floor there were a few cheers and some applause. At the top of the narrow stairs Sybil switched off her phone flashlight.
"Well done you," she said, adding playfully, "the hero of Halloween."
But her eyes as she caught his held more than simple good cheer. He began to climb the stairs, those sparkling eyes a beacon.
"And does the hero get a kiss from fair damsel?" he asked mischievously.
She grinned, propping her arms on his shoulders as he reached the top step.
"Perhaps, just the one," she said, before leaning down to make good on her promise. However, it seemed clear that one kiss would be woefully insufficient, and Tom reached up to seek more when—
"Hang on," Sybil protested in good-natured scorn, "a damsel?"
"You're right, too weak. More like Queen, Goddess…" Tom inched closer, seeking her lips, but she wriggled away with a laugh.
"Something even more fearsome," she pronounced, making her way down the corridor which led to the main party, "a feminist!"
Tom grinned and hurried after her.
As they entered the party a few hearty huzzahs greeted them, and a brief toast was drunk in their honor. Chatter resumed, a hand of Loo was dealt and drinks where replenished.
"Shouldn't someone go find Anthony and Edith?" Daisy asked no one in particular.
Elsie and Anna exchanged sly glances.
"No, I'm sure they'll be fine a little while longer…"
"No need," Thomas rejoined, nodding towards the doorway.
There, a rather chagrined Edith and Anthony stood, blushing but radiant, hands clasped.
Anna thumped a hand against her chest. "Praise the lord!" she cried.
"No," Elsie joked, a burr once again, "praise all the powers of darkness."
Anna laughed. "Well, if you're casting spells, I'd like a smaller bottom, if you please."
Elsie chuckled. "I think I'll hang my pointed hat until next Halloween. I'm quite satisfied with my one miracle for the year."
Anna looked to where Edith and Anthony were now sitting, hands still clasped, faces lit like jack-o-lanterns.
"Perhaps you can do the wedding for next year," she quipped.
Elsie just chuckled.
X
X
It was a perfect Autumn morning. Mist hung low among treetops painted in hushed reds and yellows and oranges, and the rising sun brought the promise of a fresh clear day.
Edith turned from the window and contemplated Anthony, his long limbs stretching across her couch as he slept. They'd collapsed there last night after the party, another barrage of kissing sending them off to sleep in one another's arms. And yet in spite of that, she couldn't help but worry…
It wasn't Halloween anymore. It was just another day, and the ghosts of the past weren't haunting them. Perhaps sunshine would break the illusion—and it would all become plastic skeletons and cotton spiderwebs. Pushing such thoughts aside, Edith padded over to the couch and snuggled in beside Anthony. He stirred, sleepy eyes meeting hers, instantly lighting with a smile.
"Good morning," he muttered.
"Good morning," she whispered back, unable to keep the trepidation from her voice.
His lids drooped closed. He mumbled sleepily, "Is it time for 'we' to get up?"
Edith felt relief flood over her. Relief and a pure, bright love.
"No," she said, snuggling closer to him, "I think 'we' have plenty of time…"
XXX