Title: It Brings Back Memories
Author: Amanda (xFreakx)
Email: xfreakx@hotmail.com
Rating: R (in later chapters at least ;)
Archive: Ask first. If I don't give you my permission... tough. (Oh, who am I kidding? No one's gonna want to archive it anyway. ;)
Disclaimer: I own no characters in this (at least so far.) Hm. Everything belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. And the song "Lonely Boy" (from which the title is taken, although used horribly out of context) belongs to the Sex Pistols.
Feedback: Pleeeease?
********************
I need her tender touch, oh I need it so much
I can't forget, oh I'm so upset
I wonder where she's gone, I wonder where she went wrong
I wanna get her back to me, but I think she's tired of me
I'm a lonely boy
I'm a lonely boy
I'm a lonely boy
I'm a lonely boy
-Lonely Boy, The Sex Pistols
Chapter One: Child
The woman let them tuck the coverlet around her in silence. She let them place the baby in her arms, in silence. She touched his cheek, never saying a word, and watched as they bustled around the room. "Don't worry, darling, he should be home soon," her mother said, plastering a smile onto her wrinkled face. "He'll be home soon." She knew, of course, that it was a lie, but she nodded, in silence, and cuddled the child close to her.
He was tiny, with big blue eyes - but then, most babies had big blue eyes. She studied his face and tried to find some vestige of herself, or of William, in those chubby features, but it was too early to tell. She thought that he had her nose. Tired, exhausted, sweat dripping into her face, she ran a finger down his cheek. He burbled and waved his hands, like a tiny clockwork toy. She smiled. "Ah, my love," she whispered, the first words she'd spoken the entire afternoon.
The midwife had noticed it, had told the new grandmother. Most women screamed, or cried out, or sobbed. Little Miss Mary had clenched her teeth and pushed in silence, though her eyes were wide with pain. The grandmother nodded proudly. "My daughter is stronger than she looks," she'd said regally. Now the grandmother left, to let Mary spend time with the baby.
Now that no one was there, Mary spoke, cooing to her child, the boy she had carried in her stomach for eight months - he was premature. "Ah, my love," she repeated, whispering nonsensical, sentimental nothings to him. "You will be William, as well. My darling William."
Unlike William the Elder, who she knew was, at the moment, out carousing in some low... Some low pesthole of a tavern. He had been the spoiled younger son, the fop, and he had not changed in his older years. This William, though, would return her love. He would take care of her in her old age, perhaps, and bring home a lovely girl to marry. In turn, perhaps, she would become a grandmother.
"The world is at your feet, my dear," she told him softly. "Anything you want, is yours." It was the least she could do for him, with such a father. Guilt panged at her heart, guilt at what she had done to her son by marrying Sir William.
He looked at her solemnly, and with, she thought, unusual understanding for a wee red thing not long from the womb. And, Mary thought, he understood.
+
"William!" the tutor said, distaste and annoyance evident in his voice, "- Do- pay attention, will you? This is the third time today."
William had drifted off into his daydream world, the one that always surfaced when the tutor started lecturing in a dry tone about the merits of Macaulay and how William's disposition would approve if -only he'd listen- very frustrating. He found that the streets, visible from the window, were much more interesting than the boring books and history that the tutor made him learn. Try to learn. William was not a good pupil.
"Sorry, sir," William said contritely, though he didn't feel that way at all. He sighed deeply and looked up. "Mathematics is difficult."
"It would not be difficult if you applied yourself."
"But it -is-. And I do try."
"Not hard enough," the tutor said self righteously, flaring his nostrils. As he snorted, a bogey appeared at the edge of his nose, hanging there like a green bit of spider's web. William blinked and tried not to stare at it, but he was doomed. As the teacher continued to drone, the thing wiggled back and forth, daring him to say something. He attempted to peal his eyes away, but it was no use.
"William! What are you staring at?" the tutor demanded.
"Uh, uh, nothing!" he said desperately.
"Pay attention," the tutor said, suspicious.
"I will!"
He hoped sincerely that it would disappear; releasing him from the evil thrall he was held in.
"William, stop looking at me like that," said Mr. Hobson. "For God's sake, boy, what is the matter?"
He was unable to hold it back any longer. Laughter, snickers, all emerged. "You've got a -bogey- on your nose!" he giggled.
Mr. Hobson slammed the book shut. "That is -it-," he hissed, "I've had -enough-! The lateness, the laziness, the rudeness - the sheer - sheer uncaring! You, boy, will grow up to be a nothing! You are a waste of space on God's good earth. I am going to your parents to hand my resignation letter -right now-."
William blinked, and shrugged, and waved his hand. "Fine. You're the third one, anyway. You just aren't good enough for us."
Mr. Hobson gave him a shrewd look. "You're a spoiled brat," he said, in conversational tones, "Goodbye. I hope I never see you again."
+
"It wasn't my fault, mummy," William said, "I don't know what was wrong with him. He just, he just got angry. Snapped."
"It's all right, darling," Mary said, patting him on the head. She ran her fingers through his unruly curls, and smiled. "They just don't appreciate what a special boy you are."
He sighed, and shifted. "Mummy, I'm not a baby any more. I'm eight."
She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "You'll always be my little baby."
William made a face. "Er, yes."
"We'll find you a new tutor soon, don't you worry. And you will like this one, I'll make sure of it."
"Thank you, mummy," he said, and scampered from the room. He wanted to hide before his father got home - once William the elder found out about the money wasted in this latest tutor, there would be a series of very unpleasant events.
"My William," his mother whispered, seated on the divan and looking tired. "Whatever will we do with you?"
+
William sat on the window seat, staring out into the distance. The words arranged themselves in his head, as they did sometimes when he was bored or tired or not paying attention. Words were pretty things, not like cold numbers that were manipulated by rules. You could twist the words around the way you wanted them. He could control the words; even if they didn't always turn out exactly the way he wanted them to. Idly, he toyed with the ponytail, twirling it around his fingers.
They'd given up on the tutors after the sixth one stormed out in a rage, and Mary at least had realized that William was smart enough to educate himself more satisfactorily than the tutors had. After all, he probably wouldn't need extremely advanced maths in the real world; a gentleman didn't work. And he was being trained to be, above all else, a gentleman.
William the elder was rarely home, which suited his son perfectly. He got along better with Mary, his mother. He was beginning to be somewhat embarrassed by the love and affection she rained upon his head. It was all right when he was little, too little to know better. Now, at the mature age of ten, he wanted to grow up, he wanted to be independent.
Or at least, to go outside without being tied to his mother's apron strings.
He'd watched the other children very carefully, when his parents deigned to show up to the social events. Oh yes, they thought he hadn't noticed that the other mothers and fathers spent time with each other - William's father spent his time at the bar, getting loudly and riotously drunk, while his mother spent her time sitting in the corner, watching everything with enormous brown eyes. The other children had been... Loud. Noisy. The boys did not hang on their mothers.
As they had walked to the carriage, Mary had put an arm protectively around her son's shoulders, and was hurt deeply when he wriggled away.
William, whether she liked it or not, was growing up.
+
"Cor, mum, I dint mean it, I swear," the maid said, sobbing quietly in the corner. "'E just hit me, I don't know why 'e did."
"I cannot believe that my William would have done something like that!"
"I saw it," the butler said, "I saw it, Missus. He hit her right in the stomach!"
The maid's whimpers faded into the background as Mary drew herself up to her full height, an unimposing five feet one inch. "My son," she said, "Would not -hit- a maid like some... like some sort of common hoodlum! You are -fired-!"
William watched, peeking through the crack between door and wall. He was somewhat surprised about the turn of events, himself - the maid had been teasing him, not in a particularly good-natured way, either. Something had boiled up out of his gut, almost like he wasn't under his own control, and he'd hit her hard, knocked her over and screamed in her face. And then, shocked and scared, he'd fled.
He inched away from the doors and ran outside, into the streets. Cold air was best, cold air and a bit of a time alone. Yes. He'd calm down, and forget the mindless rage. It was best to keep it under control - control, and he would never do that again. The look on the maid's face scared him shitless.
+
"You look lovely, darling," his mother bubbled.
"I look like a penguin," William said, eyeing himself critically in the mirror, "A foppish penguin."
"You look lovely," she repeated adamantly.
"Thank you, mother."
"I'm so excited for you, William!" she said, "Your first ball, without me or your father... Do treat Sarah nicely, will you? Her mother is an old friend."
"Of course, mother," he humored her. "Of course I will treat her nicely. I don't think the gossips would like it if I put her up against the wall and- "
"William," she said darkly, "You may think your vulgar sense of humor is funny, but I will tell you that other people -do not- appreciate it."
He was seventeen, feeling cocky, and he grinned at his mother. He stood in the doorway for a moment. It was growing darker, and the smog smudged at the horizon and the gaslights were dabs of brilliance in the drear. Turning, William bowed deeply to Mary. "Good eve, Madam," he said, executed a jaunty salute, and ambled over to the coach. Right now, that second, he felt many things - excitement, nervousness - he was not often around others his age - it just wasn't something his mother was fond of.
The coach clattered over the streets, to the home of the rich Clayworth family. They were not gentry, but the current patriarch of the family had huge influence. It was even rumored that he'd go for a sea in the Commons... and the daughter, Cecily, was said to be a beauty. William grinned again, to himself, in the darkness of the coach. Perhaps she'd notice him...
+
"Oh please, William, dance with me?" Sarah asked, petulant. She was very pretty, with a pert face, large dark brown eyes, and honey blonde hair. She was, however, utterly vapid. There was nothing on her expression that spoke of sincere feeling; she was wrapped up in herself entirely. Her body was swathed in a dress that showed off a tiny waist to its best advantage.
"Yes, Sarah," he said, glazed smile plastered on his face, "But you'd better watch your feet. I'm liable to step on them."
She giggled, coyly. "But William, how can I watch my feet, when I'll be too busy watching your face?"
He coughed, and attempted to put a sincere smile onto his features. "Charming, as always. Shall we?" He held out a hand for her, and she took it. They walked out onto the floor as the bad struck up a melancholy waltz.
William hadn't been lying when he said he was horrible at dancing. During the course of the waltz, he managed to step on Sarah's dress twice, trip over his own feet once, and accidentally bump into another couple three times. Each mistake made the smile on his face even more fake, and as he twirled Sarah around in a circle, bringing her close to him, he thought that he might scream with boredom. This was not how it should have turned out!
And then, whirling around in a circle, he saw her.
At first, William wasn't sure exactly why he hadn't seen her in the first place. She was beautiful, she was stunning, she was -reading- a volume of Shakespeare... She must have been about his age, maybe a year younger, her hair piled up elegantly onto her head. Staring, open-mouthed, he accidentally bumped into Sarah, completely clumsy.
"William!" she squealed, "Ouch!"
"Sorry, sorry," he assured her hastily. "I'm sorry, I'm not... Not feeling well, just a touch of a stomach ache... Look, I'll be right back."
"William!"
"Sorry!" he said. "Sorry."
A servant moving by with a tray of hors d'oeuvres jumped as William grabbed his arm. "Sir?" he asked, confused. "May I help you?"
"Yes! I m-mean, certainly," William said, "Tell me, who is that girl? The one reading in the corner?"
The man pursed his lips. "That, sir, is Miss Cecily."
"Cecily Clayworth!"
"Yes, sir. If sir would let go of my arm, please?"
"Uh, um, sorry," William said, backing away. Cecily Clayworth. My god, he thought, how could I have missed her? I think I believe in love at first sight...
"Certainly, sir," the man said, and moved away, looking as though he were gliding over the smooth surface, no air beneath his feet.
William watched the girl for a moment before steeling his courage and hurrying towards the plush cushioned seat on which the girl rested. She didn't notice him at first, but then looked up as though surprised by his boldness when he sat down next to her. "Yes?" she wanted to know, raising an eyebrow.
"Miss Clayworth?"
"That's me."
"I'm - I'm William Cooper. I couldn't help but notice - you're a Shakespeare devotee?"
"Yes," she smiled, "I am. Ever since I was a little girl, my nanny would read the plays to me."
"Which is your favorite?" he asked, trying to keep the conversation going, "Macbeth is so dramatic, but the Twelfth Night never fails to make me laugh."
"I've been partial to King Lear," Cecily said, closing the book. "It has... Emotion."
"Yes!" William exclaimed, "That's exactly what I... Cordelia's love for her father... It made me wish for the same for mine."
Cecily nodded, enigmatic look upon her face. "I felt her heart."
"William?" Sarah asked, appearing by the side of the seat. "I've found you at least! Oh! Hello, Cecily," she said, sounding less than pleased to see the woman.
"Sarah," Cecily said, and smiled, and looked towards William. She said softly, "I wouldn't keep you from Sarah's company. Perhaps I will see you again."
"Yes," said William, "Yes, I hope so."
"Well, William Cooper. Good eve to you."
"Come," Sarah said, her voice icier every second. "Goodbye, Cecily."
William allowed himself to be pulled away, though he snuck a look over his shoulder at Cecily. She already had her face buried in the mildewed pages of the book. He sighed happily, and did not stiffen when Sarah took his hands in hers.
+
I think I'm in love.
All William could think of was Cecily. The obsession was a rather silly one, but since he had seen her sweet face, the clear features and smooth skin, coupled with the intelligence hidden behind her eyes, all of those combined to make him wake up sweating a night, dreaming of her. He had never felt like that before, but William, a romantic at heart, knew it was true love, pure love. That was what he felt for Cecily, who up until nights before had not even been a thought on his mind. He marveled at the suddenness in which his world had a new center and focus.
When his mother asked how the ball had been and whether or not he thought he'd like to continue seeing Sarah, he had been too immersed in his daydream to respond. Sarah's face, with its coyness and its tricks, was loathsome to him now. It had never been particularly appealing but now, now that he had seen Cecily, he never wanted to talk to Sarah again.
Unfortunately his mother and Sarah both had other ideas and, as William did not want to upset the Madam, he consented to occasionally escort Sarah to dances and parties for which she had no companion. This, luckily for William, was not often. Sarah was quite the popular one, but she seemed to have an inexplicable fascination with this dreamy, almost ethereal and elusive youth.
William found, to his shock, that he was composing poetry. Previously all his work had been of an amateur scholarly tilt, but now, with Cecily's face lurking behind his eyelids, the words formed themselves into embarrassing, mushy sonnets and poems. He read them to whoever listened, which, as gossip got around, was a smaller and smaller audience. Of course, William was too polite to -say- that it was Cecily he wrote of, but more than a few of the quicker young-bloods figured it out on their own.
"How I love thee / let me count the ways / I wish that I would see / that I would see thee always," he scribbled furiously onto a sheet of paper one day, before crumpling it up. "Oh, what's the use? I'll never win her heart by mangling the Bard. How I wish... How I wish the words would come."
But they didn't, and he struggled with his secret passion. In his mind, would come the day when he would profess his love for Cecily, when she would be astounded by the eloquency of his feelings. In his dreams, she would look up at him becomingly from beneath her lashes, and smile softly. "Yes, William," she would say, "I love you, too. You are my world."
It never happened like that. The next time he saw her at a party, she did not want to discuss Shakespeare with him. She smiled cordially, if a bit coldly, and made small talk for a few minutes before excusing herself to go and talk to a young cavalry officer home from India. The sudden change of attitude startled him, and depressed him.
"Cecily, why are you avoiding me?" he asked desperately at the Haywoods' son's birthday gala.
"I'm not avoiding you, William," she said. "I have other duties. I would love so to stay and chat, but I can't. You mustn't be selfish." And she swept away, leaving him standing there in despair.
William threw himself wholeheartedly into his poetry, using it as an outlet for his frustrated feelings. He ignored the goings on of the world around him, especially the disappearances plaguing the city of London. His mother pleaded with him not to go outside at night, not by himself. "I can take care of myself, you know, mother. I've training with the sword."
Cecily obsessed him. He lost wait, gradually, and his hair grew even messier, if such a thing were possible. Sarah gave up on William, after weeks of absolutely no attention. She, too, heard the other aristocrats mocking him behind his back, though William himself was either blissfully unaware, or else so wrapped up in his thoughts of Cecily that he simply didn't care.
Once, he paused to ask himself why exactly he loved her so much. He hadn't exchanged reams of interesting conversation. Something about the way that she moved, the way that she held her head - it captivated him. She was not like the other young women, or the other young men, of their age. She was something different - beneath the carefully made up face, the mind of a poet, the mind of a scholar. He could go on for hours about her intellect and wit.
And so the world turned on, slowly, with William as a child, with a child's innocence in the ways of the world. Although he knew that somewhere in the Whitechapel district, bad things happened to people, be they good or bad, none of it touched him. He lived on some other plane, a place where poetry and chivalry triumphed, and his romantic's soul was not laughed nor frowned upon. He was a child, not yet out of the comfortable womb, protected by his mother.
All of that changed, in the year of the Lord 1880. And sometimes, looking back on it, William Cooper felt nostalgia. And sometimes, he looked back and examined what he had been with disgust. At the time, though, all he knew was that he was young and in love.
And the object of his affection did not love him back. He was headed for a catalyst, but he didn't know it yet.
Author: Amanda (xFreakx)
Email: xfreakx@hotmail.com
Rating: R (in later chapters at least ;)
Archive: Ask first. If I don't give you my permission... tough. (Oh, who am I kidding? No one's gonna want to archive it anyway. ;)
Disclaimer: I own no characters in this (at least so far.) Hm. Everything belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. And the song "Lonely Boy" (from which the title is taken, although used horribly out of context) belongs to the Sex Pistols.
Feedback: Pleeeease?
********************
I need her tender touch, oh I need it so much
I can't forget, oh I'm so upset
I wonder where she's gone, I wonder where she went wrong
I wanna get her back to me, but I think she's tired of me
I'm a lonely boy
I'm a lonely boy
I'm a lonely boy
I'm a lonely boy
-Lonely Boy, The Sex Pistols
Chapter One: Child
The woman let them tuck the coverlet around her in silence. She let them place the baby in her arms, in silence. She touched his cheek, never saying a word, and watched as they bustled around the room. "Don't worry, darling, he should be home soon," her mother said, plastering a smile onto her wrinkled face. "He'll be home soon." She knew, of course, that it was a lie, but she nodded, in silence, and cuddled the child close to her.
He was tiny, with big blue eyes - but then, most babies had big blue eyes. She studied his face and tried to find some vestige of herself, or of William, in those chubby features, but it was too early to tell. She thought that he had her nose. Tired, exhausted, sweat dripping into her face, she ran a finger down his cheek. He burbled and waved his hands, like a tiny clockwork toy. She smiled. "Ah, my love," she whispered, the first words she'd spoken the entire afternoon.
The midwife had noticed it, had told the new grandmother. Most women screamed, or cried out, or sobbed. Little Miss Mary had clenched her teeth and pushed in silence, though her eyes were wide with pain. The grandmother nodded proudly. "My daughter is stronger than she looks," she'd said regally. Now the grandmother left, to let Mary spend time with the baby.
Now that no one was there, Mary spoke, cooing to her child, the boy she had carried in her stomach for eight months - he was premature. "Ah, my love," she repeated, whispering nonsensical, sentimental nothings to him. "You will be William, as well. My darling William."
Unlike William the Elder, who she knew was, at the moment, out carousing in some low... Some low pesthole of a tavern. He had been the spoiled younger son, the fop, and he had not changed in his older years. This William, though, would return her love. He would take care of her in her old age, perhaps, and bring home a lovely girl to marry. In turn, perhaps, she would become a grandmother.
"The world is at your feet, my dear," she told him softly. "Anything you want, is yours." It was the least she could do for him, with such a father. Guilt panged at her heart, guilt at what she had done to her son by marrying Sir William.
He looked at her solemnly, and with, she thought, unusual understanding for a wee red thing not long from the womb. And, Mary thought, he understood.
+
"William!" the tutor said, distaste and annoyance evident in his voice, "- Do- pay attention, will you? This is the third time today."
William had drifted off into his daydream world, the one that always surfaced when the tutor started lecturing in a dry tone about the merits of Macaulay and how William's disposition would approve if -only he'd listen- very frustrating. He found that the streets, visible from the window, were much more interesting than the boring books and history that the tutor made him learn. Try to learn. William was not a good pupil.
"Sorry, sir," William said contritely, though he didn't feel that way at all. He sighed deeply and looked up. "Mathematics is difficult."
"It would not be difficult if you applied yourself."
"But it -is-. And I do try."
"Not hard enough," the tutor said self righteously, flaring his nostrils. As he snorted, a bogey appeared at the edge of his nose, hanging there like a green bit of spider's web. William blinked and tried not to stare at it, but he was doomed. As the teacher continued to drone, the thing wiggled back and forth, daring him to say something. He attempted to peal his eyes away, but it was no use.
"William! What are you staring at?" the tutor demanded.
"Uh, uh, nothing!" he said desperately.
"Pay attention," the tutor said, suspicious.
"I will!"
He hoped sincerely that it would disappear; releasing him from the evil thrall he was held in.
"William, stop looking at me like that," said Mr. Hobson. "For God's sake, boy, what is the matter?"
He was unable to hold it back any longer. Laughter, snickers, all emerged. "You've got a -bogey- on your nose!" he giggled.
Mr. Hobson slammed the book shut. "That is -it-," he hissed, "I've had -enough-! The lateness, the laziness, the rudeness - the sheer - sheer uncaring! You, boy, will grow up to be a nothing! You are a waste of space on God's good earth. I am going to your parents to hand my resignation letter -right now-."
William blinked, and shrugged, and waved his hand. "Fine. You're the third one, anyway. You just aren't good enough for us."
Mr. Hobson gave him a shrewd look. "You're a spoiled brat," he said, in conversational tones, "Goodbye. I hope I never see you again."
+
"It wasn't my fault, mummy," William said, "I don't know what was wrong with him. He just, he just got angry. Snapped."
"It's all right, darling," Mary said, patting him on the head. She ran her fingers through his unruly curls, and smiled. "They just don't appreciate what a special boy you are."
He sighed, and shifted. "Mummy, I'm not a baby any more. I'm eight."
She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "You'll always be my little baby."
William made a face. "Er, yes."
"We'll find you a new tutor soon, don't you worry. And you will like this one, I'll make sure of it."
"Thank you, mummy," he said, and scampered from the room. He wanted to hide before his father got home - once William the elder found out about the money wasted in this latest tutor, there would be a series of very unpleasant events.
"My William," his mother whispered, seated on the divan and looking tired. "Whatever will we do with you?"
+
William sat on the window seat, staring out into the distance. The words arranged themselves in his head, as they did sometimes when he was bored or tired or not paying attention. Words were pretty things, not like cold numbers that were manipulated by rules. You could twist the words around the way you wanted them. He could control the words; even if they didn't always turn out exactly the way he wanted them to. Idly, he toyed with the ponytail, twirling it around his fingers.
They'd given up on the tutors after the sixth one stormed out in a rage, and Mary at least had realized that William was smart enough to educate himself more satisfactorily than the tutors had. After all, he probably wouldn't need extremely advanced maths in the real world; a gentleman didn't work. And he was being trained to be, above all else, a gentleman.
William the elder was rarely home, which suited his son perfectly. He got along better with Mary, his mother. He was beginning to be somewhat embarrassed by the love and affection she rained upon his head. It was all right when he was little, too little to know better. Now, at the mature age of ten, he wanted to grow up, he wanted to be independent.
Or at least, to go outside without being tied to his mother's apron strings.
He'd watched the other children very carefully, when his parents deigned to show up to the social events. Oh yes, they thought he hadn't noticed that the other mothers and fathers spent time with each other - William's father spent his time at the bar, getting loudly and riotously drunk, while his mother spent her time sitting in the corner, watching everything with enormous brown eyes. The other children had been... Loud. Noisy. The boys did not hang on their mothers.
As they had walked to the carriage, Mary had put an arm protectively around her son's shoulders, and was hurt deeply when he wriggled away.
William, whether she liked it or not, was growing up.
+
"Cor, mum, I dint mean it, I swear," the maid said, sobbing quietly in the corner. "'E just hit me, I don't know why 'e did."
"I cannot believe that my William would have done something like that!"
"I saw it," the butler said, "I saw it, Missus. He hit her right in the stomach!"
The maid's whimpers faded into the background as Mary drew herself up to her full height, an unimposing five feet one inch. "My son," she said, "Would not -hit- a maid like some... like some sort of common hoodlum! You are -fired-!"
William watched, peeking through the crack between door and wall. He was somewhat surprised about the turn of events, himself - the maid had been teasing him, not in a particularly good-natured way, either. Something had boiled up out of his gut, almost like he wasn't under his own control, and he'd hit her hard, knocked her over and screamed in her face. And then, shocked and scared, he'd fled.
He inched away from the doors and ran outside, into the streets. Cold air was best, cold air and a bit of a time alone. Yes. He'd calm down, and forget the mindless rage. It was best to keep it under control - control, and he would never do that again. The look on the maid's face scared him shitless.
+
"You look lovely, darling," his mother bubbled.
"I look like a penguin," William said, eyeing himself critically in the mirror, "A foppish penguin."
"You look lovely," she repeated adamantly.
"Thank you, mother."
"I'm so excited for you, William!" she said, "Your first ball, without me or your father... Do treat Sarah nicely, will you? Her mother is an old friend."
"Of course, mother," he humored her. "Of course I will treat her nicely. I don't think the gossips would like it if I put her up against the wall and- "
"William," she said darkly, "You may think your vulgar sense of humor is funny, but I will tell you that other people -do not- appreciate it."
He was seventeen, feeling cocky, and he grinned at his mother. He stood in the doorway for a moment. It was growing darker, and the smog smudged at the horizon and the gaslights were dabs of brilliance in the drear. Turning, William bowed deeply to Mary. "Good eve, Madam," he said, executed a jaunty salute, and ambled over to the coach. Right now, that second, he felt many things - excitement, nervousness - he was not often around others his age - it just wasn't something his mother was fond of.
The coach clattered over the streets, to the home of the rich Clayworth family. They were not gentry, but the current patriarch of the family had huge influence. It was even rumored that he'd go for a sea in the Commons... and the daughter, Cecily, was said to be a beauty. William grinned again, to himself, in the darkness of the coach. Perhaps she'd notice him...
+
"Oh please, William, dance with me?" Sarah asked, petulant. She was very pretty, with a pert face, large dark brown eyes, and honey blonde hair. She was, however, utterly vapid. There was nothing on her expression that spoke of sincere feeling; she was wrapped up in herself entirely. Her body was swathed in a dress that showed off a tiny waist to its best advantage.
"Yes, Sarah," he said, glazed smile plastered on his face, "But you'd better watch your feet. I'm liable to step on them."
She giggled, coyly. "But William, how can I watch my feet, when I'll be too busy watching your face?"
He coughed, and attempted to put a sincere smile onto his features. "Charming, as always. Shall we?" He held out a hand for her, and she took it. They walked out onto the floor as the bad struck up a melancholy waltz.
William hadn't been lying when he said he was horrible at dancing. During the course of the waltz, he managed to step on Sarah's dress twice, trip over his own feet once, and accidentally bump into another couple three times. Each mistake made the smile on his face even more fake, and as he twirled Sarah around in a circle, bringing her close to him, he thought that he might scream with boredom. This was not how it should have turned out!
And then, whirling around in a circle, he saw her.
At first, William wasn't sure exactly why he hadn't seen her in the first place. She was beautiful, she was stunning, she was -reading- a volume of Shakespeare... She must have been about his age, maybe a year younger, her hair piled up elegantly onto her head. Staring, open-mouthed, he accidentally bumped into Sarah, completely clumsy.
"William!" she squealed, "Ouch!"
"Sorry, sorry," he assured her hastily. "I'm sorry, I'm not... Not feeling well, just a touch of a stomach ache... Look, I'll be right back."
"William!"
"Sorry!" he said. "Sorry."
A servant moving by with a tray of hors d'oeuvres jumped as William grabbed his arm. "Sir?" he asked, confused. "May I help you?"
"Yes! I m-mean, certainly," William said, "Tell me, who is that girl? The one reading in the corner?"
The man pursed his lips. "That, sir, is Miss Cecily."
"Cecily Clayworth!"
"Yes, sir. If sir would let go of my arm, please?"
"Uh, um, sorry," William said, backing away. Cecily Clayworth. My god, he thought, how could I have missed her? I think I believe in love at first sight...
"Certainly, sir," the man said, and moved away, looking as though he were gliding over the smooth surface, no air beneath his feet.
William watched the girl for a moment before steeling his courage and hurrying towards the plush cushioned seat on which the girl rested. She didn't notice him at first, but then looked up as though surprised by his boldness when he sat down next to her. "Yes?" she wanted to know, raising an eyebrow.
"Miss Clayworth?"
"That's me."
"I'm - I'm William Cooper. I couldn't help but notice - you're a Shakespeare devotee?"
"Yes," she smiled, "I am. Ever since I was a little girl, my nanny would read the plays to me."
"Which is your favorite?" he asked, trying to keep the conversation going, "Macbeth is so dramatic, but the Twelfth Night never fails to make me laugh."
"I've been partial to King Lear," Cecily said, closing the book. "It has... Emotion."
"Yes!" William exclaimed, "That's exactly what I... Cordelia's love for her father... It made me wish for the same for mine."
Cecily nodded, enigmatic look upon her face. "I felt her heart."
"William?" Sarah asked, appearing by the side of the seat. "I've found you at least! Oh! Hello, Cecily," she said, sounding less than pleased to see the woman.
"Sarah," Cecily said, and smiled, and looked towards William. She said softly, "I wouldn't keep you from Sarah's company. Perhaps I will see you again."
"Yes," said William, "Yes, I hope so."
"Well, William Cooper. Good eve to you."
"Come," Sarah said, her voice icier every second. "Goodbye, Cecily."
William allowed himself to be pulled away, though he snuck a look over his shoulder at Cecily. She already had her face buried in the mildewed pages of the book. He sighed happily, and did not stiffen when Sarah took his hands in hers.
+
I think I'm in love.
All William could think of was Cecily. The obsession was a rather silly one, but since he had seen her sweet face, the clear features and smooth skin, coupled with the intelligence hidden behind her eyes, all of those combined to make him wake up sweating a night, dreaming of her. He had never felt like that before, but William, a romantic at heart, knew it was true love, pure love. That was what he felt for Cecily, who up until nights before had not even been a thought on his mind. He marveled at the suddenness in which his world had a new center and focus.
When his mother asked how the ball had been and whether or not he thought he'd like to continue seeing Sarah, he had been too immersed in his daydream to respond. Sarah's face, with its coyness and its tricks, was loathsome to him now. It had never been particularly appealing but now, now that he had seen Cecily, he never wanted to talk to Sarah again.
Unfortunately his mother and Sarah both had other ideas and, as William did not want to upset the Madam, he consented to occasionally escort Sarah to dances and parties for which she had no companion. This, luckily for William, was not often. Sarah was quite the popular one, but she seemed to have an inexplicable fascination with this dreamy, almost ethereal and elusive youth.
William found, to his shock, that he was composing poetry. Previously all his work had been of an amateur scholarly tilt, but now, with Cecily's face lurking behind his eyelids, the words formed themselves into embarrassing, mushy sonnets and poems. He read them to whoever listened, which, as gossip got around, was a smaller and smaller audience. Of course, William was too polite to -say- that it was Cecily he wrote of, but more than a few of the quicker young-bloods figured it out on their own.
"How I love thee / let me count the ways / I wish that I would see / that I would see thee always," he scribbled furiously onto a sheet of paper one day, before crumpling it up. "Oh, what's the use? I'll never win her heart by mangling the Bard. How I wish... How I wish the words would come."
But they didn't, and he struggled with his secret passion. In his mind, would come the day when he would profess his love for Cecily, when she would be astounded by the eloquency of his feelings. In his dreams, she would look up at him becomingly from beneath her lashes, and smile softly. "Yes, William," she would say, "I love you, too. You are my world."
It never happened like that. The next time he saw her at a party, she did not want to discuss Shakespeare with him. She smiled cordially, if a bit coldly, and made small talk for a few minutes before excusing herself to go and talk to a young cavalry officer home from India. The sudden change of attitude startled him, and depressed him.
"Cecily, why are you avoiding me?" he asked desperately at the Haywoods' son's birthday gala.
"I'm not avoiding you, William," she said. "I have other duties. I would love so to stay and chat, but I can't. You mustn't be selfish." And she swept away, leaving him standing there in despair.
William threw himself wholeheartedly into his poetry, using it as an outlet for his frustrated feelings. He ignored the goings on of the world around him, especially the disappearances plaguing the city of London. His mother pleaded with him not to go outside at night, not by himself. "I can take care of myself, you know, mother. I've training with the sword."
Cecily obsessed him. He lost wait, gradually, and his hair grew even messier, if such a thing were possible. Sarah gave up on William, after weeks of absolutely no attention. She, too, heard the other aristocrats mocking him behind his back, though William himself was either blissfully unaware, or else so wrapped up in his thoughts of Cecily that he simply didn't care.
Once, he paused to ask himself why exactly he loved her so much. He hadn't exchanged reams of interesting conversation. Something about the way that she moved, the way that she held her head - it captivated him. She was not like the other young women, or the other young men, of their age. She was something different - beneath the carefully made up face, the mind of a poet, the mind of a scholar. He could go on for hours about her intellect and wit.
And so the world turned on, slowly, with William as a child, with a child's innocence in the ways of the world. Although he knew that somewhere in the Whitechapel district, bad things happened to people, be they good or bad, none of it touched him. He lived on some other plane, a place where poetry and chivalry triumphed, and his romantic's soul was not laughed nor frowned upon. He was a child, not yet out of the comfortable womb, protected by his mother.
All of that changed, in the year of the Lord 1880. And sometimes, looking back on it, William Cooper felt nostalgia. And sometimes, he looked back and examined what he had been with disgust. At the time, though, all he knew was that he was young and in love.
And the object of his affection did not love him back. He was headed for a catalyst, but he didn't know it yet.