I'm on a roll, which seems only fair as I won't be around for most of next week.
This one comes with a big fat angst warning. Don't read if you're feeling fragile. If you look for fluff, check out my other recent story 'Taken by Surprise'... alright, shameless moment of self-advertisement over.
She's not coming.
He scoffs at the notion. Ridiculous. No need for Anna to be crying. They don't know her as well as he does. She'll be there.
She's not coming.
Of course she will. She'd never humiliate him like this. She knows how much, how long it has taken him to get to this point.
She's not coming.
Why wouldn't she? She bought a new dress for the occasion. Had informed him about it coyly two weeks ago, slightly worried that he'd admonish her for the needless expense. She needn't have worried. He had been delighted that she was looking forward to the day so much. That she had wanted to look nice, special. For him.
She's not coming.
Why does everyone insist on telling him that when he knows that it's not true? They had picked out a cottage years ago. Had spent weeks now getting it ready; her meticulous cleaning turning the small place into a spotless home. She had brought their treasures over there already. All that was missing now was that one special picture for which she had reserved the centre of the mantelpiece of their lovely, broad fireplace.
She's not coming.
Mr. Bates is really grating on his nerves now – pulling at him, trying to get him out of the church. He can't leave now. She'll be here any minute and how would it look if the groom left before the bride arrived? He can't hurt her like that. Has promised himself long ago that he'd never hurt her again – has done too much of that in the past. He will not repeat his mistakes.
She's not coming.
What is Dr. Clarkson doing here? He wasn't even invited, was he? She must have done it without informing him. Just like her to act without his council. It would bother him if he didn't find it so incredibly endearing, too. She'd never do anything to hurt him. She'll be here.
She's not coming.
He knows now that they are lying. Lady Mary is next to him, with tears in her soulful, brown eyes. Lady Mary would never cry if the housekeeper really intended to leave him at the altar. She would rage and rave on his behalf, would put all of the assembled guests in their place. Would protect him like he has always protected her. He only wishes she was here at this moment, able to see Lady Mary's support. It might change her mind of the uppity minx.
She's not coming.
Mrs. Patmore is next to him now, grasping his arm firmly. Says she will wait with him. Finally a real friend. The Cook knows the Housekeeper better than anyone else, sometimes he thinks even better than he knows her. He is glad that she is there to defend his bride.
He turns to tell her as much, freezes at the look in the Cook's eyes, the devastation there.
"She's not coming, is she?" his voice is barely a whisper, broken.
Mrs. Patmore swallows, opens her mouth, swallows again. And then repeats what countless others have tried to tell him before… how she had so looked forward to this day, how she was found in her bedroom, a smile on her face. Nothing to be done.
He nods slowly, finally allowing the harsh reality to filter through his mind. She's not coming.
And he has no idea where to go from here.
I think I broke my own heart. I'd love to hear from you (even if you're simply planning to shout abuse at me). Thank you for reading!