Disclaimer: Anything you recognise is not mine.
AN: This one's a songfic, because I absolutely broke down and cried the first time I heard My Lover's Gone (Dido) . . . well, it was right after I'd seen Peter Pan. And I was tired. Anyway, the other song is My Immortal by Evanescence, and they're both supposed to be Edwardian-style renderings of the songs.
Chapter Two.
They were introduced to a stern old lady and a dark-haired young man, whose names Wendy could never after remember, but though she didn't know who they were, she knew very well why they were there. The uncanny silence of the boys did nothing to alleviate the knot in her stomach. Telling herself her role in the evening's entertainment would soon be over, she smiled and breathed slowly and did her best to calm herself.
Mother smiled at her from the piano.
"The first is an American song, the second an arrangement of an Irish tune." Wendy heard herself say in a voice that sounded not quite her own. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she fixed her eyes on the far wall of the drawing room and began, the soft notes of the piano tinkling in her wake.
"I'm so tired of being here . . . suppressed by all my childish fears – and if you have to leave, well I wish that you would just leave," the plaintive notes rising from her, sounding softer and sadder than she ever had rehearsing the song, then soaring into this next bit to keep the tears down, "Your presence still lingers here – and it won't leave me alone - these wounds won't seem to heal . . . this pain is just too real . . . there's just too much that time cannot erase," - and God she sounded sad – "When you cried I'd, wipe away all of your tears – when you screamed I'd, fight away all of your fears – I held your, hand through all of these years – but you still have . . . all of me."
And now the piano piano'd on, and keeping her eyes wide was the best way to keep her voice from shaking, and resolutely she ignored the stare of a dark-haired blur in the corner of her vision.
"You used to captivate me . . . by your resonating light, but now I'm bound, by the life you left behind. Your face it haunts – my most pleasant dreams," oh no she'd done it again, the phrase was once pleasant, once pleasant, "Your voice it chased away – all the sanity in me." Come away . . . "These wounds won't seem to heal . . . this pain is just too real . . . there's just too much that time cannot erase. When you cried I'd, wipe away all of your tears - when you screamed I'd, fight away all of your fears - I held your, hand through all of these years - but you still have . . ." Yes and now to really soar, all her energies devoted to keeping her voice steady now, ". . . I tried so hard to tell myself that you'd gone . . . but though you're still with me . . . I've been alone all along." Notes falling from the piano into the still air, once more into the chorus, and then she sang one last time that the unknown lover still had all of her, and the piano died away into the silence of the drawing room.
Muted applause followed from the adults, with more energetic clapping from her brothers old and new. Mother smiled at her from the piano again, but by the soft look in her eyes Wendy knew that her slip of the tongue had not gone unnoticed.
"How lovely, Miss. Darling." The old lady said sternly.
She blinked away a vague mist, smiling as pleasantly as she could. It was amazing how some adults could make a simple compliment sound so disapproving.
The young man smiled at her.
"Thank you, madam," she said diplomatically, resolving to discover the name from one of the others as soon as she could.
"The next is an Irish air." Mother said sweetly, stepping into the gap as always.
Wendy took a deep breath, then another. That young man's stare was disturbing her, and the boys would persist in giving her the strangest look, and there was that awful feeling in her chest again at the thought of this song. One last breath now, and in time with the soft notes of the piano she began the lilting lament.
"My lover's gone . . ." steady, "His boots no longer by my door. He left at dawn . . ." concentrating on the wallpaper, keeping her eyes wide, "and as I slept I felt him go. Returns no more . . ." oh God not this part, her voice rising and falling as she lilted the words, "I will not watch the ocean. My lover's gone . . . no earthly ships will ever bring . . . him home, again." She sounded unutterably sad to her own ears. "Bring . . . him home, again."
The wallpaper blurred and dimmed.
"My lover's gone . . . I know that kiss will be my last." Despite herself her voice shook on that line, yes impossible to deny exactly what that meant to her, impossible to deny any of this song really – "No more his song . . . that tune upon his lips has passed. I sing alone . . . while I watch the ocean. My lover's gone . . . no earthly ships will ever bring . . . him home, again. Bring . . . him home, again."
She blinked rapidly to clear her vision, hoping the action was reasonably inconspicuous, listening for her cue as Mother played on. Ah, here, a repeat of the first verse. She sailed into it, her voice clear and steady. "My lover's gone . . . his boots no longer by my door. He left at dawn . . . and as I slept I felt him go. Returns no more . . . I will watch the ocean . . ." oh no no, it was 'I will not' and she'd done it again, slipped up again, good thing only she and Mother knew the words to these . . . "My lover's gone. No earthly ships will ever bring . . . him home, again. Bring him home, again."
Mother continued to play soft, heart-rendingly piteous notes as Wendy composed herself. The music then stopped for the second time, and for a moment the silence was deafening.
Curious also, she reflected in the soft hubbub of the approval that followed, how the stern old lady managed this time to applaud without making a sound.
Polite farewells were murmured, and in a dreamlike shock she registered the young man's kissing her hand. No one had ever kissed Wendy's hand before, and she supposed she had ought to have had a more suitable reaction than a vague smile. However, the mist would come, and John bowed her out of the room hastily.
"Wendy, are you alright?" Michael asked, looking plaintively at her.
"She's fine, boys, go up to bed," John said authoritatively. "We're going for a short walk; be sure not to tell Nana or anyone." He didn't listen to another word from any of them until he and Wendy were bundled up and safely outside.
The cold breeze dried the mist instantly, and there was a strong hint of winter in the air. Soon, she supposed, it must snow again.
That treacherous lump in her throat rose up, and the ache in her chest tightened, and before she knew it she was blinking and blinking and a wet warmth was on her face. John's gloved hand found hers, and she held onto it tight as the words she hadn't dared speak before began to pour out of her.
"Can't do this anymore, John. I can't. I can't hide in this house anymore, I can't sleep with the window unlocked anymore, I can't . . . I have to do it, finally - have to put this kiss in my keepsake box, and lock my window and buy a long dress and have this man if he asks for me - "
"Alistair Beazley," John put in absently, squeezing her hand tight.
" - and I am going to grow up and I am going to forget all this."
She was almost sobbing as she finished, and in the silence that followed her shuddering breaths were the only sound.
"Wendy," John said quietly, "Stop crying. No, stop."
His voice fairly shook with excitement, and when she looked up she saw him scan the heavens with an eager eye. They stopped dead on the street.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, I am so, so sorry, but. I had to be sure . . ." He looked around again, then turned to her with a curious smile. "You don't have to do any of those things."
"What do you mean?" Trepidation in her voice, her breath hitching.
"He was there tonight, looking in the drawing-room window bold as you please!" John whispered triumphantly, smiling right into her eyes.
" . . . he?" The street and the smog clouds above blurred and grew dim. A buzzing filled her ears.
"Peter Pan." he said, as if it were obvious.
In response, she fainted.