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Rating: PG-13

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Flowers in the Rain

Chapter 1

Lavenders and Lilies

Written by Jen

Driving through London was never anything but a nuisance, and Giles was grateful he wasn't at the wheel. Late for the church service, Lydia told Giles they'd head directly to Sir Robert's home, just south of London, where he'd be interred in the family mausoleum. It had been years since Giles had attended an Anglican funeral service, and he couldn't say that he was sorry to miss the affair. The Committal would be brief in comparison, and he doubted that Sir Robert's wife had any inclination for a gaudy spectacle-the sooner it was over, the better.

Giles and Lydia rode in silence, him contemplating changes that would soon be made clear within The Council while she appeared to take in the scenery. Thankfully, both Sir Robert's estate and Council Headquarters were near Croydon, roughly fifteen kilometers south of London, Giles might find himself able to catch a bit of rest before heading back to the city and dealing with anyone from the hospital. 'Thank you, Travers,' he thought miserably, 'you couldn't just send some idiot junior to do the work?' He sighed but refrained from complaining aloud.

From Heathrow, it might take as much as an hour to travel to Croydon if traffic was bad. Happily, they were making good time, and as they passed near Chelsea Harbor, Giles felt a wistful desire to stop and walk through some of the nearby gardens and parks. While American fast food restaurants littered street corners throughout the country, Giles had always felt England's past was still there; if so, it was only the ghost of architecture and hidden promise beneath the newer and shinier surfaces.

Thankfully, the journey ended and the long driveway to Sir Robert's presented itself. The house, ill-named Lavender Hall in a place where there was not one lavender plant about, stood roughly five kilometers from the road. The wrought iron gate was already open, and Giles assumed those coming for the burial service were already arriving. It was strange to think Sir Robert had died. He was older, but the man had seemed so vital, alive, and really happy with his family, life, and work. His heart troubles had never seemed to hold the man back from the business of living, and his death felt inconceivable. Giles shook his head sadly.

The car passed the house, an old Tudor style manor, and headed slowly around the back. As always, the gardens were beautiful, just as Giles remembered, despite the fact that the summer flowers were long gone. The paths were straight, narrow, and everything squared off, classic really, he thought. A few pear and quince trees set off the various corners, and several benches were stationed about to make the best use and enjoyment of the grounds. All in all, the Evesham-Hewes family must have spent many content hours roaming about. The family crypt was neat, clean, and prepared for the day, but Giles always marveled when he saw the wilds behind the great house and old chapel. As a child, he'd spent happy hours running and hiding in the cool darkness of Lavender Hall's woods, it seemed he and the Robert's sons were always climbing trees or fishing in the stream, only to return covered in muck. Sir Robert's wife, Penelope, was continuously scolding the boys while Giles' own father and theirs laughed together saying, "Let them run! They'll get enough order when they're older," and holidays with the brothers had always been filled with fun.

Again Giles felt an urge to escape from the car, linger in the wooded peace and lie by the nearest stream. 'Such is the nostalgia of childhood, it's rarely as bad as we believe it was,' he thought, 'while the good memories are often sheltered and painted with an almost mystical awe.'

With that thought in mind, he realized the driver had slowed and finally stopped to allow Giles and Lydia to step from the car. They weren't the first arrivals. Travers waited patiently and motioned for the two to join him, it seemed the car carrying Sir Robert hadn't yet arrived from the church, and his family would surely follow in the funeral procession. No one spoke. Travers overall mood seemed tired and subdued to Giles. The beard the Slayer's watcher would've called streaked with white was now almost purely white, and Quentin had lost some of his boisterously angry attitude.

As expected, the flowers were limited and tasteful. Seating was also limited, and that meant Penelope had decided the services here were to include family and Council only. This meant Vicar Ashby, also an employee of the Council, had every intention of mentioning Sir Robert's exceptional service over the past five decades. Fifty years…It seemed impossible to Giles anyone could work in the Council that long, but he'd already given twenty-five years to these people himself.

Finally, everyone was in place, and the familiar words washed over Giles, "In the midst of life we are in death; of whom may we seek for succor, but of thee, O Lord?" It was the same rite said over many other watchers...even a few Slayers. Vicar Ashby, now in his sixties, spoke with that quiet and strong voice to which Giles remembered being accustomed. He'd often presided

over prayers, blessed many groups before battle, and performed special duties, such as weddings

and christenings, for Council members ever since he'd been inducted into the ministry. He'd never married-always too busy working.

By the time the "Our Father" started, Giles had already settled into the rhythm of being home and with his fellow watchers again. How strange it could happen so quickly, perhaps it was simply the ritual at hand. Finally, the pastor said The Dismissal, "May his soul, and the souls of all the departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen." It was over in thirty, perhaps forty, minutes of Giles time. There was no casting of the earth simply because Sir Robert wasn't being buried, and the grounds were long ago consecrated-no need to perform that task either. The mausoleum was used for heads of the family and their wives, while other family members were buried in the small cemetery outside the dilapidated and unused family chapel. One day, Penelope would rest above ground with her husband in the Evesham-Hewes crypt.

Vicar Ashby thanked everyone for sharing the burden of grief, and he encouraged the mourners to continue the memorial with Penelope, her children and grandchildren at the main house. Refreshments would be provided. Rather than ride to the house with the others, Giles decided to walk and enjoy the oddly warm fall day. He'd been afraid the foul weather he'd experienced in flight would carry over to the funeral, but the afternoon had cleared and turned surprisingly pleasant for October. Rather than be confined with five or six other people, he decided walking might be just what he needed to refresh his mind after the awful trip. Several others agreed with his sentiments, including Quentin Travers who approached the weary watcher, and the various knots of people meandered across the grounds.

"Rupert, I'm glad to see you weren't delayed too long," Quentin said interrupting Giles' thoughts, "how was your flight?"

"Miserable, as I'm sure you've already ascertained," came the snippy reply.

"Yes...well, I suppose you understand the ramifications your absence would have caused. You realize Penelope wanted you here, and she's grateful to you, Rupert, she really had no desire to deal with the coroner herself."

"For God's sake, Quentin! I don't expect Penelope should be forced into that morbid role, but I would have appreciated it had you sent someone else to pick up the paperwork. You wanted me here for the memorial, and I am, but I will not be staying any longer than necessary," Giles stated crisply, "Now, that Lydia Chalmers said you'd send someone for my luggage?"

Quentin Travers sighed, "Yes, but we haven't heard from the young man yet."

Words dripping in sarcasm, Giles replied, "Wonderful, I'm sure those incompetents at Heathrow lost my bags. What a fine end to a truly fine day."

"I'm sure everything was taken care of, Rupert, but I have to ask when you planned to pick up the papers?"

"After a bit of rest-I thought I might eat as well."

"Penelope is expecting you to eat here. She'd like to speak to you, I'm sure, she knows you and the boys were close as children."

Giles sighed, feeling older than he'd thought possible, "None of us is a boy anymore."

They continued their way to the main house, neither man speaking, and each contemplating his own mortality. After walking through the main doors, still heavy oak with wrought iron fittings, Giles watched Sir Robert's wife practically run to greet him. Slim, looking a good fifteen years younger than her age of 67, Penelope Evesham-Hewes smiled brightly. Her green eyes were clear, large, and filled with emotion-happiness over seeing Giles and sadness over losing Sir Robert. She continued to dye her hair a deep chestnut color, and apparently remained as active as she'd always been.

"Rupert!" She hugged him fiercely, "It's wonderful to see you, dear, how are you? You should call me more often. I worry about all you children!" Her voice was lightly scolding.

"Penelope," long ago she'd insisted that Giles call her by her first name since he was basically family to her, "I'm so sorry for your loss. Sir Robert was a good man, and I know we'll miss him terribly."

"Thank you, I miss him already," she patted Giles arm, "Do you remember when you children dragged those salamanders up to his office?"

Giles laughed, "I'd forgotten about that! My father was fit to be tied, but Sir Robert just smiled and called for a basin with water. He spent the rest of the afternoon teaching us as much he could about salamanders while Father cringed."

The two reminisced as long as possible, and then Penelope turned to hug Giles again, "I've got to make certain everyone is comfortable, dear, you will come visit again?"

"Of course," Giles smiled warmly, "I'd be happy to see you again."

"Good, it's settled, and I want to hear all about your Slayer, Rupert, Quentin complains about her all the time. I think it's good for him though-keeps him on his toes."

"Yes, well...Buffy has her own mind, but she's really a very wonderful young woman when you get to know her."

"Said like a father, no, that's not a criticism. You've needed a family for a long time, and I'm glad you've got all those people. Robert once said he believed it's why you and Miss Summers have stayed alive so long."

Smiling, Giles embraced Penelope and told her he'd see her soon. The Council of Watcher's awaited, and Giles dreaded entering Evelyndale Manor, but he was stuck staying there for the remainder of his trip. He remembered hating his father's office, all that gothic revival architecture had made him feel oppressed, as though he'd never see sunlight again.