His Crimson Rose
Disclaimer: I do not own Crimson Peak nor any of Guillermo del Toro's wonderful characters. However I do claim all the original ideas shared within this fic.
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Synopsis: Though lovely, every rose has its thorns. Alan and Edith return to America in hopes of a fresh start, while Allerdale Hall sits (mostly) vacant for the first time in decades with only the wind rushing through its ramshackle walls. Yet, even for ghosts, there is life-both bitter and sweet-after Crimson Peak.
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It had been a cold, cold December, and Christmas had just passed when one afternoon, Edith ascended the steps of Bellevue Hospital followed by her newly hired head maid, Sarah; her late father's most capable servant, Mr. Daniels; and the family solicitor, Mr. Ferguson. It had snowed overnight, lightly, only perhaps two or three inches, but the morning had remained chilly enough that the snow still coated the ground evenly like glistening, sugary frosting on a cake. Reflecting off the snow, the afternoon light that passed through the ground level hospital windows therefore had a cool, icy cast, as Edith's little group processed through the halls to the building's South Entrance.
As they approached the south side of the building, they emerged at last into a large lobby with black and white tiled flooring and wooden benches lining the walls, interrupted here and there by green-leafed, potted plants. Some patients dressed in hospital gowns and robes met with visitors here and there in the lobby, as it was Saturday afternoon. It didn't take long for Edith's eyes to fall on the patient she had come to meet. Though he was still technically a patient at Bellevue, not yet released by his doctors, but very nearly so, Dr. Alan McMichael rose from his seat dressed in a well-tailored waist-coat and fashionably tailed jacket. His cravat was neatly tied and his hair had been groomed and his face obviously just shaved that morning, as evidenced by the presence of his valet, whom Edith who had never met but recognized immediately from stories that Alan had told her during the days she spent visiting with him in the hospital.
Edith bowed her head and curtsied gently as she approached her future husband, who also bowed slightly to her, when a moment later, two nurses in billowing skirts with pristine white starched aprons and expertly poofed white head caps approached them.
"Dr. McMichael? Ms. Cushing? Ye two are here for yer wedding, right?" asked the one nurse. Ginger curls spilled out around her cap, and she spoke with a sweet Irish lilt.
"This is Pastor Beverly," the other nurse gestured, her voice slightly breathless and her face flushed, as she introduced a kindly-looking, diminutive older man. The pastor's white collar was just exposed above a heavy woolen burgundy scarf. In his arms he gently cradled a book with worn gold leaf-edged pages, and he and the nurses wore smiles as the greetings were finished being exchanged. It was obvious to Edith that the shy, young nurses thought that her marriage to Alan at the hospital while he was still coalescing was too romantic. She imagined that both of the nurses could not be more than 15 or 16-years-old, and having probably never done more than hold a man's hand in the dark, they were young and naive. They could not deduce that a man and a woman might marry at Bellevue Hospital with no witnesses present other than their staff for reasons other than passionate love and impatience.
Able to stand by himself quite well now, Alan put his hand out and Edith placed a lace-gloved hand in his. Their little group passed by a tall, well decorated Christmas tree and through the large burnished metal doors of the hospital's South Entrance to the winterscape in the garden beyond. The pink brick walkway had been shoveled just far enough along so that the pastor could lead them just enough of a distance along the path. They stopped between the first two crab apple trees planted along the way. The authoress buried deep in Edith noticed how the the protective white paint covering the trunks of the trees made them look ethereal in their barren, leafless phase.
If only I was barren... a crushed voice within her inner mind ground out.
Alan remained unwavering in appearance, as he took her second hand in his as they came together in front of the elderly pastor.
"Alright, the young ladies here have warned me that that I should keep this short as the patient really should not be out-of-doors like this in the winter weather," the pastor announced, a gentle smile on his face as he glanced from the giggling nurses to Alan.
As the clergyman began to read a section from the bible he carried, Alan really did not listen. It wasn't that he did not care for religious things, but he was distracted by Edith's beauty at the moment.
Looking over her, he admired her royal navy colored gown, the material clearly woven with a blend of silk thread given the way it shown in the dwindling, December afternoon light. The bustle, sewn of the same fabric, was situated stylishly over Edith's behind, accentuating her now-thin waist, so that it was impossible to tell that there could be a tiny life growing within her... He loved how the blue of her gown matched the dark blue velvet of his jacket lapels, their outfits coordinating even though they had not planned it. Draped over her shoulders was a black velvet cape covered in sewn dusky rose-colored rosettes. The tiny textile flowers perfectly matched pink and cerulean silk roses clustered at the sides of her face on her soft looking black bonnet. In the cold air, her skin was pale as bone china . Alan found the contrast of her paleness absolutely lovely against the dark material of her headdress. The pure white of the bonnet's lace bow tied under her chin only enhanced the effect. Edith was never one for make up or face powder, he knew, and yet standing all-natural before him, her looks were angelic. My God, she is beautiful, Alan thought. Just then, Edith lowered her head away from his gaze, as if she could sense his appraisal without realizing any of the adoration that accompanied it. Unthinkingly, he felt his breath hitch slightly in disappointment at having possibly made her feel awkward with his staring.
"Dr. McMichael?" the pastor's voice came drifting into Alan's thoughts.
"Yes?" he said tearing his gaze from Edith.
"In the name of God, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?" the pastor said somewhat emphatically, clearly having repeated himself.
Alan looked back at Edith, who looked back quietly at him, her gaze not giving away anything of her thoughts. I pray I will come to know your mind one day, Edith, he thought to himself. Still, firmly and sincerely, he replied, "Yes, yes, I do."
The pastor turned to Edith, who turned from Alan to look at the pastor, as he spoke, "And you, Ms. Edith, in the name of God, do you take Dr. McMichael to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until you are parted by death?"
Edith looked down at the pink brick still patched with white snow in places beneath their feet. The memory unbidden, it reminded her of reddened snow she had seen before, not long after her previous wedding.. Until you are parted by death. A vision of Thomas' ghostly face flashed before Edith's mind's eye, tendrils of his phantasmal blood feathering in the air as if they had just seeped from his wound and grazed her hand a moment ago. Emotion rushed her, and hot tears sprung to Edith's eyes. Yet, Edith bit her lip, and fought for composure just as quickly as the tears had threatened. This time will not- cannot be the same, she told herself. Making her best attempt at a smile, she breathed and looked up into Alan's expectant face. "Yes, I do," Edith vowed and kissed Alan McMichael for the very first time as his wife.