Chapter 30
4 October, 1958 Watermead, Aylesbury
Dorcas stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She only did this when she was feeling in particular need of penance. Wiping away the condensation that fogged the glass, she sighed.
Her eyes traveled from the downturned corners of her mouth to the slumped shoulders and the arms that were thin without having any tone. Her gaze always rested finally at her naked torso. Her abdomen was flat once again. There was no hint of the caesarian section that she'd endured. Cal was far too competent to leave behind any trace of a scar. She wished he had, though. Like the beige walls of the nursery that never was, her unmarked abdomen showed no signs that she'd even expected a baby at all just two months ago.
"Morning, beautiful," Cal said, placing a kiss on her cheek on his way to the sink to brush his teeth.
Dorcas hurriedly shrugged back into her robe and tied it tightly about her waist. She left for the kitchen.
Lately, any room that they occupied together made Dorcas feel claustrophobic. Any time they were apart, she felt resentment rising in her that he had a life outside of the four walls of this house.
She brewed coffee and chided herself silently for the unfair thoughts she'd had concerning Cal. He was doing his best, as he had for more than two months, to keep their splintered family together.
All Dorcas had managed to do was inflict wound after wound.
She slid the glass door to the veranda open, closing her eyes against the bracing early morning chill. She sipped her coffee and stood barefoot in the dewey grass. Her wet hair turned cold on her shoulders. The hush that fell around her in the muted dawn light was a balm to her nerves. Nerves that always seemed on the verge of snapping.
Morning was always a difficult time for her. There was something about the prospect of a day stretching out ahead of her with absolutely no idea how she was to fill all of the hours that caused her breath to catch in her throat.
She swallowed. Her voice seemed alien to her. She could go long stretches in the house without opening her mouth to say a single word. The times when she did talk, it was in stunted sentences, usually in answer to some question from Cal.
Lately, Cal was picking up extra shifts at the hospital. He was gone from the time the sun was up until well past the time it had set. She always reminded herself that the Dai Llewellyn Ward where he worked was a chaotic place where much was demanded of him.
It was her job to be the supportive wife. Ready with a hot meal and a comforting embrace when he came home (no matter how late that was).
She turned and stepped back inside, wiggling her toes to circulate the blood again.
Cal was pouring coffee for himself.
Dorcas leaned a hip against the counter and studied him for a moment.
He was showered and combed and pressed. Ready for a busy workday.
Dorcas would give anything to be able to fill her day with patients, medical charts, diagnoses, and therapy sessions. She was actually jealous of him.
"Are you going to be home in time for dinner?" Dorcas asked to Cal's back.
He turned and sipped his coffee, considering her. He set his cup down on the counter and crossed the kitchen in a few long strides.
"What's on the menu?" Cal asked, slipping a hand into her robe and pulling her close to him.
"A roast," Dorcas answered a little flatly.
She let him kiss her. His hands untied the silk sash holding her robe closed.
Dorcas stepped away from his embrace and tied her robe closed again.
"I'll be home at six. Can I make a request for pudding?" he asked playfully.
Dorcas ran a hand through her damp hair. "What's the request?"
"You. Just like that," Cal answered. His handsome smirk sent a tantalizing jolt through her.
That was interesting.
Dorcas had wondered if she could still feel anything besides the self loathing and the dark revenge that seemed to be the only things that motivated her to get out of bed these days.
:::
The hearth of mums with their prams and precepts for raising children were not present in the park today when Dorcas arrived.
That was probably for the best. Dorcas had begun to hear their thoughts. They'd noticed her spending her afternoons weeping in the park. She made them nervous.
Dorcas did come here to weep. She allowed herself a twenty minute outing to the park to cry silently into her lap. By herself, of course. She was not well enough to care for Wren right now. But she did get visitation.
In fact, Cherry and Anneliese were due at her house in thirty minutes to plan Cherry and Jonas's engagement party. Anneliese was bringing Wren for a visit. The fact that she was not a fit mother was another leather strap in the scourge she used on herself.
Thank goodness for Anneliese. Her homemaking skills put Dorcas to shame. Perhaps Dorcas shouldn't have refused to take the Domestic Arts course at Hogwarts. She bit her bottom lip as she fought against the retort in her mind against her friend. She was lucky to have friends like Anneliese and Beau Haywood, ready to step in and care for her child when she could not.
"Dorcas!"
Dorcas jumped slightly and raked the sleeve of her cardigan across her face, wiping away her indulgent tears.
She looked over her shoulder to find Theresa Allen—Theresa Prewett approaching with a friendly wave. Her smile faltered when she saw Dorcas's face.
"I thought I might find you here," the younger woman said. "I tried your house first."
"Hello! Please sit," Dorcas said in what she knew was an artificially bright voice.
"You're looking well!" Theresa lied.
Dorcas knew Theresa was just being kind. Her face must be splotchy and her eyes red-rimmed from crying. She shrugged, not sure she could keep up the pretense anyway.
"What brings you by?" Dorcas asked.
"I've been thinking about you a lot, Dorcas. You helped me through the most difficult time in my life. I want to let you know that I'm here for you like you were for me."
Dorcas saw in Theresa's mind what she wasn't saying.
When Cal called Gideon and Fabian the night he couldn't find Dorcas, the three men had searched the house for any indication of where she'd gone, including her office. Gideon must have relayed Dorcas's decision to shutter her practice to Theresa.
"Thank you," Dorcas said tiredly. She didn't know if she had the energy for a raw conversation about her feelings right now.
Theresa shook her head. "Don't thank me. I haven't done anything. I think what you're doing, taking a leave of absence from your practice is brave. You've helped so many people. Now it's time for you to do whatever you need to do to help yourself. And I'm here if you need to talk to someone."
Dorcas thought about this last statement. If anyone could understand what Dorcas was feeling, it would be Theresa. Theresa was the victim of a Compulsory Operational Curse. Dorcas had known which memories to target in her case, however. She had no idea where to start within her own mind.
"I closed the practice because I am a hack and I shouldn't be allowed to treat patients," Dorcas replied numbly.
Theresa's brow furrowed. "You are the furthest thing I can think of from a hack. You are one of the strongest and smartest people I know. Why do you think like that?"
Dorcas leaned back against the bench and watched two children swing, the chains creaking rhythmically as they did. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her cardigan.
"I discovered while I was in the hospital that my own mind has been scored over and over by some unknown spell. My brain's covered in scars. It would be unconscionable to go on treating others."
Theresa's expression was frightened.
"Is it dangerous to you, having all of that damage?"
Dorcas nodded. "Extremely. Most of the scars are over a decade old. I don't know why I'm not suffering any effects. I should be a drooling vegetable."
"What do you do to get rid of the scars?" Theresa asked with a determined set to her shoulders.
"Figure out which memories have been altered. Lift the spells."
"Like you did with me," Theresa added.
"Yeah," Dorcas said. "Only, I have no idea where to start. It's a needle in a million haystacks."
"What would you do if the brain and the memories weren't yours? What if it was a patient on your couch. What if it was me?"
"I would start with a memory journal. An inventory of every memory the patient could think of and study every single one."
"Then that's what you need to do," Theresa said, nodding resolutely.
Dorcas felt her bottom lip quiver. She shrugged her shoulders and felt tears brimming her eyes again. "I'm scared."
"Even so. Dr. Dorcas Clerey-Meadowes doesn't stop fighting just because she's scared. Where would I be? Where would your hundreds of other patients be if you gave up?"
:::
Dorcas placed the roast into the oven and listened to Anneliese and Cherry argue about party themes. Wren and her kitten, Pippa played on the kitchen rug.
It felt good to have a full house, a reason to be busy.
"Halloween," Anneliese said exasperatedly holding up air quotes, "is NOT a theme, Cherry!"
"Sure it is," Cherry argued lazily with a shrug. "A costume party. It will be a gas."
Anneliese let her head fall into her hands dramatically.
Dorcas refreshed the coffee in the pot and sat with a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. This felt like old times.
"You mean, like a masquerade ball?" Anneliese finally said, a hopeful note in her voice.
Cherry pulled a face. "No! Nothing so stuffy as that!"
Anneliese waved the handwritten guest list they'd just finalized in Cherry's face. "Half of the guests on here are top Ministry officials. You can't ask them to dress up like firemen and dragons. Think of Jonas! How embarrassing for him!"
"What's a fireman? What does the costume look like?" Cherry asked Dorcas, distracted by a Muggle term she didn't know.
Dorcas opened her mouth to explain, but closed it quickly when Anneliese turned fierce eyes on her.
"Dorcas, tell her she can't do this. Blackpool Abbey deserves an elegant society party. Not a Halloween hootenanny!"
"Blackpool's had a literal thousand society parties. I can speak for Jonas. All he wants is to marry Cherry. If he had to do it dressed like Peter Pan, he would wear those tights happily."
Cherry beamed. "What's a Peter Pan? What does the costume look like?"
Dorcas laughed.
Anneliese threw the guest list playfully at Cherry and joined Dorcas's laughter.
:::
Dorcas was hopeful as she laid the silverware and set the table for two. She put candlesticks out and decanted a bottle of wine. She knew she would be the only one to drink it. Dorcas thought it might be good to have some on hand. She was already feeling like a bundle of nerves in anticipation of Cal's arrival home.
She felt lighter than she could remember feeling.
Today had been a good day. A really good day.
Her talk with Theresa had bolstered her resolve to get to work on the spell damage in her mind. She'd gotten to hold Wren and wrap her up into a great big hug. She'd had an amazing visit with her friends. She felt in high spirits.
But part of her was trying to talk herself out of the evening she'd planned for Cal. She was afraid to put herself out there. It was an odd feeling.
Cal had taken all of the risks. He'd pursued her. He'd put himself out there over and over. He bore her rejections again and again until she'd finally accepted him.
Why did she imagine he would reject her? It wasn't as if they were newly dating and unsure of one another. They'd been married for thirteen years.
She cast a fervent look at the clock. He would be home in fifteen minutes.
Wondering how closely she should follow his stated desire, she laid out a few options from her closet. She had a dress that was a little sexy with a plunging neckline. She was not entirely sure if she could fill it out in all of the right places after she'd lost so much weight. Maybe she should break out the lingerie that she'd been saving for his birthday next month.
In the end, Dorcas decided, with a bit of a thrill in the pit of her stomach, to adhere to the letter of Cal's request. Shedding every scrap of clothing she'd worn, she slipped her silky robe over her shoulders and cinched it at the waist.
She smirked and bit her lip imagining Cal's reaction when he came home to find her in the thin and short fabric with nothing on underneath. Her mind returned to the feel of his hand slipping under her robe just that morning. She concentrated on the sensation of the loosening of the sash as he'd untied it, pressing her to him.
Dorcas said a quick prayer of thanks that Wren was staying with Anneliese and Beau tonight.
She grabbed a glass and poured herself some wine. Cal wouldn't mind if she started without him. He never drank anyway.
Carefully arranging the meal in a nice presentation, she placed the roast in the center with the side dishes around it. She laughed, wondering why she bothered. They would probably skip right to the pudding.
She lit the candles and took a fortifying sip of her wine. Her heart raced as she watched the hands on the clock reach straight up and down. Nervously, she crossed and uncrossed her legs, wondering how she should sit. Or should she stand?
She should have worn heels.
Racing to the bedroom, she grabbed a black pair from the shelf in the closet and did a skip hop as she slid them on and rushed back to the dining room. She didn't want to miss the opportunity to greet him.
:::
She shouldn't have another glass, Dorcas thought.
The tapers had burned down three quarters of the way before she blew them out.
It was time to be reasonable. He wasn't coming home.
Dorcas padded down the hall, heels swinging from her fingers as she went. She discarded the robe in favor of her practical flannel nightgown.
She took the meal off of the table and placed the items in the fridge. Her mind wandered while she did the washing up.
The fact that she'd made the attempt was something, wasn't it? She would have encouraged a patient on her couch to think about the act of following through with the plan. Even if it didn't come off the way they'd intended. They'd tried.
This was Dorcas trying.
She returned the kitchen and dining room to its innocent arrangement. There was no sign of the evening that she'd planned left behind. It would be mortifying to explain to Cal why the candlesticks had been polished and laid on the table, or why a bottle of wine sat out half consumed.
Retreating to her office, she set her shoulders in a determined posture and shut the door.
Enough foolishness. It was time to get to work on herself.
:::
It was half eleven when she heard the front door open. She watched the light flick on in the hall from the space under the office door. The shadow that his feet cast indicated that he'd paused.
Dorcas sat up expectantly, anticipating his knock.
She could not make out any of the initial impressions in his mind. He was getting much better at Occlumency. But, she wondered, why would he need to hide his mind from her?
The footsteps faded and Dorcas heard the door to the basement laboratory open and close.
Looking down at the open pages in front of her, she made another attempt at journaling her memories, beginning at the age of eleven. It was hopeless. She couldn't focus her eyes on the words she'd just written on the page. They blurred.
The acrid taste of bile rose in her throat. She should not have had so much wine.
Dorcas swiped a hand violently across her desk, sending the journal flying against the south wall of the office.
Hot tears began to trace familiar paths down her cheeks. She clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from sobbing out loud.
Her other hand made a frantic search on the desktop for her wand.
"Nox!" she thought, swishing the wand at the fixture on the ceiling, plunging herself into darkness.
:::
30 October, 1958 Watermead, Aylesbury
Dorcas carefully packed her weekend bag with a Cushioning Charm. She did not want to run the risk of any of the delicate potion bottles breaking. For good measure, she threw a couple of cashmere scarves into the bag. She'd made sure that she was well stocked with Sleeping Draught and a little beauty she'd whipped up without Cal's knowledge.
Dorcas called it Bliss. It was really just a modified Draught of Peace laced with Somniferum.
Old Dorcas would have felt an intense amount of guilt about keeping her self-medication from Cal. She could hear his objections as if he were standing over her shoulder and lecturing her at this very moment. He would say that she was taking a great risk, mixing ingredients without cross referencing their effects. Not to mention the risk to her precariously injured brain. The unknowns were too great.
New Dorcas shrugged as she zipped her bag defiantly.
She couldn't face the hours she spent in bed staring at the ceiling, imagining the reasons for Cal's late nights. She couldn't face her own cowardly pretense of sleep while she felt him slide under the sheets and pull her close. She couldn't lay awake fighting the urge to sift through his thoughts while he slept to find out why he stayed out. That's what the Sleeping Draught was for.
Bliss was because she was so damn tired of feeling...feelings.
New Dorcas said Slainte! and chased it with wine.
"Ready to go?" Cal asked.
His car keys were dangling from his index finger. The look on his face suggested that he couldn't wait a moment longer to open up the engine of the fast little convertible on the long road all the way to Yorkshire.
Dorcas smiled at him adoringly.
"Almost," she said brightly, slipping her sunglasses on.
They would look like absolute nutters to the Muggle motorists they passed. Top down, sunglasses on like it was a late July holiday trip. But the car would be enchanted to radiate its own pleasant warmth.
"Let me have that," Cal responded as Dorcas lifted her camel colored leather bag.
Dorcas pulled it away from him protectively. "I've got it. I just remembered something. Hang on," she covered.
She rushed into the bathroom with her bag's straps in a vice grip. Opening the zipper while glancing over her shoulder, she grabbed a bottle and splashed just a little Bliss on her tongue. The feeling of calm and indifference washed through her. She sighed deeply.
"Ready!" she announced, handing the bag to Cal and following him out.
:::
30 October, 1958 Blackpool Abbey, Upper Flagley, Yorkshire
Dorcas knelt in the brown grass and brushed aside the fallen leaves that littered the gravestones of the Rackharrow family plot. She placed four small bundles of flowers on four graves.
They were not spectacular blooms that could be conjured by some spell. They were the efforts of walking and stooping and gathering. Dorcas's mother would have appreciated the sentiment. Dorcas's aunt would not.
The four graves were arranged in a row along the crest of a low hill overlooking the millpond with its willows reaching tentacles into the still black surface of the water.
Dorcas's Aunt Eden and her Uncle Morty were the bookends to her Uncle Lysander and her mother. Dorcas wished the siblings had reconciled more completely. But no one could have foreseen how little time there would be for a slow and natural laying down of grudges.
She understood from Jonas that it had been by Lysander's own design that he was laid to rest beside his sister with his kid brother on her other side. Spending most of his adult life estranged from his siblings was her uncle's greatest regret in life, she knew.
Her first visit to this cemetery was when her mother reluctantly brought her to the funeral of her Grandfather Titus. He and the grandmother Dorcas had been named for rested eternally a few short steps away. Dorcas didn't know either of them. Leisel Rackharrow had died when Morty was born. Titus Rackharrow was dead to Mary-Ellen long before his heart gave out. When he'd sent Morty to that God-forsaken hospital, Mary-Ellen severed all connection and never looked back.
Dorcas wasn't there to say goodbye to her mother and her Uncle Morty. They were taken suddenly and violently, upending Dorcas's whole life with their passing.
Her Uncle Lysander's was more gradual with plenty of time for Dorcas to go to his bedside. But she was in America and very pregnant with Wren when Jonas wrote that his father didn't have much time. Her condition wasn't a true impediment to her crossing the Atlantic. But the ocean of regret that she'd been such a disappointment to him was.
She wished that she'd made a different decision.
She wished so many things.
Turning to her mother, Dorcas felt tears coming to her eyes.
"Hi Mama!" she said thickly. "I miss you. I find myself wanting to write to you or to telephone. I wish you could tell me what to do to make it all better. Because I don't know how to make any of this okay. I try, but none of it is working."
She felt the same despondent feeling that settled over her at the age of fifteen. She'd become an orphan without a home. She felt adrift in much the same way now.
She placed her fingertips on the carved stone letters of her mother's name.
Sniffing, Dorcas turned to her Uncle Morty. She fished in her pocket for a folded paper crane in a summery marigold color. She leaned, stretching her arm and dropping the bird lightly onto the gentle curve of the gravestone's topmost edge.
"We named him after you, Morty. You and Cal's brother. Benjamin Mortimer Meadowes. What do you think?"
She paused. A woodpigeon cooed in a branch unseen above her.
"Cal chose it. I wasn't awake when my little boy passed. So Cal named him."
The tears came quicker now. Thick and hot on her cheeks.
"He would have liked you, I think. All of my children would have. You would have been the best uncle. You were the best uncle."
She swiped a hand across her nose and mouth to catch the drops that were accumulating there.
"I wish I could have helped you. But I don't think I can even help myself," she said.
She kissed her fingertips and pressed them to Morty's headstone. Standing, she repeated the process twice more, pausing at her mother's and her Uncle Lysander's stones. Aunt Eden received a kiss too, so as not to feel left out.
Dorcas imagined kissing her lightly on her cheek in real life. Eden would never have permitted it. She had no kindness to spare for Dorcas. But Dorcas would share the love she had for the rest of her relations buried in this earth with Eden anyway. Her aunt could not object now in death.
She made a slow, meandering path past the large hedgerow maze.
Laughter caught on the breeze and carried in her direction from the quonset hut beyond the maze. Cal, Beau, Anneliese, and Cherry would all be in there with Jonas looking at his newest acquisition. He'd always had an obsession with Muggle planes. To his collection of aircraft from the last decade's conflict, Jonas had recently added an American Lockheed P-38 Lightning.
Beau and Cal liked to tease Jonas that Cherry was only marrying him because of the size of his aeroplane collection.
She saw them gathered around the vast opening of the aircraft hangar. Cal caught sight of her as she climbed the steps of the veranda overlooking the expanse of the gardens and fountains.
He raised a hand and waved, beckoning her to join them. The others looked across the gardens expectantly.
Dorcas waved back, but turned toward the house. She didn't feel like laughing and enjoying herself at this moment.
:::
31 October, 1958 Blackpool Abbey, Upper Flagley, Yorkshire
Dorcas pinned her hair and donned the large powdered wig with the dramatic high roll. She wore a white dress with a blue sash identical to the one she'd seen in the painting of Marie-Anne and Antoine Lavoisier by Jacques Louis David.
She and Cal looked positively ridiculous in their eighteenth century costumes.
Cherry wouldn't get it. Absolutely no one would get it. But Cherry would love how over the top their commitment to her theme was.
Here Anneliese had won a minor victory over the strong-willed redhead. Instead of "Halloween" as an engagement party theme, Anneliese had expertly molded it into a Famous Couples Masquerade.
"Eighteenth-century fashion leaves nothing to the imagination," Cal said, tugging at the crotch of the tight-fitting trousers while eyeing Dorcas's ample décolleté.
"You look handsome, Antoine. Stop fidgeting," Dorcas encouraged, straightening the cravat at Cal's throat.
Cal took the opportunity of Dorcas's distraction to trace a finger along the low neckline of the robe à l'Anglaise she wore.
"Can't we skip the party and spend the rest of the night getting you out of this?"
"You know the answer to that," Dorcas said, a little more cooly than she meant. She stepped away just as Cal's lips were about to meet the swell of her breasts above the neckline.
A little voice in her head said to give in, to put herself out there once more. A louder voice insisted that she had done just that a few weeks previously and reminded her of the bruises her pride experienced for her efforts.
Dorcas still didn't know where he was going at night when he should have been in bed with her.
Anneliese and Beau were already in the grand entryway of the house waiting to greet guests when Dorcas and Cal arrived.
Dorcas gasped. "You look incredible!"
Anneliese wore a replica of the enviable black bodiced and white tulle grown that Grace Kelly famously donned in 'Rear Window'.
"At least this way, I get to wear a beautiful dress at a beautiful party," Anneliese sniffed.
"And I get to wear pajamas!" Beau added, holding up his camera with a long telephoto lens while reclining in a wheelchair.
Beau Haywood might be the smartest person in the room right now, Dorcas thought, maybe for the first time in her life. She reached up to itch her wig, confirming the fact.
"Who are you guys supposed to be?" Anneliese asked. "The Duke and Duchess of Devonshire?"
Cal snorted and laughed. "See Clerey! I told you no one would get it!"
"I guess they were a famous couple," Dorcas said, thinking about the ill-fated Cavendishes.
"Famous for hating each other," Cal added.
Dorcas was spared an explanation for their costumes when Jonas and Cherry made their appearance at the top of the stairs.
"Oh heavens!" Anneliese exclaimed.
Beau and Cal guffawed in unison.
Dorcas turned to see what had inspired such open incredulity behind her.
"That doesn't portend good luck!" she said as the couple descended the stairs.
Suddenly, Dorcas thought the misidentification of she and Cal as Georgiana and William Cavendish wasn't such a bad thing. Less dysfunctional by half than the couple that now stood before her.
"She made me," Jonas said in his defense.
Cherry giggled spiritedly. "Isn't it hysterical?"
"It's in such poor taste," Anneliese said, furrowing her brow and looking at the two from head to toe several times.
Cherry wore an ethereal gown of flowing gray gossamer material in a medieval sort of design. Her hair was left long and flowing. Crowning her head was the lost diadem of Ravenclaw. Dorcas had seen a statue in the common room of Ravenclaw Tower very similar in appearance. Cherry was imitating not Rowena, but her tragic daughter.
Jonas looked sheepishly down at his own costume, his tunic bearing shimmering silver bloodstains on every surface.
"Best to avoid seeing him tonight," Dorcas said, shaking her head at her cousin. She was in absolute awe. There was nothing he would not do, or wear for Cherry Weasley.
"I'll avoid the library," Jonas said with a sigh.
"All portraits. Avoid all portraits," Dorcas advised.
Beau laughed and aimed his camera at the newly affianced pair. "You two are something else!"
"You can say that again!" Anneliese said as she stomped away into the ballroom muttering something about a hootenanny.
:::
Dorcas and Cal helped Jonas and Cherry greet guests for an hour before peeling away to join the reveling masqueraders in the ballroom.
The room was as splendid as Dorcas ever remembered seeing it.
Though Blackpool Abbey was no longer in the care of two house elves, Tooey and Gimlet having passed away years ago, the effect was still stunning and magical. A bandstand with an eight piece swing orchestra was set up on the east end of the room, a champagne fountain and more food than the crowd of over a hundred guests could possibly eat was laid out to the right.
The chandeliers glittered especially bright tonight, starlight bouncing around the mirrors on one wall and the windows lining the other.
Cal pulled Dorcas close to him and nestled his cheek against her ear.
She wondered how they could still feel so familiar to one another, but be so distant. Keeping secrets had never been something they did.
She gently prodded his mind, resolving to deal head on with what she found there. Was it an affair? She thought of the nurses and few female healers she knew on the Dai Llewellyn Ward. Many were quite pretty. She felt an anger rise in her at no one in particular.
Thinking of all of the times she'd spurned his affections, she condemned herself for being so cold. She had tested his willpower over and over again in the early days of their marriage. Punished him, really, by withholding any physical touch. All the while, knowing in the shades of his mind how much he longed for her. Why shouldn't he stray?
She missed the familiarity of his mind.
Thinking back to her time at school when the predatory thoughts of most of the male population of Hogwarts were aimed at her (thanks Gemma!), Cal's mind had always been a refuge for her.
He never looked at her and saw a conquest. His eyes never scanned her in that rakish way that she'd become so accustomed to. He never imagined her in any way that had compromised her. His mind always reflected his heart's adoration for her.
And it was now closed to her. Perhaps forever.
She did not blame him. It had been necessary for him to learn Occlumency to protect Ryann from anything that she might see in his mind that could hurt her. He'd already unwittingly revealed to her that she was not his own flesh and blood. In his heart and mind, Ryann was as much his as Wren was. But now Ryann had the knowledge of a father who'd abandoned her before she was born.
Dorcas did not want her knowing more.
But he was shutting Dorcas out even when Ryann wasn't around. Even when they were the only two people in a room. Of course, he had the right to the privacy of his thoughts. It was a luxury he'd never been afforded around her before. How could she be upset with him for having control over the thoughts and impressions that he wanted to express and those that he didn't?
"I feel you pressing in on my mind, Clerey," Cal said, not unkindly.
She looked up at him, unaware that she'd been prodding him mentally.
"Just ask me. I know something's been on your mind."
His hand on her back rubbed encouraging circles.
She was just as afraid to ask as she was to pry the thoughts out of his mind on her own.
Babbity Rabbity and a Cackling Stump jostled her, pushing her further into Cal's arms, reminding her that they were on a rather crowded dance floor. It had seemed for a moment or two that she and Cal were the only two people in the room.
She opened her mouth to ask, steeling herself to hear whatever he had to tell her, but her words were stolen from her throat.
"Tom," she said, her hand squeezing Cal's bicep as they danced.
Cal shook his head in confusion. "What about him?"
"Tom and Gemma," Dorcas responded. "They're here. Together."
Cal turned, giving Dorcas a better view of the entrance hall behind him.
"Wasn't Gemma invited? She's family after all," Cal surmised reasonably.
Dorcas's hand tightened on Cal's arm.
"Don't open your mind. Don't let your guard down, Cal. Not with him around."
Cal didn't have a chance to respond. Tom and Gemma made their way across the room. Tom wore a balck suit and tie and a pleasant smile. Gemma wore a dramatic satin dress in her favorite shade of green and a sneer.
"Hello, Tom. Gemma," Anneliese said, coming over with Beau.
Gemma regarded Anneliese and Beau as insects. Muggleborn. Muddying the Wizarding genepool. Dorcas knew she was no better in Gemma's estimation. That was okay with her.
Dorcas was often told how much she and Jonas resembled one another when they were together. The Rackharrow genes were strong, she supposed. She hadn't been in Gemma's company in over a decade. She forgot the striking similarity between them. The one divergence was the color of their eyes. Gemma's were green like her father's. Dorcas's a deep blue. She sincerely hoped that appearance was where the similarities ended.
Tom was gracious. "Hello, Anneliese. Beau. It's been quite some time," he said, shaking Beau's hand.
Turning his attention to Anneliese, he added, "You look beautiful."
Gemma's eyes bulged like a goldfish's.
"You look very dapper yourself," Anneliese said with a charming blush.
Tom extended a hand to Cal and said some polite greeting.
Dorcas felt lightheaded. She was prepared to smile and dance and make small talk. She was not prepared to spar with Gemma or to be on guard around Tom.
His gaze rested on Dorcas. There was a strange look behind his brown eyes. His eyes! Were they lighter still than the last time she'd seen him? He was still a very handsome man. But there was a quality about his face. Masklike. Able to mimic emotion, without having to embody it.
Dorcas felt a squirming sensation in her that was unpleasant. When his eyes fell on her, they seemed to claim ownership of her. She raised her shoulders a couple of times as if to throw off the feeling.
Tom's eyes flicked across her collarbone as he caught the shrug. The corner of his mouth turned up.
Jonas and Cherry joined the group.
Tom, brow furrowed, caught sight of Cherry's costume.
His eyes flashed dangerously.
"That's disrespectful, Jonas!" Gemma said, adopting a big sister tone. "Almost as disrespectful as what you've done to this place. It must be this blood traitor's influence on you."
She eyed Cherry pointedly.
"Easy, Gemma," Tom said, smiling placatingly. He placed a hand on her bare shoulder, slowly caressing her skin with his thumb. "We're here to celebrate a wonderful union."
"My Lord," Gemma said, diminishing herself just a bit as if she were a trained attack dog who'd caught the sound of her master's command to heel.
Beau and Cal made synchronized coughing noises to cover their shocked laughter. Cherry made no such attempt at hiding her reaction.
"Wow!," she said with a stunned expression on her face. "Keep the weird bedroom talk to yourself."
Dorcas's eyes met Tom's and she fixed him with a narrowed gaze.
What was he doing with Gemma? What had he done to her? The last word Dorcas would ever have used to describe her cruel cousin was submissive. But there it was.
The tension was broken by a maid serving champagne. Everyone took a glass, except Cal. Dorcas grabbed hers and eagerly tipped a generous gulp into her mouth.
"And what are you supposed to be?" Gemma said, leveling a hate-filled gaze at Dorcas. Apparently, the best way to recover from her own embarrassment was to deflect it on to Dorcas. Classic.
"We couldn't guess, either," Anneliese said. Ever the peacemaker.
"Hmm…" Gemma said, studying Dorcas.
Dorcas knew what was coming and sighed heavily.
"The Fat Lady that guards Gryffindor Tower?" Gemma said with a mock confused shake of her head.
"The Lavoisiers," Dorcas answered with an eyeroll. "They were–" she began to explain hers and Cal's costumes finally but was preempted by Tom.
"The parents of modern chemistry. Very clever!" He laughed appreciatively.
Gemma was not appreciative.
"Hmm. My mistake. Must be the baby weight," Gemma aimed over her shoulder. "Let's dance, Tom. I'm bored," she added petulantly, pulling on his arm.
"Gemma!" Jonas growled at his sister in warning.
Dorcas stepped back slightly as if physically struck. Cal's hand was steadying and reassuring on the small of her back.
Tom allowed himself to be led away, his eyes lingering on Dorcas. Was that a hint of sympathy she noticed in them? It was nothing more than a shadow.
"She's awful!" Cherry said to Gemma's back. "What does he see in her?"
Beau choked on a sip of champagne and Cal laughed under his breath.
"What?" Cherry asked, looking between the two men, the joke lost on her.
It was not lost on Dorcas. Though she couldn't hear Cal's thoughts, Beau's were plain as the nose on his face.
"Isn't it obvious?" Cal said, looking pointedly at Dorcas.
Dorcas elbowed Cal and shook her head hopelessly, sipping from the flute liberally. She tipped the glass all the way and drained it. She was going to need a lot more of this before the night was over.
:::
Dorcas stepped out of the crowded ballroom and onto the balcony, flushed. Tugging on the bottom of her stays where they dug into her ribs, she cursed her efforts at historical accuracy.
She smiled drunkenly thinking about Cal's probable reply to her undergarment dilemma. He'd gladly help her out of them. She just might let him tonight. And not in a sexy way, either. She felt caught up in them like a Chinese finger trap. It would probably take a legion to get her out of them.
"What are you smiling about?"
Dorcas spun around, reaching for the marble railing when the action made her dizzy.
Tom was in a darkened corner of the veranda, tie untied, relaxed. Dorcas was a little jealous. She tugged at the stays once more and hitched them up a little. Smoothing down her skirts primly, she approached him.
"Was I smiling?" Dorcas asked.
Tom nodded. "Like a cat that's had cream."
"I don't remember," Dorcas replied. "Hiding from Gemma?"
"Not hiding. Just enjoying some quiet."
"I'll leave you to it," Dorcas said, turning to go.
"Wait! Don't go," Tom responded in a rush.
Dorcas turned, putting a hand on her hip. She shrugged.
"I was very sorry to hear about the loss of your son."
She did not want to talk about it. It was too raw. She was too drunk to guard her emotions.
"Thanks," Dorcas said flatly. She turned and stepped toward the door, toward the noise and the crowd. Toward Cal. He was around somewhere.
She found him almost at once. In the arms of her old school roommate, Zelda Weston. They were dancing companionably. Zelda threw her head back in a spirited laugh. Cal smiled at Zelda's reaction to something he'd said.
With a pang of jealousy, Dorcas looked away.
Her eyes rested on another sight instead. Anneliese and Beau were dancing. Anneliese in her husband's lap as he wheeled them around in slow circles, kissing. Dorcas was glad to see her friend lighten up a little and let the party unfold without her stressful machinations.
Tom's hand closed around her wrist and pulled her away from the open door and back into the shadows of the veranda.
"What are you doing with Gemma?" Dorcas blurted out. She wrenched her hand out of his grip.
"She's a placeholder, Birdie. They're all placeholders," he answered cryptically.
Dorcas raised her eyebrows. "I wonder how Gemma would react to being referred to as a placeholder. And speaking of Gemma, what was that back there?"
"What was what?" he asked, toying with her infuriatingly.
"The My Lord business," she said, emphasizing Gemma's words with air quotes.
"It's just something between us," Tom answered dismissively.
"You share intimate little jests with all of your placeholders, do you?"
Dorcas could tell that he was pleased with the line of questioning. She did not want to please him in any fashion. Instead, she counted to ten and focused on evening out her breathing.
"Jealous of my placeholder, are you?"
"Never," Dorcas said adamantly. "I have too much self-respect to be anyone's placeholder."
Tom nodded. "Exactly. You're the real deal. Not the stand in."
Dorcas straightened a little, understanding his meaning at just that moment. She remembered Cal and Beau's joke they'd shared earlier about how similar Gemma and Dorcas were in appearance.
"You're unbelievable. Do you know that?"
Tom nodded again. "I do."
"We have no future," Dorcas said slowly, carefully pronouncing every syllable of every word.
"Birdie." Tom said her name slowly on a sigh. He hung his head as if they were continuing a long, drawn out argument.
Which was pretty much what was happening.
"Those were your words, Tom. Weren't they?"
Tom shook his head, but wouldn't look at her. It was all the answer she needed.
"You seem to have forgotten. But I remember it all. You had big plans. Those plans didn't include me. What were those plans anyway?"
Tom slipped his hands into his pockets as he leaned back against the railing.
"I traveled the world for about five years," Tom answered.
"Glad I didn't get in the way of that," she retorted, her eyes flashing.
Dorcas didn't know why she was getting so angry. She didn't want Tom. That was a firm truth in her mind. He could never make her happy the way Cal could. And she knew she could never make him happy. But she would ruin herself over and over again trying. Why couldn't she ever walk away from him? She was thankful that the cycle had been broken.
But he ended it. That was a fact.
And she landed on the essence of her discomfiture. She would not tolerate his revisionism. Their history could not be rewritten. She would not let him do it.
"Birdie, you are the only woman-"
She could not let him finish that sentence. It was insupportable that he would even consider it.
"I don't want anything from you, Tom. When I was young and in love, I did. I wanted everything. I wanted you. I wanted a future with you. But not anymore. You don't have a single thing that I want." Dorcas's voice was low but sharp. She wanted it to be absolutely plain, so that she never had to have this conversation ever again.
As she said it, a tiny flame sparked in her. She stoked it until it burned brighter.
"Actually...there is one thing…" her voice trailed off as the idea came to her. It thrilled her to imagine she could have the thing that was her heart's obsession.
She could see Tom press toward her ever so slightly, eager for her to state her desire.
"Name it. If it's within my power to give. It's yours, Birdie."
God help her! She was stooping to the thing she hated the most. She was using her feminine wiles to get what she wanted from a man.
She leaned in front of him, reaching around him as he perched against the veranda's railing. He sat up a little straighter. She afforded him a clear view down the front of her dress. His eyes made the predictable drop and rested there. Men.
"I want you to find someone for me." Her voice was soft and plaintive.
She would blame the alcohol for her brazenness when she reflected back on this moment in the sober light of morning.
She grabbed his champagne and stood up, stepping away.
He cleared his throat. "Anyone in particular?"
"Steven Muybridge."
Amen.
"Who is he?" Tom asked.
Was that the ring of jealousy she heard?
"Doesn't matter," Dorcas dismissed the question.
"I'll see what I can do."
She drained the glass and cast it away from her where it shattered against the travertine tiles.
"Cheers!" Dorcas replied.
A smile turned up the corners of her mouth imagining having the bastard that killed her baby cornered and begging for mercy.
:::
"Hi, Uncle," Dorcas said.
She'd taken refuge in the place where she'd spent many of her childhood days hiding out when staying at Blackpool.
Uncle Lysander's portrait was a recent addition to the two story library.
Dorcas was a little surprised to see him. And a little guilty.
She'd come here with the intention of whiling away the remaining hour or so of the party with her old friend Tytos in the giant, oak framed, encaustic work. He was not present, to Dorcas's dismay.
Climbing the stairs and onto the second-level shelves, her shoulders fell at the absence of her friend. She paused, considering whether she should find a book and curl up to wait for his return. Or whether she should join the other costumed revelers in the ballroom.
The sound of someone clearing his throat behind her startled her.
"Hello, niece," he said with an indulgent smile. "I was wondering if I might have the pleasure of seeing you on this occasion. They are so few and far between."
Dorcas cast her eyes down guiltily.
"I'm only teasing you, my dear. Jonas only had me installed here two weeks ago."
"Why has he waited so long?" Dorcas asked, gathering her skirts and sitting against the railing so that she could look up into her uncle's kind green eyes.
Her uncle was painted in deep, glistening tones of oil paint. They made a stark contrast to the waxy and dull portrait of Tytos. But she considered the age of the ancestral portrait that had been her constant companion here. She wasn't even sure oil paints existed when his portrait was made.
Lysander was portrayed in a suit of dark robes. His hair carefully combed and parted slightly to the side. He was in the prime of his life once again. The only hint of his age was a distinguished shock of silver about the temples that faded into the black of the rest of his hair.
"He only just won me."
"Won you?" Dorcas's brow furrowed.
"What a to-do! Gemma contested everything in the will. Right down to the silverware and the goblets. Spiteful girl!"
"Well, I'm glad Jonas was allowed to keep you, Uncle."
"Gemma got the portrait of her mother. So, everything worked out in the end."
He smiled a little sadly. Dorcas could see through the pleasant smile. It pained her uncle to witness the rift between his children play out in the same way that it had between him and Mary-Ellen.
"I'm sorry, Uncle," Dorcas said, leaning her head against the banister.
"Nothing to be done. Family history repeating. I regret my part in it."
Dorcas regretted her part too. Maybe Gemma would never have come around to accepting her. But she hadn't helped things any by antagonizing her cousin.
"Well, now. How are you keeping yourself? How is your family?"
Dorcas flinched at the question.
In pieces. That was the true answer.
"How much has Jonas kept you up to date?" Dorcas asked.
"Hardly at all. The living get on with life and forget the souls that have passed on."
"I'm sure that's not true. But he has so many responsibilities at the Ministry. And his engagement is still new." She reached up to scratch the infernal wig. "The engagement party's tonight."
"And you're hiding in the library? Little Dorcas was never the joiner," he said with a chuckle. "Not to be put off. Tell me everything that's been going on."
"Well," Dorcas started. She looked at her hands in her lap. She didn't know quite how to describe all that had happened. "Cal and the girls are doing well. Wren started nursery school this year. She loves it. Ryann is in her second year at Hogwarts. She wants to go out for the Quidditch team."
"Her father's girl," Lysander smiled dotingly.
"That's what I'm afraid of," Dorcas admitted, remembering some of the more dangerous stunts she'd seen Cal pull on the pitch.
There was a pause.
"And I was in hospital for about a month. I was poisoned."
Portrait Lysander squared his shoulders in an intimidating bearing. "Poisoned? Now Jonas really should have told me."
"He probably didn't want to worry you. I really am fine now."
"What aren't you telling me, young lady?"
Dorcas loved and hated that tone.
She grew up without a father until her Uncle Lysander came into her life belatedly. After the loss of her mother, he became her parent. He was a strict disciplinarian and expected much of his children. But he also loved them fiercely. She knew he counted her among their number.
She was a great disappointment to him. This was why she couldn't bring herself to rush to his deathbed. She couldn't bear him looking at her one last time the way he had when he learned of her shame. A shame that would reflect on all who share the Rackharrow name.
"Well, I survived the poisoning. But my son did not. I was eight and a half months pregnant when it happened."
"Appalling!" Lysander whispered, shocked. "Who would do such a thing? Has the murderer been apprehended? What is being done to make this right?"
Dorcas shrugged.
"I don't think it can be made right, Uncle," she answered hopelessly.
Her mind flickered in the direction of her conversation with Tom. He'd told her he would see what he could find out about Muybridge's whereabouts. She knew he had all kinds of illicit connections. If anyone could find him…
Then she would make it as right as she was able to.
"I'll have words with the Minister of Magic! This will not stand!" he blustered.
Dorcas knew it was his way of covering for the sadness of the news.
"And where was your husband? Didn't that young man take vows to protect you?"
Dorcas smiled indulgently as he continued to rail.
"Don't start in on Cal, Uncle. You know he's a perfect saint. I wouldn't be alive either if it hadn't been for him."
"I'm deeply saddened for you, my dear," he offered, after exhausting his list of people to blame.
"Me too," Dorcas said.
The familiar prickle of tears came to the corners of her eyes. "I'm sorry that I was not here to say goodbye to you, Uncle. I should have been here. I'm an ungrateful niece. I'm sorry!"
"Hush now!" Lysander said, waving a hand in her direction.
Dorcas would not be absolved. She knew that the choices she'd made when she was young and foolish had affected him greatly. She could never redeem herself in his eyes.
"I just couldn't face having been such a disappointment to you."
"Disappointment? You, my child, are no such thing. I consider you as close to a child of mine as either Jonas or Gemma. I may be disappointed elsewhere, Dorcas. But in you, I consider myself blessed."
Dorcas felt the tears breach their levy. His words were exactly what she needed to hear.
"Boundless is my love for you, Dorcas."
"I love you too, Uncle," Dorcas said, sobbing under his sympathetic gaze.
:::
"You have no proper Wizarding pride!"
Gemma's voice rang through the entryway, growing louder.
Dorcas shared a look with her uncle as their conversation was interrupted.
Jonas burst into the library a moment later with Gemma pursuing him angrily.
Dorcas's eyes flew wide, realizing she was trapped on the balcony, unable to retreat.
Lysander heaved a world weary sigh.
"I have plenty of pride, Gemma! I just don't subscribe to your brand of fanaticism!"
"The Rackharrow name used to mean something in this world. It was respected and feared. You're making us into a laughing stock. With your Muggle machines and your Mudblood friends and your Muggle-loving little ginger minge!"
"Gemma, watch your mouth! This is my house now and I'll be more than happy to throw you out of it," Jonas growled threateningly.
Gemma used to be a big bully, able to tower over Jonas and push him around.
Dorcas was proud of the way he stood up to her now in defense of Cherry and his friends.
"Now that we're on the subject of the house," Gemma segwayed with her hands on her hips. "What a disgrace! You haven't replaced the house elves, I noticed. Witches and wizards with serving trays like you're some sort of Muggle lord of the manor. And that eyesore behind the hedgerow maze...What in Hades name is that?"
Dorcas craned closer to the bottom of the banister to see the scene below.
Jonas walked calmly to the desk that once belonged to his father, opening a drawer and pulling out a card.
"It's a quonset hut," he informed in a flat voice.
Gemma shook her head impatiently.
"It's an aeroplane hangar," Jonas explained.
"Ride a broom like a normal wizard and stop being such a mortification!"
Jonas approached his sister and threw the card from the desk drawer at her.
"There's the information for my solicitor. Feel free to contest the will again. The Abbey is mine to do with as I please. You have the townhouse."
He walked out of the office as Gemma shredded the business card into pieces. She stomped out after him.
"That tacky whore is never moving in here," she screamed at Jonas's back.
Her voice carried down the vast corridor as she pursued Jonas back to the ballroom.
"Tacky whore?" came a shrieked reply in Cherry's voice.
"Oh heavens!" Dorcas gasped.
"Hundreds of guests bearing witness to the hanging of the dirty family laundry," Dorcas heard her uncle mutter behind her.
She turned to see his head drop to one hand.
"I'll see what I can do, Uncle," Dorcas responded.
She did not feel especially eager to get into the middle of a fight between Cherry Weasley and Gemma Rackharrow. Nor did she want the two witches bringing the roof down on everyone assembled.
When she exited the library, she saw the two women circling one another, hurling insults and spells.
"Hold my crown, honey," Cherry called to Jonas, throwing her replica diadem to Jonas as he tried to reason with her.
"Cherry," he pleaded. "She's not worth it. Just ignore her."
"I've ignored this dried up hag for too long. It's time to put her in her place!"
"You can try," Gemma sneered.
Guests were pouring out of the ballroom to gather in the entrance hall as if a particularly interesting floor show was underway.
"Don't forget to tip your waiters and waitresses, folks!" Dorcas thought hopelessly.
A couple dressed as Ike and Maime Eisnehower ducked one of Gemma's curses, which struck a portion of the railing of the grand staircase.
Anneliese and Cal emerged from somewhere in the throng to stand next to Dorcas. Beau joined them moments later.
An odd assortment of onlookers gaped and gasped at the two women who shot curse after curse at the other. Marco Polo and Kokachin, Amata and Sir Luckless from The Fountain of Fair Fortune, Babbity Rabbity and the Cackling Stump, Hades and Persephone pointed and gossiped.
Beau raised his telephoto lens ready to snap a few shots before Anneliese put her hand on the camera and lowered it with a "Don't you dare, Beau Haywood!"
"Cal," Dorcas said, turning to her husband. "Help Jonas put a stop to this."
He nodded and crossed the room, ducking a stray spell. Dorcas couldn't tell which woman it came from. Tom intercepted him with a quick comment.
Dorcas saw Cal's face pale before becoming enraged.
Before Tom could react, or perhaps anticipating it and choosing not to react, Cal drew his fist back and cracked it across Tom's jaw.
"Shit!" Beau swore, tossing his camera into Anneliese's hands before going to break up the two men who were brawling on the ground.
Jonas looked between his sister and fiance and Tom and Cal, unsure of what to do.
"We're going to be on the front page of tomorrow's Prophet," Anneliese said in a tiny, disbelieving voice.
Cut across the face and bleeding, Gemma sneered and threw a curse at Cherry, hitting her shoulder. Cherry's left arm seemed to hang limply by her side.
Dorcas grabbed the skirts of her dress and stomped over to the two men on the ground.
"Cal!" she shouted. "Get up!"
He obeyed her, smoothing his hair and offering Tom a grudging hand off of the ground.
Tom reluctantly took it.
When Cal's guard was down, Tom landed a punch to his gut, doubling Cal over.
Dorcas's hand flew to Tom's cheek, snapping his head to the side as her palm connected with his face. The blood from his split lip marking her hand.
"Are you a child? What is wrong with you?" she raged. "Leave now!"
Tom pulled the pocket square from his jacket pocket and dabbed at his bloody lip. Cal wheezed and groaned while he clutched his side.
With a smile turning up the corner of his mouth, Tom winked and walked away from her.
"Gemma, enough!" he said as he crossed the entrance hall and opened the door.
"Run along, mangy bitch. Your master's calling!" Cherry said, throwing her wild hair out of her face.
Gemma obeyed wordlessly, fixing Cherry with a cold glare.
"Hootenanny!" Anneliese said and shuddered.
