Without Mr. Fitz to keep her company – and distressed by their earlier argument – Jemma quickly grew bored with the archery and decided to abandon the activity altogether. Upon entering the house, she noticed Mr. Fitz's hat still sitting atop the coat stand in the entryway and smiled to herself. If he could still bear to remain in her home (albeit to simply tinker away in the laboratory), then perhaps their disagreement hadn't been as severe as she'd thought.
Through their many years of friendship, Jemma and Mr. Fitz had certainly seen their fair share of quarreling. It was simply by the nature of their working partnership that gave way to disagreement after disagreement, which had always suited them just fine. But as Jemma prepared two cups of tea (quite possibly the quickest way to either of their hearts), she couldn't help but feel unsettled by this particular argument.
Jemma did not repent what she had done; she still thought herself a better judge of such a point of female right and refinement than Mr. Fitz could be. Yet she had a habitual respect for his opinion in general, which was perhaps the reason she disliked having it so loudly against her. These two emotions – satisfaction in preventing an unsuitable marriage for Skye and discomfort from Mr. Fitz's judgment – warred with one another in Jemma's head, making it increasingly difficult to determine the right course of action.
It was all very confusing.
She entered the laboratory as quietly as she could, not wishing to distract Mr. Fitz from his work. Though he kept his back to the doorway and remained hunched over the table, Jemma noted the slight tension in his shoulders when he heard the telltale creak of the door opening. He gave no other acknowledgement of her presence.
Jemma took a deep breath before breaking the silence. "We see so differently on this point, Mr. Fitz," she said softly, taking a hesitant step forward to stand beside him. "There can be no use in canvassing it. We shall only make each other more angry."
Mr. Fitz didn't look at her, nor did he turn his body away from the tools in front of him. But his hands paused in their work as she set one teacup on the table.
"Perhaps you'd like to stop for some tea?"
He glanced at the cup warily, making no move to accept it. Jemma had her pièce de résistance at the ready.
"I've put in three spoonfuls of sugar."
"All right," Mr. Fitz sighed, his previously cheerless expression brightening up a bit. "I suppose a short recess should be fine."
Jemma grinned. "Precisely."
Despite her valiant efforts, teatime was anything but a peaceful occasion. Under normal circumstances, Jemma and Mr. Fitz could coexist in silence quite comfortably; they could chatter for hours on end, of course, but oftentimes they didn't need words to communicate. It was one of the many attributes Jemma valued in her relationship with Mr. Fitz.
On this day, however, the minutes passed in rather unpleasant quiet, with only one attempt on Jemma's side to talk of the weather. Mr. Fitz made no answer as he sipped his tea. He was thinking. It was only when his cup was nearly empty that he made to speak.
"Jemma…" he began, refusing to look her in the eye. Jemma held her breath as she waited for him to continue. "Your views for Skye are best known to yourself, and I've made it quite plain how I feel regarding your influence in the state of affairs. But since you make no secret of your love of match-making –"
Jemma suppressed a groan. "Oh, Mr. Fitz, that is hardly –"
"I have to say that as your friend who knows you very well – almost too well, some might say –"
"The reason why I endeavored to save Skye from –"
"That if Milton is the man –"
"An imprudent marriage!"
"Your labor will be in vain."
Jemma attempted to laugh off his assumptions, but Mr. Fitz had already seen the truth in her expression. "Jemma, say what you will of Skye's heritage, but until a sizeable amount of money is attached to her name, your venture is bound to be hopeless." She shook her head, ready to argue further, but Mr. Fitz wasn't finished. "Milton knows the value of a good income as well as anybody. Mark my word, Jemma. He may talk sentimentally, but in this case he will act rationally."
"I am very much obliged to you," said Jemma, laughing again. "If I had my heart set on Mr. Milton's marrying Skye, it would have been very kind of you to open my eyes. But at present I only wish to keep Skye to myself."
The look Mr. Fitz gave her just then, withering and full of a disdain she'd never seen directed at her before, effectively knocked the wind out of Jemma. Her smile faltered. "Believe me, Mr. Fitz, I'm quite done with match-making."
Mr. Fitz set his cup down with finality. "No more, please, Jemma," he said quietly.
"In fact, I –"
"No more."
And then, faster than Jemma could have anticipated, Mr. Fitz had walked out of the laboratory. Through the glass of the doorway, Jemma saw him swiftly don his hat and throw on his coat, stepping out into the crisp evening air.
Without a backward glance, Mr. Fitz left Redmire.
Rather than spend her time endeavoring to reconcile with Mr. Fitz (as she well knew she should), Jemma decided instead to prove to him just how wrong he was on the matter. So naturally, she invited Mr. Milton and Skye Johnson to dinner.
The first few gatherings erred on the uncomfortable side, with Skye being unnaturally quiet and Mr. Milton choosing to primarily speak to Jemma. Mr. Fitz still attended most meals at Redmire, although Jemma suspected this was largely for the sake of Mr. Simmons – and perhaps Skye – than for anybody else. The pair remained civil when in the company of others, of course, and even when working together in the laboratory. But tension continued to pervade their conversation and dealings with one another. Simply being around Mr. Fitz, which had once been easy and natural for Jemma, now made her anxious.
She hated every minute of it.
Thankfully, a few weeks were all Mr. Milton and Skye needed to warm up to each other. Or, perhaps more accurately, a few weeks were all Mr. Milton and Skye needed to actually talk to each other, without prompting. Jemma found herself quite pleased with the progress – however small – she'd made, and mused that if things continued in this manner, Skye might have her second proposal by Christmas.
One night after a particularly momentous dinner (Mr. Milton had asked Skye if she liked the cabbage, to which she'd replied, "Yes"), Jemma found a note on the table containing a riddle. She had hardly read a single line before she gasped, and immediately hurried to find Skye in the drawing room.
Skye looked up from her needlework. "What is it?" she asked, eyeing Jemma cautiously.
Jemma flounced down on the sofa next to her. "You'll never believe what Mr. Milton left," she announced brightly as she held out the paper. "Take it. It is for you."
Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, Skye slowly set down her things and took the paper from Jemma. "For me?" she repeated, scanning the page. "I don't understand."
"It's a riddle," Jemma explained patiently. She pointed to the top lines. "A charade, you see? You're meant to solve it, and I believe there may even be a hidden message in your answer."
Skye still seemed baffled. "But the note is not addressed to me. There isn't even a name after Miss."
"Of course not," Jemma laughed. "Being as reserved as he is, I'm surprised Mr. Milton even wrote you at all!"
"Mr. Milton is hardly reserved," said Skye. "He has no trouble speaking with you."
Jemma shook her head. "That's only because he's known me longer than he's known you. Trust me, Skye. The way he was looking at you during dinner tonight can mean only one thing."
Skye seemed less than enthused. "What's that?"
"That this note is for Miss Johnson and Miss Johnson alone," Jemma replied with a grin. At Skye's continuously doubtful expression, Jemma admitted the truth. "The other week whilst at a dinner party, I told a few people that I wanted to make a collection of riddles for you – you know, just something small to make you feel a bit more at home here in Sheffield – when really, this was the contribution I was hoping for. You really must read it."
Mr. Fitz, in the midst of readying to leave, spoke up from near the doorway. "Jemma, you never asked me to contribute a riddle."
"Your entire personality is a riddle, Mr. Fitz," Jemma teased, recovering from her surprise quickly. "I thought you were overqualified."
He smiled in reply, but the warmth he usually held in his eyes was still absent. He continued buttoning up his coat. "Good evening, Jemma," he said, giving her a curt nod before addressing the others in the room. "Sir."
Mr. Simmons briefly glanced at Mr. Fitz over his reading spectacles. "Good evening, Fitz. Try not to get lost on your way home. It's getting dark much too early these days for my liking."
Mr. Fitz laughed. "Will do, sir." He nodded to Skye. "Miss Johnson."
"Good night, Mr. Fitz," Skye smiled, the glow from the fire giving her a halo of light. She seemed genuinely content in the moment, and while Jemma adored the fact that she and Mr. Fitz were friends, she knew it wouldn't be long before Skye would have to leave as well. And there was a riddle to be read – as well as a match to be made.
As soon as the door had closed behind Mr. Fitz, Jemma prompted Skye once more with the paper. "Well?" she asked in excitement. "Do you wish to read the riddle Mr. Milton has devised for you?"
Skye glanced down at her lap, as if she'd forgotten the page altogether. "Oh, right," she murmured, holding up the paper so as to read better with the firelight. She cleared her throat. "To Miss…"
"Johnson," Jemma supplied.
Skye shrugged. "If you say so. To Miss…Johnson. Charade. My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings. Lords of the earth, their luxury and ease…"
"Obviously this is meant to signify –"
"Court," Skye said dismissively, her eyes continuing to scan the page.
Jemma was surprised. "Yes. How did you…?"
Skye gave her a smirk. "I may lack the education you have received, Miss Simmons, but I am not a simpleton."
Jemma felt a burn on her cheeks. "No, of course not. I didn't mean to imply –"
"It's fine, Jemma," Skye assured her. "I've always enjoyed riddles. I suppose with all the mystery that has surrounded me in the past, it gives me a bit of comfort to solve small ones." She seemed embarrassed by her confession. "I don't know. Does that sound silly?"
"Not at all," Jemma replied sincerely. She pointed to the page. "Can you decipher the rest?"
Skye returned her attention to the riddle. "All right, we know the first part is court. Another view of man, my second brings. Behold him there, the monarch of the seas." She pondered the verse for a moment. "Could he mean a shark? Or perhaps a mermaid?"
"What?" Jemma asked, bewildered.
"No, you're right," Skye muttered. "Mr. Milton would never write such a thing. Now, Mr. Fitz, on the other hand –"
"You think Mr. Fitz would write a riddle in which the answer was a mermaid?"
"He talked about mermaids just last week!"
"Really? Mr. Fitz?"
"Yes," Skye insisted. "I had previously lent him my copy of 'The Lady of Gollerus,' simply because the main character's name was Fitzgerald and I happened to be reading it as Mr. Fitz passed by. And after he'd finished the story, he in turn told me of the Spar Cave on Scotland's Isle of Skye and how many have claimed to see mermaids bathing in the pools there."
Jemma scoffed. "Well, you must know that there –"
"They're simply stories, I know," Skye said with a roll of her eyes. "I just thought they were interesting tales, and that Mr. Fitz was very kind to tell me of them. I had no idea there was an entire island that shared my name! Supposedly in Glasgow they organize several boat trips to the isle a year. Mr. Fitz said perhaps I should visit one day."
Jemma struggled to keep her smile in place, although she really didn't understand why the conversation was unsettling to her. "Yes, wouldn't that be nice?" She allowed a small pause before pointing to the paper once more. "But in this case I don't believe the answer is mermaid."
"No, unfortunately," Skye agreed. "Mr. Milton most likely means something much more boring, like ship."
"Boring!" cried Jemma. "Perhaps on its own, sure, but you haven't read the whole riddle yet."
"I'm getting to it, I'm getting to it," Skye laughed, apparently amused by Jemma's exuberance. "But ah! United, what reverse we have. Man's boasted power and freedom, all are flown. Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave, and woman, lovely woman, reigns alone." Her voice grew quiet as she seemed to realize the implications. "Surely you don't think –"
"Yes, I think you've got it –"
"United the words make 'courtship,' but…but he can't possibly mean to court me!"
Jemma was stunned for a moment, unable to understand how Skye could refuse to see the truth of the matter. "Why do you insist on underestimating yourself, Skye?" she asked incredulously. "Mr. Milton is clearly besotted!"
"That's what I find hard to believe, though," Skye replied. "I've spent time with Mr. Milton, and he's given me very little evidence to support the idea that he regards me as more than an acquaintance."
"Oh, but that's just Mr. Milton's nature," dismissed Jemma. "Believe me, he likes you! It simply takes him a bit of time to express his true feelings. This riddle is just the beginning of what is sure to be a prosperous courtship."
Skye still appeared dubious, but for the first time, Jemma noticed a glint of hope in her eyes. "Do you really think so?"
Jemma grasped onto her hand, beaming. "My dear, I simply know it to be true."
She just wished the skeptical Mr. Fitz hadn't left so soon.
