Chapter Six – Of Not Being Alone
On the one hundred and second day, Rose overheard a conversation similar to the one she'd heard the day after they'd arrived.
"She's not leaving. Her precious Doctor has left her here, and you know that she'll want my place," hissed a woman's voice. "Perhaps we should just—"
"She's made no demands, yet, has she?" interrupted a man.
"It doesn't matter! She's a Dame, and people will begin to question why she's only a background player. Her rank..."
"Yes, her rank. How, exactly, do we know that she is a lady? Her behaviour certainly does not indicate good breeding, and I've not heard her name mentioned by any of my acquaintances in London."
"And yet my cousin is besotted with her. He plays Mr Darcy. Suppose he requests that she be promoted to Elizabeth? He is well-liked, as is she. The people will surely approve his request and vote her into my place, if not this year, then the next."
A long pause, and then the man said, "We shall simply have to see to it that does not happen."
"But..."
"It is nothing for you to worry about. Concentrate on your role. I will deal with Lady Rose."
-oo-O-oo-
The Season closed on the evening of the one hundred and eleventh day. Everyone celebrated with a grand ball—plenty of food and drink, laughter and dancing. An overseer attended, and no one seemed to notice that his eyes glowed in the dark or that his skin gleamed silver. Rose drank more of the local champagne than she ought have, but enjoyed herself nonetheless.
After having seen the entire Book acted out, she now knew why it seemed so familiar. It hadn't been a novel she'd read, after all, but rather, a film she'd watched. One with handsome actors in satin breeches that showed off their legs. She couldn't wait to tell the Doctor... and that thought left her suddenly sober and feeling ill.
Later that night, Christopher kissed her for the first time, beneath the arbour in the garden. He smelled of fresh mint and cloves. Rose's breath misted in the winter night air, and the cold hid the guilty flushing of her cheeks.
-oo-O-oo-
On the one hundred and thirty-ninth day, it rained. Large wet drops pattered against the window, reflecting onto the walls a myriad of ever-changing, flowing patterns. Rose found herself alone in her room facing the looking glass. From around her neck she pulled a chain. On the end of the chain dangled a key. She wrapped her fingers around it, willing it to feel hot and glow, even just a little. But it warmed to her body temperature and no more.
She flexed her fingers and stared at the brass key. Then she pulled a wad of fabric out from the back of the bottom desk drawer. She unrolled it, revealing her bra and trainers. Letting out a deep breath, she dropped the TARDIS key inside one of her shoes. It vanished within the shadows of leather and rubber.
"Lady Rose? Are you in here?"
"Just a mo'," she called out. With quick motions, she rolled the relics of her old life back up inside the pillowcase and stuffed them into the drawer. It shut with a scrape and a thud that squeezed her heart. But she pinched her cheeks and willed herself not to cry.
-oo-O-oo-
Mrs Morris inspected Rose's needlework on the one hundred and fifty-third day.
"Oh, but that's beautiful, m'lady. You've done a wonderful job with this," she declared, looking closely at the tiny pink flowers made of thread. "I've never seen blossoms like these. Do they grow around London?"
Yeah," she answered. "Near where I used to live, actually. My mum, she... she used to stop when we were driving by, to pull a few up from the ground, take 'em home and try to grow 'em in our windowsill. She... She always did stupid things like that."
"Oh, sweetheart." Mrs Morris put down the cloth and hugged Rose, feeling her shuddering efforts not to cry. "It's all right, m'lady. Truly, it is."
"I know. It's just, I hadn't realized when I was sewing the flowers... Then it just sort of hit me all at once. I've no one now. No one at all. Not even Mickey." She stifled a sob that sounded almost like a laugh.
"And who is Mickey? A pet?"
Rose did laugh at that, though tears coursed from her eyes. She gasped, trying to stop her hysterics. When she finally could speak again, she said, "That's what he always said he was—nothing but our dog. But he's better than that. So much better! He's brilliant, Mickey is. He was my best friend, until the Doctor came along. We did everything together. We always figured we'd be together forever, that nothing could come between us. And then..."
"The Doctor, yes. He seems to have been quite the influence on your life, though, if you'll forgive me saying so, perhaps not in the best way."
Rose shrugged. "He showed me a better way of living, how to actually care for people. How to make a difference instead of standing on the side of the road, watching. Maybe it isn't the sort of life everyone could lead, but it suited me. I miss it. I miss him."
"And you always will. But it will get better, in time. I promise you that. You'll find other people to be friends with. Someone else to love. And in time, your pain will ease."
Mrs Morris gave Rose space to compose herself, going back to the embroidery. She shook out the long panel of fabric and turned thoughtful. "This would look lovely sewn to a petticoat, don't you think? I've plenty of linen downstairs. Why don't we make it together, and you'll have something fancy to wear for a special occasion. How does that sound?"
Rose wiped the tears from her face and nodded.
-oo-O-oo-
On the afternoon of the one hundred and sixty-fourth day, Rose found herself in the gardens with Christopher again. A spring breeze tossed her hair around. She'd finally cut it, to be rid of the blonde tips, and though it still had a bit to go before reaching her shoulders, it had grown past the awkward stage and now tended to curl around her face in a manner that Christopher assured her was most fetching.
He led her to the stone bench and sat beside her. "Look, the pink flowers are finally blooming. They remind me of you, you know."
"Round with stripes?" She poked him.
"Of course not! Though, your dress is striped, so do not hit me again." He waved a finger at her in mock scolding. "What I meant is... well, they are the last of the spring flowers to bloom each year. It's as though they cannot bear the beauty of the spring and so they wait until the last moment to show themselves."
"So, I'm a late bloomer, am I?"
"No, that isn't what I meant, either. It's just that... Mother and I have been worried about you over the winter. At times you looked so pale that I thought you would fade away. I know that you cried every night for some time after..." He cleared his throat. "And I know that you no longer do so."
Rose shrugged and picked at the edges of her shawl. "Got to move on."
"Yes. Though I dare not hope that you've forgotten your Doctor, for I know that he was very dear to you."
"Don't," she interrupted. "Please. Don't say his name. Don't talk about him. He's gone and I have to live with that."
"Yes. But you don't have to do so alone."
She turned to face him. "You've been a good friend, Christopher. I... I don't know what I would've done without you. And your mother."
"She is very fond of you, you know."
"Yeah." Tears filled her eyes as she though of her own mother, so very far away. Had the Doctor bothered to tell her that her daughter wouldn't be coming home? Or had he left Jackie to wonder, even as Rose wondered about the Doctor. Had he regenerated and forgotten where he'd left her? Or had he simply moved on to another companion? Always moving on, always running... But she couldn't run any more.
"I know that you have no family, now. No one to speak for you or protect you, and that doesn't seem right to me. You don't deserve to be alone, Rose."
He took her hand and laced his fingers with hers. Rose managed not to wince, barely. That was the hand the Doctor had once gripped... but it didn't matter any more. Her hands were her own, to give as she pleased.
"Lady Rose, what I am so foolishly trying to say is... I care for you, very much." He reached up and caressed her jaw. She could feel his hand shaking just a little when he placed it on her shoulder. "And, though I know that I will never be first in your heart, for that place has already been taken, I beg of you to search your feelings... to see if there is not room in there for me, also, beside the ghost of his memory. And, if there is, if you would consider becoming my wife?"
Rose stared at him. She'd guessed that he'd fallen in love with her, but she hadn't thought he would ask her this. Not so soon, anyway. She swallowed and discovered a knot in her throat. "Christopher..."
He stopped her with a gentle finger to her lips. "Please. If your answer is to be 'no', then I beg of you to wait and defer the decision 'til another day. To give yourself more time to heal and become used to the idea."
She shook her head and opened her mouth. No words would come, so she looked away. The wind picked up again, flapping her skirts against her legs. Christopher slid from the bench and knelt before her, her hands held firmly in his own. He looked up at her with eyes that held such hope. She couldn't bear to break his heart.
For several long moments, Rose stared off into the green paths of the garden, feeling the turn of the earth beneath her. Only Christopher's hand kept her from falling away.
Then she looked down at him. She started to speak... but the billowing wind turned into a sound she thought she'd never hear again. The wheezing gusts peaked sharply and then fell away. Rose's heart hammered in her chest. She could not turn around.
Christopher let go of her hand and stood at the creaking sound of a door opening. "What witchcraft is this? Explain yourself, sir!"
"Oh, s'not witchcraft. Just the TARDIS, good old girl." The sound of a hand patting a wooden door hit Rose's ears and she closed her eyes. "Err, she's my carriage, you see. You didn't actually see us appear out of thin air, just now, Caleb. It was Caleb, wasn't it? Yes, anyway, it's just that she's a very fast carriage. With no horses. The latest thing in London! Horseless carriages, they call them. Run on petrol. Very fast. You were busy, distracted, didn't see us drive up, that's all. Nothing supernatural about it. Nothing at all."
Christopher helped Rose to her feet but stood just in front of her, protectively.
"Rose, that you? What's all this, then? Looks like you two were having quite a conversation before I came along." When she didn't answer, but turned to look at him silently, he protested, "You've cut your hair! What'd you go and do that for?"
Without saying a word, she let go of Christopher's hand, walked over to the Doctor, and slapped him.
(To Be Continued...)