A/A/N I had this done last night! Really! In fact, the review responses went up last night. But was being a total pain and once again not letting me upload documents. ARG!
A/N Well, you guys totally called my bluff! Remember when I said I had "most" of this chapter written? Well, "most" actually meant "about two-thirds of the rough draft." I thought I'd have at least one more day to pull it together :) (Not that I'm complaining. The reviews were great!) A special welcome to all those first-time reviewers (a.k.a. lurkers). Look at it this way: Writing a review once in a while is good for you…like eating stewed spinach. You might not enjoy it, but it makes you stronger.
Disclaimer I don't own Batman. In fact, I don't own much of anything, so if you're a house breaker or a hold-up guy, don't waste your time on me.
Acknowledgment To Ray Bradbury, one of the greatest literary stylists of the twentieth century. If I ever write anything half as good as Dandelion Wine, I'll be a happy woman.
Chapter 21
"And now leave me in peace for a bit! I don't want to answer a string of questions while I am eating. I want to think!" said Frodo.
"Good heavens!" said Pippin. "At breakfast?"
The Fellowship of the Ring
There was pain: swirling white and red pain that went on and on until she thought she would explode with the sheer volume of it. There was a sudden stillness, the colors plunged toward black, and she was falling with no one to catch her.
She lay on the floor, slowly coming back to an awareness of true color and sound, tasting the rawness of her throat and remembering that she had been screaming, "No sé! No sé!" until the words had lost their meaning and become only shrill white and red noise.
"So stubborn," Morales said softly. "So blind and misled." His tone abruptly altered from sorrowful to sharp and demanding as he turned to address his son-in-law. "Your son, he has spent time with this woman, has he not?"
"Yes, she has helped him with his English," came the uncertain reply.
"Excellent, go and fetch him."
"But…but he is only thirteen," Gutierrez was startled into protesting.
"And it is time he began to learn the family business. Bring him before I grow angry with you."
Gutierrez scuttled out. An eternity later, during which the smell of dirt ground into the carpet swelled and receded like the throb of her hand, he returned, guiding a slender, proud-featured boy by the shoulder.
"Samuel," Morales said, "you see before you an enemy of our house. This woman has lied to us, stolen from us, and now she will not admit the truth. Tell me, nieto, if there is something you know of her – something which she finds particularly irritating or frightening – that might persuade her cursed tongue to speak to us."
She cautiously tilted her head and looked the boy full in the face. She saw his nostrils flaring with heightened breath, his bright eyes, and she remembered all the times she had stood over him and supervised his homework when he had promised his friends he would be out playing fútbol, the time she had caught him taking money from his mother's purse, the time she had stopped him from peeking through the windows of the maids' quarters. Samuel stood on tiptoe and whispered into his grandfather's ear.
Morales smiled. "It is well thought of. It seems you are more my son than your father's. Go and bring it here." The boy bolted out the door. "Get up!" Morales ordered, and she felt Alberto's hard hand on her shoulder, tugging, shaking…
"Miss Somerville!"
With a pained gasp, she flung off the hand and threw herself away. She clawed through an entrapping tangle of fabric, and then she was falling, falling onto the thickly carpeted floor of her room in Wayne Manor.
"Miss Somerville?" She straightened up to see a small and blurred figure on the edge of the bed.
"Richard?" With a faint groan she dropped back onto the floor. Every part of her ached like she'd been cudgeled by a bobby with an iron nightstick.
"I came to see if we could play chess."
"Chess," she repeated disbelievingly.
"Before Miss Tracy comes," he elaborated and added, "we didn't even play one game yesterday."
She heard the accusation in his tone, although she couldn't make out his face. "Richard, would you kindly hand me my glasses?"
When the wire frames were settled on her nose, she looked at him severely. "In the first place, yesterday was Sunday, the generally acknowledged day of rest. In the second, it is very rude to come into a lady's room and wake her out of a sound sleep without good reason. And third, if you will go downstairs and set up the board, I will join you shortly."
Richard's face lit up, and he ran for the door. Cecilia slowly climbed to her feet, wincing at every new muscle that came into use. At the rate she was going, Richard would be able to set up the board half a dozen times before she arrived.
Unable to face the trauma of getting dressed, she pulled on her bathrobe and began easing her way downstairs. As she had predicted, Richard had the board ready and was dancing impatiently when she entered. She hauled herself onto one of the high stools and stared wearily at the black and white squares. "Thank you," she muttered gratefully, when Pennyworth set a steaming mug of coffee at her elbow.
But even with the aid of caffeine, it was difficult to concentrate on the game over the throbbing ache of her body. Richard stood a decent chance of winning, and she wasn't even trying to lose. The boy, in fact, was beginning to notice his advantage. His young face assumed a smug smirk, giving him an astonishing, and exasperating, resemblance to Bruce Wayne. Physically, the two were nothing alike, but there was no question that Wayne spent considerable time around the kid.
Her knights and rooks were gone, and her queen was in danger. Cecilia was scowling ferociously at the board when the doorbell rang.
"Ah, that will be Miss Tracy," Pennyworth announced. "Up to the schoolroom, Master Dick."
"But…"
"Now, Master Dick."
Hearing the stern tone in the butler's voice, Richard slid off his stood without further protest and left the room.
"Saved by the bell," Cecilia said dryly. "I believe Miss Tracy just rescued my queen from an ignominious capture." And apparently Wayne is ignoring my advice.
- - - - - -
It was exactly 8:00 AM when Gordon pulled his battered cruiser to a stop in front of Wayne Manor (for the second time in less than twenty-four hours). There was another visitor ascending the front steps.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, turning at the sound of his footsteps. "You're James Gordon, that police officer who was at the charity function last month. I read all about it in the paper, and I must say that I think what the police department did was just wonderful. Do you go to a lot of those high society fundraisers?"
"Ah…no," replied Gordon, momentarily nonplused. When people recognized him, it wasn't usually in connection with "high society." Then his cop training took over. "And you would be…?"
"Cassandra Tracy. I'm Richard's tutor."
Richard's tutor? Gordon thought skeptically, discreetly eying the long and shapely legs that were very visible beneath Ms. Tracy's short skirt. Guess she doesn't mind the cold.
The inscrutable Pennyworth opened the door. "Good morning, Miss Tracy, Lieutenant Gordon." He helped the woman off with her coat. "Master Dick is waiting in the schoolroom."
"Thank you, Alfred," the blond trilled, and took herself (and her legs) upstairs.
"Lieutenant, Miss Somerville is in the kitchen."
Gordon followed the butler along the by now familiar route to the kitchen where the Somerville woman sat slumped at the counter, her hair hanging in tangles around her wan face. She looks about how I feel. Spending the night cleaning up the Bat's handiwork didn't leave a lot of time for sleep.
"Good morning, Miss Somerville." Gordon hopped onto the stool across from her, glancing curiously at the half played chess game on the counter. Somerville carefully pushed the board to one side.
"Lieutenant, I assume this is about last night?" She reached up to push her hair away from her face, and the loose sleeve of her robe fell back to reveal a faint set of bruises around her wrist.
"The Joker do that to you?"
She looked reflectively at her arm. "No, I believe that is the mark of the Batman. He must have dragged me across half of Gotham last night." She shrugged. "I suppose he saved my life, so I shouldn't complain." She pushed up robe and pajama sleeves to reveal her forearm. "This is from the Joker.
Gordon winced at the sight of the enormous black patches that discolored her skin. "He hit you?"
"I was tied to a post, and he had some sort of electrical device that made me convulse against it."
"Yeah, I think we may have found something like that last night when we raided the warehouse," Gordon said thoughtfully. "A thing with a joystick and wires?" She nodded.
Pennyworth set a cup of coffee next to Gordon, who nodded his thanks and picked up the cup. It was strong and hot with a trace of sugar, just the way he liked it. I'm getting to be a regular around here.
"Oh by the way…" Gordon held out the paper bag he'd been carrying. "I believe this is yours."
She opened the bag and pulled out the purse. "Yes, it is." She unzipped it and rummaged inside, inadvertently sticking her fingers through the rip in the side.
"Anything missing?"
"Ah…a tube of chapstick. I suppose it fell out." She pulled a loose fiber off the tear. "You found this in the warehouse?"
"Actually, Batman gave it to me. I guess I assumed he found it in the warehouse, but he never really said." Gordon chuckled. "You don't ask that guy a lot of questions."
Her eyes narrowed. "Really." She gingerly pulled out the shattered mirror and placed it next to the chessboard. "So I don't suppose you asked him whether it was in this condition when he found it."
Why he felt compelled to defend the Bat, Gordon didn't know. "I'm certain he wouldn't damage your purse, ma'am. What reason would he have?"
She lifted her eyebrows. "Chapped lips."
Gordon opened his mouth to respond, thought better of it, and took a long sip of his coffee. "Miss Somerville, could you please tell me what happened last night?"
- - - - - -
As Alfred had suspected, there was still a motionless lump beneath the blankets, even though the butler knew for a fact that the alarm had been set to go off at 7:45. Close inspection revealed that the snooze button had been hit hard enough to jam it.
Alfred pulled back the curtains. This move wasn't nearly as effective now as it was in the summer, when a full-bodied blast of sunlight would pour through the window, and indeed, the chill winter light seemed to be having no effect on the unconscious form. Obviously, more forceful action was necessary.
"Good morning, Master Wayne," Alfred announced, flinging back the covers. He found that the billionaire had anticipated this move and had his head buried beneath a pillow. Alfred ruthlessly removed it. "I thought you would want to know that Wayne Tower burned to the ground last night."
"What!" Bruce gasped, snapping bolt upright in bed. He took one look at Alfred's placid face and growled, "That is not funny."
"It was not my intent to be amusing, sir. You did ask to me to wake you early so that you could sit in on Miss Tracy's session with Master Dick."
"Is she here?" Bruce asked around a yawn.
"She arrived promptly at eight."
"All right. I'll be there in a minute." Yawning again, he rolled out of bed and into his morning pushups.
Fifteen minutes later, Bruce, very casually attired in a t-shirt and sweats, stood outside the schoolroom door. He slowly turned the handle and cracked the door open, hoping to slip in without being noticed. A ninja understands that invisibility is a matter of patience and agility.
But in this case, his caution was hardly necessary. As the door opened, Dick's voice rang out merrily, "Look, Miss Tracy! I can do a backwards flip!"
Bruce stepped inside the room and saw his ward balanced on the edge of the tutor's desk.
"Dicky! Please don't, you'll hurt yourself!"
Dick ignored his teacher's pleadings and launched himself backwards off the desk. Miss Tracy gave a little shriek, then gasped in audible relief as Dick landed safely on his feet and punched the air in victory.
Instead of scolding the boy as Bruce expected her to, and as he frankly deserved, Miss Tracy clapped her hands and exclaimed, "How amazing! I didn't know you could do that!"
Bruce slid down against the wall and sat on the floor, arms folded, awaiting developments.
"I know lots of tricks. Want to see what else I can do?"
"Well, only if you're quite certain you won't hurt yourself."
Living up to his circus heritage, Dick exhibited gymnastic feats for half an hour, to Miss Tracy's enthusiastic approval. When they finally did sit down to schoolwork, it was fairly apparent that Dick did exactly as much as he wanted to – which wasn't much.
There was no longer any doubt in Bruce's mind that Miss Tracy had to be replaced. In fact, the only question he had left was how he had been stupid enough to hire her in the first place. She had come with excellent recommendations, he consoled himself, although now that he thought about it, her last tutoring job had been with two little girls. Maybe the problem was that she didn't understand how to harness Dick's energy. But whatever the underlying reason for her poor work, Bruce was determined that he and Dick had both had enough of it.
It was Dick who finally spotted him. "Hey, Bruce!" He shot out of his chair, abandoning the handwriting exercise he had been laboriously not working on for the last five minutes. "Hey, Bruce," Dick repeated, skidding to a stop, "did you need me for something?"
"Actually, no, but why don't you go find Alfred? I need to talk to Miss Tracy."
"Okay, Miss Somerville and I have to finish our game, anyway."
Bruce stood up. "Miss Tracy, are you teaching or conducting a circus?"
Her mouth dropped in shock. "I…I realize my methods may seem a little unorthodox, but I assure you they are tailored to Dick's individualized learning style. You may recall that I said your presence was not conducive to Richard's concentration."
"He had no idea I was in the room, and neither did you," Bruce snapped, then took a deep breath and smiled. "Why don't we continue this conversation down in my office?"
Funny how much easier it was to be calm and collected about firing someone when you were sitting in a plush leather chair behind a hefty mahogany desk. Bruce almost wished he'd bothered with a suit and tie. "Miss Tracy, after careful consideration of your work with my ward during these past months, and after discussing the situation with those who know the boy best, I have come to the conclusion that we will no longer be needing your services. I am certain that, with the right children, you are a fine teacher, but considering Dick's individualized learning style, I think he would do better with a different tutor. Someone with a stronger background in math, science, and discipline."
Miss Tracy sat rigidly in her chair, her mouth quivering. "This is because of that woman, isn't it?" she demanded. "She's poisoned you against me!"
He hadn't expected her to be so perceptive. "Miss Somerville did make a recommendation, but that was certainly not the only factor influencing this decision." Alfred, in fact, had confessed to increasing uneasiness over the tutoring situation. Much as Bruce hated to admit it, Somerville had been dead right about this woman.
"You realize, of course, why she's doing this?" Miss Tracy looked as if she might burst into tears any second. "She's hoping to weasel her way into your favor, making herself look good by making me look bad!"
Somehow, I think the last thing Somerville's worried about is endearing herself to me. For a moment, he felt a flicker of something that might have been gratitude.
"But I won't stand aside and let that woman take advantage of you! Bruce, you must see her for what she is!"
Miss Tracy's eyes were wide with sincerity, and Bruce could hardly believe she actually thought he would buy her line. Somerville was about number four billion and ninety on his list of people he'd like to be trapped on a desert island with, but at the moment, her open hostility seemed positively refreshing. He could feel a tension headache forming behind his eyes. Somebody please let me go back to bed.
To Be Continued...
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