~All right, dudes. Chapter Four. Yeah. So, anyway, I'm getting a little scared, because I've got like 72 hits in just a few days (still can't tell if that's good or bad necessarily), but I'm not getting any reviews. Does that mean that of all the people who've read this don't like it? Or they just don't feel tempted to leave a review? They're just lazy? I don't know. But tell me! Give me reviews! I'm getting a wee bit discouraged, and may or may not continue this story... I know I said at first that I didn't care, but now I do, ha, so review yourselves silly!
*Note: Most of the first half of this chapter (until the second *later* point) is Miss Bray's words, because she wrote out the *bowing for the Queen scene* sooo well... :)
*Disclaimer: I do not own The Sweet Far Thing, Libba Bray does, obviously.~
Chapter Four
The carriage comes to carry us to Saint James's Palace. Even our housekeeper cannot hide her excitement this evening. For once, she looks at me instead of around me. "You look quite beautiful, miss."
"Thank you," I say.
The seamstress is just putting the finishing touches on my dress. My hair is piled high upon my head and crowned with a tiara and three ostrich feathers. I have long white gloves that reach the tops of my arms. And Father has presented me with my first real diamonds -- in a delicate necklace that shimmers against my skin like dewdrops. "Lovely, lovely," Grandmama pronounces until she is presented with the bill. Then her eyes grow large. "Why on earth did I agree to those roses and beads? I must have been out of my mind."
When I find a brief moment to myself -- which is a very hard thing to come across at this point -- I reach into the small box I found in my room that morning. Kartik has left for me a thin silver bracelet housing several dark transparent jewels, their color one I cannot identify because it changes every time I move. I slip it on my left wrist over the elegant glove just as Tom walks up behind me.
He gives me a peck on the cheek. "You look wonderful, Gem. Are you ready to take that long walk?"
I nod. "I think so. I hope so." My stomach flips.
"Gemma, where did you get this?" Tom asks, fingering the bracelet.
"The boy I hope to marry some day." I say, and realize that I hadn't known this before I said it.
Tom chuckles, and then his face goes serious and he drops his voice low. "Gemma, I want you to know that I approve of Mr. Kartik," he says. "He seems a fine man and quite able to handle you, so he must be your soul mate; I can imagine no other man on earth who would want to deal with you and your troubles," he adds with a smile.
I pinch his arm and smile back as he lets an "Ow!" slip out. I can't believe I am saying it, but I don't know what I would do without my dear Tom to pick on.
Father comes up and offers me his arm. He is very frail, but charming. "Miss Gemma Doyle of Belgravia, I presume?"
"Yes," I say, laying my hand upon his, my arm at the proper angle to my body as I've been taught. "If you say so."
We wait in the procession with the other girls and their fathers. We're all as nervous as new chicks. This one checks to be certain her train is not offensively long. That one holds so tightly to her father's arm I fear he shall lose the use of it. I do not see Felicity yet but I wish I did. We strain our necks for an early glimplse of the Queen on her throne. My heart is beating so very fast. Steady, Gemma, steady. Breathe in.
We move forward by excruciating inches, the courtier calling the name of each girl in the procession. One girl wobbles slightly, and word snakes back through the line in terrified whispers. No one wishes to be singled out.
"Courage," Father says with a kiss, and I wait my turn to be alone in the chamber of Saint James's Palace. The doors are opened. Down at the end of a very log red carpet sits the most important woman in the world, Her Majesty, Queen Victoria. She is rather stern in her black silks and white lace. But her crown sparkles so that I cannot look away. I am to be presented to Queen Victoria. I shall proceed as a girl and return as a woman. Such is the power of this ceremony.
I feel I shall faint. Oh, I shall be ill. Stuff and nonsense, Gemma. You've faced worse. Stand tall. Back straight, chin out. She is but a woman. Indeed she is -- a woman who happens to be Queen and who holds the entirety of my future in her wizened hands. I shall be ill. I know it. I shall fall upon my face and live the rest of my days, disgraced and odd, in a hermitage in the south of England, accompanied by fourteen cats of varying size and color. And when I venture out in my old age, I shall still hear people whisper, "There she goes... the one who fell...."
The courtier calls my name, loud and strong: "Miss Gemma Doyle!"
The longest walk of my life is under way. I hold my breath as I travel the stretch of carpet, which seems to lengthen with each step. Her Majesty is a solemn monument of flesh and blood in the distance. She is so very like her portraits that it is startling. At last, I reach her. It is the moment I have both wanted and feared. With as much grace as I can muster, I lower myself like a souffle falling in upon itself. I bow low to my Queen. I do not dare breathe. And then I feel her tap upon my shoulder firmly, compelling me to rise. I back slowly from her presence and take my place among the other girls who have just become women.
*later*
I have done what they expected of me. I have curtsied for my Queen and made my debut. This is what I have anticipated eagerly for years. So why do I feel so unsatisfied?
Because I do not have Kartik by my side. I have just become a woman, and he is not here to share it with me, he is not here --
It is a strange thing, this longing for another. But it is there all the same, and I suppose I am to get used to the feeling of needing Kartik with me.
Lord Denby is suddenly at my side. "Congratulations," he says. "On your debut and on that other matter. I understand from Kartik that you were quite magnificent."
"Thank you," I say, sipping my first glass of champagne. The bubbles tickle my nose. "I trust you were kind to our dear Kartik?"
"Yes, of course," he says, then lowers his voice. "I also understand that you gave the magic back to the land, that it exists as a resource for all."
"That is true."
"How can you be certain that this is the right course, that they won't misuse it in the end?" he asks.
"I can't," I answer.
His horrified expression is quickly replaced by a smug one. "Why don't you let me help you with all that, then? We could be partners in this -- you and I, together?"
I hand him the half-empty glass. "No. You do not understand true partnership, sir. And so we shall not be friends, Lord Denby. On that one point, I am certain."
"I should like to dance with my sister, if you please, Lord Denby," Tom says. His smile is bright but his eyes are steely.
"Of course, old chap. There's a good man," Lord Denby says, and drinks the last of my champagne, which is as much of me as he shall ever have.
"Are you all right? What an insufferable ass," Tom says as we take a turn on the dance floor. "To think I once admired him."
"I did try to warn you," I say.
"Will this be one of those ghastly 'I told you so' moments?"
"No," I promise. " And have you met your future wife yet?"
Tom waggles his eyebrows. "I've met quite a few promising candidates for the position of Mrs. Thomas Doyle. Of course, they will have to find me charming and utterly irresistable. I don't suppose you could aid me in that pursuit with a little bit of...?"
"I'm afraid not," I say. "You'll just have to take your chances."
He twirls me a bit hard. "You're no fun at all, Gemma."
"Gemma! Gemma!" Felicity is pushing through the crowd, her chagrined chaperone struggling to keep up as the dowagers look on, disapprovingly. It is only an hour into her debut and already she has them spinning like tops.
"Tom," I say, and nod my head in the direction of Felicity.
"Right, I'll leave you to it," he says, and heads off to somewhere else.
"Gemma," Felicity says, catching up to me. Her words tumble over each other in a torrent of excitement: "You look beautiful! How do you like my dress? Elizabeth tottered a bit -- did you see it? The Queen was magnificent, wasn't she? I was terrified. Were you?"
"Utterly," I say. "I thought I might faint after all."
"Did you receive Ann's cable?" Felicity asks.
I received a lovely telegram from Ann this very morning, wishing me well. It read:
REHEARSALS ARE SPLENDID STOP THE GAIETY IS THRILLING STOP BEST OF LUCK WITH YOUR CURTSY STOP YOURS ANN BRADSHAW
"Yes," I say. "She must have spent her future wages on it."
"When the season ends, I am to accompany mother and Polly to Paris, then stay on."
"What of Horace Markham?" I ask warily.
"Well," she begins, "I went to him. By myself. And told him I didn't love him and didn't wish to marry him and that I would make a perfect fishmonger of a wife. And do you know what he said?"
I shake my head.
Her eyes widen. "He said he didn't want to marry me, either. Can you imagine? I was rather wounded."
I can't help it, and I laugh. It feels good to be with Felicity again, even though it has only been a few days.
"Paris, then. What will you do there?"
"Really, Gemma," she says as if I don't know anything and never will. "It is where all the bohemians live. Now that I've my inheritance, I might take up painting and live in a garret. Or perhaps I shall become an artist's model," she says, delighting in how scandalous this sounds. Her voice drops to a whisper. "I've heard there are others like me there. Perhaps I will love again."
"You'll be the toast of Paris," I say.
She grins widely. "Do come with us! We could have such a merry time together!"
"I think I should like to go to America, to New York," I say, the plan forming with my words. "If Kartik should like to, that is."
"Oh, that's grand!"
"Yes," I say, brightening at the prospect. "It is, isn't it? Where better for us to be together?"
Felicity nods and holds more tightly to my arm. "I don't know if you have heard the news, but I would tell you before anyone else does. Miss Fairchild has accepted Simon's suit. They are betrothed."
I nod. "That's as it should be. I wish them happiness."
"I wish her luck. Mark my words, Simon will lose all his hair and be fat as Fezziwig before he's thirty." She giggles.
A new dance is called. It brings fresh excitement to the crowd. The floor fills as a lively tune gives new life to the party. Holding hands, standing together in a crush of silk and flowers, Felicity and I watch the dancers moving as one. They spin about like the earth on its axis, enduring the dark, waiting for the sun.
Felicity squeezes my hand, and I feel the slightest hint of realms magic pulsing there. "Well, Gemma, we survived it."
"Yes," I say, squeezing back. "We have survived."
*later*
The night has grown late, and I find myself wandering through my grandmother's house. I know what I must do, and yet, I cannot find the proper moment to do it. Father is in his study, and I have only to ask permission to speak with him. But I find this to be quite harder than it sounds. Finally, I make a last attempt at calming my nerves and walk right up to his door.
"Father," I say from outside the door. "May I speak with you?"
"Yes, pet, come in." I venture further into the room, already more uncomfortable.
"Father, I should like to ask you something," I say, hearing my voice as if it were coming from some other being.
"Something tells me I should be fearing what comes next," he says and offers a smile.
"Yes, well, it is just that...," I find that I cannot seem to make the words form just yet.
"What is it, love?"
"I do not wish to continue my season." As soon as the words are out, my first thought is to take them right back. But they are out, and there is nothing I can do now.
His face becomes perplexed and he sighs. "Why not?"
"It isn't that I am not grateful for everything you've given me, I am. I just cannot see myself having tea parties and dancing at balls for the rest of my life. I want -- I need -- something more."
"I'm afraid I don't understand, Gemma," he says.
"I am not asking you to understand, but to accept my decision to live my own life as I see fit. To give me your permission to do so," I say at last, taking my time to carefully pick my words. In the end, I am still not so sure I have chosen the best.
Suddenly father gives a sad smile, and I am reminded of my mother for a reason I cannot fathom. "I am not entirely sure it is so much my acceptance you need, as the world's acceptance, since it is there that you will be living out this life of yours," he says, his face still housing that small smile. My heart leaps a bit as I realize that, hidden in his words, he has accepted my choice.
"Yes," I smile back. "I suppose so."
Father goes serious once again, and then a quizzical expression comes for it's turn upon his face. "And how will you marry? Or do you intend to marry?"
I think of Kartik and a genuine smile lights up my face. Before I can catch myself and wipe it away, Father sees. I avert my eyes to the floor, feeling like a guilty child.
"Who is it then?" He is no fool, and will not be taken for one.
"Papa, will you think less of me to hear that I love an Indian boy?" I say, not quite sure why I let the the words come out of my mouth. My cheeks redden and I keep my gaze locked on the floor.
"Oh, Gemma, of course not! They are still people," he says. "And a good people, at that. Now then, who is it?"
"Oh," I say, not entirely sure he'll remember the young driver who vanished so rudely one day. "Well, do you remember Mr. Kartik?" I ask him, and wait for his answer with my nerves bunched.
"Yes, I believe I do," he says slowly. "He was our driver, yes? For a time... whatever happened to Mr. Kartik?"
"Oh, you don't remember?" I ask, taking advantage of that point. "He had family troubles and had to leave back to India for quite some time."
"Yes, well, you know my mind is not what it used to be," he says, and I wonder just how true this statement has come to be.
"Father, I," I pause, not sure how to go on. "If... if I were to want to marry Mr. Kartik...."
"Yes?"
"Father, would that be possible? What I mean is, well, can I marry him, Papa?" I say, and again, I am not sure I said this right, but I am not Father Time, and I cannot go back and say it any better.
"Gemma," Father says, and for the first time in a long time, he comes over to me and puts a hand to my face, and that soft smile returns. "Gemma, dear, I think that would be grand, if it is what you wish."
"Oh, it is." I can feel the tears threatening. I expected a bit of an arguement, and instead this has turned out ten times better than I could've imagined. If only it would stay this way forever. If only it could.
"All right, pet. Your future is yours to shape. I shall prepare your grandmother for the scandal of it."
"Thank you, Papa."
"Yes, well. Goodnight, love." He says, and pats my hair a bit. "Sweet dreams."
"Yes, goodnight, Father." I turn and walk out of Father's study, the first of the joyous tears breaking free as my foot brushes the threshold. I start to head towards my own bedroom, when I realize I don't want to be there. I need cool air on my face, and I sneak through the house to the back kitchen door.
Walking amongst the roses of Gran's garden, I feel the rest of the tears start to flow out, and I try to hold them in a bit longer. I manage to stop them for a moment and I look around me. The moonlight gives everything a silvery glow, and it is quite honestly one of the most beautiful sights I've ever bared witness to. I find a patch of grass untouched by flowers and make my way to the middle of it, where I sit down. I draw my knees in and rest my head upon them, shifting until I am comfortable, and then I let the tears flow freely. And then something rustles behind me, and I feel a warm hand on my shoulder. He has come, at last.
I move my head to look at him. His face is one of concern, and I smile at him through my tears.
"Hello," I manage to say, and he takes a seat next to me, wrapping an arm around me and hugging me tightly to him.
"Gemma?" Kartik asks.
"Yes?" The tears have stopped now, and my voice is beginning to clear along with my vision.
He says nothing, but reaches a hand up and cleans my face of the wet streaks.
"Kartik," I sigh, the smile not leaving my eyes. And there is nothing more to say, so we just sit there in silence.
Several minutes later, I find I am staring off into space, and I don't necessarily want to pull myself out of it.
"I wish... to marry you... and... to have children... someday," I say slowly, in that dream-lined voice that confuses one into wondering whether or not she really said it out loud. Which is what I am pondering when Kartik turns to me, a playful expression of shock shadowing his face, and a smile twitching at his lips, as if trying not to laugh. Yes, it seems I did say that out loud.
"Blast," I say, but smile inspite of myself. We are still locked in that embrace, sitting on the little square of lawn. I wriggle an arm free, reaching up a hand to finger one of the curls that has fallen upon his forehead. As I do so, his laughing manner fades.
"Gemma," Kartik whispers, gazing intently into my eyes. "Do you really? Would... Will you marry me?"
"Will I? Oh, Kartik, yes! Of course!" I am so happy at this moment, I fear I may explode. I need to get it out somehow, to share this feeling, so without thinking, I mash my smile-curled lips into his own. He is surprised, and laughs, but kisses me back. It is a long, simple kiss, and it evens my happiness out so that I no longer have to fear explosion.
"Miss Doyle, may I have this dance?" Kartik asks and stands, extending a hand to help me rise, as well.
"Yes, I suppose you shall," I say, and take his hand. And then we are dancing, all around the garden.
~Remember, please tell me what you think! I'm not sure what I'm going to do for the next chapter... But I'm going to have one, hopefully! ~
