Title: On The Still Path (3/7)
Rating: Sadly, we're still on a T rating.
Characters: Nine/Rose, Jack, various OCs and aliens
Summary: Rose and the Doctor are stranded in Victorian England, taking the slow path while waiting for Jack to return with the TARDIS
Disclaimers: I don't own anything from Doctor Who and sundry. If anyone's got a spare Chris Eccleston, I'd be happy to take him off your hands.
Author's Notes: YES! Your eyes are not mistaken, I am very much back. The muse has taken an extended trip down to Copacabana, but after drinking one too many banana daiquiris, she's slunk back home, hungover and hungry. I fed her pancakes. So we're good. Thank you so much for those who have left comments and alerts and all sorts of lovely words reminding me that I should come back to this story. Enjoy!
They'd been living in Stillwater House for slightly more than a month now (one month, three days, seven hours, forty-two minutes, and seven, no wait, eight seconds, if the Doctor wanted to be specific about it) and slowly, they've managed to transform the empty shell of a house into something resembling a home. There was still something of domestics that made a chill go down the Doctor's spine, but at least he was managing being Earth-bound much better than when he was stuck with UNIT.
The garden was now cleared of debris, the trees trimmed and the fence re-painted. Abigail had continued to come in regularly to cook and clean and, although she never really realised it, teach Rose the ways of the country gentry. The Doctor lent a hand, and helped Stephen and Joseph plant rose campions, day lilies, and foxgloves along the garden borders, which bloomed riotously after a couple of weeks. When Rose asked about the sudden growth spurt, the Doctor just gave her a sly wink and patted the pocket of his trousers where the sonic screwdriver resided.
In the interest of continuing Rose's education (of sorts) as well as maintaining their cover story, the Doctor invited a private tutor to come by Stillwater. Miss Jenkins was one of the first graduates of Bedford College, which was established only a few years ago, and studied astronomy and literature, an incongruous pairing that had the Doctor grinning madly. "And she plays the piano too!" he crowed that evening when relaying the news to Rose over dinner.
Rose looked up from her soup to stare blankly at the Doctor. "You seem to like her."
He raised an eyebrow. "What's not to like?"
"How old is she?"
"Twenty-five. She'll be coming 'round every Tuesdays and Thursdays, 's that all right?"
"My social calendar is absolutely brimming with events, Doctor, however will I fit a governess right in?"
"No need to be so cranky, Rose." He reached across the table and patted her hand. "I know, I know. Victorians are stuffy and we've not gone anywhere, yeah? You must be bored witless."
Rose snorted. "I should say the same about you."
"Been stranded on Earth before, know the drill." He shrugged and scooped up the last few spoonfuls of soup from his bowl. "Plus this isn't so bad. Tell you what, two weeks of lessons with Marianne and I'll take you to London town after, how about it?"
"Marianne, is it now?"
"Well, I'm not gonna call her my governess, am I?"
"One week."
"Three lessons."
"Fine." Rose wrinkled her nose. "Don't see why I have to do have lessons anyway. There's a reason I never took my A-levels."
"You're smarter than any A-level student, Rose. But since we're taking the slow path right now, might as well make some use out of it, yeah?"
Her soup spoon clanged against her bowl. "And what about you? What will you be doing?"
"Keeping an eye out for any sign of the Poppins. The sonic's already traced a very faint signal somewhere south of here, but I can't get a fix on it." He sighed in frustration. "Problem's the tech for this point is history's all cogs and clockwork, yeah? Can't make much out of it. 'Course, it also means that the others can't do anything about it either, so they're stuck with what they have. An' the air's not good for them, so hopefully they'll realise that sooner rather than later and high-tail it out of here."
"In the meantime..."
"In the meantime, we have a nice dinner." The lines around the Doctor's eyes crinkled sympathetically as he looked at Rose. Truth be told, he was actually glad she was here with him; had he been left alone, taking the slow path on his own, he probably would've gone mad with boredom and impatience. At least Rose's company made it bearable. More than bearable. In fact, if he allowed himself to forget for just one moment that they were hiding from a bunch of homicidal aliens and that they were waiting for a time machine to pop out of the vortex in a few months, he was almost ready to admit that it was, well...
Fantastic.
Marianne Jenkins was a slender young woman with deep green eyes and lush red hair that made Rose think of the bright twin sunsets on Karro, a desert planet the Doctor had taken her before. Rose sat at the edge of the sofa in front of the sitting room fireplace, watching surreptitiously as her teacher (and how she chafed at the term!) carefully removed her white lace gloves and tucked them neatly in her bag. "Good afternoon," said Marianne, her voice tripping over the words like a lively mountain brook over stones. "You must be Rose."
Rose stood up from her seat, smoothing her palms over her lavender skirt. She could feel the pins in her hair digging into her scalp as she extended one hand towards the other woman. "Yeah, that's me. Nice t' meet you."
"Same to you." They both sat down on opposite sides of the lounge. Rose could feel her hackles rising as the woman took in the rich interior of the sitting room and glanced at her once more, as though she was assessing whether or not Rose belonged in such a place. I belong here more than she does, she thought sourly, wrinkling her nose.
Just then, there was a discreet knock on the door and Abigail entered, carrying a tea-tray laden with delicately sliced sandwiches and their best china set. She bobbed a quick curtsy to Rose and Marianne and, with her observant gaze taking in the stiff way Rose was seated and the curious gleam in Marianne's eyes as she looked at the elegant tea service, gave Rose a quick wink and scurried back to the kitchen. Slightly heartened, Rose set about serving tea. "How'd you take your tea, Marianne?" she asked, tipping the porcelain teapot and watching the steaming dark liquid swirl into the delicate cup.
"Two sugars, one lemon, and please call me Miss Jenkins."
Rose pressed her lips tightly as she plunked two lumps of crystalline sugar into the tea and followed with a wedge of lemon. "All right," she said, passing the saucer and cup to the governess carelessly without looking up.
Unfortunately, she missed Marianne's outstretched hand - the cup wobbled precariously on the saucer before succumbing to gravity and splashing the tea on the other woman's white muslin skirt. Marianne jumped out of her seat with a small shout, and before Rose could open her mouth with an apology, the Doctor had thundered into the room, his blue eyes darkening as he took in the scene with Rose and the empty cup and saucer in her hands and the stain spreading on Marianne's snow-white skirt. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice cutting through the silence.
"Doctor, I can explain - " Rose began.
But Marianne cut her off. "It seems that Miss Tyler's table manners leave much to be desired, Doctor Smith. When you spoke to me of instructing her in the manners such as a lady might be instructed, you did not mention that she was completely uncouth and allowed to run wild. I am not sure where in the East you've picked her up, but I assure you that it was probably where tea was never served in cups and saucers in the first place." Her voice was trembling, her bosom heaving, her eyes shining over-bright, and for a moment, Rose wanted to applaud her for such a fine performance - whatever they taught in Bedford College, most certainly part of the curriculum was how to snare a man with nothing more than a pair of silk-clad breasts and a breathy tone.
The Doctor turned to Rose, his eyebrow quirked up as though he was asking her, plain as day, if what Marianne was saying was true. Rose drew her lips downwards, her brown eyes apologetic. It's not my fault, it was an accident, she thought, hoping that the Doctor could see it in her face. She truly didn't mean to stain Marianne's skirt; the frustration she was feeling started to drain out of her body, replaced with embarrassment and more than a little anger at herself for not keeping her emotions in check.
"Well then," he said, stepping forward to stand near Rose, "it seems that it's all an accident, Miss Jenkins, an' I'm sure Rose here is sorry for what she's done." He reached towards the tray and shook a small bell to call Abigail to the sitting room. The chiming sound filled the otherwise silent room. "But as for Rose's manners - well, she's been in more foreign situations than you can ever imagine, an' she's conducted herself with far more elegance than many other girls her age, an' even older. An' she's never given me cause to embarrass myself, or any of our other companions on our travels, so I'd trust you, Miss Jenkins, not t' cast blame on someone's manners when they've always been exemplary otherwise."
Rose blushed as the Doctor's words landed in her ears, and tried to cover up her reaction by leaning down and picking up the napkins on the tray and silently handing them over to Marianne, who made no move to accept them.
Abigail came back into the room, and let out a small gasp when she saw the state of the governess' clothes. "You'll have to come with me to the back, miss, so I can fix y' up properly. Can't do it here with the gentles in the room, if you know what I mean."
The Doctor gave Abigail a grin. "That's a good lass, Abigail. Thank you for your suggestion. You should follow her, Miss Jenkins, and she'll give you a proper cleanin' up."
Rose gave the other girl a thankful smile. "Thanks, Abigail."
"'S my pleasure, Miss Rose," she said, gesturing to Marianne to follow her through the half-open door and towards the kitchen. The governess glared at Rose, seemingly frustrated at her inability to charm the Doctor into taking her side, and disappeared through the doorway in Abigail's wake.
Rose slumped against the soft cushions, the cloth napkins limp in her grip. "Argh," she groaned.
The Doctor sat beside her, thigh against thigh, and plucked the napkins from her fingers. They sat like that for awhile, watching the shadows lengthen across the room. Rose could feel the side of his body pressed against her, even through the layers of their Victorian clothing - the tense strength of the Doctor's moulding against her softness. His breathing slowed, his eyes staring straight ahead at some invisible line in front of him. "I'm sorry Doctor," she muttered quietly.
"For what?" His voice was soft now, devoid of the threatening storm.
"For not being what you expect me to be." Rose stared at her hands twisting the fabric of her skirt. For not being as refined and elegant as Marianne Jenkins, for not knowing how to deal with this time in history, in my own history on my own planet, for being an ignorant, uneducated ape.
"An' what did you think I expected you to be?"
She shrugged. "Not stupid, for once. An' not ignorant, else you wouldn't be invitin' Miss High-and-Mighty Jenkins to be my teacher. An', I dunno, someone who's a proper lady, a better lady, than me."
"Rose." The Doctor turned and reached out to cup her face in his hands, tilting her chin gently upwards so that they were looking at each other eye to eye. His gaze was tender as he grazed his thumb across her pale cheek. "Look, you don't have to apologise. We all make mistakes, an' today was an accident. An' I'm sorry about Miss Jenkins, thought you were gettin' bored an' might want some company, yeah, like a new mate or somethin'. I mean, it can't be pleasant stuck here with me, no matter how impressive I might be." The last sentence was said with a grin on the Doctor's face.
Rose laughed; she couldn't help it. "But you are impressive, Doctor," she said, resting her hand above his, pressing his palm closer to her cheek. "And I'm not bored, not with you. I told you, yeah, better with two."
An odd expression, almost something like recognition, passed over his face. "Better with you, Rose. It's just better with you."
Just then, the door opened again and Abigail stepped in. Despite the shadows and the darkening room, she could see the Doctor and Rose, almost pressed up against each other, nose to nose, their hands entwined, his fingers resting on the curve of Rose's cheek. She smiled; she could feel the attraction between the two of them ever since the beginning - despite the generous age gap, Abigail couldn't help but feel that they were right for each other. Still, even though she didn't want to interrupt what was obviously an intimate moment, her job came first. She discreetly cleared her throat and tried not to giggle as the Doctor and Rose sprang apart like cuckoo clocks on springs. "Miss Jenkins is now composed, Doctor, Miss Rose."
"Oh." The Doctor lifted his eyes up as he and Rose stood up politely as Miss Jenkins entered the room. "Is your dress all right?" he asked politely. "We can compensate you, if necessary."
Marianne stared, her green eyes flashing as she took in the close proximity between the Doctor and Rose. "No, no, it's quite all right," she said, regaining her composure. "Your servant was very adept with her cleansing agents."
"Abigail's done very good work for us, and she's more like family now," said Rose.
Marianne ignored her and addressed the Doctor instead. "I'm afraid, Doctor, despite the excellent recommendations of your acquaintances, I will not be accepting the position of tutor to your... Miss Tyler. I'm afraid she needs a firmer hand than mine who has patience to deal with... her unfortunate upbringing."
The Doctor narrowed his eyes at her words, and Rose could feel the stirrings of the Oncoming Storm gathering speed. "That's quite all right, Miss Jenkins," he said formally. "I wouldn't want to expose Rose to your narrow-minded and bigoted views, at any rate. True, she might not have the kind of formal education you've been privileged to enjoy, but that doesn't mean you can insult her intelligence. I only take the best with me, and Rose has proven herself time and again that she's exactly that."
Marianne's face soured, her cheeks a flaming red. It looked like she wanted to say something more but Abigail had already opened the door wide and held it for their visitor.
"Bye now," said the Doctor, his tone designed to infuriate. Rose tried to stifle a grin.
Just as Marianne turned to leave, the Doctor cleared his throat. "By the way, Miss Jenkins, you got one thing right. She's my Rose, all right, an' I'd appreciate it, if in the future, you be careful on insultin' your employers in this manner."
The door stayed open for a fraction of a second as Marianne shot the Doctor a look of rage. And then she was gone.
/to be continued