Several days later, Mistoffelees riffled through Jones' desk. He'd been ordered to find something or another, and was having no luck. Opening the bottom drawer, he paused for a long moment, hefting up a stack of letters written to him and his mother, only the top few of which had been open.
Curious, he opened the first one, pulling out the letter and freezing when he saw the date and the name at the bottom.
v.v.v.v
Coricopat shook out his umbrella as he climbed the stairs to his flat. It had been a beautiful day, right up until he had stepped out of the office. He'd managed to not hail a cab, and actually had one nearly douse him with a puddle of water. Shaking off his briefcase as well, he fumbled for his key and finally got the door open. He paused when he saw the fire was lit, he'd set it but not lit it before he left for work as he did every morning. Hanging his coat up he finally registered who it was when he saw the other coat. Closing the door, he made his way into the living room, "Mistoffelees?"
The black tom was seated on the floor, letters spread out everywhere around him, and compared to that morning, about three fourths of them were opened. "Hey," Mistoffelees said, a yellowed sheet of paper in his paws.
The solicitor set his briefcase down and shed his suit coat as he did whenever he came home. He made his way over and sat down beside his lover, "What's going on?"
Wordless, Mistoffelees just handed him the letter. Coricopat took the paper, skimming over it and then simply staring at the signature at the bottom, "This...Your...where did you find these?"
"In my uncle's desk," Mistoffelees replied, pointing to the name at the bottom. "That's my father's name."
"And this date, this wouldn't have been..." His grey eyes moved to the other, "All of these letters are from your father?"
"Yes," he whispered.
"Dear Lord...and they were locked in your uncle's desk?"
"Well, not even locked," Mistoffelees said. "I was looking for something else." Something he never had gotten to his uncle.
"What are you going to do?"
"What do you mean?" Mistoffelees asked, looking over at him.
"I mean, what is the most recent date on a letter here?"
"A month ago," Mistoffelees said, having opened that one first.
"So do you intend to contact him?" the mottled tom asked, still trying to wrap his mind around the entire thing.
"I don't know," the black tom said, looking down and ears going back. "What would I possibly even say?"
"Let him know you've seen the letters finally? I don't know. Will you talk to your mother about them?"
Looking down, Mistoffelees fiddled with one of the letters. "I don't know. She's been mourning him for years."
"She's been mourning a tom who isn't dead," the mottled tom spoke quietly.
"But he's still been gone," Mistoffelees said, reflexively pulling his knees to his chest.
His lover hesitated for a moment before reaching out to rest a paw on the other's shoulder, "But he's never stopped writing her."
"Us, technically," Mistoffelees said, looking down at one of the letters. "He used to ask about my schooling and he actually guessed it all pretty well."
"The point stands, Mistoffelees. He wrote to you both, and you say she's been mourning him for years."
Swallowing, Mistoffelees finally looked back up. "Which point is that?"
"That they both love one another. Deeply. It..." he considered how best to word what was on his mind, "It is your decision whether to share these with your mother, but I would counsel you to do so."
Mistoffelees buried his head in his paws. "I know. Can I have a while longer to absorb the fact first?"
Coricopat tilted his head enough to kiss the nape of the other tom's neck, "Of course. As long as you need."
Mistoffelees shivered slightly at the touch. "I don't remember my father, really. I've never known him."
"Do you remember anything of him?"
"He had a very loud voice," Mistoffelees said. "And was very warm."
"And apparently cared for both of you a great deal," Coricopat murmured, tracing a paw over the edge of one of the letters.
"Yeah," Mistoffelees said, eyes bright when they reappeared from his paws, chin on his knees.
The mottled tom gently stroked the smaller cat's headfur, not certain he had anything further to say, just letting the other sort things himself. Mistoffelees unfolded enough to lean into him, finishing the letter he'd been holding when Coricopat appeared. "I'm sorry," he said, quietly. "I sort of didn't ask you about taking over your living room like this."
"Don't be. You're always welcome here, Mistoffelees. You know that."
"Still," he said, head on Coricopat's shoulder and he wrapped an arm around his chest. "How was your day?"
"Long, but it has gone better than it could have," one of his arms settled around the smaller cat.
"How... how is the contract going?"
Coricopat sighed, "It's progressing. Not as quickly as some, but there are few things to hold it back either."
The smaller tom sighed, tilting his head back. "Cori..."
"Yes?" he glanced at the other out of the corner of his eye.
"I love you," he said softly, smiling faintly. "Just in case you forgot that."
The mottled tom offered him a slight smile, "And I you. No matter what comes of this."
Pushing himself up, Mistoffelees kissed him, the movement long and slow. Coricopat leaned into the kiss, matching the other's guidance. His tail curled loosely around the other tom.
"Can I," he started and took a deep breath. "Can I stay the night?"
The solicitor nodded, "Of course. As I said, you're always welcome."
Mistoffelees smiled faintly, rising to gather together all the letters before returning to the crook of Coricopat's arm. Coricopat drew the other closer, content for the moment to sit with him curled in front of the fire and let the world carry on past them. They would have to face the concerns later, but it was fare preferable to spend just a pawful of minutes in moderate peace.
v.v.v.v
The next morning Mistoffelees approached his mother's Boudoir, knocking on the door.
Serafine looked up from the letter she was writing to a distant cousin, "Come in."
Mistoffelees took a deep breath before entering, the letters all neatly in a pile again and held together
"Good morning, Mistoffelees." She offered him a faint smile, "What brings you to see me this morning?"
"I," he hesitated a long moment before stepping forward, still holding the letters. "You... remember my father of course?" he said, lamely.
Serafine considered him for a long moment, "Of course I remember him, Mistoffelees."
"Remind me what happened," Mistoffelees said, voice faint.
"I'm not entirely certain. He was away on business, dealing with some shipment or other. He never came home. I was told he'd died," her expression wavered to one of pain for a moment. "I couldn't keep the shop and so I brought us both here."
"Alright," Mistoffelees said, with another breath before he handed the bundle over. "Someone lied."
Sera took the letters in confusion, dropping her gaze to them and freezing as she recognized the familiar paw. "Wh-where did you find these?"
"In my uncle's desk," Mistoffelees said. "The most recent is a month old. Did you know they had sheep in Australia?"
"I..." She just sat there, staring at the letters, "A month?"
"Yes," he said. "They're actually very regularly written every three months for the past... however many years it's been," he floundered for a moment.
The queen traced a paw over them, "And your uncle's had them all this time?"
"Yes," he said, voice soft.
Her voice went cold, "My husband has been alive for twenty years and my brother has been keeping this from me?"
"Yes," he repeated, one ear tilting back. "And your brother also appears to have somehow convinced my father that you didn't want him back, and twenty odd years of silence certainly gave credence to that story. Something about wanting the life you had back, rather than a life with him."
Serafine's eyes narrowed as she drew one of the letters out, seeking a return address. "Your uncle does not know you have these, I hope?"
"I've given him no indication I have," the black tom shrugged.
"Good," she nodded once, "I believe I have a letter to write. Do not let you uncle know if you can."
He paused, one ear just about tilting back. "I may have sent a telegram."
Her brows rose at that, "You..." A smile slowly graced her features, "Good."
He offered her a hesitant smile in return. "I'm glad you do not consider it pre-emptive."
"I would have had a letter to him by this afternoon's post. Wiring him is far more abrupt, but it will also reach him more rapidly," she answered simply.
He nodded, swallowing again. "And will we tell Jones?"
"I will," she confirmed. "Tomorrow I think."
He blinked. "Good... good luck."
Serafine smiled faintly, "Thank you."
"You," he gestured to the pile. "I read all of them. Already. If you wanted to look through them."
"Thank you, Mistoffelees," her tone was sincere. "Thank you so very much."
"You're welcome," he said, quietly, unsure this was something he should be thanked for.
Sera dropped her gaze to the letters in her paws, "If...if you don't mind?" Nodding, he turned to slip out. The black-furred queen hesitated for a long moment before carefully untying the ribbon and starting to read the letters.
v.v.v.v
Mistoffelees handed his hat to one of the servants, looking around the foyer of the townhouse and trying not to feel distaste. He'd never really liked Plato's sensibilities, even when he thought he was in love with the tom. "Will you go and tell the lady I'm here?" he asked the Butler, who left him in one of the parlors.
Victoria entered the parlor a few minutes later, a smile lighting her features at the sight of her cousin, "Mistoffelees, how good of you to come."
"Of course," he said, smiling warmly at her. "I wanted to see how you were doing."
Her smile turned a shade bitter, "I am a bride in her first year of marriage, I am quite well."
He considered her a long moment. "You can be honest, here, with me."
"The servants are still my husband's, Misto. Though I believe I have won over more than a few," she reminded quietly.
"I can check the door for listeners," he said with a small grin. "Because no others are actually in this room."
She offered him a smile as she sat down in one of the chairs, "Honestly? I feel trapped, this was not how I expected my married life to be."
Sighing softly, he nodded. "I am sorry about that. Have things been... too terrible or simply bad?"
"Mostly just consistently bad. Once in a while it may be a shade worse, but mostly just bad."
"I'm sorry," he repeated. "Have you found anything to occupy your time?"
"Not much. I read some during the day. And I have a tapestry that I am working on, but no, not much to occupy me." She sighed, "But enough talk of that. What of you? How have you been?"
"There have been... various sorts of things," he managed after a moment. "I find myself enjoying the house of commons more than I expected, and probably for all the wrong reasons."
His cousin smiled, "Tell me about those reasons?"
"Well," he said. "It's very different. Some of the cats there are quite loud, and there's many interesting and strange personalities. Watching them clash is better than the theatre."
That garnered a quiet laugh, "As long as you are amused I suppose."
"I should be taking it much more seriously than I am, I think," he said with a faint smile.
"Oh quite probably."
The black tom paused a long moment. "Vic," he started, about to try and offer her comfort or some way out when there came a rapid knock on the door.
The white queen looked up in surprise, rising and starting for the door as the butler reached it.
"Milady," a courier said, standing at the door. "I bring news." Mistoffelees rose, stepping behind Victoria.
She looked the tom at the door over carefully, "And what news has brought you to my door?"
"There was an accident," the tom said, tail swishing. "We... we believe your husband has been killed."
Her eyes widened at that, "You...believe?"
"We are fairly sure," the tom amended. "There is only formality to be observed."
"And that is?" her voice was weak.
"Can it wait?" Mistoffelees asked and the tom paused and nodded.
"Of course."
Victoria offered her cousin a look of gratitude, speaking to the courier, "Thank you for bringing us the news."
"I'm sorry for your loss," the tom said, the butler ushering him out quickly as Mistoffelees took Victoria's paw and lead her back to a seat.
Victoria sank down in the chair, her mind blank, "Misto?"
"Yes?" he asked, softly.
"What am I to do?"
"Call a lawyer," he said after a pause. "Go into mourning."
"There's all of the funeral arrangements to see to. We didn't really have friends who can do that. Which will mean the family will have to I suppose..."
"We can do it," Mistoffelees said. "At least, I am sure mother and I are more than willing to do whatever you would need. With whatever the Philipsons wish to offer."
"Thank you," she murmured, still looking like she wasn't processing what was going on around her. Pausing, he reached his paws out, taking both of her's.
Her shoulders shook, "I...don't even know, Misto. I should feel something shouldn't I?"
"Not yet," he replied, not adding that honestly he wouldn't blame her for never feeling something. "You're still adjusting."
"I have to go into mourning. As the bereaved wife of a tom I didn't like, much less love."
"It won't last forever," Mistoffelees said.
A ghost of a smile flickered across her face, "No. Not forever, but long enough."
He swallowed, returning the faded smile. "Just think of it as putting on a show."
"You were always the better performer, but I shall try," she replied.
"You'll make it through," he said, softly.
"Thank you," his cousin murmured.
"Do you need me to do anything?" he asked, squeezing her paw a bit tighter.
"Not...not at the moment. Though, if you could tell Aunt Sera and perhaps my father? I must get word to Plato's parents, make certain they have been informed."
Mistoffelees nodded. "Of course. I'll tell them as soon as I reach home."
"Thank you," the white queen managed.
"Would you like me to stop by the lawyers, tell them you shall have need of their services or shall that keep until later?"
"I...if you could do that I would greatly appreciate it."
"I'll be sure to," he said, softly.
"What would I do without you?" She asked, offering him a gentle smile.
"I have no idea," he said, finally returning the smile.
v.v.v.v
Pouncival arrived at the theatre well before the play was scheduled to start and made his way to the backstage area, seeking out Jemima. He had news for her, closely accompanied by a question of utmost importance.
She was still in the dressing rooms, working on arranging her headfur for the night's performance. Her eyes darted up when she heard someone approaching, a smile breaking out on her face when she saw who it was. "Pouncival. But what are you doing here?"
His smile was bright as he answered, "I came to speak with you about a couple of things, Jemima."
"What sort of things?" she asked, rising to go over to him.
"Well, I..." he hesitated, finally getting up the courage, "I wanted to ask you if you would do me the honor of marrying me?"
Eyes going wide her jaw dropped. "Come again?" she asked faintly.
"I," he bit his lower lip, "That was a bit abrupt wasn't it? I wanted to ask you if you'd be willing to become my wife, before I went to ask your father?"
"A-are you asking him today?" she asked, eyes still wide.
"I was going to wait to hear your answer before I decided that," he looked a bit uncertain.
"I, Pounce," she started, suddenly looking uncertain. "But, your family, your position..."
"My family will recover." He hesitated, "My position is something that you need to take into account, because it's changing even now. I've been asked to leave the country. To go with the Ambassador to the United States to work in the embassy. If you agree to marry me, it means leaving."
For a moment she tried to thing, both her paws resting lightly on his chest. "The Americans aren't that forgiving either," she said, finally. "Wouldn't marrying me hurt your position in society even over there?"
"There is a possibility of that, but it may be easier in a place where our families aren't known," he replied, his paws coming up to cover hers.
"But," she started and paused, considering him a long moment. "Are you sure?"
He nodded, "Yes, Jemi. I'm sure."
"It, it'll cause a lot of problems. You're still your father's heir, when he dies..."
"Which likely will not be for many years."
"But eventually," she said, voice soft. "And then what? What happens when society starts... starts looking at me and my entire lack of qualifications?"
He reached a paw up to rest on her cheek, "I can ask father to hand the inheritance to my younger brother if I need to, Jemi. It isn't often done, but it is something that could be."
She took a deep breath. "Are... really?"
Pouncival nodded, "Yes. Really, Jemi."
She took another deep breath before another smile broke out over her face. "Then how could I say no?"
He grinned, "You really mean it? You'd give up London for me?"
"Yes," she said, nodding and leaning in to kiss him lightly.
He wrapped an arm around her waist as he kissed her gently, but briefly, "I shall speak with your father tonight? Or would you prefer I wait until tomorrow?"
"Whenever you like," she replied. "When... when are you leaving?"
"The end of next month," he replied. "That's when the Ambassador's appointment starts."
"That's not a lot of time is it?" Jemima asked, eyes widening slightly.
"Considering the circumstances I may be able to ask for a period of time before I join him. The end of the season perhaps. He leaves then, but..." Pouncival bit his lower lip, considering.
"As long as it's not before Bomba's wedding," Jemi grinned. "Then I don't mind."
He returned the smile, "I don't want to think of what she would do to me should I take you away before then."
"Exactly. So let's keep that from happening, hm?"
He smiled, kissing her lightly again, "I should let you get ready for your performance, shouldn't I?"
"It might be good. Messing up one of my last performances is not how I would want to go out."
"I'll come back after the show. Break a leg, my love."
"I'll try to," she said with a twinkling laugh. He offered her a grin before slipping away and entering the lobby.