.Part Seven.
London
It's the first spring of peacetime, and London is blossoming. People hurry back and forth like ants in a giant nest, buzzing with the feeling of there-is-no-more-war. Flowers cover the bushes in the parks with delicate white lace, bees buzz and children run about shrieking and calling to each other as though they're seagulls at the beach; joy at life has never been more evident.
When they arrive back at Paddington station amid steam and tottering towers of bags, Rosalie is waiting for them, holding the arm of a man wearing spectacles. "Kitty! Thomas! Over here!" she calls.
"Rosalie!" Kitty embraces her friend tightly. "How are you?"
"I'm well, thank you for asking. Kitty, this is my fiancé, Greville. Greville, this is one of my closest friends, Kitty Trevelyan and her fiancé, Thomas Gillan."
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Kitty says, before Rosalie takes her arm and leads her off, leaving the two men to handle the bags.
"How was Glasgow?" Rosalie asks as the two step into the busy street, sidestepping men in business suits and a gaggle of women pushing prams.
"Different," Kitty admits. "Thomas' family are so lovely…his sister Catriona and I managed to get ourselves into a bit of trouble…"
Rosalie gives her a look, and Kitty laughs, the sound like tinkling bells above the bustle of everyday life that goes on around them. "We went looking for Thomas in the middle of a riot."
"You did what?" Rosalie gapes at her, and Kitty squeezes her arm.
"It's alright, we got out safely. Mrs Gillan was so cross with both of us, but everyone's put it behind them now. I want to know about your fiancé! You never said in any of your letters Rosalie Berrick!"
"Well…" A blush stains her cheeks, and she glances over her shoulder to check that the men are far enough behind. "You know Greville came through the hospital in that first November…and after that, well, we started corresponding and I guess I fell in love over the letters. After the war, well, I couldn't go back to living in the way I used to. We bumped into each other in Hyde Park at Christmas, quite by accident, I assure you – he's re-opened the bookshop he ran before the war, and well, he proposed. And I said yes."
"Oh Rosalie, I'm so pleased for you," Kitty says. "Have you heard from Flora?"
"Yes, we were going to meet her for dinner tomorrow evening. I think you'll find there's quite a change there."
"How so?"
"She's cut off all her hair, is wearing shorter skirts and marches in political rallies!"
"What?" Kitty covers her mouth with her hand, shocked beyond belief. "Why? What happened to her getting married to her sweetheart?"
"He lost his legs, as you know," Rosalie says, her tone becoming more sombre. "And I think he didn't want to burden her, with looking after a cripple for the rest of her life, because he called it off. Flora was heartbroken, but now she's decided that she doesn't want to marry at all."
"That's a change," Kitty shakes her head slowly. "I can't quite believe it."
"Nor could I. But the changes suit her, they really do. Come on, shall we find a cab – I doubt they'll want to carry the bags all the way to Bloomsbury."
They meet Flora the next evening at the Lyons Corner House on Coventry Street, much to the chagrin of Rosalie's mother who tried to persuade them to go to a tea place on Oxford Street. Rosalie shook her head firmly, however, and Kitty is grateful because anywhere near Oxford Street, she is likely to bump into old acquaintances that she would rather stay buried in the past.
"Flora!" Rosalie waves an elegant hand from where they are sitting near the window as the bell by the door jangles. Kitty bites her lip hard to keep from gaping – Rosalie was right. In the past five months, Flora has undergone such a change that Kitty knows if she passed her in the street, she would not have recognised her.
"Hello," Flora says, her boots clicking on the floor. Her hair, once almost down to her waist, now swings about her chin, and her skirts are easily mid-calf length rather than the ankle-length uniforms they all wore at the hospital. "Kitty, it's so lovely to see you again. How are you?"
"I'm well, thank you, Flora. You look…"
"Different?"
"That's one way of putting it," Kitty admits. "I was about to say marvellous, though."
"Thank you." Flora slides gracefully into the empty seat, and almost immediately a waitress appears at her shoulder to take their orders.
They talk for a long time about nothing in particular, catching up, hearing about Flora's latest campaign. "I'm training properly as a nurse, now," she says. "It's very detached from what we did in the war – far less about wounds, and more about illnesses, but it's very interesting. I'm hoping I'll have a job when it's finished though, because lots of women are going into nursing at the moment."
"I'm sure you will," Rosalie says.
"Come what may," Flora shrugs, just the way Kitty used to in order to annoy her mother. "I've still got my political work, though that hardly puts food on the table."
"Are you still living with your parents?" Kitty asks.
"No," Flora gives her a look. "I've got a little room in Whitechapel. Do you know where you and Thomas will live, after the wedding?"
"We only arrived back here yesterday," Kitty laughs. "We haven't got around to it yet, though Miles has offered to help us look, which is very kind of him."
"How is Miles? I've been so busy I've barely had the chance to breathe, let alone see anyone but Rosalie."
"He's well. Elizabeth's back at Covent Garden. He's found a job at the Royal London Hospital as a surgeon," Kitty says, remembering what Thomas told her when he returned from Miles' flat. "Thomas is staying with him until the wedding, and I'm staying with Rosalie."
"Let me know when you set a date." Flora pushes her plate away, and leans back, taking a cigarette out of her battered bag. "Would you like one?"
Rosalie makes a disgusted, unladylike noise and turns away as Kitty accepts the lighted cigarette, taking a long, slow breath.
When Miles gets home from work several days later, he finds Kitty and Thomas sitting next to each other on his divan, poring over a notebook with their heads bent together like two birds in a nest.
"What's all this?" he asks as he hangs up his coat. "No indecency in my apartment, I hope?"
"We're working out what we need to do," Kitty says absently, tapping the pencil against the paper in a sound like the patter of rain during a storm.
Miles sinks into the armchair opposite them, putting his feet up on the little table between them. Instinctively, Kitty swats at them, and he retracts them quickly. "Tell me, then, and I'll see what else I can come up with."
"Jobs," Thomas says. "I have my interview on Friday at the University College Hospital. But Kitty also needs to find a job."
"Is there anything in particular you'd like to do?" Miles asks her, and she shrugs.
"I've no experience apart from what I did during the war. Before that I was a socialite, which didn't involve much of anything."
"You could train as a proper nurse," Thomas suggests, and Kitty makes a face.
"I would…but I'd really rather like to try my hand at something else. There are so many nurses nowadays – Flora told me about how the courses are positively bursting at the seams with all those who helped during the war, got a taste of independence…"
"Elizabeth's rehearsals should end soon," Miles says, finally. "She might have an idea of what you could do."
Kitty nods, turning her attention back to the list. Dust motes spin in shafts of late afternoon sunlight like tiny rotating planets. "We also need to set up bank accounts, find a flat of our own, buy furniture and start thinking about our wedding."
"Bank accounts are easy. The bank around the corner is very good – it's where both Elizabeth and I have our accounts. We're going to look at flats on Saturday, and I'm sure you can find furniture relatively cheaply from a shop somewhere."
At that moment, there is a knock at the door and Miles heaves himself up from his chair to answer it, returning a few moments later with a blushing, bright-eyed Elizabeth in tow. "Kitty!" she says, happily, leaning over to embrace her. "It's been too long – I'm sorry I haven't seen you before now, I've been at rehearsals all day, every day."
"It's alright," Kitty laughs as Elizabeth greets Thomas, settling herself into Miles' vacated armchair.
"I'm exhausted," she rests her head against her hand for a second.
"How are your rehearsals going? You said in your letters that you're putting on Swan Lake."
"Yes, yes, we are. They're good, but it's the ballet where everyone has to be in line so our ballet mistress is spending hours drilling us into perfection."
"It sounds like the training in the army," Thomas mutters.
"I'm just going to make a cup of tea," Miles calls from the little kitchen. "Would any of you like one?"
"Yes, please," Elizabeth calls. "Thank you!"
After talking for a while over tea, Elizabeth offers to walk with Kitty partway back to Rosalie's parents' house, and as the sun is just setting over the horizon, they depart, arm-in-arm after bidding goodbye to Thomas and Miles.
"Elizabeth," Kitty begins as they round the arched façade of the Opera House, turn down Drury Lane. "I need to start looking for a job, soon, but I've no idea where to begin. Miles said that you might have some ideas."
Elizabeth thinks for a second, her head tilted to one side as though she's listening for ideas from the soft night breeze the swoops around them. "Well…at the Opera House, they are searching for new seamstresses for the upcoming season. I hear that it's reasonably well-paid, and you work with the costumes for the opera and the ballet. Do you know how to sew?"
"Yes, I do," Kitty says. It was something her mother insisted on the governess teaching her, as every lady should be able to embroider. Perversely, Kitty had always enjoyed it, which was unusual, for, as a rule, she never liked the activities her mother prescribed for her. There was something comforting about the needle slipping in and out of the cloth, the colours of the rich, silken threads.
"It is only an idea," Elizabeth says. "Are you sure you don't want to return to nursing? You were a very good nurse…"
"I want a change. I've been shut up by society for almost all of my life, and now I have a chance to spread my wings and try something new. I did enjoy nursing, but I want to try something different as well."
"I understand what you mean," Elizabeth smiles, wide, bright, showing all her teeth. "But ballet has been my life for so long, I don't know what I'd do without it."
"Are you sure?" Rosalie's mother flutters as the butler brings Kitty's coat. "There are several perfectly nice apartments in this area – you don't have to go as far as St Pancras."
"Yes, perfectly," Kitty reassures her. "My fiancé has a job at the University College Hospital, and it's only a short journey on the underground train to reach where I will be working."
It's a week later, and things are slotting into place like puzzle pieces. The University College Hospital welcomed Thomas with open arms once the head realised he was a very experienced surgeon and an ex-RAMC officer, and she had gone to the Royal Opera House and asked the woman at the front desk.
The wardrobe mistress is a terrifying woman, tall, broad with a deep voice and tightly rolled grey hair, but the years sewing her own clothing as a nurse and the tuition of her governess on the art of embroidery have paid off, and Kitty is now an under-seamstress in the costume department. She starts on Monday; the thought sends excited, nervous chills up her spine. Bank accounts have been opened too, and now all that remains is to find a flat.
"Well, if you're convinced." Rosalie's mother steps back as there is a knock at the door. The butler draws it open, tall and pompous in his black and white, and lets a rather rain-soaked Thomas into the front hallway. "Will you be back for dinnertime?"
"No, I believe not. We're spending it with a friend," Kitty says, taking Thomas' arm. "Hello."
He kisses her cheek chastely, and she smiles. "Shall we go?"
"I can let you have it for six pounds a month," the landlady says as they look around the little flat. "But you must be married before you live here together."
"That's fine," Kitty says, squeezing Thomas' hand. "I'm staying with friends until the wedding."
"Well, then. I can accept that."
It's a flat Miles found for them in St Pancras, small, but cosy – two bedrooms, one smaller than the other, a little bathroom, a kitchen and sitting room. It's connected to running water as the landlady demonstrated, and the walls have already been painted by the last tenants in shades of cream and blue.
"We'll take it," Thomas says, looking at Kitty, who nods. This is the first time she's ever had a home to call her own – the grand houses of her childhood and first marriage were no more homes than a museum might be, and the canvas tents of the hospital ended up being as insubstantial as the air around them after they were taken down. But this, this is real, solid, and it belongs to her and Thomas, their place, their home.
"Come on down to the shop, then, and we'll have a cup of tea whilst you sign the contract. I don't suppose you've got a place in mind for your wedding yet? There's a lovely church just near here that you could try…"
Monday rolls around with a spring rainstorm, silver flooding into the streets as Kitty ducks into the cover of the Russell Square Underground Station, huddling into her coat. The hem of her dress is already soaking from splashing through the puddles and she's only got half an hour to get to work.
The train arrives in a whistle of air and a rush of workers for the offices, and she manages to find a place, pressed up against the side of the train and holding tightly onto a pole. She's never really taken the Underground before, and it's bizarre – so many people standing so close together in such tense, stifling silence.
Holborn comes and goes in a wave of even more people pushing in, and then the conductor announces Covent Garden. "Excuse me," Kitty says, pushing through the throng of men in pressed suits with briefcases. "Excuse me, please, this is my stop, let me out."
It's a close thing – getting out onto the platform barely a minute before the train doors are slammed, but she's done it, and now there's the prospect of the stairs, climbing up and up and up until finally, when she emerges into the drizzle, her legs are weak and wobbling. She makes her way down towards the flower market, and into the door where she was directed, greeting the porter and trying desperately to remember her way to the costume department.
"Kitty," a voice says behind her, and Kitty starts, turning to see Elizabeth standing behind her and smiling.
"Elizabeth," Kitty clasps her hand. "Could you show me the way to the wardrobe? I'm afraid I'm completely lost."
"Of course," Elizabeth says. Her blonde hair is pulled up off her face, and the tutu of her white practise dress bobs as she moves. "You'll learn your way around pretty quickly."
"I'm sure I will," Kitty says as Elizabeth begins to lead her expertly through the warren of corridors dotted with lamps. The floorboards creak under their feet as they pass what look to be dressing rooms, and practise rooms and finally, they come to a door with the ward 'Wardrobe' on it.
"Here you are. I must go else I'll be late for my rehearsal," Elizabeth kisses Kitty's cheek, and then is gone in a rush of white tulle and ribbons.
Kitty opens the door cautiously and steps inside – the clock against the far wall reads five minutes to eight. She lets out a sigh of relief – not late, after all. The Wardrobe Mistress comes bustling in from behind a rack of white costumes decorated in tiny silver beads. "Ah, you're here, Miss Trevelyan – nice and punctual. Follow me."
She leads Kitty deeper into the Wardrobe, past rails of beautiful gowns and sparkling jewellery for all the performances and stops in front of a table where another woman already sits, sewing together what looks to be a bodice of a tutu from several panels of a white material that shimmers a little under the gas lamps.
"Miss Trevelyan, this is Mrs Anne Winters. She will be your supervisor, so you should ask her any questions that you have. At the moment, we're putting together the costumes for the new production of Swan Lake, and we're behind schedule, so you had better learn fast."
"Of course," Kitty says, and the Wardrobe Mistress turns and disappears back into the warren of costumes.
"Please, sit down," Mrs Winters says. "You can call me Anne, if you wish. Now, I presume you know all of the basic stitches?"
"Yes, I do," Kitty says.
"There are panels there – I'll start off the bodices, and then you can do the middle bit. Simple running stitch up and down the sides will do, and then we'll use the machine to finish them off."
After two weeks there, Kitty is growing more and more comfortable at making the costumes, and she's been promoted to sewing the little silver beads around the tops, watching from her table as the other seamstresses work on the costumes for different acts, and for the principal dancers. She goes home to Rosalie's parents' house at the end of the day with patterns of beads spinning behind her eyes and the ghost of tulle sliding over her fingers, but it feels wonderful to be making something so beautiful after the years of blood and misery and horror of the war.
The show opens, and rather than the work decreasing with less to do there is more, with repairing tears on the current costumes and beginning to put things together for the operatic production of Le Nozze di Figaro which will follow straight on the heels of the ballet. There's no time to think of anything else, and so Rosalie kindly offers to start looking into furniture for them, as Thomas works full shifts at the hospital.
One evening, when she and Thomas are sitting in Miles' apartment once again and tiredly discussing furniture with the list Rosalie has given them on the table in front of them, Miles bursts in, the door slamming shut behind him.
"How would you like to see your first ballet?" he asks Thomas, waving a sheaf of thick card in their direction.
Thomas blinks at him, and Kitty lifts her head from his shoulder. "What's happening?"
"I, being wonderful, have obtained three tickets to the final performance of Swan Lake," Miles says happily. "Would the two of you like to accompany me, or shall I ask Rosalie and her fiancé, or Flora?"
"Yes," Kitty nods. "I'd like to see what all my hard work and pricked fingers looks like on stage. Tom?"
"Well…" he scratches his head and yawns. "I suppose if you'd like to go…"
When the actual night rolls around, Thomas is regretting agreeing to go to the ballet. Apparently everyone dresses up – Miles still has evening wear from before the war, Kitty borrows a dress from Rosalie and he is expected to dig out the old suit Miles insisted on buying for him when they were both students. It's too tight across the shoulders, and several buttons are missing, but Kitty sews them back on deftly in a flashing of her silver needle and thread.
The Opera House itself must be the grandest place he's ever stepped into – crystal chandeliers, soft velvet carpets, ushers standing off to the sides in smart uniforms with programmes and smiles plastered onto their faces. With Kitty on his arm – looking utterly beautiful in green and gold – he feels as though he's stepped into one of the fairy stories his sisters would read over and over again when they were children.
"It's nothing like this backstage," Kitty whispers to him conspiratorially as Miles leads them through the throng of people dressed in their finest, rich material whispering around him like judging voices. He's only a surgeon, born in one of the poorest parts of the country – he feels so out of place here, like an imposter, an interloper, not wanted, not welcome.
"We're in the orchestra stalls," Miles says, gesturing to the doors directly opposite them. "Would you like a programme?"
"That would be lovely," Kitty replies, taking the proffered booklet of smart card with gold writing looping across the front as they climb the stairs into the most incredible place Thomas has ever set eyes upon. Red velvet chairs slope away in front of him, and balconies and tiers rise above them like some sort of wedding cake, everything red and gold, grand and rich. "It's gorgeous, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is," he says, trying to keep from looking around in awe. He wishes his family could see it.
"Here's our row." Miles gestures to a row midway down the block, and they make their way past several ladies in sumptuous gowns, sit down in the seats that sink to accommodate them.
Kitty hands him the programme. "This is the story," she says, pointing to a block of neatly printed text. "And there's a cast list on the other page."
He reads it slowly as Kitty and Miles begin to discuss something about previous ballets and operas they've seen; the story is something about a girl who has been turned into a swan by an evil sorcerer, and falls in love with a prince who then betrays her. It sounds too melodramatic for his tastes, but seeing Kitty so excited makes happiness flood into his chest like a tide, and he resolves to try and enjoy it for her sake.
The conductor appears and everyone begins to applaud for some reason he can't quite fathom, and then the music starts. It's good, he thinks – very slow and soulful, but something he could picture himself listening to – but then the curtain draws back in ripples of material and the ballet begins.
Several minutes in, he is completely, hopelessly lost, even with the story open in front of him. There are no words – it's all dance and whilst the dancers seem very light on their feet and graceful, he doesn't know if they're doing what they're supposed to be doing. There are several men – in tights, which he doesn't understand – what is wrong with a good pair of trousers? – and a myriad of women balancing on the tips of their toes in brightly coloured dresses that flare out in every direction as they spin in circles.
"There's Elizabeth," Kitty whispers at one point during the first act, nodding towards a blonde woman in a pale green dress, dancing with whom he assumes is the prince mentioned in the story. She looks so different from the person who is in and out of Miles' apartment, or from their time at the hospital – she's elegant and fluent as she turns and lifts her leg, supported by the prince.
There is no break as the first act ends and second act begins, this one is all dark, with all the women from the first act now in the white dresses that he supposes must be the things Kitty refers to as 'tutus' when she's talking about her work. They are perfectly in line as they enter and hold various positions, and he still doesn't know what on earth is going on.
At the end, the whole auditorium is on their feet applauding as the woman in the bigger, more ornate tutu takes her bow with the others all lined up behind her and he is clapping too. The dancing was good, but he doesn't understand how it was supposed to tell a story.
As the curtain falls for the final time and the lights come up in amber glows against the splendour of the auditorium, Kitty turns to him, her dark eyes sparkling. "How did you like it?"
"Well…I didn't quite know what was going on," he confesses, taking her hand as they make their way out into the aisle. "The costumes were very lovely."
"And the dancing?"
"Alright, I suppose."
"Oh Tom." She leans up to kiss his cheek. "It's fine. I saw my first ballet when I was nine and I didn't understand it at all. They use mime – Elizabeth taught me a bit when we were in France – and the best you can do is sit back and admire them."
"I'm going to wait by the stage door for Elizabeth," Miles interrupts. "I'll see the two of you soon."
They say goodbye, and then he's gone through the crowd and they're making their way towards the doors that stand thrown up, the night air swallowing up the chattering audience like some enormous mouth.
Kitty turns to say something to him as they keep walking forwards, but trips on the train of the person in front of her's dress. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Kitty says as the woman turns around, very pale hair falling out of what looks to be a tiara.
"Catherine Trevelyan, what a surprise to see you here." The woman raises an eyebrow coldly, and Kitty takes a faltering step backwards, closer to him. He takes her arm protectively as the woman looks them both up and down.
"Beatrice," Kitty says faintly. "I didn't know you came here anymore."
Beatrice's icy eyes stare at her, and she feels like a teenager again, young and defiantly naïve and why, tonight of all nights, does her past have to catch up with her? She can feel Thomas' warmth behind her, and takes several breaths, trying to regain her composure. She must not fall apart, she must not.
"The reviews for this production were excellent, and you know how I enjoy the ballet." Beatrice gives her a glacial smile. "I would not have thought you would show your face here."
"Our friend is a soloist in the ballet," Thomas speaks up behind her, his gentle touch giving her strength to breathe, just breathe, to stand firm in the face of this ghost who has taken flesh and come to haunt her tonight.
Beatrice's eyes snap to Thomas. "And you are?"
"This is Thomas, my fiancé," Kitty murmurs softly. She feels nausea roiling in her stomach like a ship held in the claws of a storm.
"Fiancé? So you're marrying again? I would not have thought you would bother with all of that. She'll move on to the next man as soon as she grows bored."
"I'll thank you not to be rude about my fiancée," Thomas snaps, taking her arm. "Come on, Kitty, we're going."
He pulls her through the last shreds of the crowd, out into the cold air and she takes a deep trembling breath as they begin to walk back towards Bloomsbury. Safe, she's safe. She won't allow Beatrice's taunts to wound her again. "Who was that?" Thomas asks after a while, stopping under the golden veil of a street-lamp.
"That…" Kitty takes another deep breath. "That is…was my sister-in-law. Beatrice Vincent. She is married to my ex-husband's brother."
"Damned woman," Thomas mutters. "How dare she insult you like that?"
"I wounded the family's pride."
"It's not your fault that her brother-in-law is an abusive…" he pauses, turning away for a second. "Are all upper-class people like that?"
"Not all," Kitty says quietly, taking his arm again. "Some are decent."
A slow silence, just the rumble of the night-buses a couple of streets over.
"Thank you for defending me."
"Kitty." He puts a hand on her cheek, gentle, tender. "I'd defend you from the whole world if that is what you needed of me."
A/N Important! Hello, everyone. I'm just letting you know that there are three chapters left of 'Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made On,' and then I'll get to work properly on my modern AU story. I hate to say this again, but I'm not going to post the next chapter until I get over 45 reviews...so click that little button! I really would love to hear from you - what do you think about Flora's sudden change? And Tom's first experience with the ballet? (If you want to read his reaction to opera, check out TheCurlymop's story list!). So enjoy! N xx