A/N: This is fiction, as you know, so opium is not in its true historical context. The British Empire were actually heavily involved in making/buying/supplying opium to a lot of places in the world. In fact it was part of our strategy to get the Chinese to part with tea – so there you go, a history lesson for you, and in this chapter I am not trying to whitewash anything. Just don't want to particularly portray anyone as a drug dealer.

Enjoy the chapter!

Chapter Fourteen - Swimming

Today was, apparently, as good a day for swimming as any. So Diana had been told by Mr Wayne. She herself had some reservations about that, having based them on the heavy cloud, the drizzling rain and the rather cool temperature of the air. Nevertheless, Bruce had announced at breakfast that morning that teaching Diana to swim was the order of business that afternoon.

Alfred had got there before Diana did, with a raised grey eyebrow and a clearing of the throat. "Do you not think it slightly inclement for that, sir?"

Bruce glanced out of the window. "Not at all. It'll clear up after luncheon I should think."

"Indeed." Alfred shot a look of sympathy to Diana. "More coffee, Miss Prince?"

"Thank you, yes. I think I may need it."

He smiled, pouring out some of the bitter liquid into her cup. Soon after, Bruce departed to his study, attending to some legitimate business to do with his company. That was what Diana had been told, anyway, though she imagined some less legitimate things would be dealt with too. Her morning would consist of more Russian lessons with Mr. Pennyworth, though today she wished to find out a little more about her teacher. She had many questions that her curiosity would no longer wait for.

Once the breakfast things were cleared away, Diana collected the translation texts and exercise books and set them out in the library. Yesterday they had been working on dictation, with Alfred reading passages from a Russian short story by Vasily Zhukovsky and Diana writing down everything she understood, in English. She suspected that after translation from Russian to English, there would come translation in the opposite direction. They had been working at the language intensively for many consecutive days now, and her confidence was growing with it, her tongue learning the syllables and pronunciation without too many stumbles now. She still would not fancy her chances in conversation with any Russian, but progress was progress.

Today, however, she did not place the pen in the inkwell, instead laying it on the table and lacing her fingers together. Mr. Pennyworth, sat across the table from her with his book already open, looked thoughtful. "You realise, that as a teacher, I am used to dictating how lesson time is spent, Miss Prince?"

She heard the gentleness under the stern tone, and nodded. "I do. But you must forgive me, Mr Pennyworth, I have a great curiosity to know more."

"More about what?"

"Everything. Anything Mr Wayne may choose to tell me about himself will not be pressed from him, I understand that much – but I'm yet to understand much at all about you. I apologise for my forwardness, but somehow I don't think hints would avail me much."

"You think correctly."

"And while I do not wish to pry, I do believe I am entitled to slightly more knowledge than I currently possess."

"Slightly?"

Diana smiled wryly. "If anyone under this roof wishes to give me much information, Mr Pennyworth, I shall not refuse it."

"Well I cannot promise that, Miss Prince. However, I see nothing wrong with giving you some of my personal history with the Wayne family."

"Thank you. It is very much appreciated."

If Diana had imagined that the storyteller would now lean back, cross his ankles and relax into the narrative, she was disappointed. If anything, Mr Pennyworth seemed to sit up straighter, his expression becoming graver. She mimicked his posture, feeling the least she could do would be to pay attention.

"I was a second lieutenant in His Majesty's Royal Fusiliers when I met Mr Thomas Wayne – my current master's father. To this day I am unsure as to whether he was only posing as an opium addict to root out the sellers of that vile drug or if he really was addicted."

"How could one be unsure of such a thing? Surely if he had a mission to fulfil then a clear head would be absolutely essential."

"Indeed, yet when I knew more of him, in later life, he often truly immersed himself in the 'roles' he played. And his performance was masterful, if he was not truly craving the drug."

"But why would anyone do such a thing? And even if he did deem it necessary then how could he expect to break the addiction without great – extreme – difficulty?" She knew little of the details of any addiction; only that her father had spoken of it as a disease that might take hold at any level of society and destroy utterly the person it had gripped. And opium … even the word as like a black, poisonous barb just to speak. Why would any man in possession of his senses to touch the stuff?

"Mr Wayne had a will of iron, an absolute will of iron. That's not to say he accomplished everything he set his mind to with perfect ease, of course. But when I met him, he was at least pretending to be an addict, intending to flush out those in the ranks of His Majesty's army who were supplying the drug. It is wholly forbidden now, as it was then, but where there is a profit to be turned …"

Diana sighed. "And the Bible teaches us man is born good …"

Alfred raised an eyebrow, but let her opinion go by without gainsaying it. The Wayne household seemed to be very atheist anyway, she had found. Not going to church on a Sunday would of course make them even more disreputable, but she doubted it was only for the sake of appearances. Certainly Bruce had never indicated any faith in a higher power.

"I apologise, Mr Pennyworth, I have derailed our conversation. Do go on, if you please. You were describing your acquaintance with Mr Thomas Wayne."

"It began rather inauspiciously; I rather literally tripped over him. He was sprawled in a gutter, either in a true stupor or pretending to be. He was barely coherent, but I could not leave a superior officer lying there, as I thought, in disgrace. I picked him up and took him back to the barracks, and remained with him until his wits returned."

"I doubt a spymaster simply told you his secret mission."

"Indeed not. He asked me where he might obtain more of the foul substance, as he was in desperate need. He looked it, I can tell you. His hands shook when he grabbed my hands to stop me leaving. He seemed convinced that I knew where to get more, that I could and would follow his orders to buy some, and offered me a handsome pocket-watch as payment. And, naturally, I was deeply offended by the insinuation, shook him off and prepared to leave."

"Did you report him to your superiors?"

"Yes, a major in my company. One Major Prince, in fact."

Diana's heart clenched, and she smiled warmly. "I wondered if my father would come into your story. I've had the sense you knew him."

"Indeed."

"Yet you took a risk. Unless you knew his character beforehand then you would have no reason to think you would be believed."

"I believe my hot-headed indignation had prevented me from thinking that far ahead. But in any case, your father did believe me, and commended me for my honourable actions and clear sense of duty. And when Captain Wayne entered, as sober as a judge, I could hardly believe my eyes. I believe I almost fell off my chair seeing the change in him. The two of them then took me into their confidence, told me of their operation and invited me to join them in rooting out the evil."

Diana marvelled. "And you have been involved in all this ever since?"

"Yes. When Mr and Mrs Wayne were killed, Mr Wayne's will made it clear I was to have guardianship of Master Bruce. He, understandably, wished to follow in their footsteps as soon as he could."

They were silent for a moment or two as Diana digested all she had heard. There were still questions, of course, but they were now more specific ones, whereas before her mind had been full of only vagaries. "Thank you," she said. "I'll not tax your patience any further today."

"You are entitled to know much more, I am certain, Miss Prince," he smiled. "Unfortunately you have also undertaken the study of the Russian language, which we have thus far neglected this morning."

"You are right. Shall we begin?"

They opened the books and continued with their instruction, though Diana was understandably distracted. Her father's career in espionage had begun decades ago, years before her birth, it seemed. Before he had met her mother, Hippolyta? If so, then how much had Hippolyta known? Had their introduction been anything like Bruce's parents'? She attempted to banish those questions from her mind – there was no one to answer them. Mama had been dead for years and Papa had not (as far as she knew) ever kept a journal or diary of any kind. She did meet with some success at concentration once Alfred recalled her focus, and they made some progress before noon.

At luncheon, Bruce rejoined them, and seemed concerned with regard to Diana's lack of appetite. "You're not eating?"

"I cannot help feeling that the more I consume, the greater my chances of sinking are," she replied.

"I will be with you, Miss Prince, and I do not intend to let you drown, I assure you. You have my word."

She smiled. "Comforting as that is, Mr Wayne, I would still prefer to err on the side of caution."

"As you will. The water is cold, however, and you shall need something to warm you."

She did manage a little soup, but before long the cloud of butterflies flittering about in her stomach prevented her from eating anything more.

"You will find your bathing costume in your wardrobe upstairs, Miss Prince. It is the navy blue outfit on the far left. Put it on under your gown and meet me in the stables." Diana did not move, and cleared her throat pointedly. Bruce looked up and seemed to realise what his tone had been. "If you please, of course," he added blandly.

Well, better late and insincere than never. I suppose, she thought, and left the table to go up to her suite. She shut the doors and undressed, opening her wardrobe. She easily located the garments Bruce intended for her, but she could scarcely believe he expected her to actually put it on. It consisted of a tunic and breeches, the cut of both she objected to: once on, form-fitting would hardly be an adequate term. There was a row of tiny white buttons down the front and while it would be closed up to her throat, it would hug her every curve. And the breeches ended at her knees, which would mean baring the lower half of her legs altogether. But both pieces of clothing, she surmised, were eminently practical. Anything loose would be quickly clogged with water, and could prove a liability. It covered enough for modesty's sake, just. She would simply need to shuck her ridiculous notions of propriety and get on with the task in hand. She changed quickly and then pulled on a loose-fitting gown over the top, then putting on her riding boots. It was entirely the strangest ensemble she had ever worn, but then her life had taken a most strange turn of later.

At the stables, she found Bruce down there with two horses waiting, his own and Perseus. "The swimming pool is a little distance from the house," he explained. "And well away from the park fence."

"I am glad to hear it. And you were right," she smiled, "the weather did brighten."

"Are you ready?"

"Yes."

She mounted and followed Bruce at a canter to a place about a mile from the house. It was a long, low building with the edifice of a Greek temple, made from a shimmering white limestone. How it was kept so clean in the English weather, she'd no idea. Under the slanting roof and columns, there was a rectangular pool of clear water. It had a leaf or two floating in it, but she did not mind that. At one end of the building was a row of cubicles. They tied the horses up and went inside.

Bruce pointed. "Those are for changing; you'll need to remove your gown and place it in there, Miss Prince, and …" he trailed off, looking awkward.

"And?" she prompted, having no clue what could be so bad that Bruce now had a sense of delicacy about it.

He held out a glass jar to her. "You'll need to smear some of this on your exposed arms and legs."

She took the jar, removing the lid and sniffing the faintly yellow paste inside. "Goose grease?"

"Yes. The water is cold, and goose grease will help to insulate your body heat."

"Alright."

They both went into cubicles and changed; all Diana had to do was remove her gown, boots and stockings. She folded them in a neat pile and then took the lid from the goose grease. She smeared some onto her skin, feeling cold and unpleasantly slimy once she had. That done, she opened the door and went outside.

Bruce was almost in the pool, wholly under the water. His costume was very similar to her own, though its colour had been darkened by the water already. He was entirely submerged, like a fish. The liquid was very cold when she stepped onto the top of the small flight of stairs at the shallow end of the pool. As she went deeper, Bruce broke the surface. Diana immediately felt her face heat; the water had made the form-fitting clothing into skin-clinging. She'd known him to be a well-built man, but now she was left in no doubt of the width of his shoulders and the definition of his chest. Suddenly, every gentleman she'd heard of being described of as 'handsome; or a 'fine figure of a man' was coming up woefully short of the mark.

Bruce, thankfully, was too busy shaking water from his eyes and pushing back soaking black hair from his face to notice her gaze. It gave her time to move further into the water – up to her waist – and compose herself, pretending she was admiring his physique only as a sculptor might.

"Where do we start, Mr Wayne?"

He gestured. "Come to the deeper end, until you can just stand on your toes. Keep holding onto the side."

She did so, gripping cold marble until she could only just touch the bottom. "Very well, what is next?"

"Keep holding on but begin kicking with your legs, at the water. Your body should move up until you are horizontal. Watch me."

He demonstrated, and Diana copied him. It felt very easy, which surprised her. She commented as much.

"Kicking is the easy part. It will help to propel you forwards in the water. It will feel easy at first but your muscles will tire of the unfamiliar action quickly if they are not built up. After today we will be swimming every afternoon until you are proficient."

"I see." She waited another ten minutes of companionable silent kicking before she asked, "So, may we say that for today I am proficient so far?"

"Patience is a virtue."

"My patience is untouched; my brain is wandering at what point my arms may be necessary."

"Alright. Push away from the side and give me your hands."

She did so, finding that his hands were pleasingly warm compared to her own, which were chilled. Apparently instinctively, Bruce rubbed her fingers in his own calloused ones to restore her circulation. Diana stood on the balls of her feet so that they were almost equal in height.

"I am going to support you while you move your arms. You will put each arm one after the other, dragging yourself through the water. In, down, twist your arm and take it out of the water once more, past your head, down again. Like so." He rehearsed one of her hands, and showed her what he meant, then took her hand again. "I will support your waist."

She nodded, and leaned forwards. She attempted not to make her sharp intake of breath too noticeable as his palm settled on her stomach. One layer of fabric did not seem at all substantial, not when she could feel the heat of his hand radiate through to her own skin underneath. He supported her in the water, preventing her from sinking. The other hand was at her waist, fingers cured slightly around one of her hips to guide her.

"If you feel you wish to kick as well, then do so, but focus on the movement on your arms."

Difficult to focus on anything while he was in such near proximity, but when she began moving her arms he had to move a little further away to avoid her smacking him in the face. He kept up a steady stream of comments on her form.

"Slide your hand into the water. Angle it down properly. Try not to make a splash. Don't hold your arm straight. Use your arms to hook the water behind you. Close your fingers. Cup your hand."

By the time Diana would freely admit that she was tired, she was also rather fractious; not one word of praise had passed her instructor's lips, despite the fact that she had made enormous progress, considering she'd never attempted to swim before this afternoon. However, when they were at the shallow end, he faced her.

"That was not a bad attempt. Tomorrow we'll combine the two and you will start swimming properly. But today you did well, Miss Prince, you should be pleased."

She hooked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I am."

They climbed out of the water, Bruce going to a pile of towels and pulling a couple from it. Without stopping to think he was perhaps taking a liberty, he wrapped one about her shoulders.

"You're cold."

"I am well,' she said though she was indeed shivering hard.

"Your lips are blue-tinged, Miss Prince."

Once he'd looked at her lips though, the composure he always wore cracked, just for a couple of seconds. And his face then … was exactly as her own might have looked an hour earlier, which she had been admiring what was displayed before her eyes. Another flush of heat came, though this one was not going to her face … rather somewhere lower. It was an unfamiliar, not unpleasant, sensation, and she thought Bruce must feel it too, since their eyes had locked in a way she was sure was entirely inappropriate and intimate. She should look away. Staring was about to become gazing, and while she made a point never to read novels … Shakespeare had something to say about that too. She broke eye-contact first, under the guise of nothing more than adjusting her towel.

Bruce moved to retrieve one himself. "We'll spend less time in the water tomorrow. And I'll have Alfred prepare a hot bath for you now. The last thing we need is for you to contract pneumonia."

"I heartily agree."

They shared a slightly strained smile and went back to the horses. Tomorrow's lesson, Diana decided, should definitely involve less bodily contact. Even if she had found it so … exhilarating.

A/N: Review please!