This one is short-story length! Enjoy.
On the Fifth Day of Christmas my true love sent to me...
Five Gold Rings
Humour/Friendship
The Magnus Household, 1885
The 23rd December had been bright and chill but the fog had rolled in with the evening, shrouding the Magnus house until the lights in the windows were like beacons. The nights did draw in so fast. Helen had decorated the tree in the forward-most parlour that very morning – a little early, but Magnus had always preferred to do it that way. Her father was so often called away, or they'd visit family for holiday, either way, he would invariably miss the opportunity to enjoy it unless it was out a day early, so it had become their family tradition.
Her four Merry Gentlemen had arrived in the afternoon twilight, just as the veil of mist had started to descend, baring wrapped gifts, and smiles, and now they were all in the warmth of the Parlour with a roaring fire. There were no awkward questions about marriage, or why she was dallying at Oxford, or why her father, such an intelligent man, had to court scandal and disaster at every turn with his outspokenness, his eccentric research. Somehow they felt more like a family to Helen than her blood relatives ever had – bar her father, of course.
Gregory had welcomed her friends to his home with his usual generosity and warmth, and Helen thanked her stars she'd had the good sense to introduce him to them all months before this. She'd seen the way his eyes had narrowed over dinner as Nikola – clearly comfortable in her father's presence – allowed himself to speak his mind, or as Griffin took the conversation down the highly inappropriate path of dirt and bodily fluids. Not that her father considered anyone at this table too delicate for such topics – it just wasn't very polite. Gregory seemed quite pleased with John's behaviour, however, for which Helen was rather delighted. Dare she even think he might approve of young Mr Druitt as he had been affectionately dubbed?
They'd had drinks after in the Parlour, which her father had joined, his warm chuckles emanating from his favoured chair.
"I think it is time for a Programme!" announced a rosy-cheeked Helen with a rather impish demeanour.
All heads had turned to her, bar Gregory, who had rolled his head at his daughter's notion as if it were the last thing he wanted to take part in. Indeed he was already making to stand up.
Helen chuckled a little at her gentlemen, the disbelief on James' face, the absolute confusion on Nikola's, the quizzical twist to Griffin's nose, and the intrigued smirk on John's gentle lips.
"In earnest Helen, you cannot be serious surely?" James enquired aloud.
She stood up commandingly, straightening her dress and addressing them all with that unchecked mischief, "Oh in earnest James, I am deadly serious." She went over to ring the serving bell, "Come now, help me move the furniture."
"Don't you think this is more, you know, for the children?" Griffin added.
"And on that note," announced Gregory with a sigh, sensing his daughter's obstinacy in this department would overcome them all eventually as James and Helen started to move the chaise-lounge and Druitt insisted on taking Helen's place in this endeavour, "I rather think I had better get some work done in the barest hope that I might have a day off at Christmas!"
Helen paused a moment from moving a pot plant, smiling knowingly at her father and accepting the kiss he planted on her cheek.
"I'll be down a little later… at the interval perhaps?" He smiled, leaving them to it, and leaving all of Nikola's questions unanswered.
"Excuse my ignorance in your strange British customs… there are so many," he smirked wryly, "but what, exactly, is this… Programme?"
Griffin, had yet to move an inch, his face still twisted reluctantly, arms crossed. Though they couldn't help but suspect it was a little feigned as he explained to Nikola with more than just a little relish, "It's a diversion, like a Parlour Variety show. A Christmas-themed music hall in your house, if you will. Everyone has to do some kind of performance to the rest of the guests."
"And I've brought a wassail bowl," Helen announced proudly, noting Griffin's instantaneous attention on the warmed cider as Martha, one of the servants brought it in, "for everyone who performs. Thank you Martha."
Even James and John looked to it longingly as the smell drafted over all spiced and delicious.
"Oh, I think I like the look of that," John smiled warmly, the spark of Christmas cheer in his eyes.
"Well, you'll have to perform for your cup of it Mr Druitt," Helen smiled back, "so may I count you in?"
"Where do I sign?"
The two of them were making eyes again – it was a phenomenon the other three had started to notice as an increasingly common occurrence. One they probably didn't even realise they were making.
"And everyone must partake?" Nikola enquired hesitantly, not really sure if mulled cider was enough incentive to embarrass himself on the make-shift stage.
"Oh yes," Helen insisted, cutting off whatever reply James was about to make. She noticed his sudden panic, "Please James, it is Christmas."
"Come on old chap, don't be such a Scrooge."
Now they were standing close together, both pairs of bright eyes pleading towards him like innocent children.
"I am hardly being a Scrooge," he countered.
"Look, I know this is somewhat childish," Helen started to smile warmly, her eyes practically melting like the warm sun on snow, "but I… we never really indulged in this when I was a child. My family's all so much older than me they'd grown out of it and, well, I just thought it might be… fun."
Griffin's dramatic sigh got their attention, "Oh go on then." He grinned, "But that punch better be good Helen love."
"Thank you Nigel," She practically beamed at him.
"I suppose, when you put it in such endearing terms dear Helen, it would be ungentlemanly not to," There was a glimmer in James' eye, a wry smile, and they all knew he'd just laid down the gauntlet to the surprisingly silent Nikola. Would the Serbian play at the scoundrel this evening just to exempt himself from proceedings, or insist upon being the gentleman? He should've known Tesla never backed down from a challenge, even when he couldn't win.
"Indeed it would," Nikola added with a broad, toothy smile, "I would like to join also."
Helen's smile couldn't get any bigger, "Wonderful! Thank you gentlemen," she turned that beatific smile towards John, "for humouring me."
"How could we resist?" John insisted.
Nikola rolled his eyes, "So how do we begin?"
"Everyone take a seat," Helen explained, hunting around in a dark corner of the room obscured by the tree.
"Helen?" John enquired.
"Just a moment," she insisted, pulling something out, "all will be revealed." She came back in view with a black violin case and James' expression was instantly suspicious.
"That's my-"
Helen started nodding at their astute friend.
"I thought someone had stolen it! I was about to launch into an investigation only you'd been keeping me too busy with the… research…"
Her close-lipped smile finally broke out, "I do hope you'll forgive me James."
He stood up, "Am I to presume then, that I shall be the first to perform?"
She nodded again, setting his violin case on the top of the piano, "The floor is yours. Gentlemen," she addressed the other three, now seated as the audience, "Mr James Watson, performing…" she eyed him gently as she pressed her palms together, and James just knew this was going to be something insultingly easy to play. "The Holly and the Ivy – and I hope you shall all sing along."
Helen snuck onto the spare seat on the sofa, between John and Nikola, putting her hands rather properly onto the top of her skirts, even as her eye trailed up the man on her left, to his kind smile and silly dark flop of hair floating from his temples like some Byronic poet. She thought it rather sweet – the way he always had to tuck it behind his ears at the microscope.
James tuned the violin, drawing himself upright, as if this were The Royal Albert Hall and a performance of Beethoven or Mozart. The performer in him was like a mysterious sorcerer, weaving a spell, he began the simple, well-loved carol for his audience's benefit, but as Helen, John and Nigel started singing – Nikola didn't know the words – he started to add flourishes and sweeps that made it suddenly so interesting that the three of them stopped singing just to listen. Bringing it to an end James smiled, and bowed, to the applause of all four of them, soaking it up for a moment.
"That was lovely James," Helen went to pour him a cup of his well-earned wassail punch.
"Not sure that's how it goes though," Nigel teased.
"I do believe our Watson is quite the closet show off," Nikola smirked, and James realised quickly that it was because he'd enjoyed it. He nodded knowingly at the Serbian, even as John came to his defence.
"And with just cause" Druitt smiled, just as James turned his back to put his violin away, "should we allow such brilliance to moulder in silence?"
"Now you're mocking me," James pointed a finger even with his back turned on the man he looked upon as a younger brother.
"Ooh!" Griffin suddenly exclaimed from Tesla's right, "I know what I can do!"
Before James had even vacated the stage, or Helen given instruction as to the Programme she'd concocted in her head, the Londoner dashed over to the piano and opened the keyboard. "Come on Druitt," Nigel cajoled, "give me a hand here, lend me your vocal chords. I think you'll know this one."
John gave Helen a bewildered – if intrigued – expression before extricating his tall frame from the sofa with all of his unusual grace. Helen flicked a question towards Nikola as if he might somehow know what Nigel was planning, and got nothing but an uncertain shrug as James sat in Griffin's vacated seat.
He started playing a tune Helen couldn't recognise for the life of her, but John clearly did, laughing a little in recognition and starting to look as though he might not want to stay on stage.
"Come on, can't back out now – it's not permitted," Nigel started with a grin, "Oh, there was a little hen, And she had a wooden leg."
"The best little hen that ever laid an egg." Druitt managed to slot in time perfectly, his smooth caramel tones almost too nice for the raucous tune, "And she laid more eggs than any hen on the farm."
Nigel joined him on the chorus – their audience of three still quite bewildered, "And another little drink wouldn't do us any harm. Another little drink, Another little drink," though hardly surprised by the lyrics, given the musical director's reputation, "Another little drink wouldn't do us any harm. Another little drink, Another little drink, Another little drink wouldn't do us any harm."
"We had a little duck," John continued with gusto, finding his inner-performer and singing to them as if they were a crowd with pints of beer in their hands, "And a lot of green peas, A quart of ginger beer, and some Stilton cheese. Then we felt such a pain in the shade of the palm."
Nigel and he began the chorus at full volume, making Helen laugh at the thought of the entire house hearing such a music-hall ditty coming from the master's piano. Nikola smirked as she started to join in, humming at first, and then singing along. John's eyebrows shot up in pleasant surprise, James watching her curiously, and not without a hint of humour at the sight.
Eying John in readiness for the next verse, Nigel started off "I went to a ball, Dressed as a map of France. Said a girl, "show me - how the French advance," When she reached the firing line I shouted in alarm-"
"Another little drink wouldn't do us any harm." They all joined in, "Another little drink, Another little drink, Another little drink wouldn't do us any harm…" The piano rounded it off quite jauntily, a great big grin on Nigel's face as they all applauded.
"Not quite Christmas!" Helen laughed, "But very entertaining. I do believe you have earned your wassail."
"Woohoo!" Griffin cheered, launching himself eagerly towards the bowl and earning another giggle from Helen.
"Are you quite sure he hasn't helped himself already?" James wondered, earning a mock expression of offence from Nigel that wasn't helped any by that grin of his.
She passed him a cup, filling one for John and wandering over to him with it, her bright smile lighting her eyes, until they were brighter than the candles on the tree. "You too John."
"Does this mean I am excused from my own solo performance?" he cheered, fingers lingering slightly on hers as she passed it over and sending fluttering butterflies in both their stomachs which had Helen glancing down self-consciously and pulling away a little faster than she perhaps ought. It was the returning, undeterred glance to his eyes, still sparkling with a smile, that let John know she had not drawn back out of revulsion.
"Perhaps," she answered, almost visibly shaking herself back to reality and noting that Nigel had already found his way back into her seat, distracting Nikola with some witty repartee no doubt. She placed a bold hand upon John's arm – a touch which she pretended very well had no effect on her – and pointed him back to the sofa with a gentle push which had him smiling at her without taking his eyes from hers the whole way.
Then she reached over to Nikola, "Excuse me gentlemen, it's Mr Tesla's turn."
Pulling him out of his seat he wouldn't stop smirking at her, at the way she'd just reached down and dragged on his arm like an eager child. When she finally let go their smiles were entirely undiminished, he straightened his waistcoat and jacket automatically, holding her enigmatic gaze.
"Very well," he continued to smirk, his moustache twitching conspiratorially as he leaned towards her, with that showmanship that was so natural to him when he had the good fortune of everyone's attention. He was a glutton for it really – a flaw they were all-too well acquainted with. "Miss Magnus. What is it you would like for me to do?"
Her lips curled up as an eyebrow arched in challenge, "Read us a story."
He glanced quizzically at that, watching her lean behind the piano to find a beautiful children's book of 'Christmas Tales' bound in red and gold. She opened the book to the correct page and presented it to him.
"A poem?" he asked sceptically, somewhat insulted that he'd been considered for something which was clearly more Druitt's forte.
"Yes," was her bright, insistent reply, "and you have to read it properly."
The others were sat expectantly, all smirking slightly at the thought that he'd baulk at such a task or complain, or do something outrageous that would inevitably put Helen in a mood with him. But as she'd already said, it was Christmas, and besides, Nikola wasn't much in the business of adhering to expectation.
"Very well… though if this is a hint that my English needs more practice Helen, there are other ways to help me improve."
He hadn't said it suggestively at all, he never did, but even so, Helen shot him a – slightly amused – warning look as she sat down. A silent plea not to start acting out, to embellish the task just to make a point: an accusation to which he feigned a simple innocence which not one of them believed. James even snorted, though it did little to deter Nikola's knowing smile.
"Go on then," John prompted as Helen settled onto the seat next to him.
Tesla shot him a look, which the larger man enjoyed smugly as proof that he was the less bothered out of the two of them, before dramatically clearing his throat. "A Visit From Saint Nicholas," he smiled slightly at the title, a momentary light and briefest glance to Helen indicating the warmth he felt at the realisation that this had always been his intended task. She smiled back, knowing the penny had dropped, and settled back to enjoy his act. "Twas the night before Christmas," he began, dropping his voice to a mysterious hush, "when all thro' the house, Not a creature was stirring… not even a mouse;" his moustache twitched as he smiled, eyes lighting up in the telling, at his captive audience, "The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas… soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar plums danc'd in their heads."
He continued through the poem, adding a slight yawn to the tone of 'nap', speeding up as the story sprang into action, and hanging on the words just as the moment required. Helen's smile grew wider as he wrapped the words in their sounds, as the clatter of St Nick's reindeers arrived, as he donned the persona of the jolly present-giver himself. She felt herself snuggle into her seat a little further as he read of St Nicholas appearing down the chimney.
"His eyes –" Nikola looked her in the eye in that pause, smirking as he read on, "how they twinkled! His dimples: how merry, His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry; His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;" he looked towards James and his bushy beard with a cheeky glint, "The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath." He paused a moment, turning to Griffin with an inordinate amount of glee, "He had a broad face, and a little round belly-"
"Hey, what you tryin' to im- ow."
Helen elbowed Griffin in the side to shut him up.
"That shook when he laugh'd, like a bowl full of jelly:"
Nigel settled on glaring at his friend and mouthing an 'I'll get you'.
"He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,"
Helen sniggered as Nigel's implied description got worse and worse, holding her hand to her face as if they couldn't tell that's what she was doing.
"And I laugh'd when I saw him in spite of myself; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head," He didn't particularly care to honour John with a line but, it seemed the next was a little too much of a gift to pass up, "Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread" even if it had come out a good deal more arrogant than the author's intent.
They all settled down as he sucked them back into the narrative:
"He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And fill'd all the stockings; then turn'd with a… jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprung to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle:
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight —
Happy Christmas to all," he hung a moment, enjoying the sight of them all to varying degrees enthralled like children being told a story, "and to all a good night."
Helen led the applause which, despite having been insultingly compared to a fat old elf of a saint, Nigel joined in with enthusiasm. Even John put his hands together without a hint of sarcasm, for which Nikola felt a small measure of pride and graciously took a bow – which had everyone rolling their eyes.
"Well done Nikola," Helen smiled, "or should we say St Nick?"
He scrunched his nose up at the pet name, which only gave Helen ideas.
"Some wassail punch for you!"
"Why thank you," he tasted some of the cup she'd held out to him, the apples and spices hitting his taste buds in a manner he didn't entirely care for. But with Helen smiling so generously at him, and it being Christmas… he thought better of turning it down for some wine. Next time though. Next time he wouldn't take a draught of this… concoction, unless she made it worth his while.
Honestly, he would never understand British tastes in alcohol, this… wassail punch hardly held a candle to the vruca rakija his mother made back home. He hoped they were well this Christmas, his family. He couldn't afford to go back this year, not after the whole Edison debacle, and he couldn't stomach the thought of asking someone for money to do so. To be honest he'd been rather depressed at the thought of Christmas this year, until Helen had invited them all here.
"So Helen," James began, "what do you plan to entertain us with?"
"Ah yes, I do believe it's Miss Magnus' turn," John smirked.
She cast her eyes across them all, slightly embarrassed, "Well… I am going to act out a scenario from history, or literature, in one minute," she could see them all very interested in this proposal, "opposite each of you in turn, with the scenario supplied by the other three!"
They all looked in equal parts horrified and bowled over by the brilliance of such a game, and all the possibilities for hilarity that should ensue.
"Quite the challenge," James acknowledged, not without his reservations and an arched eyebrow making themselves known.
"James, come on," she beckoned, giving Nikola his cue to sit.
"What?"
"Come on, you're first," she grinned impishly. "The rest of you, come up with something for us to enact."
Nigel and Nikola looked at each other with matching grins of mischief, and John couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Oh dear James, I don't believe I shall be able to make this easy on you."
"As if you'd want to," Watson returned.
They whispered amongst themselves for a moment, John occasionally trying to intercede with the tone of a man trying to go a bit easier on his friends and failing to bring the others round to his way of thinking. Finally they decided and Nikola proclaimed, with the most anticipatory grin Helen had ever seen, "Adam and Eve, discussing the apple."
There was complete silence for a minute second before Nigel sniggered, and at James' galled expression even John couldn't retain a smirk. Or Helen. That's when Watson straightened himself – and his cuffs – with a defiant, "Fine." And Helen knew from the way he'd glanced to her that the game was afoot. "Someone set the time."
John took the watch from his waistcoat pocket, "Ready?"
"As I'll ever be," Watson grumbled, knowing damn well the terrible two had picked this motif precisely to embarrass them into saying something ridiculous.
"Set. Go."
"Adam," Helen came over to James, placing her hands upon his arm as she might do to some beau courting her, and looking excitedly into his yes – she was very convincing. It was more than a little unnerving in point of fact. "Come over here," she said, "I have just found these most delicious apples. Just divine!"
"But haven't we tasted all the apples darling?"
"Oh no," She started trying to tug him towards the Christmas tree, her voice becoming a hint more subversive, "not all."
This earned her a light chuckle from John and Nigel.
"Did we miss one? I swear we've eaten every fruit known to man!"
John burst out laughing, though he'd said it so deadpan it took Nigel a second to get the joke. Even Nikola gave a chuckle, impressed at how James had slipped into his role and taken up the gauntlet.
Helen gave him a long-suffering huff, "Adam, my love, these are special apples."
"Special?" he turned up his nose in intrigue, "How so?"
She unwrapped herself from him, gesturing as she explained, as if to a child, "They make you smarter."
"Oh? Oh, wait a moment, you don't mean the ones on the…" he leant in closer with a stage whisper, "tree that should not be mentioned?"
She made a show of looking around for someone eves dropping, and then shook her head as if this was a stupid gesture, what with God being omnipresent. "Look, God told us not to eat them, correct?"
"Oh yes." He put his hands in his pockets, in mimicry of a tradesman-type, "Or else face the pains and fires of death, and hell… whatever those things, actually, are. They don't sound very pleasant Helen- er, Eve."
The boys chuckled at the mistake, Nigel making an 'ah we saw you mess up' sounding jeer that James eyed him critically for.
"Well quite," she circled him, as the snake must have Eve, laying a hand on his shoulder as she came back round to face the audience, "what is death? Why should it be something to be afraid of? Why shouldn't we taste such a delicious, succulent, sweet fruit-"
"Dear…" Adam wouldn't have said 'God', James reminded himself, "Angels above, you've had one." He shuffled away from 'Eve' as if she'd just grown horns.
She smiled innocuously, "Don't worry my love, look – I'm fine." she held up her hands, "See? Nothing happened to me."
He continued to look at her dubiously.
"I didn't eat it and drop down asleep, or have something evil befall me. And now I know how to build a fire!"
"A… fire?"
"Yes, it keeps you warm at night."
"Well why do I need that, God keeps us warm."
"Yes, and wouldn't it be nice to give God a rest from having to take care of us all the time?"
"No," James emphasised emphatically… "otherwise we'd have to do all the work."
They all chuckled.
"Wait, is this why you're wearing those ridiculous leaves," he drew his finger in circles in her general direction.
"Oh, so now you notice?" She put her hands on her hips, playing disgruntled housewife all-too-well, "That's just typical. If God does something it's all – ooh look, isn't that just perfect, I do something to look pretty and-"
"Time!" John chuckled out, reluctant to stop them.
They applauded James and Helen, who took a little bow, James refilling his cup of wassail as if he needed it this time.
"Well done James," Nikola offered, clearly impressed.
"Good show old chap… and lovely as ever Helen." She definitely blushed at that.
"Nice one."
"Who would the Queen of the Stage like to accompany her next?" Nikola asked, to Helen's eye-roll.
"Nigel, come on, I can see you getting antsy down there."
Nigel soon stepped up for his go, grinning alongside Helen and whispering with her, trying to guess what revenge James might have planned. It didn't take long however before Nikola launched out of their discussion with a response: "Griffin, you are Henry VIII," Nigel seemed very pleased at this role he'd been cast in, "telling Katherine Howard-"
"No," chided James, "Catherine of Aragon, surely."
"Don't you think it'd be bit more of a challenge," argued John, "for Helen to play a teasing adolescent harlot than a paragon of good womanhood?"
"Telling Katherine Howard," Nikola insisted over top of them with a somewhat stormy look for the interruption, "that she's about to be beheaded!"
They sat back as Helen and Nigel grinned at each other.
"Are you ready?"
"Ready," Helen smirked at John.
"Oh yes," Nigel rubbed his hands together with excitement.
"One minute starting… now."
Nigel's entire demeanour changed, his chest puffing with air to give the appearance of the gout-ridden Tudor. He wandered over like a small man pretending to be an oversize soldier, Helen almost cracked up right then and there.
"Oh-ho, Henry, my king!" She dashed over, hands flung up in a rather ridiculous impersonation of some young flighty debutante, remembering to curtsy in just enough time not to seem rude, "What brings you here this fine eve-"
"Silence wench." Griffin, it seemed, had only Pantomimes to base his acting skills upon, though he had gone to the effort of deepening his voice. Or trying to.
Helen's hands flew to her face in shock, "But your majesty, whatever is-"
"I said silence unruly witch," he stormed towards her as threateningly as possible, causing all three men to snigger, and Griffin to pause to glare at them. The glare was more convincing. He grabbed Helen's wrist – a little too harshly, "Sorry," he whispered, making her flash a grin, "I will know the truth! Hast ye lain with other men?!"
She didn't answer, shaking her head enthusiastically.
"SPEAK woman!"
"But m'lord you impressed upon me to be silent."
Another bout of laughter from their audience of three.
"Well I say speak your answers to the questions I ask. Hast you been a true wife to me?"
"Of course my lord."
He released her, "Liar! If I open these chests will I not find some errant knave, half-naked from one of your illicit affairs?" Griffin enthusiastically pretended to be opening said chests and slamming their lids back down disappointedly.
"Henry! What on earth-?"
"It matters not!" he shouted, pointing at her accusatorily, "Harlot ye are beknownst to be!"
"Beknownst?" James questioned quietly across towards John.
"Is that even a word?" Nikola added.
"Oh don't be silly my dear Kingy-wingy-"
Everyone was looking at Helen in surprise.
"Kingy-wingy?" Griffin managed, completely losing his character for a moment. "I mean," he put on a deeper, more outraged tone, "Kingy-wingy? Oh, you shall belittle me no more with your sickening diminutives Katherine Whore-ard."
They winced at the poor attempt at a pun.
"Whatever do you mean?" she gasped, Griffin's pantomime style rubbing off on her.
"Guards!"
"Henry?"
"Seize the whore."
"Henry, what is the meaning of this? What are you doing?" looking desperately every which-way, Helen reached for Nigel's arm, "Husband, I implore you."
"No. You shall implore me no more, nor entreat with your…" Nigel's eyes wandered down, somewhat embarrassed to be doing so to a friend, "assets." But it got a laugh.
"But I'm your wife, Henry!"
"No more."
"Am I to be divorced?!" She started to cry.
"After whoring yourself? Oh, you shall wish you were divorced Katherine. No, no. Take her to the tower!"
"The tower!" she squealed.
"You shall be executed in the morning!"
James' eyes narrowed at the improbability of such a plot device happening in real life, even in a fictional world.
"No!" Helen threw herself at his feet, clasping her hands as if in prayer, "Please, my lord, my sovereign, have mercy!" She clung to his legs, "As God is my witness-"
"Time!" John called, to a round of applause and Nigel's relief
"Bloody hell," Griffin helped her up from the floor, "had me going for a minute there."
She grinned, "Oh nonsense."
"Very well done," James announced, "even if Henry's Southwalk accent was coming through."
"Yeah, yeah," Griffin waved him off, "you're the ones that did the casting."
He settled back in amongst them with even more punch, a bit winded by the experience, and Helen picked out Nikola next. John could've sworn she'd thrown him a wink, as if telling him she was saving him for last. He smiled to himself, putting his heads together with Watson and Griffin until Nigel put a spin on James' suggestion that had John laughing in agreement. Meanwhile, Nikola and Helen were starting to raise quizzical eyebrows at each other nervously.
"If it's something terrible Nikola I will blame you entirely."
"Me?"
She smiled, "Well you have been seated on the panel that had two of them in purposefully embarrassing roles."
"What's so embarrassing about the first man and King Henry VIII? Especially when they have such a wonderful actress to work with?"
She almost rolled her eyes at the flattery but managed to nod in polite scepticism instead, "Mhmm."
"Right, we have made our decision," James announced.
"Nikola," John continued, "will play Hamlet, and Helen, the fair Ophelia…"
"After she's gone mad," Nigel added, a great big grin forming, "and discussing… kittens."
There was a moment's pause as Helen tried to assess whether they were merely pulling their leg.
"Kittens?" Nikola asked in disbelief.
Nigel's mischievous grin remained.
"You want us to reduce your... Bard to… kittens?" there was a smirk starting in his face however, and it wasn't going to be denied, "Oh Griffin I would have expected this from, but you two?" his finger danced between them, "The 'poet' and Mr stickler for historical accuracies?"
James gave an acknowledging grimace, as if he had been somewhat reluctant in this, "Think of it as a test of your acting ability."
"Not to mention ruddy hilarious," John added with an arched eyebrow at the rest of the boys.
"Well it's been a few years since I read Hamlet…"
"I don't think we're supposed to give an accurate representation Helen," Nikola smirked.
"Go on then, let us begin," she nodded to Nikola, then across to, "John?"
"Ready… set… go."
"Ah, here comes the fair Ophelia," Nikola began as sullenly as possible, watching Helen meander around before him, dancing to a tune in her head, and staring at the floor. It was about the point she passed around him, having still not acknowledged him, that he repeated himself a little louder. "I said… here comes the fair Ophelia."
She glanced up questioningly, like a marionette, "Oh look yonder, a kitten!"
Excitedly she walked towards him, ruffling a hand through his pristine hair and somehow containing her glee at how he was going to take it. After all, Ophelia wouldn't burst out in a hearty laugh at the confused and annoyed glare she had gotten once he'd managed to pull his head back from her dextrous hands. His eyes creeping up to where they would never be able to see and sensing the ruffled mess his hair had now become.
"There, there kitten," she continued with a manic smile, catching the guffaws from the audience and attempting to pet him again.
Nikola pulled back more quickly this time, shooting a glare at the boys who were fair bursting their stays, before regaining his character. "I had heard them call you mad, and now I can see it with my own two eyes."
"My, but you yowl so loud." She started to try to pet him again and he took a counter step back.
"And it was my bloody hands which have led to this." He tried to catch her wrists and stop her continued attempts to mess up his hair, "All thoughts of revenge and none of-"
"Kittens?"
He smirked at the hilarious, if slightly simple, expression on Helen's face, "Oh my sweet, dear Ophelia," he was half-way to laughing her name, "I did say the nunnery would be the safest place for you."
Helen started turning and twisting away, pulling out her skirt as she swirled, like a little girl. Though one could tell from her expression that she was finding the charade hard to maintain, "Soft, so soft the fur. And all-over black, down long tails."
They all quirked their head at the oddly specific colour choice.
"I shall hunt down Claudius and run him through!" Nikola said over-dramatically, all semblance of taking this seriously evaporating, "What reason have I to play careful when his part is now clear?"
"NO!" Helen turned and threw out a hand to him like some ancient Sibyl, eyes blank and yet all-seeing. The drama of it threw them all into an absorbed, rapt, silence.
"Why? What do you see?"
She came right up to him, staring into his eyes with an almost aggressive determination that made Nikola's toes tingle, "A kitten that will grow into a black cat; and all the ill omens that come with that."
"Ill, perhaps for those around them…"
She started to laugh and twirl again, in stark contrast to his faux-melancholic demeanour, "And more!"
"Ophelia…" she carried on dancing, ignoring him, "I am sorry." She slowed down to a pause, the expression so genuine one might have been fooled into thinking it were real. Though none of them could think of a reason Nikola himself might've been apologising with such unabashed sincerity, "So very sorry."
Before 'Ophelia' could respond John called time, breaking the moment like a fragile glass, and the applause had the both of them taking a short bow.
"Right," smiled Helen, taking them all in and plaintively ignoring the last minute, "John?"
Nikola ambled back to his seat, purposefully avoiding another gulp of the punchbowl as John straightened himself to his full height, eyes locked on Helen's. His face fixed with that all-too adoring smile of his, taking Helen's hand as though it were the beginning of a dance and mumbling something to her as the others start to discuss their roles, kissing her knuckles. Nigel was the only one who didn't have half an eye on them, hurriedly putting forward an idea which managed to fire their imaginations. Before long James cleared his throat conspicuously, turning to the fledgling love birds starting to come together before his eyes as if it might warn them not to be making doe eyes at each other when he finally looked at them again.
"Right, for your final performance Helen, you shall play Peep-Bo from Gilbert & Sullivan's delightful Mikado," there was a hint of sarcasm in that – he had sat through the whole thing with Helen in March and hadn't been much of a fan.
Helen made an approving noise; eyes starting to sparkle at what she suspected would be John's role… knowing those three.
"And old Johnny here gets to be her dear sister Yum-Yum," Nikola grinned as John's face fell and his hands started for his hips, all hopes of playing the dashing lead dropped.
"Discussing a strange, tall, handsome-" Nikola glared at Nigel on that last adjective – as if they really needed any encouragement to compliment a man that already matched that description and was obnoxious enough, thank you very much.
"Foreign man," James added, dark eyes twinkling with his own brand of guile and mischief, "who has put up a strange form of tree inside his house, and decorated it!"
"So I am to play… a lady?"
Helen was smirking, raising an eyebrow in subtle mockery, "Only the most beautiful one in all of Titipu."
He gave her a look too amused to be offended, "Goodness me, you lot are worse than the College Teams!"
"Oh do stop your bellyaching," James cheered, adding after taking a sip of his drink, "at least we haven't found you a costume."
"That could be arranged," Nikola teased brightly, earning a momentary glare from John that only made him grin wider – and Helen.
"Come on John," she turned him slightly with a hand on his upper arm, that knowing smirk of hers that was so bewitching, "help me finish this. James, would you do the honours?" She didn't trust Nikola or Nigel not to prolong John's agony for a giggle.
"Of course. Are you ready? Set?" he paused a moment longer, "Go."
Helen took up the standard Japanese Lady-in-Kimono pose, lips pressed together like a China doll, eying John to do the same and follow her example. She turned to him and they bowed together like two Chinamen down the centre.
"How are you dearest Yum-Yum?" Helen asked John.
He looked out of the corner of his eye, feeling exceptionally self-conscious, "Very well-"
Helen coughed, eying him with a twisted mock disapproval – he knew what she meant, and he sighed. The things he'd do for this magnificent woman.
"Very well thank you," he repeated in a high-pitched 'woman's voice that had the chaps sputtering with laughter at his expense. Even Helen contained a chuckle that made her cheeks blush. "Er… and you?"
"Well." Helen turned out to the audience with a very mechanical-doll sort of way, as if about to break out in song at any minute. "I have just heard the most astounding thing Yum-Yum!" She smirked at the name – oh she was going to take every opportunity to use it, and her audience clearly approved.
"Really." He sighed at the slight glare, straightening himself to match her position, "Really Peepy?"
She eyed him with delight at the sarcastic diminutive, her dimples flexing as she contained herself, "Yes indeed. There is a tall, handsome stranger in the neighbourhood."
"Oh?" he raised his eyebrow cockily, "Tell me does he have a wife?"
She sniggered, "Yum-Yum!" she feigned shock, covering her face with her arm as the Three Little Girls had hidden their own smiles, "He is a… European!"
There was a universal 'boo' from the boys.
"And he does something very strange with his trees!" She added enthusiastically.
John thought of something highly inappropriate to reply – she could see it in his face – but ever the gentleman, he restrained himself with a quirked eyebrow and a short clear of his throat. "Oh?"
"Yes indeed!" she span to face him again as they had when they'd bowed, "He brings a large tree inside his house – even now – and places odd things upon its branches until it is quite covered with… with… lights, and origami, and ribbon."
In the corridor, Gregory could hear his daughter's play-acting, the same tone she'd used as a girl, pretending to speak to the 'imaginary friends' who had always possessed a startling similarity to the few abnormal life-forms he had treated in her infant years. How she'd ever seen them, he'd never know, but he was certain Helen had made it her life's mission to be a constant source of surprise for him. He opened the door just a crack to watch on and smiled at the sight of her stage-partner. Mr Druitt looked quite ridiculous.
"How very bizarre!" he turned to her with the same enthusiasm, his enormous frame bending slightly so that their heads were closer together, "Is it some strange custom or is he unwell? …Must I nurse him better?" he smirked.
"Oh Yum-Yum," she blushed, "you are so very naughty! It is some attempt to ward off bad spirits I think – but he is doing it all wrong."
"Oh! Well then, we had best visit and educate him."
"I do not think Ko-Ko will be very happy with that Miss Yum-Yum." Helen pretended to be serious, crossing her arms like an insolent child, "Besides…" she smiled naughtily, "if we let the bad spirits make him ill…"
"Then who shall make him better?"
"Except his most devoted nursemaids," Helen nodded with a silly grin.
"Uh, No. I don't think so."
"What?"
"Nursemaids?"
"Well you're not leaving me out!" she chastised, oblivious to James calling time, and raising a rather imperious eyebrow, "And I am by far the better doctor."
"I said time Miss Peep-Bo," James stressed with a chuckle, snapping the two of them out of it as Gregory made himself known with a clap at the door.
They all turned around to Dr Magnus, John going bright red in embarrassment at having been seen doing so by a man he held in such high esteem – Helen's father no less!
"Dr Magnus," he addressed with a not-too-smooth smile that had Nikola smirking evilly, Griffin grinning, and even James smirking.
"The Mikado?" Gregory chuckled, coming into the room.
"Some bastardised form of it I'm afraid," Helen cheered, taking her own cup from the wassail bowl and pouring one for her father.
"Oh, no thank you Helen, I was just popping my head in."
She paused, looking expectantly to her father and still trying to regulate her beating heart behind her pushed-together lips.
He looked at the four gentlemen, their warm cheeks, their easy postures – so comfortable here, like a pack of pups who'd found a den. It was nice, in a way, to have the house so full… it had always been just the two of them, and the servants, after Patricia had died. He cleared his throat at the sombre thought, "Yes, I just wanted to say gentlemen, that you are most welcome to the use of the spare beds in the house, should you stay too late."
"You are far too kind Dr Magnus," James hastened, "it really shouldn't be necessary."
"Yeah," Nigel added, "Thanking you kindly sir, but we're really not based so far from here as to not find our way."
Gregory nodded knowingly, pleased to have received such a proper response from at least two of their number, "Even so. The fogs are treacherous this time of year. I shouldn't care to be treating your wounds should you run afoul of some night-cart or ruffian, so if you cannot obtain a cab please do take up my offer." He saw John about to offer his appropriate answer – a little delayed – and Gregory waved him off, "It is no trouble, I assure you."
"Thank you father," Helen smiled.
They shared a look – of love, and trust, and pride.
"Yes, thank you sir." James led the others in a round of thanks which even Mr Tesla was not remiss in joining.
Gregory nodded, "You're most welcome. I bid you goodnight, gentlemen," they all indicated their thanks for the evening and goodbyes, "Helen."
She quickly came over, as she always did when he said goodnight – to stop him walking too far. Mollycoddling him in that stealthy fashion she'd adopted since his first major injury, the one which had made her realise his age, his mortality in a way she hadn't fully until then. It was entirely unnecessary, but he indulged it anyway. Partly to let her feel better, and partly so he didn't have to explain why his leg had, in fact, been entirely healed. There were many things he still dreaded her discovering, and like all fathers, he sought to put those discoveries off as long as humanly possible.
He took one last glance at them all. The way they looked at her as she approached him. He could trust they had enough respect for Helen that there'd be nothing untoward going on beneath his roof… well, trust James to keep them in line, at least. And that Griffin fellow, he seemed to be a good-natured sort.
She embraced him, and kissed him on the cheek as he did her, "Goodnight father."
"Don't stay up too late-" he smiled, leaving them be and closing the door.
Helen didn't turn around at first. The atmosphere suddenly thick with the shared thought, the secret foremost in their minds, she stood there. Closing her eyes and chastising herself for the hundredth time for what she had done – what she was doing. She wasn't lying – true – but she was hiding something. Something big. Something which they all knew Gregory Magnus would disapprove of. At times like this it clawed at her – the deception, when he trusted her so much.
The boys slowly started to look at each other in the pregnant pause. John to James – that shared concern for her, for what the research was doing to her already, before they'd even concocted a viable solution. She always adamantly refused that she was losing her nerve – in which she was inevitably egged on by Tesla – and such moments of reflection swung round to such fierce resolution, such commitment, it was hard to make a case. James was as curious as she though… if she were to shut the research down, should they be discovered and even loose Dr Magnus' high esteem, he – unlike John – would feel the bitterness of not-knowing like a second stab to his already wounded pride that would irk and bore away at him. If he wasn't careful, it might even develop into some obsession as had his first brush with ignorance. He would graciously accept any decision Helen might make, of course, but if she cast him back into that boring, mundane world they had all left behind as a result, he could not vouch for what might become of their friendship. Or what might become of him.
James caught Griffin's eye. Nigel's heart was always worn on the sleeve, his worry plain enough, and the look Watson gave him reminded him that yes, Helen's concerns could well put an end to it. Nigel glanced back at Helen, then Tesla, who was fixed on her still, observant eyes and a decidedly neutral expression, for him. Was he having doubts? Griffin wondered. Out of all of them, it was Nikola who seemed most eager for this, the most focused on their goal. For Nigel it was a ticket out of it, in a way. Out of obscurity, out of having to make a decision about his life, out of having to go back to the work-a-day world he'd been born to. Even so… he would not want to risk Helen's fate, or any of them, for a vaporous dream. They were maybe months away from testing this theory. It wasn't too late. They could reassess the situation when the time came, and if she, if any of them, didn't want to be involved, there was no shame in that. He could be the guinea pig… if that's what she was afraid of, though he wasn't too keen on the idea.
Nikola, however, knew what had made her sigh like that, what had made her put a hand to her head. Knew the fear of disappointing one's father, the silence of it, more dreadful even than the storm of their wrath, the slap of their belt or cane. He had a feeling though, that her father loved her more. That he would be more forgiving of such a transgression, not least should they discover what they hoped – the origins of abnormality, the culmination of all those years of Gregory's most radical work.
It would change the world. Far more than that damn light bulb Edison was so proud of.
He looked away, as if sensing that what he had witnessed in her was a private moment he, they, shouldn't have been privy to. He glanced at the man whose feet his eyes had landed on – Druitt. Did he really understand? He was the picture of concern, certainly, but they all knew he was the least enthused with this entire endeavour. The least invested in its success. In a way he was merely along for the ride – a friend who knew too much and could hardly be left in the cold. He wasn't a complete idiot, at least, but hardly the fellow genius they needed on such a complex problem. No, John Druitt was a man of action, a man of black and white, and all the certainty that came with that. From time to time he even managed a rather fantastic display of the narrow-mindedness which Nikola so completely and utterly despised in humanity. How he managed to hold Helen's attention so well he, quite literally, could not fathom. And that only aggravated him more.
John wondered whether he should go to her. He wanted to. He wanted to hold her in an embrace and pet her blonde curls, and make her feel safe. Wanted to be there for her – whether it was to finish this wondrous experiment her brilliant mind had envisaged, or tell her father of it, or put an end to it, quietly, before it went too far. Except he could never quite read her mind. Could never be sure whether she would accept his affection, or belittle him for treating her like a concerned nursemaid. Half the time he acted on faith alone and the other half, he hesitated, like now, kicking himself for not being more of a man about it.
"Helen?" he finally queried.
She turned instantly, with that composed smile and a little shake that seemed to file all that away for another bright and breezy day. One day, John thought to himself, one day he would kiss through that carefully constructed shell and reach the woman underneath. The way she looked at him. God, that woman was looking back behind blue windows, admitting that all he suspected was true. That she had doubts, every day. That the thought of betraying her father was twisting her gut into knots.
What he could not read though, was the fear that it wouldn't work. That it would all be for nothing. She was so sure, so certain, of their hypothesis, of the ways it might change their understanding, the very nature of their world. Above it all, above everything though, she couldn't bear the thought of failure. Of having to go to her father and admit what she'd done… and that it had all gone terribly wrong. She knew they all did. Every one of them held a respect for her father, his work, that she found genuinely endearing – even Nikola. He didn't act so casually, break convention so easily, around just anyone. It betrayed an admiration he held for few others in this world.
They all looked up to Gregory Magnus, each in their own way. Which was why it had been an unspoken covenant between them from the very start: for their research on the Source Blood to remain entirely a secret which they, and they alone, shared. Until the results. Until the world was ready for the work of The Five as they'd jokingly dubbed themselves, to become known.
"Well gentlemen, what next?" she began brightly, purposefully looking to them all, and not just focusing on John – as if to do so would be to crack.
"Let's open some presents!" Nikola suggested as she wandered back into the circle they formed.
"Nikola," she chided, "it isn't Christmas yet."
"Well back home we don't give gifts at Christmas – but the three Sundays before it. So if anything we're running behind," he smiled jauntily at her, for the three presents she had already received. Small things really. Trinkets of no true value but meaning enough that she didn't want to remind him of them aloud. Knowing instinctively that she was the only recipient of such gifts, and suddenly feeling the weight of John's warm gaze upon her as if reminding her of who she had first hoped they had come from.
"Yeah, but as we keep trying to remind you mate, this ain't Serbia."
Helen and James both smirked at Nigel's roots showing through as he continued to heartily consume the wassail punch.
"Quite," Helen insisted, slipping herself confidently into her father's chair. "Presents are for Christmas Eve."
Even so Nikola's smile grew more cheeky, "Alright," he shrugged, "so we wait half an hour."
"Nikola!" she play slapped him on the arm, the whole room seeming to launch into action as they reacted, "If you touch a single gift beneath that tree I swear-"
"Bloody hell is that the time already?" Griffin wondered, glancing to the clock.
"Uh, Tesla," John sighed in sufferance, stepping over behind Helen's chair, "is it so hard to simply acquiesce to the lady's demands instead of your own on this one occasion?"
"Oh no, come on Druitt," Griffin cheered, "Nikola's got a point, it is only half an hour and then technically…"
Nikola turned his sour glare at John to grin at the chemist, then look to James who clearly considered this entire discussion quite beneath him, "What about you James? Casting vote."
They all turned on him then, except John. "Since when did this become a matter for democracy?" he asked.
Helen chuckled, confident of knowing James' mind well enough, despite his enigmatic silence thus far, "Oh John, we're a Five now," she tapped his arm where it rested upon the back of her chair, "everything must go to a vote. James?" she quirked her eyebrow, sat as though in an audience with the Dean.
"Hmm," he pondered, tipping his head up from his oh-so-relaxed posture in his chair and rather enjoying having the power in his hands. "I say we wait until midnight."
Helen didn't hide her shock, "Well Dr Watson, here I was thinking you were a traditionalist."
"And technically I am not breaking with tradition, now am I?" he smiled.
They eventually decided to play a game to pass the thirty – well, twenty minutes – until the witching hour, by the time they'd ended their bickering.
"How? What? Where? When?" James suggested.
"God no!" Huffed Griffin, "You'll bloody win."
"I know." Helen announced, in a manner which was clearly going to be the end of the discussion, and had her grinning that understatedly wicked smile, "How about… Sculptor?"
"Sculptor?"
"Oooh, good one."
"Er…"
"I'm game," John smirked.
It took them another ten minutes to explain it all to Nikola and choose who'd go first. The aim of the game was for the appointed 'Sculptor' to put all the other participants into poses. Poses which they must hold without laughing, breaking or moving at all. The first to do so would lose the game, and become the next Sculptor.
It was a couple of rounds before it came to Helen and when it did, she couldn't stop smirking at them as she arranged them each in their position. First was Nigel – she raised one of his knees, and moved his elbow until he was like a runner. Then Nikola, because she suspected he'd be the first to fidget. She made him look somewhat like a bunny rabbit, with his hands above his ears, and his knees bent. Nigel really struggled not to laugh at that.
Then, after James' grumblings about being a little too old for this, she put him hunched over, like an old man with a walking stick, putting a hand to his aching back. Finally she came to John. She stood for a moment, making a show of wondering what to do to him, and watching his face light up at the prospect.
Decided, she squatted one of his knees, raising the other, leaning his back over his front and pulling one of his gangly limbs forward as if reaching out with a line, whilst the other one reached back. It was a devilishly hard position to keep and she hadn't even finished yet. With a knowing smile she tipped his chin up to look her in the eye, and that just about did it. He went careening into her with a surprised 'whoa!' and a laugh that just about summed up the spirit of Christmas. She laughed too where she'd fallen beneath him, as he struggled quickly to get up, apologising all the while.
"Oh God Helen, I'm sorry. That was a complete accident, I couldn't avoid you!"
"Yeah sure," Nikola piped up dryly, "'accident'."
Helen sniggered.
"Is that a snigger I hear Miss Magnus?" John teased, patently ignoring Nikola – though both James and Nigel were staring at him as if to ask where on earth such a blatant insinuation had come from. Sure they all suspected something was brewing here, but no one was going to say anything about it… except Nikola just did. Not only that, but he had crossed his arms like a vexed child, the picture of disgust as the two potential paramours made eyes at each other, believing themselves to be discreet.
That Nikola didn't get along with John was hardly a secret, but more than that. James rather suspected Nikola felt himself suffering the loss of a close friend and accomplice every time her eyes fell upon John. Just as he too felt the twinge of what might have been. If he'd only had eyes to see, a little sooner, before she had managed to make John so happy – to realise that she was peerless, unique, perhaps the only woman who could have ever been his match.
The bells of the mantle-piece clock chimed cheerfully, shattering their internal reveries with the sound of midnight.
"Aha, present time!" Griffin grinned, eager for the distraction to whatever the hell was going on here.
"Wait, Nigel," Helen pleaded.
"Oh come on Helen, you can't back out of it now," Nikola taunted.
"Oh believe me, I have no intention of that," she insisted practically, turning to Nigel in particular and urging him to stay his hand – which he did, as she explained herself. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial hush, "Actually, I… er, want to give you all something, first." She played with her finger uncertainly, as she sometimes did when explaining, "Only… you have to be very quiet," she cast her eyes pleadingly over them all – lingering on the usual suspects, "and… and you can't say a word to anybody."
"Well, that's nothing we haven't done before," James pointed out.
The others nodded, reflecting Helen's seriousness with the utmost sincerity. She smiled, relieved, taking up her glass. "Come on, bring a glass of something," she led them out the door, into the darkened corridor without a lamp. She didn't need it. She knew every inch of her home now. Knew exactly where to tread in the night, which paths creaked less, which panel gave way to a stair-well, to another, secret, locked door.
She checked behind her constantly, still so disbelieving that her four fellows were following her. John was right there beside her, then Nikola, and Nigel – James bringing up the rear with a knowing tip to his shadowy head as they approached. She revealed a key she'd shoved up her garter… much to Nikola's amusement, Nigel's absolute amazement, and John's slight, rather sweet embarrassment on her behalf. James was too far back to see, thank God, even though the most they could've glimpsed at were her ankles.
She grinned defiantly, twisting the key in the lock and showing them through. "Wait a moment," she whispered, "don't go too far."
James shot in to keep them back, though Nikola was already stayed by the realisation of where he stood from the strange padding of feet and beating of wings he could hear. Helen shut the door, lighting an oil lamp hung on by the entrance and using it, in the small circle of light, to turn on the gas lamps all around and reveal it to them. Her father's greatest work: a kind of hospital for abnormals. He called it his Sanctuary.
The wide columns in the cellar were like a medieval monastery's tithe barn, elaborate yet utilitarian. Between some were cells, with doors, and occasionally locks. In other places stood cages like one might see for pets yet to be purchased, but elsewhere only beds – empty at the moment – like a hospital ward. It was warm, surprisingly so, and for John and Griffin, who had never been here, it was fascinating, perplexing even.
"Where… are we?" John finally asked, stepping over to one of the doors and peeping in through the hatch to see a recovering creature with feathered wings, a human head, and almost scaly hands and feet.
"Careful," Helen charmed, pulling him gently back to her father's patient desk, "she doesn't like men a great deal. Bad experience… or three."
He glanced at her quizzically.
"This is why we're here John," James added authoritatively from the door. "The legacy we seek to continue with our work."
"Bloody hell," Griffin managed, understatedly, noticing the abnormal anatomical skeleton hanging from the ceiling, "this is just… amazing."
Nikola grinned at him, "Oh you wait until you see the laboratory."
"Wait, you mean you saw all this and you never breathed a word – never told me?"
He looked at him as if to say 'what? I can keep my word… when it suits me', but James managed to shatter that illusion pretty quickly: "The first and last time he was down here I don't believe Tesla could be entirely sure he actually had been down here."
Nikola gave him a withering look for being such a killjoy, and giving Nigel an excuse to tease.
"What, drank too much wine?"
"No."
"I believe it was a… Llamhigyn y Dŵr, wasn't it?" Helen pretended not to be sure, "Kind of half-frog, half-bat. With hallucinogenic saliva if I recall."
Nigel pulled a face at Nikola, half disgust, half amusement, "I don't think you were supposed to kiss it mate."
"Yes, thank you, funnily enough it spat at me without asking my permission."
John chuckled, "Bad luck old boy."
Again the withering look fell in Druitt's direction.
Helen chuckled too, "Aw Nikola, I am sorry to have left you thinking you'd imagined it. But... well… I was afraid you might let it run away with you. When you weren't even supposed to know…"
He couldn't deny that was a fairly accurate assessment.
"And now… since The Five," she smiled at them, "I know you all share the same belief in the improbable. That you'll understand… my work, my father's work. So, this," she breathed collectively, looking out across the hall, "this is my gift to you."
They all looked at her, drawing into a circle of five as if she had pulled a chord on each of them. She raised her glass and they each, rather touched, followed her lead. "A toast," she proposed, "to The Five: my companions on this journey into the unexplored, and the unknown."
"To The Five," They echoed uniformly, filling the air with a sense of belonging Helen had never felt before. A feeling that lit her veins with a positivity that must have infused the air for they all seemed just as infected by it. There was that sense of the impossible becoming reality: that they stood at the heart of something stronger, more powerful than any one of them alone. Together she was sure they could change the world – for the better. Venturing into the unknown was only the beginning.
Author's Note: So this, ladies and gents, is how I picture their very first Christmas together as "The Five". :) The theme – Five Gold Rings – represents the five books of the Old Testament (Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy) which as a whole represent God's covenant with Man and how important faithfulness and purity are to humans who want to uphold their end of the deal. So really, I wanted to make this piece about The Five's covenant with each other, their faith in that, and the purity of their aims at the start. The innocence of what they were about to unleash, but also the understanding that they were playing with fire.
Did some research for this into Victorian Christmases, and was quite taken with the tradition of putting on a little Christmas show in the Parlour. I thought it was slightly more original than present giving and trees, and stuff so… ta da! And did you know you can find weather reports for the 1880s online? Ha! In terms of the layout of the Mangus home, I'm presuming the London Sanctuary was originally Gregory's family home and was subsequently expanded and changed over the years – so the grand entrance you see in Tempus (which is basically where I envisage the parlour) hasn't been created yet by knocking down a few walls. My theory is that happens when Helen and James open up their 'practice' there and it becomes predominately Helen's home.
I was also keen for Nikola to be less aware of his own feelings for Helen, and less erm, sleazy in his banter… also Magnitt… surprisingly nice to write, actually. As a Teslen fan you may be surprised to learn that I am not adverse to canonical Magnitt, I just don't believe there ever was a universe where their relationship could have stood the test of time (that being said, I don't think the same of Teslen either). And I think Out of the Blue kinda backs me up on that. More to the point I just don't think John and Helen are on quite the same wavelength as Helen and Nikola… but I digress. With any luck I did Magnitt proud – let me know if you are a fan of that ship whether you think I hit the nail or not, I'd be interested to hear.
Hope you enjoyed their little parlour games. Yes Jonathan Young fans I did kinda have the fact he finished Hamlet at Bard on the Beach in my head when I wrote this… but also, my intense desire to one day have a black kitten called Tesla. Incidentally a line of Hamlet which I think extremely true of Tesla, and even Helen: "Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go." Also the thought of John pretending to be one of the "Three Little Girls from school" has just got to be priceless. Tee hee hee. The Mikado was in fact released in March of 1885 in the London West End.
Last but not least, Llamhigyn y Dŵr, is a welsh folkloric animal – half frog, half bat. Oh yeah, grossness. Poor Nikola, getting knocked out by a frog. :D No prizes for guessing how he managed to be the one knocked out.