Disclaimer: Everything but the plotline belongs to Libba Bray, who declared herself my crazy Aunt Libba with red lipstick and a fez on twitter once. True facts. Also, this chapter is a little longer. Heyo.
In the library, Henry can be found curled in a chair with a small picture book by a nearby maid, who I assume is there to watch him as she dusts the shelves. Thought most of the books found here are for young ladies, Mrs. Nightwing seems to have expanded her horizons past literature solely written to put entire classes of schoolgirls to sleep and acquired some books for mere pleasure for the younger girls.
"Mama!" Henry smiles when he sees me. "Mrs. Nightwing gave me this!" The book is small and very colorful.
"Did she? Did you thank her?" I put my hands on my hips playfully.
"Yes!" He giggles as I tickle his stomach lightly. I take his hand and help him off the chair.
"Shall I show you where I used to stay?" For a while, we roam around the old lady that is Spence. I allow him to peek into my old room, which is now occupied by a new scholarship student. I show him the East Wing, the rose garden, and tell him stories of my days as a schoolgirl. He very much enjoys hearing stories of Felicity and Ann and I as girls, though he has not yet met them.
Henry strays from my grasp, plucking a particularly lame rosebud from its bush. "Mummy, who was that man?" He tucks the rosebud into his hair and I chuckle.
"He is...an old friend." Henry plucks another rose, bounding over to me with a grin on his face. He offers it to me and I accept, tucking it into my curls just like his.
"He looks just like me!" You have no idea, dear one.
"He does. Perhaps he will come back and you can meet him." I scan the line of trees and see nothing out of the ordinary. The stables are quiet. It is just like Kartik to run off. Who knows when he will be back? I must trust him. Can I still?
The rest of the evening is spent in the great room with Mrs. Nightwing, Lillian, who feeds me details of the lives of our friends. Mademoiselle LeFarge—now Madame Kent—is living a happy life in London with the inspector and writes often. They are expecting their first child soon and I cannot be more thrilled for the two. The ghastly Cecily Temple met the son of a Baron during her season and their engagement was announced not a month later. Elizabeth and Martha met similar fates, and I cannot say I am surprised in the slightest.
She asks after my father and my friends, and I tell her that India has been treating my father well. His letters sound jollier and jollier with every passing week and his consumption, we hope, is nearly a thing of the past. Felicity is, of course, happily tucked away in the bustling city of Paris, but I already hear from her often. Ann is regularly playing at the Gaiety and is currently in rehearsals for Hamlet in the role of Ophelia. I tell her of my university days, of America, and she is overjoyed, if such a word can be said of Mrs. Nightwing, to hear of my success after Spence.
Before I left America, I wrote Ann and Fee, telling them of my plans to unite the realms. They were both eager to help and will be arriving tomorrow. I cannot wait to see them, for venturing into realms business without the two of them at my side is unthinkable. And of course, it will be wonderful to see my friends again after four long years apart.
"And what of the realms?" I ask quietly.
Lillian shakes her head. "I have heard nothing, seen nothing. Spence has been remarkably quiet since your debut, Miss Doyle." We both laugh. Henry, who scrambled off my lap long ago, has been warmly adopted by a few of the older girls, who are teaching him to curtsy. It is quite a sight. It seems that my lack of grace is so prominent that it is hereditary.
"The child," Lillian begins, "is he…"
"Kartik's? He is, indeed." Nightwing blushes, but gives no other noticeable reaction.
"He is quite remarkable." Henry curtsies low and stumbles into a small blonde ringleted girl, who tuts and corrects his form.
"He is, isn't he?" I muse aloud. Henry straightens from another failed curtsy and rubs his eyes, a yawn of magnanimous proportions contorting his features.
"Oh no, someone is looking ready for bed," I say, sweeping into the mix of girls to the boy in the middle.
"I'm not tired," he protests, fighting another yawn.
"Of course not, dear." I hold out my arms and he is willingly swept up onto my hip. His head immediately falls onto my shoulder. "You've had enough excitement for one day, I daresay. Say goodnight to the lovely girls." They all wave and say their goodnights to Henry, who waves sleepily, already wavering between the lands of consciousness and sleep. I carry him back to Nightwing, who rises.
"I will escort you to the visitor's suite." Mrs. Nightwing leaves the girls under the charge of Brigid, who begins ushering them toward bed.
The visitor's suite is on the third floor and is quite spacious. Henry and I will both have a bed, though I am sure he will ask to sleep with me, as he frequently does. "The privy is down the hall and your things are by the wardrobe. We may discuss more pressing matters tomorrow. Until then, I trust you will have a pleasant night's sleep," Mrs. Nightwing says in the familiar drone I find I have come to miss. "Goodnight. And Miss Doyle?" I stop and turn, careful not to jostle Henry. "It truly is delightful to see you again." She gives me a small smile before closing the door quietly behind her. No matter how old I grow, I fear I will never quite grow used to seeing old Nightwing smile.
I set Henry down and he teeters precariously, stretching his tired limbs as I pull open the old window, letting the English breeze in to cool the room. I half-heartedly hope Kartik will see the open window and return, but there is no sign of him on the dew-encrusted lawn. He is no longer the lantern-bearing boy I once knew. I find our bags by the wardrobe, just as Nightwing said, and open Henry's to find his nightclothes. I help him change out of his day clothes and he talks to me softly.
"Alright little prince, it's time to put you to bed."
"May I sleep with you?" he asks, putting his arms up so that I may slip his shirt on over his head.
"Of course you can." I smile, kissing his forehead and hoisting him up into bed. I undress myself, relieving myself of my corset at last, and shrug on my nightdress, crawling in bed beside Henry. He tucks his head under my chin and I cannot help the tears that slide down my cheeks in the dark.
"I love you," Henry whispers.
"I love you more, my precious boy."
With Henry fast asleep in my arms, I finally allow myself to really cry for the first time in months. Four years ago today, I lost Kartik. Today, I got him back. But if he will not accept the both of us, I will leave here just as I came and I will not allow myself to look back with regret. Henry is my life now, and I will not allow Kartik's headstrong stubbornness to come between us.
The morning comes all too soon. I bury my face in Henry's mess of curls, futilely attempting to block out the sunlight streaming in the window. As I come to, I remember where I am. It is so strange to be back at Spence and not to wake up in my old bed. Henry stirs lightly in my arms and I clutch him closer. The sound of his slow breathing is soothing. I spent many nights in America getting no sleep, plagued with the fears of a new mother. I would stand over Henry's crib for hours, watching him sleep, praying to any god that would listen for his safety. Surely I had lost enough, I told myself. I would not lose Henry.
And then there is Kartik. Was he really here? What if he does not return, and he was merely a vision, or a hallucination, something I dreamed up in my desperation for it to be true? Or worse, what if he does, in fact, return and has no desire to be a part of Henry's life? Should I tell Henry of Kartik? Tell him that was, in fact, his father? That he does not want him? No, for that would surely break his heart. I must be strong for him. I have spent three years playing both mother and father, Kartik's choice is no matter. I do not need him.
Once I am mentally braced for the day, I rouse Henry for breakfast. I am surprised to find that Spence's cooking is still as dreadful as ever. I, however, remain thankful, for I spent many days working on an empty stomach so that Henry may eat. We sit with Mrs. Nightwing as her personal guests and I could not be more grateful to her for her hospitality. We make polite conversation, occasionally interrupted by her chastising a girl for her manners. Always take small bites, never speak with your mouth full. Even Henry is particularly mindful so as to not incur her wrath.
Nightwing turns to me, an air of discretion about her. "I understand that you are here to discuss the realms, Miss Doyle. Perhaps we should extend an invitation to Kartik to join us-"
"That is not necessary," I tell her frankly, placing my utensils on my empty plate. "Kartik has expressed no interest in being involved. Shall we say we meet at two? Henry shall have a great need for a nap then and we might find some peace." Mrs. Nightwing regards me coolly for my avoidance of discussion of Kartik, but she reluctantly agrees.
As it is a Sunday, the girls are released from breakfast to partake in the morning's chapel service. I am invited and choose to attend out of respect for the school. Henry positively fidgets his way through the service, unsure what to think of the strict rituals followed by the room of girls bored stiff in their pews. I follow along, but soon enough slide Henry a stray page of my hymnal and a pencil, by which he immediately is occupied.
As we leave, I say my first true prayer of the day, which is thanks for being released from that dreadful service. Several girls skip past us on the path to the school and a small group of particularly lively girls stops to walk with Henry and I.
"Miss Doyle," the middle of the three asks, "as it is our free afternoon, my friends and I were wondering if Henry would like to join us for a game of blind man's buff on the lawn! We would so love to play with him!" Her friends join in with joyful pleading and I laugh.
"Henry, would you like to play?" He nods grandly. "Go on, then. I'll be right behind you." The girls thank me and run up the path calling for Henry to follow. He toddles behind them on his small legs. "Do be careful!" I shout after him.
I am left at the end of the pack. The long walk from the chapel to the school is no longer a nanny's tale in itself. The woods are empty of terrors now and the knowledge itself gives me peace.
"Hello." I jump as a sudden presence at my side catches me off guard. It is Kartik.
"Hello," I reply curtly, training my eyes on the path before me. Kartik grabs my shoulder and stops me, turning me to face him.
"Gemma, I have been thinking." He glances around us, noting how close we are to the school now. Small clusters of young girls traipse around not far from where we stand, hidden by the trees. "Shall we go somewhere more private to talk?"
I plant my feet solidly. "If you would like to talk, this is as fine a place as any." He gazes at me with pleading in his eyes. "I'm not a schoolgirl anymore, Kartik. You cannot simply whisk me away to the boathouse whenever you wish. I have Henry to account for now." The girls shriek, running away from Henry, who follows them in hot pursuit. "He has your eyes."
"He has your mouth," he replies with a soft smile in his voice. I turn back to him. "I have thought about it, and I will do whatever it takes to convince you that I am prepared to be a part of Henry's life." The breath I didn't know I was holding leaves me in a silent whoosh. Tears sting my eyes. "I am sorry I left. I know it must have hurt you-"
"It did," I interrupt. "Losing you once was painful, but having you walk out again…"
"I'm sorry," he repeats. He offers me his hand and I take it.
"I forgive you." We stand in silence for a moment, digesting the moment.
He watches as Henry tags one of the smaller girls, gleefully making himself scarce as she comes after him with a wide grin. "You're right. Henry does need a father. And it is high time he got one." His voice is steady and sure, and it is reassuring. Our eyes meet. "If you will have me, I will be there. I want to be a part of Henry's life. And yours." I squeeze his hand.
"Of course I will have you." He smiles and lightly tugs on my arm, pulling me to his chest, where he holds me for a moment. It has been years since I have been shown such affection. The last time someone held me was the second time I stumbled into Dr. Kittredge's office, a hysterical pregnant girl of seventeen, scared and alone and in need of guidance. She took me into her embrace, letting me cry against the pristine white of her jacket until I could cry no more.
But in Kartik's arms, I do not cry. For once, I feel safe and secure. I do not need to worry so for Henry's sake, for I am no longer alone.
I figured I'd just go ahead and post this because why not? I'm hoping that this story maybe revives what is left of the semi-dead Gemma Doyle fanbase. Nobody posts stories anymore. These are dark times for us.
More reviews means more Kartik!
Lady Hope