AUTHOR'S NOTE: I love Bert like everyone else. But I've always found something odd. Why does Mary have two entire verses of Jolly Holiday about him being a gentleman? Isn't it obvious?
But Mary has worked with thousands of children over the centuries. Maybe not all of those families are good.
This is based on the Poppins musical, with influences of the 1964 film and Mary Poppins Returns. There is a crossover with Oliver Twist (pretending Oliver lives in the Edwardian era). But the focus is Poppins.
Oh, it's a jolly holiday with you, Bert
Gentlemen like you are few
Though you're just a diamond in the rough, Bert
Underneath your blood is blue
You'd never think of pressing your advantage
Forbearance is the hallmark of your creed
A lady needn't fear when you are near
Your sweet gentility is crystal clear
"I won't allow you to thrash Oliver!"
Her blue eyes cracking like the lightning outside, Mary strides to Mr. Sowerberry. The undertaker still holds his cane aloft, and his other bony hand clutches Oliver's shirt collar. Thunder booms across the town of Mudfog, a fair distance from London. The funeral home's windows rattle, and rain lashes the glass. The golden-haired boy is petrified, tear tracks streaking down Oliver's grubby face. Mary had just washed the child that morning. But she blames the coffin maker for Oliver's state.
"This is me 'ouse!" Sowerberry barks. "Not yours, missy! As his guardian, I'll treat the lad how I sees fit!"
"My name is Mary Poppins, not missy!" The nanny grips her umbrella. The parrot's squawk is unnoticed during another clap of thunder. "Unhand him!"
Sowerberry finally releases his charge, and Oliver flees to Mary. She stands between him and the pinched-faced old man. "I am Oliver's nanny! And I won't let you hurt him!"
"He's my ward! I never wanted to hire such an outspoken woman! Remember yer place, Mary Poppet!"
"Poppins! I go where the wind blows, to children who need me! And this is a boy who requires protection!"
"Then get him out of me sight!" Sowerberry bellows.
"Come," Mary says firmly, taking the boy's hand.
Oliver needs distraction, and to be away from the funeral home. That night, Mary takes him to the town square. Drenched in English rain, Mudfog is a dreary, dirty place that earned its moniker. But there is a traveling circus, where lions talk, women fly, and penguins dance the polka. Oliver says he wants to see circuses in London.
She unwillingly takes Oliver to Sowerberry's pathetic excuse for a house. After singing Oliver to sleep in the attic, Mary wonders where she can take the child. There are so-called families beyond repair, even with magic.
Mary does have sorcery, but she is not quite omniscient. And when she wakes the next morning, Oliver is gone.
Mary packs her carpet bag and flies in the rain to London. Time is of the essence, and she refuses to set foot in Sowerberry's home again. The undertaker doesn't bother looking for the runaway.
She goes straight to the circus in the capital, but Oliver isn't there. Then she marches through the London streets, scanning crowds. Water drips from the edges of her umbrella. And then she sees a familiar tow-colored head.
Oliver is with the Artful Dodger himself. Mary huffs as she remembers the impish waif's mischievous nature. Oliver is thin and dirty again, but the dark-haired Dodger seems to have taken him in. She just hopes Fagin isn't still exploiting street children. Mary is a nanny of the highest order, from the school of fairy godmothers, and she doesn't abandon charges.
Then Dodger takes a silk handkerchief from a gentleman's pocket.
Artful Dodger bolts with the kerchief with a grin. But Oliver has little experience as a thief. The shy boy hesitates, scurrying like a mouse, and the gentleman reaches for the boy's coat.
The man in the top hat is firm, but not harsh. "You stole my handkerchief!"
"No, I didn't!" Oliver cries.
Mary is about to intervene when the white-haired man says, "How peculiar. You look so like my daughter Agnes. Spitting image."
"Oliver!" Mary calls.
She marches over to the kindly man and her charge. "There you are!" she says. "I came all the way from Mudfog to find you!" She turns to the gentleman. "I am Mary Poppins, Oliver's nanny."
"Mr. Brownlow," the old man says with a smile. "I apologize for accusing you of theft, my boy."
"Please don't make me go back to Sowerberry!" Oliver pleads.
Brownlow raises an eyebrow. "Sowerberry?"
"Oliver's guardian who provided a horrid living arrangement," she replies. "I will never let that monster near you again. I promise you that."
Settling Oliver with his grandfather isn't quite as easy as snapping one's fingers. That night, Mary flies again through the storm to the Mudfog Poorhouse for his birth certificate. The weather never fails to soak the British Isles. She finally retrieves the papers, and is able to prove that Agnes Brownlow was indeed Oliver's mother.
As Mary puts the documents on Mr. Brownlow's desk, she hears laughter from the dining room. The grandson and grandfather share a hearty, fat ham, the opposite of the watery oatmeal provided by Sowerberry. Mary stays in the hall, listening to the reunited family's mirth. She realizes the rain has ended, and a gentle breeze shakes a tree outside in the night. And so Mary walks out without a word. This job is complete, with a fairytale ending.
She dries her coat and hair with a wave of her hand. "Don't forget me," the parrot handle chirps, and she flicks her wrist again.
"There you go," she sighs. "Oliver deserves happiness at last. But I admit I will miss him–"
"So this is where you abducted him, Miss Poppet!"
Sowerberry stalks out of the shadows, lip curled to display yellow, crooked teeth. Mary clutches her umbrella again, heart leaping into her throat.
"I never abducted him," she explains. "Oliver ran away from you, and I followed. He was just reunited with his grandfather. You have no claim to him now!"
The man growls, "I'm still the guardian of that brat! First I'm gonna remind you of yer place, you impudent hussy! Then I'll extort the old man, and beat the lad black and blue!"
When he marches to the door, Mary goes to block the undertaker's path. She has never been fond of violence, but she will fight for Oliver. "I won't allow it!"
Sowerberry backhands Mary across the face.
Her head spins like she has flown through a hurricane. She tastes blood in her mouth. As a rule, Mary doesn't use magic around adults. They are too observant, ask too many questions, but children believe without wondering. Such as Alice whom Mary had just looked after, or the trio of Darling children.
But Mary sends the man flying with a spell. Sowerberry hits the cobblestones. His head smashes against the curb, and he lies motionless on the road. His chest rises and falls, but just barely.
"Good aim," the parrot says.
"Thank you," Mary gasps, heart pounding in her chest. A bruise is forming on her cheek, her lipstick is smudged. And his strike had pulled strands out of her sleek updo.
Snapping her fingers, she transports herself and the unconscious Sowerberry to Mudfog. She drops him on the doorstep of the funeral home. Not even bothering to open the door, she ignores his groan. Let him wake on the street.
And then she flies through the clear night sky again to London.
She finds the chimney sweeps on the roofs of terraced houses.
Cherry Tree Lane is a picturesque street in Kensington, and Admiral Boom's ship rigging is empty next door. But tonight she doesn't care for the view of the avenue. Bert stands, tipping his hat with a grin. "Why, it's Mary Poppins, it is!"
"Bert?" she calls as she flies unsteadily, hating that her voice breaks. "Bert!"
"What's wrong?" her faithful jack-of-all-trades calls, his smile vanishing.
Mary is so rattled that she mucks the landing. She slides on roof tiles still wet from the rain, drops her carpet bag, and starts to fall. But strong arms catch her, and she looks in Bert's gentle brown eyes. "What 'appened to your face?" he says quietly.
"Oi, that's our cue," another sweep says. "Let's go."
"Thank ye kindly, lads," Bert says as he helps Mary upright.
"See you in the mornin'," one of the boys replies. The other lad gives the carpet bag to Mary. Young Jack and Angus are both only about eleven. Thankfully, they have no trace of soot on them; these older sweeps are too honorable to send climbing boys to an early death. When they reach the street, Mary does see Jack scale a lamppost outside 17 Cherry Tree Lane, to turn on the flame. Angus steadies the ladder.
"Sit 'ere, Mary," Bert says, brushing off a cool chimney. "I just polished this stovepipe meself. Clean as a whistle."
For once, she has no response. She takes his hand, and they sit together on the spotless chimney. Quiet falls. The other sweeps disappear into the night.
Bert takes a red handkerchief from his pocket. "Let's get that blood off yer face."
"I have the medicine bottle," she says, and digs through her bottomless bag.
He pours some of the elixir on the cloth. She winces when he begins cautiously cleaning away the blood. "Sorry, love," he says. But the sugared medicine soothes the cut on her lip. Bert is always thorough, and at last the dried blood is gone. Then he brushes a lock of hair over her ear. "That's a nasty bruise."
"I tried to rescue a boy," she finally explains in a small voice. It is unlike her to be quiet and unsure and trembling. "Oliver, one of my charges. His guardian, Sowerberry, was a beastly man from Mudfog."
"Nothing good ever comes from Mudfog," Bert comments.
Mary tries not to cry, but water wells in her blue eyes. "I did my best to protect Oliver, and he ran away to London. So I followed him, and he ended up being taken in by his grandfather. He's quite safe now. But then Sowerberry tried to bring Oliver back by force. I refused to let it happen. And then… then he struck me."
"Oh, Mary," Bert breathes.
"I knocked him out cold, dumped him in Mudfog. And came straight to find you. Bert, I just had to see you!" Tears spilling over, Mary buries her face in his shoulder.
For a moment, his hands stay away from her, and he hesitates. "May I…"
"Hold me, please."
He obeys, wrapping his arms around her. She feels safe in his Bert's embrace. He strokes her mussed hair as she weeps. "It's alright, Poppins," he murmurs. "I ain't gonna let nothin' bad 'appen to you."
The sun rises, and night begins to fade. She wipes at her eyes, and tries to pull herself together. "How mortifying, I am quite a mess. Forgive me for being less than perfe–"
"Oi, listen," he cuts in. "Ya ain't gotta be perfect all the time. Not always the nanny, not the savior, angel, fairy godmother. You can just be Mary."
Then he takes pins from her hair, and her long black hair falls around her shoulders. "You can be my Mary," he adds softly.
And then she impulsively kisses him.
It had been a long two days, and she is rattled, bone-tired, and emotional. She wraps her arms around his neck, and leans into him. For a brief time, she has no children to look after. No job calls her away, no employer demanding her time. And so she kisses Bert, hard.
Both are too focused on each other to notice how close they are to the chimney's edge. Suddenly, they tumble together onto the roof tiles, and she lands on top of him. "I am so sorry, Bert! Are you hurt?"
"I've been through worse. Than having a beautiful woman fall on me," he quips.
But then he meets her gaze. "I ain't going to press my advantage. If you don't want to…"
"I want to," she gasps.
He plunges his hands into her raven locks. They kiss as they've never done before, with fire instead of a chaste peck. She even finds herself unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a hint of his chest hair. She presses her mouth to his collarbone. He groans when their hips meet.
"Mary," he pants into her loose, flowing hair. "Mary."
She knows she shouldn't be doing this. But she can't find it within herself to stop. It makes her feel like more of a woman, and less porcelain. In more ways than one, tonight reminds her that she is only human. "By the stars," she gasps when his hand cups her breast.
All of a sudden a cannon fires, so loud that it nearly deafens them.
Mary's scream is drowned out by the blast, and Big Ben's chimes echoing across London. Bert instantly rolls them down the side of a gable, protected from view in the angled roof. He looks up, boxing her in with his arms toned by hard work. Her leg meets his hip.
"Didn't mean to startle you, young man!" Admiral Boom calls.
Mary stays hidden, but Bert straightens to wave to the retired fleet officer. "Not to worry. I was only, well, looking after chimneys." She smirks.
"That will be all, Mr. Binnacle," the old man says.
"Aye, aye, admiral!" comes Binnacle's voice. There is the sound of a door closing behind the two navy men.
Mary and Bert can't help but laugh. She covers her mouth to hide it, and he grins against her neck. "Don't think they saw you," he comments, and kisses the column of her throat.
She hums. "I'd never live it down if they did."
She indulges herself with another kiss, which he eagerly responds to. But then they hear the newsboy's bicycle, the soft thump of papers hitting doorsteps. "Top of the morning, and here's your fresh milk," the delivery man says below.
Bert reluctantly moves back, and Mary straightens her wrinkled coat. She twists her hair into a respectable chignon. Checking her reflection in her mirror, she snaps her fingers to make minor adjustments to her appearance. At last she is presentable, as if the night never happened. He offers a hand, and helps her up.
"I should go," she says. "I've stayed too long as it is." Then she brings her hand to cup his cheek. "Thank you for being a gentleman. It is more rare than you know."
"Anythin' you need." He presses his mouth to the inside of her wrist. With any other man, the gesture would be improper. But this is Bert.
She almost stays, but then a warm breeze blows over them. She feels the familiar tug, knows there are children waiting for her. She has a job to do.
"Until we meet again, my Bert." She kisses his cheek.
"Don't be a stranger, my Mary," he says.
Her heart wants to remain on the roof, watch the sunrise with him. But she opens her umbrella, and follows the familiar wind. He watches her fly away.
The breeze is determined that she arrive at the door of 17 Cherry Tree Lane. The flight isn't long at all, and so she strides to the door to ring the doorbell. An uptight man in a bowler hat, and a woman wearing a suffragette sash open it. A boy and a girl peer together from the stairs.
"I understand you're looking for a nanny?"