Title: The Wedding Gift

Author: Sherry Thornburg

Author's Email: Thornburgs77 a gmail

Feedback: Yes, please

Permission to Archive: Privately only, with notice to me where it is.

Category: Family

Rating: K

Main Characters: Phileas Fogg and Jules Verne

Disclaimer: SAJV and original characters copywrite Tailsman/Promark/etc., no infringement is intended. Aunt Ermintrude visits this story with permission of her creator, Mara Greengrass.

Summary: Phileas comes of age, is about to marry, and takes up all his duties as head of the family. For that, he is gifted with a tradition he knew nothing about.

Two young boys came up the back stairs, sneaking back to their room after foraging in the kitchen. It was dark, but not so dark that they couldn't find their way through the halls. Cook would set their father on them tomorrow, but she would have to prove it had been them. Father always sided with them if there wasn't indisputable proof. In a house full of guests, that wouldn't be possible. Foggs stuck together like that, even against Cook.

The boys passed an upstairs room and looked in through the slightly open door to see their little cousin Rebecca sleeping. She was a cute little baby, already showing red copper curls and big blue eyes. Erasmus was especially intrigued by her as there were so few babies to see.

There were a lot of family in the big house tonight. Their father's knighthood ceremony had been the week before. There had been several parties and a grand one in London directly after the King laid the sword over him. And yesterday, every Fogg in England who could make it came to the family celebration.

A few steps closer to the nursery, the boys came to Cousin Jason and his wife's room. Cousin Jason was a favorite. He was a Naval officer as their father had once been and told the best sea stories.

Phileas had heard joking complaints from other men that Cousin Jason put the rest of the Foggs to shame. Phileas supposed they were talking about his having six children, and a wife that always looked happy.

"Jason please, I'm trying to finish this embroidery for Elizabeth's present. That tickles."

"If it didn't, I wouldn't be doing it," a masculine voice teased. "You've been at your sewing long enough. It's time for bed, long past. And I so wanted to make a memory before leaving for the ship tomorrow; something to keep me going on cold nights in the middle of the Atlantic. Maybe make a little something to come home to?"

"You're terrible," his wife said, but Phileas didn't think she meant that.

"Hmmm, that wasn't your opinion the other night. As I recall, you waxed rather poetic with your praise. I believe you said something to the effect of what wonders could be enjoyed when one had the same lover for fifteen years… How I knew just where, and how…"

A sharp high-pitched yelp came from the room in the next moment, followed by giggles. The young boys stifled their own giggles, thinking Cousin Jason must be tickling his wife something fierce. They moved on to their own room after a moment. Phileas had given up his room to a guest and was sleeping with Erasmus in the nursery. He smiled as he laid down again, wondering what it would be like to have a wife to tickle and play with.

Without warning, the coach dipped and jerked to the right as it hit a rut in the road. The movement interrupted the memory, which had lightened his mood. Phileas was nearing the age Cousin Jason had been. He understood better what had been going on that night so long ago.

Phileas savored the memory of happiness. He himself was happy, happier than he had been in many years. He and Rebecca were to marry in another month. The accumulation of years of wanting was finally rewarded with his heart's desire. The remembrance of Cousin Jason was a good one to come now, even if the time was not as happy as he would have wished.

Cousin Jason had been laid to rest in the family crypt at Shillingsworth today.

He and Rebecca had come to the funeral in the fourth closed coach in the procession following Jason's wife Lydia, their eight children, and five grandchildren. There were also about forty other family members and as many of Cousin Jason's old friends attending as could be found. The day was typical of an English summer, rainy and overcast and had been rainy for several days. Rebecca and he wore overcoats over their plainest black clothing to ward off the damp. It was a testament to Jason Fogg's life that so many would brave this beastly weather to see him laid to rest.

The church roof had dripped in a few places as the eulogy was read. Phileas mentally made a note to take the vicar to task for not telling him the roof needed repairs. His family had built the thing, after all. It was his duty to see it kept in good repair. Otherwise, the service was quite… well; it was refined, respectful, and blessedly short. Phileas hated funerals and always had. He was more than happy to get back into the coach, leading the procession back to the manor house.

The wake to take place at Shillingsworth Magna had already been seen to. There would be food a plenty and activities for the children. The house was again to be full of relatives. It had been a logistical challenge finding room for everyone. The old manor house wasn't small, but the family had increased, and its eldest generation were many.

Foggs generally lived into their seventies at least, late eighties at best. His own father's early passing, Phileas considered the result of too stressful a career rather than genetics.

Going through the list again in his mind, Fogg counted off fifteen small children on beds and pallets in the nursery and its adjoining room, not counting the four or five infants that had been bedded with their parents. There were twelve couples altogether staying with them and three widows who were lifelong friends. They graciously offered to share a room to help. The study had been turned into a bachelor's barracks for six teenagers plus four young men in their twenties. When the house had reached rafter capacity, the one local inn four miles away had been similarly filled.

As he finished his mental count, the coach reached the drive. McIvers was at the front door with an umbrella to cover Rebecca as she hurried out to the house. The brunt of the hostess duties had fallen on her shoulders. Rebecca took them on, Fogg thought proudly, like an Army general determinedly proving to all her worthiness of becoming Lady of the Manor.

In Phileas' opinion, Rebecca had nothing to prove. She had been acting in this capacity since sixteen. It was her place by right, even before he had gained the courage to ask her to do so formally. In fact, when they had made their announcement to the family, there had been more "It's about time" comments than surprised looks.

Cousin Jason had been alive and present at that announcement. He had been quite happy to hear the news.

In his child's memory, Phileas had recalled Jason Fogg as a strapping rakish handsome man at the prime of his life. He had the same black hair and green eyes that Phileas did, but the Fogg features on his face had been softer, less angular. He had been a shorter man, but his shoulders, Fogg thought, had been broader and the body more muscular. Or maybe not, Phileas mused. Could have just been the uniform. In contrast, in his final year, Jason Fogg had been fully silver and somewhat stooped. His face was weathered from years at sea with eyes that squinted. He had walked with a cane for balance, yet seemed just as tall and commanding as ever.

Jason had come forward to Phileas and Rebecca in turn, paying her a kiss and patting his back. "So, I assume, young man, you are ready to take on your responsibilities as head of the family," the old man had said in a light but pointed fashion.

Phileas had been taken aback, but had, for the sake of his other guests, not risen to the baiting. Had he not been doing so since his father's death? Granted, I have dodged some of the more formal matters and made other relatives step up for festivals, reunion picnics, celebratory dinners, holidays…

All right, I suppose I have been playing fast and loose.

His belligerent and careless attitude at the onset of his inheritance flashed into his mind. The poker game… His determined effort to lose all rather than accept anything from his father. Jason would not have known about that, but he would have noticed the way Phileas shunned his obligations from the start.

The charitable would have given him grace for losing his brother and father in close succession. The uncharitable, himself one of them, would have damned him an ungrateful self-absorbed fool.

I let my grief over Erasmus's death overcome better judgment. I blasted all that guilt at father, creating the argument that estranged us. And though the man had most certainly given as good as he got, and it would have galled me no end, it wouldn't have killed me to attempt a reconciliation before he died.

Phileas knew he should not have allowed that argument to go as far as it had. He knew he should have gone to Boniface sooner to correct it, but it had never occurred to him the man would die so soon.

Father should have lived another twenty years at least.

Phileas had realized with a jolt that his father had not taken their angry words as a clean separation. The man didn't disinherit him. He could have, I told him to. Yet, when the will had been read, Phileas had still been Sir Boniface Fogg's heir.

Forcing his thoughts back to the moment at hand, Phileas had straightened his spine and plunged in. "Yes, sir, I'm ready to assume my full responsibilities."

"Excellent. Then I have something for you, boy," Jason had said.

He had looked at him with such pride in his eyes, Phileas had momentarily choked, feeling how important this man's opinion of him was. He felt so honored. For once, Phileas did not get annoyed at being addressed as a juvenile.

Jason said, "It will be a wedding present of sorts. I've kept it waiting for you, hoping you will come to your senses before I pass. I'll bring it up to Shillingsworth Magna as soon as I can."

That trip never taken place. The retired Naval officer had died quietly in his study, reading, less than a week ago. Phileas was still curious about what Jason had been holding for him, but didn't have the heart to mention it to Lydia. The lady had been putting on a brave front, but he had caught her voice breaking several times.

No, I will do nothing to upset her composure.

The day wore on endlessly for Phileas. He helped Rebecca as much as he could, making rounds about the house, seeing to their guests. Jessica and her husband, Brandon, had come. Daniel stayed at home with his new grandfather. Great Aunt Ermintrude was holding court in the front parlor with most of the older ladies. Fogg left that room to Rebecca. The old harridan still intimidated the devil out of him, even as old as he was.

Great Uncle Paul was holding similar sway over the older men, with a ring of boys eight to eighteen on the perimeter in the back drawing room. All were listening avidly to old family stories Phileas had heard at least ten times each.

Why do I feel like such an outsider here in my own home, with my own family? Too many years, working and living a life I couldn't share?

Phileas wondered for a moment if his father had felt the same way. They had been such a tight, isolated family. For all the size of the Fogg clan, his sphere had revolved around his immediate relatives and no one else. His mother had been better at keeping them tied to the rest than his father had been.

Fogg put the next thought over what ifs away. I will not let this atmosphere make me melancholy… more melancholy.

A light touch pulled him out of his thoughts. Rebecca was at his side. He smiled down at her tired face, offering praise and encouragement for the rest of the day and tomorrow as they saw all their guests off.

"Lydia has been asking for you," Rebecca said. "She has something to give you. She asked if she could see you, privately, in the study after dinner. Poor dear, she is exhausted by all this," Rebecca said. "Aunt Ermintrude sent her upstairs to rest an hour ago."

Phileas nodded acknowledgement. "Tonight then, if she is up to it."

Dinner that night had been a less crowded affair than it had been the night before. Most of the family had begun their journeys home after tea. The only ones staying overnight were Lydia and her two youngest daughters and Aunt Ermintrude. That unnerved him. She had announced that she would stay until the end of the week. The very thought of having to be her host for another several days was enough to make him contemplate a driving need to visit Verne in Paris.

Phileas headed off to the study as soon as the meal was over. It was now cleaned of cots and luggage, nearly back to normal. He sat at the enormous desk his father had spent so much time at. Amusement as he looked over the waxed surface.

There should be elbow indentions.

The staff had done wonders these last few days and had been sorely inconvenienced by having to vacate their rooms to make space for guests. He had already arranged bonuses for the extra work. He and Rebecca had been undemanding on the staff since his father's death. Phileas visited the country infrequently, preferring the excitement of the city. That was about to change. He pulled a sheet of paper to write a list.

I need to hire on more help and…

A knock came at the door as he formulated his thoughts. Remembering why he had come to the study, Phileas put the paper away and invited Lydia in.

"Phileas?" a stronger, more authoritarian female voice than Lydia's called as the door opened.

Not Lydia. Aunt Ermintrude entered the room instead, like a ship in full sail with her elliptical hooped skirts trailing with dozens of rows of lace at her stern, like churning seas. The old bat's face was as direct and demanding as ever, its gaze reducing him of twenty years or more maturity on contact. Her silver hair had been arranged severely in a large bun at the back of her head. In her way, she had always been as fashionable as any of his female relatives. Maybe more so, as she had once used her reputed good looks to confound the enemy during the wars with Napoleon. Phileas wasn't sure if he could visualize her as a young beauty, but he could easily imagine her as a conniving spy.

His elder smiled at him as she entered the room.

Phileas stood in greeting as she turned and closed the door.

When she turned again to address him, her smile seemed stronger. "Lydia is still overtired and asked me to talk to you. She asked me to tell you that Jason was quite pleased with you when you said you would take on your responsibilities fully."

She sat in the chair beside the desk nearest him. "We had all been quite concerned when you and your father had had that awful falling out. Jason took over for you in most of the family duties, but always had hopes you would take them up in time."

The dialog made Phileas uncomfortable, but he should have expected that some of the family would know about what had happened. Ermintrude, of course, knew everything, and Jason and his father had been close. They had served together in the Navy, if he remembered correctly.

"Thank you for your kind words, madam. I will do my best to honor his faith in me."

Ermintrude smiled at Phileas again. "My faith in you as well, Phileas. It was an awful thing to have happened, and I was quite distressed over it. Stubborn to the core, both of you, but time heals."

She pulled something small out of her dress pocket. It was an old-fashioned key, much longer than usual, at least ten inches, and appeared to have been made for a double locking mechanism. A very special key, made of silver with the family crest at the top, worn down by many hands using it.

"I suppose we should get started. Jason told Lydia you didn't know anything about this. The next generation usually takes over at age forty. I believe, were two years short of that when… well."

"I'm sorry," Phileas said, perplexed. "You have me at a disadvantage. I thought I knew all the family traditions. This key isn't something I've ever heard of before."

"I'm speaking of the family annuals," Ermintrude said, "the records of the family's service to the crown. You are just a newer generation to do the Crown's bidding, you know. The Foggs have been quietly looking after England's business for many generations. Your father, Jason, Paul, Sam, and Ezra went before you. And before them, your grandfather, George, Michael, and I did our part. You, Erasmus, Rebecca, Adam, Travis, and Benjamin came next. And now Harry, my grandson Gabriel, and Lydia's two younger sons, Vance and Connor, have joined the ranks. And you, Phileas, as head of the family, are the one who keeps the annuals."

"Duties to the crown of the sort we have been doing over the years are not discussed or made public record. A knighthood is the only outward show of gratitude ever allowed us. Haven't you wondered why there were so many knights in our family? Now, let's unlock the vault and I'll tell you where everything is."

With that, Ermintrude stood and walked to the family coat of arms on the wall opposite the desk. "Could you lift the sword on the right? It's too high for me."

Phileas followed her to the large wall decoration that he had studied all his life. He pulled the right-hand sword halfway up out of its brace.

"That's enough," Ermintrude said.

Under the place where the lower part of the blade had rested was a keyhole, well camouflaged. Even without the sword in place, it looked like part of the painted motif of that part of the shield. Ermintrude put the key in its place and turned it. An audible turning of tumblers came to Foggs ears. Then she pushed the key in further, turning it in the opposite direction. More sounds of mechanisms coming into use followed. The wall swung open in front of him.

"Catch up a lamp for us, will you, dear?" she said. "I used to help keep the annuals with your grandfather," Ermintrude said, slipping in the doorway to the stairs beyond. "It's not all that hard to keep up. Before us, missions were logged in bound books by hand. They were transcribed from notes or reports. Your grandfather put an end to that. We keep them in file cases now. When someone goes out of service now, the whole of their records are transcribed and bound by the royal printing house."

Phileas lit and brought a light into the passage, finding dark stone stairs worn smooth and bowed at the center. They passed through a large door at the bottom of the stairs. He sucked in his breath in wonder as Ermintrude unlocked that with the same key. The massive room they came to was lined with shelves on two sides. Against a third were barrister boxes full of file cases. What got his attention most were the antiques. The room was full of flags and battle pennants. Added to that were racks of swords, knives, shields and suits of armor standing on display, seemingly on silent guard duty.

A fourth wall was covered in paintings. All the men and women had the Fogg stamp on their features.

Near the barrister boxes was a large, cluttered desk. Ermintrude swept the desk chair back and told Phileas to sit. When he did, she reached up and pulled an ancient-looking box off a shelf behind him. It was leather bound with a key lock. She put a small key attached to the ring on the long key to unlock and open it for him. Inside were two parchment documents.

"I trust you still know your Latin, but I will tell you what they say, anyway," she said. "Harold Fogg, our, well… ever so great ancestor, was a knight in King Stephen's service during the civil wars of the twelfth century. When Stephen stepped down for Henry II, Queen Matilda's son, he pledged his knights to Henry. Harold further pledged not only himself but also his family to the service of the English crown… forever. Since then, we Foggs have been in the service of whoever held the crown. And believe me, that wasn't an easy thing when the Plantagenets and Tudors were in power. I've read the annuals. You could feel the frustrations of the times coming off the pages."

Ermintrude stopped her history lesson to let Phileas read Harold's proclamation for himself, along with Henry II's acceptance.

"I didn't know the family went this far back," Phileas said, awestruck."

"Surprised me, too," she said.

When Phileas placed the parchments back in the box, she took it back to its place. As she did that, Phileas noticed a stack of bound volumes on the desk. They were new. On the spine of one was his brother's name. On the other was his father's. Phileas reverently picked up both. His father's book was thick, over six inches, while his brother's… Phileas's hands shook. The reason for the briefness of his brother's service record came to mind.

Behind him, Ermintrude saw him pick up the books, and his reaction. She stepped forward and gently took them out of his hands. "There are some whose records are larger than this and some much shorter than your brother's. We are all on this earth for our proscribed times, Phileas," she whispered. "You can't change fate or the past. We keep these annuals to honor and remember."

Phileas looked up at her. He had a moment's urge to take them back. He wanted to keep both close to him, one to celebrate and the other to study. Maybe somewhere in there was a reason for his father being the way he had been.

Ermintrude bid him to stand and come with her to the barrister boxes. Each had a name on them, including his and Rebecca's and the younger cousins she had mentioned earlier. "We were setting your records for binding when you took possession of the Aurora and began helping Rebecca on her missions. Jason kept your records open when the Queen began requesting you privately. It's all in there."

"How was this compiled?" He asked, stunned at the notion.

"Official records, reports, diaries; in your case, Jason kept tabs on what you were doing. There are written records on everything, you know, even covert happenings. Jason was quite proud of you, you know."

Phileas choked again, thinking of Jason and how much that meant to him; more than he understood.

"I'll help you for a while until you understand how it all works," Ermintrude was saying, "but this is yours to keep up Phileas. My book has already been printed. You and Rebecca will take over completely soon. Ah, mind you though, Rebecca doesn't get to know about this for a while yet," she said. "Not a good thing to know about this until one is at the end of their service. Don't want to make anyone self-conscious. That's the reason for the rule."

"I understand," Phileas said, and meant it. He smiled a bit as he looked over Rebecca's cases, wondering if there was anything in there he didn't know about. It was a temptation to prowl.

"Come along now," Ermintrude said. "We've been down here long enough. If we keep behind closed doors much longer, Rebecca and that dear man of yours may break in out of concern," she said, smiling wickedly.

Phileas couldn't help but laugh. He and this woman were going to be spending a lot of time together in the future, and it was going to eat Rebecca alive. Oddly, this shared secret put him on a new footing with her. The old battle-ax was suddenly more likable.

Ermintrude placed the key in his hand when they reached the study again. He locked the hidden door and placed the keys in the safe under the desk, the safe Rebecca didn't have a combination for. "I can go back with you tomorrow if you would like to go through it more thoroughly," she offered.

"Thank you, yes, Aunt Ermintrude and good night," Phileas said, bowing her out of the study.

Turning back to the coat of arms on the far wall, Phileas looked at it again with new appreciation. His father had explained the symbolism of its contents to him but had never told him what those keyhole symbols in the lower left were about. And oddly enough, he had never thought to ask.

Now I know.

The End