Chapter Text
Danny dressed in the semi-darkness of Mrs Lacy’s guest room. She had drawn back the curtains on the window furthest from the bed and hung her day dress over a chair. While she put on her undergarments, she watched the sky begin to lighten. Danny sighed. Old habits really did die hard. She looked over to the bed where Rebecca still slept, and put on her dress. By the time she had put up her hair, the sky had turned a dull grey.
Gently closing the door behind her, Danny crept out of the room and down the stairs. It seemed that she had risen even before Mrs Lacy’s servants, though of course she could not speak for Mrs Reid. As Danny crossed the hall, she heard no movement from the servants’ passage nor any of the rooms. She hesitated before knocking on the door to the library. The spurt of bravery that had carried her downstairs and to this door had dissipated. She felt more like a servant out of bounds than a houseguest, which would in some ways hold true as long as she and Rebecca were staying in this house. For all the freedom they had known on their travels, here Danny had returned to the role of Rebecca’s maid. She was an elevated lady’s maid, perhaps, almost a companion, but did that mean she was free to roam Mrs Lacy’s house without provoking questions?
Her hand on the door handle, Danny did her best to shake off the feeling she was being watched. With a quick look over her shoulder, she opened the door to the library and slipped inside. The air in the spacious room had cooled overnight, the tall shelves cast stark shadows in the grey light of dawn. Danny drew her shawl more tightly around herself. With another glance at the door she began to wander around the room, perusing the titles her eyes had only flitted over the night before. Mr Lacy’s collection was eclectic, she spotted more than one volume he had bought from the travelling bookseller in Kerrith. Danny scanned the shelves for the book she had bought for him all those months ago, but she could not find it.
“Find something good?”
Danny spun round. Mrs Lacy was standing in the doorway, still dressed in her pyjamas and dressing gown. Automatically, Danny took a step back from the shelves and folded her hands.
“I hope you don’t mind my being in here,” she said. “I did not mean to intrude.”
“You’re not intruding. If you would like to borrow anything, please feel free. Giles would be happy to know his books were of use to someone. I’m afraid I just read the same ones over and over again.”
“He built a wonderful collection.”
Mrs Lacy smiled at her. “Would you like to see his pocket editions? He had a shelf altered specially for them.”
Danny followed Mrs Lacy to a different part of the room where, she now saw, a smaller shelf had been fitted inside the frame of another. Her heart gave a painful squeeze as she spotted the grey lining binding she had automatically set out to find. The feeling took her by surprise. She had not known Mr Lacy intimately, had barely spent more than a few minutes in conversation with him during his lifetime. And yet, faced with his careful collection, with the lingering grief of his wife, Danny felt herself overwhelmed with the knowledge that Mr Lacy would never read these books again. Next to her, Mrs Lacy let out a trembling breath.
“I wanted…” Danny began, her voice darting nervously into the silence. “I wanted to thank you for your steady correspondence. We were so cut off, Rebecca and I, and with her name in all the papers… knowing that we had at least one ally was the greatest gift.”
“Of course. I hope I never gave you cause to doubt my stance on all this?”
“No, never.”
“Because,” Mrs Lacy’s voice caught, “if I had even so much as suspected that I might not have made myself clear… I was on your side. I am on your side. Unwaveringly.”
Danny closed her eyes. She was acutely aware of Mrs Lacy so very close to her, staring intently at Mr Lacy’s books. She was short of breath, a tingling heat building in her fingertips. She was only half conscious of her own movements, of her hand moving to cover Mrs Lacy’s.
“Beatrice,” Danny whispered.
“Not you too.”
“Why not?”
Mrs Lacy shifted on her feet. “You’ll be the death of me, both of you.”
When Danny turned to look at Mrs Lacy, one eyebrow raised in quizzical mockery, she found Mrs Lacy already facing her, biting her lip.
“Beatrice,” Danny said again. How long had it been since she had dared to call Mrs Lacy by her Christian name?
Her hand trembling beneath Danny’s, Mrs Lacy closed her eyes, opened them again. “But then, what death could be sweeter than this?”
In one swift movement, Beatrice bowed her head, her hands coming to Danny’s shoulders. Her lips crashed into Danny’s, full of the same need that had spoken from each of her letters. Danny met her readily. Before she knew it, she had brought one hand to the back of Beatrice’s neck, the other to her waist, pulling her even closer. She met Beatrice’s lips hungrily, already gasping for breath.
“God,” Beatrice groaned. Her hands resting on Danny’s shoulders, she pushed Danny back against the high shelves. “God, I missed you.” It did not sound like a voluntary admission. Each kiss, each desperate touch seemed to force the words from her, sending them out into the room where they could not be unsaid. “I missed you, I missed you.”
With nothing to say but I know, Danny chose silence. She clung to Beatrice, clung to the truth in Beatrice’s words, the vulnerability she would be quick to deny once the moment had passed. She drew out the kiss as long as she could. When Beatrice finally drew back, Danny held her close, watching her expression. She saw the elation drain from Beatrice’s face.
“Well, I…” Abruptly, Beatrice took a step backwards, freeing herself from Danny’s embrace. The distance alone did not seem to be enough. Beatrice turned her back on Danny, gripping the back of the sofa for balance. “As I said, feel free to borrow any book you want. I should go upstairs and dress. I have rather a lot on my plate today. Excuse me.”
More out of habit than anything else, Danny stood to the side — back straight, head bowed — as Mrs Lacy turned and, with a curt nod, swept out of the room. Once Mrs Lacy had gone, Danny let out a long breath. Her heart had barely found back to its usual speed, she could still feel the flush on her cheeks, the heat in her swollen lips. The state of her hair she did not even dare consider. She smoothed it back as best she could, however futile the effort seemed. The rest she could tackle once she had returned upstairs. With the top buttons of her dress refastened, Danny took another deep breath and returned her attention to the books.
*
It was a relief, that evening, to follow Rebecca back into the guest room, spent from a day of sorting through luggage, making a start on the mending, and strained conversation over breakfast, lunch and dinner. Had it only been herself, Rebecca and Mrs Lacy, Danny was sure peace would not have endured as long as it had. Miss Smith, transformed and confident as she was, provided a most welcome distraction, first with general enquiries and later with an account of her outing with Frank Crawley, delivered among much stammering and blushing. That the girl had become very fond of Mr Crawley was obvious. Where such fondness might lead was another question entirely. At any rate, it was not her concern.
“It really is lovely, being back here.” Rebecca was making her way around the room, drawing the curtains. “Like coming home, almost.”
“Almost,” Danny said. She sat on the edge of the bed, combing her hair over one shoulder with her hands. Now matter how many years lay ahead of them, she was sure she would never grow tired of these new rituals, of watching Rebecca move about a room that was theirs, or as good as theirs. She had turned on the lamp on the bedside table. It cast a circle of light over their bed, growing more distinct as the room grew darker.
“At the very least it’s not like our last hotel in Calais.” Rebecca rolled her eyes at the memory. She went over to her side of the bed and sat down, her hands coming to the buttons of her shirt.
“Well now, nothing could be quite like that.”
Somehow, she could not help but think back to the morning, the look in Beatrice’s eyes as she had kissed her. And now there was Rebecca, unbuttoned shirt slipping off her shoulders, exposing her skin. Danny cleared her throat.
“What?” She was too late in rearranging her expression. Rebecca caught the look in her eyes and smiled. “It has been a while, hasn’t it? Our last weeks on the road were so terribly busy.”
Danny felt a telltale warmth rushing into her cheeks. She cursed inwardly. Twenty years and counting, and Rebecca could still make her blush like a schoolgirl. She began to braid her hair rather more vigorously than necessary. “The journey was strenuous. It was more prudent to rest.”
“But now…” Rebecca stood up, wearing only her underwear, and made her way over to pick up her dressing gown from the chair by the vanity.
Danny followed her with her eyes as Rebecca came to stand in front of the mirror, an old habit of hers, and shed the rest of her clothing. Rebecca put on her dressing gown, but left it hanging open, running her hand over the scar on her stomach. Barely conscious of her own movements, Danny went to stand behind her and put her hands on Rebecca’s shoulders.
“But now.” Danny squeezed Rebecca’s shoulders, moving forward to kiss her on the cheek. “Has your scar been bothering you?”
“Not since last night. I will have to resume my exercises now that we’re more stationary. I’ve made too much progress to grow sloppy now.” Rebecca sighed. She took Danny’s hands and wrapped them around her waist, her own resting on top.
“I’ll remind you.”
In the mirror, she watched as Rebecca moved their joined hands, running them over her stomach, along the winding edges of her scar. When their eyes met, Danny knew their thoughts were turning in the same direction, to those strange months of recovery, the first few times Danny’s hands had touched the altered plane of Rebecca’s skin and lingered there, rediscovering. She thought of the look in Rebecca’s eyes, her purposeful disinterest, and the fear Danny had sensed beneath it. Rebecca had never asked the question, but Danny answered it anyway, brushing her fingertips over pale and purple skin alike.
“Beautiful,” she whispered. “So very beautiful.”
She felt Rebecca let out a breath. It was always the same, that sigh of relief. She turned her head and pressed her lips against the line of Rebecca’s jaw, then her neck, allowing her hands to stray. Rebecca sighed again, leaning against her. Her breath quickened as Danny’s hand moved upwards, thumb brushing over the curve of her breast. Danny repeated the motion, her other hand firm on Rebecca’s hip, holding her steady. Rebecca moaned. A second later she had turned in Danny’s arms and kissed her.
“Take this off,” Rebecca said, tugging at the sleeve of Danny’s nightgown. “Right now. I want to see you.”
Danny obliged her, feeling her face flush again as Rebecca allowed the dressing gown to slip off her shoulders. The moment she had pulled her nightgown over her head and dropped it onto the foot of the bed, Rebecca’s arms were around her. They fell back onto the bed together. Rebecca winced.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes, yes,” Rebecca said impatiently. “Just a twinge.”
“Do you need—” Before she could finish her sentence, Rebecca had taken hold of her wrists, pinning them behind her head with a smile.
“What I need is for you not to get distracted. God, it really has been too long.” Rebecca kissed her again, one hand still holding Danny’s wrists, the other brushing along the side of her face. When she finally straightened up, Danny was breathless, staring up at her with wide eyes. “There now. Stay focused, won’t you Danny? Be good for me?”
“Always.” Danny closed her eyes. When Rebecca’s lips met hers, her mind turned utterly, wonderfully blank.