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FILL: "Red Matilda, or The Fairy Ancestress" 3/?

[(Anonymous)]

On the day that Childermass and Vinculus were to arrive, John Segundus gave serious thought to staying in bed. He had been ill. No one would question it if he were to claim he was feeling poorly. Then again, the very fact of his recent illness would make his friends worry unduly if he spent the day resting. And he could not, in good conscience, abandon Mrs Sowerby the housekeeper to the dubious pleasure of seeing to his guests’ needs alone. (He was very much in the habit of arguing himself out of the kind of frivolous irresponsibility that many other gentlemen would consider their due.) Mr Segundus heaved himself out of bed with some trepidation and much reluctance to face the early hours of a very chilly, very grey late March morning.

He passed the morning agreeably engaged in answering correspondence. The past few weeks had seen an influx of letters: with the disappearance of Messrs Strange and Norrell, Mr Segundus found himself suddenly considered one of England’s eminent magical scholars. He was not quite sure how so many people had heard of him, as Lady Pole’s many letters to the newspapers had been edited, in most cases, to exclude any extraneous details (including mention of Mr Segundus). Mrs Lennox might have had something to do with his new notoriety, as she had a large circle of influence. He also suspected Childermass had been putting his name abroad in his travels. He did not know what to make of this nor could he decide whether he ought to be grateful.

Childermass and Vinculus arrived shortly before lunch, and he was obliged to put up his writing and try to play the good host. Mr Segundus was a generally friendly man, by nature polite and obliging when dealing with others of a similar temperament. But these guests were of a very different temperament. There was also the matter of being master of a household: since taking charge of Starecross from Mrs Lennox, Mr Segundus had learned the ins and outs of day-to-day managerial finances, but he was not always certain of some points of etiquette. He had not been raised in the expectation of inheriting any such duties.

He was sometimes apt, for example, to answer the door himself. It was not intended as an affront to any of the servants -- only a means to spare them the trouble, if he happened to be closer to the door. It was one of several habits of which Mrs Sowerby disapproved. She was always gentle in her remonstrances, if not a little pitying. She had a much greater wealth of patience, she said, for a respectful gentleman used to doing things for himself than she did for pampered adults who behaved like children (or children who presumed to give orders like adults). Mr Segundus tried to be mindful of her advice, though he resolutely declined her suggestions that he consider hiring a valet for himself. One had to draw the line somewhere.

It was with Mrs Sowerby in mind that he resolutely stayed in the drawing room when he heard the knock at the front door. He rose with all haste when Childermass and Vinculus were shown in. Perhaps a bit too much haste, judging by the crooked smile that Childermass directed at him. He greeted them very cordially and asked after their journey (which had been uneventful) and considered what might be proper topics for further conversation.

“How was your tree?” he said to Vinculus after a moment’s consideration.

“Quite the same,” Vinculus said with apparent satisfaction. Mr Segundus could think of no appropriate response.

“I saw as we rode in that you’ve made some improvements to the grounds,” Childermass said, taking pity on Mr Segundus’ failure to engage Vinculus further on the subject of his hanging.

“Oh, yes,” Mr Segundus said. “To own the truth, I am proudest of our work on the kitchen gardens. I think we will have a very fruitful harvest. Though I suppose,” he reflected, “that is not the kind of garden I ought to show to guests.”

“I have more experience with kitchen gardens than any other kind,” Childermass said. It was not said in any particularly sharp tone, but Mr Segundus felt that he had received a sharp reproof. Childermass did not give him time to reflect on the thoughtlessness of his comment. “Do you mean to renew your plans to open a school for magicians?”

“Provided that I do not meet with any very strong opposition,” Mr Segundus said, this time very careful of his words.

“I doubt you will,” Childermass said.

“I have been in contact with a Mrs Field, of Grace Adieu, in fact,” Mr Segundus said, warming to the subject, “who means to open a magical seminary for young ladies. I am very much in favour of the magical education of all young people with an interest in the subject, but I am also quite conscious that it would be entirely improper for an unmarried gentleman such as myself to take on female students.”

“Hmm,” Childermass said. It was a noncommittal response, but like many of his outwardly unimpeachable responses, it seemed to have a certain critical air. “Have you visited Grace Adieu, Mr Segundus? I am not sure I should recommend it.”

“I suppose I will, in good time, when both of our schools are established,” Mr Segundus said. “Have you been there?”

“Once,” Childermass said, “and only briefly.”

“I think I was there once,” Vinculus said.

“Oh?” Mr Segundus said with polite interest.

“I was chased out of an apple orchard,” Vinculus elaborated. Childermass seemed unsurprised by this admission. (Indeed, it was not a great shock to Mr Segundus, either.)

“I am sorry to hear it,” Mr Segundus said. He was spared the trouble of further inquiring after the apple farmers of Grace Adieu by the announcement that lunch was to be served. It was a modest repast, in keeping with Mr Segundus’ frugality, but not so much so that anyone might consider him an ungracious host. Vinculus wished to pay the cook the inimitable compliment that she had provided better nourishment than he had enjoyed for some weeks. Childermass chided him for making it sound as though he was still living the life of a penniless wanderer, to which Vinculus retorted that he only meant that a home-cooked meal would always be better than a meal eaten at a roadside inn. They continued in this vein for some minutes.

After lunch, Mr Segundus showed them around the gardens. As it was still March and spring had not quite taken hold in Yorkshire, there was not much to see. The beds had all been very neatly laid out, though, and both Childermass and Vinculus evinced some slight interest. Segundus had gotten as far as describing his plan for building a succession-house and the possibility of reinforcing or amplifying its effect on the plants inside with magic before Vinculus cut in.

“I’ll be interested in seeing your hothouse when it has vegetables or flowers in it,” Vinculus said. “But right now, all I see is a bare grey patch of earth. And it is cold.” Childermass looked at Vinculus with disapproval but did not voice any disagreement.

“Of course,” Mr Segundus said. “I am afraid I have few other entertainments to offer, but we may as well go back inside.”

“We are not here to be entertained, Mr Segundus,” Childermass said.

“Of course,” Mr Segundus said again, half to himself.

He led them back inside and was very glad to find that the fire in the grate had been kept kindled to a high blaze, for Vinculus started shedding clothing almost as soon as the three of them were shut up in the drawing room once more. Vinculus directed a challenging sort of look at Mr Segundus, as though expecting him to raise a fuss, but he did not rise to it. As Childermass had said, they were not here on a purely social call, and what magical business could be of greater import than the Book of the Raven King? Clad only in his smallclothes, Vinculus stretched himself out before the fire, quite at his ease. Mr Segundus and Childermass leaned over him, each examining a different passage. Mr Segundus copied some of it out while Childermass merely examined the writing closely, his lips sometimes moving as though sounding something out. Vinculus fell asleep in short order and few words were exchanged after that, apart from one short conversation about what might have been a drawing of a plant. They agreed that identifying the plant might offer some clue as to the meaning of the surrounding words, but between them they could not recognize the plant or even venture a guess as to what botanical family it might belong to. A plant native to Faerie, Segundus conjectured. Childermass also thought that this was possible.

The companionable, scholarly silence did not last long after that.

“Do you remember much of what happened to you?” Childermass said.

“More than enough,” Mr Segundus said.

“And will you tell me any of it?” Childermass said.

“What do you wish to know, sir?” Mr Segundus said. He looked up to meet Childermass’ gaze evenly. Not quite challenging, but unhesitant. Unafraid.

“Anything you care to tell me,” Childermass said. Then, without waiting for Mr Segundus to actually choose: “Why did Lady Pole see you when no one else could?”

“She was…” Mr Segundus hesitated, considering how best to phrase it. “Nearby, in a sense. I was not in England or in Faerie, and she was in both, as I understand it. My condition was rather like being caught on a threshold and only permitted to move a very little distance in either direction. Lady Pole was on either side of that threshold, and could not help seeing me.” In truth, he was glad of the question Childermass had put to him. Otherwise he would have started at the beginning, which would have been much more difficult. It had been several weeks before the full effect of the enchantment had taken hold and he remembered those weeks as one might remember a nightmare. Indeed, as a man who had spent much of his life being ignored to some degree, to feel himself disappearing seemed to be the summation of his unvoiced fears made real. “I tried to stay nearer to Starecross, when I could, but it was not always easy to know what was Starecross and what was not.”

“How did you manage to break the spell and return?” Childermass said. He had entirely abandoned his examination of Vinculus in favour of examining Mr Segundus.

“Oh! that was not my doing at all,” Mr Segundus said. “I could not take credit for it. No, I was freed by Sir Walter Pole’s butler.”

“Hmm,” Childermass said. Despite being a neutral sound, this time it quite clearly conveyed some doubt that Mr Segundus remembered the incident very clearly. (Most of Lady Pole’s mentions of Stephen Black had also been edited out of her letters to the newspapers. It had been assumed that the public would care less about the fate of a servant than a member of the gentry.)

“I do not entirely understand the circumstances, but he vanquished the fairy who had enchanted us all and inherited his kingdom,” Mr Segundus said. Childermass looked a good deal less sceptical once this was explained. “I was… pardoned, I suppose, though I will own that I do not know what I had done to offend that gentleman in the first place.”

“Fairies are a capricious race,” Childermass said. “It may have been something very ordinary.” He still did not take his eyes from Mr Segundus’ face. He seemed to be searching for something. “Or it may have been something about you, rather than something you did.”

“I can’t imagine him doing anything to give offense,” Vinculus spoke up unexpectedly, his voice half muffled by the carpet. He had not bothered to raise his head.

“Thank you,” Mr Segundus said. “I think.”

“Look closely at Mr Segundus,” Childermass said to Vinculus. “Do you see anything strange?”

“I have given up being a magician,” Vinculus groused, but nevertheless Mr Segundus found himself with two pairs of keen eyes upon him. It was an uncomfortable counterpoint to the many months he had spent with no one looking at him. “Small and dark and embarrassed,” Vinculus summed up Mr Segundus in a few spare words. “What do you expect me to see?”

“Around the eyes,” Childermass said rather enigmatically.

“He looks tired,” Vinculus said. “Which is not what you wanted me to say.”

“No,” Childermass said. “It was not.” He finally looked away. “Do you know, I thought you were dead.”

“Well, I was,” Vinculus said.

“I thought Mr Segundus was dead,” Childermass clarified. “When Lady Pole helped me see him.”

“I am sorry,” Mr Segundus said. He could think of no other response. “I was afraid for you, too, it must be said, as you were bleeding -- the cut has healed remarkably well, if I may --”

“I thought I was seeing a ghost,” Childermass said. “Which would not have accounted for the fact that I could not remember you at first. But I was very struck by the thought.” Mr Segundus rushed to assure him that he was fine, that he may have been in some difficulty but nothing from which he had not recovered. Vinculus offered his own dubious reassurances. After all, by his own account he had been dead, but he had also recovered remarkably well from that state. (It may be useful to know that this was not, in fact, how Childermass understood the events in question. The intervention of a certain monarch had ensured such an outcome where Vinculus and his hanging were concerned.)

They lapsed into quiet again for some time. Mr Segundus considered what Childermass had said. His memory of the manner of his return to England was muddled, but he had some faith in his recollection of the events immediately preceding it. He considered one particular remark made by a stranger in Faerie. This led him to consider certain points of family lore. Of course, what his great-aunts thought of his great-great-grandmother could be of little import, only -- he recalled how she had sounded in those stories, to a child’s ears. By the time Mr Segundus was wrestling with the conundrum of whether to explain this rather tenuously connected point of interest, he had nearly finished copying out the passage on which he had been focusing his energies. His hand and wrist were cramping rather terribly. He inquired whether Vinculus should like a respite from being examined; Vinculus did not care a whit but did not mind affording his would-be translators a rest.

“It will sound very silly to you, I am sure,” Mr Segundus began, when they had settled themselves comfortably to rest a few minutes. Having made up his mind about discussing his dubiously relevant family history, he went on: “But there is a small chance that I may have some fairy blood.”

Re: FILL: "Red Matilda, or The Fairy Ancestress" 3/?

[(Anonymous)]

I love the way you write Vinculus. I think you've caught his devil-may-care, needling attitude very well: it's easy to see how trying it would be for anyone who has to deal with him regularly, and it's very amusing to read.

Mr. Segundus's fairyness around the eyes is very intriguing.

Re: FILL: "Red Matilda, or The Fairy Ancestress" 3/?

[(Anonymous)]

Lovely!

Re: FILL: "Red Matilda, or The Fairy Ancestress" 3/?

[(Anonymous)]

I am really intrigued by this, it's a great prompt and this fic is very, very good. All three characters are really well written, and I particularly like Vinculus.

Can't wait for some more *prays for Childermass/Segundus too*