fanfic and original writing by ar (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
witticaster) wrote2010-06-19 09:27 pm
witticaster) wrote2010-06-19 09:27 pm
0222
Beth meets Jack Aubrey. (Spoiler: she hasn't, yet.)
It was immediately apparent that Sophie Aubrey was not a scatterbrained woman, but she did occasionally have (admittedly very fine) ideas at the last moment; it was a testament to the Aubrey family's oft-mentioned luck that her schemes did not run into roadblocks very often. That Saturday was one of many that saw Fortune smiling upon her, when she called up Beth to ask, "I know it is very late notice, but would you like to come for dinner tonight?"
Beth, who had no plans for the evening but perhaps to start in on a new book, answered, "Yes, thank you, that would be very nice."
"Oh, I had hoped you might think so!" Sophie's joy was palpable even without the benefit of the sight of her delighted face. "You have not had the chance to meet my husband, nor Diana, and I am determined they shall love you, Beth, dear."
"Would you like me to bring anything?" she asked tentatively, feeling it best not to comment on her potential appeal to Sophie's relations.
"Only yourself," Sophie said. "You're to be our guest--I shan't have you working overly, and when you've been ill."
Her recent spell of exhaustion was not a great concern to Beth, by now very used to the cycles of good health and poor, but Sophie had not seemed to quite understand how very expected it was when she and Stephen had come to visit. Attempting to repeat the explanation seemed out of place at that moment, however, and so Beth simply agreed to arrive at seven that evening and set about to the afternoon's chores.
As the dinner hour approached, she found herself growing more nervous for it, and wishing very much she did not have to arrive alone. She liked Sophie very well, and Stephen had been pleasant enough, if a bit eccentric in manner, but Diana and Jack were strangers entirely, outside Sophie's stories of them; and to go by those, their primary characteristics were tendencies toward tempestuousness and vivacity, respectively. Sophie spoke with great affection for the both of them, which recommended them, of course, but playing the stranger at the door to so many strong personalities was cause for distress.
If only James were there to accompany her! she thought at least once. Managing conversation over good food would not be a bother, with or without him, but it would be a comfort to have someone at her side on the walk to the Aubreys' front door; the anticipation, more than anything else, was the spectre that haunted her through the afternoon.
She had to go alone, however, and steeled herself to do so: kissed Smudge and Jinx each on their furry heads and went out the door.
It was not so terrible as she had imagined it might be, standing on the front step of the Aubrey house at seven sharp, waiting for someone to come to the door. Thankfully, it was Sophie who answered, and, drawing Beth in from the cool air of an autumn evening, exclaimed her gladness to see her.
"And you are looking much improved," Sophie told her, taking her coat. "Come into the lounge with me, and I shall introduce you."
There was Stephen, looking owlish and a bit rumpled, and two unfamiliar faces: the dark-haired woman with whom Stephen was currently conversing must certainly be Diana, and the man who stood as they entered the room, frightfully tall and with long yellow hair, could not be any but Jack.
He took her hand in his and shook it heartily, leaning down somewhat so that his great, smiling face might be closer on level with her own. "Jack Aubrey, a pleasure."
"Beth Norrington," she answered, and felt the queer thrill that accompanied every opportunity to say her name; two months of introducing herself had yet to take the shine from telling people her surname, or from referring to 'my husband, James.' "Pleased to meet you, too."
At that moment, Sophie, sniffing the air, cried, "Oh! I think the roast is done, and perfect timing. Go on into the dining room, now, please!"
When they were seated, Stephen bowed his head and, after receiving a significant glance, Jack followed suit (and from there, everyone else). "Bless us, O Lord," Stephen intoned, "for these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive, from Thy bounty, through Christ, our Lord, amen."
"Amen," they echoed quietly, and Beth found herself very glad that Stephen alone spoke the words, for it was not a prayer she was familiar with. Had her head not been bent forward, she might have caught Diana rolling her eyes through the blessing, but she had been saying a silent word of thanks of her own and had missed the sight.
As they began to fill their plates with food, Jack, apparently hoping to serve to illuminate any lingering mysteries regarding his friend, said to Beth, "We normally say an Anglican grace, of course, but Stephen is a Catholic, you see--"
"Yes, I imagine she gathered that from my crossing myself," Stephen cut in, sounding terribly wry as he spooned a mass of roasted potatoes onto his plate. "You may like to inform the table that I am Irish next, or that I have been at sea with you these past nine months."
"Now, Stephen, we'll have no need for that," answered Jack, seemingly oblivious to the sarcasm of Stephen's suggestions. "After all, the truth will wash out if we do not sell it, and likely already has."
It was a strange conversation to listen to, but rather jovial nonetheless; and as it seemed they two were in something of a habit to talk as though they were the only people in the room, Beth did not feel pressed to make any comment of her own. At a lull in their dialogue, she did give Sophie her compliments on the food, as was only proper and entirely truthful.
When their plates were empty and the party had moved back into the lounge for coffee, Sophie attempted to bring the conversation away from the habits of the African dik-dik by asking, "Beth, would you favour us with a performance? I'm afraid our piano doesn't get the use it ought, and the pudding needs a few more minutes before it's set."
"Capital idea!" said Jack. "Let's have some music this evening; Stephen and I can do a bit of scraping in exchange."
"Well," Beth began, hoping to demur the request entirely, for the idea frankly terrified her; she saw quite clearly Diana's expression of vague annoyance this time, and was not sure exactly who it was directed at. "I am not as practiced as I might be--"
"Tosh," said Sophie. "You practice nearly every day, don't you? And give lessons?"
Beth owned that she did and after several moments of consideration, during which both Jack and Sophie looked at her with wheedling expressions, agreed to play them something small. Her stomach seemed to do a fine impression of a sinking brick, so dreadful did she feel upon approaching the upright in the corner of the room, and she determined that she would play a dance or character piece and be done with it. Had she been at home, her mind would have gone to the hymns of her youth, for they gave her the most joy to play, but those required singing as well, and playing piano for new acquaintances was difficult enough.
She ran her fingers over the keys, listening to the tone of the instrument and trying to decide what to play; it was not precisely in tune, but she had certainly played worse in her life. A moment or two of thought, and she started in on a Chopin mazurka. It was full of quiet dissonances that put her in mind of grey, tired days, and a melancholy melody that expanded, lively and unmistakably dance-like, then contracted back to its original character before fading away entirely.
In total, it was only three or four minutes, during which she looked steadfastly at the wall as her hands drew out the notes, but it still felt like three or four minutes too long. Had she been able to recall the Minute Waltz in its entirely, she would have chosen that instead. Their eyes were on her, she could be quite certain, and while she had grown reasonably adept at playing in public in college, she was some years out of practice, and could leave behind an audience at a recital. Here, she must endure their judgments on her abilities, no matter how ready to praise Sophie seemed to be.
She let her hands drop onto her lap and heard applause behind her, quite loud--though that could be explained by the size of Jack Aubrey's hands.
It was immediately apparent that Sophie Aubrey was not a scatterbrained woman, but she did occasionally have (admittedly very fine) ideas at the last moment; it was a testament to the Aubrey family's oft-mentioned luck that her schemes did not run into roadblocks very often. That Saturday was one of many that saw Fortune smiling upon her, when she called up Beth to ask, "I know it is very late notice, but would you like to come for dinner tonight?"
Beth, who had no plans for the evening but perhaps to start in on a new book, answered, "Yes, thank you, that would be very nice."
"Oh, I had hoped you might think so!" Sophie's joy was palpable even without the benefit of the sight of her delighted face. "You have not had the chance to meet my husband, nor Diana, and I am determined they shall love you, Beth, dear."
"Would you like me to bring anything?" she asked tentatively, feeling it best not to comment on her potential appeal to Sophie's relations.
"Only yourself," Sophie said. "You're to be our guest--I shan't have you working overly, and when you've been ill."
Her recent spell of exhaustion was not a great concern to Beth, by now very used to the cycles of good health and poor, but Sophie had not seemed to quite understand how very expected it was when she and Stephen had come to visit. Attempting to repeat the explanation seemed out of place at that moment, however, and so Beth simply agreed to arrive at seven that evening and set about to the afternoon's chores.
As the dinner hour approached, she found herself growing more nervous for it, and wishing very much she did not have to arrive alone. She liked Sophie very well, and Stephen had been pleasant enough, if a bit eccentric in manner, but Diana and Jack were strangers entirely, outside Sophie's stories of them; and to go by those, their primary characteristics were tendencies toward tempestuousness and vivacity, respectively. Sophie spoke with great affection for the both of them, which recommended them, of course, but playing the stranger at the door to so many strong personalities was cause for distress.
If only James were there to accompany her! she thought at least once. Managing conversation over good food would not be a bother, with or without him, but it would be a comfort to have someone at her side on the walk to the Aubreys' front door; the anticipation, more than anything else, was the spectre that haunted her through the afternoon.
She had to go alone, however, and steeled herself to do so: kissed Smudge and Jinx each on their furry heads and went out the door.
It was not so terrible as she had imagined it might be, standing on the front step of the Aubrey house at seven sharp, waiting for someone to come to the door. Thankfully, it was Sophie who answered, and, drawing Beth in from the cool air of an autumn evening, exclaimed her gladness to see her.
"And you are looking much improved," Sophie told her, taking her coat. "Come into the lounge with me, and I shall introduce you."
There was Stephen, looking owlish and a bit rumpled, and two unfamiliar faces: the dark-haired woman with whom Stephen was currently conversing must certainly be Diana, and the man who stood as they entered the room, frightfully tall and with long yellow hair, could not be any but Jack.
He took her hand in his and shook it heartily, leaning down somewhat so that his great, smiling face might be closer on level with her own. "Jack Aubrey, a pleasure."
"Beth Norrington," she answered, and felt the queer thrill that accompanied every opportunity to say her name; two months of introducing herself had yet to take the shine from telling people her surname, or from referring to 'my husband, James.' "Pleased to meet you, too."
At that moment, Sophie, sniffing the air, cried, "Oh! I think the roast is done, and perfect timing. Go on into the dining room, now, please!"
When they were seated, Stephen bowed his head and, after receiving a significant glance, Jack followed suit (and from there, everyone else). "Bless us, O Lord," Stephen intoned, "for these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive, from Thy bounty, through Christ, our Lord, amen."
"Amen," they echoed quietly, and Beth found herself very glad that Stephen alone spoke the words, for it was not a prayer she was familiar with. Had her head not been bent forward, she might have caught Diana rolling her eyes through the blessing, but she had been saying a silent word of thanks of her own and had missed the sight.
As they began to fill their plates with food, Jack, apparently hoping to serve to illuminate any lingering mysteries regarding his friend, said to Beth, "We normally say an Anglican grace, of course, but Stephen is a Catholic, you see--"
"Yes, I imagine she gathered that from my crossing myself," Stephen cut in, sounding terribly wry as he spooned a mass of roasted potatoes onto his plate. "You may like to inform the table that I am Irish next, or that I have been at sea with you these past nine months."
"Now, Stephen, we'll have no need for that," answered Jack, seemingly oblivious to the sarcasm of Stephen's suggestions. "After all, the truth will wash out if we do not sell it, and likely already has."
It was a strange conversation to listen to, but rather jovial nonetheless; and as it seemed they two were in something of a habit to talk as though they were the only people in the room, Beth did not feel pressed to make any comment of her own. At a lull in their dialogue, she did give Sophie her compliments on the food, as was only proper and entirely truthful.
When their plates were empty and the party had moved back into the lounge for coffee, Sophie attempted to bring the conversation away from the habits of the African dik-dik by asking, "Beth, would you favour us with a performance? I'm afraid our piano doesn't get the use it ought, and the pudding needs a few more minutes before it's set."
"Capital idea!" said Jack. "Let's have some music this evening; Stephen and I can do a bit of scraping in exchange."
"Well," Beth began, hoping to demur the request entirely, for the idea frankly terrified her; she saw quite clearly Diana's expression of vague annoyance this time, and was not sure exactly who it was directed at. "I am not as practiced as I might be--"
"Tosh," said Sophie. "You practice nearly every day, don't you? And give lessons?"
Beth owned that she did and after several moments of consideration, during which both Jack and Sophie looked at her with wheedling expressions, agreed to play them something small. Her stomach seemed to do a fine impression of a sinking brick, so dreadful did she feel upon approaching the upright in the corner of the room, and she determined that she would play a dance or character piece and be done with it. Had she been at home, her mind would have gone to the hymns of her youth, for they gave her the most joy to play, but those required singing as well, and playing piano for new acquaintances was difficult enough.
She ran her fingers over the keys, listening to the tone of the instrument and trying to decide what to play; it was not precisely in tune, but she had certainly played worse in her life. A moment or two of thought, and she started in on a Chopin mazurka. It was full of quiet dissonances that put her in mind of grey, tired days, and a melancholy melody that expanded, lively and unmistakably dance-like, then contracted back to its original character before fading away entirely.
In total, it was only three or four minutes, during which she looked steadfastly at the wall as her hands drew out the notes, but it still felt like three or four minutes too long. Had she been able to recall the Minute Waltz in its entirely, she would have chosen that instead. Their eyes were on her, she could be quite certain, and while she had grown reasonably adept at playing in public in college, she was some years out of practice, and could leave behind an audience at a recital. Here, she must endure their judgments on her abilities, no matter how ready to praise Sophie seemed to be.
She let her hands drop onto her lap and heard applause behind her, quite loud--though that could be explained by the size of Jack Aubrey's hands.