Disclaimer: All recognizable characters & settings belong to Frances Hodgson Burnett.
I wish I got paid for this, but I don't.
A/N: This fanfic is already finished and I'm in the process of revising it, so I should be able to update pretty frequently. It will be about eight chapters long. Reviews would be very very much appreciated!!
Forever and Ever and Ever
Chapter One: Good News and Bad News
There was great excitement at the Bradford Academy for Young Ladies that Monday morning, for one of its students, seventeen-year-old Cecelia Greenwood, had gone to visit her family in the country last Friday evening and reappeared three days later wearing a diamond ring!
The oldest form especially took notice, and several of Cecelia's five year-mates had to take care to mask their jealousy with excitement as they gasped and giggled over the ring.
"You must show us the photograph again after breakfast, Cece dear – now that you're engaged I'm sure he looks quite different!" exclaimed Annabelle Taylor, wrapping an arm around her friend.
"Oh, I wish I had a photograph of yesterday afternoon!" Cecelia said, looking proudly at her hand. "Richard was ever so handsome down on one knee – and even more so when I accepted!"
"If the engagement has changed his looks as much as it has changed yours, Cecelia, the photograph would hardly do him justice – you look so beautiful, and so happy."
"Thank you, Mary, you are sweet!" Cecelia said, disentangling herself from Annabelle to wrap both arms around her best friend.
"Oh, look, here comes Mrs. Bell – maybe she heard your news, Cece!" said Emily Thompson.
The other girls looked up from Cecelia's diamond. Emily was right: the head mistress was heading their way; she made no greeting to any of the lower forms. However, Mrs. Bell's face looked even graver than usual, not the visage one wants to present to the newly affianced.
"Mrs. Bell, did you hear that Cecelia's engaged?" Eliza Henry ventured, but the headmistress gave Cecelia's finger only a passing glance.
"We're very happy for you, Miss Greenwood. Miss Lennox, I need to see you in my office immediately."
With a worried look at her friends, Mary left the dining room and followed Mrs. Bell down the hallway to her office. Once Mary was inside the room, Mrs. Bell closed the door and gestured for Mary to sit in one of the comfortable chairs in front of the desk.
"A boy brought this for you a few minutes ago," Mrs. Bell said, handing Mary a white envelope bearing, beneath a sweaty handprint, her name and the heading "URGENT."
Hesitantly, Mary pulled out the letter and began to read:
Dear Mary,
I received news this morning from my uncle that Father passed away last night. It was sudden and quick; Dr. Craven thinks it was a heart attack. I am returning to Misselthwaite this afternoon and will arrive for you at one o'clock, if you wish to travel with me. Please send word back with the messenger.
With love,
Your cousin,
Colin Craven
"Bad news?" Mrs. Bell asked gently, and Mary was suddenly aware that her cheeks were wet. She had not realized she was crying.
"The letter is from my cousin," Mary said shakily. "My uncle passed away last night."
She closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself not to break down in front of Mrs. Bell.
"I must return to Misselthwaite. My cousin writes that he will bring me with him if I send a message back. Is the boy still here?"
"He is waiting outside," Mrs. Bell said, looking at Mary with concern. "You may borrow some stationary of mine, if you wish."
"Thank you," Mary said, accepting the paper and pen Mrs. Bell handed her.
Dear Colin,
What terrible news! Of course I will return to Misselthwaite as well. I will be ready at one o'clock.
She wanted to write something more, something that said that Colin was not alone, that she too had loved Archibald Craven deeply, that she would be there for him – but she could not think of how to put all this into words, so she simply signed it. Suddenly worried that the letter might seem rather frivolous without some sort of condolence, she reread it and decided that the tear-marks smudging the ink would be enough for Colin to understand. She folded the paper and handed it to Mrs. Bell.
"Will you give this to him, please? I must go pack."
"Of course, dear," Mrs. Bell said quietly. "I offer my condolences to you and your family."
"Thanks," Mary whispered, not trusting her voice, and retreated from the office as quickly as was proper.
Except for Mrs. Bell, everyone was in the dining room, so Mary ignored propriety and ran down the hallway and up a flight of stairs to the room she shared with Cecelia, where she collapsed on her bed, sobbing.
"Mary? Mary dear, what's wrong?"
Mary raised her head to see all five of her year-mates in her room; Cecelia was standing next to Mary by the bed. Was breakfast over already?
Mary sat up and wiped her face with the handkerchief Sarah Anderson offered. "My uncle's dead," she said thickly, and the girls gathered around her and cooed their condolences.
"Oh, poor Mary, he was your only relative left, wasn't he?" Annabelle asked, her voice dripping with sympathy.
Mary nodded, then shook her head. "There's Colin still," she said quietly. "I still have Colin."
The other girls exchanged glances. They had all met Colin: he and Mary would occasionally spend a Saturday together, and while Mary had repeatedly denied that there was anything between the two, the girls never believed her.
Mary stood up and went to her wardrobe. "I need to pack; Colin will be here at one to take me to Misselthwaite," she said, looking through her dresses in search of the darker ones.
"You can borrow my black dress, Mary," Cecelia offered, joining Mary at the wardrobe and waving at the other girls to leave; Mary heard the quiet snick of the door as it shut behind them. "And I'll help you pack, if you'd like."
"Thank you, Cece," Mary said, setting a dark green dress on her bed. "I'm sorry for ruining your special day."
"As long as you come to my wedding, I'll forgive you," Cecelia said, hugging Mary. Really, she was a good friend.
When one o'clock came, Mary was sitting with Mrs. Bell in the headmistress's office. Neither was talking: Mary was watching raindrops slide down the small window, and Mrs. Bell was watching Mary as if waiting for her to shatter into a million pieces.
Finally Mar heard a knock and muffled voices as Polly, one of the maids, answered the door. Not waiting for Mrs. Bell, Mary stood and walked out of the office to meet her cousin.
Colin was waiting for her. He was dressed entirely in black, which made his pale skin more noticeable than usual. The clothes seemed also to draw attention to Colin's huge gray eyes, which were bloodshot: he had obviously been crying.
Feeling tears welling up in her own eyes, Mary stepped forward to embrace her cousin. Colin clung to her tightly and for a moment Mary was reminded of the frightened little boy she used to sing to sleep.
"I didn't know you owned any black," Colin said quietly, releasing her.
"I don't; it's my roommate's, Cecelia's," Mary said, smiling sadly.
Colin nodded, not looking at her. "Is this your trunk?"
"Yes," Mary said. Two of the maids had brought it downstairs as soon as she finished packing.
Colin nodded again and gestured to the door. A man Mary had not noticed before entered the school and began to carry Mary's trunk out to the carriage she presumed was waiting outside.
"Allow me to offer my condolences, Mr. Craven," Mrs. Bell said: she had been watching the cousins for some time without saying a word, but now stepped forward determinedly to, no doubt, lay down some rules.
"Your condolences are accepted," Colin said briefly, not looking at her. Mary smiled slightly: Colin had never entirely lost his rajah-like behavior.
Unnerved by Colin's response, Mrs. Bell nevertheless pressed on. "As Miss Lennox's headmistress, I am responsible for her safety here and I must ask if you have provided an escort."
Colin frowned. "No, I had not thought of it, with everything else. Mary and I have both lost a father: is an escort really necessary? I assure you there will be no untoward behavior."
Mrs. Bell was shaking her head. "I really must insist."
"Very well; it makes no difference to me," Colin said. "However, we must hurry to Misselthwaite and I have no time to find an escort. If you provide one I will certainly reimburse you."
Mrs. Bell looked slightly affronted: Colin had spoken like a rajah again. She recovered quickly, though.
"I will send one of the maids, then. Polly!"
The girl started and blushed: she had been making eyes at the carriage driver.
"You will be accompanying Miss Lennox to Yorkshire. Go pack a bag, and be quick about it. You should return late tomorrow or early Wednesday, is that correct, Mr. Craven?"
"Yes," Colin said, giving her the briefest of glances.
The four of them – Mary, Colin, Mrs. Bell, and the driver – stood there until Polly returned three minutes later, breathing heavily and carrying a large black bag.
"Come, Mary, we must hurry," Colin said, making to leave.
"Goodbye, Mrs. Bell," Mary said hastily before following Colin and the driver out the door.
"Goodness, you were quite the rajah," she said quietly to Colin as the carriage began to move. She was sitting across from Colin, at the window; Poly was next to Mary and had already buried her nose in a five-penny romance novel.
"Yes, well, I don't like that woman," Colin said, turning his remarkable eyes on Mary. He had never quiet grown into those eyes – his mother's eyes, large and gray and rimmed with long black lashes – but Mary found them endearing, especially now when they looked so sad. If it had not been for Polly and propriety, she would have hugged Colin again.
"I am sorry, Colin," she said instead, reaching across the aisle to take both his hands in hers. It was no difficulty: the carriage was small and their knees were nearly touching as it was.
"I am too," Colin said, squeezing her hands. "You don't need to offer your condolences, Mary; Father was as good as your father, too."
"I know," Mary said, feeling tears well up in her eyes again. It was true: Archibald Craven had shown her more kindness and love than either of her parents, who had died when she was nine. And Uncle Archie had started to be a real father to Colin soon after Mary came to Misselthwaite, so Mary was sure that if she was not quite as miserable as Colin was, she was very nearly there.
"Come here, Mary."
Colin sounded like a frightened little boy again, not a rajah, so without a glance at Polly, Mary stepped across the aisle to wrap herself in Colin's arms. She couldn't help herself: she cried - really cried, not the quiet proper tears, one or two from each eye, she had allowed herself in front of Mrs. Bell. She felt Colin's chest hitch and held onto him until both of them had calmed.
"I'm sorry," Mary said when Colin finally released her. She reached for her purse, for her handkerchief and pocket mirror, to clean herself up.
"Don't, Mary," Colin said tiredly, turning to the window to surreptitiously wipe his eyes. He didn't turn back to look at Mary, so she twined her fingers in his and watched Polly read her book.