CSSNS22 fic update: “Believing Impossible Things” {part two}
This update took so much longer than I intended, and I can only beg your patience and hope you will still be interested in the newest happenings in this CS Victorian ghost-y AU with KnightRook (and SwanRook?) feels. Here’s hoping I can be more prompt in finishing up - either one or two more parts to go!
A million thank yous once again to the @cssns event for always being such an exciting and fulfilling thing to be part of, and to @o-wild-west-wind for the stunning cover art that I just LOVE <3
Summary: Miss Emma Nolan needed the governess job badly enough to ignore the gossip about the old mansion and the chilly reception she got about the lady of the manor. And when she met young Alice Jones, she knew she had made the right choice. But some rumors are rumors for a reason, and maybe the little girl who drew her there isn’t the only person on the estate in need...
{Part One can be found HERE or on AO3, whichever you prefer}
by: @snowbellewells
part two: the man in the shadows
The next morning came all too soon after Emma had spent the night rattled by the strange visitation and near tumble from the roof she had weathered in the dark, still hours before dawn. Though the man must have been an apparition - how else to explain his sudden appearance and disappearance, and the way her hand had passed right through his form? - her nerves were jangling, and she had tossed and turned uneasily for quite some time before rest ever came, just as the deep purples and blues of midnight began to lighten into the lavender gray before sunrise. Emma was certain she could have kept on sleeping once she finally calmed enough to allow it, if not for the soft tapping on her bedroom door.
Blearily sitting up, Emma tried to smooth her riotous sleep-mussed waves of hair and gather her blankets around her torso to hide her thin nightgown as much as possible, then hoped she sounded at least somewhat wakeful and pleasant, before she bid the visitor at the door ‘good morning’ and granted them entrance. Needless to say, Emma was exceedingly grateful to see Alice alone when the girl peeked her head around the door, hair tousled and eyes wide with wakeful excitement as she beamed and greeted her in the chipper trill of a morning person. “Hullo there, Miss Emma! Did you sleep well? I could hardly wait another minute to see you!”
Emma chuckled good naturedly and shook her head, making a mental note to remember that the child clearly woke up ready and anxious to start the day, and to make sure she herself went to bed early enough to be rested and set to greet Alice accordingly. Throwing back the sheet and covers, Emma rose from bed and quickly slipped on and tied at the waist the robe she had left on the straight back chair just beside it. Grateful that it was her young charge rather than her boss finding her still abed when she was needed, Emma hurried over to the small dressing table where she had set her travel case the evening before, found her brush, and began to pull it through her hair impatiently to take out the snarls, then tied it back without too much difficulty. Thankfully, Alice seemed nothing but happy to see her; neither impatient nor put out, and plopped down on the edge of the bed to watch her governess’ movements studiously.
After a few minutes, and once Emma had begun to pin her blonde locks up in a twist with tortoiseshell combs, Alice breathed appreciatively, “Your hair is awfully pretty, Miss Emma. Shiny like silk, it is.” She frowned slightly before plucking a ringlet of her own honeyed wheat color hair between two fingertips and holding it out from her head for Emma to see, “Not like mine, all dulled and curling everywhere out of control.”
Emma smiled, touched that Alice would be so excited to see her. Though the girl might still be young, and it Emma’s job to care for her, she still easily adored the child. In the almost thirty years of her life thus far, few people had ever waited breathlessly to speak to Emma, looked forward to spending time with her or hearing what she had to say, wanted badly to be in her exact company. Pleased beyond what she could put into words, Emma found herself hurrying through her morning preparations, not wanting to keep the sweet girl she grew more attached to each day waiting too long.
As she put in the last pin to hold up her hair and smoothed out her light day dress, Emma was surprised that Alice had not said anything more; most often, her words spilled out like a river (that much had become clear already) tumbling over each other in a rush as running water did over rocks. Turning to see what must have arrested the youngster’s attention, Emma’s breath caught in her throat. There before her sat Alice Jones on the edge of her still-rumpled bed, Emma’s woven baby blanket on Alice’s lap, small, careful fingers tracing the purple yarn of Emma’s name stitched into it, with eyes wide and entranced.
“It’s so lovely, Miss Emma,” Alice breathed with gentle awe. “Did your mother make it for you?”
Emma blinked, swallowing hard as she thought quickly to respond. It wasn’t that she wished to keep the truth from her charge, but she did not wish to introduce something painfully close-to-home into Alice’s awareness, not when - all things concerned - Alice seemed so well-adjusted and free from bitterness, despite her lack of family and a guardian who left much to be desired. Not only that, but it wasn’t an easy subject for Emma to broach. There was so little she truly knew about her parents; only the fond memories Granny had shared over the years. She had been so young when they died that all she was left with were the vague impressions of a broad-shouldered and sandy-haired man’s easy, charming smile and the solid strength of a chest against her cheek and pressure of a large hand cradling her head when she snuggled into him for a hug. She sometimes thought she could hear the echo of a voice singing sweetly enough to coax birds from the trees and shining black hair that smelled of lavender, but other than that, she had only the blanket and an empty gaping void where her parents ought to have been.
Shaking her head, Emma crossed the small room to sit facing Alice on the bed. Her own fingers brushed along the comforting soft pattern of the blanket as she readied herself to speak. Offering Alice a tremulous smile, she replied, “No, my mother didn’t make it, though it was a gift she had made for me. An older friend of my mother and father sewed this. They always called her Granny, as do I, for that matter, though that cannot be her given name.” One corner of her mouth turned up slightly at the bit of humor, hoping to lighten the moment before carrying on. “Granny had to give this to me herself when she finished though. My mother and father had…” she swallowed again, drawing in a couple of quick breaths, only to be startled when Alice’s small hand reached out to take hers, interlacing their fingers as if it were the most natural response in the world. Offering the child’s hand a grateful squeeze, Emma finished, “My mother and father had both passed away before they could give it to me themselves. Granny took me in after they were gone… even though she didn’t have to. She wasn’t truly my grandmother, but she raised me as if I was her own.”
Alice’s guileless face shone with sympathetic understanding as they sat together quietly for a minute or two. Then, she sighed, shrugging her slight shoulders and looking to her new friend and governess as if for confirmation. “It’s strange how much we miss them, isn’t it? People we hardly even knew?”
Emma’s mouth hung open, flummoxed by the astute observation, even if she knew the girl before her had lived a similar sort of lonely life. Really, there wasn’t much else to do but nod in agreement and open her arms to Alice, who leaned into her comforting embrace gladly.
~~~*~~~
As first days, and then weeks went by, Emma found herself growing ever more comfortable and at home in the house perched atop the hill like a sentinel over the seaside village upon which it presided. Not only that, she grew ever more attached to the young lady who had been entrusted into her care and found herself as protective and proud of young Alice Jones as an older sister or doting aunt would be, rather than simply an employee doing her job as governess. Thankfully, the imposing Ms. Gardiner seemed to be long gone; at least for the present. Alice communicated through stifled giggles and scrunched-up button nose - as if well aware and somewhat delighted with the knowledge that she was being naughty - that her so-called guardian often disappeared for long stretches of time without warning or explanation, ‘like a witch in a puff of smoke from a fairy tale’, the child proclaimed dramatically. Emma didn’t let herself forget that the unnerving woman could return at any moment, but she breathed more easily the longer her employer remained gone.
One early afternoon as the two were in the garden, enjoying the sunshine on their skin and the breeze rustling through the trees overhead, Alice came up to Emma almost shyly, holding something clutched tightly in her hands. Emma had found a large rock near the bordering grass of the garden rows of hollyhocks, sweet peas, roses and clematis, where she could bask in the warm rays from above and enjoy watching Alice so engaged and content, close enough to her to answer any question she might call out, without having to get down on the ground herself and soil one of the few dresses she owned with dirt or grass stains. Alice seemed more than happy just having company nearby. Her inquisitive mind studied and played with everything she encountered - muttering curiously to herself as she wondered about new discoveries or playfully speaking to the ladybugs and red-breasted robins alike, as cheerfully as if they were fond old friends.
As she stood before Emma that afternoon however, there was a flush of pink to her cheeks which Emma had not noticed before; a proud little tilt to her chin as a pleased smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Her governess was naturally curious at what Alice seemed so anxious to reveal, having noticed her going over to a large tree by the hedge some minutes ago and reaching into the wide open knothole in its trunk to retrieve some secret treasure she must have stored there. It would seem she was about to discover what that treasure might be.
Grinning at her governess sweetly, with a look of such keen understanding and poignancy it made her appear wise well beyond her years, Alice held her hands out before her and opened them to reveal the contents cradled in her palms to Emma’s sight. Lying there, pretty but rather innocuous after such a weighted unveiling were a small assortment of seashells. Two or three scallop shells spread like fans in buff, cream and peach, were joined by a bone-white spirula shell, and a single, slightly larger conch shell, miniature to the ones people often used to listen to the ocean, but still appealingly pretty and recognizable with its smooth inner whorl of pink.
Slightly nonplussed, but unwilling to hurt her young friend’s feelings, Emma quickly complimented them with earnest kindness. “Those are lovely shells. Thank you for sharing them with me.”
A brilliant trill of laughter pealed from Alice’s throat, and she shook her head wildly, her curls flying out in all directions. “No, silly! It’s more than that!” she giggled. “I mean, they are pretty…but these shells are special.” The girl looked around them surreptitiously, as if she expected a shadow to fall or an unseen thief to snatch her hoarded possessions away. Leaning in closer, she confided to Emma in an undertone, the secret’s import clear in every line of her bearing. “My Papa brought them to me. He carried them on his ship from halfway around the world. He knew I’d love them, and he brought them all the way back here just for me.”
Emma’s brow furrowed, not sure what to make of the child’s fervently uttered words. Her lips were already parted to question, “His ship?”, but she bit the inquiry back. She remembered Elois Gardiner alleging that Alice’s father, whomever he might be, had done little more than leave the child on the doorstep of this mansion and disappear. Even at the time though, she had felt something not quite right in the account, and the way Alice’s eyes shone in wistful remembrance as she spoke of ‘her Papa’ told a much different tale.
“Your Papa did?” Emma reiterated instead, repeating the question cautiously to make sure in conveyed gentle curiosity and not doubt as to whether or not such a thing could be true.
Meeting her eyes steadily, without a hint of uncertainty or mischief, the child nodded vigorously, her entire countenance alight with joy and excitement, seeming to have been waiting for someone with whom to share her prize. “He really did,” she assured, carefully placing the shells in Emma’s open palm to let her hold and look at them more closely.
Emma dutifully looked down to study the items in her hand, giving them the consideration she knew Alice felt they deserved and commenting on their uniqueness and beauty until her charge was beaming even more proudly. Once she had at last returned them to the girl’s eager grasp, Alice slipped them into the pocket of her pinafore, surprising Emma by not returning them to the hiding place from which she had fished them. Patting the spot gently, as if reassuring herself of their safety, Alice turned back to the row where she had been crouched, looking for particularly pretty pebbles and picking a bouquet of garden flowers. Watching her, Emma could only feel happy for her that she didn’t concern herself with smudges of dirt on her clothes, how her hair was styled, or whether on not her current occupation was ladylike. Much as Emma herself had been allowed to do growing up with Granny and helping the older woman in her diner, Alice was simply enjoying being young, rather than being schooled in proper decorum day and night - bored to the point of tears, made into a coquette by the time she reached adolescence, and hemmed in by her lack of other options. Someday it might be hard to lose such freedom once she grew up and had to enter society, but Emma would never take these precious moments from the girl, however rude an awakening it might be later.
It was rather humorous that when she was often out of doors and playing rough and tumble, she would be dressed in such fanciful and whimsically old-fashioned clothes. All the same, Emma supposed the wealth of pockets in the particular ensemble Alice wore had proven useful. And, in truth, as much as she was playfully uncontained in her boundless imagination and exploration, Alice had a feminine side as well, one that enjoyed ruffles and curls and dainty bits of detail. She might not concern herself with keeping them in pristine condition, but in some ways the rather datedly intricate style of much of her wardrobe somehow suited her.
Reaching out to take the armful of purple, red, blue, orange, and pink blossoms from Alice so she could carry her collected skipping and wishing stones, Emma smiled down at her beneficently, charmed once again by this thoughtful, beguiling child of contradictions, who was already so far ahead of most by knowing who she was and acting as her heart lead, rather than how others might dictate. Still, as they returned to the house to put their flowers in water and remove their muddy shoes, enjoy their tea, and return to lessons for the early afternoon hours, Emma couldn't help her lingering curiosity - if only in her ever-growing desire to protect her charge from heartache and disappointment. Alice Jones must surely have already weathered her share, in spite of her youth.
Holding the door open so that Alice could enter before her and place her gathered pebbles along the weathered ledge of the wash basin before later cleaning so they could be added to her collection, Emma spoke carefully, weighing her words to sound as innocent as possible, “How did your father bring the shells to you, Alice? I’m happy to know that he has visited you, if that is the case, and that he brought you such a well-chosen gift. But, I must admit to being a bit puzzled. Ms. Gardiner made it seem as though he had been absent for quite some time, as if he had not been back for years even.”
Alice plunked herself right down on the hardwood floor of the sun porch to work loose the laces of her older outdoor boots, and for a moment seemed occupied enough that she might not respond to her governess’ question. However, once she was in her stocking feet, she stood before Emma again, cocking her head slightly as though she couldn’t quite fathom what her governess must be thinking. At last, shaking her golden mane and scattering the confusion loose from the corners of her mind, she moved toward the passage into the kitchen, shooting a knowing smile back over her shoulder. “Well, naturally she would say that, wouldn't she?” she countered, her light voice far from being harsh or angry, but also pert and certain, challenging the assumption that Emma couldn't help having come to, at least in part, with the information that she had been given.
“Why, Alice!” she sputtered, following the child into the main part of the house, retrieving a fine china vase from one of the cupboards and beginning to fill it up with water as she continued, “Whatever do you mean?” She waited for the answer this time with almost bated breath, wondering if the girl harbored her own suspicions of her guardian’s trustworthiness and motives, just as Emma herself did, or if she actually knew more than anyone realized, had seen something others had missed.
Once Emma had filled the vase, placed it in the center of the large table where they enjoyed their meals, and then arranged the flowers to her satisfaction, Alice gripped her hand tightly, the look in her eyes imploring as she steadily held Emma’s gaze. “I mean that it isn’t as simple as Miss Eloise says. She wants you to believe he abandoned me without a second thought.” She bit her lip before plunging on, each word growing more fervent, more desperate to be believed. “But he didn’t abandon me. He wouldn’t. I know it… whatever anyone else tries to say.”
Emma nodded her understanding, finding her throat stinging and fighting to blink back the tears which tried to well up in her eyes. She wanted to tell the child that of course she was right, that no parent would willingly leave behind a daughter as wonderful and lovable as her. And yet, life seldom went as it ought. Life was no fairy tale, and just because a person deserved love and happiness did not mean it would come to them as it should. She knew that better than most. She had no problem reconsidering Eloise Gardiner’s words either; they had smacked of false self-righteousness anyway. The fact remained though, that Alice had spent most of her life sequestered in this gorgeous but lonely and deserted house and its grounds. If her father hadn’t abandoned her, why was she still here with a governess and a cold, disinterested guardian as poor substitutes for his presence? If he hadn’t left his daughter in the hands of virtual strangers to pursue his own amusements and desires, would he not be here now with Alice?
Yet, no matter how much these questions trembled on the tip of her tongue, begging to be asked along with several more, Emma held them back. Instead, she simply cradled Alice’s cheeks in her palms, stroking her thumbs lightly over the baby-soft apples of Alice’s cheeks before she smoothed the girl’s curls back off her forehead and softly bid her go and wash up while she got their tea ready.
Nodding her agreement, Alice turned to do as requested, but not before offering solemnly. “I can see you don’t think he’s been here - that he’s left me behind. But you will. I know you will in time. Things aren’t always the way they seem.” Turning lightly on her heel, the child flitted silently from the room with a skip and a bound like some fairy of woodland lore, no doubt off to find a new hiding place for her shells’ safekeeping before returning to the kitchen with clean clothes and washed face and hands.
Emma meanwhile stood gazing after her for a moment, once more trying to understand what the girl’s cryptic words could mean. It wasn’t defiance, threat, or anger, merely what Alice saw as fact. But what might she be missing? She would know if someone had been there. She lived on the estate with her charge, and they spent nearly every waking moment in each other’s company. And if the man, this Jones she knew little of beyond the fact that he had managed to help bring one of the most delightful children she had ever encountered into the world, were still returning with gifts, why did he not stay? And what did Ms. Gardiner gain by lying about it?
None of her whirling questions made any sense - together or separately, nor did any answers come to her. She was forcing herself into motion: putting the kettle on to boil water and retrieving the iced lemon cakes Alice liked best from the pantry when the troubling memory of her near-tumble from the widow’s walk flashed into her mind once more. She had managed - more or less - to put the incident from her mind in the intervening days since, but in the moment, she could almost feel the wind whipping against her, the strong grip on her arm pulling her back to safety, the wild, searching eyes questioning what she could have been thinking with such foolish recklessness…. Her breath caught again remembering inky dark hair ruffled by the air around them, her own fear and curiosity leading her to reach out, only to have her touch pass through the stranger’s form and him then vanish before her very eyes.
Shaking the thoughts away, Emma tried to steady herself and use some sense. That had been an unsettled imagination, a dream rooted in anxiety. There couldn’t be any connection… could there? And yet, the beseeching blue of that quickly lost gaze seemed to linger on her every move until Alice returned and they sat down to their afternoon repast.
~~~*~~~
Later that evening, while day darkened into lengthening shadows in corners and the world outside went ever more quiet and still, two voices were speaking heatedly in one of the unused upstairs rooms of the large and winding old house. If Emma Nolan could have heard them, she would have been all the more confused by the vision she was trying to ignore and been set to doubting her ears as well as her eyes.
The fervently hissed voice, tensely uttered by a tall, dark haired man who paced restlessly from one end of the room to the other, lamented, “It’s infuriating, Liam! I do not know how much longer I can abide it! She clearly did not believe our Alice. She must have bought into the poisonous falsehoods Eloise spouted at her hiring. It would be no matter; she can think what she will… but if she leads Alice to doubt my affection….. I will not be able to stand it, Brother. We are already kept apart by her evil plottings, but Alice, my sweet girl, has never faltered. She knows I would never choose to leave her. I’ll not have her made to feel foolish!”
His companion, another man with lighter, more riotously curling hair, and broader shoulders, sat at a desk in the center of the room watching the first gentleman pace, appearing wholly sympathetic but also bemused. “Come now, little brother, you know if she hasn’t doubted you yet, she won’t start now. This is why I did say we should scare her off when she first arrived. We can more than see to Alice’s needs ourselves.”
The darker haired man shot him a withering look, raking his one hand through his hair almost violently, before shooting back, “Liam, we’ve lived untold years now, on some plane other than the natural world. We couldn’t even know our own ages for certain any longer. Must you still insist on calling me ‘little’ brother?”
The elder chuckled good naturedly, even as he nodded in affirmation, much to the other’s consternation. “Come now, it’s what I’ve always called you.”
“Much to my dismay,” he shook his head and finally sank into the other seat. After a minute, he spoke again more earnestly. “And to answer your earlier point, no, we cannot simply run her off. Alice clearly adores the woman, and she has been good to our girl…”
“Well then,” this Liam returned pragmatically, shrugging nonchalantly, even if he would have been at immediate attention were his dear and only niece truly in danger. “Perhaps we will merely have to make her understand that our girl has the right of the situation. Not everything is as simple and obvious as this Miss Emma Nolan has been led to understand.” He arched a brow over eyes as equally blue and persuasive as his younger sibling’s with a blatantly speaking look as eloquently expressive of his intent as any words could be.
The darker haired man, indeed Killian Jones, Alice’s own father and the stranger who had saved Emma from falling that first night she had stayed in the home, paused, seemingly mulling the possibilities before them and considering the suggestion. Something still held him back; he remembered the softness and open vulnerability when he had clutched her slight frame so she wouldn’t fall to her death, and also how she had seemed more drawn to him - concerned and curious - than he had experienced in ages… perhaps ever. Frightening her was far from his goal and design, if there were some other way to reach her and get his message across. True, Liam had looked out for him and advised him well all his life - and afterlife - but in this his elder brother was also protecting their domain and their only yet living family, rather than considering what might truly be best for Alice. Somehow, even in their very limited interaction, Killian sensed that thai Emma Nolan cared deeply for his precious little girl, wanted to do right by Alice and see her well and happy even as he had wished to do himself. He hesitated to take from his child someone who could give her the connection and comfort he no longer could.
No, what he needed was some way to communicate with the lovely young woman, to speak with her as he had so briefly that night on the widow’s walk, but also to convince her that he was real and needed her to understand his message. Shaking his head slowly in consideration, he turned his face back to his brother’s once more, speaking with measured deliberation. “As you say, Brother. They have formed an attachment - one that has been good for our Alice. We don’t need Miss Nolan gone. We need a way to reach her… to make her believe.”
He beloved elder sibling, level headed, wise, the anchor he had always known to look to, sharpened his gaze slightly, as if trying to see into Killian’s thoughts - or his soul. There was no hiding the strong and heady mix of confusion, intrigue, and attraction he felt pulling him toward the new governess. It had been all he could do to keep his distance and avoid showing himself to her again ever since saving that pretty neck. That she hadn’t run from the place screaming, nor had she revealed him to anyone else, told him she was made of sterner stuff than her delicate, porcelain features would indicate, or she felt a true dedication to Alice, which only endeared her to him further. He found himself hoping she could be made to see and believe the rest, and there was no sense in attempting to deceive or hide it from Liam - maybe his brother would even have an idea that could help him.
Knowing comprehension dawned in the elder Jones’ eyes as he nodded in confirmation, seeming to assure himself of the conclusion he’d come to. Before Killian could speak again or attempt to explain his reasoning for the feelings that must have been clear in his eyes, Liam quietly acquiesced, offering to let him take the lead. “You may be right,” he murmured, tilting his head in Killian’s direction, then letting his gaze move pointedly toward the window where they could look out and see the very subject of their conversation playing with her charge. “Heaven knows our girl deserves some happiness and the maternal affection she’s never known. You’re only thinking of her. I shouldn’t have been so quick to expect the worst.”
Killian’s tense face broke into a chuckle at that, his head shaking as he accepted his brother’s reconsideration gratefully. “In fairness,” he returned, a touch of rueful jest in his voice, “you’ve had trouble enough to cause such a reaction to be your first response.”
Liam attempted to look offended, but the effect was lost when his own guffaw escaped, seeing the twist of tragic humor in the situation, despite himself. It had been countless years - there truly was no way for them to measure it exactly - that Liam had lingered haunting these halls, not knowing why he could not pass on to peace and rest. He had almost resigned himself to the endless, empty half life of invisible wandering in this strange, unknown place until Killian had arrived - confused, angry, desperate to return to the daughter who had been ripped from his arms. Together, with Killian’s much clearer memories and rabid urgency, they had reconnected some of the dots between how they had been unexpectedly reunited against any sense or odds. Though Killian’s situation was different than his own, and his unwilling presence here was not at all right or fair, he could remember crossing Eloise Gardiner - a more powerful threat than he could a have possibly known until it was too late - and they had been searching for a way to right the wrong and see him freed of her trap ever since.
The companionship of his younger sibling had eased the loneliness for Liam and given him some sense of purpose. He was grateful to feel somewhat more like himself again after so long, but it made him all the more wary, sure that bit of comfort would be snatched from them without warning as it was before. To see Killian dragged through the torment and uncertainty he had weathered was its own unique sort of punishment, even as it was a gift as well, and he hated it as much as he loved it. Whatever else there was going on, he would be right at Killian’s side, willing to do anything to see him reunited with his daughter and back in his own life - the real living one he deserved - whether that was threatening, cajoling, or anything in between.
“Maybe I should reveal myself to her again… let her see me and explain what we’ve discovered,” Killian mused.
Liam tilted his head in a bit of challenge and a bit of true thought. “If only you were certain how you did it before,” he cautioned, reminding Killian that it might well be more difficult and less straightforward than he hoped. The night he had physically manifested had not been a concerted effort on his part; he had seen her about to go over the railing, and even without knowing her at all, his concern had led him to leap forward in an attempt to save her from a fall she might not survive. He was drawn to her powerfully; he was man enough to admit that. Though he was not at all sure that did anything other than make him more urgent, more motivated, and more desperate to reach her - for Alice’s sake and for his own. She had reached out for him, in those few moments after he had pulled her to safety, those precious mere seconds when he had been once more corporeal and visible on the same plane she inhabited. Could she have felt a similar pull to the one which had gripped his insides? Killian had found himself holding his breath as her delicate fingers neared his chest, only to have them pass through him and his time run out.
It was a strange feeling, going insubstantial again; the whole encounter had been so fleeting he hadn’t registered feeling differently until physical sensation rushed from his limbs once more, like sand pouring from an hourglass. She had gasped, and he knew this Emma Nolan could no longer see him, the curse escaping his lips before he could pull it back.
And as Killian had watched them since, longing so deep and aching it hollowed out whatever was left within him as she followed Alice through the gardens, encouraging his child’s stories and play, or as he listened to Emma patiently impart Alice’s lessons in the afternoons or tuck her in and kiss his daughter’s forehead each night, Killian felt gratitude to the newcomer swell in his heart, despite wishing he were there for Alice in her place. It was clear that Miss Nolan had somehow managed to dismiss their encounter, to reason away what was deemed impossible, as people so often did when it could not be explained. He couldn’t even fault her for it. Until this strange half-life had been visited upon him, he would have done the very same.
Regardless, he would find a way to speak with her a second time, to use whatever connected them, which had allowed him to break through before, to do so again. He would return to his Alice; the hope thrummed in his heart as it had not done in years with the mere possibility. After all, as Liam had taught him long ago - even if the afterlife he had endured since had made his elder brother doubt the lesson - if he were unwilling to fight for this, what he wanted above all else, then he would deserve what he got.
~~~*~~~
The next morning, in the upstairs playroom of sorts next to Alice’s bedroom, the girl and her governess sat cozily tucked into the large window seat facing each other, a beautiful, large and richly detailed chessboard between them, balanced on their knees. It was raining outside, and so Alice had been convinced to stay in with the promise of roasting marshmallows over the fireplace and numerous cozy indoor amusements rather than splashing in puddles gleefully but quite probably catching cold and being confined to bed.
Emma had never learned to play chess, having never had much spare time for parlor games nor anyone to teach her one as involved and time-consuming as chess played well could be. However, when Alice had proudly and reverently produced the game from its cupboard, the young girl had been thrilled at the chance to be teacher, and had proven adept at doing so, as they were now well entrenched in their match.
Taking up one of the knights, Emma fingered it wonderingly, marveling at the craftsmanship in curiosity before asking Alice where she had gotten such a lovely chess set.
Alice’s finger stilled, resting thoughtfully atop the rook she intended to move as she tilted her head to the side and studied Emma wordlessly. The sensation her concerted look caused within Emma rattled her, as if her nerves were jangling in alarm beneath her skin, but she forced herself to stay still and meet the child’s eyes in return as she awaited a response. Then, Alice shrugged as if her decision mattered little and glanced back down to the carefully carved playing piece in her hand and finally picked it up to move. Her light hearted little shrug as she gave Emma a tiny, hopeful smile, belied her previous weighted consideration. Even before the bright twinkle sparked once more in her eyes, Emma could almost predict Alice’s answer as she placed her rook stoutly in its new position. “It was a gift from my Papa,” she explained fondly. “He gave it to me the last Christmas we were together.”
Once more, Emma felt impelled to ask Alice how she could remember that far, what she knew about her father’s whereabouts, if she was sure, and if so, why he would be away so long from the daughter he loved. The words were on the tip of her tongue in fact, finding herself unable to hold back longer, hating to see the child cling to false hope if hope were truly long gone. If Alice had indeed been deserted as Emma herself was, it was a heartbreaking fact to come to terms with, but the sooner it was accepted, Emma would be there to help Alice heal and rebuild.
She watched the girl sit back into the window seat after finishing her move, completely unperturbed and waiting for her governess to take her turn. Watching the joy and confidence lighting Alice’s eyes, too secure in her faith to ever doubt the father she very clearly did remember and treasure, Emma couldn’t bring herself to shatter the illusion. Even if it did turn out to be ill-fated and naive, it hurt no one for the girl to hold onto at present.
Sighing, Emma lingered with her hand hovering indecisively over the board, wanting to give some sort of caution or word of warning, even if not as clearly obvious as she had first intended. “You do know that you aren’t alone, don’t you?” she finally managed, a tentative question that came out sounding more quiet and worried than she had meant. “Rather, if your father continues to be kept by whatever business has drawn him elsewhere. Even if he remains unable to return, you… you realize you have others who care for you. You’ll be just fine, Alice.” Emma found the words harder to force out than she had expected, having to stop, wet her lips, and swallow over a large lump in her throat before she could finish. After all, she was more aware than most that though a person could survive and even thrive without the most basic bond between a parent and child being present in one’s life, it did leave a hole that didn’t ever fill in completely.
With the glimmer of almost adult understanding that often took Emma aback when talking with her young charge, Alice merely nodded solemnly, reaching out to take her governess’ hand and intertwine their fingers for a moment to press momentarily to her chest. “I do know that, thank you Miss Emma,” she replied with dutiful seriousness. “And I appreciate the thought behind it as well. But I have never felt that he is all that far away. Even if Papa isn’t here at this very moment. I know he will return. He promised it, and he never lies.”
Squeezing the girl’s hand before she released her grasp, Emma then thoughtlessly picked up a pawn, only to move it right into Alice’s path and promptly have it taken with a giggle and shake of the head. “Silly goose!” Alice chortled, the heaviness of their conversation forgotten in her good humored glee at besting her opponent. “You had better worry about your own situation. I’m doing quite well for myself.”
She winked to assure that it was only a jest with no hard feelings meant, and Emma took it as such, shrugging at her own lapse of concentration to their match and a huff at her own inattention. “Right you are,” she acquiesced easily enough.
For several more rounds, they moved the chess pieces wordlessly, intent on their play. Yet Emma still felt she should try again to temper Alice’s wild hope, already pained at the thought of seeing her crushed if this absent father never came through. No matter how she tried, though, she could not seem to bring any words to the surface where that situation was concerned; it was as if something stoppered her tongue each time.
Once Alice had eventually claimed a sound victory, and they were packing the board and pieces away, Emma was rather suddenly startled by an abrupt chill in the air around them. The temperature dropped so drastically that Emma found herself looking about anxiously to see if somehow a window had been left open, or if someone had arrived through the little-used side entrance just off the hall from where they sat and let in a draft. Strangely, nothing was open or amiss, though Emma felt a definite shiver run through her and reached for the shawl she had worn outside earlier in the day, draped over the back of a nearby chair.
She had just turned to question her charge, curious if Alice was cold as well, when the lights overhead and in the lamps on the sideboards all flickered at once, fitfully as if struggling not to die out and plunge them in darkness. Guttering as if they were all candles burning low, blown out by some unseen breath, the room dimmed and brightened by increments for several hushed seconds.
Emma’s lips formed an equally quiet “W-what was that?” as the glow of the room returned to steady normalcy at last. Not that she necessarily expected an answer from Alice, but more to assure herself she hadn’t dreamed the strange occurrence in some flight of fancy.
Before Emma could fully regain her wits, or even form further questions, Alice nodded in the affirmative, shrugging with blithe unconcern and offering a mischievous smile. So mischievous in fact that the twinkle in her young eyes nearly gave Emma pause. Could she know something more about what had just happened? How could she? It must have been a dip in the electrical power or some sort of weather-related fluke. There was no other explanation that made sense.
With an airy shake of her head, Alice chirped brightly, “Oh, there’s not need to worry. It does that sometimes.”
That this wasn’t an isolated incident actually stirred Emma’s worry more rather than assuaging it, and she had to convince herself that there was no possibility for a cold gust of wind to have been blown through the room following Alice’s pronouncement. She was merely letting her nerves get the best of her.
What Emma couldn’t see, nor would she have understood even if she had, was the pleased, anxiously hopeful expression on the girl’s face as her eyes traveled around the room expectantly, seeking something not yet apparent. She even gave a little wink as she closed the cupboard with her precious game inside, a silent acknowledgement to some unseen cohort whose presence she felt nonetheless.
If a person hadn’t known any better, it would almost seem she was communicating with her Papa, invisible though he might be.
~~~ * ~~~
Later that night, well past time to sleep and long after she had seen Alice to bed, tucked her in and wished her sweet dreams, Emma Nolan still found herself unable to rest. Questions plagued her mind, concerns and curiosity which did not add up, and the uneasiness she had felt amid the flickering light and chill in the game room hours before, keeping her from peaceful slumber. Tossing and turning fruitlessly was only worsening her tension until finally she flung the covers back and stood, beginning to pace in the dressing gown she had grabbed and thrown over her shoulders.
If this mysterious father of Alice’s were as doting and devoted as the girl believed, then where was he? Why was he not with her now, instead of off somewhere leaving his child alone to miss him and wonder? And how could he possibly have chosen such a cold and unsuitable guardian for her? It made no sense that Emma could work out, and she did not like being misled - nor did she like seeing those she cared for hurt. Alice was the one who stood to be crushed one way or another - either eventually when Ms. Gardiner dampened her unique and whimsical spirit, or when someday her father proved to be as shiftless and unfaithful as the dour hag had suggested, or they learned he had met some dire end and could not return.
At any rate, Emma decided suddenly, she was getting to the bottom of such troubling mystery. Waiting and observing was getting her nowhere; she only became more puzzled and more concerned for her charge. There had to be something she could uncover, some digging or sleuthing she could do, which would bring more clarity to the situation.
Lighting a three-pronged candlestick and holding it aloft, Emma resolved to start immediately. She already knew she wouldn’t sleep that night, and better to search and poke about when Alice was unaware. The last thing she wanted was to raise the young girl’s hopes or to force herself into the uncomfortable position of deceiving her caretaker whenever she might next return. Nevertheless, the place she knew her exploration must begin had come to her, and slipping through her bedroom door into the hall, Emma began her venture on silently slippered feet.
That morning as they had finished their chess game Emma knew she had felt something uncanny; something strange and otherworldly had occurred; whether she could pinpoint just what was of little consequence. The large, open playroom, now silently deserted in the midnight hour was where she had to return. A real part of her wanted to wait until morning (and the comforting light of day) to peek into the space. The tremors she felt running up her arms were not only from the chilled air. Whatever entity had caused the odd sensation she had felt before could still be present, and it could prove malevolent - it actually seemed more likely considering the mistress of the place was Ms. Gardiner.
Emma crept down the stairs gingerly, without incident and hardly making a sound. Her small candle’s light flickered tremulously, but it was enough for her to see the way ahead clearly. All the same, she felt her steps slow as she neared the room, almost holding her breath, hoping desperately not to disturb the quiet.
It was only as she came near enough to hear a hushed murmur, then another in response, followed by a warm, rumbling chuckle, that she drew up short just beside the door. She had yet to look in, quickly flattening herself to the wall and making sure she had not been seen instead. However, as she forced herself to remain, not flee, gathering her wits and courage about her, she realized the voices were light and affectionate - as far as possible from angry and threatening - and also that another light from within the room flickered out to where she stood. Her candle was not the only one in the dark house.
So who was speaking?
Leaning out to peer around the doorframe cautiously, Emma barely managed to swallow a gasp of shock. Holding her breath for several long seconds, she forced herself to calm and even sharply pinched the inside of her elbow with the fingers of her other hand, needing to make certain she had not dozed off and entered a dream. When nothing changed, her eyes focused once more on the carpeted hall where she stood. Emma blew out a breath of resolve and squared her shoulders. She needed to look again, if just to be sure.
Leaning out again, she slowly peered from her unseen vantage point, eyes traveling the distance across the spacious playroom lit with the candle’s wavering glow. Sure enough, the same tableau still greeted her, this time somewhat mesmerizing her with its feeling of gentle comfort rather than rousing alarm. It seemed impossible, but there before her eyes, ensconced in the very seats she and Alice had occupied only hours before, sat her young charge with her beloved chess set across from the handsomely dark stranger Emma had seen only once before.
Alice’s happily prattling little voice tickled Emma’s ear, telling her that the girl was clearly at ease and not in the least frightened or troubled by this gentleman companion. He must be far from the unknown entity Emma had assumed him that night on the widow’s walk. He had appeared from out of nowhere in the windy dark, saved her life, then vanished again before she could ask any questions. But now, rather than the tidy dream or hallucination she had tried to convince herself he must be, the stranger sat blithely playing chess in the middle of the night, with the child in her care.
Half ready to hustle into the room and demand an explanation, Emma was halted by the chortle of laughter which pealed from Alice’s lips just then, sounding so happy, so carefree, that Emma bit her tongue and held back, loathe to disrupt the pleasant moment. Alice appeared to be in no immediate danger or distress, so perhaps she could afford to linger and keep watch for a moment more rather than shattering the illusion and upsetting the girl unnecessarily.
As she continued to watch noiselessly from the shadows, Emma’s heart warmed at Alice’s victorious crow of pride and her piece’s successful counterstrike, and the subsequent warmth and affection radiating out from the man’s face as if to wrap Alice up and gather her close. That face was weathered and careworn, framed by dark, tousled hair and scruff along his chin and jawline, equally dark but interspersed periodically with strands of both ginger and grey. Those eyes were fathomless and deep, seeming cool and wild enough to drown in met that night atop the house alone, but now they gazed on Alice with a look that spoke of painful longing at last partially assuaged - a devotion that could only be paternal.
Emma’s musing was confirmed moments later when Alice chided playfully, “Papa! Whatever are you thinking? You’ve put yourself just where my bishop can take you if you aren’t more careful!”
Feeling her pulse pound at her temple, Emma fought for understanding, even as she watched the gentleman shake his head to clear it from distracting thoughts and give Alice a sheepish smile while moving his piece from its apparent danger. If this was the long lost father Alice had such faith in, what did his presence mean? Why had he not come forward and announced his return? How could this be?!
Not long after asking herself that question, the solution presented itself. As Emma remained looking on unseen, her candle’s light caught the man’s profile in such a way that she realized with a startled sinking of the heart that his form was not completely opaque. Once the realization was made, her eyes could not unsee the fact that the stonework of the fireplace, the gleam of the windowpane, the surfaces just beyond his seated body were visible through him, as if seen through a dense veil. She remembered the same impression that night when she had been wrested from calamity, gripped in strong arms, but then detected that they were not fully corporeal. He had been gone before her mind could grasp the paradox, as she had convinced her mind it was all imagination - until this very moment.
Her hand clutched the candlestick so tightly in her confused distress that the small beacon wobbled slightly. To her dismay, though Alice with her back to the door continued blissfully unawares, the stranger’s visage rose and caught her eyes with unerring accuracy. His stare, now that it held her rapt, was intense and unwavering. As if allowing some well-worn façade to slip, the sharp bravado fell away and she saw the well of anguish in those cobalt pools. One dark brow arched wordlessly, to beseech her ‘Now do you see? What else would you have me do?’
Emma stumbled back to lean against the wall, hand clutched to her chest and unable to maintain the near-electric stare between herself and her mysterious rescuer. For a moment, she focused merely on steadying herself, regaining control of the shaking in her limbs and the pounding of her heart. Was she going mad? Was the place as haunted as rumor had always alleged? Was Alice in danger in that very moment? This last thought propelled her forward, turning back to the scene by the fireplace.
It appeared that their game was over, and both man and young lady were standing to leave the room. Indecision gripped Emma. Should she attempt to hide and continue her observation? Should she charge in and confront the stranger? The possibilities whirled together dizzyingly, and she deliberated a moment too long.
The pair of chess players came close enough to the hall door that Emma’s light was glimpsed by her delighted charge. Upon seeing that her governess was awake and present with them, Alice’s face split into the widest grin Emma had yet witnessed on her winsome face. “Miss Emma! How lucky that you are awake!” She rushed forward the last few steps between them to clasp her new friend’s hand in both of her own smaller ones, squeezing tightly in her enthusiasm. “To be honest, I was not sure how to make this happen… though I had wished for it.” Her sweet eyes glittered in innocent happiness as she turned to the handsome, dark-haired gentleman just a step behind her, lingering awkwardly at best, though he gave the girl an affectionately acknowledging half-smile.
“Miss Emma Nolan,” Alice practically beamed, a playful formality in her tone as she gestured introduction. “Allow me to introduce my papa… Captain Killian Joens.”
To Emma’s surprised, the stranger stepped forward with all proper correctness, as if humoring Alice’s gracious ‘hostessing’, and bowed smartly to her, eyes once again searching her own and causing a crackle along Emma’s skin like she had been touched by blue flame.
Alice looked back and forth between them in eager curiosity as Emma carefully reached out once more, not sure if he would vanish again as he had at their last encounter. This time rather than attempting to make contact, Emma merely offered her hand to shake, holding it out between them.
“You can genuinely see me?” he, Killian Jones it would seem, whispered in a soft rasp heavy with stunned disbelief.
Her own voice seemed to have left her entirely, so Emma merely nodded in affirmation. What breath she had gathered rushed out again as he bent his dark head over her hand, which he took in his and brought up to his lips to press a kiss at her knuckles.
Standing again, the look on his face was a mix of so many emotions that Emma couldn’t decipher them all. “After all this time,” she thought he murmured, her brow crinkling as she tried to understand the strange response.
Alice grabbed both of them where their hands were joined, wringing them up and down in her exuberance. “Papa?” she asked, her tone alight as her shining face. “It is time at last? Can you finally be free?”
Tagging a few who might be interested: @cssns @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @cosette141 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @stahlop @elizabeethan @shireness-says @drowned-dreamer @ineffablecolors @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @justanother-unluckysoul @xarandomdreamx @sotangledupinit @resident-of-storybrooke @scientificapricot @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @linda8084 @lfh1226-linda @thejollyroger-writer @xsajx @wefoundloveunderthelight @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones
