Hi so a slightly reworked version of AAO is up on AO3 now, anonymously posted so that I can keep it on main. Feel free to head over there to read! Thereâs two additional chapters as well!
Against all Odds (Victorian!Era-Matty Healy x OC) - pt. 11
Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 //Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9// Part 10
Summary: Matty has to endure the worst hours of his life.
Warnings: 18+ (here: fingering, hints of dirty talk, Vic is desparate, pregnant and hormonal AF), childbirth mentioned including blood etc. vague allusions to violently ending pregnancies, mdni, age gap, Victorian age appropriate morals and societal issues (as imagined by me), absolutely historically incorrect! Matty is called Matthew most of the time.
Their daughter was born under the full moon. Matty would know because he spent what seemed hours watching it through the window of which he sat opposite to. At this point, he burned through all of the tasks he could possibly do around the house or elsewhere, anything to keep his hands busy and his mind off things. Alas, he sat on the floor, knees pulled in with elbows resting on them, hand in his hair, staring up to the window. And he felt powerless. Oh so powerless.
He didnât know when exactly it started. He only knew she came over to him around noon, right after he had finished taking the horses out on the paddock. Matty knew something was wrong before she reached him. The weird way she seemed to move in, interrupted in the middle of it, pauses in her steps where there shouldnât be any, the way she clung to the post of the paddock right before she reached him, body folding forward without her conscious decision it seemed. She told him that the pain was back, that it felt deeper, more regular than the pains she felt on and off the past few days. He pulled the cape around her shoulders more tight and guided her into the house, adapting to her speed, taking pauses when she had to. They needed way too long for a walk that would usually have been only a few minutes, Victoria holding onto his arm as if she would break down otherwise. They barely made it into the house where he could sit her on a chair when her whole body seemed to freeze and she visibly gasped for air. When he asked her what it was, she looked down to the floor where slowly but steadily a dark patch started to form beneath her. That was when he knew he had to get Charli.
Victoria screamed and it almost tore him apart. Again. He heard a lot of this in the past few hours. Screams that didnât speak of fear, but of a pain coming from somewhere deep inside. They still scared him though. Shitless, if he was honest. A part of him wanted to get up on his feet, storm in there and be with her. Like he did so often in these past few weeks. Through every sleepless night of hers. Every early sign of labour. Through the exhaustion that had been visible in everything she did. But this wasnât his place, he knew that much. It couldnât be. The next scream he heard was deeper than the ones before. More guttaral and longer. He heard Charliâs voice somewhere in there as well but couldnât quite hear what she said. He got up from the floor, went over to the kitchen cabinet where the booze was, poured himself a drink. Gin. Cheap. Hard. Efficient, he hoped. He didnât even know how long he was awake at this point, time seemed to have dissolved completely, stretched out and narrowed down at the same time. The gin made his throat burn. He emptied two more glasses anyway, more than he drank ever since he returned from Ireland, he was sure of that, then he sat down again. On the floor, knees drawn in, looking up to the window and the full moon. There was no wind tonight, no thunderstorm like they had been so typical for this yearâs winter. Quiet. Too quiet given what was happening behind the door to the next room.
The moon was also his only anchor to time. Matty was aware that birth was a process leading through several stages. That it could take hours. He administered enough foles coming into this world to know that. But this started to feel unbearable at this point. Charli forbid him to leave as strictly as she forbid him to come in.
âYou keep hot water at the ready at the ready at all times. You make sure we have towels, tissues, whatever cloth you can come up with if I tell you itâs needed. Youâre prepared to run and fetch somebody if I tell you.â
But this far, in all of these hours, Charli only called him once, asking for a wet towel which he provided, of course, and ignored to answer the most pressing question that slipped over his tongue. âHow is she.â
Alas, he sat here, not knowing, drinking, trying no to let his mind wander too much into a direction he could never get it back from. Of course he had seen how bravely Victoria held up these past few days. How she stood pain, exhaustion and the general misery of their situation with so much grace, he had almost been afraid of it. And he knew how strong of will she was, he, of all people, knew that. But this went on for what was close to be half a day at this point. And he didnât even want to imagine what she was going through. From inside the room there was a banging sound. Something dropping to the floor? Victoria screamed, again. Matty took another drink.
Dawn broke when he decided that he couldnât stand just sitting there anymore. Doomed if he stayed. Doomed if he left. He considered going to George, again, but George, who had been in the house throught Charliâs labour and even present in the room when their son had been born, would probably show quite limited compassion for Matty leaving Victoria alone. Alas he went to the only other place where nobody would judge him and he knew he could count on that. The stable wasnât that quiet at this hour of the morning. Horses moving, occasionally, the sound of ruffling hay accompanying them. He went straight to Cleopatra and pulled himself a stool up.
âMorning. Mind if I keep you some company before we get you ready?â
The horse neighed and just looked at him attentively, ears turned in his direction.
âThank you. Itâs justâŚI need somewhere to be, you know?â
The silence in here was less absolute than it seemed to be in the house. Not holding its breath until the next sound from within their bedroom would shake him to his core. Less anxiously waiting without knowing for what exactly.
âVictoria is having the baby. Charliâs with her. Thatâs good, she knows what to do. Vic is in the best hands, I know that.â
Still, it didnât feel like that. Not one bit, if he was entirely honest with himself. Instead feelings, doubt, fear running wild within him so fast he had trouble identifying them.
âIâm so scared, you have no idea. SheâsâŚsheâs so young. She has been so exhausted these past few weeks and itâŚit all seemed a little bit too much.â
It was a thought he mainly pushed away these past hours and that broke through in full force now. All these moments in these past weeks when she became weak out of nowhere. When hours of irregular pain drained her so much all the colour left her face. When every movement seemed to cost her so much lately.
âAnd what if it is, you know? This has been going on for so long, IâŚIâm just not sure what it means. And the worst part is, I donât even know if Charli would call me. If something went wrong, I mean. If she got me or if she was so busy taking care of it that I wouldnât even know.â
The scenes developing in front of his eyes were brutal. Victoria screaming. Blood-stained sheets. A small body inbetween all of it. And then silence. He shook his head as if that did anything to prevent him from going mental, like pressing his fingers into the palms of his hand so hard it almost drew blood did. But his hands were jittery, his breathing uneven and for the first time in all of these hours he didnât bite back the curse leaving his lips anymore. The horse looked at him rather dissaprovingly, probably not a fan of the noise he assumed. But the words were out, his entire body was shaking and he couldnât sit still anymore. Alas he got up, to a step forward and pressed his head into Cleopatraâs shoulder. She just stood there, warm, unphased, breathing, letting him use her presence to pull himself back together. And for a few moments that was everything there was. His face on her neck, the tears flowing freely and the thoughts running wild in his head. But at some point a clearness set in he hadnât felt in hours.
âI justâŚI just want her to be ok, you know?â
That was the core of it all. It had been ever since they started their affair back in the stables. Protecting her from any harm, from himself if he had to. And now she was up there in the house, she was in pain and there was very little if not nothing he could do.
âI want both of them to be okâ, he added, voice shaky, broken by tears. Sending the words out into the night and hoping they reached god, the universe, fate or who or whatever was responsible for the outcome of all of this. Cleopatra neighed again. And Matty just stood there, face buried in her neck and took in the horseâs warmth, her breathing and her calm. Until it finally got through to him.
When he stepped out of the stables again, it was light. So they were around twelve hours now, maybe more. Twelve hours and Victoria was still holding on, standing whatever she had to, fighting so hard to give birth to their child. God, he didnât even have words to describe how proud he was of her. But heâd tell her anyway. When all of this was done, he would tell her, in great detail. He would tell her and-
Something caught his eye. A silhouette. The thought of a shadow. There was somebody walking a few steps ahead of him, straight up to the house.
âOi!â, he yelled, louder than he originally thought he would. âWhat are you doing?â
Nobody was supposed to ever this house where Victoria gave birth. Nobody was to disturb the space where their child was about to enter this world.
He walked faster, being in eye distance to the figure when the person walking in front of him stopped, turned around and his heart stopped for a beat.
Harriett Cavendish stood there on his front lawn, literally and looked at him, obviously displeased about the way he talked to her.
âGood Morning, Matthew. What makes you think you can talk to me like that?â
There was a reflex to apolgoise. He fought it successfully.
âThe fact that youâre about to enter my house without my permissionâ, he said, stepping forward so he was blocking her way now. She took a step back, straightening her shoulders.
The hint of a joyless smile formed around her lips. ââPermissionâ. My daughter is in there, probably my grandchild, I figure, if my calculations are correct. And you fantasize about how I need permission from your part to see them?â
The coldness in her tone made his blood boil. Coming to his house and still treating him like she owned him. Like she held power over him.
âMy woman is in there giving birth to our child, this is none of your business. Not after what you did.â
Harriettâs eyebrows lifted, just for the fraction of a second, a crack in the otherwise perfect facade. Then her eyes narrowed.
âSheâs giving birth already and youâre leaving her alone?!â, Harriett roared and Matty could feel himself shrink under her gaze. This was what it must look like, wasnât it?
âI didnât-â
âGet out of my way. Now!â, Harriett spit and pushed him aside before Matty had a chance to step back. He watched her enter the house with fast but controlled stepps and he felt awful. He was completely aware that Harriett was the last person Victoria wanted around right now. But he didnât know what to do. So he just followed her into the house but his half-hearted attempts to stop his former misstress from entereing the bedroom were, unsurprisingly, rather unsuccessful.
The hours continued to stretch out but Matty didnât leave his place in front of the door anymore. He didnât know what he was hoping for the most. That Harriett would just leave, again. That it would be over soon. That anybody would finally tell him what was going on in there. What took so long. Harriettâs arrival changed something in the chemistry of it all for him. Before that, staying in front of the door had been a horrible but somehow necessary torture. Now it felt like failure. I should be in there. The thought hammered in his brain like a bad headache, I should be in there so that Harriett canât hurt her or the baby. He remembered the evening all too well when she told him about it. It hadnât been more than a few weeks ago. One of those cold evenings they spent in bed, him trying to keep her warm with his body, his blanket and the sheer power of his love and will.
He came to bed later than she did, making sure the curtains were closed, a desperate attempt to keep the cold out. He had slipped into bed with her, wrapping his arms around her on instinct, kissing her neck. Telling her he was there as well as checking how cold her skin was. One hand resting on her belly, the other one on her hip, the two blankets thrown over her so that they barely covered him. As close to her as possible. And Victoria had taken his hand, slowly moving it from her hip to her thigh until it reached the hem of her nightgown â and then further up. Without a word spoken, he knew what she meant, what she wanted, what this was about. His other hand moved to her belly, just resting there. But the one on her thigh moved up higher until it reached her core. Still kissing her neck, he asked: âAre you sure you want this?â
Victoria just nodded, so he started to swipe two fingers through her folds. Slowly, but deliberately and could feel her becoming wet under his touch. Victoria turned her body into his. A few inches, if even. But the way she sighed his name was enough for him to know she enjoyed this. His fingers kept on slowly moving through her folds, his thumb finding her clit, moving in slow, deliberate circles. Victoria sighed his name in pleasure.
âHere you go, baby. Thatâs better, isnât it?â
She sighed again, a breathed âYesâ leaving her lips as she spread her legs for him further. An idea popped up in his head when she started to move her hips to the rhythm of his hand.
âLift your right leg for meâ, he shispered and she did as told, giving him the chance to push his own leg between hers.
âMattyâŚâ, Victoria breathed, âWhat..?â
He pulled his fingers out of her completely, putting both hands on her hips, pressing her bare core down on his thigh.
âKeep on goingâ, he whispered into her ear, âI promise you it will be worth it.â
He kept on holding her down enough to give her friction of the fabric of his pants hitting her clit while providing her with enough space so that she could actually move on her own. And it worked, it seemed. Victoriaâs movements became erratic, no rhythm just chasing a release she felt so close to. Matty couldnât help but chuckle. There she was, pregnant with his child, the evidence absolutely visible from the size of her belly and still so desperate for him. So absolutely his. He could feel her soak the fabric of his pants on his thigh and he loved it.
âMattyâŚpleaseâŚ.please, I-â
âI got youâŚâ, he murmured, helping her move faster with his hands, tightening the muscles of his thigh to give her even more friction against her clit.
âCome for me.â
And this was what did it. She fell apart in his arms with a sigh of relief, her body trashing into his. Matty put a soft kiss to her temple, pulling her even closer into him, ignoring his own need growing evident in his pants. Victoria turned around to him, cupping his face softly with her hands.
âThank-â But he interrupted her by putting a finger to her lips.
âDonât you dare saying thank you nowâ, he warned and noticed there was a strange kind of shadow cloudying her gaze. She nestled even closer into him, resting her head on his shoulder, pulling one of his arms up so that it was resting over her belly again.
âYou know, I dreamed of nights like these. When they locked me up on my room, I dreamed of how youâd knock at my window like you did that one night. How youâd come and help me climb out the window and weâd just beâŚaway. From everything.â
Matty couldnât help but frown.
âYour parents locked you up?â
Victoria nodded, somehow absentmindedly. âYeah. They were notâŚnot amused about what happened. When mum found out about our baby she treated it like a problem that needed solving. But none of what she tried worked. And when it didnât, they started to lock me up, so that I at least wasnât seen anymore. Dad yelled at me. Mum didnât yell, but what she did wasâŚworse. Way worse. They tried everything to achieve that my âconditionâ, as they called it, wasnât seen anymore.â
Anger started to boil in his blood at her words. Anger at the Cavendishs for treating their own daughter like that. Anger at himself, of course, for not being there sooner, despite her obviously needing him.
âIâm sorry, Vic. Iâm so sorry. And I swear I will never let anything like this happen again. To neither of you. Iâm here now. Iâm going to stay.â
And now Harriett was in there. Harriett and Charli and Victoria. And all he could do was sit here, back against the door and pray to the god he didnât believe in that everything was going to be alright. It had to be. Victoria endured so much. She deserved this. They did. A child that was alive. A birth that went well. Victoriaâs screams became less as the hours passed on. More of muffled sounds he could hear but not make sense of. A few words spoken by Charli. Harriettâs harsh tone from time to time. Enough to tell him that things were still moving. Too little to tell him what any of this was about. His hand carded through his hair more and more nervously. It didnât help. Nothing did.
He didnât know how long he sat there, outside the door, waiting. He didnât know how much time had really passed. But at some point, he could feel something shift. Charliâs voice more often. Harriettâs as well. And then, all of a sudden, for him, at least, there was a cry. Loud. Clear. A child letting the world know of its arrival. Matty could feel a tension leave his body, making him sink down into himself a little more. Itâs alive. The thought kept repeating itself in his head like a mantra. Itâs alive. Over and over and over again. He didnât pay attention to the sounds coming from inside anymore. Not to the cold surrounding him. Not to the exhaustion being bone-deep by now. Itâs alive was all there was. Itâs alive was all that mattered. The door opened just a gap and Charli took a step out, closing it behind her immediately.
âItâs done. She did amazing, keep that in mind when you come in. I would let you, but the Lady insists everything needs to look âpresentableâ first, so youâll have to wait another minute.â
He nodded, variants of âYesâ, âThank youâ, and âOf courseâ stumbling over his lips sooner than he could fully process the information she just gave him. The core trickled in in the upcoming moments. It was over. Successfully, it seemed. Charli smiled and turned around again, closing the door behind her.
After what felt like another hour (Matty decided to get up in the meantime because walking around nervously was the better option than sitting around and ripping his hair out) the door was opened a second time, this time around by Harriett.
âYou may come inâ, she said and Matty had to hold himself back to not shove her out of the way and storm into the room. Every measured step seemed hard to do, although he was aware, of course, that it was the only right thing to do now. The only appropriate thing to do now.
The room still bore traces of what it had seen the past few hours. A chair was placed in front of the bed where it usually didnât stand, bloodstains still on it, like somebody forgot to wipe them away. There was a pile of wet, bloody towels in the corner, stained sheets and something he identified as the dress Victoria wore when she came outside to him. His gaze roamed the room, looking for Victoria on instinct. There was no decision to be made now, this was the most important thing. She laid in the bed he woke up in this morning, pale as the sheets beneath her, obviously only able to sit since she was supported by several cushions placed in her back.
He went over to her side immediately, this time with faster steps but stopped abruptly when he arrived, as if he was unsure whether or not he was allowed to touch her.
âVictoriaâŚâ
Her name was all that left his lips. Exhaustion was deeply engraved in her features, her gaze was glassy and she seemed to have trouble focussing on him. But when he finally took her hand, she closed her fingers around his. From the other side of the room, there was a cry. Soft. Small. But undeniably there. Alive, he thought again. Itâs alive.
âItâs⌠a girl.â
There was hesitation in her voice, like she wasnât sure how he would react. But Matty felt his breath catch in his throat.
âThatâsâŚamazingâ, he said once he got his voice back, squeezing her hand a little tighter. Words too small to carry the weight of his feelings.
âDo you want to hold her?â
The goosebumps spreading all over his arms had nothing to do with the cold, he knew that much. âYesâ, he said, his voice nothing more than a raspy whisper. From the corner of his eye, he saw Charli move, stepping closer to the bed, a bundle in her arms. She carefully handed it over to Victoria and Matty got to see the babyâs face for the first time. So tiny and different from everything he imagined.
âShe has your eyesâŚâ, Victoria murmured, her thumb carefully cupping the babyâs face, âItâs the first thing I noticed about her. How beautiful her eyes are.â
Matty couldnât speak. He didnât know how to. Victoria looked up to him and smiled softly, exhaustion and joy lying in her gaze in equal parts.
âHereâs your daughter.â
He carefully took the baby she presented to him out of her arms and his heart stopped. The girl was small but quite a weight in his arms, he figured. He felt the looks in the room, Charli, Harriett, of course. He didnât care. All that mattered was the tiny human being he had the privileged to hold now. After everything Victoria and him went through. After all those nights he spent, fighting his feelings for her, being convinced it would never be possible to have something like that, there she was. His daughter. Alive. Breathing. Lying in his arms. Victoria corrected the position of his right arm carefully so that the babyâs head was supported better. His daughter started to move inside the blanket she was wrapped up in.
âHelloâŚâ, Matty whispered softly, voice heavy by tears. He lifted his hand and carefully moved the back of his thumb over the babyâs face. Let his hand glide over her hair. Dark, tiny down on the top of her head.
âLook at youâŚâ, he whispered, âLook at you being so perfect.â
He lifted his head and looked back up to Victoria again. âYou did so well, Iâm so proud of you, my love. Sheâs perfect.â
Victoria nodded, her eyes closed.
âWhat do you want to name her?â
Matty looked down at the bundle in his arms. At her dark hair, her tiny nose, the way she seemed to frown already. He thought about names sometimes in these past few weeks. In the sleepless nights he spend distracting Victoria from pain or fear or sometimes both. In the hours doing the same repetitive tasks on the estate that were so deeply rooted in his muscle memory that his mind could wander off completely. He thought about a lot of names, girlâs names, boyâs names, nothing felt quite right. He consoled himself with the thought that he would know the moment he got to hold them for the first time. And now his daughter was lying in his arms.
âEmmaâŚâ, he said softly, almost quietly, âEmma Niamh.â
He could hear Charli sigh from behind the room and when he looked up, he saw her and Harriett standing there. Victoriaâs mother scrutinised him as if she was just waiting for him to do it wrong. To screw something up with Emma, whatever it was. He wouldnât do her the favour though. This was real. Victoriaâs and his child was alive and a testament to their love for each other. He looked back over to Victoria again who lay there now, eyes closed but a satisfied smile on her face. They made it. She was alive. Their daughter was born. They were going to be a family of three from now on. And right in this moment, Matty was convinced that they were going to make it. No matter the obstacle or the hardship or the tests theyâd have to overcome. They would. Because Emma was here, alive, breathing. A testament to their love. A love that had survived â against all odds.
Against all Odds (Victorian!Era-Matty Healy x OC) - pt. 10
Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 //Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9
Summary: Matty comes back to London, where a surprise awaits.
4.4k
Warnings: 18+ (in general, not in this part in particular), mdni, age gap, Victorian age appropriate morals and societal issues (as imagined by me), absolutely historically incorrect! Matty is called Matthew most of the time.
Seamus and BrĂ were kind enough to provide him with enough money on top of his last salary so that he could make it onto a ship as a regular passenger, this time. But that didnât mean he was left with anything but what he carried with him when he arrived in London, again. For a few moments, he thought about just playing the same game one more time like back on his first arrival to Ireland. Staying at the docs. Making money. Trying to fix himself up a little bit before he returned to George and Charli. But he figured the chances of George simply never speaking to him again if he did not only leave without a proper warning or letting himself be heard but returning and not telling him immediately were way too high. Alas, he made his way over to the Canterbury estate.Â
Dusk was already breaking when he arrived, tinting the outlines of the estate in dark shadows. Matty felt the exhaustion in every single one of his bones by now, probably made worse by the cold of the fall creeping through his clothes. The estate lay there before him, quiet, unbothered, like nothing changed. And chances were, this was in fact true. That nothing did change during his absence, no matter how strange that felt to him. The gates werenât closed and the guard seemed to remember him so he let him pass. He saw George first. George, standing on the left side of the garden surrounding the estate, entirely caught up in playing with his son. Thomas held a tiny wooden sword in his hand and was bravely fighting against his father, landing some blows from time to time, Matty figured. For a few moments he just stood there, watching, a weird aching feeling creeping around in his chest. Because for the first time in all these months, he let the thought in, that things happened while he was away. That life went on, for everyone he left behind, not just for him, who spent most of his days in Ireland more surviving than living, really. That Tom had grown quite a lot since he last saw him. That George just went on with his life on this estate the two of them were making fun of so often. That-Â
George saw him. Matty was too far away to tell the exact look on his face, but he saw his best friend freeze, leading to Tom poking him several times with his sword in rather delicate places. When the boy noticed, he turned around as well. And that was what made Matty move. He lifted his hand, waving at Tom a bit reluctantly, insecure for a moment about whether or not he would even remember him. But the boy smiled at him and stormed into his arms before George even made his first move.
âUncle Matthew! I need to tell you something!â
Matty closed his arms around him and pulled him into his body a little bit, only realising then that yes, actually, he missed this too. Missed him too.Â
âGo on then.â
And Tom did, telling him at length about the pony he got for his recent birthday and about how he was looking after it and taking rides on it every single day ever since. Matty listened to him carefully. But at the same time he looked up to George occasionally who stood a few feet away, watching the situation.Â
When Tom let go of him, George came over without saying a word at first. Matty didnât expect he would. Instead George pulled him into a hug, a little bit too tight for Mattyâs liking.Â
âI was fucking sure you were dead.â
There was a crack in Georgeâs voice before the last words. It made Matty hold onto him a little tighter.Â
âYou should have written.â
Matty had to fight a lump building up in his throat.Â
âI know. Trust me, George, I know. And thought about writing to you so often I justâŚâÂ
He didnât continue. There wasnât a good explanation. Not a sufficient one, at least. George let go of him and opted to scrutinize him carefully now instead.Â
âYou look better than I thought you would.â
âGreat compliment given you thought of me as a corpseâ, Matty retorted in the dryness that was so typical for the two of them. Georgeâs hand still lay on his shoulder as if he was afraid Matty would just dissolve in front of him if they didnât touch. But suddenly there was a flicker in his gaze. Something darker.Â
âDid you come here straight away?â
âYes. And I promise, George, I didnât mean to leave without a word, I just couldnât-â
âNo, I mean, did somebody see you?â
The question made Matty pause. It wasnât what he expected. Not at all, actually. It didnât fit to anything he could make sense of.Â
âI think so. I meanâŚthe harbour is still full, I think people saw me. Theoretically. I donât think they noticed me, though, I-âÂ
He stopped when George exhaled audibly. As if something he said had just bore some really, really, really bad news.Â
âOk. We should probably make sure it stays this way. I suppose you donât have anywhere to stay yet?â
Matty shook his head no. âBut I can work. Seriously. I know you most probably have a groom but I can support him. Tom just told me he got his own horse, I can personally take care of them, I-â
âMattyâ, George interrupted him, calmly but almost laughing. âItâs ok. Weâll find something. For now I think itâs enough that youâre alive and were gracious enough to let me know this much.âÂ
Matty just nodded. He knew this was more than he deserved, actually. George nodded over to the sailor's kitbag hanging over Mattyâs shoulder.Â
âThatâs all you got?â
He confirmed.Â
âAlright. Letâs get you settled, thenâ, George said before starting to walk to the left. Tom followed along, happily japping Mattyâs ear off about his pony.Â
The house George led him to wasnât huge. The fact that it actually had a separate chamber for the bed was considered luxury by Matty already. He threw his luggage on the bed and inspected the new house carefully. A table and a few chairs. A washing table. A fireplace with a cauldron hanging over it.Â
âWe can also get you a stove if this should come in more handyâ, George said, obviously following his gaze.Â
âNo IâŚI think Iâm good. I can handle the fire, itâs notâŚnot a big dealâ, Matty reassured him, his gaze still wandering around the room. It was way more spacious then the place he had lived in in Ireland and not even to be compared to his little room in the servantsâ house on the Cavendish estate. The bed was huge, maybe the biggest one he had ever slept in, outside of brothels, that was. So huge it might almost feel a bit lonely in there at times, he wondered. But that was nothing he wanted to think about now. George patted his shoulder.Â
âThink you can stay here for a bit?â
âOf course. Thank you, really. I appreciate it.â
âAs you should. Alright. Get some rest, Iâll have somebody bring you food and some water. The well is also outside so you should be able to provide yourself with more, if needed. Get some sleep. Need any clothing?â
âA pair of pants for work and some boots would be nice. Iâll get my own as soon as I have some money.â
George nodded.Â
âYouâll have them. See you in the stables tomorrow morning, yeah?â
Matty agreed and watched George walk out the door. The moment it fell shut, he let out a long, audible breath. It happened, it seemed. He made it back here. Alive. And everything was still there. George. Tom. Charli. Still there, still willing to take him back in, even giving him a home that seemed way too huge for him as a single person. But George had always been of the belief that it was his responsibility to share some of the wealth he obtained through his marriage with others who werenât quite as lucky. Matty began walking through the house once more, checking the cabinets and actually finding some bedsheets in there. Fresh linen for a fresh start didnât feel too bad, if he was quite honest with himself.Â
He didnât know how much time had passed when he had taken his shoes off that were slightly wet from him stepping into some puddles at the harbour, but he finally did now. Just sitting there, letting his gaze wander around the room, still wondering what it would need for him to feel more at home here now - or if that was something that was going to come over time anyway. Just when he wondered if George offered him such a spacious bed because he thought that there was no way Matty would come home alone from such a long trip, a knock on the door made him jump. He was on his feet and halfway on the way to the door when said door was opened and Charli stepped in, a huge basket in her arms. He bowed down in reflex, mumbling something close to âMy Ladyâ since technically she was his mistress now and they didnât talk about formalities yet in any way. Charli scoffed disapprovingly.Â
âGet upâ, she ordered the second he had bowed to her, put the basket down and pulled him into a hug as well.Â
âSo good to have you backâŚâ, she whispered in his ear, hands holding onto him at least as tight as George did before. He didnât say anything, hoping that the way he reciprocated her gesture was enough to tell her that he did indeed miss her too. It was good to know she, as well as George, was still there, that she would let him stay here and agreed to let him work here. It also couldnât hurt to have Charli on his side if he should ever try to get a job somewhere else, he figured while she slowly nestled out of his embrace. For a few fleeting seconds, Charli didnât do anything else than to look at him. There was something in her gaze he couldnât quite read.Â
âWhat-?â
Before he got to finish the sentence, Charli slapped him in the face. The palm of her hand crashed against his cheek so hard it took his breath away for a moment. Charli looked him straight in the eye the entire time. Unphased. Calm, almost, with maybe a hint of satisfaction in her eye. She didnât even give him the time to react to what just happened appropriately. Of course she didnât.Â
âGod, I wanted to do that for weeks, actually. This and telling you how much of a fucking moron you are.âÂ
Matty cleared his throat to hide how insecure this made him feel.Â
âWell, I know that, sort of, thank you very much.â
Charli scoffed, before she picked the basket up from the floor and lifted it onto the table. He just stood there, watching. Unsure of what he was allowed to do. Unsure of what he was expected to do, really. She started to unpack the basket, lining the items up on the table.Â
âGeorge told me you needed new clothes, so here they are.âÂ
He watched her take a pair of trousers out as well as a shirt and some boots, putting the clothes on the table while placing the boots on the ground next to it.Â
âYouâll start tomorrow morning. Richard, our current groom, will supervise you.â
âAlright. Thank you.â
She didnât react, instead she started to take food out of the basket and put it on the table. Bread. Butter. A decanter full of milk. Some cheese, even.Â
âThank you, Charli, thatâs really-â
âSit.â
Her voice was commanding. Not the one she used when talking to servants or petitioners. Something sharper. Something that made him feel uncomfortable in an instant â and also told him, there was no place for contradiction whatsoever. Alas he sat down, so did she. He watched anxiously how she took the bread, put butter and cheese on it and shoved it over to him rather unapologetically.Â
âEat.â
There was no discussion now, he knew that as well. So he did as told.Â
âI have one question to ask thatâs been bugging me for the past few weeks and I expect you to answer it.â
He told her to go on.Â
âWhat were you thinking?â
He made sure to swallow down the huge bite of bread he took before answering: âLook Charli, I know, leaving without telling anybody wasnât my best move, but trust me, I had no other-â
âThatâs not what Iâm on aboutâ, she cut him off firmly. Matty just looked at her in utter confusion.Â
âThen Iâd love for you to give me some context.â
Charli pursed her lips, but did indeed answer him immediately.Â
âWhat were you thinking, sleeping with your masterâs daughter under his roof?â, she said, her words sharp as knives.Â
âWhat were you thinking letting a teenage girl seduce you?â
Her voice was firm, clear and unambiguously displeased.Â
âWhat were you thinking, having sex with somebody you know you would never marry for almost a year?â
The last word was pointed, harsh, emphasised in just the right way to make him swallow hard.
âWhat were you thinking, fleeing the country after you were found out, leaving everybody in the dark for months about whether youâre alive or not?â, she added, now looking at him in unveiled anger.Â
He wished he had an answer to all of that. A better answer than: âI was in love with her. The sex was good. It clouded my judgement massively. It shouldnât have. Iâm sorry.âÂ
Because he knew that wasnât enough. How could it have been?Â
âI donât know.â Another lie but more digestible than the truth, he figured. Charli scoffed again.Â
âYeah. Thatâs what I thought. You fucking moron.â
She took a sip from her glass full of milk, putting it down on the table so harshly some of it spilled onto its surface. Matty let a few moments pass before he went on: âSo itâsâŚitâs out I guess? Itâs common knowledge now? What happened withâŚâ
He couldnât say her name. There was too much pain in it, still, hidden somewhere under his lousy attempt to bury any memory of her the past few months.Â
Charli scoffed again. âYeah you could say it isâŚâ, she said, a strange undertone in her voice. âYou could also say you should exercise caution if you should plan to go to the city.â
Matty fought back a sigh.Â
âSo the duke is still not over it then?â
Charli rolled her eyes at him openly now. âWhat did you expect, Matty, really? That heâd just forget what happened? That would be unrealistic even ifâŚâ, she cut herself off, shaking her head. âAnyway. Just promise me to be careful out there, ok? There are people in my house who canât afford to lose you.â
George, he thought. It was the first person to come to his mind, of course it was. George. Tom. Charli herself, maybe, probably.Â
âI promise you, Charliâ, he said, looking her directly in the eye.Â
âGood. Then Iâll better start praying you live up to that.â
Being careful meant he avoided going to the city at all, at least that was his premunition. It lasted for about a day. But he had missed London too much to not go and see what all the places he used to know like the back of his hand turned into during his absence. Most of them were still dirty as they had been, the entire city still covered in smock. But the variety store was still there, allowing himself to get a needle and some yarn to fix some of his clothes. And of course his favourite pub was there as well. The Black Friar was still going and still well booked he figured when he set foot in first. Matty went straight to the bar as he used to do for so many years. A beer was all he could afford from the advance Charli granted him on his first salary and he decided to enjoy it to the fullest.Â
âDidnât think Iâd ever see you againâ, Luke, the bartender said. He was the owner of the place and a regular acquaintance when Matty used to come here more often. He just nodded at him. He ordered a Guinness, not quite ready to let this part of Ireland go yet if he was quite honest to himself and let his gaze wander around the room discreetly. It really seemed like not too much had changed, which was a good thing. Luke put his beer on the bar in front of him but shook his head when Matty fumbled for some money in his pockets.Â
âTake it as a âglad youâre actually aliveâ and âIâd never thought Iâd see you againâ-giftâ, Luke said, smiling at him warmly. Matty scoffed.Â
âSo George wasnât the only one who thought I was dead then?â, he asked, not entirely sure if he really wanted to have an answer to this question.
âOh definitely not. There were at least three different versions of how you presumably died going around.â
Matty cleared his throat, actively trying to push the images of his former master beating him to a pulp back down that came to his mind at Lukeâs words.Â
âThere were times when this wasnât exactly unlikelyâŚâ, he murmured, more to himself than to Luke.
The first sip of Guinness tasted familiar on his tongue. Not the same as in Dublin. But familiar enough. Luke turned away to serve another guest and Matty focused on his drink, took in the atmosphere, the people talking, the buzz in general that was of such a different fabric than the one in Ireland had been. So different and yet so well known. Maybe they werenât all that wrong after all, Matty figured. Maybe there was in fact a reason why some people called some place home.Â
âHe really is back.â
âFella really got some nerves, doesnât he?â
âMaybe he thinks nobody will remember.â
âWell, the old Cavendish remembers for sure. Still fucking furious, they say.â
âHonestly, Iâd be too if somebody did that to my daughter.â
âAbsolutely. Iâd kill the guy with my own hands.â
Matty bit back a sigh and turned his back in the direction of the men talking. He knew what that was about, all too well. The scandal was still talked about, it seemed, all his hopes and dreams of it just vanishing into thin air by now for nothing, apparently. He focused on his drink, again. Maybe that was something heâd just have to live with. Maybe that was something that came with coming home too.Â
It was day three when it happened. Later on, Matty would come to think that this was hilarious. Three days. Like Jesus coming back from the dead. Like the third day of creation in the context of how god made the earth. On day three, he was cleaning Cleopatra (Charli was never one to go easy on names when it came to her horses) which was not exactly easy, given the white horse loved nothing as much as to roll herself in the mud which was everywhere, currently, due to the rainshowers that plagued London once per day. Alas, he was scrubbing her off thoroughly, using the hardest brush to get the clumps out of her fur, a task that required strength as well as skill if aimed to be executed correctly.Â
âMatthewâŚâ
Her voice wasnât loud. Not particularly, anyway. But he would have heard her anywhere. Recognised her anywhere. Matty stopped in the middle of the movement he just executed. She was alive then. That was good. And she was here. That was something he didnât quite know what to make of it. He closed his eyes for a second, completely aware that the way his heart raced in his chest did nothing for his goal to calm down. That the way his hackles rose was way too much given it shouldnât affect him at all. But how should it not have when hearing her voice was something he thought about so often in these six months that had passed? And now it was real. Real again.Â
âMatthewâŚâ
He heard a weird sound, as if something was dragged over a floor. Later on he would come to think she was taking a step and pulling her foot back before actually taking it. He still didnât know what to feel. But he knew what he had to do now. That it wasnât fair to her to just stand there like an idiot, acting like he didnât hear her. Despite it all, she was still of the higher rank (even more so if she was indeed married to some duke now) and he was in no position to ignore her by any means. Alas, he turned around.Â
She was still beautiful. That was the first thing he noticed. The natural beauty surrounding her was still present, not only in the way the sunlight gave her hair that golden glimmer he always loved so much. Her eyes were still of the same blue that made getting lost in them so goddamn easy, he spent hours doing exactly that.Â
âVictoriaâŚâ
When he said her name, the hint of a smile started to form around her lips, lighting up her features. But for the first time he noticed now that it didnât reach her eyes. The blues spoke of exhaustion. Fear. Worries. Way more than he had ever seen.Â
âYouâre alive.â
She didnât say it the way Charli did, or George before her. Not like a statement. More like a fragile truth, bound to be broken if talked about too harshly. He nodded instinctively.Â
âI am. I am and so are you it-â
The words to follow died on his tongue. His gaze dropped when he nodded and for the first time he saw her. He actually saw her. All of that, that was. The way her posture was slightly bent forward. The way her breasts almost spilled out of the corsage of the dress she wore. And the fact that her hand was resting on her belly, that was too huge for the rest of her. Round. Undeniable. His mind started racing the second the information trickled in, bombarding him with information he wasnât even halfway able to process. She was alive, she wanted to see him, she came back, she was-
âHow-â
He cut himself off, trying to sort his thoughts out better before saying anything. There were a hundred questions to be asked right now, all of them equally important, it seemed. All of them equally dumb, he was absolutely sure of that. He wanted to say so much. Yet he just stood there with his mouth open. Watched as in slow motion how she shifted her weight slightly, as if she was about to lose balance. How she lifted her hand as if she wanted to reach for him and pulled it back when he didnât make any attempt to reciprocate that. There were so many things he wanted to say and not nearly the right words on his tongue to express them, it seemed.Â
âWhen did this happen?â
The words didnât sound like his own. Victoria looked at him as if he just slapped her in the face.
âW-what?â
âWhen did this happen? How long have you known? AboutâŚthis.â
He didnât know why this information was so important to him now. Maybe because he could see so much in her face he knew he had no idea of. Pain. Fear. Horror, even. And he needed to know how long she had been alone with this. But Victoria just looked at him as if he just hurt her. Shaking slightly, she straightened her shoulders as if his words disturbed her balance.
âItâs yours.Thisâ, she put a hand on her belly, forcing him to look at it again, âis our child.â
The words seemed to rush more over her tongue than to really be spoken, her breath seemingly getting hitched at the end of it. As if she was hurrying to get them out so much she didnât give herself enough time to get fresh air into her lungs in between. Still, it was the first time all of the pieces of information he gathered in the span of the last two minutes seemed to really fall into place. Sheâs alive. Sheâs here. Sheâs pregnant. The weight of it all seemed to crush him for a moment, as if all the air was pressed out of his lungs at once. With my child.
âSay something.â
He knew she was trying to make it sound like a command. Oh she was trying so hard. But there was no energy left in her, it seemed. And even more importantly, no authority. Her hand started shaking, if by anger, exhaustion or desperation, he didnât know. But it was what got him moving for the first time ever since she came out onto the courtyard. Two steps was what it took for him to stand close enough so that he could touch her. Two steps so that he could lift her hand that was resting on her belly and close his fingers around it.Â
âItâs going to be ok, Vic. Iâm here. Itâs going to be ok.â
He never felt more like a liar when saying anything in his life. He also never felt like these words had ever been as important as they had ever been before. Victoria looked up to him as if she was looking for a sign of insincerity in his face. And for a moment, just a moment, the impulse to hug her became almost overwhelming. To just pull her body into his, take some of the weight away she had literally been carrying on her own for months now. But he wasnât quite sure if he was allowed. So he just stayed where he was. Holding her hand. Trying to figure out what just happened. Because one thing was clear after all: They needed a plan. Because this wasnât just about the two of them anymore. Obviously.Â
Against all Odds (Victorian!Era-Matty Healy x OC) - pt. 9
Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 //Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8
Summary: Matty tries to come to terms with what he lost â in his own way.
5.1k
Warnings: 18+ (Here: spitting, oral - m receiving, prostitution, p in v sex, degradation, honestly this thing is so filthy I don't even know anymore), references to former violence, mdni, Victorian age appropriate morals and societal issues (as imagined by me), absolutely historically incorrect! Matty is called Matthew most of the time.
He would never be able to tell how he made it down to the harbour. Realistically speaking he shouldnât have given the pain and the considerable amount of injuries, visible and invisible alike, he carried. Realistically, it was the adrenaline, mostly, that got him going at this point and probably some last spark of any kind of survival instinct telling him to just get away from here. And maybe none of this was important. Maybe the only thing that mattered was that he made it here, at last. Limping. Every breath a stab to his lungs. Occasionally spitting blood, still. The only thought in his head being how to make it out. Not where to go. Not what to do. Just getting away. But despite all of those things, he did in fact make it.
The harbour seemed like a good place to start to him. Lots of people so that they probably wouldnât pay too much attention to him as a person, a crowd to dive in and not stick out. The noise and the smell and the chaos hopefully stimulating him enough to get his senses back to life a little bit and not in this constant state of feeling like his head was pushed under water. Feeling like things were real, again. Somewhere below the pain they had to be. Matty decided that the docks were the safest place to find what he was looking for as fast as possible. A ship. A ship to take him away from here in return for labour he offered. It didnât take him long to find one where two questions to sailors brought him to the captain.
âWhat are you looking at?â, the man said instead of any kind of greeting.
âIâŚâ, Matty started but noticed that his voice sounded rather pressed, a fact he couldnât quite avoid by clearing his throat, as he noticed as he went on. â... I am looking for work.â
The man opposite of him scoffed.
âWe are full.â
âI can work hard. Really. Was a stable hand before, I am used to the exhausting work. Can fix damages. Can clean. Know some sewing.â
The man opposite of him eyed him skeptically.
âEver worked on a ship before?â
âNo, but I can-â
âThen get away.â
âSir, please, I just need to-â
But the man turned his back on him before Matty even got to finish the sentence. Matty was this close to slam his hand against the next best piece of wood in frustration but stopped himself last minute, realising that if there was one thing he didnât need, it was additional pain. Instead, he kept on looking for the next best ship to shoot his shot at, which was easier said than done given the insane amount of people walking around the harbour. The constant buzzing from the noise made him dizzy and the so typical smell seemed to trigger his stressed stomach even more. Two men carried a stack of boxes from A to B and since Matty couldnât get out of the way in time, he was bumped into the shoulder. He breathed through the pain and tried to focus more. Better. The next ship was only a few steps to his right. He was going to make it. There was no other option anyway.
He made it to the next ship indeed, but its captain looked at him as if he had completely lost his mind after Matty came up with his request.
âI donât need trouble on my shipâ, he said, âSomeone starting fights every chance he gets. And you definitely are that someone.â
âSir, Iâm not-â
âYou are. Just take a look at yourself.â
It wasnât until then that it occurred to him that he had no idea what he actually looked like. He was pretty sure he had a black eye by now and that there was a cut on his right cheek. There was also blood leaking from somewhere, occasionally dripping into his mouth, so either there were even more open wounds directly on his face than he was aware of or those he assumed to be there were worse than he initially thought.
âSir, I promise you, this isnât-â
âEven if it isnâtâ, the man cut him off, âYou look like you wonât even make it to tomorrow, we canât afford to carry a corpse along that is of no help.â
âSir, I swear, I-â
But once again he was only met with the sight of a back.
Matty started to get nervous. This wasnât exactly going the way he hoped for, besides the fact that the only thing he did actively hope for had been to get away from here as fast as possible. So he kept on going. Dragged this broken body of his along to the next ship that was preparing to leave to anywhere far away enough from England. Anywhere at all.
Dusk broke already when he was finally able to convince someone to take him with him. It was a huge ship, carrying coal from England to Ireland and would take him to Dublin within the next day. He figured this to be his last solution after no ship to the US would hire him. The night on the ship was one of the most horrible ones in his entire life. His entire body hurt, he felt dizzy continuously and wasnât even close to think of something like sleep. The adrenaline that led to him not collapsing on his way here now made sleeping impossible, alas he just lay there in his hammock, tossing and turning the entire night, trying to find a position, any position that at least didnât hurt him more than literally everything else already did. It was that night when he thought about George for the first time. About if he heard the news already. If he wondered where he was. He didnât get to sleep, the snoring and tossing and turning from everybody else kept him awake, no matter how exhausted every single fibre in his body felt.
___
Dublin was loud. Busy. It stank. It might not have been as overcrowded as London was, but what it lacked in manpower, it made up in noise. Matty figured that on the harbour already, immediately after his arrival when he was almost run over by a carriage he didnât see coming. The first nights in the docs under the plain sky almost killed him, giving his exhausted body and his even more exhausted mind no place to rest, really. Cold. Wet. Exhausting on top of everything else, yet, his mind couldnât find sleep. The positive side was that it didnât cost him any money either. But that was cold comfort, literally, when he spent the nights mostly freezing and awake. The first few weeks he got by with casual jobs at the harbour. Up- and unloading the ships, occasional handywork when something needed fixing, guiding animals up to and down from ships, paying just enough so that he could afford a bed at a lodging house at night and something to eat. Something to keep him busy, physically more than mentally, that was. Around the same time, the nightmares started. Cavendishâs face distorted in anger. Victoria screaming in terror to leave him alone. And the punches. Over and over and over again. They were quite often the last thing he saw before drifting off to sleep, making it an uneasy one, as if his body was still bracing against impacts that werenât going to come anymore. But who was going to tell him? The others started to complain quite soon. With fifty men in a room, snoring was accepted, widely, but screaming in terror in the middle of the night on a regular did indeed earn him more punches. Thatâs when he knew he had to leave.
When he had saved enough money and figured his body would let him, he made his way over to Meath. He still fought heaps of pain in his upper body on a regular, but he considered the situation at least far enough under control as to trust his body enough to enter a stagecoach that took him to Gunnocks. It was the first time ever since he left London that he wasnât working. The first time he could catch a breather, sort of. It was then when the thought of Victoria occurred again for the first time outside of nightmares, leaving a painful sting of longing in his chest. He hoped she was alive, he really hoped she was. Alive and well and he caught himself wondering if the Cavendishes would go as far as to throw her out of their home. He figured they wouldnât risk the scandal though, not after what happened with Catherine. And for the first time that night, it was her face he saw. Her face and nothing else. Her looking down at him at George and Charliâs ball. So in awe. So his. Never again. It was around that time when he decided he had to forget her. For good. It was no use to anybody if he kept on clinging onto something that could never have a future. Forgetting her, in fact, was the only way to survive this, even though it tore him apart on the inside. And so, he started to push the thought of her away, buried the feelings for her somewhere down in his heart where they could never resurface. It was for the better, he told himself over and over again. It had to be.
_____
It took him about three days and in return using all of his remaining savings to find a job in the outskirts of Gunnocks. A shepherd took him in, after Matty explained in great detail what his care for the horses on the Cavendish Estate consisted of. âSheeps are not that differentâ, the man said, âItâs a lot about anticipating what they want and need. And theyâre less complicated than horses, I guess.â
Matty would soon come to learn that they werenât. In fact, getting them out onto the meadow in the mornings would turn out to prove more difficult than handling Celeste on her worse days, if they didnât feel like it. But they were happy to be left alone once they reached their intended destination and so Matty finally had enough time for not only his body, but his mind to recover a bit. Sleeping became easier again, the flashbacks became less. And somewhere beneath the pain the realisation set in: She was definitely better off without him. Because no matter what she said at Georgeâs and Charliâs ball: Being with him would have come with a lots of inconveniences for her part. A decline in status, security, comfort, money. She deserved better and since her parents thought the same, it was most likely that they already made plans to betroth her to somebody as soon as possible. He didnât like the thought of somebody else being what he had been for her these past few months. He didnât like the thought of somebody else touching what had been his to touch the past few months. But if he was serious in his decision to want her happy, above everything else, he knew he had to let go of her. Emotionally, that was.
Seamus and Brigid were about his age. They invited him to dinner the first night he stayed at their place and made him a guest at their table ever since. They were parents to two daughters who both left home to work in a nunnery. Brigid especially seemed pleased to have Matty here, for exactly that reason.
âItâs been so long since we had proper company in here. And itâs actually nice to have somebody to talk to who lets himself indulge in a few more words than âreally?â and âfascinatingâ when I go about my dayâ, she said at one of their first dinners, throwing her husband an unapologetic look.
Seamus on the other hand was happy that Matty took some of the workload off him, it seemed. While Matty was out in the wild, making sure the sheep ate enough and didnât wander off, Seamus used the time to fix the stables and some minor things around the house which, according to his wife, he wanted to do forever. He still found enough time to accompany Matty out into nature though. And so those late spring afternoons like now came quite often when they lay next to each other in the grass, watching the sheep from afar, smoking.
âYou look less shit. Finally.â
Matty chuckled. âIâm not sure if this was meant as a compliment, but I take it anyway. Plus, Iâm pretty sure I owe the fact that there almost arenât any bruises to your wife.â
âI wouldnât be surprised in the slightest if you didâ, Seamus just replied, âShe knows exactly what sheâs doing. Fixed me up after encounters way worse than yours.â
Matty puffed his cigarette for a while. He never told Seamus why exactly he came to them in the state he did. Why he woke up at night, disorientated and barely recovering from flashbacks he couldnât tell anyone about. Why he was missing one of his right back teeth.
âYou donât even deserve her, you know that? Sheâs too pretty for you. And way too nice as wellâ, Matty said, lifting his index finger at his companion as if he was preaching.
âNow what do you mean by that?â
âWell, I, for one, would not let my husband keep a miniature picture of somebody else in his wallet all the time.â
Seamus didnât respond immediately. But when he did, he said: âThe secret to a long lasting and happy marriage is to not have secrets. BrĂ and I figured that out ages ago already.â
Matty decided to drag his cigarette again and to nod instead of laughing sarcastically. Donât have secrets as a secret was quite some advice indeed.
âBut what would you know about that, huh?â, Seamus asked and Matty couldnât help but scoff.
âMore than you knowâŚâ, he murmured absentmindedly and for the fraction of a second, just the tiniest part of it, he saw Victoriaâs face in front of his eyes when he closed them. He shook his head as if to shake the thought of it.
âYouâre doing that face again.â
âThe fuck are you on about?â
âThe face. Youâre doing it again. BrĂ noticed a few days ago. You have a face that you sometimes pull that makes you look like you just received some terrible news.â
âI donâtâ, Matty tried to defend himself. It didnât work exactly.
âYeah and what would you know about that? You canât see yourself, eh?â
The sound leaving Mattyâs lips didnât deserve the term âlaughâ in the slightest. He puffed his cigarette before answering.
âPeople think. Itâs what they do. Even I do. Sometimes.â
Way more than he could freely admit to anyone, Seamus included.
âYeah. And when you do you look like youâre never going to be happy again. BrĂ thinks you need help.â
âThen sheâs wrongâ, Matty said, maybe a bit more firm than he originally intended to.
âListen, I donât know whatâs gotten into you at this point and I wonât make you tell me. But what I know is that if I didnât do the dance meetings in townhall every second thursday, Iâd probably look as miserable as you. So did you ever think about getting yourself something to do?â
âI think I have more than enough things to do here, thank you very much.â
Seamus grunted. âYeah I donât think you do, really. Or at least not enough fulfilling things. Life isnât just work, you know?â
âWhat is it for you then? Dancing only?â
A smug smile formed around the corners of Seamusâs lips. âIâve had several children to raise for the best part of my life. Iâm happe enough to have a wonderful wife keeping me company, still. And I recently started to get a bit more into crafting.â
â... which is exactly my jobâ, Matty threw in dryly.
âLike I just said, why donât you go down to the city for a bit? Try some new things? Maybe youâll find something that will make you happy.â
____
Dublin at night was completely different from Dublin during the day. The constant mist from the factories gave way for a mixture of smoke, whine and smoked meat, the busy humming in the streets fading into its own personal melody of music and chatter. Matty came here once per week, mostly on Wednesdays. And every week he made another decision about where to take his money â Benburb Street or Camden Street. Today it was the first option, he wasnât as exhausted from work for once and decided he could get off his face some other time as well.
He knew the barracks by now, the houses with broken windows lining the street, the smell, the rats. He still loved it though. It reminded him of the images of Manchester he saved to his mind, of which by now he couldnât tell whether or not they were real. The Queenâs Mercy was, as in opposite of what its name would suggest, everything but a noble, polished establishment for the high society. On the contrary. The women in there were amongst the filthiest Matty had ever encountered. Direct, strict, not sugar coating anything. The sex they sold was rough. Dirty. Quick and definitely worth the price. Matty went upstairs with a blonde who didnât tell him her name. He didnât ask.
âYouâre the one who likes to be tied up, arenât you? Chapel told me about you, I think.â
âNot today, noâ, he said while he already started to unbutton his trousers. He experimented a bit with the bondage thing in the beginning. He didnât do it since Paris, not properly at least. For his first few visits here it had felt good to give up control. Not having to think much and having pain be the major thing he felt. But that wasnât the goal today.
âAlright. What is it today then?â, she asked while Matty pulled his pants down.
âGet on your foursâ, he stated. She wasnât particularly beautiful. They rarely were. But her hair was the exact right shade of dark blonde, like a golden well falling over her shoulder. Maybe that would be enough. It had to be. He noticed quite soon that it was the only thing getting him off, recently. Helping him to imagine, at least, that she was somebody else. Forgetting her became harder during these last days of summer, when the memories of how he spent the last one came back to haunt him way more than once.
The prostitute did as told and looked up to him from the bed.
âWant me to suck you off?â
He just shrugged. âWhatever it is to get me hardâ, he answered. Her hands were on him in no time. Jerking him off in fast, expert movements. It was clear from the very start that she knew what she was doing. Her lips wrapped around his cock and he did get hard indeed under her touch. That was the advantage of the brothel: The women were experts in her fields.
He forced himself to not think about the hardship of the day too much or the fact that Seamus and him just discovered today that termites had infected the stable and therefore several beams had to be replaced. Now, it could only be about her and her hands and her mouth on his cock. He buried a hand in her hair, pushing her further down on him. Spit ran out of her mouth and down her chin, getting lost in the valley of her tits.
âLook at me. Fucking look at me while my cock is in your mouth, filthy bitch.â
He could feel her throat constrict around him and for the first time, he really felt something like genuine arousal, not just his body reacting to things that worked.
âYeah. Thatâs it. Fucking gag on me, thatâs how this goes.â
It was what he payed for, in the end. Her doing whatever it was he needed to be satisfied and the tears in her eyes were cold, hard proof of that.
He pulled her off him when he felt himself come close. Where was the fun in paying for that if he didnât get his other sense stimulated as well.
âTurn aroundâ, he ordered and she did, no arguing, no questions asked. His cock was painfully hard now and he didnât want to waste any more time if he was honest. He pulled her to the edge of the bed without a warning. Spit on her cunt to prep her at least a little bit and watched his saliva running down her slit. Still tight enough to make him feel something, he hoped. Then he pushed into her. She didnât make a sound. She didnât move. She just took it. His fingernails digging into her hips to keep him in place, his thrusts inside of her, slow and deep at first in order to enjoy the feeling of her around him to the fullest. One hand sneaking around her upper body to grope her right breast harshly. A nice one, he figured, just the right size so that he could grope it with one hand. He picked up the pace. Messily.
Hands still on her he ordered: âI want you to milk my cock. Do whatever you need to get yourself off but donât touch me. Donât expect me to do it for you.â
She obeyed, shoving her hand between her legs, rubbing herself off, he figured. The thought alone made him moan loudly, picking up the pace again.
âYeah, thatâs right. Do the work. Cum for me. Cum all over my cock.â
She was close, he could feel it. The way her breathing became laboured. The way she clenched around him, making the pressure building inside of him even harder. He pulled out right before he hit his climax, jerking himself off the rest of the way. He came with a grunt, white ropes of cum landing on her ass. Ugly. Messy. Disgusting. He stood behind her, panting for a few seconds, just looking at her. The way the traces of him were on her skin, and for the first time he wondered if Cavendish knew something the day he came in. If he suspected something. There were always traces somewhere, werenât there? The woman turned around again and looked at him, almost offended.
âYou should have stayed insideâ, she said, her tone almost accusing, âItâs less messy.â
âWell, good thing itâs not your decisionâ, he spit, pulling his pants back up. She stayed on the bed, looking up to him.
âYouâre disgustingâ, she stated while holding her open palm out to him.
âYeahâŚâ, Matty murmured while he put the money in her hand, âtell me something I donât know yet.â
___
The first winds of fall brought in the worst kinds of decisions. Those he did put off this far, always telling himself there would be more time to care for it later. Now there barely was anymore. Seamus and BrĂ were preparing for lambing season and would need every hand they could get. And while Matty felt quite confident he could supervise and oversee the births himself if asked, the point he couldnât argue was that it was a family tradition that the two of them spent the last few months of the year together with their daughters who came back from Dublin for that reason. That also meant that they wouldnât have space to host Matty anymore as soon as they arrived. They told him a few weeks prior, giving him enough space to decide what exactly he was going to do next. The problem, however, was that Matty decided to push the decision back until way into the midst of fall. He knew he couldnât stay, so leaving was his only option. But finding another farm that would need help during the winter months when there was nothing to saw, nothing to plant, would prove rather difficult.
He couldnât exactly say how he ended up on the hills of Tiknock in the end. Maybe it was sort of his last resort, talking to somebody who wouldnât judge him, after doing everything but not talking failed spectacularly. The wooden cross with the name of Timothy Healy on it was still there, but that was about it. None of the flowers he put there. Nothing left of the small circle of stones forming a sun, because the old man loved to watch the sun from here so much. None of the feathers he put on the grave in order to make it more lively. Because that was what his father said. This shouldnât be a place for grieve. It should be a place for remembering a life.
âHi dad. Sorry it took me so long. LifeâŚhappened a little bit.â
He had planned to come here so often. Ever since he dug this grave with his very own hands holding the shovel, that was. Come here and tell his dad how he made it â whatever that was supposed to mean in the end.
âI was in London the past few years. I lived there. I wasâŚa stablehand for some duke. You would have hated everything about it, dad.â Entitled rich folk acting exactly the way youâd expect them to. Taking what they consider theirs, no consideration for anybodyâs feelings except their own. No rules for anybody but them.
It felt weird talking down to the grave like that, he figured. Alas he decided to sit down. The grass was cold underneath him. He didnât care.
âI fucked up though. IâŚâ, he ran a hand over his face, his tongue hesitating to form the words. It was the first time he spoke them into existence and he somehow feared saying them out loud would make the pain they caused even more real. More real than it was these past few months when it kept him from sleeping. More real than it was when it fuelled his nightmares. More real than anything he allowed himself to think, most of the time. But feelings, nonetheless, were different. âI fell in love with the wrong person. Sheâs a wonderful person. Sheâs beautiful and brave and funny. SheâsâŚ.sheâs the perfect girl. And thatâs why she deserves somebody better than meâŚâ
Matty started to pull tufts of grass out almost without noticing it. âShe canât be mine. Sheâs the daughter of a duke. The same duke who I worked for until a few months ago. Beat the shit out of me when he found out. Deserved it though, I guess. Taking a girlâs virginity when you know you can never give her a life she deserves is an absolute shitty thing to do.â
A lump started to built in his throat and it took him a few attempts to blink the images away that started to form in front of his inner eye.
âI hope sheâs ok though. No, more than that. I hope sheâs happy. I hope sheâs safe. I hope she got what she deserves because she deserves somebody better than me. Somebody who can provide her with the life she deserves. And I can never be that. I could never give her what she needs.â
He fell silent, again. Thinking about the ball and the sex they had in Georgeâs and Charliâs bedroom.
âYou know there wereâŚtimes when I was mad enough to think we could really make it. JustâŚjust leave. Her home. The country, even. Where it would just be her and me and we would have a life that is simpler than what sheâs used to, but happier, perhaps. Where I would provide for her and show her how to dance, the proper dances, not just the ones performed at the courts. Where we would just kiss each other and fuck each other and love each other, above else, every chance we get. And then it allâŚjustâŚended. And I feel like a fool for ever thinking it would not.â
He didnât wipe the tears away that were flowing over his face freely now.
âAnd the worst thing is: I know that this is for the better. It justâŚit just absolutely doesnât feel like it. It fels likeâŚlke I lost something I can never get back. And that something is-â
He took a deep breath. âEveryday. Every fucking day ever since I had to leave. And I donât know how to handle it.â
A breath taken in, as shaky as his hands. âI thought coming here would solve everything.â But I still feel like Iâm in the same place. JustâŚjust more tired. More sad. More alone. And probably still not alone enough given what I did.â
Other pictures came back now. George. Charli. Their son Thomas, he hadnât seen him in forever. He hadnât been away from the kid for so long ever since he was born, Matty figured.
âI know that this was the one thing you never wanted for me, dad. You never wanted me to-â He stopped, started again. âAnd Iâm sorry. I really am.â
For a moment, he just sat there in silence. Let the feelings come. The truth he had just built by saying things he suppressed all those months before. The cold, hard truth that didnât provide any comfort. At all. And it was his fault alone it didnât. Nobody was to blame for the mess he was in despite himself.
Then, at some point, Matty wiped the tears away from his face more harshly now.
âGeorge is a Duke now by the way. Can you imagine?â
He tried to laugh. It turned out to be a sob. George. Charli. Thomas. He missed them. All of them. Deeply. He wondered if they had forgotten about him on the regular. He thought about writing them and didnât dare to. Because they would ask why he didnât come to them in the first place and rightfully so. They wouldnât understand that leaving had been his only option.
But what ifâŚwhat if it wasnât anymore? A thought had entered his brain. A small, intrusive, almost dangerous thought. What if he went back? Took the opportunity of the fall winds making traveling by ship faster and went back home? George and Charli would absolutely host him without questions asked. And when it came to Lord CavendishâŚHe at least couldnât kill him as long as he was under Canterbury's protection. So what was there for him to lose if the promised gain was to fill the hole in his heart that was aching so painfully?
Part 9 (which doesnât have a smut tag but it exists and it is still important to the story I promise!!)
Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 //Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7
Summary: Matty and Victoria take playing with fire too far.
Warnings: 18+ (Here: spanking, the riding crop is back, p in v sex, spitting, a tiny bit of praise and degradation if you squint), very graphic description of massive violence, mdni, massive age-gap, Victorian age appropriate morals and societal issues (as imagined by me), absolutely historically incorrect! Matty is called Matthew most of the time.
Spring came and it made both of them dangerously careless. In hindsight, Matty would think that the night at Georgeâs and Charliâs moved an invisible line dangerously far forward. Because for the first time, they had been together out of the context of the Cavendish estate. They had taken what they had into another place and saw that it still withstood. And that made them both take more risks. In the upcoming few weeks, he went up into her room way more than once and stayed until after dawn, even, on one occasion, rushing out the window in panic when he noticed, breaking a toe. She read BrontĂŤ to him and he just listened to the sound of her voice without understanding a word. He used every opportunity to be close to her, to touch her, his hand lingering on her thigh way longer than necessary when he helped her get onto her horse. It wasnât hiding in plain sight anymore at this point â it was openly playing with fire next to a stack of hay. Matty didnât think about it, didnât care or to be more precise, he actively chose not to.
Because those little moments Victoria and him got to share like this were too precious, too beautiful, too much healing something within him not to. Every hardship of the day, every hour spent on his knees scrubbing the stable floor or carrying equipment from place A to place B, was so much easier to bear when he knew it was rewarded with even a fraction of her presence. He fell asleep at night plotting how he might surprise her the upcoming day and grinned like a fucking fool when he woke up to a little note of hers carefully placed on the doorstep to his room. It was absolutely ridiculous to behave like this at his age. It was absolutely ridiculous to feel like this at his age. He wouldnât have changed it for the world though.Â
Just like he wouldnât have changed the feeling of fucking her for anything. Of being buried as deep inside of her as he was now, her legs wrapped around his hips. He knew that realistically speaking they didnât have time for what they were doing. For him fucking her as slowly as he did now, candid, well placed rolls of his hips only occasionally. Taking everything in. The way she sighed with every movement of his body against hers. The way she clenched around him, desperate to increase the pressure and make him come. The way her neck was on display for him so beautifully when she threw her head back, hair disheveled as it was, fair, soft skin presenting itself to him. Usually, he would have let his lips glide along there now carefully, tenderly, his breath ghosting over he neck as he felt her hackles rise. But today he didnât feel like it. He buried one hand in her hair, tilting her head back further. One more thrust into her, a swipe of his fingers over her clit in synch making her moan for him, grab onto his upper arms more tight. He lowered his head to her ear so that his lips grazed the skin there as he spoke:Â
âOpen up for me, My Lady.â
She did. No hesitation. No questions asked. Just looking at him, opening her mouth.Â
âGood girl listening to me so nicely. You know whoâs in charge here, donât you?â, he murmured, not even waiting for her to nod before he spit in her mouth.Â
âSwallow.âÂ
The sight of her doing it made him buck his hips forward almost involuntarily. Harder thrusts, faster, picking up rhythm for once, his eyes glued to her mouth where the obscene incident just took place. Victoriaâs eyes were closed in pleasure, her hips meeting his in a perfect rhythm. He could feel her whole body tighten, he knew she was close. He knew her so well by now. But he couldnât leave her like that, not today, that was. His gaze wandered around the room again, getting caught on the riding crop lying on the table she sat on right next to her. The same table they ended up in front of the very first time they fucked in the stables. Matty smirked, took the crop and carefully guided it along her neck. Victoria whimpered immediately, recognising the hard leather tip without seeing it.Â
âYou know what this is, donât you?â, he hushed and she just nodded, too far gone as to being able to answer him in full. Matty took his time guiding the crop down her neck up until where her breasts spilled out of her dress. Then he lifted the crop and hit. One sharp, precise blow to the top of her right breast. Watching the tender flesh tremble underneath it did something to him and so did Victoria moaning his name loudly. He rewarded her responsiveness with two more thrusts of his hips into her. She gripped on to him so tightly, moving into him even more letting him know he wouldnât last much longer. The next harsh contact of the crop to her skin made her whimper.
âMatthewâŚpleaseâŚIâŚâ
He hit her again, two slaps right after another this time, Victoria threw her head back, completely lost in pleasure. Completely lost in what he was doing to her. Oh she was beautiful, when she was like this. So beautiful for him. Always. His rhythm got lost entirely, he just couldnât keep it up anymore. Fast, hard thrusts were all he knew, while he kept on slapping her breasts with the crop.Â
âIs that what you want? Huh? Câmon, tell me!â
Her reply was a mix of broken syllables of âyesâ and his name alike, so he kept on going. Moved faster. Hit harder. Until it hit him. He came inside of her with a grunt, burying himself even deeper by his last thrust, Victoriaâs legs shaking around him as she fell apart herself. He pulled her body into his immediately, grounding her, drawing soothing circles on her shoulder with his thumb. Staying buried inside of her as he was, holding her as close as possible. Because that was what was important. The tension slowly started to leave her body, making her shake less.Â
âYou good?â, he asked, kissing her temple, her face, slowly, calmingly. She nodded, head resting on his shoulder. And then she froze. He could literally feel it. Her whole body went stiff in between his arms.Â
âWhat-â
He didnât get to finish the sentence. Matty didnât even have time to process what was happening before a hand closed around his shoulder and pulled him away from Victoria.
âGet the fuck away from her! Now!â
Charles Cavendishâs voice cut through the stable like a rolling thunder. From this moment forward, all he noticed were fragments. He stumbled backwards and was pulled around before he had a chance to fully realise what was going on. His masterâs face was distorted in raw, unfiltered hatred.Â
âFather, no!â, Victoria screamed but he knew way before it ended that this wasnât to change anything. His master grabbed him by the collar. Matty knew what was coming even before the first punch hit his jaw. Nonetheless, he didnât put his arms up to defend himself. He had no right to. He knew that much. The punch didnât even hurt, at first. The impact sent his body into shock so that the pain didnât come through. He tasted blood on his tongue and wondered if he lost a tooth.Â
âDishonouring my daughter! Under my roof! Which I gave you!â
The next punch, straight in the face, again. Matty spit out blood that was running into his mouth now continuously. He wanted to move but he knew he couldnât, not as long as his master kept him in his hold like this.
âSheâs not even half your age!â
The next punch hit him right in the stomach, making him gasp for air that wouldnât reach his lungs. His knees gave in. Charles pulled him back up.Â
âFather, please!â Victoriaâs voice only broke through to him faintly. So did the picture of her pulling on her fathers shirt.
âSheâs my child. And you filthy, disgusting, disgraceful-â
âHe didnât do anything. I did!! Father I beseech you, sto-â
The rest of Victoria's plea drowned in a scream as the lord Cavendish punched Matty in the ribs. He was sure he felt them break. Breathing became hard. The ringing in his ears didnât stop anymore.Â
âSilence! Iâll deal with you later. I have to handle this disgrace of a human being first.â
The next punch to Mattyâs stomach made his knees go weak and his body fall forward. It wasnât even planned, just a natural protective instinct to shield himself somehow. He was pulled back up again. The next blow to his jaw. Two, three hard ones, no breaks inbetween. Cavendishâs face became blurry, the ringing in Mattyâs ears persistent. He could barely breathe, blood gathering on his tongue, again.
âI should kill youâ, Cavendish hissed, his pupils blown out as he looked at Matty, âI should kill you right here for what you did.âÂ
Matty looked back up to him again, before turning around as best as possible to look at Victoria. She was pale as a ghost, from the shock, he guessed, clothes still a mess, so was her hair. So beautiful. So innocent. So to be protected at all costs. Do it then, a small part within him whispered, do it. Because death is the better choice if living without her is the other.Â
âI-â
Before he could finish the sentence, Victoria stepped in the space inbetween them. Back turned at Matty, she looked her father directly in the eye, hands on his wrists as if this would indeed stop him.
âLeave him. Please, for the love of god, father, leave him. I love him. I need him, I-â, her voice broke but she pulled herself back together, stepping closer to her father as if she was to get more than just her bodyâs weight as space inbetween them, âI love him. Please donât do this to me. Let him live. Please let him live.â
Cavendish looked at his second eldest daughter as if he saw her for the very first time.Â
âYou donât know what love is, Victoriaâ, he said, cold as ice, âYou barely discovered lust, it seems. And now youâre confusing the two of them. You canât know better at your age.â He directed his gaze back at Matty. âBut he should have.â
The grip on Mattyâs shirt loosened and finally he was let go. It took Matty a few seconds to fully realise what just happened. And then a reflex kicked, old as men. Flight. Now. Immediately. He pulled his pants back up. And he ran. No last look back. No telling Victoria she should join him. He just left.Â
He didnât make it far, at first, just barely away from Cavendish's estate. Dizziness slowed him down, so did the sickness in his stomach, the pain in his ribs. Every two steps, it seemed, he had to stop to spit some of the blood out that kept on gathering in his mouth. He wasnât even close to processing what happened just yet. There were only one clear thought in his head. He needed to leave. The Canterburyâs estate wasnât an option. He couldnât drag George and Charli into a mess that was probably way, way, way bigger than he could oversee it himself at the moment. Matty paused for a second, the pain bringing him to his knees. He sank down into the grass, panting. He pressed his forehead to his knees as if that would help slow down the thoughts running wild in his head. It didnât. Of course it didnât. Please let her be safe. Please, for the love of god let her be safe. A couple went by. Just casually strolling over the estate.Â
â... and then thereâs a fuzz going on at the harbour, currently. Lots of ships coming, even more leaving. Itâs a mess down there. They go up to America, it seems.â
âFascinating⌠Do you really thinkâŚâ
Their voices got carried away by the wind. Matty instinctively patted his pants. A faint clinging sound told him that there was some silver in there. How far it would take him was to be seen. But for now it would be enough to leave. Even though it meant leaving Victoria here. Leaving the two of them behind. He only did it for her, he convinced himself. For her safety. For her happiness. Because that was all that mattered in the end. Her being happy.Â
Thank you sm for reposting the ask game!! My questions for you are:
9, 17, 20 x
- bels / knockat102 xx
Oh hi lovely! Thank you for the numbers!
Letâs goooooo!
9 - What would your job/field of study be if it wasn't what it is now? Iâve always wanted to become a therapist but cowarded before studying the subject. So my dream job would be that I guess? Realistically: probs something of a civil servant. Keeping family traditions up and stuff.
17 - Who was your childhood role model? Thatâs interesting because I think I never had one. I donât think I do now. I was a fangirl my entire life, but the people I fangirl(ed) never where or are role models for me (which I think keeps me from being too disappointed by their sometimes questionable life choices lol). SoâŚunfortunatelyâŚI think I have to go with the most boring answer and have to say my mum because I love and admire her a lot.
20 - What is your fatal flaw? I unfortunately am a very lethal combination of extremely insecure and extremely easy insecured and at the same time deep down convinced Iâm better in doing my job than anybody else is in doing theirs lol. I am also the living, breathing chaos which doesnât make my life easier most of the time.
You should all be scared of Friday by the way. If Iâm mean Iâm not even going to post a teaser and just let you run into this hell of a chapter yourselves.
