Sat, May 19 2012
When she went down to breakfast that morning, Rebecca knew that she had to make peace, for she could imagine a life without Phileas no more than she could imagine it without her own head. If she withheld her approval, her consent, she would make them both miserable. There was only a choice of torture or detente, and prolonging the ordeal was nothing but selfishness.
Rebecca watched silently as Passepartout bustled about in the dining room, checking on warming trays, the Times, the maid's dusting. She noticed, sadly, that the table was set only for two.
"Passepartout? Could I speak with you for a moment?" The valet looked up with some alarm, and the unfamiliar sting of guilt struck her. She wished she could say that she hadn't wanted that, yet it was precisely the reaction she sought the other day.
"Yes, Miss Rebecca," Passepartout replied after a beat.
Rebecca generally preferred covert attacks to face-to-face negotiations, and she wished that she had ambassadors to send like the Queen. And diplomacy had clearly been ineffective yesterday. This was different, though, and far more complicated than she cared to admit. It was not so much a matter of granting Passepartout admission into their lives and family, as one would do in accepting a marriage, for he already held in their hearts a position more dear than any servant they had ever known.
Perhaps that was the key. Clearly, he was more than a servant to Phileas, and if she allowed herself to look at things in the most sentimental way, much more than that to her. Maybe that was part of the reason it hurt so much. She thought she knew them, and clearly, they had secrets that they would never have revealed to her.
"Passepartout, I would like to thank you for the cake yesterday. It was simply delicious and I know that the recipe takes so much time to prepare," Rebecca said. When Passepartout didn't turn his nose up at her for that, she added, "I would like to apologize for my recent behavior. I haven't exactly felt like myself."
The valet nodded, apology accepted, so easily that it nearly shocked her. He had always been such a helpful creature, to Phileas and to herself, always generous, loyal, and impossibly hardworking. Such singular devotion should be rewarded. So perhaps, for Passepartout's sake, rather than her cousin's, she would give the one thing she could offer them.
"Miss Rebecca?" She lifted her eyes to Passepartout's and smiled, as well as she could smile at the man who won her dear cousin's heart.
"I sincerely hope that you understand what you are getting into here, Passepartout, because if you don't..." Rebecca shook her head. The valet did something unimaginable, and sat down next to her.
"Is not easy, you know, Miss Rebecca," the valet said softly. "Master, he is worrying all the time, and when you are all saddened, it is worse. I was afraid, last night, that he would change his head." Rebecca swallowed hard.
"Really?" she asked, in a voice barely above a whisper. Phileas appeared so determined, so certain with her. Had he really wavered about his decision?
"Then very late, he tells Passepartout that he would never leave, that we must trust that Miss Rebecca will understand, because she is fearless, and she is his family. She is our family." The valet's honest eyes shone, not just with affection, but also with pride that he could declare those words to her. He looked so hopeful, and if she did not absolutely dread the idea of crying again, she would have wept on the spot.
"I cannot claim to understand, Passepartout, but I am, without question, your family." Simple words that did not promise too much, but that seemed to lighten the valet's burden.
"You are not angry anymore?" He asked, and his face brightened considerably.
"I've just been thinking, Passepartout. And I have concluded that if anyone can make Phileas' life better, then I must make that brave soul welcome in my own life -- in whatever role he chooses."
"You are really thinking he is happier, Miss Rebecca?" Passepartout asked, genuinely touched by her words.
"Yes, yes, I do." She placed her hand over Passepartout's and tried to remember how everything felt just four days ago, when she couldn't wait to get home. "And I will have to say so to Phileas, too, once he's had his breakfast. You of all people know what he's like before then." Now her smile was genuine, too, and Rebecca felt released from some of the strain of the past few days.
"Good morning," She heard behind her, and turned to see Verne strolling in for his breakfast. Passepartout leapt up from the table, eager to serve.
"Good morning to you, Master Jules! We are having sausages and rashers and new recipe of eggs this morning. I call it 'Eggs in a Window.' I tried to convince Cook that we should try crepes, but she was not liking that idea."
"Sounds delicious, Passepartout, I'm famished." Verne sat down across from her and smiled. "How are you feeling this morning?"
"Greatly improved, thank you, Jules, although really," She lowered her voice confidentially, "you might at least have taken off my shoes." He ducked his head shyly, and Rebecca suspected that he was trying very hard not to blush.
"You were practically asleep already. I didn't want to disturb you," Verne replied after a beat.
Rebecca smiled knowingly. "Then I suppose I should thank you, Jules, because I haven't slept so well in ages."
"And Fogg?" Verne asked as he tucked into his breakfast.
"Oh - I meant to tell you, Miss Rebecca -- Master has gone riding this morning. He will be coming back for dinner," Passepartout interjected.
"That's perfect," declared Rebecca, "I've got a plan -- a much better one than yesterday's, I promise."
Rebecca had had better plans in her life, really. She wasn't an idiot, and ordinarily she improvised well, but circumstances were not the best. After explaining her idea to Jules, he looked at her suspiciously.
"I don't know, Rebecca, that's sort of duplicitous, isn't it?"
"For heaven's sake, Jules, we aren't stealing it, we're just going to borrow it for a little while. Then we'll put it back. No liberation, I promise."
"And the estate doesn't have any of its own?"
"I'm afraid not. It's a long story. Please, Jules, this really would help me." The young man sighed, which generally meant he was giving in to her request.
"Fine, Rebecca, but I think we'll need Passepartout's help."
"Oh, most definitely. Now do stop frowning, Jules, this is going to be fun."
In this case, Rebecca's plan did, indeed, work well. When Fogg returned from his ride, Passepartout steered him towards the drawing room where Rebecca was waiting with the creature the three of them had spent the better part of the morning capturing in her lap. It was docile now, although it had behaved quite cantankerously earlier, and she suspected that Jules and Passepartout might have slipped something in its food to calm it down. Passepartout looked in the door, winked at Rebecca, and then disappeared. Fogg was surprised to find Rebecca there, and was even more surprised to see what she was holding in her arms.
"Rebecca," he began, then stopped and rubbed his eyes to make sure it was still there. "Correct me if I am wrong, but I do believe that is a rabbit."
She made a great show of checking, inspecting the ears, and solemnly nodding in affirmation.
"And would this rabbit have anything to do with the mysterious disappearance of a prize-winning English lop from the Carter-Finch estate?" Rebecca looked up with large eyes and a sweet smile. Her guilt was obvious, but if she made nice, Phileas might help with the creature's return later. Hopefully, the return would be soon, because she was losing feeling below her knees. The blasted thing weighed a ton.
"Do you remember, when I was a little girl," Rebecca began, "I loved to borrow rabbits from the hutch and play with them. The dogs were bigger than I was at the time; they were too busy guarding me to be any fun. One of the nurses even sewed up a little padded bag with a handle for me to serve as a carrier. I tried to catch the wild ones, too, but that never quite worked - Erasmus would steal the bait from the traps, and once I caught him putting velveteen rabbits in the crates."
"You had to catch him before you figured that out?" Phileas asked bemusedly.
"Well, I certainly didn't think the fairies brought them, as he always insisted." She paused to savor the moment of common grief at the mention of Erasmus. She usually tried to keep it from touching her, but she needed the reminder of what they had endured together. Phileas waited, like a student, for the end of her parable.
"One very cold day, we were getting ready for church. We were in London for some reason or another. The nurse started to put this new muff on my hands. It was white, and so incredibly soft, I loved it on sight. It reminded me of something, though, and while I was waiting in the foyer for everyone, I was sitting there petting it, and I realized at any rate, Phileas, you can't imagine my horror when I made the connection between this very nice, warm gift and the poor little creatures I'd been tormenting all summer long. To say nothing of those mysterious legs at dinner, the rabbit stew Cook made, which I thought was just delicious." Phileas eyed her warily. "My point is that I never actually considered that those little bunnies might have had any purpose in life other than to amuse me, or that their fate might be any less pleasant than my own." Rebecca stopped. She had trouble remembering why she had started her little anecdote.
"I remember how upset you were. Rabbit hasn't been served in our house since then. But may I say, Rebecca, for this case, that's a dreadful metaphor. Changing the menu will not do the trick this time."
"Terribly sorry, dear cousin. I suppose I should leave the metaphors to Jules?"
"Indeed, I think that would be wise, although Verne does take them rather over the top. May I add, Rebecca, that since then I have seen you eat wild boar, snake, frog's legs, octopus, and even squirrel, yet we are still denied rabbit here at Shillingworth Magna," Phileas stated. He waited then, for her answer to a dozen questions.
"Rabbit might not be such a bad thing. They are quite popular in French cuisine, I understand," Rebecca essayed. She remembered her earlier thoughts on diplomacy, and decided to face the situation head-on. "I will need time, you know, Phileas. This was all very sudden."
"Yes, I imagine you might, Rebecca," said Phileas. Her cousin smiled, but Rebecca recognized his stance from years of experience, and clearly he anticipated another attack at any moment. If not for the rabbit, her hands would be shaking.
"This wasn't easy for you, was it, Phileas? To decide this?"
"I'm not sure that it was a decision, Rebecca. I thought for years that I was being punished for this. That Erasmus was taken from me because of it, but then she was taken, too, when I tried to leave it all behind me." She, Rebecca thought, ah yes, the American.
"Phileas, I really hate to ask this, but...what about Mrs. Brown? I mean, you said... And you were ready to... At least, you appeared to be."
"I don't know, Rebecca. I suppose I thought she was a last chance at some sort of redemption, for all the sin I had accumulated."
"But it isn't a sin, well, not a very serious one, anyway."
"It bloody well is, Rebecca. Apparently I need to see you to services more often," Phileas said wryly, "it is not, however, a sin that I will endeavor to avoid, on the account that I think that it is man who has made it a sin and not God." Phileas paused in his tirade to look annoyed. "Did I say something amusing, Rebecca?"
"Oh, nothing. I am merely attempting to recall the last time you endeavored to avoid sin." She bit her lip, it would have been so rude to laugh, but she knew he could see the spark of laughter in her eyes. A laughter that informed him that she wouldn't stay angry forever.
"And Passepartout?" she asked haltingly.
"I fell in love with his kindness, his goodness, then finally, with him. I think this is the first time, Rebecca, that I have not been ashamed of it. And consequently, I cannot bear to think that you would be ashamed of me."
Love. Not once, in all this time, had she thought of that as love. It was not a word her cousin used lightly. She thoughtfully scratched the rabbit's ears, trying to imprint the idea into her head.
"Have you forgiven me?" he asked.
Rebecca sat quietly. Her words had never mattered so much before these two days. "It still hurts, Phileas," she said, placing her hand over her heart, "It feels like you lied to me, even though I know that you are being honest with me now, and that you have been better lately. And while it galls me and strikes fear in my heart all at once, I think I shall have to take Jules' advice on the subject."
"Which is?"
"To accept that which I do not understand." Phileas' expression lightened, and Rebecca believed that he looked as pleased with as he did the first time she won a fencing match against him, breaking his hand in the process, but winning decisively nonetheless. Even so, her next question was no easier to ask.
"Am I forgiven?" she asked, timid with him for the first time in years.
"Of course," said Phileas. Rebecca remembered to put the enormous lop down before embracing her cousin.
"I will try, Phileas, I promise," Rebecca murmured. She let herself ponder once again that it simply wasn't fair, even though she now realized that what she truly desired would not be fair to him.
Things were altered forever between them, but the connection with each other, that eternal dependence, was still there. It was shocking to realize that one of them could open their heart to another and have that link remain intact. Because it was love, he had used the word, and he never did.
And that meant, surely, that she could love another. Perhaps. She had done so before now, but it was hard to remember. This new idea, its borders and laws, would have to establish itself firmly in her mind, above all else. The process would not be so simple as she liked to pretend it would be.
"Rebecca?"
"Yes?"
"Where on earth is that rabbit?" As if on cue, a loud clatter and a shriek from down the corridor indicated that life at Shillingworth Magna was well on its way back to normal.
"Oh, no!" Rebecca hurried from the room, pleased to realize that for the first time in days, Phileas trailed her footsteps down the hall.
Passepartout emerged from the drawing room with the overweight (and quite possibly drugged) rabbit in his arms, a cheery smile filling his face that she couldn't help returning. She turned to see her cousin's face, illuminated in a way she had never seen, just before he burst into laughter.
Accepting the consequences of this revelation would lead to difficulties, of course. There were risks to this knowledge, surely, risks that hadn't even been considered yet.
To be perfectly honest, Rebecca was uncertain that the acceptance she promised would come to her so easily.
For Phileas, she had to try.
Chapter 6 | Chapter 7