#also andy in breeches and a queue can we just

[mercurygray]

Ok for my second drink.... 'omen' and 'cursed' for Andy and Viv in the Sleepy Hollow universe xx Juno

This isn't strictly to spec, but I had a lot of fun world-building this!

He hated paying calls.

But beggars can't be chosers, and penniless schoolmasters neither, and when the patroon summons the new man to tea, he obeys, cap in hand and best suit on. There was nothing to be done about his stockings - they were torn, and they had been mended. In his last position, the ladies were always amazed that a man should know how to darn his own stockings and finish a buttonhole, but friendly neighbor ladies were few and far between at Fort Pacific and officers must look their best when company calls - or makes calls, for that matter.

The house was an old one, and fine, standing on a bluff overlooking the river, the grand man able to peer down into town with a watchful eye, and Andy felt like a particularly poor relation, climbing up the hill to the front door and knocking, and being admitted to the parlor by a young woman he assumed was the daughter. (He knew the Van Rietvelds had a daughter, an only child. It had been given about she was too old for school but not, perhaps, too old for the schoolmaster.)

And the young woman who answered the door looked to do admirably, for the daughter of the house, neat as a pin and smiling graciously, but when he gave his thanks, her face fell a little.

"Oh, but she isn't Miss Van Rietveld," proclaimed an arch little voice from the stairs. "I am. That is Miss Arsenault - my companion."

Andy realized, rather late, that mistakes had been made. The contrast between the two women was stark, and beside each other there could be no mistaking one for the other - the woman at the door was plainly dressed, ready for whatever manner of work the kitchen or the running of the house would furnish, and the creature on the stairs had not yet left girlhood, or idleness, behind, in a pale silk that would doubtless scorch if brought too close to a fire. Her hair was loose, skin pale and arms thin, and she moved without the other woman's assurance. (There was a difference of some five years between them, perhaps, and when the older met her at the bottom of the stairs and helped her down, Andy saw the flash of a handkerchief in the younger's hand - an invalid, perhaps?)

"My sincere apologies," Andy said, hoping very much he hadn't completely put his foot in it.

"Oh, leave him be, Liese, he couldn't have known better. What else should he think, seeing a pretty girl at the door?" Here, now, was a face he knew - the master of the house who'd met him in York City, reviewed his qualifications and offered him the post. "A bit of a different welcome than an army camp!"

"Mynheer Van Rietveld," Andy said, shaking hands with the master of the house. Woulter Van Rietveld was the very picture of the country squire, his stomach straining a little at an already expansive waistcoat, and, now that the two of them were together, it was easy to see the family resemblance between father and daughter in their flaxen colored hair and the sweep of their jawlines. But there could be no mistaking it - the daughter was not in the best of health, the color in her father's cheeks hardly reflected in her own.

"Come, sit you down in here, and we'll have tea. You've had a long journey, all the way from York City. Roads passable?"

Andy nodded, following them into the parlor. Liese took a seat at the fireside, obviously a favored spot, pausing to arrange a blanket over her lap, while her father took a seat in a large wingback chair opposite, leaving another wingback for their guest, the teacher.

"Were you a soldier, Mr. Haldane?" Liese’s eyes were bright with interest, a look he knew all too well and almost hated to answer.

"Was he, now! Well, I should say. With the Fifth Massachusetts, wounded twice, recommended for honors. I expect we should be calling him Captain; it seems to be what everyone else does!"

"I think it would confuse the students," Andy offered, trying to be humble about it. He had merely done his duty, as plenty of others had, and plenty more who had not come home to talk about it - or suffer under the adoring eyes of teenage girls, staring at him wistfully as though he were some hero from a book.

Miss Arsenault appeared again with the tea-tray in hand, and made short work of sharing out cups and saucers, pouring just so into each. Her eyes briefly met his, and she managed a short smile, flashed as quickly as a signal lamp, and he felt something flutter, again, a bird beating against his ribs, and murmured his thanks, hoping he remembered the correct form.

Van Rietveld was one of those hosts who only required his guests supply themselves and not the food for conversation - he talked at length of the lodgings he'd secured for Andy, the weather, and how the crop was coming in. It was easy enough to smile, and nod, and occasionally interject some small comment, and he was glad for it. It had been too long since he'd been in a room like this, especially among women, and he was out of practice, unsure what to say, especially after that buisness near the door.

"And do you see much of the Iroquois, in town?" he asked, trying to find some subject on which he might comfortably discuss. "I passed a trading party on the road."

Van Rietveld's face, which had been the soul of animation and cheer, was suddenly difficult to read, as though a cloud had passed over it. "They pass through," he said, his voice dismissive. "They know they're not welcome."

Liese, however, pounced. "Did you see much of the Indians, in the army, Mister Haldane? How did you know they were Iroquois?"

"I did," Andy said, trying to temper her excitement against her father's obvious discomfort. "Oneida, and some Tuscarora. I can't tell tribes as well as some. Fierce fighters, and...worthy adversaries."

"Miss Arsenault knows all their customs - don't you, Vivienne?"

Miss Arsenault, for her part, also looked a trifle embarrassed by the sudden attention. "I was three years among the Mohawks," she offered, rather quietly, her eyes meeting his again. "As a good-will pledge. I know a little of their language, their ways of knowing."

"A dirty, savage buisness," her master said with a sneer. "Better we were rid of them all together."

But he did not get to go on further; Miss Van Rietveld went into a fit of coughing, cutting the visit short. Her companion helped her upstairs to bed, the younger woman complaining the whole way that she was perfectly fit to stay and listen to Captain Haldane. (See? Already Captain. The whims of young women!)

"Mister Haldane!" It was Miss Arsenault, coming at a good pace down the path to the stable, something clutched tight in her hand. "Master Van Rietveld bid me give you this," she said, holding out a small square-bound letter, heavily weighted with a blog of wax. "For the innkeeper in town; instructions for your bill, I'm sure."

He nodded, but found himself unwilling to move - and so, it seemed, was she, looking like she had something else she wanted to say.

Finally she spoke."I hope you'll forgive Liese; she is young, and...does not have much for entertainment."

"May I ask a question, Miss Arsenault?” Her silence bid him go on. “How does a young woman like yourself find a position like this? It seems an odd job, for a young woman, to be a nurse rather than a governess." She looked at him and shrugged, smiling a little. "Is her illness quite grave?

She considered a moment, and nodded. "I'm told she has always been frail - quite without cause." She paused again, obviously unsure of whether or not to say what she was thinking. "Her father thinks it a curse."

"A curse!"

"On the night she was born, there was only a little moon, and the coach carrying the midwife forced an older woman off the road - an elder of the local tribe. She died later of her injury - and Mrs. Van Rietveld too. The master thinks the woman cursed the family, though no wise woman I know would do such a thing. That is why he hates them as he does. He thought my time with them would give me knowledge to break it."

"And?"

"She was a small baby, and early. I think her mother's death did her no favors. But as for curses...I think she has only the ordinary mortal ones, and a weak heart."

"Would you permit me to call on you, some time?"

"I think you'd be better served calling on Liese," she offered, quietly, smiling in her small way and turning to go back to the house. "She likes you."

But Liese isn't as pretty as you, he wanted to say, knowing, somehow, that if he did she'd turn the compliment aside the way she did everything else. And she doesn’t look like she’d stand up to a good kiss - like the kind I want to give you.