#Meriwether Compeyson? Perfect

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I will NEVER be over that Dickensian didn’t get a second season

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The Road Forgotten - Chapter 13

Pairing: Arthur Havisham (Dickensian) x OFC

A/N: I made Arthur bisexual and paired him with a female character in this. I know some writers have gotten flack for pairing Arthur with a female character (or reader), so if it's not your cup of tea, please walk away.

This is mostly based on the events of "Dickensian", but I've also incorporated some elements and characters from "Great Expectations". Most notably, Satis House is in Kent (as in the book) instead of in London.

Summary: A few years after his plan to swindle his sister ended in tragedy, Arthur Havisham is a shadow of a man, living in guilt and fear. When Elsie Bradford, a young woman also wronged by Compeyson, enlists Arthur's help to hunt down his former partner-in-crime, Arthur must face his demons and other strange, new feelings, to redeem himself.

Warnings: slow burn, angst, guilt, revenge, psychological trauma, mention of prostitution, mention of suicide/suicide ideations, some violence (mention of blood in this chapter), a bit of smut

Chapter word count: 3.4k

Chapter 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12

Chapter 13

It was rather late by the time Elsie returned to the room in St. Giles and packed up her belongings, but she was determined not to spend a minute longer there than she had to. Even just being in the room, being reminded of him, was unbearable. She had left as soon as she could and headed for Brentford. She considered breaking into the house with the red door that very night, but there was still a chance she might have been wrong, and Sally would raise a ruckus and get Elsie arrested. So she found a room at an inn, where she spent the entire night wearing a groove into the floor with her pacing.

As soon as daylight broke, she positioned herself at the same coffeehouse where she and Arthur had once sat to watch Sally's house. No, she mustn't think of Arthur. If she permitted herself to think of him, she would either fly into a murderous rage or collapse completely. She tried to keep her eyes and her mind on the red door, certain that Sally was hiding her husband behind it. It was partly due to what Amelia Havisham had told her, about how Sally had been complicit in her husband's deception, and partly due to what Sally herself had said the day they questioned her. "My Meriwether" was what she'd said, when Elsie first asked about her husband. She might have shouted and carped about what a good-for-nothing he was, but there had been love and pride in her voice. She loved him, in spite of everything he'd done. That and the basket full of food, far too much for a woman living alone, convinced Elsie that Sally was concealing her wayward husband in their house and lying about it.

Well, who was Elsie to judge? Hadn't she loved an unworthy man as well? But even as she thought this, a part of Elsie rose in protest. She couldn't possibly compare Arthur with Compeyson! Arthur might have made mistakes, but he wasn't evil. And he had suffered for them. He might have lied to her, but she had lied to him as well, and had gotten him hurt because of it. Neither of them was a perfect angel. They were just two lost souls who had somehow found each other and saw, reflected in each other, their broken selves made whole again.

No, another part of her spoke up sternly. She must not make excuses for him. That was precisely the kind of thinking that led to trouble, that brought down women like Amelia and Sally. She must be stronger than them. She must hate him, even when her heart was crying out for him. But she couldn't quite muster up the strength. She had used it all up back at the coaching inn, to stop herself from screaming at him, only to break down into heaving sobs once she got into the coach. The other passengers had stared at her in curiosity and pity, but she couldn't hold the tears any longer. It had hurt all the more because she had thought of him with such love, such hope, just a moment before Amelia Havisham's ghastly revelation. But that was what happened when you allowed yourself to hope. Never hope, and there would be no pain.

To give herself something to do, she took out her knitting, only to stuff it back into the bag again, irritated. She hadn't started anything new and only had the same piece she had been working on since she came to stay with—since she came to St. Giles. She had decided it was going to be a scarf. For him. She should unravel it and turn it into a shawl. No point in wasting perfectly good yarn.

A movement from across the street caught her attention. But it wasn't Sally. It was a cloud of tobacco smoke. When it cleared, it showed Cyclops and the Chimney, lounging in a recess between two houses, not far from Sally's front door. Cyclops caught Elsie's eyes through the window of the coffeehouse and grinned at her, showing a mouthful of yellowed teeth.

So they had found her again. They would not make a move now, she knew, not when it was still light out and the streets were full of people. But they would not let her out of their sight, and as soon as she made the mistake of being alone or going into a darkened alley, they would spring on her. It didn't matter. If she was right about Sally, this would be over before it was dark. After that... well, Elsie didn't care what happened after that.

In fact, they could be of help to her right now.

Just then, Sally walked out of the red door, again with a basket in the crook of her arm. She locked the door behind her and strolled down the High Street. Elsie waited until she was out of sight, checked to see that her father's pistol was secured in her bag, and crossed the street, headed straight for Cyclops and the Chimney. They looked discomfited to see her, clearly not expecting her to approach them in broad daylight.

"Gentlemen," she said pleasantly. She noticed that the Chimney was scratching at a bandage on his arm. It must be where Arthur stabbed him. No, don't even think of his name.

Cyclops quickly regained his swagger. "Hello, Elizabeth dear," he said. "Come to your sense at last, have you?"

"Perhaps," Elsie replied. "But before I return with you to Mrs. Hill's, I have a favor to ask."

Cyclops barked out a laugh. "You want to ask us a favor? Some nerve you've got there, girl."

"I'm only asking that you use your specialty to help me get into that house over there," she said to Cyclops directly. She knew he always carried around a set of lock picks, and, judging by the simple lock on Sally's front door, it would be a piece of cake for him. "And let me stay for a quarter of an hour. Alone." If Compeyson was really in that house, that would be all the time she needed. "You can stand right at the door and wait for me. There is a back gate; one of you can stand there too, to make sure I don't get away. After fifteen minutes, I shall return and go with you. If I don't come out, you can come in and find me." She dug in her bag and pulled out a guinea. "And here's for your trouble."

At the sight of the coin, Cyclops's eye popped out even more, and the Chimney almost dropped his cheroot. But Cyclops was still wary. "And what would stop us from taking you right here and now?" he asked.

"I would scream, very loudly. I believe the good citizens of Brentford would take notice of that," Elsie said calmly.

Cyclops's mouth curled in annoyance, but Elsie knew he could not risk causing a scene. Then he spat on the ground and snatched the coin from her hand. "Fine." He nodded to the Chimney, and moved swiftly with Elsie to the red door. "Keep a lookout," he told her through the corner of his mouth.

Elsie looked up and down the road. It was busy enough that no one would think about two persons standing in front of a house, looking like they were waiting for the owner to return or open the door, but she took care to block Cyclops from the street nonetheless. Before she could have time to worry, though, the lock gave a satisfying click, and Cyclops took a step back, looking pleased.

"You really are an artist," Elsie said, pushing the door open.

"Don't try and sweet-talk me, girl," he snarled and gripped her arm before she could slip through the door. "Fifteen minutes. I'll be waiting right here. And the Chimney will be at the back. So don't do anything stupid."

"I won't." He didn't know that it wasn't her intention to come out of the house alive.

***

Elsie found herself in a front hall, with a door to the right opening into the parlor, a staircase leading to the upper floor, and a door in the back. She took the pistol out of her bag, kept it between the folds of her dress, and went through the rooms. Somehow she doubted Compeyson would be sitting in his parlor reading a newspaper, but she checked it anyway. The room was simply but elegantly furnished, and the sunlight shining through the windows gave it a cheerful look. The contrast with Satis House's heavy gloom and the squalor of Arthur's room in St. Giles—don't think of him—made her blood boil. All this cozy comfort, and no hint of all the pain and misery on which it was built.

The kitchen, overlooking a small lawn at the back, was equally clean, well-appointed, and empty. Elsie went up the stairs to the second floor. There were two bedrooms, one appearing to be a guest's room with a bare mattress on the bed and firmly closed windows. In the other room, however, she found a four-poster bed with two plump pillows set on top of the quilt. She brushed her hand over one of the pillows and came up with a hair, short and black, definitely not Sally's. Unless Sally had a male guest they didn't know about, she had been sharing this bed with her husband.

There was nowhere in the two rooms for a person to hide. Elsie checked under the beds to make sure, but in her heart of hearts, she knew, there was only one place he could be hiding. She climbed the short flight of stairs to the attic, her heart pounding so loudly in her ears that she was sure whoever was behind the door would surely hear it. She tried the door. It wasn't locked. She opened it, slowly.

The attic was dark—the windows were nailed shut, and the only light in the room came from a few candles, placed here and there on the various trunks and cabinets and boxes that filled the space. It was eerily similar to Amelia Havisham's dressing room, and seeing it made Elsie feel a little better. At least Compeyson would have a taste of what it was like for his victims.

A chair and table were set in the middle of the room, and a man was sitting there, bent over some documents, his back to the door. "You're back early," he said. When Elsie didn't answer, he turned to her, and the smile on his face vanished.

It had been ten years since Elsie last saw Meriwether Compeyson, but she recognized him right away. He had hardly aged. If anything, he seemed much more mature and poised than the diffident young man who had presented himself to her father. Looking at his tousled black hair and his Roman profile, and that easy confidence in the way he carried himself, she could see why women like Amelia and Sally could lose their minds to this man. She was thankful that she and Marianne had been too young to be his targets. Only his cold blue eyes, startled by her appearance and stripped of their usual slightly wicked charm, revealed a hint of his true nature.  

"Who the hell are you?" he said. "How did you get in here?"

"Do you remember a man named John Bradford, of Hampshire?" she asked, still keeping the pistol hidden.

His perfect eyebrows came together over his perfect nose. "... What?"

"You got him to invest in an empty mine."

Compeyson still looked perplexed. Of course he didn't remember. Would the axe remember how many trees it had felled? It didn't matter. She was wasting time. "I am his daughter," she said. "And I'm here to kill you."

Elsie raised the pistol and had the satisfaction of seeing shock and fear wash over that perfect face, turning it pale and splotchy. As her finger closed over the trigger, she was annoyed to notice her hand shaking slightly. This was no moment to be nervous. This was it. The past ten years, all the suffering and the pain, everything had led up to this, and now she would be able to strike a blow of revenge for her father, for Marianne, for herself, for Amelia Havisham, and for—yes, for Arthur as well.

Before she could pull the trigger, however, there was the sound of a struggle downstairs, and then—

"Elsie? Elsie!"

As if summoned by her thought, his voice came up the staircase, calling her name, followed by Arthur himself, bursting through the attic door.

"Havisham?!" Compeyson said, shock taking over fear on his face. "What in God's name are you doing here?"

For all of her effort to despise him, Elsie's heart couldn't help but leap at the sight of Arthur, his hair wild, his cravat askew. Suddenly she felt like there was an army behind her, and her hand no longer shook.

"How did you get in?" she asked. "Where's Cyclops?"

"I pushed past him and blocked the door with a chair." He actually smiled at her, the mad fool. "He didn't see me coming."

"How did you two know each other?" Compeyson asked.

Arthur ignored him. "Don't do this, Elsie," he said.

"You're in no position to tell me what to do!" she snapped, her elation momentarily forgotten.

"I know, but I can't let you become a killer." He took a small, tentative step toward her, as though afraid that she might turn the gun on him instead. "I can't let you have that on your conscience."

Elsie didn't take her eyes off Compeyson, who was watching their exchange like a hawk. "It's not going to weigh on my conscience at all," she said. "I would gladly shoot him a thousand times over."

"But you don't have to!" Arthur said, his voice pleading. "I've sent a message to Jaggers, and another one to Magwitch. We can bring him to the police. Magwitch can give witness—"

At the mention of Magwitch, fear came back to Compeyson's face. "Magwitch put you up to this?" he said, trying to keep his voice under control, but there was desperation in it. "What has that sniveling wretch told you?"

Elsie saw his fear. Rather than strengthening her resolve, it made her hesitate. If Compeyson was afraid at the mention of Magwitch, it meant Magwitch was telling the truth about the police hunting them. Perhaps Arthur had a point. If they gave Compeyson to the police, she wouldn't have to worry about hanging...

She turned to Arthur and saw that same blaze of hope reflected in his eyes. They could be together. Yes, there was still the matter of the two thugs waiting for her outside. There was still the fact that he'd lied to her. But they could be together...

Elsie's arm was wrenched almost out of its socket. There was a blur of movement as Compeyson pushed between her and Arthur, knocking her to the floor. Compeyson had grabbed the gun out of her hand. Elsie slipped the knife out of her sleeve, but Compeyson pulled Arthur to him and pressed the gun under Arthur's chin.

"Don't even think about it," Compeyson told her. He no longer looked handsome. His face was twisted into something horrible, his lips curled up like an animal baring its teeth, and he pushed the gun into Arthur's throat hard enough to leave a bruise. Elsie gently put the knife on the floor and raised both of her hands. Compeyson nodded. "That's better. Now, I would prefer to leave this house alive, so if you don't mind, Havisham..."

Compeyson started dragging Arthur toward the door. While Compeyson's attention was away from her for a moment, Elsie inched toward the knife, but Arthur locked eyes with her and slightly shook his head.

"Don't, Elsie," he said. "Go. Save yourself."

"Did I mishear you, Havisham?" Compeyson said. "When did you become so selfless?" His eyes, like two marbles made out of ice, moved between Elsie and Arthur, and then he laughed in derisive understanding. "Oh no. You love her, don't you? Well, I never! Who would've thought I'd see the day Arthur Havisham fell in love! What a pathetic—"

He never got to finish his sentence. Elsie grabbed the knife and sprang toward him. Compeyson swung the gun at her. Arthur shouted "No!" and dove after him. There was a roar of explosion, and a plume of smoke filled the tight space.

When the smoke dissipated, a body collapsed to the floor. It was Arthur, red blooming on the front of his shirt.

For a moment, there was nothing but the ringing in her ears, the acrid smell of gunpowder in her nose, and that red stain in front of her eyes. Then everything slammed back into focus. Compeyson dropped the gun, turned on his heel, and fled. The sound of his footsteps on the stairs receded quickly, to be replaced by Sally's shrill voice yelling, "Meriwether? What's happened? Where are you going?" There was no reply.

Sally herself appeared at the doorway, her eyes opened so wide Elsie could see the whites all around the pale blue pupils. She screamed upon seeing Elsie and Arthur.

"Call a doctor, please!" Elsie sobbed. "Hurry!"

Sally took a stumbling step back, then disappeared down the stairs. Elsie didn't know if she was going to find a doctor or not. She had half a mind to go herself, but she couldn't leave Arthur on his own. She went to him, lifted his head to her lap, and opened his coat to see how bad the wound was. All she could see was a growing circle of red. She unwound her shawl from her shoulders and pressed it to his chest, but no matter how hard she pressed, the red kept expanding, welling up through her fingers, staining her dress under his back.

Arthur's eyes were feverish as they looked into hers, but he was still conscious. "He's getting away," he murmured.

"Let him," Elsie said, finding his hand and gripping it tightly, as if by doing so she could keep him from slipping away from her, away from life. "But you, you stay, all right? Stay with me."

He seemed to relax a bit. "You're not still mad at me?"

"For what?"

"For messing everything up. For lying to you."

Swallowing a sob, Elsie pressed his fingers to her lips. "I forgive you." The taste of salt on his skin reminded her of their lovemaking, but now she didn't know if it was his blood or her tears, which were falling thick and fast down her cheeks, even splashing on Arthur's face.

With his free hand, Arthur fumbled in his pocket.

"What are you looking for?" she asked, fighting to keep him still. "Don't try to move."

"Here." He pressed something into her palm. It was his handkerchief. The sight of it brought fresh tears to her eyes. So many times he'd tried to give it to her and she'd pushed him away. Now she took it and wiped her face with it. Seeing this, the ghost of a triumphant smile hovered on Arthur's lips.

"I've been knitting you a scarf," she said. "You need to stay alive so I can finish it."

"I look forward to wearing it."

Even as he said this, his eyes started to slide out of focus, and his hand, slick with blood, slipped from her grasp.

"No, Arthur! Stay with me!"

"Keep me down..."

"I am keeping you down. I'll chain you down if I must. But you have to stay with me."

His voice was now so quiet she had to bend her ear to his lips to hear it. "I love you."

Elsie's heart twisted, but she fought through the iron fingers choking her throat and whispered back, "I love you too."

There was a clamor of voices on the staircase. A man carrying a big black bag, who Elsie presumed to be the doctor, rushed in. So Sally came through after all. He was followed by Sally and Jaggers. The two men descended on Arthur's prone figure, trying to pull his fingers from Elsie's grasp, but she refused to let go. Her eyes were so blurred with tears she couldn't see what the doctor was doing, and still she held on to Arthur's hand, even when he no longer held on to hers.

Epilogue