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snowbellewells · 2 years

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CSSNS Fic: “Believing Impossible Things” {Part One}

Whew! I’m here (sorry for pushing this so close to the wire on my posting date!) Anyway, this is Part One of an intended three part fic, my entry for this year’s @cssns event. I apologize if there are any typos or other such errors as I was working on this right up to the last minute. I also have to thank my lovely artist @o-wild-west-wind for the gorgeous fic cover art she has created for this piece. It’s so lovely, but in an effort not to give too much away, we’re just posting a teaser section of the art with this first chapter, and the full work with Part Two soon.

My beta @romanceapologist was kind enough to give me early feedback, which I very much appreciated, and @zaharadessert and my friend Jessica (who isn’t on Tumblr, but is a lovely sounding board for me as a writer all the same) helped me come up with a title. I also have to thank @pirate-owl for the prompt and picset she created some years ago now, which first sparked the idea for this story. She gave me her generous blessing to go ahead and try to make it my own and write a full story for it, and I’m truly grateful.

Summary: Miss Emma Nolan needed the governess job badly enough to ignore the gossip about the old mansion and the chilly reception she got about the lady of the manor. And when she met young Alice Jones, she knew she had made the right choice. But some rumors are rumors for a reason, and maybe the little girl who drew her there isn’t the only person on the estate in need...

“Believing Impossible Things”

by: @snowbellewells

part one ~ the house at the top of the hill

Even as she reached the crest of the gentle rise she had been climbing, the petite blonde nearing the old rambling mansion in the early morning light was scanning from the tall spires and gables of the imposing gray house before her at the top of the hill. More than a bit awestruck as her eyes trailed down to the solid front door and gingerbread railing of the wraparound porch, she was both intimidated and impressed. Smoothing her skirts and tugging down the sleeves of her slightly too-small and a season out of fashion dress and jacket, also the best and most professional-looking she owned, the young woman blew out a breath, vowing once more to make a calm, competent impression. She might be more than desperate for a job, she reminded herself, but she could not let her need and fear show through.

Miss Emma Nolan squared her deceptively slight shoulders, gathering reserves of inner strength which most would not recognize upon first glance, and then stepped onto the wide, stately veranda of the rambling home where she was set to interview for the position of governess. Granted, she probably shouldn’t have told the assistant manager at her previous place of employ to ‘sod off’ before assuring this worked out, but she wasn’t making nearly enough to deal with a frightfully overbearing manager attempting to put his fingers on her whenever others weren’t looking. If he had a bit of a sore jaw to remind him to pay a little more respect to his next underling, Emma couldn’t say she was sorry.

Those who didn’t know her - and they would be many; she had grown up an orphan, was guarded and largely kept to herself in early-learned self-sufficience - would see a slim, neat but modestly dressed young woman, quite attractive with blonde hair and sparkling green eyes in a fetchingly lovely face. In short, she might not appear formidable, until one learned she was tougher than her appearance would suggest. She was slow to trust until another person proved worthy, but those few who genuinely knew her could understand the stubborn determination in her small frame, the spine of steel which held Ms. Emma Nolan upright against the cold, cruel would and the bravery that bolstered her soul. And those people knew not to underestimate her.

Yet, determined or not, she would need a bit of luck and a fair chance on her side to come out of this situation as she needed. What she had reluctantly come to accept was that she was a single young woman, basically alone in the world when it came to supporting herself and making her way. She needed another job, one she could count on to be reliable and stable - and she needed it soon. This monstrosity of a house might look daunting, and she had heard all the local whispers of gossip which were more daunting still, but she set her jaw, tilted her chin up and reminded herself it must be this one. She might not need much for herself alone, but she did have to eat.

Nearing the heavy front door, Emma hopefully admired the lovely scrolling accents to the beams and railings, painted a clean, bright white against the duller gray of the outer walls. Forcing herself to move slowly and with a calm she didn’t feel, Emma raised a mostly steady hand to knock upon the heavy front door.

She was startled however, into jerking her hand back quickly to clasp before her when the door abruptly opened without warning. Making her rather more uneasy still, it at first seemed to Emma that no one stood on the other side, as if the sturdy portal had opened of its own independent power, or by some supernatural magic. Yet, given a few more moments, a light, airy giggle sounded, causing Emma to look down and see a head of riotously curling light nutmeg-brown hair belonging to a little girl, peering up at her curiously, a perusing look to her tilted head and squinting eyes, and mischievous grin curling her rosebud mouth. “Hullo there,” she chirped. “Who are you?”

Almost without thought, Emma found her own head tilting in intrigued study as well, mirroring the playful sprite still gazing at her from the doorway, childishly chubby hand still clutching the elegant doorknob, with fingertips that appeared slightly sticky with lingering jam or marmalade. This must be her potential charge - and the very first one upon whom she ought to make a good impression.

“Hello indeed,” Emma greeted, offering a hand to shake cautiously. “My name is Emma Nolan. And you are?”

Twinkling wide eyes crinkled with guileless welcome as the little girl’s grin broadened to beam at her fully. “I’m Alice Lianna Jones, Miss Emma. How lovely to meet you! Though it is rather curious… I didn’t know anyone was coming to see us today.”

Stunned by her well-spoken forthrightness, Emma was speechless for a moment. Though this was almost certainly the child she was interviewing to govern, she hesitated to say so and speak out of turn, not wanting to ruin her chances before she had even begun. The world was still running (though not as well as Emma privately figured it might) on the idea that women were better served to speak as little as possible and at least appear to think or see even less - traits that she found particularly chafing more often than she’d like to admit. Despite those concerns, the little girl staring up at her intently as though trying to decipher her motives from the features of her face, seemed so jovial and friendly, Emma hardly wanted to upset or distance her. Perhaps she did not yet know she was gaining a governess? Or that the one she might already have was being replaced?

Shaking away the scattered thoughts ricocheting within her, Emma hoped that her smile appeared unconcerned as she offered her hand for the bright-eyed child to shake just as she would have if the girl were mistress of the house. “In that case, I must apologize for my unannounced arrival,” she offered politely, her green gaze returning the mischievous twinkle of the youngster’s own mirth, “though I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Alice giggled in delight, her cornflower blue eyes crinkling up at the corners and the sweet sound warming Emma’s heart in a sort of instant camaraderie that she had found all too rarely in her life thus far. Her left hand still gripping the doorknob for balance, the child dipped into an only slightly off-kilter curtsy, her merriment still obvious as she shook Emma’s hand in return. “It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Milady,” she returned in what Emma assumed she found an approximate imitation of a stuffy upper class woman greeting visitors to her home. Feeling utterly charmed, Emma merely nodded in response and concentrated on pressing her lips together tightly so as not to laugh at the rather incongruous effect.

Mere moments later, the lighthearted mood was shattered abruptly by the strident shout of Alice’s name from inside the huge house, followed by the quick clip of high heeled shoes on marble growing louder as they drew ever closer. Alice’s little hand jerked out of Emma’s grip and the curly head dipped to stare at her shoes as she withdrew slightly before the unseen speaker scolded. “What do you think you are doing, answering the door to a stranger?”

Emma’s startled and more than a bit concerned gaze shifted hurriedly from the child she had been pleasantly engaged in talking with to see that a tall, stone faced woman had now appeared at the young girl’s side, seeming to fill the whole of the doorway with an unsettling presence that could not be ignored. She had not missed the way Alice had immediately withdrawn; seeming to shrink in on herself protectively, that sparkle which had shown from her cherubic face instantaneously dimmed. Given the opportunity, she would want to get to the bottom of that; she felt a deep concern for Alice already, regardless of having known her for only moments. There was enough in her own past to turn Emma’s stomach at the possibilities for why such a vivacious child would recoil so suddenly from one meant to be a caretaker, none of them pleasant to dwell on. That also served to galvanize her resolve in the face of the nerves she had been battling. Not only did she fervently need this job; it would seem this child needed her here as well.

Holding her tongue - just barely - the strong-willed side of Emma’s nature inwardly cheered to see that though her new little friend had gone wary and still, she hadn’t fled and was still watching hopefully from behind the door. Realizing that now was the moment to employ every scrap of the poise and charm she often struggled to muster, knowing too much hard reality and harsh fact to trifle with fancy sensibilities, Emma redirected her attention to the ramrod straight and unsmiling matron before her, frighteningly pale with wildly storming eyes burning from her wan face and hair vividly, shockingly, red in contrast to the rest of her.

Ignoring her disconcertion, Emma held out her hand, feigning polite obliviousness in what she hoped seemed proper respect and propriety. “Pardon me, Ma’am. It would seem to me that you are the person I had hoped to see. I’ve come in response to your advertisement.” Again she hesitated to be specific in front of young Alice, not sure what she knew, but with every tense minute that passed, she wanted to reach out to the children more and more. Any sane, average person might have decided this was highly tense and uncomfortable silence was not to be borne and turned to flee, but Emma’s innate stubbornness rooted her to the spot in waiting. The immediate warmth and affinity she’d felt for young Alice Jones becoming a sixth sense which allowed her no other recourse.

Just when it seemed she might not get any further than the front stoop, nor any answer at all, the other woman did look down her nose at Emma for another moment before clearing her throat, flicking her wrist impatiently as if to gesture her forward, then stepping back just barely to allow emma passage. “Very well. Come in we shall get down to business.”

Emma’s brows rose in startled surprise, not expecting the abrupt change in bearing from the stern scrutiny which had preceded it. Deciding not to question the development that suited her or hesitate before the winds changed, Emma nodded smartly and slipped into the stately home before the door was slammed in her face. The fact that a shiver ran down her spine as she stood in the hall, awaiting further direction, was something she forced her mind to chalk up to a perverse flight of fancy. Nevermind too that the high-ceilinged space seemed more dark and shadowed than one would normally expect on a bright, clear morning, or that the temperature seemed too cool and chill for the temperate balminess she had just experienced outdoors. Such nonsense was surely her own nerves spinning out of control.

The woman who was no doubt Mistress of the house closed the door behind them, the sound of the latch locking back into place making Emma’s heart lurch in her chest in a way she couldn’t well explain. “This way, if you please,” the formidable matron intoned coolly. She stood what seemed easily half a head taller than Emma, and her voice was short, sharp, and not to be argued with. “I have been conducting interviews in the study.”

Emma surreptitiously attempted to gather her skirts slightly as she moved to follow in the dim and unfamiliar space. The last thing she needed was to trip on her own hemline and go sprawling to the floor, disgracing herself and showing just how far she was from being trained to carry herself around fancy ballrooms and stately mansions. Though governesses themselves were of course employees like maids or cooks, they were part of rearing and training proper young men and women in the ways of society they would someday navigate. They should therefore carry themselves with the decorum they would be expected to convey to their charges. Emma had grown up much to rough and tumble for such frivolities, gathering most of what she knew of manners and bearing from her friends who worked in fine homes and had tried to help her prepare as best she could between jobs on the assembly lines and in the linen works. Though this odd prospective employer had allowed her entrance, Emma got the distinct impression she was seeking out a flaw to send her packing once more.

She offered a sidelong wink and smile to Alice who still followed them closely, like a silent shadow. Upon reaching a room wherein Emma could see a crackling fireplace, largely mahogany desk with two handsomely appointed chairs before it, her hostess turned abruptly to calmly order, “Alice, go to your room, please. Our business does not concern you at present, and no one likes a little snoop who lingers in doorways.”

An argument rose up Emma’s throat, wanting to scold the woman for being so cold and dismissive. If nothing else, she wished she could at least caught the little girl’s hand as she darted quickly from the room, the hurt devastatingly clear on her elfin face as she vanished without a word. Fighting her natural instincts, Emma did neither, knowing that if she wished a chance to truly help the girl, to console her for more than just a moment, she had to be hired by this imperious woman. There was no doubt now she was seeing herself and her own past pain played out in the youngster now; it was no longer simply about needing employment. But Alice was not the one doing the hiring, so Emma wordlessly dug her fingernails into her palms to remain silent and bided her time.

“Right. Now then,” the flame-haired lady of the house spoke crisply as she snapped the door closed, assuring they would remain alone and uninterrupted, and turned to search Emma’s expression. “You’ve come to apply as governess, have you? And what makes you think you should be considered?”

There was a smug, doubting look on her interviewer’s face that made Emma’s blood boil. Already well on her way to disliking the woman for her hurtful treatment of the child in her care, Emma was further incensed by the same snobbish, condescending attitude she encountered from so many in polite society whenever she sought more fulfilling employment. As if finer clothes and more cultured speech determined either the work ethic or character of a person. If anything, people like the haughty ghoul before her only made emma more certain that breeding and money often made people worse rather than better.

“That is correct, Ms. - ah - Mrs. Jones?” she tried, realizing as she floundered briefly that the other woman had not actually introduced herself or provided her preferred title. As Emma paused, swallowing and trying to still her rising temper, the lighted lamps and candles in the room flickered fitfully, as if some unseen butler tried to extinguish them all at once. Pressing on, Emma tried to ignore the oddity, and added, “I have quite a bit of experience looking after children of various ages, as well as affidavits of my characters from others who know me well.”

Emma handed her recommendations across the desk to the woman, even as she sniffed and snatched at them as if she barely wanted to touch or look at the offending items. “Very well, let’s check them over, shall we?” she snipped.

Not know quite how she had gotten herself into the other woman’s bade grace so quickly, Emma held herself in check rather remarkably she thought, under the circumstances. At this point, it was only the memory of those sweet, hopeful little eyes looking up at her in greeting that kept her from taking her leave.

“And it isn’t Mrs. Jones, either,” the frosty voice corrected with a level of disgust that suggested Emma had called her some unforgivable epithet. “Alice is a Jones, yes, but though I have found myself guardian to the little waif, I am not her mother.”

“Oh,” Emma tried, very little else seeming possible to say, and her mind wanting to shout that she should be lucky enough to have a lovely child like that to call her own. “I didn't realize,” she finally settled on.

“Clearly,” the other sniffed again, chin held high. “My name is Eloise Gardiner. My family were some of the founders of this community; this home part of our legacy for generations. When the child’s shiftless father deserted her on my doorstep and disappeared, well I couldn’t very well leave her on the street, could I?”

Polite veneer completely forgotten, Emma’s mouth fairly hung open at the baldly hurtful way this Ms. Gardiner explained coming to have Alice in her home. Though Emma did not remember a storm or even strong wind outside the manor before she had entered, at Eloise’s harsh words, a howl of wind whipped up outside, rattling the window panes as if in response to the callous statements the woman made. Even without the unsettling sound effects, something rang false in the explanation, at least to Emma’s ears, and she had always trusted herself as a rather astute judge of such things - her life and livelihood often depended upon it.

“Why would her father leave her here?” Emma finally asked, knowing it might not be proper, but at last unable to help herself. Ms. Gardiner seemed far from a maternal or loving choice the girl’s parent had been seeking a fitting guardian. “Did you know him?”

Eloise Gardiner leaned forward with a knowing smirk, conveying the sort of acquaintance it had been with an arched brow and curl of the lip that no true demure lady of class would suggest. “In a way I did, at one time,” she answered vaguely. “He was a handsome devil, charming too, but it had been some time since I’d seen him, when I gained Alice as my ward.” A stack of books which had been sitting on a shelf nearby suddenly toppled and crashed to the floor violently, though no one had moved to jostle them. One, inexplicably, went sailing through the air, nearly hitting the mansion’s proprietress squarely.

Emma flinched backward as the tome flew past, but Eloise barely blinked, catching the volume in a firm grip and giving Emma a stiff grimace of a smile. “He never was one who could be held down. Apparently even his own child did not prove to be enough to do so.”

Heart burning in her chest, Emma felt the line within her statement even more strongly than before, but she couldn’t be sure what part or how much of the story was untrue. What she did know was that she wanted to be Alice Jones’ governess more than ever.

Dropping the offending book to the floor at her feet, Eloise Gardiner made a show of glancing at Emma’s experience and references with little interest before seemingly making up her mind in an abrupt, unconcerned sort of way. “I suppose you’ll do,” she stated, standing quickly and handing the papers back to Emma impatiently. “You do at least have some prior knowledge and some sense, unlike the last couple of applicants I’ve seen. I have important matters to attend and cannot be doing with Alice underfoot any longer. You’ll start tomorrow if you accept. Room and board is included. You stay in the tower room, the attic really, but it’s furnished and private.”

Shocked by how quickly the mater seemed to have been decided, and feeling she really had no choice but to accept - for a variety of reasons - Emma agreed to the terms almost numbly, not ready to celebrate yet that she had food and a roof over her head secured once more. Suddenly, she was almost as troubled as she was relieved, and she could not shake the sensation, even as they shook hands, signed a contract for the first six months, and Ms. Gardiner showed her back to the door with a directive to return at eight the next morning. Back out on the cobbled walk, Emma turned to look back up at the structure where she would soon be living and working, biting her lower lip and wondering if she had done the right thing.

Then, from an upstairs window, she saw Alice Jones appear, waving at her briefly with a wide smile before flitting from view once more. Holding that image in mind, Emma Nolan comforted herself that she had made the best choice after all, and left resolved to wait and see what the morrow might bring.

~~~*~~~

That evening found Emma seated in a cramped but warm and welcoming corner of the kitchen in the home of the fine family where her friend Ashleigh Hermann had just been promoted to head cook. Hoping not to add any extra bother or difficulty to Ash’s workload, Emma had pulled a tall stool into the corner by the hearth and was keeping her hands busy breaking beans that would be prepared as a side dish for the evening meal her friend was preparing. Emma was glad to help in return for a couple of the cinnamon buns Ashleigh made from scratch, and to have a little company as she mulled over the strange interview she’d had that day and sought a spot of her friend’s advice on how she should proceed when reporting for her first day of work in the morning.

Ashleigh and Emma had met in school years ago, both often arriving in patched or threadbare clothing and dealing with being shunned by the more outgoing and well-to-do students. They had bonded early and the friendship had lasted well into their young adulthood, even now that Ashleigh was married to a handsome young lamplighter named Sean and first time mother to an adorable babe named Alexandra.

Though not a true orphan as Emma was, Ash’s family had treated her as more servant than cherished offspring, and so she had grown up self-sufficient and knowledgeable in all manner of work. Since she toiled more than hard enough to support herself by the time she was a teen, Ashleigh had struck out on her own early, and had been able to advise Emma in various types of employment from her own experience as soon as Emma followed her into the work force a few years later.

Unlike Ashleigh’s selfish relations, Granny, the doting elderly woman who had been a friend and mentor of Emma’s deceased parents and taken her in to raise as her own, had been doting and attentive, giving Emma all the attention she could spare while working hard to run a quaint country inn. Granny had not possessed much in the way of money and material objects, nor had she much spare time to dally and relax but she had provided the best she could for the lonely child left in her charge and loved her like family. Emma adored Granny for it, but though she still functioned quite well, she was getting up in years, and Emma hated to see her still working so hard to support them both. It hadn’t been long after she was of age that she had set out for the city on her own, hoping to even send something back occasionally to help Granny and maybe allow the woman to finally slow down and have a moment’s rest.

Setting down the cocoa Ashleigh had offered with a knowing smile the moment she’d claimed a seat upon arrival, Emma watched her friend bustling around the kitchen, and finally sighed, coming out with the question still troubling her mind. “So, do you think I’m crazy for taking this on? I can’t imagine that woman will be at all pleasant to work for, and you know as well as I do the stories about that old mansion, but… if you could have seen this little girl… She is so bright, so curious and sweet. She must be stifling, locked in there all alone. I couldn’t turn my back on her…” She trailed off, her teeth digging into her lower lip anxiously as she awaited her oldest friend’s trusted opinion. The large bowl of beans were finished, and she rose to dump the vegetables from the container in her lap into the rapidly boiling pot on the stove, needing to move to calm her impatient nerves.

Despite the numerous other chores she had on her hands, Ashleigh came to stand at Emma’s side, offering her a wooden ladle to stir with, but also pausing her constant motion to wrap an arm around Emma’s shoulders and peer into her face. “Of course you couldn’t,” she acknowledged softly, her eyes full of gentle understanding. “With the way you grew up, without your parents, really pretty lost until I adopted you,” here she winked playfully to let Emma know she was teasing. “You saw a bit of yourself in her, which is completely understandable. You needed a job, the old crone will likely be away or otherwise occupied most of the time, and I think you and little Alice will be good for each other.”

“You really think so?” Emma debated, returning her eyes to the rolling surface of the water before her. She wasn’t even half the cook her friend was, and she hardly wanted to ruin one of the side dishes for the dinner. Still, despite her reluctance to let too much relief creep in, it did her heart good to know her friend felt just as she had about the situation. “That was my conclusion as well, but I feared I might be too close to see it clearly.”

Shaking her blonde head and nearly undoing the kerchief she held it back with for kitchen work, Ashleigh chuckled, “Would I lie to you, Emma?” Bustling off again to take the fresh baked buns from the large oven as gracefully as if it were a dance around her working quarters, she added, “And if you’re worrying about al the gossip and old wives’ tales about the place, I’m sure that’s all they are. I’ve never known you to let rumors and nonsense stop you before.”

Emma agreed aloud, but continued to leave unspoken the strange drop in temperature, the howling wind on a calm day, and the books flying as if cast through the air by an unseen, malevolent hand. Not as frightening as the lady of the house herself, but unsettling to be sure. Still, Emma did not like to be thought of as easily daunted, and when it came down to it, she would return regardless; that innocent child deserved someone who cared for her, and Emma had already become attached, whether she fully understood it or not.

She lingered a bit longer, helping Ashleigh see to the rest of the meal preparation and then catching up on her friend’s life as they cleaned up afterwards. When Ashleigh left for the evening to return to her little family, and Emma back to her boardinghouse room for one last night, she felt much more certain of her course. Maybe odd things did happen on an estate that old, and having now met Ms. Eloise Gardiner, Emma would concede she might indeed be a witch, though doubtfully the kind local legend suggested. The sillier flights of fancy she had heard over the years - that the ghosts of ancient sailors roamed the halls seeking revenge, or that once one entered the place they became trapped and couldn’t leave - were the work of overzealous imaginations and bored people starved for excitement, nothing more.

~~~*~~~

The next morning dawned pleasantly warm and bright with sunlight as Emma made her way to the estate at the top of the hill once more, reporting for her first day as Alice Jones’ governess. If she were completely honest, Emma was hardly looking forward to a second conversation with the lady of the house, but she had steeled herself as best she could, and she was able to overlook that in her anxiousness to see and talk once more to the little sprite who had charmed her from the moment she’d opened the door and looked up into Emma’s face with such trusting openness. Her focus was on making young Alice’s life better, on seeing that the child had someone on whom she could depend. Anything else was secondary, and she intended to keep that focus in mind, whatever other obstacles or distractions might present themselves.

Clutched in her hand, she carried a valise packed with her meager clothes and other belongings, and in the crook of her other arms her heavy winter coat which would not fit in the case and a snow white knitted baby blanket which she could never leave behind wherever she traveled. It was the one family heirloom she possessed. It had been made for her and given to her parents by Granny herself before Emma was even born, her named stitched in purple at the edge by the capable older woman. Emma was far from sentimental; her no-nonsense practical upbringing cementing that tendency well. She didn’t hand onto trinkets or collect many things. She had the bare minimum of a wardrobe and shoes necessary and a few pictures and pieces of jewelry, but she traveled light, and so she pressed the blanket, the one exception, to her side all the more tightly as she again reached the solid front door of the mansion where she would live and work.

Pressing her lips together tightly, Emma once more steadied herself, intending to appear capable and prepared for anything, then knocked on the sturdy portal. She waited only moments before hearing quickly, lightly scuffling footsteps within, and her heart leapt in happy relief, hoping it was Alice and not Eloise Gardiner, even as she didn’t wish for the child to be scolded again on her behalf.

The door swung open widely to reveal the youngster beaming at her brightly in greeting. “Miss Emma, you’re really here!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together with delight and giving a little hop right where she stood in the grand entryway. “I’ve been ever so anxious for you to arrive!”

Her enthusiasm was contagious, and Emma felt a smile of her own spreading across her face in response to Alice’s greeting. Considering that she was no longer a stranger and arriving for the job she had been hired to perform, Emma stepped forward into the house gladly and chuckled indulgently when Alice took her hand and excitedly pulled her further into the ornate, high-ceilinged hall. Their voices and footsteps echoed massively in the large, open space, but though still dimly lit and overly ostentatious, her surroundings seemed much less oppressive and foreboding than they had during her interview the day before.

All the same, before letting her guard down, Emma couldn’t help glancing about cautiously to make certain Ms. Gardiner was not lurking anywhere, watching unobserved for her to make some sort of disastrous slip that would see her thrown back out of the place on her ear. Seeing no one else anywhere nearby, Emma released a breath and let her shoulders ease slightly, not sure where her employer was, but at least reasonably assured the woman was not about to leap from some hidden corner and fire her on the spot.

Cleverly seeming to read her new caretaker’s thoughts, Alice tugged gently on Emma’s hand, regaining her attention and giggling at her wariness. “You don’t have to worry,” she broke into Emma’s thoughts with her sweetly endearing young voice. “If you’re wondering about Ms. Eloise, she isn’t her right now. She left again early this morning.”

Emma’s brow furrowed in confusion. “She did?” she queried, puzzled. “Without making sure I’d arrived or giving any final instructions? Wouldn’t it have been better to wait and be certain you weren’t left alone?”

Alice tilted her head to study Emma for a moment, looking as though she were giving serious adult consideration to Emma’s questions, even if they weren’t truly directed at her or even more than musing out loud. Finally, she straightened again and wrapped Emma’s hand in both her smaller ones before clutching them to her chest. “You really did come here for me, didn’t you?” she seemed to reflect, sounding awed at the realization. “I could sense it, you know,” the girl continued, holding Emma’s gaze with her own wide eyes brimming with emotion. “That you were sincere, I mean. That you cared. I wanted so much to believe it, but I’ve been wrong before.”

Her confession felt troublingly cryptic to Emma, who was still trying to digest Alice’s words, even while being grateful the child could read her genuine hope to be friends, to help, to make her life better and keep her safe. Still… “Wait, what did you mean by that, Alice?” she pressed. “Of course I’m here for you. I mean, I need a job naturally - one has to work in order to get by - but I agreed to be your governess because I care about you. Shouldn’t that be the case?”

Alice nodded sagely at Emma’s words, those large, guileless eyes in her pale, innocent face wiser than they out to have had to be. “You’re right, Miss Emma. Naturally that would be the best way of it, but you would be shocked at how many people come here for the money alone, or hoping to gain Ms. Eloise’s favor and her standing and power to help themselves. Or even just to see if the place is haunted or cursed by a witch the rumors claim.”

As she was speaking, Alice had turned to move further into the house, pulling Emma along behind her through a gloomy formal parlor, an empty sitting room, and to what would likely classify as a sunroom squeezed in along the back wall near a flight of stairs up to the second floor. Emma followed numbly, realizing that Alice Jones was no fool, nor was she as blissfully childishly ignorant of what went on around her as Emma would have hoped. Clearly love - as all children deserved - had been all too rare in her life, just as it had been in Emma’s.

“I’m sorry that has been the case in the past,” Emma managed shakily, placing steadying hands on Alice’s shoulders as she turned to look up into Emma’s face after stopping once more. Finally they had found a space in the ancient structure where light could get through, and it came streaming through the bank of windows, illuminating Alice’s pixie features and highlighting her hair in a way that resembled a bright halo resting atop her head. “You didn’t deserve to be overlooked in such a way… and that won’t be the case this time. I can promise you that much.”

Once again, Emma had the brief impression that Alice was weighing the words she had spoken, gauging them for truth. It might not strike her so clearly if it weren’t something she also did, but nonetheless, she understood the need behind it, and forced herself to be still and submit to the inquisitive scrutiny. As quickly as the moment had begun, it ended, and Alice lunged forward, wrapping her think arms around Emma’s waist in a tight hug. “Then you’re just the one I’ve been praying for,” she exhaled in breathless exclamation against the material of Emma’s dress, holding tight for some minutes before letting go and stepping back, friendly exuberance lighting her eyes again, despite the glassy appearance of tears that hadn’t actually fallen. “Would you like to see your room?” Alice asked, passing the more fervent swell of emotion that had overtaken her and obviously now attempting to be a proper young hostess. “I can show it to you and help you put away your things.”

“That sounds perfect,” Emma replied with a matching grin.

Alice whirled quickly, now assured in her purpose and cheerfully urging her governess to follow her as she slipped from the room and back toward the stairs. Her tread was light on each as she tripped along merrily, prattling on about the tower, her own room, her favorite toys and games - anything her young mind seemed to think her newfound friend should know.

When they reached the second floor landing, Alice looked back over her shoulder at Emma coming up behind her, an impish expression on her face and an eyebrow cocked up on her forehead playfully at the slightly more labored sound of Emma’s breathing after the steep climb with baggage in hand. “Alright there, Miss Emma?” she questioned solicitously, but with a teasing smile tugging the corners of her lips upwards.

Narrowing her eyes in false sternness at the jibing, Emma nodded and let the girl know that she would manage, while admitting to herself that so many stairs might take some getting used to. “My room is just there,” Alice pointed to her left toward a room with the door opened just enough to show walls painted a light robin’s egg blue in contrast to the dark colors which seemed to dominate the rest of the house, and the velvety ear of a stuffed white rabbit hanging off the side of a canopy bed. “And Ms. Gardiner’s room is that way,” she gestured to the other end of the hall. “But don’t ever go in there. It’s off limits,” she advised solemnly with the voice of one who had been informed of the information in no uncertain terms. She wrinkled her nose in the next instant, her irrepressible nature taking over once again. “Not that you would wish to bother her moldy old room anyway.”

By this time, Emma had caught her breath and did laugh at the girl’s affronted expression. “Right you are,” she agreed with a wink, then a reassurance that she understood the warning, “but duly noted all the same.”

The winding steps up to the tower were much narrower as they ascended, not leading to an entire third floor this time, but a single room in what must be one of the gables Emma remembered seeing from the outside. Alice pushed the door open at the top with the air of a ringmaster unveiling the final act of his circus, turning eager eyes to see what her governess will make of her new lodgings. “Here it is,” she crowed, “the tower!”

Brushing an escaped tendril of hair back behind her ear, Emma gratefully dropped her valise to the floor and tossed her coat and blanket onto the worn quilt covering the bed just off to her right. The room is sparse: bed, dresser, closet, mirror, but thankfully clean and more than sufficient for her needs. There have been many times she has been in danger of having to do with much less. Moving over to the window in the wall facing the door, Emma looked out briefly, seeing the lawn running back down the hill alongside the path she had trod when she arrived that morning, thinking how lovely and peaceful the grounds truly were, despite the heavy chill that had seemed to surround them only yesterday.

Perhaps it was only the sullen mistress and not the old place itself at all?

“What do you think?” Alice’s voice piped up, sounding a bit more hesitant, perhaps even nervous as she awaited the verdict. “It isn’t fancy, but the tower has always seemed interesting to me. Up here, tucked away all by itself and quiet. I’ve always figured its hiding its own mysteries.”

She was rambling a bit, though it endeared her to Emma all the more as she turned back into the room and made her way back to the bed where Alice had plopped down and took a seat beside her. The poor thing seemed almost anxious that Emma might dislike her accomodations and leave. Reaching out to take the child’s hand and press it reassuringly in her own, Emma marveled again at the bits of her own psyche that she saw surfacing time and again in this sweet girl trusted to her care. Peering into Alice’s face, she whispered with conspiratorial warmth, “It doesn seem to have a story, doesn’t it?”

~~~*~~~

That night, long after Alice had been tucked into bed and Emma had retired to her own room, she ran her mind back over the day fondly. She and Alice had toured the rest of the house, made a brunch of toast, marmalade and tea, and then explored the wonderfully overgrown backyard, where Alice had shown her the climbing tree in which she sometimes to naps in the wide branches in the afternoon sun and the long untended garden where she often caught glimpses of a stray cat and her young, and even once a fox. Alice’s curious, intelligent mind shone through as she continued to share all the things she had studied and discovered ont he property while left largely to her own devices. It seemed almost miraculous that she was neither bitter nor spoiled, but pleasant and kind, eager to her treasures, as she called the simple things she had gathered in her solitude.

Vowing the the precocious young woman would no longer have to spend her days alone - not ever again if she could help it - Emma had found herself physically tired from the day’s activity, but her mind not yet ready for sleep. Noticing a slight draft in the room, Emma picked her blanket up from where she had tossed it on the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders as most would a dressing gown. Moving toward an alcove in the back corner of the room, she discovered where the cool air was streaming in; it seemed that where the two walls met was not quite snug, and as she pressed and prodded searchingly, she discovered that there was actually a hidden door in the wall that she hadn’t seen. She wondered that Alice had never done so either, and bit back a smile at how thrilled Alice would be when shown it tomorrow.

It was a bit stuck, no doubt from neglect, but putting her shoulder to the task, Emma finally forced open the wooden panel to discover that it led out onto a high widow’s walk overlooking the back of the property. Her sense of adventure momentarily overriding her good sense, Emma stepped out onto the narrow walkway into the night air, exhilaration flooding her veins. The breeze was stronger so high up, above the trees even in her secret perch, and Emma’s hair, loose and flowing for the night, whipped around her face wildly.

There was railing along the structure clearly meant as a handhold for anyone venturing out to use it as a vantage point, but it wasn’t tall - not even waist high - and she made a mental note to be careful not to get to close to the edge, and to warn Alice of it too, if she even decided it wise to show the child at all. She was just debating the wisdom of such action along with her responsibility to keep Alice safe, when the strident wind seemed to take on renewed vigor; almost a life of its own. The shingles of the roof at her back rattled as if about to be pulled free and the door out to the walk knocked against the side of the tower. Unnerved by the almost sentient reaction of its force, Emma got the distinct impression it was somehow upset with her.

An impossibly strong gust snatched suddenly at the blanket draped loosely over her shoulders, nearly ripping it away from her and carried it off. Without thinking, Emma dove forward to keep hold of the blanket, her one tie to the parents she had never gotten to know and couldn’t even remember, and lost her footing. She slammed into the guard rail rather than slipping over the edge, but it caught at mid thigh not the waist, and she nearly toppled over it headfirst.

A strong grip caught her around the waist and yanked her back from a fall that would have surely been the end of her. For a moment Emma was frozen, stunned, her blanket clutched to her chest as her startled lungs struggled to breath again after the shock. It took a few minutes for her to regain her senses and realize that she hadn’t averted disaster on her own; someone had caught her.

Turning slowly, she came face to face with a man equally wide-eyed and panting, looking just as surprised to see her standing there as she was to see him. He was a half a head taller than her, his eyes a wild, stormy blue like the sea and his disheveled dark hair fluttering across his forehead in the breeze still sweeping around them. His shirt was scandalously half-buttoned down his heaving chest under an expensive and old-fashioned looking waistcoat, allowing think dark hair to tantalizingly show in a way Emma had never seen on the high collared and cravat wearing gentleman of her previous acquaintance.

Before she could force any words out however, his voice, shaking with some intense burst of feeling broke out in clear agitation. “What were you thinking, Lass? Are you mad? You nearly threw yourself over the edge for a mass of thread and ribbon!”

Spluttering indignantly, Emma wanted to set him straight and defend herself, but she was still too overcome by the fright she’d weathered and the sudden precious of an overwhelming intense and masculine stranger pressed quite close to her in such a small space. Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly without her forcing out any sort of explanation.

As he raised his hand to brusquely shove a thick forelock of hair out of his eyes, Emma gaped even more at the sight. Where his left hand would have been, the man who had just pulled her from the ledge instead had a hook in its place. She blinked mutely, even trying to rub her eyes as if the fog would lift and what she saw would turn sensible once again. Instead, it only led her to realize that something about the man’s form was not fully solid; she could still see the door back into her room, the shingles on the roof, and the stars above through him. It shouldn’t be possible. It wasn’t possible…

Reaching out a tentative finger, she intended to just barely touch her rescuer, to prove to her own eyes that she must be mistaken, but instead she gasped as her hand passed right through him to the wall beyond. Her gaze snapped back up to meet his; deep, fathomless pools lined strikingly with dark kohl but someone just as fearful in that moment as she knew hers must be.

“Bloody hell,” he swore, looking almost pained, “will I never learn?” And then, before Emma could stop him, he vanished from sight.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @jrob64 @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @stahlop @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @winterbaby89 @thejollyroger-writer @wefoundloveunderthelight @xsajx @cosette141 @apiratewhopines @the-darkdragonfly @darkcolinodonorgasm @justanother-unluckysoul @drowned-dreamer @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @linda8084 @lfh1226-linda @scientificapricot

#cssns22 #cs Victorian ghost au #cs three part fic #knightrook au fic #believing impossible things #part one

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snowbellewells · 1 year

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CSSNS22 fic update: “Believing Impossible Things” {part two}

This update took so much longer than I intended, and I can only beg your patience and hope you will still be interested in the newest happenings in this CS Victorian ghost-y AU with KnightRook (and SwanRook?) feels. Here’s hoping I can be more prompt in finishing up - either one or two more parts to go!

A million thank yous once again to the @cssns event for always being such an exciting and fulfilling thing to be part of, and to @o-wild-west-wind for the stunning cover art that I just LOVE <3

{Part One can be found HERE or on AO3, whichever you prefer}

by: @snowbellewells

part two: the man in the shadows

The next morning came all too soon after Emma had spent the night rattled by the strange visitation and near tumble from the roof she had weathered in the dark, still hours before dawn. Though the man must have been an apparition - how else to explain his sudden appearance and disappearance, and the way her hand had passed right through his form? - her nerves were jangling, and she had tossed and turned uneasily for quite some time before rest ever came, just as the deep purples and blues of midnight began to lighten into the lavender gray before sunrise. Emma was certain she could have kept on sleeping once she finally calmed enough to allow it, if not for the soft tapping on her bedroom door.

Blearily sitting up, Emma tried to smooth her riotous sleep-mussed waves of hair and gather her blankets around her torso to hide her thin nightgown as much as possible, then hoped she sounded at least somewhat wakeful and pleasant, before she bid the visitor at the door ‘good morning’ and granted them entrance. Needless to say, Emma was exceedingly grateful to see Alice alone when the girl peeked her head around the door, hair tousled and eyes wide with wakeful excitement as she beamed and greeted her in the chipper trill of a morning person. “Hullo there, Miss Emma! Did you sleep well? I could hardly wait another minute to see you!”

Emma chuckled good naturedly and shook her head, making a mental note to remember that the child clearly woke up ready and anxious to start the day, and to make sure she herself went to bed early enough to be rested and set to greet Alice accordingly. Throwing back the sheet and covers, Emma rose from bed and quickly slipped on and tied at the waist the robe she had left on the straight back chair just beside it. Grateful that it was her young charge rather than her boss finding her still abed when she was needed, Emma hurried over to the small dressing table where she had set her travel case the evening before, found her brush, and began to pull it through her hair impatiently to take out the snarls, then tied it back without too much difficulty. Thankfully, Alice seemed nothing but happy to see her; neither impatient nor put out, and plopped down on the edge of the bed to watch her governess’ movements studiously.

After a few minutes, and once Emma had begun to pin her blonde locks up in a twist with tortoiseshell combs, Alice breathed appreciatively, “Your hair is awfully pretty, Miss Emma. Shiny like silk, it is.” She frowned slightly before plucking a ringlet of her own honeyed wheat color hair between two fingertips and holding it out from her head for Emma to see, “Not like mine, all dulled and curling everywhere out of control.”

Emma smiled, touched that Alice would be so excited to see her. Though the girl might still be young, and it Emma’s job to care for her, she still easily adored the child. In the almost thirty years of her life thus far, few people had ever waited breathlessly to speak to Emma, looked forward to spending time with her or hearing what she had to say, wanted badly to be in her exact company. Pleased beyond what she could put into words, Emma found herself hurrying through her morning preparations, not wanting to keep the sweet girl she grew more attached to each day waiting too long.

As she put in the last pin to hold up her hair and smoothed out her light day dress, Emma was surprised that Alice had not said anything more; most often, her words spilled out like a river (that much had become clear already) tumbling over each other in a rush as running water did over rocks. Turning to see what must have arrested the youngster’s attention, Emma’s breath caught in her throat. There before her sat Alice Jones on the edge of her still-rumpled bed, Emma’s woven baby blanket on Alice’s lap, small, careful fingers tracing the purple yarn of Emma’s name stitched into it, with eyes wide and entranced.

“It’s so lovely, Miss Emma,” Alice breathed with gentle awe. “Did your mother make it for you?”

Emma blinked, swallowing hard as she thought quickly to respond. It wasn’t that she wished to keep the truth from her charge, but she did not wish to introduce something painfully close-to-home into Alice’s awareness, not when - all things concerned - Alice seemed so well-adjusted and free from bitterness, despite her lack of family and a guardian who left much to be desired. Not only that, but it wasn’t an easy subject for Emma to broach. There was so little she truly knew about her parents; only the fond memories Granny had shared over the years. She had been so young when they died that all she was left with were the vague impressions of a broad-shouldered and sandy-haired man’s easy, charming smile and the solid strength of a chest against her cheek and pressure of a large hand cradling her head when she snuggled into him for a hug. She sometimes thought she could hear the echo of a voice singing sweetly enough to coax birds from the trees and shining black hair that smelled of lavender, but other than that, she had only the blanket and an empty gaping void where her parents ought to have been.

Shaking her head, Emma crossed the small room to sit facing Alice on the bed. Her own fingers brushed along the comforting soft pattern of the blanket as she readied herself to speak. Offering Alice a tremulous smile, she replied, “No, my mother didn’t make it, though it was a gift she had made for me. An older friend of my mother and father sewed this. They always called her Granny, as do I, for that matter, though that cannot be her given name.” One corner of her mouth turned up slightly at the bit of humor, hoping to lighten the moment before carrying on. “Granny had to give this to me herself when she finished though. My mother and father had…” she swallowed again, drawing in a couple of quick breaths, only to be startled when Alice’s small hand reached out to take hers, interlacing their fingers as if it were the most natural response in the world. Offering the child’s hand a grateful squeeze, Emma finished, “My mother and father had both passed away before they could give it to me themselves. Granny took me in after they were gone… even though she didn’t have to. She wasn’t truly my grandmother, but she raised me as if I was her own.”

Alice’s guileless face shone with sympathetic understanding as they sat together quietly for a minute or two. Then, she sighed, shrugging her slight shoulders and looking to her new friend and governess as if for confirmation. “It’s strange how much we miss them, isn’t it? People we hardly even knew?”

Emma’s mouth hung open, flummoxed by the astute observation, even if she knew the girl before her had lived a similar sort of lonely life. Really, there wasn’t much else to do but nod in agreement and open her arms to Alice, who leaned into her comforting embrace gladly.

~~~*~~~

As first days, and then weeks went by, Emma found herself growing ever more comfortable and at home in the house perched atop the hill like a sentinel over the seaside village upon which it presided. Not only that, she grew ever more attached to the young lady who had been entrusted into her care and found herself as protective and proud of young Alice Jones as an older sister or doting aunt would be, rather than simply an employee doing her job as governess. Thankfully, the imposing Ms. Gardiner seemed to be long gone; at least for the present. Alice communicated through stifled giggles and scrunched-up button nose - as if well aware and somewhat delighted with the knowledge that she was being naughty - that her so-called guardian often disappeared for long stretches of time without warning or explanation, ‘like a witch in a puff of smoke from a fairy tale’, the child proclaimed dramatically. Emma didn’t let herself forget that the unnerving woman could return at any moment, but she breathed more easily the longer her employer remained gone.

One early afternoon as the two were in the garden, enjoying the sunshine on their skin and the breeze rustling through the trees overhead, Alice came up to Emma almost shyly, holding something clutched tightly in her hands. Emma had found a large rock near the bordering grass of the garden rows of hollyhocks, sweet peas, roses and clematis, where she could bask in the warm rays from above and enjoy watching Alice so engaged and content, close enough to her to answer any question she might call out, without having to get down on the ground herself and soil one of the few dresses she owned with dirt or grass stains. Alice seemed more than happy just having company nearby. Her inquisitive mind studied and played with everything she encountered - muttering curiously to herself as she wondered about new discoveries or playfully speaking to the ladybugs and red-breasted robins alike, as cheerfully as if they were fond old friends.

As she stood before Emma that afternoon however, there was a flush of pink to her cheeks which Emma had not noticed before; a proud little tilt to her chin as a pleased smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Her governess was naturally curious at what Alice seemed so anxious to reveal, having noticed her going over to a large tree by the hedge some minutes ago and reaching into the wide open knothole in its trunk to retrieve some secret treasure she must have stored there. It would seem she was about to discover what that treasure might be.

Grinning at her governess sweetly, with a look of such keen understanding and poignancy it made her appear wise well beyond her years, Alice held her hands out before her and opened them to reveal the contents cradled in her palms to Emma’s sight. Lying there, pretty but rather innocuous after such a weighted unveiling were a small assortment of seashells. Two or three scallop shells spread like fans in buff, cream and peach, were joined by a bone-white spirula shell, and a single, slightly larger conch shell, miniature to the ones people often used to listen to the ocean, but still appealingly pretty and recognizable with its smooth inner whorl of pink.

Slightly nonplussed, but unwilling to hurt her young friend’s feelings, Emma quickly complimented them with earnest kindness. “Those are lovely shells. Thank you for sharing them with me.”

A brilliant trill of laughter pealed from Alice’s throat, and she shook her head wildly, her curls flying out in all directions. “No, silly! It’s more than that!” she giggled. “I mean, they are pretty…but these shells are special.” The girl looked around them surreptitiously, as if she expected a shadow to fall or an unseen thief to snatch her hoarded possessions away. Leaning in closer, she confided to Emma in an undertone, the secret’s import clear in every line of her bearing. “My Papa brought them to me. He carried them on his ship from halfway around the world. He knew I’d love them, and he brought them all the way back here just for me.”

Emma’s brow furrowed, not sure what to make of the child’s fervently uttered words. Her lips were already parted to question, “His ship?”, but she bit the inquiry back. She remembered Elois Gardiner alleging that Alice’s father, whomever he might be, had done little more than leave the child on the doorstep of this mansion and disappear. Even at the time though, she had felt something not quite right in the account, and the way Alice’s eyes shone in wistful remembrance as she spoke of ‘her Papa’ told a much different tale.

“Your Papa did?” Emma reiterated instead, repeating the question cautiously to make sure in conveyed gentle curiosity and not doubt as to whether or not such a thing could be true.

Meeting her eyes steadily, without a hint of uncertainty or mischief, the child nodded vigorously, her entire countenance alight with joy and excitement, seeming to have been waiting for someone with whom to share her prize. “He really did,” she assured, carefully placing the shells in Emma’s open palm to let her hold and look at them more closely.

Emma dutifully looked down to study the items in her hand, giving them the consideration she knew Alice felt they deserved and commenting on their uniqueness and beauty until her charge was beaming even more proudly. Once she had at last returned them to the girl’s eager grasp, Alice slipped them into the pocket of her pinafore, surprising Emma by not returning them to the hiding place from which she had fished them. Patting the spot gently, as if reassuring herself of their safety, Alice turned back to the row where she had been crouched, looking for particularly pretty pebbles and picking a bouquet of garden flowers. Watching her, Emma could only feel happy for her that she didn’t concern herself with smudges of dirt on her clothes, how her hair was styled, or whether on not her current occupation was ladylike. Much as Emma herself had been allowed to do growing up with Granny and helping the older woman in her diner, Alice was simply enjoying being young, rather than being schooled in proper decorum day and night - bored to the point of tears, made into a coquette by the time she reached adolescence, and hemmed in by her lack of other options. Someday it might be hard to lose such freedom once she grew up and had to enter society, but Emma would never take these precious moments from the girl, however rude an awakening it might be later.

It was rather humorous that when she was often out of doors and playing rough and tumble, she would be dressed in such fanciful and whimsically old-fashioned clothes. All the same, Emma supposed the wealth of pockets in the particular ensemble Alice wore had proven useful. And, in truth, as much as she was playfully uncontained in her boundless imagination and exploration, Alice had a feminine side as well, one that enjoyed ruffles and curls and dainty bits of detail. She might not concern herself with keeping them in pristine condition, but in some ways the rather datedly intricate style of much of her wardrobe somehow suited her.

Reaching out to take the armful of purple, red, blue, orange, and pink blossoms from Alice so she could carry her collected skipping and wishing stones, Emma smiled down at her beneficently, charmed once again by this thoughtful, beguiling child of contradictions, who was already so far ahead of most by knowing who she was and acting as her heart lead, rather than how others might dictate. Still, as they returned to the house to put their flowers in water and remove their muddy shoes, enjoy their tea, and return to lessons for the early afternoon hours, Emma couldn't help her lingering curiosity - if only in her ever-growing desire to protect her charge from heartache and disappointment. Alice Jones must surely have already weathered her share, in spite of her youth.

Holding the door open so that Alice could enter before her and place her gathered pebbles along the weathered ledge of the wash basin before later cleaning so they could be added to her collection, Emma spoke carefully, weighing her words to sound as innocent as possible, “How did your father bring the shells to you, Alice? I’m happy to know that he has visited you, if that is the case, and that he brought you such a well-chosen gift. But, I must admit to being a bit puzzled. Ms. Gardiner made it seem as though he had been absent for quite some time, as if he had not been back for years even.”

Alice plunked herself right down on the hardwood floor of the sun porch to work loose the laces of her older outdoor boots, and for a moment seemed occupied enough that she might not respond to her governess’ question. However, once she was in her stocking feet, she stood before Emma again, cocking her head slightly as though she couldn’t quite fathom what her governess must be thinking. At last, shaking her golden mane and scattering the confusion loose from the corners of her mind, she moved toward the passage into the kitchen, shooting a knowing smile back over her shoulder. “Well, naturally she would say that, wouldn't she?” she countered, her light voice far from being harsh or angry, but also pert and certain, challenging the assumption that Emma couldn't help having come to, at least in part, with the information that she had been given.

“Why, Alice!” she sputtered, following the child into the main part of the house, retrieving a fine china vase from one of the cupboards and beginning to fill it up with water as she continued, “Whatever do you mean?” She waited for the answer this time with almost bated breath, wondering if the girl harbored her own suspicions of her guardian’s trustworthiness and motives, just as Emma herself did, or if she actually knew more than anyone realized, had seen something others had missed.

Once Emma had filled the vase, placed it in the center of the large table where they enjoyed their meals, and then arranged the flowers to her satisfaction, Alice gripped her hand tightly, the look in her eyes imploring as she steadily held Emma’s gaze. “I mean that it isn’t as simple as Miss Eloise says. She wants you to believe he abandoned me without a second thought.” She bit her lip before plunging on, each word growing more fervent, more desperate to be believed. “But he didn’t abandon me. He wouldn’t. I know it… whatever anyone else tries to say.”

Emma nodded her understanding, finding her throat stinging and fighting to blink back the tears which tried to well up in her eyes. She wanted to tell the child that of course she was right, that no parent would willingly leave behind a daughter as wonderful and lovable as her. And yet, life seldom went as it ought. Life was no fairy tale, and just because a person deserved love and happiness did not mean it would come to them as it should. She knew that better than most. She had no problem reconsidering Eloise Gardiner’s words either; they had smacked of false self-righteousness anyway. The fact remained though, that Alice had spent most of her life sequestered in this gorgeous but lonely and deserted house and its grounds. If her father hadn’t abandoned her, why was she still here with a governess and a cold, disinterested guardian as poor substitutes for his presence? If he hadn’t left his daughter in the hands of virtual strangers to pursue his own amusements and desires, would he not be here now with Alice?

Yet, no matter how much these questions trembled on the tip of her tongue, begging to be asked along with several more, Emma held them back. Instead, she simply cradled Alice’s cheeks in her palms, stroking her thumbs lightly over the baby-soft apples of Alice’s cheeks before she smoothed the girl’s curls back off her forehead and softly bid her go and wash up while she got their tea ready.

Nodding her agreement, Alice turned to do as requested, but not before offering solemnly. “I can see you don’t think he’s been here - that he’s left me behind. But you will. I know you will in time. Things aren’t always the way they seem.” Turning lightly on her heel, the child flitted silently from the room with a skip and a bound like some fairy of woodland lore, no doubt off to find a new hiding place for her shells’ safekeeping before returning to the kitchen with clean clothes and washed face and hands.

Emma meanwhile stood gazing after her for a moment, once more trying to understand what the girl’s cryptic words could mean. It wasn’t defiance, threat, or anger, merely what Alice saw as fact. But what might she be missing? She would know if someone had been there. She lived on the estate with her charge, and they spent nearly every waking moment in each other’s company. And if the man, this Jones she knew little of beyond the fact that he had managed to help bring one of the most delightful children she had ever encountered into the world, were still returning with gifts, why did he not stay? And what did Ms. Gardiner gain by lying about it?

None of her whirling questions made any sense - together or separately, nor did any answers come to her. She was forcing herself into motion: putting the kettle on to boil water and retrieving the iced lemon cakes Alice liked best from the pantry when the troubling memory of her near-tumble from the widow’s walk flashed into her mind once more. She had managed - more or less - to put the incident from her mind in the intervening days since, but in the moment, she could almost feel the wind whipping against her, the strong grip on her arm pulling her back to safety, the wild, searching eyes questioning what she could have been thinking with such foolish recklessness…. Her breath caught again remembering inky dark hair ruffled by the air around them, her own fear and curiosity leading her to reach out, only to have her touch pass through the stranger’s form and him then vanish before her very eyes.

Shaking the thoughts away, Emma tried to steady herself and use some sense. That had been an unsettled imagination, a dream rooted in anxiety. There couldn’t be any connection… could there? And yet, the beseeching blue of that quickly lost gaze seemed to linger on her every move until Alice returned and they sat down to their afternoon repast.

~~~*~~~

Later that evening, while day darkened into lengthening shadows in corners and the world outside went ever more quiet and still, two voices were speaking heatedly in one of the unused upstairs rooms of the large and winding old house. If Emma Nolan could have heard them, she would have been all the more confused by the vision she was trying to ignore and been set to doubting her ears as well as her eyes.

The fervently hissed voice, tensely uttered by a tall, dark haired man who paced restlessly from one end of the room to the other, lamented, “It’s infuriating, Liam! I do not know how much longer I can abide it! She clearly did not believe our Alice. She must have bought into the poisonous falsehoods Eloise spouted at her hiring. It would be no matter; she can think what she will… but if she leads Alice to doubt my affection….. I will not be able to stand it, Brother. We are already kept apart by her evil plottings, but Alice, my sweet girl, has never faltered. She knows I would never choose to leave her. I’ll not have her made to feel foolish!”

His companion, another man with lighter, more riotously curling hair, and broader shoulders, sat at a desk in the center of the room watching the first gentleman pace, appearing wholly sympathetic but also bemused. “Come now, little brother, you know if she hasn’t doubted you yet, she won’t start now. This is why I did say we should scare her off when she first arrived. We can more than see to Alice’s needs ourselves.”

The darker haired man shot him a withering look, raking his one hand through his hair almost violently, before shooting back, “Liam, we’ve lived untold years now, on some plane other than the natural world. We couldn’t even know our own ages for certain any longer. Must you still insist on calling me ‘little’ brother?”

The elder chuckled good naturedly, even as he nodded in affirmation, much to the other’s consternation. “Come now, it’s what I’ve always called you.”

“Much to my dismay,” he shook his head and finally sank into the other seat. After a minute, he spoke again more earnestly. “And to answer your earlier point, no, we cannot simply run her off. Alice clearly adores the woman, and she has been good to our girl…”

“Well then,” this Liam returned pragmatically, shrugging nonchalantly, even if he would have been at immediate attention were his dear and only niece truly in danger. “Perhaps we will merely have to make her understand that our girl has the right of the situation. Not everything is as simple and obvious as this Miss Emma Nolan has been led to understand.” He arched a brow over eyes as equally blue and persuasive as his younger sibling’s with a blatantly speaking look as eloquently expressive of his intent as any words could be.

The darker haired man, indeed Killian Jones, Alice’s own father and the stranger who had saved Emma from falling that first night she had stayed in the home, paused, seemingly mulling the possibilities before them and considering the suggestion. Something still held him back; he remembered the softness and open vulnerability when he had clutched her slight frame so she wouldn’t fall to her death, and also how she had seemed more drawn to him - concerned and curious - than he had experienced in ages… perhaps ever. Frightening her was far from his goal and design, if there were some other way to reach her and get his message across. True, Liam had looked out for him and advised him well all his life - and afterlife - but in this his elder brother was also protecting their domain and their only yet living family, rather than considering what might truly be best for Alice. Somehow, even in their very limited interaction, Killian sensed that thai Emma Nolan cared deeply for his precious little girl, wanted to do right by Alice and see her well and happy even as he had wished to do himself. He hesitated to take from his child someone who could give her the connection and comfort he no longer could.

No, what he needed was some way to communicate with the lovely young woman, to speak with her as he had so briefly that night on the widow’s walk, but also to convince her that he was real and needed her to understand his message. Shaking his head slowly in consideration, he turned his face back to his brother’s once more, speaking with measured deliberation. “As you say, Brother. They have formed an attachment - one that has been good for our Alice. We don’t need Miss Nolan gone. We need a way to reach her… to make her believe.”

He beloved elder sibling, level headed, wise, the anchor he had always known to look to, sharpened his gaze slightly, as if trying to see into Killian’s thoughts - or his soul. There was no hiding the strong and heady mix of confusion, intrigue, and attraction he felt pulling him toward the new governess. It had been all he could do to keep his distance and avoid showing himself to her again ever since saving that pretty neck. That she hadn’t run from the place screaming, nor had she revealed him to anyone else, told him she was made of sterner stuff than her delicate, porcelain features would indicate, or she felt a true dedication to Alice, which only endeared her to him further. He found himself hoping she could be made to see and believe the rest, and there was no sense in attempting to deceive or hide it from Liam - maybe his brother would even have an idea that could help him.

Knowing comprehension dawned in the elder Jones’ eyes as he nodded in confirmation, seeming to assure himself of the conclusion he’d come to. Before Killian could speak again or attempt to explain his reasoning for the feelings that must have been clear in his eyes, Liam quietly acquiesced, offering to let him take the lead. “You may be right,” he murmured, tilting his head in Killian’s direction, then letting his gaze move pointedly toward the window where they could look out and see the very subject of their conversation playing with her charge. “Heaven knows our girl deserves some happiness and the maternal affection she’s never known. You’re only thinking of her. I shouldn’t have been so quick to expect the worst.”

Killian’s tense face broke into a chuckle at that, his head shaking as he accepted his brother’s reconsideration gratefully. “In fairness,” he returned, a touch of rueful jest in his voice, “you’ve had trouble enough to cause such a reaction to be your first response.”

Liam attempted to look offended, but the effect was lost when his own guffaw escaped, seeing the twist of tragic humor in the situation, despite himself. It had been countless years - there truly was no way for them to measure it exactly - that Liam had lingered haunting these halls, not knowing why he could not pass on to peace and rest. He had almost resigned himself to the endless, empty half life of invisible wandering in this strange, unknown place until Killian had arrived - confused, angry, desperate to return to the daughter who had been ripped from his arms. Together, with Killian’s much clearer memories and rabid urgency, they had reconnected some of the dots between how they had been unexpectedly reunited against any sense or odds. Though Killian’s situation was different than his own, and his unwilling presence here was not at all right or fair, he could remember crossing Eloise Gardiner - a more powerful threat than he could a have possibly known until it was too late - and they had been searching for a way to right the wrong and see him freed of her trap ever since.

The companionship of his younger sibling had eased the loneliness for Liam and given him some sense of purpose. He was grateful to feel somewhat more like himself again after so long, but it made him all the more wary, sure that bit of comfort would be snatched from them without warning as it was before. To see Killian dragged through the torment and uncertainty he had weathered was its own unique sort of punishment, even as it was a gift as well, and he hated it as much as he loved it. Whatever else there was going on, he would be right at Killian’s side, willing to do anything to see him reunited with his daughter and back in his own life - the real living one he deserved - whether that was threatening, cajoling, or anything in between.

“Maybe I should reveal myself to her again… let her see me and explain what we’ve discovered,” Killian mused.

Liam tilted his head in a bit of challenge and a bit of true thought. “If only you were certain how you did it before,” he cautioned, reminding Killian that it might well be more difficult and less straightforward than he hoped. The night he had physically manifested had not been a concerted effort on his part; he had seen her about to go over the railing, and even without knowing her at all, his concern had led him to leap forward in an attempt to save her from a fall she might not survive. He was drawn to her powerfully; he was man enough to admit that. Though he was not at all sure that did anything other than make him more urgent, more motivated, and more desperate to reach her - for Alice’s sake and for his own. She had reached out for him, in those few moments after he had pulled her to safety, those precious mere seconds when he had been once more corporeal and visible on the same plane she inhabited. Could she have felt a similar pull to the one which had gripped his insides? Killian had found himself holding his breath as her delicate fingers neared his chest, only to have them pass through him and his time run out.

It was a strange feeling, going insubstantial again; the whole encounter had been so fleeting he hadn’t registered feeling differently until physical sensation rushed from his limbs once more, like sand pouring from an hourglass. She had gasped, and he knew this Emma Nolan could no longer see him, the curse escaping his lips before he could pull it back.

And as Killian had watched them since, longing so deep and aching it hollowed out whatever was left within him as she followed Alice through the gardens, encouraging his child’s stories and play, or as he listened to Emma patiently impart Alice’s lessons in the afternoons or tuck her in and kiss his daughter’s forehead each night, Killian felt gratitude to the newcomer swell in his heart, despite wishing he were there for Alice in her place. It was clear that Miss Nolan had somehow managed to dismiss their encounter, to reason away what was deemed impossible, as people so often did when it could not be explained. He couldn’t even fault her for it. Until this strange half-life had been visited upon him, he would have done the very same.

Regardless, he would find a way to speak with her a second time, to use whatever connected them, which had allowed him to break through before, to do so again. He would return to his Alice; the hope thrummed in his heart as it had not done in years with the mere possibility. After all, as Liam had taught him long ago - even if the afterlife he had endured since had made his elder brother doubt the lesson - if he were unwilling to fight for this, what he wanted above all else, then he would deserve what he got.

~~~*~~~

The next morning, in the upstairs playroom of sorts next to Alice’s bedroom, the girl and her governess sat cozily tucked into the large window seat facing each other, a beautiful, large and richly detailed chessboard between them, balanced on their knees. It was raining outside, and so Alice had been convinced to stay in with the promise of roasting marshmallows over the fireplace and numerous cozy indoor amusements rather than splashing in puddles gleefully but quite probably catching cold and being confined to bed.

Emma had never learned to play chess, having never had much spare time for parlor games nor anyone to teach her one as involved and time-consuming as chess played well could be. However, when Alice had proudly and reverently produced the game from its cupboard, the young girl had been thrilled at the chance to be teacher, and had proven adept at doing so, as they were now well entrenched in their match.

Taking up one of the knights, Emma fingered it wonderingly, marveling at the craftsmanship in curiosity before asking Alice where she had gotten such a lovely chess set.

Alice’s finger stilled, resting thoughtfully atop the rook she intended to move as she tilted her head to the side and studied Emma wordlessly. The sensation her concerted look caused within Emma rattled her, as if her nerves were jangling in alarm beneath her skin, but she forced herself to stay still and meet the child’s eyes in return as she awaited a response. Then, Alice shrugged as if her decision mattered little and glanced back down to the carefully carved playing piece in her hand and finally picked it up to move. Her light hearted little shrug as she gave Emma a tiny, hopeful smile, belied her previous weighted consideration. Even before the bright twinkle sparked once more in her eyes, Emma could almost predict Alice’s answer as she placed her rook stoutly in its new position. “It was a gift from my Papa,” she explained fondly. “He gave it to me the last Christmas we were together.”

Once more, Emma felt impelled to ask Alice how she could remember that far, what she knew about her father’s whereabouts, if she was sure, and if so, why he would be away so long from the daughter he loved. The words were on the tip of her tongue in fact, finding herself unable to hold back longer, hating to see the child cling to false hope if hope were truly long gone. If Alice had indeed been deserted as Emma herself was, it was a heartbreaking fact to come to terms with, but the sooner it was accepted, Emma would be there to help Alice heal and rebuild.

She watched the girl sit back into the window seat after finishing her move, completely unperturbed and waiting for her governess to take her turn. Watching the joy and confidence lighting Alice’s eyes, too secure in her faith to ever doubt the father she very clearly did remember and treasure, Emma couldn’t bring herself to shatter the illusion. Even if it did turn out to be ill-fated and naive, it hurt no one for the girl to hold onto at present.

Sighing, Emma lingered with her hand hovering indecisively over the board, wanting to give some sort of caution or word of warning, even if not as clearly obvious as she had first intended. “You do know that you aren’t alone, don’t you?” she finally managed, a tentative question that came out sounding more quiet and worried than she had meant. “Rather, if your father continues to be kept by whatever business has drawn him elsewhere. Even if he remains unable to return, you… you realize you have others who care for you. You’ll be just fine, Alice.” Emma found the words harder to force out than she had expected, having to stop, wet her lips, and swallow over a large lump in her throat before she could finish. After all, she was more aware than most that though a person could survive and even thrive without the most basic bond between a parent and child being present in one’s life, it did leave a hole that didn’t ever fill in completely.

With the glimmer of almost adult understanding that often took Emma aback when talking with her young charge, Alice merely nodded solemnly, reaching out to take her governess’ hand and intertwine their fingers for a moment to press momentarily to her chest. “I do know that, thank you Miss Emma,” she replied with dutiful seriousness. “And I appreciate the thought behind it as well. But I have never felt that he is all that far away. Even if Papa isn’t here at this very moment. I know he will return. He promised it, and he never lies.”

Squeezing the girl’s hand before she released her grasp, Emma then thoughtlessly picked up a pawn, only to move it right into Alice’s path and promptly have it taken with a giggle and shake of the head. “Silly goose!” Alice chortled, the heaviness of their conversation forgotten in her good humored glee at besting her opponent. “You had better worry about your own situation. I’m doing quite well for myself.”

She winked to assure that it was only a jest with no hard feelings meant, and Emma took it as such, shrugging at her own lapse of concentration to their match and a huff at her own inattention. “Right you are,” she acquiesced easily enough.

For several more rounds, they moved the chess pieces wordlessly, intent on their play. Yet Emma still felt she should try again to temper Alice’s wild hope, already pained at the thought of seeing her crushed if this absent father never came through. No matter how she tried, though, she could not seem to bring any words to the surface where that situation was concerned; it was as if something stoppered her tongue each time.

Once Alice had eventually claimed a sound victory, and they were packing the board and pieces away, Emma was rather suddenly startled by an abrupt chill in the air around them. The temperature dropped so drastically that Emma found herself looking about anxiously to see if somehow a window had been left open, or if someone had arrived through the little-used side entrance just off the hall from where they sat and let in a draft. Strangely, nothing was open or amiss, though Emma felt a definite shiver run through her and reached for the shawl she had worn outside earlier in the day, draped over the back of a nearby chair.

She had just turned to question her charge, curious if Alice was cold as well, when the lights overhead and in the lamps on the sideboards all flickered at once, fitfully as if struggling not to die out and plunge them in darkness. Guttering as if they were all candles burning low, blown out by some unseen breath, the room dimmed and brightened by increments for several hushed seconds.

Emma’s lips formed an equally quiet “W-what was that?” as the glow of the room returned to steady normalcy at last. Not that she necessarily expected an answer from Alice, but more to assure herself she hadn’t dreamed the strange occurrence in some flight of fancy.

Before Emma could fully regain her wits, or even form further questions, Alice nodded in the affirmative, shrugging with blithe unconcern and offering a mischievous smile. So mischievous in fact that the twinkle in her young eyes nearly gave Emma pause. Could she know something more about what had just happened? How could she? It must have been a dip in the electrical power or some sort of weather-related fluke. There was no other explanation that made sense.

With an airy shake of her head, Alice chirped brightly, “Oh, there’s not need to worry. It does that sometimes.”

That this wasn’t an isolated incident actually stirred Emma’s worry more rather than assuaging it, and she had to convince herself that there was no possibility for a cold gust of wind to have been blown through the room following Alice’s pronouncement. She was merely letting her nerves get the best of her.

What Emma couldn’t see, nor would she have understood even if she had, was the pleased, anxiously hopeful expression on the girl’s face as her eyes traveled around the room expectantly, seeking something not yet apparent. She even gave a little wink as she closed the cupboard with her precious game inside, a silent acknowledgement to some unseen cohort whose presence she felt nonetheless.

If a person hadn’t known any better, it would almost seem she was communicating with her Papa, invisible though he might be.

~~~ * ~~~

Later that night, well past time to sleep and long after she had seen Alice to bed, tucked her in and wished her sweet dreams, Emma Nolan still found herself unable to rest. Questions plagued her mind, concerns and curiosity which did not add up, and the uneasiness she had felt amid the flickering light and chill in the game room hours before, keeping her from peaceful slumber. Tossing and turning fruitlessly was only worsening her tension until finally she flung the covers back and stood, beginning to pace in the dressing gown she had grabbed and thrown over her shoulders.

If this mysterious father of Alice’s were as doting and devoted as the girl believed, then where was he? Why was he not with her now, instead of off somewhere leaving his child alone to miss him and wonder? And how could he possibly have chosen such a cold and unsuitable guardian for her? It made no sense that Emma could work out, and she did not like being misled - nor did she like seeing those she cared for hurt. Alice was the one who stood to be crushed one way or another - either eventually when Ms. Gardiner dampened her unique and whimsical spirit, or when someday her father proved to be as shiftless and unfaithful as the dour hag had suggested, or they learned he had met some dire end and could not return.

At any rate, Emma decided suddenly, she was getting to the bottom of such troubling mystery. Waiting and observing was getting her nowhere; she only became more puzzled and more concerned for her charge. There had to be something she could uncover, some digging or sleuthing she could do, which would bring more clarity to the situation.

Lighting a three-pronged candlestick and holding it aloft, Emma resolved to start immediately. She already knew she wouldn’t sleep that night, and better to search and poke about when Alice was unaware. The last thing she wanted was to raise the young girl’s hopes or to force herself into the uncomfortable position of deceiving her caretaker whenever she might next return. Nevertheless, the place she knew her exploration must begin had come to her, and slipping through her bedroom door into the hall, Emma began her venture on silently slippered feet.

That morning as they had finished their chess game Emma knew she had felt something uncanny; something strange and otherworldly had occurred; whether she could pinpoint just what was of little consequence. The large, open playroom, now silently deserted in the midnight hour was where she had to return. A real part of her wanted to wait until morning (and the comforting light of day) to peek into the space. The tremors she felt running up her arms were not only from the chilled air. Whatever entity had caused the odd sensation she had felt before could still be present, and it could prove malevolent - it actually seemed more likely considering the mistress of the place was Ms. Gardiner.

Emma crept down the stairs gingerly, without incident and hardly making a sound. Her small candle’s light flickered tremulously, but it was enough for her to see the way ahead clearly. All the same, she felt her steps slow as she neared the room, almost holding her breath, hoping desperately not to disturb the quiet.

It was only as she came near enough to hear a hushed murmur, then another in response, followed by a warm, rumbling chuckle, that she drew up short just beside the door. She had yet to look in, quickly flattening herself to the wall and making sure she had not been seen instead. However, as she forced herself to remain, not flee, gathering her wits and courage about her, she realized the voices were light and affectionate - as far as possible from angry and threatening - and also that another light from within the room flickered out to where she stood. Her candle was not the only one in the dark house.

So who was speaking?

Leaning out to peer around the doorframe cautiously, Emma barely managed to swallow a gasp of shock. Holding her breath for several long seconds, she forced herself to calm and even sharply pinched the inside of her elbow with the fingers of her other hand, needing to make certain she had not dozed off and entered a dream. When nothing changed, her eyes focused once more on the carpeted hall where she stood. Emma blew out a breath of resolve and squared her shoulders. She needed to look again, if just to be sure.

Leaning out again, she slowly peered from her unseen vantage point, eyes traveling the distance across the spacious playroom lit with the candle’s wavering glow. Sure enough, the same tableau still greeted her, this time somewhat mesmerizing her with its feeling of gentle comfort rather than rousing alarm. It seemed impossible, but there before her eyes, ensconced in the very seats she and Alice had occupied only hours before, sat her young charge with her beloved chess set across from the handsomely dark stranger Emma had seen only once before.

Alice’s happily prattling little voice tickled Emma’s ear, telling her that the girl was clearly at ease and not in the least frightened or troubled by this gentleman companion. He must be far from the unknown entity Emma had assumed him that night on the widow’s walk. He had appeared from out of nowhere in the windy dark, saved her life, then vanished again before she could ask any questions. But now, rather than the tidy dream or hallucination she had tried to convince herself he must be, the stranger sat blithely playing chess in the middle of the night, with the child in her care.

Half ready to hustle into the room and demand an explanation, Emma was halted by the chortle of laughter which pealed from Alice’s lips just then, sounding so happy, so carefree, that Emma bit her tongue and held back, loathe to disrupt the pleasant moment. Alice appeared to be in no immediate danger or distress, so perhaps she could afford to linger and keep watch for a moment more rather than shattering the illusion and upsetting the girl unnecessarily.

As she continued to watch noiselessly from the shadows, Emma’s heart warmed at Alice’s victorious crow of pride and her piece’s successful counterstrike, and the subsequent warmth and affection radiating out from the man’s face as if to wrap Alice up and gather her close. That face was weathered and careworn, framed by dark, tousled hair and scruff along his chin and jawline, equally dark but interspersed periodically with strands of both ginger and grey. Those eyes were fathomless and deep, seeming cool and wild enough to drown in met that night atop the house alone, but now they gazed on Alice with a look that spoke of painful longing at last partially assuaged - a devotion that could only be paternal.

Emma’s musing was confirmed moments later when Alice chided playfully, “Papa! Whatever are you thinking? You’ve put yourself just where my bishop can take you if you aren’t more careful!”

Feeling her pulse pound at her temple, Emma fought for understanding, even as she watched the gentleman shake his head to clear it from distracting thoughts and give Alice a sheepish smile while moving his piece from its apparent danger. If this was the long lost father Alice had such faith in, what did his presence mean? Why had he not come forward and announced his return? How could this be?!

Not long after asking herself that question, the solution presented itself. As Emma remained looking on unseen, her candle’s light caught the man’s profile in such a way that she realized with a startled sinking of the heart that his form was not completely opaque. Once the realization was made, her eyes could not unsee the fact that the stonework of the fireplace, the gleam of the windowpane, the surfaces just beyond his seated body were visible through him, as if seen through a dense veil. She remembered the same impression that night when she had been wrested from calamity, gripped in strong arms, but then detected that they were not fully corporeal. He had been gone before her mind could grasp the paradox, as she had convinced her mind it was all imagination - until this very moment.

Her hand clutched the candlestick so tightly in her confused distress that the small beacon wobbled slightly. To her dismay, though Alice with her back to the door continued blissfully unawares, the stranger’s visage rose and caught her eyes with unerring accuracy. His stare, now that it held her rapt, was intense and unwavering. As if allowing some well-worn façade to slip, the sharp bravado fell away and she saw the well of anguish in those cobalt pools. One dark brow arched wordlessly, to beseech her ‘Now do you see? What else would you have me do?’

Emma stumbled back to lean against the wall, hand clutched to her chest and unable to maintain the near-electric stare between herself and her mysterious rescuer. For a moment, she focused merely on steadying herself, regaining control of the shaking in her limbs and the pounding of her heart. Was she going mad? Was the place as haunted as rumor had always alleged? Was Alice in danger in that very moment? This last thought propelled her forward, turning back to the scene by the fireplace.

It appeared that their game was over, and both man and young lady were standing to leave the room. Indecision gripped Emma. Should she attempt to hide and continue her observation? Should she charge in and confront the stranger? The possibilities whirled together dizzyingly, and she deliberated a moment too long.

The pair of chess players came close enough to the hall door that Emma’s light was glimpsed by her delighted charge. Upon seeing that her governess was awake and present with them, Alice’s face split into the widest grin Emma had yet witnessed on her winsome face. “Miss Emma! How lucky that you are awake!” She rushed forward the last few steps between them to clasp her new friend’s hand in both of her own smaller ones, squeezing tightly in her enthusiasm. “To be honest, I was not sure how to make this happen… though I had wished for it.” Her sweet eyes glittered in innocent happiness as she turned to the handsome, dark-haired gentleman just a step behind her, lingering awkwardly at best, though he gave the girl an affectionately acknowledging half-smile.

“Miss Emma Nolan,” Alice practically beamed, a playful formality in her tone as she gestured introduction. “Allow me to introduce my papa… Captain Killian Joens.”

To Emma’s surprised, the stranger stepped forward with all proper correctness, as if humoring Alice’s gracious ‘hostessing’, and bowed smartly to her, eyes once again searching her own and causing a crackle along Emma’s skin like she had been touched by blue flame.

Alice looked back and forth between them in eager curiosity as Emma carefully reached out once more, not sure if he would vanish again as he had at their last encounter. This time rather than attempting to make contact, Emma merely offered her hand to shake, holding it out between them.

“You can genuinely see me?” he, Killian Jones it would seem, whispered in a soft rasp heavy with stunned disbelief.

Her own voice seemed to have left her entirely, so Emma merely nodded in affirmation. What breath she had gathered rushed out again as he bent his dark head over her hand, which he took in his and brought up to his lips to press a kiss at her knuckles.

Standing again, the look on his face was a mix of so many emotions that Emma couldn’t decipher them all. “After all this time,” she thought he murmured, her brow crinkling as she tried to understand the strange response.

Alice grabbed both of them where their hands were joined, wringing them up and down in her exuberance. “Papa?” she asked, her tone alight as her shining face. “It is time at last? Can you finally be free?”

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#cssns22 #CS Victorian ghost au ff #believing impossible things #part two #knightrook feels #swanrook (is that a thing?) sweetness

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