#reproachlessness | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

angryhausfrau-writes · 4 years

Text

Something Old and Something New - Chapter 3: Blood and Water and All That Rot

Charles cannot believe what Marjory has done. It's ruinous. Calamitous.

It's really very kind and thoughtful of her.

Because – and here, Charles pauses for a world weary sigh – he really was not looking forward to participating in the sort of political showpiece his wedding was rapidly becoming.

Charles understands familial duty - of course he does. He's a Winchester, of the Back Bay Winchesters. His blood is bluer than the depths of the Atlantic. He has been raised, been bred, with a perfect understanding of what his name and his position in society means. And an understanding of just how tenuous maintaining that position, and that reproachless name, actually is.

He is the third of his family to bear the name Charles Emerson Winchester, a symbol of the enduring alliance between the Emerson and Winchester families. A solemn promise to carry that alliance into the future, to safeguard and to improve upon his family's circumstances.

And as Honoria has made it quite plain that she never intends to make a suitable match – lucky scamp - it falls to Charles to build new such alliances. To shore up the family against those enemies – both without and within (ahem Cousin Alfred ahem) – who would see him brought to ruin that they may rise in his place. So Charles understands his duty, understands that his wedding must be a show of strength and opulence and the superiority of the Emerson-Winchesters over the rest of Boston high society.

But he's been to other such events. Never so grand, of course – the joining of the Emerson-Winchester and the Oakes families is a singularly prosperous alliance – but Charles has decades of being dragged to such balls and weddings and parties. First by his parents and then, as he grew older, by social obligation. And they are all interminably boring.

No one, other than perhaps the maiden aunts, who live on sweet sherry and malicious gossip, actually wants to be there. It's a duty, an obligation. Something to be endured rather than enjoyed.

But Charles actually loves Marjory, as strange an idea as that might sound given how rarely these matches are made for reasons other than the political. His own parents had dutifully produced an heir and a daughter and then retreated to separate bedroom suites – and, Charles is sure, separate lovers – as soon as their duty to the family was done. But Charles loves Marjory and he wants his wedding to be a genuine celebration of his feelings. An event to be enjoyed, a memory to be treasured into his dotage, something he and Marjory can someday look at the photographs and mementos from and reminisce about what a wonderful day it was, embarrassing the captive audience of children and grandchildren - and perhaps great grandchildren, if Charles is truly fortunate – with their pure, disgusting sentimentality. Charles wants his wedding to be something he does not merely have to suffer through in the name of familial duty.

And Marjory – Goddess among women that she is – has clearly realized Charles's sentiments on the matter, and perhaps even reciprocates – the two of them as in-tune with one another in this as they have been throughout the rest of their courtship – because she has done something rather unthinkable. Marjory has invited people Charles actually likes to the wedding.

Namely the lower-class hoodlums Charles had associated with so begrudgingly in Korea. And with whom, Charles is now realizing, he formed a closer bond with than most of his “friends” in the social circles he's meant to navigate as a scion of one of Boston's foremost families. Indeed, as the wedding planning progresses and he is forced to interact with increasing numbers of grasping family members attempting to curry favor – and solicit a wedding invitation – Charles finds himself preferring the company of his friends even above that of his blood family.

Individuals he had always looked up to as paragons of refinement and models of decorum are rather proving themselves wanting in his eyes.

Individuals such as Grandmama – who is, of course, incensed by the inclusion of “vagabonds and wastrels” (as well as some epithets which do not bear repeating) on the guest list. In fact, she is nearly incoherent with rage - her face a blotchy red as she storms through the halls, the guest list clutched in her shaking fist. Finally, her stampede – followed by a cowed but curious parade of Winchesters – terminates in the blue parlor, punctuated by a particularly vicious jab of her gnarled and accusatory finger at Charles.

“You!” Grandmama screeches as she hurls the list towards him. “Explain this!”

It is through these events that Charles discovers his fiance's actions. He makes a note to go and thank her – once the yelling has subsided, of course.

“My dear,” Charles says, when he finally encounters Marjory in the study – hiding from the commotion, presumably. “I've been looking for you all over.”

He sits next to her on the divan, hands brushing – propriety be damned, Charles needs to express his gratitude towards her.

He takes her hand and her face turns towards his. “I wanted to thank you for what you did.”

She looks rather forlorn for someone who has just saved Charles from certain boredom. “And here I was, hoping to find you to apologize.”

“Whatever do you want to apologize for?”

Marjory laughs a sarcastic little laugh. “What do you think, Charles? I've caused such a disturbance – your grandmother must be absolutely livid. I could hear her shouting from all the way up here. I wouldn't be surprised if the wedding got called off on account of my deplorable behavior.”

“Marjory! You must know I would never allow that to happen.”

“But you cannot deny that she was angry enough to at least consider it.”

“She was incensed of course. But since the invitations have already been issued, there is no way to rescind them without appearing gauche.”

Though Grandmama had still ordered Charles to do just that – saying that of course the lower classes would have no frame of reference for decorum and therefor wouldn't feel the snub.

“And,” Charles adds reassuringly, “I was able to impress upon her the necessity of my inviting each and every undesirable name on that list.”

Marjory laughs – a much brighter and happier laugh this time. “You silver-tongued rogue! How exactly did you manage that?”

“Well, Hawkeye and Letta are members of the board of trustees for one of my largest charitable contributions.” And therefore, tax write-offs. “It makes sense to... maintain a healthy business relationship with them.”

“Oh certainly,” Marjory says primly. “It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that those two idiots who lost you all that money will be at the wedding and you want to see them sweat.”

Charles laughs. “That may have been mentioned as well. Grandmama appreciates the importance of vengeance.”

Marjory is well aware of this fact – the Emerson-Winchesters didn't rise to such prominence in Boston society by being nice. She's just grateful that Charles appears to have cooled his grandmother's ire and removed the blame for this... incident from her and Honoria's shoulders – because Honoria had been the one to initially suggest the idea and should therefore take some of the blame, even if Charles has no idea of her involvement.

“The rest of the medical personnel,” Charles continues, “are perfectly obvious connections to foster. Among their number are several ivy-league surgeons, one of whom is my co-worker at Boston Mercy – and who is being groomed to take over running Emergency Medicine when the current head finally retires a decade from now – or dies at his post, whichever comes first. And that places the two of us on nearly equal social footing. It would be seen as a snub not to invite him. Another doctor on the guest list holds a research and teaching position at Stanford, a connection well worth strengthening. And the final individual – who trained at Johns Hopkins, need I remind you – is currently under the wing of Hawkeye's father. The same Hawkeye who's invitation has already been well established as necessary.”

“Compelling arguments, indeed,” Marjory says. There's a spark of laughter in her eyes, encouraging Charles to continue.

“Sidney Freedman is, of course, a forerunner in his field and widely published in several psychiatric journals, including those of the American Psychiatric Association. It would be foolish not to maintain that connection. Particularly if I wish to be included in his upcoming paper on Battle Fatigue and cardiac stress.”

“A feather in the Winchester cap, indeed.” Marjory knows that even though Charles has secured the position of head thoracic surgeon at Boston Mercy, hospital politics would see him dethroned should he ever prove less than exceptional. And little accolades like publication in reputable medical journals go a long way in securing his position.

“As for Margaret – from the sounds of it, she's practically running Fort Dix single-handedly. And she's the one responsible for implementing the nurse triage initiative in field hospitals. An initiative that is currently finding great success in Vietnam and other such outposts of benevolent democratic intervention.” Here, Charles rolls his eyes theatrically – all of Hawkeye's anti-war lectures having rather worn off on him over the years. “At any rate, it would be foolishness itself not to invite her to the small medical conference that is sure to break out once the wedding festivities are over. Indeed, I'd be surprised if several papers don't find their beginnings in our wedding reception – certainly a legacy worthy of the Winchester name.”

“And what of the non-medical individuals on the guest list? Surely they were not so easily explained away.” Not least because Charles is rather less charitable towards them than those he is more outwardly of a kind with.

“Hah! I placed the blame for Mr. O'Reily's invitation squarely on Mother and Father. After all, they were the ones who had such a splendid time with Mrs. O'Reily and “Uncle Ed” that they invited young Radar to summer with us on the Cape. As far as Grandmama knows, I am simply keeping that bargain without subjecting us all to an entire week or more of his quaint little Iowa-isms. She looked upon his invitation quite favorably after that.”

“Well played indeed, dear.”

“Max, of course has a myriad of influential political and “business” connections throughout the Middle West. And, while my interests remain largely medical, I am expected to have a larger hand in stewarding the Winchester fortune after we are wed. It makes sense to get the lay of the land – as it were - from one with their ear to the ground.”

Charles pauses.

“The fact that Max saved my life may have also entered into the conversation.”

Marjory squeezes his hand in comfort.

“Not much one can really say in the face of that,” Charles says – obviously trying for equanimity. Trying, but not quite succeeding.

“Not without appearing entirely too heartless, at any rate,” Marjory adds lightly.

And Charles snorts disparagingly but at least he's lost that rather desperate look he gets sometimes when he thinks about the wrong parts of the Korean war.

“Grandmama has never been overly concerned with appearing to have a heart. But she was eventually persuaded to allow Max a place on the guest list when it looked as if everyone else in the room would protest most vehemently if she did not. Indeed, cousin Alfred's wife appeared near tears at the story – tears that could have easily turned to rage given how high-strung she is.”

“Well, she's not one of the upper crust, is she?” Marjory asks rhetorically. “She's not used to callous indifference towards one's relations.”

“It is the cornerstone of gentility,” Charles says snidely. Then he sighs. “At least Honoria turned out a decent human being – one of two isn't bad odds.”

“You're rather decent yourself, dear. When you feel you can let yourself be.” Marjory pats his arm consolingly. “That's – well, that's rather the reason I invited your friends from Korea. You deserve to have people you can behave half-decently towards at your own damn wedding, instead of spending the entire night in political posturing and snide jabs.”

Charles takes her hand and kisses the back of it.

“And I thank you for that. As I thank God everyday that you have agreed to marry me – truly I would be lost without you.”

“Charles, you big sap.” Marjory pushes him gently away, but she's smiling. “You can't just say things like that – people will begin to think we love one another and the wedding will be called off.”

“Then I'd run off and elope with you. Marjory. I cannot fathom living my life without you by my side. Whatever I must do to secure such a thing – know that I will do it.”

Marjory laughs. “That's why I invited a priest. Just in case we needed to hold a ceremony on the lamb.”

Charles laughs too, and then turns serious. “You know, Father Mulcahy presided over weddings for several of the MASH personnel. Margaret certainly. And Max was married by him twice over. Had Grandmama not raised my ire so, I would have protested his inclusion – we were never close, and he can be rather... cutting in his way. But it is rather fitting he be present at our wedding, even if it's not in his official capacity.” Charles looks at her with deep affection. “Once again, you prove yourself several steps ahead of me, my dear.”

Marjory smiles rather smugly. Though in fairness, it was Honoria who had made the suggestion. Apparently she'd been subjected to more than one diatribe on the subject of the Irish Catholic priest who had no time nor appreciation for Charles's wealth or pedigree and felt that he would make a rather welcome addition to the guest list.

Honoria always did appreciate Marjory's disinclination to take Charles too seriously – a trait the Father apparently shares.

Speaking of the devil, Honoria bursts through the door of the study in a flurry of gauzy scarves.

“Th-there you t-t-two are! I was so w-worried when I heard w-what happened. Grandmama had no right t-to speak to you like th-that!”

“It's quite all right, Honoria. She said nothing to me that I take any stock in. And I've managed to persuade Grandmama to accept my rather... unusual wedding guests. At present, I am simply expressing my appreciation to Marjory for her inviting them in the first place.”

“Th-that and canoodling,” Honoria says with a suggestive waggle of her eyebrows.

Marjory blushes at the realization that she and Charles are sitting in a rather compromising position. Thank goodness it was only Honoria who walked in on them. Marjory shifts on the settee so that they are no longer pressed together.

Oblivious to Honoria's shrewd gaze upon Marjory's movements, Charles puffs up in affront.

“I certainly don't canoodle.”

“Hah!” Marjory exclaims in disbelief - she very well knows that Charles has significant experience. And despite the fact that she's wearing white to the wedding, she's no blushing virgin either.

“W-well, canoodling or not, you can't st-stay up here just the t-t-two of you. Grandmama really w-would have a fit.”

“What do you suggest, oh most generous and helpful chaperon?” Marjory inquires, perhaps a little meanly. But Honoria missed out on all the theatrics earlier so the least she can do is spend a bit of time with her and Charles now that she's finally deigned to grace them with her presence.

“Charles!” Hawkeye exclaims. “What are you doing here?”

Apparently, Hawkeye's at their little neighborhood haunt tonight. And where one is, the other cannot be far behind.

“Yeah, Charles.” Trapper claps a companionable hand on his shoulder.

And he should bristle at the familiarity – but he's secretly rather glad to find them here.

“Not that I'm not glad to see you,” Trapper continues. “But I'm pretty sure today's Friday – and Friday of the week we don't play poker. Though after the shift I just had, I'm lucky I remember my own name, much less the days of the week.”

“I, for one, am always shocked to see that you have managed to successfully dress yourself – let alone express a mastery over names, dates, or places,” Charles answers deadpan.

But Hawkeye's drawled “Ouch, Trap – he's got you there.” betrays the fact that they both know he's joking.

As does Trapper's muttered, “Boy, a guy sees you in your trunks once and he never lets it go.”

This kind of friendly repartee is so far removed from the icy jabs delivered by Grandmama earlier today – and that are indeed commonplace from the rest of his family as well - that Charles finds himself compelled to tell them the truth of his situation.

“In all seriousness, gentlemen, I myself find the idea of spending tonight at home rather oppressive. There was a bit of a row earlier and I find myself in search of pleasanter company. Not to cut your evening short-”

Trapper waves his halfhearted objections away with a “You ain't cutting nothing short.” He must not be having much luck finding a date, then. Ah, well. His loss is Charles's gain.

And Hawkeye, too, professes that he is more than happy to have the extra company. So they all collect drinks at the bar and Hawkeye even manages to get them a table in a quieter corner of the pub. It probably helps that he and McIntyre appear to know the gentlemen sitting there quite well judging by all the manly back-slapping and promises to join them next time at whatever bar they're heading to now. Some place far less reputable by the sound of things – they won't even mention the name of the establishment.

Which is just as well. Marjory is already looking a bit uncomfortable around all the working-class individuals packing the bar to the rafters. And even Honoria – who had suggested coming here, as she'd heard so much about the place but had never been – looks less than her usual unruffled self. Charles himself has grown used to the... ambiance of the place. But it is quite different from the stark propriety of the better regarded clubs.

A difference that Charles is positively reveling in at present. He's had rather too much gentility today.

But Charles acknowledges that it takes some getting used to. He places a comforting arm around Marjory's shoulders, allowing her to lean into his arm rather than sit stiff-backed and tense.

And Hawkeye is quickly working to break the ice, as it were, by engaging Honoria, and Marjory in a conversation about all the latest debacles in wedding planning.

Charles rather thinks he's not supposed to be privy to the ins and outs of his own wedding – the planning and execution thereof is traditionally left to the bride's family, after all – with the exception of a check for a rehearsal dinner or two. But – and this is a secret he will take to his grave – Charles enjoys salacious gossip nearly as much as Hawkeye does. And there certainly is plenty of that surrounding the wedding, what with the clashes of personality between Grandmama and Marjory's mother, or the bevy of bridesmaids all fighting amongst one another for Marjory's favor. The political machinations of the French court before its fall has nothing on the Winchester-Oakes wedding.

Despite the rather complaint-filled conversation, Charles finds himself filled with a warm contentment as he sits there, surrounded by laughter and camaraderie. In an atmosphere so starkly different from the tense, silent halls of the Winchester home. Charles feels himself relax into his seat – and even dares to remove his arm from about Marjory's shoulder so that he may place his hand over hers. A gesture familiar enough that it that would elicit the ire of his relatives only garners a cheeky grin from Hawkeye and a soft smile from Marjory herself.

There's something rather freeing in the anonymity of their chosen watering hole. Here, no one knows him as him. Here, he does not need to be Charles Emerson Winchester III – he can simply be a man enjoying an evening with friends.

For that is what they've become over the years, Hawkeye and Trapper – who are currently gently ribbing Honoria about something to do with flower arrangements. They are even, dare he say it, something akin to family at this point. And rather better company than Charles's blood relations – who are more given to cruel mockery than friendly teasing.

Yes, this is certainly a far preferable way to spend an evening than remaining at home would have been. And Charles will certainly have to explain his whereabouts tomorrow, along with Marjory. The family has rather given up on making Honoria explain anything about her behavior at this point, but she will likely be required to make a full report on the propriety of Charles and Marjory's behavior.

And they are behaving rather indecorously, it has to be said. What with displaying affection in a public place and all. But Charles cannot bring himself to mind. Anyone who cares about that sort of thing is far, far away from this particular establishment.

Charles never wants to leave.

But then it's last call and they're being gently chivied out by the tired looking barmaid. And Charles still doesn't want to go home.

Trapper and Hawkeye, bless them, do that sort of silent communication that appears to consist largely of direct eye contact and subtle facial expressions and come to the consensus that Charles, Honoria, and Marjory may stay over at their home for the night. And Trapper even goes so far as to reassure Charles that he will not wake up with a makeover as he'd done the last time he'd slept on their sofa. At this point in the evening, Charles is soused enough he really wouldn't have complained if they had decided on a redux of that little incident.

He sobers up a little in the sharp night air but everything is still feels swimming and unreal. And it's nice to walk along the snowy streets of Boston with Trapper's arm around his shoulders – and to hear Honoria's giggling laugh as Marjory nearly topples Hawkeye into a snowbank. Charles may regret this evening tomorrow morning – he's already anticipating a rather egregious hangover - but right now he can't bring himself to regret anything. It's just too nice.

He really ought to tell them how much he appreciates their friendship.

Charles lets his head fall onto Trapper's shoulder, trying to look him in the eye, but it's not working very well for some reason.

“I'm.. I'm really very glad you two will be at the wedding – you will be at the wedding, won't you? You simply must.. must come. It would be so. So unbearably stuffy otherwise.”

“Yes, Charles, we'll be at the wedding,” Hawkeye says from behind them. And then yelps as Honoria makes another attempt on his life. “A decision I'm regretting more and more as the night goes on.”

But he's just teasing, like friends do to other friends.

And Trapper wraps his arm more firmly around Charles and says, “Yeah, Charles. Maybe we ain't RSVP'ed officially yet-”

“We're brushing up on our calligraphy.”

“-but we'll be there.”

And Trapper sounds very certain. But Charles can't help wondering if they really mean it. He knows he's not the easiest person to get along with, sometimes. He finds it difficult to shed that stuffy persona he's worn for so long. He's been that person so long, it's difficult to be someone else - someone his friends enjoy spending time with. So he's worried, still.

“You promise?”

Trapper turns so that he's facing Charles, looking him in the eye.

“Yes, Charles. We promise.”

Then Trapper tugs Charles's arm higher onto his shoulder and they set off for home.

#mash #piercintyre #something old and something new #chapter 3

0 notes