#the long awaited mrs. kittredge!

[wherewindysurgeswend]

deep heart’s core: chapter nine

chapter 1

chapter 2  

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

chapter 7

chapter 8

taglist (please dm, send an ask or leave a comment if you’d like to be added or removed):  @rememberedkisses @veiliza​

It was raining by the time the train pulled into the station in London. Anna laughed a little to herself. She had been told it rained a lot in England, but she hadn’t it expected it to be raining when she arrived. Smiling weakly at Mr. Welch, she picked up her suitcase, put on her hat, and stepped off the train. She scanned the crowd, looking for a sign with her name: her boss had said he was sending a car for her. The station was filled with people holding hand-lettered signs bearing the names of the people they were there to pick up, but as far as she could tell, none of them read “Anna Byrne.” She wondered if they hadn’t gotten her birth name instead, but there was no “Rachel Byrne” either. 

There was, however, a woman in a tweed suit holding a sign that read “Anne Burke.” With a sigh, Anna walked up to the woman. “Are you from the Montreal Daily News?” she asked. The woman nodded. “Are you Miss Burke?” she asked sharply. 

“Yes. Well, no. I’m Anna Byrne, but I think you’ve got my name wrong.” The woman shook her head. “No, I’m here for Miss Anne Burke. If you aren’t her, you’d best move on.”

“No, you see, there is no Anne Burke. I’m Anna Byrne, and I’m the reporter covering the Thornbury case. Isn’t that who you’re here to pick up?” The woman looked exasperated.

“I don’t know what Anne Burke does, I only know I’m here to pick her up.” Anna sighed. Arguing with this woman was like arguing with a brick wall. At this point it would be easier to just take a taxi. She apologized to the woman and headed for the exit. 

Stepping off the train in Paris, Kathleen smiled to herself as she saw her parents exchange a tender glance. She had heard the story dozens of times, about how they had spent their honeymoon in France – a belated honeymoon, a few years after their marriage, because Europe had been war-torn when they had met in the autumn of 1915, and just as bad when they married a year later. Joseph and Florence had spent most of April, 1921 in Paris, leaving four-year-old Kathleen with her grandmother. Kathleen couldn’t really remember, of course, but she had been told that the trip was only supposed to last three weeks, but the boat had been delayed and they had had to stay for four. It was one of those stories that the Lynches liked to bring up at dinner parties, along with the time Kathleen had been sent home from school for arguing with her English teacher and the time Mary had tried to run away from home at age six.  

The Lynches walked into the hotel lobby and Joseph headed for the check-in desk. Florence was close behind him, but Kathleen stayed behind to keep an eye on the younger children. Paul and Mary seemed to be having some kind of argument. James was staring at the chandelier in the hotel lobby as if in a trance. No wonder, Kathleen realized. He had never seen anything quite like it. Pulling her brother by the hand to get him out of the other guests’ way, she took him back to where their other siblings were. 

The first few days of the Lynches’ vacation were fairly uneventful. They visited some tourist attractions, ate at some sidewalk cafés, and slept in hotel beds that were just a little too firm. But on the day, Kathleen arrived in the hotel lobby and was told that someone had called the hotel for her and requested that she call back as soon as possible. 

Almost immediately after the number had been dialed, Kathleen heard a panicked Margaret Kittredge on the other end of the line, speaking far too quickly for Kathleen to understand her. After being asked repeatedly to slow down, Margaret was finally able to explain what the fuss was: “Grandmother’s here.” 

After a pause that was far too long for Kathleen’s taste, Margaret asked, “How quickly can you get over here?” Kathleen looked at her watch. 

“Half an hour if I walk. I’d take a cab or the metro but I don’t have any French cash.”

“I’ll pay for the cab. I’ll be waiting for you outside the hotel. And be sure to dress nicely. Grandmother can be quite… judgemental.”

When Kathleen’s cab pulled up in front of the hotel, Margaret was standing outside, looking more nervous than Kathleen had ever seen her. She was pacing back and forth and kept reaching up to run her finger through her hair, realizing that she couldn’t do that without ruining her perfect finger waves, and lowering her hand again. Kathleen watched her run up to another cab and attempt to pay the driver before realizing that the passenger was a stranger. She suspected Margaret had done this multiple times before, so she stuck her head out the window and called out to her. 

In the elevator on the way to Mrs. Kittredge’s room, Margaret and Larry, who had been waiting inside the lobby, smoking cigarette after cigarette to calm his nerves, tried to give Kathleen as much advice as they possibly could on what to say to their grandmother. “Make sure your handshake is firm,” said Larry.

“But not too firm,” Margaret added, “or she’ll say you aren’t ladylike.”

“Be respectful.”

“But don’t be weak.” “Smile.”

“But don’t grin.”

“Look her in the eye.”

“But don’t stare.”

“Be serious.”

“But don’t be sullen.”

“Be –” but Kathleen never found out what Larry was going to tell her, because the elevator doors opened.

Margaret Sterling Kittredge was nothing if not impressive. At age seventy-five, she still had perfect eyesight and wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing glasses. Her spine was still straight as an arrow. Like her sons and grandchildren, she was on the tall side, and rather thin. She had the Kittredge eyes, but they weren’t dreamy like Margaret’s, mirthful like Larry’s or frank like Margaret’s father’s. They were cold and steely and her gaze was sharp and level. Her silver hair was arranged in a pompadour – the style had gone out of fashion some thirty years ago, but Mrs. Kittredge wore it with such dignity that it didn’t matter. She wore a dark red velvet gown and an impressive diamond brooch and, seated on a chintz armchair with her hands folded in her lap and her legs daintily crossed at the ankle, she looked to Kathleen like a queen surveying her kingdom. 

“So,” said Mrs. Kittredge, “this is the Lynch girl.” It wasn’t a question; it was a declaration. Kathleen felt certain that even if she hadn’t been the Lynch girl, she still would have agreed with Mrs. Kittredge, because contradicting her was out of the question. “Come here,” said Mrs. Kittredge imperiously. Kathleen obeyed. “What was your first name, again?” she asked, not unkindly but not exactly kindly, either. “Kathleen.”

“Now, Kathleen, you understand why it is of utmost importance that you be discreet about this whole… situation.” Kathleen nodded.

“Of course. I had no intention of spreading this around, Mrs. Kittredge. You can count on my discretion.” 

“I’m sure I can. But you understand why I had to come here anyway, don’t you? We can’t have it known that my late son had an illegitimate child – a child born during his marriage to my daughter-in-law, no less.” Kathleen hesitated.

“What – what would the consequences be?”

“Oh, you know. The Kittredges are an old family, Kathleen. Our social standing is precarious, but if we lose it, we lose everything. So it falls to me to make sure we don’t lose it.” 

“Mrs. Kittredge, there’s something I have to tell you.” Mrs. Kittredge stared at Kathleen.

“I’m afraid… I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.” Kathleen glanced at Larry and Margaret, both of whom seemed to have guessed what she was about to say. Larry looked incredulous but not necessarily unhappy, but if looks could kill, the one Margaret was giving Kathleen could have decimated an army. Nevertheless, Kathleen didn’t back down. “Mrs Kittredge, I’m not your granddaughter. It was all a prank that Larry helped me pull on your son. I hope you’ll accept my apology, because I truly didn’t intend for it to get this out of control. But your son wired you before we could tell him it wasn’t true and, well, here we are. And I hope you won’t blame Larry, because it was all my idea.” 

The silence that followed probably lasted only a few seconds, but it felt like hours. Finally, Mrs. Kittredge opened her mouth, and Kathleen steeled herself for what she assumed would be a lecture. But instead, Mrs. Kittredge did the unexpected: she laughed. Margaret was the first to speak. “Grandmother,” she said incredulously, “do you really think this is funny? You came all the way across the Atlantic for nothing!” 

“Peggy, when you get to be as old as I am, you’ll understand the value of a good joke. And besides, Montreal is unbelievably dull these days. Nothing to do but attend parties held by women I’ve never liked. I might as well be in Paris.”

“But… you hate jokes. I’ve never seen you laugh in my life.”

“There’s always a first time.” she turned to Kathleen. 

“I like you,” she said decisively. Kathleen stared at her. After a pause, Mrs. Kittredge continued.

“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. It’s not many girls who would go along with something like this to help their friends. You’ll go far, Kathleen Lynch.”

After the required pleasantries, Kathleen started to leave the hotel room, but Mrs. Kittredge called her back. “Would you do an old woman a favour?” she asked. Kathleen was startled by the request. “Of course,” she replied.

“Would you come to dinner with us tonight? I’m afraid my relatives are dreadfully dull at times. I could use the company.” Kathleen, not knowing what else to do, accepted the invitation and headed back to her hotel.

[wherewindysurgeswend]

Deep Heart’s Core: chapter one

here it is, folks, the long-awaited first chapter of deep heart’s core! enjoy!

taglist (please dm, send an ask or leave a comment if you’d like to be added or removed): @tunes-on-a-typewriter​

The ocean was a mirror when the S.S. Europa set sail, calm and shining in the midmorning sun. Anna Byrne, her cardigan tied around her waist and a dull lead pencil tucked behind her ear, a cheap notebook in one hand and her battered leather suitcase in the other, was watching the other passengers board. The wind was blowing, and she reached up to make sure her hat stayed on her head. The constant stream of people – newlyweds, families, young women with mink coats and massive diamond engagement rings, floating around in clouds of perfume – was disorienting, but Anna was determined not to lose her way. She wouldn’t let herself fail. 

Anna boarded the ship and checked her cabin number. She had done so dozens of times already, and she knew perfectly well what it was, but she couldn’t help checking again. As she was leaning over to pick up her suitcase a man bumped into her and knocked her over. He was young, certainly no older than 25, and blandly handsome, with dark hair, grey eyes and a strong jawline. He seemed like he might be a little drunk (“At ten o’clock in the morning?” Thought Anna), but only enough to make him talk loudly and forget to look where he was going. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said, extending a hand to help Anna back up. She didn’t feel particularly inclined to accept his help, but she didn’t want to be rude so she took his hand and pulled herself up to her full height — only five feet, three inches and much shorter than the man, but she squared her shoulders and looked up at him. “Say, what’s the matter with you?” She asked reproachfully, “Can’t you look where you’re going?” He said nothing, but he did look ashamed, so Anna softened. “I really am sorry,” he said. “Oh, it’s all right,” she replied. Picking up her suitcase, she noticed that the clasp had opened and some of her things had fallen out. “Well isn’t that just great,” she said to herself. She looked around for the young man but he had fled, so she picked up her belongings, brushed some dust off one of her sweaters, and slammed the suitcase shut. 

Anna walked quickly down the hall towards her cabin, acutely conscious of the sound of her footsteps. After wandering around the ship for a few minutes, looking for her cabin, she finally found it. She pushed the door open with her hip, still holding the suitcase tightly with both hands to stop it from falling open. Once inside, she dropped all she was carrying and let herself  fall backwards onto the bed. She let out a sigh. Her trip wasn’t off to a great start. 

 A bit further away, in the first class lounge, Margaret Kittredge was bored. The window was open, and the cold sea air made her pull her fur coat closer around her silk-clad shoulders. To her right, her father was reading the newspaper and smoking a cigar. Every few minutes he would give a sort of growl and stroke his mustache. To her left, her mother was gossiping with her friend Mrs. Schuyler and embroidering a cushion with a sentimental motto that Margaret couldn’t quite see. Embroidering cushions had always seemed a rather old-fashioned hobby to Margaret, who wished her mother would take up something that didn’t clutter up the house so much, but at least, she reasoned, Mrs. Kittredge didn’t knit sweaters. The lady in question was not exactly known for her deft fingers. In fact, most of her cushions were downright ugly, but at least one didn’t have to wear them.  Margaret turned towards her mother, hoping that her conversation with Mrs. Schuyler would be a source of amusement. Mrs. Schuyler was saying, “… but of course you know he isn’t George Habersham’s son! Not that I blame Amanda for running around, of course… I certainly wouldn’t want to be married to him… but it really is laughable that she thinks she’s being so subtle. I only wish I could figure out who little Georgie’s real father is. They say it might be Jim Pierce, but what would anyone want with Amanda Habersham if he was married to Lillian Pierce?” Mrs. Kittredge laughed, as did Mrs. Schuyler. Margaret didn’t. She rather liked Amanda, who was only a year older than she was and with whom she had gone to school, with her easy smile, vivid sense of humor and carefree personality, and considered Lillian Pierce, with her expensive wardrobe and perfectly set hair, to be an insufferable snob. Furthermore, Jim Pierce was a friendly, intelligent man, always ready with a joke, and Margaret didn’t doubt for a minute that he regretted marrying Lillian. Suddenly, Margaret heard Mrs. Schuyler say, “I hear your daughter is to be married, Doreen.” Mrs. Kittredge nodded. “Yes,” she said, “Peggy is engaged to Franklin Abbott. The wedding is in June.” Margaret turned away. She didn’t like to think about her upcoming wedding.

To be sure, she had nothing against her fiancé. He was, in fact, a very friendly, fairly intelligent young man who had let Margaret know as soon as they were engaged that after they were married he had no intention of telling her what to do: “as long as you’re happy, Margaret,” he had said, “I’m happy.” Nonetheless, though Margaret didn’t dislike him – in fact, when she thought about it, she really did like him – she didn’t feel strongly about him in any way, and part of her felt he didn’t feel strongly about her either. Margaret turned back towards her mother and Mrs. Schuyler, feeling confident that they had abandoned the far too respectable topic of her engagement. Mrs. Schuyler was saying, “… But we all know why he’s marrying her so soon, of course… I thought for sure Dinah Eggleston would get him, and of course his family would never have let him marry Jeannie if they weren’t so afraid of the scandal.” Margaret scoffed.

“If you mean that Larry Strong is only marrying Jeannie because she’s pregnant,” she said coolly, “ why don’t you just say it? And incidentally she isn’t.” Mrs. Schuyler looked confused.

“Isn’t what?” she asked.

“Pregnant. It’s a load of nonsense. Larry is marrying her because she’ a lovely person – which could hardly be said of Dinah Eggleston, mind you – and he’s doing it so soon because his father finally agreed to it and he doesn’t want him to change his mind before the wedding.” Mrs. Schuyler looked shocked. “And now,” said Margaret, “I’m going to get something to read before I die of boredom.” She got up and left the room, not without hearing Mrs. Schuyler ask her mother where Peggy had learned to disrespect her elders like that.

On the way to her cabin, Margaret nearly collided with her cousin Lawrence. Lawrence — Larry, to his friends — was something of a black sheep in the Kittredge family. He was handsome, well-read and likeable, but none of the older members of the family — the spinster aunts, the business-minded uncles, and above all Margaret’s formidable grandmother, whom Larry had been living with ever since his parents had died when he was fifteen — had ever really liked him. He was irresponsible, they said. Margaret liked Larry reasonably well, but she had to admit they were right. After all, it was only half past ten in the morning and Larry was already drunk. “Ah! Fair Margaret!” Exclaimed Larry when he noticed his cousin. 

“Good morning, Larry.” 

“Morning?” Larry asked incredulously, “say, what time is it?” Margaret raised an eyebrow. “It’s half past ten.” Larry’s eyes widened. “Impossible! I could have sworn it was midnight less than an hour ago.” 

“Tell me Larry, how many drinks have you had?” 

“Counting from when?”

“Last night.” Larry looked thoughtful and tried to count on his fingers, but gave up in disgust.

“Oh, I don’t know. Too many, I suppose. Promise you won’t tell aunt Doreen?” Margaret sighed. “I won’t tell mother, but you had better get back to your cabin before she finds you.” Larry assented and stumbled off towards his cabin. 

Margaret wasn’t sure why her parents had agreed to bring Larry along. In fact, she wasn’t sure why Larry wanted to come in the first place. She suspected grandmother Kittredge of orchestrating the whole thing so she could get Larry out of her hair. And no matter how much Doreen Kittredge disliked Larry, she knew better than to talk back to her mother-in-law.

Anna was worried. She was worried that something would happen to her mother and she wouldn’t know until it was too late because she would be in London. She was worried that she would get seasick. She was worried that she wouldn’t do a good enough job with her assignment and she would lose her job at the newspaper. Anna had always been afraid of the editor-in-chief, Mr. McGill, with his bushy eyebrows and tobacco-stained fingers. Mostly, though, she was just worried. That was just Anna’s way. It seemed to her that as long as she could remember there was always something worrying her. The woman sitting next to her, with her five, no, six children, on the other hand, seemed perfectly serene. Anna wondered why this was. Here was a woman with so much she could be worrying about and yet she seemed perfectly calm, and here was Anna, who, when she admitted it to herself, had very little to worry about, but who was continuously anxious. She looked out the window. There were clouds in the sky. Anna worried there would be a storm. The woman with the six children was tapping her on the shoulder. “My husband says supper’s in five minutes,” she said, “would you like us to show you where the dining room is? It’s a little tricky to find.” Anna snapped out of her reverie. The woman was looking slightly concerned. “Are you all right, dear?”

“Yes – yes, of course,” she said quickly, “I’m just fine. Er – what did you just say?”

“I asked if you’d like us to show you where the dining room is.”

“Oh. Yes, thank you.”

“You’re perfectly welcome. I’m Florence Lynch, by the way.”

“Joseph Lynch,” said Julia’s husband from behind her.

“Anna Byrne,” said Anna, “and what are the children’s names?” Julia pointed at her children in turn. “This is Kathleen, she’s eighteen . Here’s Joseph, he’s twelve, Mary, she’s nearly eleven, Paul, he’s eight, Ellen, she’s five, and James, he’s three.” Upon hearing his name, James edged closer to his mother and clutched her hand. “Well,” said Julia, “are you ready? We don’t want to be late.” Anna fell behind the family, grateful that they had approached her. She didn’t know where the dining hall was, and if the Lynches hadn’t offered to show her she knew she would have gotten lost. No, she thought, she didn’t know that. She thought it. It was merely a possibility. She had to stop doing that.

 Anna went to dinner with the Lynches and, to her, surprise, had a lovely time. The food was mediocre and the decor frankly depressing. The carpet in the diner hall was a sickly orange color, the walls a dingy greyish white. But her newfound friends were excellent company. Florence turned out to be an extremely well read and cultured woman who was always ready with an interesting fact or observation, and Joseph had the knack of making people laugh. As for the children, Anna soon discovered a kindred spirit in Kathleen, who was only three years younger than she was, and all of the Lynch offspring took after their parents. James, who had seemed so timid and afraid, immediately took a shine to Anna and seemed fascinated by her every move. 

 As they walked back to the Lynches’ cabin in the cool night air, with the waves lapping gently on the hull, the knot of anxiety in the pit of Anna’s stomach began to unravel. Florence began to sing softly to her children, a lullaby in her native Creole. James was half asleep, his cheek pressed against his mother’s shoulder. Joseph was joking with Kathleen and Joseph Jr., with  little Ellen holding tight to his hand. Paul and Mary were playing some sort of counting game. Anna fell back to hear the conversation between Joseph and the two older children. “Anna!” Said Kathleen, choking back laughter, “you gotta help me prove a point to these two dolts.” She gestured towards her father and brother. Anna smiled. She liked Kathleen’s wild sense of humor, her infectious laughter and easygoing personality. She wished she could be like that. “Well, what is it?” she asked. Kathleen started explaining the argument, her father and brother interrupting her to clarify their side of the question. But Anna was only half listening.