'Stand and Deliver!', Chapter Three
Summary: Now fully rested, Tegan decides to explore her ancestral village of Crofter's Lodge. However, a certain parson's daughter may liven up her morning in ways she hadn't expected…
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Read on AO3.
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Tegan Jovanka stepped out of the front door of her parents inn, and headed down the road, into the village. It was a cold but (mercifully) dry Saturday morning, and she was relishing the feeling of being back in the old place after so long. Her shawl, warmed overnight over the kitchen stove, protected her from the wind that blew across the common and through Crofter’s Lodge itself.
The village was slowly coming to life around her. In the chill of the morning air, Tegan could smell various breakfasts being cooked in the small cottages that lined both the main road through the village, as well as those on the small side-lanes jutting off at regular intervals. In the distance, she could see the roof of the small chapel, tiles covered in frost and giving Tegan the bizarre mental image of a giant shaking a bag of flour over the whole village.
Every so often, she bumped into a villager that she hadn’t seen for a while, including Ben and Polly, to whom she extended her congratulations on their engagement. The young couple smiled, both blushing slightly, and Tegan found her heart warming at the sight of the two young people in love.
After strolling along the road for a while, she passed through most of the village and arrived at the bridge over the small river nearby. This place held a lot of memories from her childhood; often, she and the other village children would splash in the shallows to relax during the heat of the summer months.
Tegan smiled as the memories flooded back.
‘Hello, Tegan!’
Tegan turned, and found herself pulled into a hug by Barbara Chesterton. The older woman smelled of chestnuts and flowers, and was wearing a long winter dress in a dark blue pattern, along with a winter bonnet that complimented it. She was one of those people who never seemed to age much; Tegan could have sworn that she looked much the same now as she had done when Tegan was a small child.
‘Hello, Barbara,’ she said, unable to contain the smile on her face as she patted the older woman on the back. Barbara had been a family friend for as long as Tegan could remember, and Tegan had always admired and respected her intellect and kindness.
‘How are you?’ Barbara asked, smiling down at her as they pulled apart. Tegan had never been the tallest of women, and Barbara (although not especially tall herself) towered over her. ‘We’ve heard that your coach got held up on the road across the common.’
‘I’m fine,’ Tegan replied, with a shrug. ‘This… phantom person scared off the robber.’
‘Well, that’s good news indeed!’ Barbara exclaimed. ‘Myself and Ian were quite concerned about you; the roads across the common are very dangerous nowadays.’
‘Thank you for your concern,’ Tegan said. ‘But I really am fine. Did Nyssa tell you about the coach being held up?’
‘Yes, she popped round earlier this morning to explain,’ Barbara smiled. ‘Such a sweet young lady; I take it that she visited you after you arrived?’
‘Er… yes,’ Tegan said, feeling a little self-conscious. ‘She is… very kind, as always.’
‘She is, isn’t she. I’m surprised her father hasn’t had suitors asking for her hand already, but I suppose we are a small community.’
‘I suppose.’
Tegan felt her heart sink slightly at the thought. But she knew that wasn’t fair.
‘I best get back to the house,’ Barbara said. ‘Ian said he had a surprise for me.’
‘Probably a lot of kisses,’ Tegan cheeked, and the older woman’s face flushed.
‘Quite possibly, yes!’ Barbara giggled, fanning her face with her hand. ‘Anyway, it was good to see you, Tegan; please tell Joy know that I’ll be popping round later today for a catch-up.’
‘Will do.’
With one last smile, Barbara hurried away, and Tegan turned back to look over the bridge.
She stood quietly for a while, staring out over the river. Once again, as seemed to be the case nowadays, her thoughts inevitably drifted back to Nyssa. Yes, she was kind, wasn’t she. That had been the reason why she had been so sweet the previous evening. Nothing more, surely.
But… oh, Tegan wished it was something more.
She wished she was braver. But she couldn’t dare describe the depths of her feelings to Nyssa. She knew that Nyssa would never treat her unkindly; it simply wasn’t in her nature. But… would she lose Nyssa’s friendship? That was a possibility that chilled Tegan to the bone.
‘Oh,’ Tegan said, softly. ‘If only I could tell Nyssa…’
‘Tell me what, Tegan?’
Tegan startled, spinning round on her heels as her brain registered Nyssa’s voice. The pastors daughter was standing right next to her; how had she not heard her approach?
Stumbling, Tegan overcorrected, leaning too far backwards over the side of the bridge.
‘Tegan!’
Before the older girl could fall, Nyssa leapt forward and put her arms around Tegan’s waist, using her own momentum in a spin to pull Tegan back from over the edge.
The two young women spun around for a moment, before coming to a stop. Both of them were now breathing heavily, and the cold air misted around their faces.
‘Are… are you alright?’
Tegan swallowed, feeling her cheeks flush.
‘F-fine!’ she stammered. ‘Er, can you…’
‘O-oh, yes,’ Nyssa said, promptly removing her arms from around Tegan’s waist. ‘Sorry. Good grief, you almost fell in!’
Nyssa was wearing the same dress she had worn the previous evening, but -in the light of day- the effect was somehow even lovelier. Nyssa’s pale skin contrasts sweetly with the dark blues on the fabric, and the bonnet framed her face in such a charming way. The younger woman’s mouth was wreathed in a friendly smile, causing her dimples to show.
Tegan was having a horrible feeling that she enjoyed being the cause of those dimples appearing whenever Nyssa smiled.
‘Luckily you were here, eh?’ Tegan said, returning the smile. ‘Thank you.’
‘Oh, no matter. So… what did you want to tell me?’
‘Er…’ Tegan froze, brain stumbling. ‘N-nothing.’
A flicker of -was that disappointment?- crossed Nyssa’s face, before quickly being replaced by a kind smile.
‘I was planning on taking a stroll around the village,’ Nyssa said. ‘Would… would you care to accompany me?’
‘I-I’d be delighted,’ Tegan replied, quickly.
The two of them set off slowly back towards the village, enjoying the clear winter day despite the cold. There was a sharp wind, and Tegan was glad of the shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Nyssa didn’t seem to be shivering either and Tegan suspected that, much like herself, the parson’s daughter was wearing several different petticoats as protection against the chill in the air.
Not that Tegan was thinking about Nyssa’s undergarments, of course.
‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Tegan replied. ‘It was rather a tiring day. Er… not that talking to you is ever tiring, of course.’
Nyssa’s cheeks dimpled as she smiled, eyes glinting prettily in the winter sunshine.
‘You are sweet, Tegan,’ the parson’s daughter said. ‘Has anyone ever told you how utterly sweet you are?’
Tegan felt her cheeks burn.
‘N-not in so many words,’ she stammered, looking down at her feet and trying to ignore the way her heart was giddily pounding. ‘But thank you nonetheless.’
There was the sound of Nyssa giggling.
‘You’re adorable when you’re flustered too, you know.’
Tegan looked up, out of the corner of her eye, and saw Nyssa flashing a very sincere smile towards her. The younger woman leaned over and squeezed Tegan’s hand gently in her own.
‘Am I?’
‘Very much so,’ Nyssa replied, softly, without letting go of her hand. ‘You always have been. I was just thinking… when we were children, we used to paddle in the river, do you remember?’
Of course Tegan remembered. Seeing Nyssa Traken laughing whilst dunking her feet into the cool water was… well, certainly something that she couldn’t forget easily.
‘I do,’ she said. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Oh, no reason,’ Nyssa replied, with a shrug. ‘The sight of you stood nearby the river earlier reminded me, that’s all. I suppose I haven’t seen you for so long, so you’re on my mind a lot at the moment.’
She seemed to realise what she had just said, and Tegan was stunned to see colour erupt across Nyssa’s cheeks. The parson’s daughter blinked quickly, and broke eye contact, looking down at her feet. But, seemingly without realising, she did not let go of Tegan’s hand.
‘I-I mean,’ she stammered, hurriedly. ‘I have missed you much, as I’ve said. So it’s natural that I would reminisce about our childhood.’
Tegan’s throat was suddenly very thick, so she simply nodded.
By this point, they had arrived outside the village shop.
Several men were stood outside a house nearby. A few of them were hoisting a large wardrobe up into the air, using a rope and a pulley. They seemed to be aiming to pass it through a window, as two other men were stood awkwardly in the open window on the second story of the house.
‘Oy, watch it!’
There was a horribly dead sound, as the rope holding the counterweight snapped. Tegan’s eyes widened as the wardrobe seemed to drop -almost in slow motion- towards her.
‘Tegan!’ Nyssa yelled.
Before Tegan quite knew what was happened, the younger woman had thrown her arms around her, and throwing the two of them into a roll that sped them across the ground.
An almighty crash echoed along the main street, out of Tegan’s field of vision. She was still tumbling along the ground, with Nyssa’s arms wrapped around her. Eventually, the two of them came to a stop, with Nyssa straddling Tegan’s waist, her long brown hair falling out of her bonnet as she stared down at Tegan.
‘Are you alright?’ she exclaimed.
Tegan felt her heart leap into her mouth. She was suddenly aware that Nyssa’s legs were pressed against her hips, and that their faces were less than half a foot apart. Nyssa’s face was flushed with the sudden exertion, and she panting heavily.
Rabbits!
‘F-fine,’ Tegan stammered, breathlessly. ‘Nyssa, I think you may have just saved my life for the second time today.’
‘Oh, thank goodness!’ Nyssa said, relief spreading across her face. She then seemed to realise the compromising position they were both in, and her cheeks flushed a darker shade of pink.
She quickly climbed off of Tegan, and reached out a hand to help the older woman to her feet.
The wreckage of the wardrobe covered the road, and the various workmen were exclaiming sounds of relief as Tegan rose to her feet. Tegan could feel her heart hammering against her chest, both in terror of what she had just escaped and… something than had more to do with the close physical intimacy she had briefly experienced with the woman whose fingers was still intertwined with her own.
Nyssa guided Tegan over to a nearby bench, and eased her into it.
‘I-I think you ought to have some water to recover after that shock,’ Nyssa said, quickly, gesturing to the shop just along the road. ‘Do you mind if I…’
‘Go right ahead,’ Tegan replied. ‘I’ll wait here.’
Nyssa smiled, and then seemed to realise that she was still holding Tegan’s hand. Slightly bashfully, she let go, and hurried inside the shop.
Tegan sat for a moment, heart still hammering against her chest. Nyssa Traken had just saved her life for the second time that day, seemingly out of pure instinct to protect her.
Oh, rabbits… rabbits!
Tegan found to control her breathing. Her heart seemed unable to take the hint, though, and insisted on continuing to hammer -almost painfully- against her ribs. Her brain seemed to take the majority vote, and began to replay the events of the last few moments, of Nyssa’s hands wrapped protectively around Tegan’s body, of her weight half-lying on top of Tegan’s chest, and of… the tender care in the voice of the pastors daughter as she gazed into Tegan’s eyes.
No, Tegan told herself, stop it. It isn’t like that.
Tegan got to her feet, and took a deep breath. Nyssa was a kind young woman who saw her as a close friend; Tegan could have done the same for any of her friends. It wasn’t anything special. Definitely not.
Tegan didn’t dare to think -to hope- that it was anything else.
‘Bit of a close shave; eh, Tegan!’
Tegan turned, startled.
Benton, the village watchman, was smiling at her. His affable face was much the same as it always had done. A tall man, with long sideburns and a pair of kind eyes, he was the sort of person who got the job simply because people trusted him, and with good reason. He was a very trustworthy fellow.
‘Hello, Benton,’ she said, with a quick curtsey, that he repaid with a quick doff of his hat. ‘It’s been a while since I last saw you.’
‘I think the last was the time your mother suggested, with no small amount of encouragement, that I ask for your hand.’
The two of them both laughed. Tegan remembered it well; both herself and Benton had spent most of that afternoon trying to suppress a fit of the giggles.
It wasn’t that Tegan disliked Benton, of course, or that he disliked her. Far from it; the two of them had always gotten along well. The difference was that Tegan was unlikely to ever fall for a man, and Benton… well, he didn’t seem to fall for anyone regardless.
‘Oh, I must have hurt a gut that afternoon!’ Tegan exclaimed, with a snort. ‘She hasn’t suggested it again, has she?’
‘Mercifully not,’ Benton chortled, his long sideburns fluttering slightly in the cold breeze. ‘Anyway, how was your journey back from London?’
‘Fine, apart from getting held up by some robber.’
‘Yes, I heard about that,’ Benton nodded, face concerned. ‘Were you hurt?’
‘No, but it was a close-run thing. If the phantom hadn’t turned up, I would have probably gotten shot for yelling at the robber.’
‘Why does this not surprise me?’
‘Oy!’ Tegan exclaimed, as the two of them snorted with laughter. She slapped his arm softly. ‘Cheek!’
‘But correct, I wager,’ Benton replied. ‘You seem to have a bit of a knight in shining armour, whether it be the phantom or Miss Nyssa-oh, speak of the devil; hello, Miss Nyssa!’
Tegan startled, as Nyssa exited the shop behind them and hurried over, carrying a large cup of water, which she handed to Tegan.
‘Hello, Mr Benton,’ Nyssa said, curtsying quickly as she turned to face him. ‘How goes your day?’
‘As good as can be expected,’ he replied. ‘It seems as though you are Tegan’s saviour today.’
Nyssa’s cheeks flushed, as her eyes met Tegan’s. Benton, who didn’t seem to notice this, continued speaking.
‘Are yourself and Miss Tegan taking a walk together?’
‘Yes,’ Nyssa replied, quickly smiling as she turned back to Benton. ‘She only got back from London yesterday.’
‘So I’ve been told,’ the watchman replied. ‘By the sounds of it, she was scaring the robber before the phantom even turned up.’
‘Yes, she is rather wonderful like that,’ Nyssa replied. Tegan felt her cheeks begin to flush again, and she took a large gulp of water, hoping that Benton wouldn’t notice the raised heat in her face. ‘But I’m glad to have her back in the village again; I’m sure you’ve missed her as much as I have.’
‘Probably not as much as you,’ Benton replied, with a slight smirk. ‘But, yes, it is good to have her back. Even if her mother will insist on trying to force us to get engaged.’
‘Cheers, Benton,’ Tegan said, with a roll of her eyes. ‘Really.’
Nyssa seemed a little confused.
‘When did-’
‘Long story,’ Tegan said, quickly. ‘Benton’s my friend; us getting married would be a disaster.’
‘Agreed,’ Benton chuckled. ‘Wouldn’t be surprised if all the local mothers are trying to pair off their sons to Miss Nyssa, though. Given all the charitable work she does.’
Tegan stared.
‘What?’
‘Oh, Miss Nyssa organises the charity donations for the village,’ Benton elaborated, matter-of-factly. ‘She said that, what with the rent increases and rise in unemployment, she would do all she could to help the least fortunate in our community.’
Tegan turned, smiling, to Nyssa, whose cheeks had started to flush again as she met Tegan’s eyes.
‘I-it really isn’t anything to mention,’ Nyssa said, quickly. ‘I just thought I ought to help as best I could, you see.’
Tegan felt her heart well with affection for the younger woman.
Benton’s eyes flicked between the two women, and his mouth set into a kind smile.
‘Well, regardless,’ Tegan said. ‘I think it’s wonderful that you are doing that, Nys.’
‘Now you’re just trying to humour me.’
‘Not at all,’ -Tegan grinned- ‘Besides, I am rather in your debt for earlier, am I not?’
‘Well, regardless, it… it was nice to walk with you, Tegan,’ Nyssa said, smiling. ‘I’m afraid I have to return home now, but thank you for joining me.’
‘The pleasure was all mine,’ Tegan replied, with a grin. ‘And… thank you for saving my life twice over.’
‘Oh, there’s really no need,’ Nyssa said, blushing slightly. ‘You would do the same for me.’
‘Well, yes,’ Tegan said. ‘But that doesn’t discount your quick thinking and bravery today, my… hero. My knight in shining armour.’
Nyssa’s cheeks flushed a deep pretty pink as she smiled, dimples showing.
‘I… oh, Tegan,’ she said, reaching out and squeezing her hand. ‘Thank you.’
Tegan smiled, feeling her heart well with adoration for the kind, wonderful woman stood in front of her.
‘See you tomorrow, then.’
The younger woman seemed to startle, her cheeks flushing a deeper pink.
‘T-tomorrow?’
‘For Sunday service.’
‘O-oh, yes, I see,’ Nyssa stammered, quickly. ‘It will be a good sermon, I believe; father has been working on it for a few days. Er, goodbye, then…’
Nyssa raised her arms slightly, as if unsure as to whether to put her arms around the older woman.
Tegan chuckled, and stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Nyssa and pulling her gently against her. She tried to not enjoy the feeling of close physical contact too much, but it was rather difficult. Nyssa was warm and wonderfully soft, and Tegan felt her heart beat happily against her chest.
As they pulled apart, Tegan could have almost sworn that Nyssa did so reluctantly, but that was probably just wishful thinking on Tegan’s part.
‘Goodbye, Nyssa.’
‘Goodbye, Tegan. See you tomorrow.’
‘Wouldn’t miss it.’
Nyssa smiled again, and headed away down the road in the direction of the parson’s residence nearby the small village church, her bonnet bobbing slightly as she walked.
Tegan stared after her for a moment, and let out a small sigh.
‘Well, Tegan, you won’t have worry about hugging me like that.’
Tegan startled. She had completely forgotten that Benton had been stood next to them the entire time. Flushing, she glowered at the man, who only chuckled in response.
‘Oh, be quiet!’
‘Since when have you enjoyed Sunday service?’ Benton said, with a shrewd smile. ‘I seem to remember you falling half-asleep during most of them when we were growing up.’
‘Well, maybe I like them now,’ Tegan replied, quickly. ‘Besides, it’ll be nice to see all the villagers again after so long away.’
‘Of course,’ Benton said. Then, with a gentleness Tegan hadn’t expected, added. ‘Er… Miss Nyssa does seem to care a lot about your opinion of her.’
‘Probably no more than she does for anyone else’s opinion,’ Tegan replied.
‘It doesn’t look that way to me,’ Benton said. Tegan’s mouth fell open in protest, but the man gave a kind smile.
‘I think yourself and Miss Nyssa… care very deeply for each other,’ he continued. ‘And that is something wonderful.’
Tegan’s stomach seemed to drop several feet. No… please… how… had she been that obvious?
���Anyway, I best get back to the watchhouse,’ Benton said. ‘We have an official from London arriving in the next few days.’
Tegan’s head, still swimming from the past few minutes, took a few seconds to catch up with what he was saying.
‘An… official?’
‘Investigating the highwayman activities occurring on the common, apparently,’ Benton replied, with a shrug. ‘Can’t imagine they’ll have much success, but it’s part of my duties to welcome the official and show them around.’
‘Rather you than me.’
Benton chuckled.
‘Mind how you go, Tegan,’ he said, patting her companionably on the shoulder. ‘I’ll probably see you at the service; will you be sitting with Miss Nyssa?’
‘D-do be quiet!’
Benton chuckled, and headed away, leaving Tegan alone with some very confusing -and exhilarating- thoughts.
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Thanks for reading, everyone! My apologies for the two week gap inbetween the previous chapter and this one; IRL stuff has been pretty busy lately. Hope you enjoyed the chapter nonetheless!
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"I have heard myself say - that a house with a death in it
can never again be bought or sold by the living.
It can only be borrowed from the ghosts that have stayed behind.
To go back and forth, letting out and gathering back in again.
Worrying over the floors in confused circles.
Tending to their deaths like patchy, withered gardens.
They have stayed to look back for a glimpse of the very last moments of their lives.
But the memories of their own deaths are faces on the wrong side of wet windows,
smeared by rain. Impossible to properly see.
There is nothing that chains them to the places where their bodies have fallen.
They are free to go, but still they confine themselves, held in place by their looking.
For those who have stayed, their prison is their never seeing.
And left all alone, this - is how - they rot.
I did not know it at the time, but the house that stands at the end of Teacup Road - - in the town of Braintree, Massachusetts, was such a house.
A house that holds a seat for the memory of a death.
The staying place of a rotted ghost.
At the time of my arrival in the first part of August,
the house was occupied by Iris Blum, the author of 13 novels.
The kinds of thick and frightening books that people buy at airports and supermarkets.
Of her books, I have read fewer than nine pages of only a single one...
and all the while suppressing a very bad taste. I am not even sure of the title.
From where I am now, I can be sure of only a very few things.
The pretty thing you are looking at is me.
Of this I am sure.
Three days ago, I turned 28 years old. - I will never be 29 years old.
I am very seldom required to wear white by my employers. But, anyway, I always do.
It has always been that wearing white reassures the sick that I can never be touched.
Even as darkness folds in on them from every side ... closing like a claw.
The pretty thing you are looking at now is me.
The doctor is holding me up to the light.
But now I am dead.
And yes, I left the world just as I came into it.
I am wearing nothing but blood.
I am as white as a sail.
I tell this often to myself.
I tell myself that nothing gets on me.
But it does me little good.
The words pour right through.
I am too full of holes.
So I have left it off altogether.
Out of respect for the dead, you understand.
Because yes, dear reader, Polly Parsons, the subject of this book,
is quite dead indeed ... Quite dead - but not quite buried.
Carelessly concealed in a grave too shallow to be rightly called a grave at all.
The walls and windows are as thin as bones.
A person could walk right through them. - Just up and leave this old house.
This - is how - you rot.
"I now believe Polly entirely when she insists that she does not remember
what happened to her in the end.
I can sometimes see her struggle with the shape of it, more as if trying to remember
a song she once heard, and not as she might remember an event.
How does one forget something as essential as that? How does one forget a death?
Maybe it is the body that remembers. And without the body, there is nothing to hold to."
"We make our own ghosts by looking, but pretending not to see ...
and then forgetting ourselves altogether.
It is a terrible thing to look at oneself and to all the while see nothing.
Surely this is how we make our own ghosts.
We make them out of ourselves."
You poor, pretty things - whose prettiness holds only one guarantee.
Learn to see yourself as the rest of the world does, and you'll keep.
But left alone, with only your own eyes looking back at you ...
... and even the prettiest things rot.
You fall apart like flowers.
The pretty thing - you are looking at ... is me.
But it is me that still cannot see any of what is coming.
Me that doesn't even know where to look.
Me that can see - only the drawer that opens
and the claw that closes.
The bell that rings and the spots that spread.
The holes that pour through and the cord that stretches.
The hammer and the pliers.
And the terrible book.
And the face of the woman who wrote it all down.
The me that can see only the name. Only her name.
But the rest of what is coming cannot be seen, even as I look right at it.
It is a terrible thing to look at oneself - and all the while see nothing.
Hello?
I had arrived in the first few days of August, hired to care for Ms. Blum.
The winter of that year proved to be unseasonably warm,
and by February, all that was left of the snow
on the sides of the highways had turned mostly black.
It rained too much in the spring,
and the fruit in the trees hung heavy at the ends of bent branches.
The sun in the summer months was unreasonably hot
and stung my bare shoulders whenever I let it.
I remember thinking that it felt like fall would never come.
And then it never did.
Hello?
I have heard myself say
that a house with a death in it
can never again be bought
or sold by the living.
It can only be borrowed from its ghosts.
And so it is.
The house that stands
at the end of Teacup Road
near the town of Braintree, Massachusetts.
You may borrow it from me.
Because the memory of a death
is a thing that stays,
pressed deeply in place
like type on paper.
Even after it has been covered up
with nothing left to see.
And still I think I'll stay
for one more look at her.
This - is how I let myself - rot.
The pretty thing you are looking at...
is me."
' I Am The Pretty Thing That Lives in The House ' via IMDB
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