Sanctuary Fic -- Moving On
They say the first hundred years are the hardest. Or maybe it's just the first lifetime.
Young Doctor Magnus was very different from her great aunt, people in Oxford agreed. Well, not her great aunt precisely, the young lady was quick to point out. Old Doctor Magnus' mother was her grandmother's sister, but the dear old doctor had come to stay with them in Scotland during the Great War. That, of course, followed. Many people remembered Dr. Magnus, then a still spry sixty, saying that she was too old for the fuss and bother of Oxford in wartime, and besides her cousin Clementine (or was it Clementia?) needed help with the children while Walter (or was it William?) was at war. The poor dear had died of pneumonia in the winter of 18-19. Very sudden, her great niece said sadly. They hadn't expected it. Dr. Magnus had always enjoyed excellent health. But you know how these things are. She left her house in Oxford to the young doctor, having had no children of her own.
"Oh yes," Mrs. Bridges had agreed, being one of the oldest neighbors, and therefore the one whose place it was to confide in the young lady and make certain she was au courant on all family legends. "It was very sad. She was engaged years ago, but the young man died. Some said it was suicide!" She delivered the last word in a piercing whisper.
"Really?" The young lady didn't seem much interested, her eyes roving away from Mrs. Bridges and out the window. Really, she wasn't much like her aunt at all. Tall, yes. Presumably that ran in the family. But Dr. Magnus had had gravity and depth. She had been a very dignified woman. No one had ever seen her mussed or flustered, every smooth hair in place in a graying bun that still showed some hints of gold. The young lady had a cropped flapper bob so dark it was almost black, and her off the rack dress showed quite a bit of stocking and leg.
Mrs. Bridges sniffed. "And you're a medical doctor?"
"University of Liverpool," she said brightly. Her nails were polished Chanel bright. "I take after my aunt, you see."
"I see," Mrs. Bridges said. She didn't. The young lady might bear some passing resemblance to the woman who had been her second cousin once removed, but she didn't hold a candle to her. A very different sort. Much cruder. Dr. Magnus would never have shown leg. "Will you be living here?"
Unsurprisingly, the young lady shook her head. "My practice is in London. I'm afraid I'll only be here briefly until the house can be sold."
And that was the way of things too. That lovely old house would go on the market after being in the family for seventy years. No doubt this girl would buy an expensive flat in London and consider herself well set up by her old relative's largesse.
"Don't you think it's time to move on?" she said brightly.
Young Doctor Magnus was very different from her great aunt, people in Oxford agreed. Well, not her great aunt precisely, the young lady was quick to point out. Old Doctor Magnus' mother was her grandmother's sister, but the dear old doctor had come to stay with them in Scotland during the Great War. That, of course, followed. Many people remembered Dr. Magnus, then a still spry sixty, saying that she was too old for the fuss and bother of Oxford in wartime, and besides her cousin Clementine (or was it Clementia?) needed help with the children while Walter (or was it William?) was at war. The poor dear had died of pneumonia in the winter of 18-19. Very sudden, her great niece said sadly. They hadn't expected it. Dr. Magnus had always enjoyed excellent health. But you know how these things are. She left her house in Oxford to the young doctor, having had no children of her own.
"Oh yes," Mrs. Bridges had agreed, being one of the oldest neighbors, and therefore the one whose place it was to confide in the young lady and make certain she was au courant on all family legends. "It was very sad. She was engaged years ago, but the young man died. Some said it was suicide!" She delivered the last word in a piercing whisper.
"Really?" The young lady didn't seem much interested, her eyes roving away from Mrs. Bridges and out the window. Really, she wasn't much like her aunt at all. Tall, yes. Presumably that ran in the family. But Dr. Magnus had had gravity and depth. She had been a very dignified woman. No one had ever seen her mussed or flustered, every smooth hair in place in a graying bun that still showed some hints of gold. The young lady had a cropped flapper bob so dark it was almost black, and her off the rack dress showed quite a bit of stocking and leg.
Mrs. Bridges sniffed. "And you're a medical doctor?"
"University of Liverpool," she said brightly. Her nails were polished Chanel bright. "I take after my aunt, you see."
"I see," Mrs. Bridges said. She didn't. The young lady might bear some passing resemblance to the woman who had been her second cousin once removed, but she didn't hold a candle to her. A very different sort. Much cruder. Dr. Magnus would never have shown leg. "Will you be living here?"
Unsurprisingly, the young lady shook her head. "My practice is in London. I'm afraid I'll only be here briefly until the house can be sold."
And that was the way of things too. That lovely old house would go on the market after being in the family for seventy years. No doubt this girl would buy an expensive flat in London and consider herself well set up by her old relative's largesse.
"Don't you think it's time to move on?" she said brightly.