And Then There Were None fic - Best Laid Plans: Vera
Title: Best Laid Plans: Vera
Author: Dimity Blue
Rating: PG
Genre: Alternate reality, gen
Characters: Vera, Philip Lombard, William Blore, Edward Armstrong, Lawrnce Wargrave
Word Count: 900 words
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Vera realised the truth.
This is going to be a series of stories about why the events on Soldier Island didn't happen as expected. When you think about it, it could all so easily have gone wrong. Each story will be a standalone.
On AO3.
Best Laid Plans: Vera
by Dimity Blue
Vera looked away from the challenging gleam in Philip's eyes as the others moved past them. Her skin rose in goosebumps despite the warmth, and she felt her face redden. It felt almost indecent to be standing near a towel-clad Philip, all olive toned skin and sculpted chest. Her swimming costume seemed suddenly inadequate, though it was the same swimming costume it had ever been.
Why wasn't he wearing a dressing gown? All the other men were. Mr. Blore's was obviously a cheap one, while Judge Wargrave's was the most expensive. Vera blinked and looked again. Their day clothes hid their social status but, looking at them now, it was easy to see their rank and standing in life. From Philip's blatant rejection of societal norms to the judge's background of wealth and privilege.
Wealth.
The word resonated within her and assumed a sudden new importance, far different from her ambitious, social climbing schemes of yore.
Wealth.
Whoever was doing this had money, and lots of it. Enough to build the house, and hire servants, a secretary, an ex-policeman, a soldier of fortune, and a Harley Street doctor. All this time, they'd been looking at it from the wrong angle as etiquette dictated they not be so crass as to discuss money.
"What's the matter with you now?" Doctor Armstrong demanded.
Vera realised she was staring at them with her mouth open. "You were hired to do a job."
"And? I told you that."
"She's gone barmy," Mr. Blore muttered.
"You were hired to do a job too, Mr. Blore," Vera said, ignoring his comment. "And you." She looked at Philip. "And me. We don't have the kind of money that can buy an island and a house and hire servants."
They were all staring at her now.
"There's only one of us who could afford that. And that's you, Judge." She turned to face him and the quilted lapels of his luxurious dressing gown. "It's you."
Behind her, she heard Philip give a hiss of fury.
"Miss Claythorne." The judge was shaking his head. "I am as innocent -"
"I was going to help him fake his death," Dr. Armstrong said, a shocked tone in his voice.
"A red herring swallowed one," Vera said, flatly, surer than ever now. "That was going to be you." As Dr. Armstrong's jaw dropped, she swung back to her would-be killer. "Which one was for me?"
"And me," Philip chimed in.
"And me!" Mr. Blore added from behind her.
They were in a group now, Vera realised. Standing together against the hanging judge and advancing upon him.
"Really, gentlemen." Mr. Wargrave's measured tones were calm despite his defensive backing away. "Just because I have money -"
"You said the killer was one of us and you're the only one it can be!" Philip said. "I said I'd kill you!"
For the rest of her life, Vera wondered. Had one of them pushed him? Or had he stepped back a little too far and lost his balance at the top of the stairs? Either way, he fell, his long limbs flailing as he bounced and rolled his way down bone-breakingly solid stairs.
They ran after him, hands eagerly reaching to haul him onto his back where it became obvious Dr. Armstrong wouldn't be required to help him fake his death.
On her knees beside his body, Vera looked up as the other men stood.
"That's it then, it's over." Mr. Blore grabbed onto the banister as if he needed support, then sat down on the stairs.
"As long as the police accept our story," Philip pointed out.
"Why shouldn't they? He was mad. Always watching, always calm. Too calm." Dr. Armstrong looked disgusted. "It wasn't natural."
There was silence for a moment, then Philip pulled on Vera's arm and got her to her feet. "Vera. Vera!"
She looked up at him and realised she was shaking.
"Go and get dressed. We'll all get dressed. Then I'll give you some brandy. Come on."
It wasn't until she was sitting, fully dressed, in the sitting room, with brandy driving the cold out of her, that Vera spoke again. "We should move him."
Philip and Mr. Blore shook their heads.
"Let him stay there," Dr. Armstrong said, refilling his glass for the third time.
"Verisimilitude," Mr. Blore put in, a faint slur in his voice.
"That's a long word for this time of day, Tubbs."
"I just meant -"
Vera drank some more brandy as the bickering started again, then put her glass to one side and got up.
"Where are you going?" Philip promptly demanded.
Vera ignored them all as they followed her to the dining room. She grabbed the tray of figurines. "Open the front door."
Mr. Blore protested. "They're evidence! You shouldn't be touching them!"
"I don't care." Once outside, Vera headed straight for the cliff and hurled the lot off the tray and into the abyss.
They watched them fall. The glass figurines shattered at the first impact, sendng shards of green light scattering through the air.
Vera dropped the tray at her feet. At last, she could believe it was over. Those damned figurines were gone and she'd never count them again.
Behind her, Mr. Blore was making muttered comments about barmy women.
Vera turned. "Shut up, Tubbs." Then she led the way back to the house where they could safely wait until rescue arrived.
The end.
10th July 2018
Author: Dimity Blue
Rating: PG
Genre: Alternate reality, gen
Characters: Vera, Philip Lombard, William Blore, Edward Armstrong, Lawrnce Wargrave
Word Count: 900 words
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Vera realised the truth.
This is going to be a series of stories about why the events on Soldier Island didn't happen as expected. When you think about it, it could all so easily have gone wrong. Each story will be a standalone.
On AO3.
Best Laid Plans: Vera
by Dimity Blue
Vera looked away from the challenging gleam in Philip's eyes as the others moved past them. Her skin rose in goosebumps despite the warmth, and she felt her face redden. It felt almost indecent to be standing near a towel-clad Philip, all olive toned skin and sculpted chest. Her swimming costume seemed suddenly inadequate, though it was the same swimming costume it had ever been.
Why wasn't he wearing a dressing gown? All the other men were. Mr. Blore's was obviously a cheap one, while Judge Wargrave's was the most expensive. Vera blinked and looked again. Their day clothes hid their social status but, looking at them now, it was easy to see their rank and standing in life. From Philip's blatant rejection of societal norms to the judge's background of wealth and privilege.
Wealth.
The word resonated within her and assumed a sudden new importance, far different from her ambitious, social climbing schemes of yore.
Wealth.
Whoever was doing this had money, and lots of it. Enough to build the house, and hire servants, a secretary, an ex-policeman, a soldier of fortune, and a Harley Street doctor. All this time, they'd been looking at it from the wrong angle as etiquette dictated they not be so crass as to discuss money.
"What's the matter with you now?" Doctor Armstrong demanded.
Vera realised she was staring at them with her mouth open. "You were hired to do a job."
"And? I told you that."
"She's gone barmy," Mr. Blore muttered.
"You were hired to do a job too, Mr. Blore," Vera said, ignoring his comment. "And you." She looked at Philip. "And me. We don't have the kind of money that can buy an island and a house and hire servants."
They were all staring at her now.
"There's only one of us who could afford that. And that's you, Judge." She turned to face him and the quilted lapels of his luxurious dressing gown. "It's you."
Behind her, she heard Philip give a hiss of fury.
"Miss Claythorne." The judge was shaking his head. "I am as innocent -"
"I was going to help him fake his death," Dr. Armstrong said, a shocked tone in his voice.
"A red herring swallowed one," Vera said, flatly, surer than ever now. "That was going to be you." As Dr. Armstrong's jaw dropped, she swung back to her would-be killer. "Which one was for me?"
"And me," Philip chimed in.
"And me!" Mr. Blore added from behind her.
They were in a group now, Vera realised. Standing together against the hanging judge and advancing upon him.
"Really, gentlemen." Mr. Wargrave's measured tones were calm despite his defensive backing away. "Just because I have money -"
"You said the killer was one of us and you're the only one it can be!" Philip said. "I said I'd kill you!"
For the rest of her life, Vera wondered. Had one of them pushed him? Or had he stepped back a little too far and lost his balance at the top of the stairs? Either way, he fell, his long limbs flailing as he bounced and rolled his way down bone-breakingly solid stairs.
They ran after him, hands eagerly reaching to haul him onto his back where it became obvious Dr. Armstrong wouldn't be required to help him fake his death.
On her knees beside his body, Vera looked up as the other men stood.
"That's it then, it's over." Mr. Blore grabbed onto the banister as if he needed support, then sat down on the stairs.
"As long as the police accept our story," Philip pointed out.
"Why shouldn't they? He was mad. Always watching, always calm. Too calm." Dr. Armstrong looked disgusted. "It wasn't natural."
There was silence for a moment, then Philip pulled on Vera's arm and got her to her feet. "Vera. Vera!"
She looked up at him and realised she was shaking.
"Go and get dressed. We'll all get dressed. Then I'll give you some brandy. Come on."
It wasn't until she was sitting, fully dressed, in the sitting room, with brandy driving the cold out of her, that Vera spoke again. "We should move him."
Philip and Mr. Blore shook their heads.
"Let him stay there," Dr. Armstrong said, refilling his glass for the third time.
"Verisimilitude," Mr. Blore put in, a faint slur in his voice.
"That's a long word for this time of day, Tubbs."
"I just meant -"
Vera drank some more brandy as the bickering started again, then put her glass to one side and got up.
"Where are you going?" Philip promptly demanded.
Vera ignored them all as they followed her to the dining room. She grabbed the tray of figurines. "Open the front door."
Mr. Blore protested. "They're evidence! You shouldn't be touching them!"
"I don't care." Once outside, Vera headed straight for the cliff and hurled the lot off the tray and into the abyss.
They watched them fall. The glass figurines shattered at the first impact, sendng shards of green light scattering through the air.
Vera dropped the tray at her feet. At last, she could believe it was over. Those damned figurines were gone and she'd never count them again.
Behind her, Mr. Blore was making muttered comments about barmy women.
Vera turned. "Shut up, Tubbs." Then she led the way back to the house where they could safely wait until rescue arrived.
The end.
10th July 2018