Fic: Love Letters (Chap 3: Stables and Studs)
Title: Love Letters (Chapter 3: Stables and Studs)
Author: NoCleverSig
Summary: James Watson has been courting Helen Magnus for weeks, but it will take a weekend in the country, a rakish young Lord, and a heated arguement to move their relationship forward. No. 2 in "The Courtship of Helen Magnus"
Pairing: Helen/James
Spoilers: None really
Rating: Teen (for now)
Disclaimer/Notes: Don't own Sanctuary, not mine. Thanks to MajorSam for being my beta!
Love Letters
(Copyright 2011, NoCleverSig)
Chapter 3: Stables and Studs
It took every ounce of Helen Magnus' strength to keep from knocking on Watson's door and demanding an explanation. She lay awake most of the night replaying the evening's events, searching for answers. Her mind consistently returned to the same moment: James ardently kissing her in the hallway, and then suddenly fleeing like a racehorse at Ascot.
What the devil was going on?
Did he not find her attractive? No, she knew that he did. It wasn't vanity, it was simple truth. He'd told her so repeatedly. Had she said something, done something to discourage him? She scoffed at that. She had his jacket firmly in hand and was doing an admirable job of dragging him toward her doorway. He'd be an idiot not to recognize her willingness, nay; eagerness to press forward, and James Watson was no idiot.
No, he knew she wanted him. He wanted her too, or so she'd thought.
Perhaps that's where she'd been mistaken.
Watson had had other lovers, including several dalliances at Oxford. But there had been one very serious relationship in London. Her name was Sally Caulfield, and she was the daughter of a physician friend. He'd courted her quite intently at the time and had spoken to Magnus in confidence about proposing to her not long after Helen had revealed her intention to marry John. He'd even asked Magnus to read a love letter that he'd written to Sally. Her heart raced at the thought of it. While John had always been eloquent with his body, Watson was eloquent with words. The one letter she'd read was remarkable, poignant and poetic. If words alone could make a woman fall in love, then James could have had all of England at his feet.
But something had happened between Sally and James. Watson never revealed what, but their relationship ended abruptly. Then the Ripper murders began, John disappeared, James helped her pick up the pieces from that devastation, Magnus took over her father's work, and life became focused solely on the Sanctuary. Neither one of them had had a serious relationship since.
Until this…whatever this was between them.
A mistake. That's what Helen feared the most. A horrible, dreadful, terrible mistake. She and James had been friends for years. They thought alike, practically finished each other's sentences, and when they didn't, it was because they didn't need to speak.
With John there'd been a spark, an undeniable fire that had attracted her to him and him to her before their friendship ever took root. With James, the process had been reversed.
Magnus always thought friendship was the basis for a lasting relationship; not simple lust or physical attraction, but deep and abiding trust. So when James and she began courting, she assumed their relationship would flourish. Unfortunately, just the opposite had occurred. It became awkward between them, and rather than grow, their friendship suffered.
Maybe it had been an awful mistake after all.
Either way, they needed to sort this out. They'd been avoiding the issue for too long. For the sake of their selves, and more importantly their work, the matter needed to be resolved whatever the result.
Deciding that sleep was unnecessary and unlikely to occur, Magnus rose early, conducted her morning ministrations, and dressed, hoping to catch Watson before he left for the day's hunt. She steeled herself, ready to face James and discuss what had happened, why it happened, why it kept happening, and to break things off between them if he so desired. She hoped he didn't, but she'd let that be his decision. Their work, their friendship was what was most important.
She opened her door to cross the hall to his room when she saw a letter, neatly folded and placed in an envelope, waiting at her threshold. She stooped to pick it up and found it was from James. His handwriting was beautiful, fluid, and unmistakable.
Dearest Helen,
At the request of Lord Burnham, I have left early for today's hunt. The pheasants, I fear, shall be most displeased. I shall return to the manor in time for dinner with, no doubt, at least 1,000 dead birds in tow, poor things. I hope your day won't be too…tedious.
I miss you already.
All my love,
James
"I miss you already…all my love, James…."
Helen shook her head. The man was frustrating her to no end. One moment he was running away, the next he was confessing how much he cared. It was positively exasperating.
This wasn't the James Watson she knew, master detective and intellectual genius. This was someone else, more like Adam Worthy and his terrible Hyde persona than Sherlock Holmes.
She sighed. There was nothing to be done about it now. Watson was gone for the day, and she was here. Worry was a pointless waste of energy when no immediate solution was at hand. She might as well do what she came here to do, acquire new patrons for the Sanctuary, and perhaps, even enjoy her Sunday.
Helen ate breakfast, strolled the gardens, played Bridge, joined a group for lunch, and attained at least three new patrons for the Sanctuary all by 2 p.m. By early afternoon the day had turned gorgeous! The morning fog had lifted to reveal blue skies and green, sloping hills. Rather than retreat to the library as she'd done on Saturday, she chose fresh air. At the urging of Lady Burnham, she changed into her riding clothes and walked to the stables. It'd been over a year since she'd taken out a horse, and she missed the exercise dearly.
She looked over Lord Burnham's stable and selected a fine white mare named Lucille, saddling the equine herself, promising the stable boy she wouldn't tell the lord that he'd been remiss in his duties. Magnus believed there was no better way to get to know a horse than to groom and saddle it. It was a manner of introduction. Also, if she mounted the saddle and adjusted the bit and reins herself, she could be sure they wouldn't fail her.
She rode out across Hall Barn Estate, the sun shining on the wildflowers that scattered the fields. At first she went easy with Lucille, walking her, allowing her to stretch and warm up, getting to know her as the horse was getting to know Magnus. After awhile, when they had become comfortable with one another, Magnus took her to a trot and then to a gallop. Soon they were flying over low stone walls, and for the first time in ages, Helen relaxed.
After almost two hours had passed, they headed back to the stables. Thomas, the young groomsman, offered to take Lucille and wipe her down, but Magnus insisted upon doing it herself. Truth be told the afternoon had taken her mind off of things, and spending time with the horse was a million times more peaceful then participating in yet another round of Bridge or charades or tea or the endless gossip that ran rampant in the country house during the day.
"That's a fine mare. Does she ride well?"
Helen was brushing Lucille's neck when she heard the voice from behind her. She didn't need to turn around to know that it belonged to Lord Benbrook who was standing in the stable entry.
"Exceptionally," she answered him continuing her grooming.
She heard him chuckle and felt him approach. His leather clad feet made soft footfalls against the dirt and hay. He drew up beside her in his riding outfit, his body tall and trim. He grabbed Lucille by the halter and scratched her muzzle.
"It's good you took her out. From the looks of things, she hasn't been ridden in a while. A fine horse like this should stretch her legs. It's a shame to let such beauty and energy go to waste. Don't you agree Dr. Magnus?"
Helen sighed, unsure whether she should be amused or insulted by Benbrook's obvious double entendre. She chose to be amused. He wasn't worth getting upset over.
"I believe she's been exercised far more than you might think, my lord."
He grinned wildly, obviously pleased that she'd chosen to play along, reaching down into the bucket to grab a brush.
"May I?" he asked.
"As you wish," she answered.
They groomed the mare in silence, their arms brushing each other's from time to time.
"So, she's a well broken horse you say?" Benbrook said after a few moments, brushing her mane. "She must make for a most interesting ride then. An experienced horse paired with an experienced horseman can make a stunning team. When things go well, it's almost as though they become one, galloping across the fields, losing themselves in the moment together…."
Despite her best efforts not to, Helen's breath quickened, and her heart sped up. The young man was about as subtle as a landslide and she would normally scoff at such lunacy, but he had a unique sensuality to him that heated the air like lightning.
"Is there something you wanted Lord Benbrook?" she said impatiently, turning to face him for the first time.
He looked at her and smiled, his eyes sweeping up and down her tall leather boots, fitted trousers, and billowing white blouse.
"Very much so, yes."
Before she could stop him, he grabbed Magnus around the waist and pulled her toward him, kissing her mouth in a wide, wet embrace. Her hands flew to his chest and she shoved, trying to push him off of her, but he was too strong. He tightened his grip and thrust his tongue into her mouth.
That's it! she thought angrily.
Magnus pulled her arms back down and slammed them against Lord Benbrook's forearms, breaking his grip on her waist. Before he could recover from the shock, she pulled her right arm back, and blasted the heel of her hand into his solar plexus, making the 6'4" lord crash to the ground.
"Lord Benbrook!" she shouted, as he rolled in the dirt and hay working to catch his breath. "I am here with Dr. Watson, a point you well know, and I have abided your flirtatious manner quite long enough!"
He lay on the ground writhing, his hand extended into the air for aid. Magnus sighed.
She walked toward him and held out her hand to help him up when he yanked her into the pile and rolled on top of her.
"Bloody hell!" she shouted. Benbrook laughed.
"You look good on your back, Helen. You should try it more often."
She opened her mouth to speak, but he covered it again with his own. She reached her hand back and slapped him across the face. Hard.
"What part of NO do you not understand!" she yelled.
He grinned from ear to ear.
"Helen," he smiled, looking down at her. "Dr. Watson? Really? I mean, the man is an intellectual genius, I'll give him that, but otherwise he's cold as a cod fish." He took his hand and twirled it in her blonde curls. "If there's one thing I know, it's women, and you are the type that craves darkness, needs it, lives for the thrill of it. Does he really do that for you, Helen? Because frankly, I don't see it."
"Get off of me!" she shouted, pushing him off and pulling herself up and out of the hay. "You don't know anything about James Watson!"
"I know he doesn't keep you satisfied. If he did, you wouldn't have been on that horse for two hours," he looked up at her, his dark hair tousled with hay.
"How…" she stopped, momentarily shocked. "How dare you!"
He smiled. "If it's satisfaction you're seeking, my dear, I'm open for business," he said, patting his thigh.
Out of the corner of her eye Magnus spied a pitch fork. She had to leave. Now. If she didn't, she might grab it and shove it in Benbrook's face.
She turned on her boot heels and began walking away.
"Hit a nerve, did I Dr. Magnus?" he called after her.
"Stay away!" she warned him over her shoulder. As she exited the stable she heard him laugh.
"You'll come back! They always do."
"One thousand three hundred and fifty-five," James reported.
"You're not serious?" Helen asked him, scooping up a bite of peas.
"Completely, darling."
Sir Terrence bobbed his head forward to look past James and down the dining table at Helen, his grey hair distinguished looking on his long, pointed face.
"Even I will admit that perhaps we overdid it a bit."
Watson laughed.
"Are there any pheasants left in Buckinghamshire?" Lady Carlisle asked.
"Very good question," James replied. "No."
The four of them chuckled. Saturday's dinner had been a pleasant affair this time, mostly due to the fact that Lord Albert Benbrook was nowhere to be found. Magnus wondered if she'd physically hurt the young lord in the stable, but quickly dismissed the notion.
She couldn't be so lucky.
"And you, my dear, you haven't told me of your day," Watson asked, laying his hand over Helen's. She smiled at the gesture. He wasn't one for public displays of affection. Lately, he wasn't one for displays of affection at all, but that was really neither here nor there.
"Oh, nothing unusual to report. Bridge, charades, a horseback ride."
"Is that where you were, Helen?" Lady Carlisle inquired. "We missed you at afternoon tea."
"Yes, I haven't ridden in ages, and it was a beautiful day," Helen smiled.
James narrowed his eyes at her.
"Did you fall?" he asked, looking concerned.
"Fall? No, darling. Why would you think that?"
James leaned forward and put his hand to Helen's head, pulling out the smallest strand of hay that had hidden in her blonde hair. He put it in her hand.
"Just curious," he smiled.
Helen stiffened and swallowed hard. She'd done nothing wrong, nothing at all to be ashamed of. Yet she had to admit, a part of her had been oddly aroused by Bertie Benbrook's advances. He was young and careless and…
Dark.
Like John. Even before he became the Ripper, there had been a sinfulness about John, a predilection for violence, which attracted her to him like a moth to a flame. Was that the kind of man she was destined to love? Someone who was cruel, caustic, sadistic?
She looked at James. He was now in rapt conversation with the Carlisles, his face beaming with excitement at whatever tale he was telling. He and John had been best friends, yet they were worlds apart. James was introspective, intellectual, and extraordinarily kind. John was physical, impulsive, and intimidating.
Was Benbrook right? Is that what she craved? Is that what James saw in her when he got too close and therefore backed away?
Magnus continued to smile throughout dinner, popping in and out of the conversation with the Carlisles, but her appetite had waned.
She ate little after that.
As was the custom, James conversed with the men after dinner and Helen with the women. She was quite sure that should she ever see a deck of cards again she might set it on fire.
When the men were done with their brandy and cigars, they rejoined the ladies. She and James spent the next hour listening to Lady Burnham's niece, Clarice, entertain them on the piano. Fortunately, for everyone's ears, she was quite gifted.
Lord Benbrook never did make an appearance at dinner, or after, a fact which had most of the single women looking sideways at Helen, sure she had done something to break his handsome heart. The men assumed he was off drunk and whoring and paid the matter no addtional heed.
After an appropriate length of time, Helen and James said their good nights, and he escorted her, like he had the night before, to their chambers. But unlike last night, Helen's mood was melancholy. Try as she might to hide it, it was impossible.
"Helen," James said squeezing her hand as he stood outside her door. "Is something the matter? Did something happen today to upset you?"
There was a reason he was a masterful detective.
"No," she lied. "I'm just… tired, James." She smiled half-heartedly at him.
He narrowed his eyes at her and nodded, obviously wanting to ask more but not desiring to push her. "Very well my dear. Get some rest then. We'll leave for London after breakfast."
He kissed her on the cheek, and she turned to unlatch her door.
"Helen," he called out.
She turned back around.
"I love you."
She smiled at him. "I love you too, James. Good night."
He nodded and went inside.
The sound of a creaking board woke her. Someone or something was moving in the darkness of her room. Magnus lay perfectly still, pretending to sleep, opening her eyes just wide enough to see if she could make out the intruder. Just then a shadow darted past the foot of her bed and she bolted upright.
"Who's there?" she demanded, bracing herself. She paused, thinking.
"James?" she asked hesitantly.
When no one replied, Helen turned to the lamp by her bedside and lit it, casting the room in a soft glow.
"James?" she asked again. "Is that you?"
"Sorry to disappoint, my dear."
Albert Benbrook stepped out of the shadows right beside Magnus' bed.
"What the…."
"Watson? You really expected that old man?" he laughed, a silver flask in his hand. He reeked of cigar smoke and gin. His white shirt was unbuttoned to his trousers, and his suspenders hung loose at his sides.
"Get out of my room! Now!" Helen demanded.
Benbrook took another swig from his flask and tossed it to the floor, stretching out over Magnus' bed. "You and I have unfinished business, Dr. Magnus," he slurred, his eyes swimming in red. He stared up at her and smiled. "I like your hair, Helen. You should wear it down more often."
"I'm warning you, Benbrook," Helen growled.
"Warning me? Warning me!" he laughed turning onto his back, throwing his head down. "You know, you look just as beautiful upside down as you do right side up," he giggled.
"You're drunk."
"Brava! I am! And randy too…care to oblige me?"
"Leave now. I won't ask you again," she warned.
"Or what?"
"Or I shall be forced to hurt you."
Benbrook howled.
"Hurt me? A woman?"
In a flash Magnus crossed the bed and grabbed Benbrook by the neck, holding him in a chokehold. The lord's eyes flew open in surprise then narrowed. He grabbed her arm and twisted it, making Magnus wince in pain and let go. Benbrook flipped over and knocked Magnus back down onto the bed, pinning her arms away from her sides and straddling her body.
"Want to play, eh?" he grinned, easing her long white gown up her thighs with his knee. "I told you I knew what you liked."
Magnus answered him with a knee of her own to his groin. The air flew out of his lungs with an "Oof!" and he doubled over in pain. Helen broke free and rolled off the bed, tumbling onto the floor and looking around for anything she could use as a weapon. She spotted the porcelain chamber pot under the bed and grabbed it, standing up and jumping away from the bed.
"You bloody whore!" Benbrook shouted, stumbling onto the ground beside her. "All I wanted to do is give you some satisfaction, you sodding wench!"
"Stay back! I'm warning you Benbrook!"
"Warning me? Again?" he screamed. "I'll warn you! By time this night is over I'll have had you three ways to Sunday you bleed'n…"
Helen swung the chamber pot and hit Benbrook square in the face. He fell like a giant log into the small, wooden vanity, sending it and every little bottle and brush that it held, crashing to the floor.
He lay in a heap of rubble, unconscious.
Magnus still stood above him, chamber pot still in hand, catching her breath when she heard a quiet rap on her door.
She dropped the chamber pot by Benbrook's head, turned to the door, and opened it. James Watson stood in the threshold, shirt barely buttoned and hanging loose from his trousers.
"Helen! Are you alright? I heard noises," he said.
Magnus stared at him, heat rising in her cheeks.
"No, I am NOT all right!" she cried.
James looked shocked.
"Darling, what's wrong?"
"What's…? Lord Benbrook broke into my room and attempted to have his way with me is what's wrong!"
Watson chuckled, a reaction Magnus didn't expect. "Really? And how did that go? Not well for the young lord I'm betting."
Helen blinked, opened the door wide, and stepped back to reveal the rakish Benbrook lying on the floor.
Watson laughed out loud.
"As I presumed. Good show, darling."
"Good show?" she asked, positively fuming.
James looked down at Benbrook again and back up at Helen.
"Very good show?" he asked cautiously.
Helen turned round and marched toward the bed, seating herself on the edge, arms clenching the sheets beneath her in frustration. Watson followed her, shutting the door as he entered.
"You didn't notice his attentions toward me the past day and a half?" she asked, voice raised.
"Of course I noticed," James protested. "Even the 2,000 dead pheasants noticed, he was that obvious."
"Then why didn't you do something? Intervene?"
"Why didn't I…? Wait…You didn't think I took his advances toward you seriously?"
"Why in heaven's name not!" she practically shouted.
James laughed. "Helen, he's just a boy! Your head is squarely on your shoulders. I know your affections lie with me, I needn't worry about you dallying with some arrogant, landed bastard. Besides, I knew you had the situation well in hand."
"Well in hand?" she repeated incredulously.
Watson glanced down at the unconscious form of the formerly dashing Lord Benbrook.
"Yes, well in hand."
"Damn it, James!" she cursed.
"Helen!" He chided her, shocked at her language. He looked at her again, recognition suddenly dawning. "You wanted me to be jealous?"
She looked up at him, her expression softening. "Yes…a little," she admitted.
James crossed to her side and took her gently by the arms. "Helen, darling, I trust you completely, you know that." He looked at her, searching her eyes. "Is there a reason I should not?"
She looked back at him and shook her head. "Of course not, no. It's just... Damn, it James!" She pulled out of his arms, folded hers across her chest, walked toward the window, and then turned around to face him.
"Why haven't you made advances toward me?" she asked flatly.
He looked at her, puzzled.
"Why haven't I…what?"
"You know precisely what I mean, James, don't pretend that you don't!" she argued, raising her voice. "Ever since our relationship…changed, since we've been together as a couple, you've pulled away from me rather than growing closer. You won't touch me, not in the way I expected, not as a lover should. Why?"
James was silent, avoiding her eyes.
"I want to know why!"
"Because you still love him!" he shouted, his voice booming across the room.
Helen jumped at the sound. James rarely raised his voice.
"And because John Druitt was my friend…. My best friend, Helen!" Watson paced the room, dragging his fingers through his hair. "He's like a dark cloud that hovers over us, that hovers over me!" His voice dropped. "For God's sake, you conceived his child. You kept his child!"
There it was. The explanation for his hesitancy, the reason why he wouldn't fully commit.
Magnus' heart sank. She had no answer for that.
They stood there in silence for a moment, neither one of them meeting the other's eyes.
"I'll get someone to…clean this up," Watson finally said, motioning to Benbrook. "We leave for London first thing in the morning. In the meantime try…try to get some rest."
He walked away.
She wondered, once they got to London, if he would keep walking.
(to be continued)