Advent Calendar Day 6
The view out my window into the valley, all misty and frosty, with the church at the centre and the little houses tuck around, is so gosh darn lovely that I wish I could take a picture to show you. Sadly, there's a telegraph pole right outside the window, spoiling the view somewhat.
Instead, here is today's offering!
Read Chapter One first
The House on the Dales
Chapter Two: The Vision
(Find Chapter One here if you haven't had the chance to read it already)
In no time at all, Hermione had the young man carefully ensconced in front of a hastily stoked fire in her little sitting room, a glass of port at his elbow.
"Now," she coaxed gently, holding out a towel. "Would you like to tell me what all this is about?"
The exquisite youth stared mournfully into the fire, a picture of abject despair, his drying hair already springing back into delicate curls above his ears. Hermione took a moment to study him. He really was very lovely, with high cheekbones and full pouting lips. His eyes, she discovered once he turned to face her, were the same shade of grey as the sea before a storm. She would estimate him to be about nineteen, little more than a schoolboy. At roughly three years her junior, he seemed awfully young.
"I'm looking for Evangeline - for Miss Brown,” he explained. “She was supposed to meet me, but she never appeared. I thought - hoped - that perhaps she might be here."
With the wind rattling the shutters, Hermione couldn't blame this Miss Evangeline Brown for choosing not to honour an assignation on a night such as this, but doubted that her unexpected visitor would appreciate such an insight. Instead she asked, "Why would she be here?"
"We've met here before,” The Vision answered, “away from her mother's gaze." He flushed a little, but looked up defiantly. "We intend to marry!"
"I see," murmured Miss Granger, believing that she most probably did. "Now, let's start from the beginning. You are?"
"My apologies," he stuttered, climbing to his feet and executing a short bow. "My name is Jonathan Thorpe. I'm currently apprenticed at the house on the hill. How do you do?"
"How do you do," she replied. "Hermione Granger. And Miss Brown would be?"
"My fiancé,” he replied, his entire face lighting up at the mention of her name. He looked even younger when he smiled. The effect was short lived, however, as an air of gloomy despondency settled over him once more and he flopped back into the armchair like one defeated. “Or she will be, if her mother can be made to see sense."
"Oh.” Hermione, still a little woolly headed from her nap, was finding it exhausting, keeping track of his changing moods. Worse still, he was in imminent danger of leaving a watermark on the upholstery. “If you aren't going to use that towel, would you mind sitting on it?” she suggested. “Only these aren't my chairs.”
He shot her a rather disgruntled look, as if somewhat disappointed by her prosaic reaction.
Hermione, realising somewhat belatedly that she was being entrusted with a confidence, sat a little straighter in her chair and tried to look sympathetic. “You were saying?"
Thankfully, she had enough experience in placating excitable boys to convince him that she was a worthy audience for his tale, and his face lit up anew. "She is the most perfect creature, Miss Granger.” He ignored the proffered towel. “Completely unspoiled. You would simply adore her!" he exclaimed with misty eyed confidence.
Hermione, who was already beginning to have quite strong feelings about the lady in question, merely smiled and nodded for him to go on.
"She doesn't approve of me, you see,” he continued. “Madam Brown, that is, because I am only an apprentice and don't have a fortune and she wants Evangeline to marry well.”
“How awful!” she sympathised, wishing she had thought to provide herself with a glass of port as well, and perhaps some biscuits. “Why don’t you tell me all about it?”
Gratified by her request, Jonathan Thorpe forgot all about the late hour and the newness of their acquaintance and did just that.
Hermione never did get her biscuit.
-x-
Hermione sat on the edge of the sofa and stared gloomily at the fireplace. The departure of her unexpected guest had left her feeling oddly deflated. The little house that had, just a few hours before, seemed so cosy and self-contained, now felt empty and impersonal. Crookshanks had yet to return, and the empty port glass on the side table seemed to highlight the fact that she was now alone.
She considered the strange conversation she’d had with young Mr Thorpe. As a young girl, no one had ever approached her with a confidence, but in recent years that had changed. Somehow her time with Messers Potter and Weasley had removed some of the shrillness from her personality, leaving her innate practicality and helpfulness exposed. Young men especially seemed to flock to her in need of sympathy and assistance, although their woeful tales usually consisted of botched potions, demanding Masters and how they had an idea for the most perfect potion and oh, wouldn't it be splendid, if only the shoddy cauldrons their Master provided would stop melting at critical moments. Hermione’s brisk sympathy occasionally invited further confidences, like wasn't she awfully kind and how wonderful it was that she always understood. She made a point to be extra brisk with those.
Thankfully, Mr Thorpe didn’t seem the type to develop any further interest in her or to mistake her kindness for anything deeper, as that would have proved tiresome despite his pretty face. Or perhaps because of it. Other than a few moments’ foolish fancy as a girl, pretty faces had a tendency to bore her after a while.
Besides, Miss Evangeline Brown seemed to have captured Mr Thorpe’s imagination entirely. From his description, Hermione could only surmise that she was a creature of unsurpassed beauty and virtue whose isolation in the country by a determined, overbearing mother, had left her entirely untouched by the outside world.
Truthfully, the poor girl sounded like she had led a rather dismal, quiet sort of life. Hermione was almost jealous. Still, she now had the beautiful Mr Thorpe to make things complicated for her. It sounded as if the two of them were already contriving to make things as difficult for themselves as possible.
Evangeline’s mother, who Hermione surmised must be Madam Eudora Brown, the owner of her little cottage, Did Not Approve of the love match made between the two. Jonathan was only an Apprentice and would not be able to support himself for a few more years. His Master, Old Tamworth, was a strict teacher whose harsh features and cold nature terrified poor Evangeline. Worse, the old man had taken a fancy to the lovely, unspoilt Miss Brown and was conniving, with her mother’s help, to marry the girl himself.
Jonathan and Evangeline had arranged to meet that evening on the lonely windswept moors. Jonathan had waited in the rain until an hour after their arranged meeting time, then staggered back towards the town in the desperate hope of finding her.
To Hermione, whose most recent adventures had involved a missing dustbin lid - solved with a simple Accio - it all sounded very exciting and rather like something out of a romance novel. Of course, if they were in the least bit sensible, neither of them would be contemplating marriage to anyone until Mr Thorpe had a profession and Miss Brown had seen a little of the world. If Hermione wasn’t so determined to have a holiday from helping people she might have been half inclined to take the poor girl to London for a week of culture. If the British Museum didn’t sway her to the delights of the capital, then the prospect of her own flat in the vicinity of a decent curry house might do it....
Thankfully for all involved, she had decided to stay well removed from the affairs of others. She would have her two weeks in the country, take a lot of bracing walks, and eat a lot of hearty lunches in old fashioned pubs and then return home refreshed and renewed. She was only a visitor here, after all.
Still, it must be rather nice to be young and in love rather than spinsterish and alone, she observed. It said something when even her cat would rather brave a rainstorm than share her company.
Don’t be foolish, she scolded herself. There is no need to become maudlin.
Miss Granger wasn’t given overly much to moments of introspection and as such they tended to hit her doubly hard when they arrived. Being alone and being lonely were two completely separate things, and it infuriated her when the line between the two began to blur.
She carefully banked the fire and looked around the little room. Without the warm glow of the embers it did seem a little cold and unfriendly. Without even a cat for company, the isolated little cottage would be lonely indeed. Luckily for her she had a cat and the isolated spot had been of her choosing.
She would spend Christmas by herself as she had planned, but perhaps she would return to London for the New Year. Harry and Ginny had both been on at her to visit, and they would have returned from the Burrow by then.
The wind changed direction and the rain began battering the windows and Hermione was reminded of the draught still pushing its way under the door. She sighed.
Moving to the kitchen she placed the kettle on the stove, figuring that a hot water bottle would be very welcome on a night like this. Her landlady had kindly left enough milk in the pantry for cocoa, although Hermione would need to go shopping in the morning. If there were any crumpets left from her tea then she would be all set for a midnight feast. Or, she decided with a glance at the clock, a quarter-past-eleven feast.
And if by the time she had finished her cocoa she was still dwelling on Mr Thorpe and his fair Evangeline she would simply make a start on one of the silly novels she had brought with her. That would surely be enough to sate this sudden whim for adventure.
On to Chapter Three
Instead, here is today's offering!
Read Chapter One first
The House on the Dales
Chapter Two: The Vision
(Find Chapter One here if you haven't had the chance to read it already)
In no time at all, Hermione had the young man carefully ensconced in front of a hastily stoked fire in her little sitting room, a glass of port at his elbow.
"Now," she coaxed gently, holding out a towel. "Would you like to tell me what all this is about?"
The exquisite youth stared mournfully into the fire, a picture of abject despair, his drying hair already springing back into delicate curls above his ears. Hermione took a moment to study him. He really was very lovely, with high cheekbones and full pouting lips. His eyes, she discovered once he turned to face her, were the same shade of grey as the sea before a storm. She would estimate him to be about nineteen, little more than a schoolboy. At roughly three years her junior, he seemed awfully young.
"I'm looking for Evangeline - for Miss Brown,” he explained. “She was supposed to meet me, but she never appeared. I thought - hoped - that perhaps she might be here."
With the wind rattling the shutters, Hermione couldn't blame this Miss Evangeline Brown for choosing not to honour an assignation on a night such as this, but doubted that her unexpected visitor would appreciate such an insight. Instead she asked, "Why would she be here?"
"We've met here before,” The Vision answered, “away from her mother's gaze." He flushed a little, but looked up defiantly. "We intend to marry!"
"I see," murmured Miss Granger, believing that she most probably did. "Now, let's start from the beginning. You are?"
"My apologies," he stuttered, climbing to his feet and executing a short bow. "My name is Jonathan Thorpe. I'm currently apprenticed at the house on the hill. How do you do?"
"How do you do," she replied. "Hermione Granger. And Miss Brown would be?"
"My fiancé,” he replied, his entire face lighting up at the mention of her name. He looked even younger when he smiled. The effect was short lived, however, as an air of gloomy despondency settled over him once more and he flopped back into the armchair like one defeated. “Or she will be, if her mother can be made to see sense."
"Oh.” Hermione, still a little woolly headed from her nap, was finding it exhausting, keeping track of his changing moods. Worse still, he was in imminent danger of leaving a watermark on the upholstery. “If you aren't going to use that towel, would you mind sitting on it?” she suggested. “Only these aren't my chairs.”
He shot her a rather disgruntled look, as if somewhat disappointed by her prosaic reaction.
Hermione, realising somewhat belatedly that she was being entrusted with a confidence, sat a little straighter in her chair and tried to look sympathetic. “You were saying?"
Thankfully, she had enough experience in placating excitable boys to convince him that she was a worthy audience for his tale, and his face lit up anew. "She is the most perfect creature, Miss Granger.” He ignored the proffered towel. “Completely unspoiled. You would simply adore her!" he exclaimed with misty eyed confidence.
Hermione, who was already beginning to have quite strong feelings about the lady in question, merely smiled and nodded for him to go on.
"She doesn't approve of me, you see,” he continued. “Madam Brown, that is, because I am only an apprentice and don't have a fortune and she wants Evangeline to marry well.”
“How awful!” she sympathised, wishing she had thought to provide herself with a glass of port as well, and perhaps some biscuits. “Why don’t you tell me all about it?”
Gratified by her request, Jonathan Thorpe forgot all about the late hour and the newness of their acquaintance and did just that.
Hermione never did get her biscuit.
-x-
Hermione sat on the edge of the sofa and stared gloomily at the fireplace. The departure of her unexpected guest had left her feeling oddly deflated. The little house that had, just a few hours before, seemed so cosy and self-contained, now felt empty and impersonal. Crookshanks had yet to return, and the empty port glass on the side table seemed to highlight the fact that she was now alone.
She considered the strange conversation she’d had with young Mr Thorpe. As a young girl, no one had ever approached her with a confidence, but in recent years that had changed. Somehow her time with Messers Potter and Weasley had removed some of the shrillness from her personality, leaving her innate practicality and helpfulness exposed. Young men especially seemed to flock to her in need of sympathy and assistance, although their woeful tales usually consisted of botched potions, demanding Masters and how they had an idea for the most perfect potion and oh, wouldn't it be splendid, if only the shoddy cauldrons their Master provided would stop melting at critical moments. Hermione’s brisk sympathy occasionally invited further confidences, like wasn't she awfully kind and how wonderful it was that she always understood. She made a point to be extra brisk with those.
Thankfully, Mr Thorpe didn’t seem the type to develop any further interest in her or to mistake her kindness for anything deeper, as that would have proved tiresome despite his pretty face. Or perhaps because of it. Other than a few moments’ foolish fancy as a girl, pretty faces had a tendency to bore her after a while.
Besides, Miss Evangeline Brown seemed to have captured Mr Thorpe’s imagination entirely. From his description, Hermione could only surmise that she was a creature of unsurpassed beauty and virtue whose isolation in the country by a determined, overbearing mother, had left her entirely untouched by the outside world.
Truthfully, the poor girl sounded like she had led a rather dismal, quiet sort of life. Hermione was almost jealous. Still, she now had the beautiful Mr Thorpe to make things complicated for her. It sounded as if the two of them were already contriving to make things as difficult for themselves as possible.
Evangeline’s mother, who Hermione surmised must be Madam Eudora Brown, the owner of her little cottage, Did Not Approve of the love match made between the two. Jonathan was only an Apprentice and would not be able to support himself for a few more years. His Master, Old Tamworth, was a strict teacher whose harsh features and cold nature terrified poor Evangeline. Worse, the old man had taken a fancy to the lovely, unspoilt Miss Brown and was conniving, with her mother’s help, to marry the girl himself.
Jonathan and Evangeline had arranged to meet that evening on the lonely windswept moors. Jonathan had waited in the rain until an hour after their arranged meeting time, then staggered back towards the town in the desperate hope of finding her.
To Hermione, whose most recent adventures had involved a missing dustbin lid - solved with a simple Accio - it all sounded very exciting and rather like something out of a romance novel. Of course, if they were in the least bit sensible, neither of them would be contemplating marriage to anyone until Mr Thorpe had a profession and Miss Brown had seen a little of the world. If Hermione wasn’t so determined to have a holiday from helping people she might have been half inclined to take the poor girl to London for a week of culture. If the British Museum didn’t sway her to the delights of the capital, then the prospect of her own flat in the vicinity of a decent curry house might do it....
Thankfully for all involved, she had decided to stay well removed from the affairs of others. She would have her two weeks in the country, take a lot of bracing walks, and eat a lot of hearty lunches in old fashioned pubs and then return home refreshed and renewed. She was only a visitor here, after all.
Still, it must be rather nice to be young and in love rather than spinsterish and alone, she observed. It said something when even her cat would rather brave a rainstorm than share her company.
Don’t be foolish, she scolded herself. There is no need to become maudlin.
Miss Granger wasn’t given overly much to moments of introspection and as such they tended to hit her doubly hard when they arrived. Being alone and being lonely were two completely separate things, and it infuriated her when the line between the two began to blur.
She carefully banked the fire and looked around the little room. Without the warm glow of the embers it did seem a little cold and unfriendly. Without even a cat for company, the isolated little cottage would be lonely indeed. Luckily for her she had a cat and the isolated spot had been of her choosing.
She would spend Christmas by herself as she had planned, but perhaps she would return to London for the New Year. Harry and Ginny had both been on at her to visit, and they would have returned from the Burrow by then.
The wind changed direction and the rain began battering the windows and Hermione was reminded of the draught still pushing its way under the door. She sighed.
Moving to the kitchen she placed the kettle on the stove, figuring that a hot water bottle would be very welcome on a night like this. Her landlady had kindly left enough milk in the pantry for cocoa, although Hermione would need to go shopping in the morning. If there were any crumpets left from her tea then she would be all set for a midnight feast. Or, she decided with a glance at the clock, a quarter-past-eleven feast.
And if by the time she had finished her cocoa she was still dwelling on Mr Thorpe and his fair Evangeline she would simply make a start on one of the silly novels she had brought with her. That would surely be enough to sate this sudden whim for adventure.
On to Chapter Three