(no subject)
Martha felt nervous as she knocked on the door. Mum had been nagging her to make this visit for ages, but she'd kept finding excuses not to come. It wasn't that she didn't want to see her old tutor, it was just - well, it was a bit weird, coming to see someone she hadn't seen since before she'd finished school, and she wasn't sure what she was going to say to someone who, her mother informed her, had just had her 78th birthday. Still, her hospital rounds had convinced her that if she was going to visit a septuagenarian, it had better be sooner, not later.
The door swung opened, slowly, to reveal a familiar figure. Martha smiled, pleased to see that the woman who had tutored her in English for five years had hardly changed at all; a few more wrinkles, perhaps, but her eyes were as bright as ever, and she still stood straight as a rod - although Martha thought perhaps she'd shrunk a little, and lost a little weight. For a moment, Miss Pevensie looked at her in surprise, then her face broke into that same smile that Martha still remembered. "Why, Martha Jones," she said in her pleasant voice, "I hardly recognised you! Go through to the sitting room, dear, I was just brewing the tea. I'll join you in a moment."
Martha obediently entered the sitting room, remembering just in time to slip her shoes off and leave them by the front door. She was happy to see that the room hadn't changed at all. The big stone fireplace was there, of course; the paisley lounge suite which Martha now recognised as being antique, and very valuable; the glass coffee table, jarringly modern beside the rest of the furniture; and the small bookcase which somehow managed to hold every book Martha had ever been told to read, from To Kill a Mockingbird to The Fire in the Forging. Under Miss Pevensie's influence she'd not only managed to read most of them, but enjoy them too.
Her eyes strayed from the bookshelf to the wall above it. Most of the rooms in Miss Pevensie's house were decorated with paintings, which Miss Pevensie said she had collected during her many travels abroad, but this wall held what could have been the only photo she had. Its colours had long since faded, but it still clearly showed an English family in the forties, smiling parents with two daughters and two sons. The elder daughter, the really beautiful one, was Miss Pevensie, Martha knew. She also knew, because her mother had once told her with the understanding that Martha was never ever ever to mention it to Miss Pevensie, that the rest of her family had died, all together, in a railway accident, a long, long time ago. Miss Pevensie had never mentioned them. Martha supposed that some things were always too hard to talk about.
"I still miss them, of course," said Miss Pevensie from the doorway. Martha turned around, surprised. "My brothers and sister, my parents... it was so long ago that they died, but they are never far from my thoughts. You remind me a great deal of my sister, in fact. I think that might have been part of the reason I took you on."
Unsure of how to respond to that, Martha just said awkwardly, "I'm sorry, Miss Pevensie."
"For reminding me of my sister?" There was a hint of amusement in Miss Pevensie's voice. "Goodness, Martha, please do not be sorry for that. It has given me such a lot of joy to think that, had she lived, she might have turned out as well as you have."
Once more lost for words, Martha busied herself by taking the tea-tray from Miss Pevensie and arranging it on the coffee table. She noted that her old tutor had provided the same sponge cake she had eaten every day after school, in the same pristine china that Martha wouldn't have dared to touch back then. The antique armchairs were still uncomfortable, too, but Martha sat back in one anyway. It creaked slightly as she sat.
Miss Pevensie poured the tea, and Martha found herself relaxing. Miss Pevensie's house had always felt like a different world, away from Mum and Dad's arguing and Leo's teasing and Tish bossing her around. And Miss Pevensie, she had always seemed to be so different, too. Most of her teachers had only been interested in making sure she did her homework and wasn't talking too much in class, but Miss Pevensie had always taken an interest in Martha herself. It had made her feel special, like she had something that neither Tish nor Leo could have.
"Do you still teach?" she asked suddenly. "You did such a lot for me, you know. I don't think I would have made it into medicine if you hadn't been encouraging me all the way through my GCSEs."
Miss Pevensie put down her teacup, carefully, into its saucer. "No, I'm too old for it now; the world of literature has left me behind. They're even saying these days that Shakespeare might have been writing his sonnets to men, not to women!" She shook her head, and Martha could almost hear her thinking, I've never heard such nonsense in all my life. "You were my very last student, Martha. I was probably too old even to tutor you, but as I said, you reminded me of Lucy - oh, so much." She sighed. "I barely leave the house at all, these days. Mrs Milne next door brings me my groceries once a week, and drives me to my bridge games on Thursdays. I'm afraid once you reach my age you spend more time living in the past than in the present."
Martha wanted to argue, to say that there was no way that Miss Pevensie was that old; but even as she opened her mouth to speak she noticed a slight tremble in Miss Pevensie's hands, and remembered the way she paused greeting Martha, as though she couldn't quite put her finger on who she was, or why she was there. She found herself saying nothing, instead. Miss Pevensie didn't even notice.
"How are you enjoying working at the hospital, dear?"
Martha beamed. "I love it," she enthused. "I mean, I'm still learning - well, pretty much everything - but I love actually getting to meet patients - and actually getting to diagnose them, sometimes! It's absolutely brilliant."
Miss Pevensie nodded, but she no longer appeared to be listening. "Just remember, Martha, that even for those of us who are living firmly in the land of reason, sometimes - very seldom, but sometimes - something will happen that is completely out of the ordinary. Particularly at hospitals, I think, where there is so much life, and so much death. It may seem illogical, or irrational, or even against science, but sometimes you just have to believe..." Her voice trailed off, and then, almost to herself, she murmured, "Once a King or Queen..."
Martha swallowed. "Miss Pevensie?" she asked, hesitatingly, and her tutor seemed to snap back to her normal self.
"I'm sorry, my dear," she said with a smile. "I think I completely forgot where I was for a moment - the ravishes of age really are starting to set in! Would you like some more tea?" And the conversation turned to more trivial topics for the rest of Martha's visit.
Later, as she walked home, Martha thought hard. It must be so lonely, in that house with nothing but memories. She should have visited Miss Pevensie before this; she should go back and visit again. Maybe she'd go again next week - no, even better, she'd see Miss Pevensie again tomorrow. She'd try and get her out of the house a bit, maybe. They could walk down to the park, and Martha would ask her about her sister, the one who'd been like her. Miss Pevensie must have a lot of stories that she'd no one to tell. Maybe she'd tell them to Martha. Martha Jones, almost-doctor Martha Jones, made up her mind right then and there to see her old teacher again the very next day.
The very next day, Martha met the Doctor.
The door swung opened, slowly, to reveal a familiar figure. Martha smiled, pleased to see that the woman who had tutored her in English for five years had hardly changed at all; a few more wrinkles, perhaps, but her eyes were as bright as ever, and she still stood straight as a rod - although Martha thought perhaps she'd shrunk a little, and lost a little weight. For a moment, Miss Pevensie looked at her in surprise, then her face broke into that same smile that Martha still remembered. "Why, Martha Jones," she said in her pleasant voice, "I hardly recognised you! Go through to the sitting room, dear, I was just brewing the tea. I'll join you in a moment."
Martha obediently entered the sitting room, remembering just in time to slip her shoes off and leave them by the front door. She was happy to see that the room hadn't changed at all. The big stone fireplace was there, of course; the paisley lounge suite which Martha now recognised as being antique, and very valuable; the glass coffee table, jarringly modern beside the rest of the furniture; and the small bookcase which somehow managed to hold every book Martha had ever been told to read, from To Kill a Mockingbird to The Fire in the Forging. Under Miss Pevensie's influence she'd not only managed to read most of them, but enjoy them too.
Her eyes strayed from the bookshelf to the wall above it. Most of the rooms in Miss Pevensie's house were decorated with paintings, which Miss Pevensie said she had collected during her many travels abroad, but this wall held what could have been the only photo she had. Its colours had long since faded, but it still clearly showed an English family in the forties, smiling parents with two daughters and two sons. The elder daughter, the really beautiful one, was Miss Pevensie, Martha knew. She also knew, because her mother had once told her with the understanding that Martha was never ever ever to mention it to Miss Pevensie, that the rest of her family had died, all together, in a railway accident, a long, long time ago. Miss Pevensie had never mentioned them. Martha supposed that some things were always too hard to talk about.
"I still miss them, of course," said Miss Pevensie from the doorway. Martha turned around, surprised. "My brothers and sister, my parents... it was so long ago that they died, but they are never far from my thoughts. You remind me a great deal of my sister, in fact. I think that might have been part of the reason I took you on."
Unsure of how to respond to that, Martha just said awkwardly, "I'm sorry, Miss Pevensie."
"For reminding me of my sister?" There was a hint of amusement in Miss Pevensie's voice. "Goodness, Martha, please do not be sorry for that. It has given me such a lot of joy to think that, had she lived, she might have turned out as well as you have."
Once more lost for words, Martha busied herself by taking the tea-tray from Miss Pevensie and arranging it on the coffee table. She noted that her old tutor had provided the same sponge cake she had eaten every day after school, in the same pristine china that Martha wouldn't have dared to touch back then. The antique armchairs were still uncomfortable, too, but Martha sat back in one anyway. It creaked slightly as she sat.
Miss Pevensie poured the tea, and Martha found herself relaxing. Miss Pevensie's house had always felt like a different world, away from Mum and Dad's arguing and Leo's teasing and Tish bossing her around. And Miss Pevensie, she had always seemed to be so different, too. Most of her teachers had only been interested in making sure she did her homework and wasn't talking too much in class, but Miss Pevensie had always taken an interest in Martha herself. It had made her feel special, like she had something that neither Tish nor Leo could have.
"Do you still teach?" she asked suddenly. "You did such a lot for me, you know. I don't think I would have made it into medicine if you hadn't been encouraging me all the way through my GCSEs."
Miss Pevensie put down her teacup, carefully, into its saucer. "No, I'm too old for it now; the world of literature has left me behind. They're even saying these days that Shakespeare might have been writing his sonnets to men, not to women!" She shook her head, and Martha could almost hear her thinking, I've never heard such nonsense in all my life. "You were my very last student, Martha. I was probably too old even to tutor you, but as I said, you reminded me of Lucy - oh, so much." She sighed. "I barely leave the house at all, these days. Mrs Milne next door brings me my groceries once a week, and drives me to my bridge games on Thursdays. I'm afraid once you reach my age you spend more time living in the past than in the present."
Martha wanted to argue, to say that there was no way that Miss Pevensie was that old; but even as she opened her mouth to speak she noticed a slight tremble in Miss Pevensie's hands, and remembered the way she paused greeting Martha, as though she couldn't quite put her finger on who she was, or why she was there. She found herself saying nothing, instead. Miss Pevensie didn't even notice.
"How are you enjoying working at the hospital, dear?"
Martha beamed. "I love it," she enthused. "I mean, I'm still learning - well, pretty much everything - but I love actually getting to meet patients - and actually getting to diagnose them, sometimes! It's absolutely brilliant."
Miss Pevensie nodded, but she no longer appeared to be listening. "Just remember, Martha, that even for those of us who are living firmly in the land of reason, sometimes - very seldom, but sometimes - something will happen that is completely out of the ordinary. Particularly at hospitals, I think, where there is so much life, and so much death. It may seem illogical, or irrational, or even against science, but sometimes you just have to believe..." Her voice trailed off, and then, almost to herself, she murmured, "Once a King or Queen..."
Martha swallowed. "Miss Pevensie?" she asked, hesitatingly, and her tutor seemed to snap back to her normal self.
"I'm sorry, my dear," she said with a smile. "I think I completely forgot where I was for a moment - the ravishes of age really are starting to set in! Would you like some more tea?" And the conversation turned to more trivial topics for the rest of Martha's visit.
Later, as she walked home, Martha thought hard. It must be so lonely, in that house with nothing but memories. She should have visited Miss Pevensie before this; she should go back and visit again. Maybe she'd go again next week - no, even better, she'd see Miss Pevensie again tomorrow. She'd try and get her out of the house a bit, maybe. They could walk down to the park, and Martha would ask her about her sister, the one who'd been like her. Miss Pevensie must have a lot of stories that she'd no one to tell. Maybe she'd tell them to Martha. Martha Jones, almost-doctor Martha Jones, made up her mind right then and there to see her old teacher again the very next day.
The very next day, Martha met the Doctor.