Master of Her Craft | PG | Life Mask
Title: Master of Her Craft
Prompt: A missing scene from the book
Fandom: Eliza Farren/Anne Damer, Life Mask
Requested by: kitnkabootle
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1162
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: This was a toughie! Life Mask by Emma Donoghue is such a beautifully written book and attempting to mimic that was extremely nerve wracking. I must say, however, that I love the chemistry between Eliza and Anne and sort of hated how things were left in the book between them, so this is my own little element of closure for the two characters. I hope it's believable, and I hope it's an enjoyable (and realistic) read. And hey, if you look at it a certain way, this is kind of an RPF since Anne/Eliza actually were real people…so it's sort of like two for the price of one ;) Let me know what you think!
-
The brisk November air that had penetrated Eliza's bones had yet to take its leave; she felt the chill creep down her spine as she sat in the Derby box in the crowded opera house and buried her fingers deeper into the fur muff. She hugged it close to her abdomen, which was swollen with child, and scanned her eyes across the audience. It was a full house, no doubt, and Eliza envied for a brief flash the rouged woman upon the stage, singing and smiling with effortless ease. She remembered the feeling of having so many eyes upon her and wished for a moment that it were she about to take her bow. Her retirement from the stage several years prior weighed heavily upon her at times, though now she brushed the thoughts aside for fear of becoming wrought with emotion.
Eliza was not wanting of another spectacle.
She spared a thought for her husband, off hunting with his eldest son. She inwardly rejoiced few days of freedom, though in appearance she was perceived to be pining his absence.
He had, after all, married an actress.
Eliza's eyes skittered across the heads in the auditorium, studying their faces. She enjoyed this vantage point: watching the faces as they themselves enjoyed their entertainment. She recognized the visage of a familiar diplomat but could not place his name.
And there, in a box not far from her very own, Eliza identified a face that she had long fought to strike from her mind.
Anne Damer.
Worse than having done the spotting, Eliza too had been spotted. She could feel Anne's eyes upon her. The chill, which had settled in the base of her spine, exploded through her, prickling her with icy tingles that left her cold and breathless.
Eliza offered a hurried excuse to her mother and took her leave, departing the box with haste. She needed air. She needed a moment of unfettered clarity.
She wandered aimlessly through the empty corridor, pausing to catch her balance against a large wooden panel. Her chest was constricted by the weight of catching the ever-watchful eye of Mrs. Damer.
Eliza's carefully chosen circles allowed her to remain free from the company of the sculptor, which was what she and her husband preferred. Word traveled, of course, and ne'er a week passed without hearing of Anne's work or intimate friendship or of her life on Strawberry Hill. Eliza never conceded that it mattered one way or the other about the happenings of Anne's life, but she secretly found herself hungry for the information.
She rarely nurtured the ghost of her former self, but could not deny that ghost the information which it so desperately craved.
Eliza could feel the color returning to her cheeks and the breath returning to her lungs. She brushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead and prepared to turn back towards the direction of the box from whence she came, but stopped in her tracks. Several feet away appeared Anne Damer, who had so clearly been moved into taking a similar moment to herself.
Eliza did not know what possessed her to call out the other woman's name. She could have easily retreated to the safety of her box, surrounded by her like-minded companions. However, Eliza found herself unable to stop from drifting towards the older woman.
With each step taken, Eliza could make out the familiar features on her former friend's face. She felt somehow different. She could not place the unfamiliar flutter inside her chest.
Mrs. Damer darted her pink tongue to wet her dried lip. Eliza remembered, with a flush, the embrace that they had shared in a bevy of spite. She could still feel the ghost of a golden circle around her little finger.
'Mrs. Damer.' She paused for a moment, questioning her formality. 'Anne.'
'Countess.'
'I was Eliza to you once,' Eliza whispered, forcing her voice to remain steady.
'That time has since passed. You saw to that, Countess.'
Eliza said nothing.
'Motherhood has been kind to you,' Anne offered brusquely.
Eliza recoiled as if slapped, noting at once the feigned kindness and derisive mocking in her tone. 'As has deviancy to you.' The moment the words left her mouth, Eliza regretted them.
Anne looked away. 'Did you seek me out to offend me? To attack my character?'
'I did not mean to seek you at all.'
'And yet,' said Anne curiously, 'here you are.'
'A mere trick of fate.'
'You are always so quick to blame fate on these instances, Countess, and take so little autonomy for your actions.'
'Maliciousness was not my intent.'
'What was, Eliza?' The name slipped easily from Anne's tongue and for a brief instant, the older woman appeared displeased at having uttered it. 'Had you not sufficiently damaged the connections that would bind us together? You made it clear that there was no hope for a friendship between us to exist.'
Eliza issued no response but felt the words dancing upon her tongue as if she'd been rehearsing them for years.
'Do you regret it, Eliza?'
'There was no alternative, but I do regret that circumstance has made a friendship impossible.'
Anne nodded and sighed. In that moment, her age was clearly visible on her face. She appeared worn, tired. Old. Eliza was immediately sorry.
'Besides, you have Miss Berry now to keep as your companion.'
'And you have Derby.'
'Yes.' Eliza wondered if Anne referred to him as a consolation prize, or as a treasure. 'And Miss Berry -- how is she?'
Anne swallowed. She straightened her back and squared her shoulders. 'Mary is…well. She is everything.'
Inexplicably, Eliza welled with emotion. She kept her tears in check and knew, despite her fierce desire to remain rooted to this spot, that she would have to take her leave. 'I'm sorry, Anne.'
The sculptor looked Eliza in the eye, studying her intensely. Eliza felt a tremor course down her spine, this time not due to the cold. Anne Damer reached for Eliza's hand, squeezing her fingers before whispering, 'As am I.'
As quickly as the hand was taken up it was released. Anne smiled sadly before turning and heading in the direction of her box. Eliza watched her go, shaken. She was glad for the reprieve she'd been granted by her husband's absence; she knew she wouldn't be able to explain what had caused the change in her disposition.
Her hand still felt warm. She looked at it and then glanced once more at the empty space that Anne Damer had just occupied.
Eliza wondered when, or if, she would ever see her former friend again. The question filled her with a powerful melancholy that she knew would linger for days.
What would Derby say?
He would never know.
She was a master of her craft and, whilst she could not uphold her act in front of the trained eye of Anne Damer, Derby would never know the difference.
---
Prompt: A missing scene from the book
Fandom: Eliza Farren/Anne Damer, Life Mask
Requested by: kitnkabootle
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1162
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: This was a toughie! Life Mask by Emma Donoghue is such a beautifully written book and attempting to mimic that was extremely nerve wracking. I must say, however, that I love the chemistry between Eliza and Anne and sort of hated how things were left in the book between them, so this is my own little element of closure for the two characters. I hope it's believable, and I hope it's an enjoyable (and realistic) read. And hey, if you look at it a certain way, this is kind of an RPF since Anne/Eliza actually were real people…so it's sort of like two for the price of one ;) Let me know what you think!
-
The brisk November air that had penetrated Eliza's bones had yet to take its leave; she felt the chill creep down her spine as she sat in the Derby box in the crowded opera house and buried her fingers deeper into the fur muff. She hugged it close to her abdomen, which was swollen with child, and scanned her eyes across the audience. It was a full house, no doubt, and Eliza envied for a brief flash the rouged woman upon the stage, singing and smiling with effortless ease. She remembered the feeling of having so many eyes upon her and wished for a moment that it were she about to take her bow. Her retirement from the stage several years prior weighed heavily upon her at times, though now she brushed the thoughts aside for fear of becoming wrought with emotion.
Eliza was not wanting of another spectacle.
She spared a thought for her husband, off hunting with his eldest son. She inwardly rejoiced few days of freedom, though in appearance she was perceived to be pining his absence.
He had, after all, married an actress.
Eliza's eyes skittered across the heads in the auditorium, studying their faces. She enjoyed this vantage point: watching the faces as they themselves enjoyed their entertainment. She recognized the visage of a familiar diplomat but could not place his name.
And there, in a box not far from her very own, Eliza identified a face that she had long fought to strike from her mind.
Anne Damer.
Worse than having done the spotting, Eliza too had been spotted. She could feel Anne's eyes upon her. The chill, which had settled in the base of her spine, exploded through her, prickling her with icy tingles that left her cold and breathless.
Eliza offered a hurried excuse to her mother and took her leave, departing the box with haste. She needed air. She needed a moment of unfettered clarity.
She wandered aimlessly through the empty corridor, pausing to catch her balance against a large wooden panel. Her chest was constricted by the weight of catching the ever-watchful eye of Mrs. Damer.
Eliza's carefully chosen circles allowed her to remain free from the company of the sculptor, which was what she and her husband preferred. Word traveled, of course, and ne'er a week passed without hearing of Anne's work or intimate friendship or of her life on Strawberry Hill. Eliza never conceded that it mattered one way or the other about the happenings of Anne's life, but she secretly found herself hungry for the information.
She rarely nurtured the ghost of her former self, but could not deny that ghost the information which it so desperately craved.
Eliza could feel the color returning to her cheeks and the breath returning to her lungs. She brushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead and prepared to turn back towards the direction of the box from whence she came, but stopped in her tracks. Several feet away appeared Anne Damer, who had so clearly been moved into taking a similar moment to herself.
Eliza did not know what possessed her to call out the other woman's name. She could have easily retreated to the safety of her box, surrounded by her like-minded companions. However, Eliza found herself unable to stop from drifting towards the older woman.
With each step taken, Eliza could make out the familiar features on her former friend's face. She felt somehow different. She could not place the unfamiliar flutter inside her chest.
Mrs. Damer darted her pink tongue to wet her dried lip. Eliza remembered, with a flush, the embrace that they had shared in a bevy of spite. She could still feel the ghost of a golden circle around her little finger.
'Mrs. Damer.' She paused for a moment, questioning her formality. 'Anne.'
'Countess.'
'I was Eliza to you once,' Eliza whispered, forcing her voice to remain steady.
'That time has since passed. You saw to that, Countess.'
Eliza said nothing.
'Motherhood has been kind to you,' Anne offered brusquely.
Eliza recoiled as if slapped, noting at once the feigned kindness and derisive mocking in her tone. 'As has deviancy to you.' The moment the words left her mouth, Eliza regretted them.
Anne looked away. 'Did you seek me out to offend me? To attack my character?'
'I did not mean to seek you at all.'
'And yet,' said Anne curiously, 'here you are.'
'A mere trick of fate.'
'You are always so quick to blame fate on these instances, Countess, and take so little autonomy for your actions.'
'Maliciousness was not my intent.'
'What was, Eliza?' The name slipped easily from Anne's tongue and for a brief instant, the older woman appeared displeased at having uttered it. 'Had you not sufficiently damaged the connections that would bind us together? You made it clear that there was no hope for a friendship between us to exist.'
Eliza issued no response but felt the words dancing upon her tongue as if she'd been rehearsing them for years.
'Do you regret it, Eliza?'
'There was no alternative, but I do regret that circumstance has made a friendship impossible.'
Anne nodded and sighed. In that moment, her age was clearly visible on her face. She appeared worn, tired. Old. Eliza was immediately sorry.
'Besides, you have Miss Berry now to keep as your companion.'
'And you have Derby.'
'Yes.' Eliza wondered if Anne referred to him as a consolation prize, or as a treasure. 'And Miss Berry -- how is she?'
Anne swallowed. She straightened her back and squared her shoulders. 'Mary is…well. She is everything.'
Inexplicably, Eliza welled with emotion. She kept her tears in check and knew, despite her fierce desire to remain rooted to this spot, that she would have to take her leave. 'I'm sorry, Anne.'
The sculptor looked Eliza in the eye, studying her intensely. Eliza felt a tremor course down her spine, this time not due to the cold. Anne Damer reached for Eliza's hand, squeezing her fingers before whispering, 'As am I.'
As quickly as the hand was taken up it was released. Anne smiled sadly before turning and heading in the direction of her box. Eliza watched her go, shaken. She was glad for the reprieve she'd been granted by her husband's absence; she knew she wouldn't be able to explain what had caused the change in her disposition.
Her hand still felt warm. She looked at it and then glanced once more at the empty space that Anne Damer had just occupied.
Eliza wondered when, or if, she would ever see her former friend again. The question filled her with a powerful melancholy that she knew would linger for days.
What would Derby say?
He would never know.
She was a master of her craft and, whilst she could not uphold her act in front of the trained eye of Anne Damer, Derby would never know the difference.
---