The Slayer
& The Poet
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Disclaimer: The characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer
belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Same goes for any characters from Angel
that should appear. Any other characters are mine and may be used for other
fanfic (Just note that they’re mine if you use them.)
Content rating note: This fic is rated PG-13.
Continuity note: This story takes place in an AU season 6, in
which Buffy didn’t die at the end of season five. This is only important to
know for Buffy and the girls’ state of mind since this is set in 1880. Time
travel is involved. You’ll see what I mean. Spoilers for “Fool for Love” and a
little “Lies My Parents Told Me.” BTW, Don’t believe everything you read in
here about prose available in 1880. I’m making certain books up completely.
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1
William Brighton sat at the
big writing desk in his room, diligently composing yet another love poem about
the beautiful Miss Cecily Addams. He bent over the page, brow knit in
concentration, puzzling over just the right words. It wasn’t rhyming very well,
but he knew that there are plenty of good, even great, poems that don’t rhyme
at all. Not that this is a good poem, a doubting voice in his head
declared.
Silence, his mind said to that
doubting traitor, Mother likes them.
Only, Mother.
Of that he was fairly
certain, even though he had managed to get a couple published to a very
small, and obscure, literary magazine.
Every time he dared to share
one of his poems with his social circle, he was met with mocking scorn. Barely
concealed, if not dealt outright. But what do they know. They know
nothing of true love and beauty.
Finally, he found the words
he wanted and put them down. It’s not very good. But I’ll read it to Mother
and see what she thinks. He sighed, and pushed away from his desk. As he stood,
he took the spectacles from his face and rubbed the bridge of his nose briefly
before popping them back on.
Then, he strolled to his
bookcase for a little light reading before bedtime. The bookcase was filled
with many small and large volumes of poetry and quite a good lot of novels too.
He had all the well known poets. William Wordsworth, Sir Walter Scott, and John
Keats, were but a few. And of course, he had all of Shakespeare.
He had a good deal of lesser
known poets as well. Some of the utmost obscurity. He was quite taken with the
works of one E. A. Poe. He had discovered a book of his poems while rummaging
at a dingy bookshop in downtown
The Hovel of Prose kept
drawing him back with its rare and exotic stock. The most exotic, and scandalous,
was a book of English prose inspired in part by a trip its author made to
He didn’t dare ask Mother.
The book was one of his few secrets from her. He kept it hidden behind his
other, more acceptable, books. If someone rummaged through his shelves
they would surely find it, though. But he never worried about discovery. No one
was interested enough to bother going through his odd collection.
He pulled a book of short
stories from the shelf, lay down on the bed, and began to read.
2
Buffy Summers had just about
had enough of Victorian London. It was smoggy and boring. Although, it could
have been much worse. Much, much worse. If Willow and Tara hadn’t been sucked
in the time portal with her, she would have gone crazy with loneliness. Not to
mention that she would have starved on the streets without the pair of witches
to conjure money and other goods. Tara wasn’t so keen on conjuring up money, at
first, until they found that without references the only fields open to them
were prostitution or perhaps burlesque. That changed Tara’s tune in a hurry.
Willow conjured a comfortable amount of money for them each week. Enough to
afford a nice London apartment, and keep them fed and warm.
Willow could conjure just
about anything that they could want, as long as it wasn’t too big and wouldn’t
draw too much attention by it’s presence in that time period.
Dress of the period was also
almost immediately conjured for the three upon their arrival. Although, they
quickly had Willow nix the whalebone corset and the unwieldy bustle. A series
of light petticoats was substituted for the bustle. They would just have to
deal with being not entirely in fashion. There was just no way they were going
to put up with not being able to sit and breathe like a normal people. Normal
21st century people, that is.
They soon developed a cover
story of being the last survivors of their family’s estates, for the benefit of
anyone who would inquire as to why three young ladies were living alone.
Willow and Tara made many
efforts to research a way to get home, but all the information they gathered
from the books in the hidden magic shops suggested that they were good and
stuck. Apparently, traveling back in time or to alternate dimensions was much
more possible than going into the future.
On just about the only
bright side, at least Buffy didn’t have Slayer duty anymore. This world already
had one and they weren’t on a Hellmouth. She found herself going out on patrol
some nights, nonetheless. She rarely found anything to slay though. Boring,
boring, boring, she’d think most nights as she patrolled the London alleys
and nearby graveyard. Usually all she found down the alleys was the odd hooker or
two being humped against a wall.
And when she wasn’t bored,
she was worried. What’s happening back home? Is Dawn ok? Who’s taking care
of her? And what about Xander and Anya? Maybe they’re taking care of Dawn.
And Giles. Giles is probably frantic. In his own British way, anyhow. He’s
probably cleaned straight through his glasses. That last thought made her
laugh a bit. Then she felt sad again.
And Spike. Spike will be
going nuts and taking everyone with him, she thought as she sighed in her chair by the
fireplace. “God, I even miss Spike,” she finally said out loud. Willow and Tara
looked up from their reading and smiled, not quite managing a laugh. They felt
guilty. They were kind of enjoying the time period. And they had each other.
3
As usual, his mother was
delighted by his poetry. He had replied with his usual response to her praise. It’s
just scribble. And as usual, she told him that was nonsense, and that the
poem in question was magnificent.
William had to be honest
with himself, though. He knew, knew, that his poems were bad. Bloody
awful, even, as his so called “friends” would say behind his back. Worse
they’d say it in front of him.
No, he would not be bringing this poem with him to the party tonight.
He stuffed it in a desk drawer and then grabbed some blank parchment and a pen. Just in case inspiration struck.
Then he went to the sitting
room to kiss his mum on the cheek before he left. She wished him a good time at
the party and he left with a light heart. For it wasn’t just any party. It was
a party held by Cecily, herself. At her house! For which he had received
a personal invitation.
Surely, it would be a
wonderful night.
4
“I think I’m going to go
out,” Buffy announced, as she got up from couch. She smoothed the skirts of her
lavender dress as she stood.
“Out?” said Willow, looking
up from her book.
“Yeah, some fresh air will
do me good,” Buffy replied.
“And, m-maybe you’ll find something to slay
tonight,” said Tara. She was doing needlepoint and now looked up from it as she
continued to sew.
“A girl can dream,” Buffy
quipped, as she stepped out the door and into the hall.
As she stepped out into the
night, she wished for some small demon or vamp to show up so she could slay it
and have something useful to do. After all, she couldn’t cook or sew or do a
lick of magic, unlike Willow and Tara. Just a little evil. No big evil. Just
something I can do.
Her first stop was the
graveyard. After several hours of wondering back and forth, she gave it up in
favor of the London alleys. Surely some evil will be lurking somewhere,
she thought.
“Here, evil, evil, evil,” she called softly in a singsong voice “Come out, come out, wherever you are.” She crept through the alleys, stake at the ready.
5
William fled the party in
tears, and when he passed through the doorway into the night street he began
shredding his latest poetry to bits as well. All pride undone, he sobbed
bitterly.
After being rudely bumped
into by a trio on the street, he made his way down the nearest alley. He sat
down on a bale of hay where he could continue his sobbing and shredding in
peace.
Or so he thought.
6
Buffy was about to give up
for the night when she heard a familiar voice down the next alley. Drusilla,
that sounds like Drusilla! With a mixture of excited nervousness, Buffy
peeked down the alley.
There was Drusilla, speaking softly to a young man in light tweed, with glasses and soft golden-brown curls. The man had obviously been crying. Dru opened the collar of his shirt.
Buffy began to creep towards
Drusilla and her would-be victim. She gripped her stake tightly, ready to deal
the dusting blow.
Dru placed the man’s hand
over her non-beating heart. “Do you want it?” she asked.
“Oh, yes! God, yes,” he
replied, thoroughly enraptured.
Buffy thought there was
something strangely familiar about the man too, but couldn’t quite place it. Ponder
later, stake now! she admonished herself, just as Dru morphed into vamp
face. The man looked oddly calm, and more confused than scared. Buffy reared
back and plunged the stake through Drusilla. As she crumbled to dust, the man
looked almost disappointed.
He stared at Buffy dumbly.
She looked into his face,
the words “What are you?! Crazy?!” spilling from her lips and then she finally
recognized who he was. It was Spike!
The thought that she might
find Spike, living William pre-vamp Spike, never occurred to her. But here he
was. Same blue eyes. Same high cheekbones. But not Spike. He would never be
Spike, thanks to her. She felt strangely sad at that thought. Stupid! Don’t
feel sad. Saving human William, good. Letting him get turned by Drusilla so he
can become the scourge of Europe, bad.
William began to squirm
under her gaze. She was looking at him so intently. And he was so confused.
“Who-? What-? W-Why?” he stuttered
helplessly.
“Who. You. Almost got bitten by a vampire and
turned into an unholy creature of the night. What. What a lucky guy you are
that I came along and saved you from it. Why. Because I have a stake and I know
how to use it,” Buffy answered. “Now, you going to explain to me why you almost
let yourself be killed?”
7
William sniffled as he
finished his tale of woe. It hadn’t taken much prodding to get it out of him.
He had wept throughout the whole telling as well. He was too tired and depressed
to try and scrape up any kind of face saving dignity.
“So, let me get this
straight. You write some heartfelt love poetry at a party,” Buffy begins, “Some
jerks read it out loud to the group and mock you in front of the girl you like.
Then after you admit that all the poetry you’ve ever written has been
about her and you love her, she rips your heart out and stomps it on the
floor.”
William nods his head yes.
“Is this the poem in
question?” Buffy asks as she points down to the scraps of paper strewn about
their feet.
William nods his head
again.
Poor thing, she thinks as she shakes her
head. “And this was all worth dying over?”
“You don’t understand!” he
wailed, suddenly coming to life. “I have nothing!”
“Well, you still have your health,” Buffy
quipped.
William’s face contorted
before giving into a pained laugh.
“Thought I’d get a smile.”
She smiles just like an
angel, William
thought, Maybe she is one.
“Are you an angel?” William
asked earnestly.
Buffy laughed. “No. Just a
girl.” Then she stood up and offered her hand. “I’m Buffy.” After getting a
strange look she added, “Elizabeth Summers. But all my friends call me Buffy.
You can call me Buffy too.”
William took her hand and
stood up, saying “Oh, no no. I couldn’t presume-”
“Listen, I insist that all
men who have hysterics in front of me call me Buffy.”
William blushed.
“As- As you wish, Miss
Buffy.” he paused then, remembering his manners. “And please, pardon my
rudeness. I am William- William Brighton.”
Buffy giggled softly. His
accent was so different. More like Giles’ or Wesley’s. “Well, pleased to meet
you, William.”
He was about to protest the
use of his first name when they’d just barely met, but then thought better of
it. He supposed anyone who saved his life had earned the right to call him by
his Christian name.
“Th-thank you for saving my
life,” William said suddenly, remembering that he hadn’t yet shown any
gratitude.
Buffy looked at him kindly
and said, “You’re welcome.”
It was hard to believe that this
is the man that would have become Spike. ‘Always been bad’, my foot!
What a liar! This William wouldn’t hurt a fly! And he writes romantic
love poems for Pete’s sake! And he’s wearing tweed! Check the hair and glasses!
He’s- he’s…Well, he’s kind of a Poindexter. Buffy struggled to stifle a
series of giggles, but was unsuccessful. It was kind of an adorable look on
him.
“Oh, I’m sorry William! I
just- just-” Buffy stumbled as she tried to think up a good reason for her
giggle fit. Suddenly it struck her. Willow!
“You- you just remind me of my best friend, Willow. This sounds like the kind of thing she went through. She always got the shaft in popular society,” she finished, her laughter trailing off finally.
“The- the shaft?” William queried as he quirked an eyebrow at her, confused.
“Um…you know, like, instead of getting the gold from the mine, you get pushed down the shaft.”
“Ah,” William said, nodding his head in understanding. Then he chuckled. Then he laughed. It was that kind of laughter you get from crazy people, when they’ve just gone around the bend.
“I’m not gonna’ have to get the net, am I?” Buffy joked.
“The net?” he inquired, stilled in a fit of giggling. Then he shook his head, as if to say, ‘never mind.’ Then another thought struck him.
“You’re an American, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And that was a vampire you saved me from, was it not?”
“Yes…” Buffy looked at him more intently, trying to discern what he was getting at.
“So are there many vampires in America? Is that how you knew what to do?”
Hey, that’s not a bad explanation, Buffy thought. She seized it. “Well, in the town I lived in there were a lot.”
“How terrible! That such a beautiful girl would have to deal with such ugly business!”
“Yes, it is. And thank you.” Buffy said. Then she took the opportunity to add a new level to her cover story.
“In fact, it’s the reason me and my roommates moved here to London. After all our families had died, we thought maybe London would be a safer place. And it is, by comparison,” she finished, proud of her new embellishment to her fake past.
William was horrorstruck. Buffy noticed and quickly added, “Oh, they weren’t all killed by vampires. Some died of natural causes.”
William stared at her.
Way to go Buffy. Let’s wig the poor thing out some
more.
“Um, I know that sounds like a pretty small silver
lining. But it’s better that at least some of them were spared being demons,
right?” Then, suddenly the thought of Angelus and Darla occurred to her. If
Drusilla was here, than Angelus and Darla must be here too. And if they come
back looking for Dru…there’ll be trouble.
Buffy grabbed William’s arm before he could respond and began dragging him out of the alley. “C’mon William. Let’s get out of here. Who knows if that lady vamp has buddies. I can take one but…” She trailed off. She really didn’t want to deal with Angelus. Especially since she knew he had a destiny as Angel. That, and Angelus was damn creepy and tough.
Buffy hugged William’s arm to her protectively, causing him to blush and forget about any other inquiries to her past or vampires, he might have.
“Where’s your home William? I’ll walk you,” Buffy said.
“Oh no, it’s much to far!” William protested.
“We’ll get a cab, er, carriage then.”
“You don’t need to come with me. I thank you for saving me, but I can get home on my own,” William said rather indignantly.
Buffy thought a moment. She just couldn’t rest until she was sure he made it home safely. His male pride, what was left of it anyway, wouldn’t let her act as his bodyguard though. She would have to think fast. William was already looking around for a carriage to hire.
“Ah, there’s one,” William said. He began walking in the direction of a shiny black carriage, Buffy still holding on to his arm.
“Why don’t I ride with you? Just for fun,” Buffy suggested. She knew she must have said the wrong thing somewhere, because now he was looking confused and shocked again.
‘Just for fun?’ She can’t mean to…Surely she’s not- That can’t be what she means, William thought frantically. ‘Fun’ was a word often used by the prostitutes who frequented the tavern across from the Hovel of Prose. ‘You look like you could use a spot of fun,’ they would say. When he acted like he didn’t know what they were talking about, one would come closer to him and lift the skirt of her dress to reveal her bare thigh. ‘You know…Fun,’ she would say, emphasizing the last word. Changing its original benign meaning. After getting propositioned several times, he learned to avoid that side of the street
Buffy’s mind railed. Can a lady not suggest going
on a carriage ride with a guy or something? Was it too effing forward!? Is
there something wrong with a suggestion of fun? Are they that stuffy
here!? Damned conservative easily wigged Victorian period!
Buffy sighed.
“Listen,” Buffy began,” I don’t know what I just said there to disturb you, but I didn’t mean anything weird by it. I just wanted to talk with you some more. You’re the first really interesting person I’ve met in London so far. I just thought we could chat some.” Then she turned on the patented Buffy Pout and added, “Unless you don’t want to talk to me anymore.”
“Oh, no no! It isn’t that at all Miss Buffy!” William said, relieved and blushing even more furiously than before. “P-please, do join me.” He opened the carriage door and ushered her in.
Once inside, William sat in his seat wondering how he just ended up alone in a carriage with a lady he’d barely met. Not just a lady, William. A beautiful lady, he thought.
“So tell me about yourself, William. Do you write poetry for a living?”
William laughed, bitter. “Ha! I wish! Weren’t you paying attention previously? I’m the one they call ‘William the Bloody’ for his ‘bloody awful’ poetry.”
“Well, that’s just your friends. Or not-friends. Maybe they don’t know what they’re talking about,” Buffy said.
“I know my poetry is bad, Miss Buffy,” William said with resignation.
“Then why do you continue to write it?”
“Because…because I like to. I suppose that’s pretty foolish, but that’s the way I feel about it.”
Buffy smiled warmly. He was reminding her very much of Willow now. And Tara, too. Shy, but kind of gutsy.
“I think it takes a lot of guts to keep at something you like, even though you suck at it,” Buffy said, hoping to cheer him up.
He made a sour face at her.
“It was the word ‘suck’ this time, wasn’t it?” She then paused a beat, not really waiting for a response. “All I can say is, when you’re on the frontier fighten’ vampires and doin’…frontier stuff, proper language is not a top priority.”
“Obviously,” William agreed, quirking an eyebrow at her in an almost Spike-like fashion.
Buffy laughed.
William wasn’t entirely sure what to make of her. But he was flattered that she seemed to be enjoying his company so much. He found he was enjoying her company as well. She was treating him like he was somebody.
“So what do you do?” Buffy asked, getting back to the original subject.
“Oh, my family owns an orchard
and a vineyard. I inherited them from my father. I don’t do much of the
running, though. I have people hired for that. I’m just required to make my
rounds and check up on them every once and a while,” he answered. “Mostly I
just write my poetry and make calls.”
Buffy nodded her head in
approval. “Hmm, nice. I just sit around and collect my inheritance, being bored
out of my mind most of the time.”
William was slightly taken aback.
“And your roommates?” William asked.
“Willow and Tara? Pretty much
the same thing, but I think they’re less bored. They like to do needlepoint and
reading and cooking. Not that I don’t like to read. It just gets boring sitting
around all the time. Just about the only excitement I get is when I try to
cook, because something almost always goes up in flames. But then, that’s a
little too exciting.”
William covered his mouth
with his hand, trying to stifle his hysterical laughter.
“I admire your candor, Miss
Buffy,” he said, “Not many women would admit to such disastrous cooking! Is the
Willow you speak of- is she the one you referred to in our earlier
conversation?”
“Yes. And Tara is-”
-her girlfriend…no, can’t
say that-
“-our other friend,” Buffy finished. “We’re all in the same situation, so we thought we would stick together.”
William nodded.
The coach came to a halt.
“Ah, it looks like this is
my stop, Miss Buffy. It was very nice to meet you. And thank you for riding
with me and- and saving my life.” William bowed to her slightly in his seat,
then opened the door to get out.
“Wait!” Buffy said as she
tugged on his sleeve before he was out the door. “Do you have a pen and paper?
I’m sure you do,” she prodded.
“Yes,” he said, after a
moment.
“I’d like to take down your address,
so I can write you a letter, and give you mine, so you write me one,” she
explained.
“Oh…” William was stunned
for a moment. Then he pulled out his pen and parchment and wrote down his
address on one piece, and gave her another piece and the pen.
“Your handwriting is
lovely,” Buffy said before she folded the parchment and stuffed it in a fold of
her dress.
“Thank you,” William
replied, barely audible.
She then handed him her own
address. “You can also find us at Beacon Park. Our favorite spot is in that
little clearing with all the flowering trees. Feel free to look for us there.
I’m sure Willow and Tara would love to meet you.”
He stared at it dumbly
before giving his thanks and exiting the cab. He left the door open, paid for
his fair and then asked her if she had enough money to get home.
She held her hand up and
said, “Don’t worry. I’ve got it.”
He then bowed again, bid her
goodnight, and closed the door.
William watched the carriage
drive off briefly before turning towards the house. He sighed. He was very
late. Mother was sure to be worried. And the events of the evening had been
mostly bad. He could feel a thick blanket of depression fall over him again as
he mounted the steps.
8
Anne Brighton sat on the parlor couch doing her needlepoint. She would have been up and pacing about if the consumption that plagued her body would allow it. It was so unlike her William to be so late. He was never late.
She heard the click of the door as it opened and quickly sat the needlepoint aside and grabbed her cane.
“William! Where have you
been? I’ve been quite worried!” Anne exclaimed as her son walked in the door.
He opened his mouth to say something but stood silent. That’s when she noticed his tear stained face. She made her way to him as fast as possible.
“Darling, what’s wrong?
Did something happen? Are you alright?” Anne asked as she put a hand to his
cheek. She could see the tears welling up in his eyes again.
William was surprised he had
any tears left in him. It was silly to go on like this, but he couldn’t seem to
stop himself. His chest began to hitch as fresh tears ran down his cheeks.
“Are you sick? Are you hurt?
Shall I send for Dr. Gull?” Anne asked frantically, her concern growing by the
moment. “Sweetheart, tell me what’s wrong,” she insisted.
Instead of answering, he
hugged her to him and buried his face in her shoulder, sobbing. Anne was quite
taken aback. Her intuition told her it was an injury to the heart and not the
body.
“Shhh, shhh,” she soothed as
she stroked his hair. “Let’s have a seat and you can tell me all about it.
Whatever it may be.”
“I’m sorry, Mother. I’m
sorry-”
She hushed him and led him
to the parlor couch. As soon as he was seated she put a hand to his shoulder and
bade him to tell her what was the matter.
“She- she rejected me!
Cecily rejected me! She said I was-” he paused for a hitching of the
chest. “-Beneath her!”
“Oh, no- darling, no!
How can this be?”
William sank to the floor
and sobbed in her lap as he wailed, “There’ll never be an addition to this
house~! I’ll never find someone~!”
“Shush! Nonsense! You’ll
find someone,” she said as she stroked his hair and patted his shoulder trying
to console her seemingly inconsolable son. Oh, dear! How dreadful! He was
probably out sobbing in an alley before he came home if that’s what happened.
My poor little lamb. He’s so sensitive. Anne couldn’t help but wonder if
she had done her son a disservice by coddling him so much. But how could she
not? How could she be cold enough not to coddle the son she loved so
dearly? Poor, poor, darling child. How could fate be so cruel. How could
that Addams girl reject him so harshly.
Anne sighed. What was she to
do?
“And that’s not even all of
it!” William exclaimed.
Oh, dear lord! What more!? Anne thought.
“Before Cecily rejected me,
Charles Gallows had snatched my latest poetry from my hand- the ink wasn’t even
dry yet- and read it out loud to the entire group, who then laughed at it and
mocked me!”
“Oh, no~” Anne put her fingers to her lips in
surprise. While it was true that her son’s poetry wasn’t really very good, she
was surprised that his friends would be so rude as to mock it to his face.
“And then, after
Cecily rejected me, I wept- in public!- and fled the party, only to run into a
lunatic woman on the street who attacked me.” He certainly wasn’t going to
worry his mother further by telling her that the ‘lunatic woman’ was a vampire.
He had looked up from his mother’s lap and could tell she was already disturbed
enough as it was. “I was saved from harm by an American lady. She was very kind
and was the only bright spot to an otherwise wretched evening. I am ashamed to
say I wept shamelessly in her presence when I told her what had brought me to
the alley.”
“There, there,” Anne said
before she removed William’s spectacles to clean them. They had become drenched
with tears over the course of their conversation. “Well, thank goodness for
her, then. I suppose they must raise a hardy woman indeed in America.”
William sniffled and nodded
his head in agreement. He would have liked to have kept his mind on the lovely
American girl, Miss Buffy Summers, but his mind was being pulled by more
pressing matters.
“Oh, how will I ever
be able to show my face in public again? I’m ruined, Mother! Simply ruined!”
“Piffle! It will all be
forgotten soon enough,” But it wasn’t piffle and it would not be soon
forgotten, and Anne knew it. If she was worried about his marriage prospects before,
she despaired of them now. Weeping openly at a party would be hard to overcome.
Although it wasn’t
completely impossible.
It was unfortunate that a
shy and sensitive personality was not in fashion for a man. It wasn’t even very
fashionable for a lady, but a lady could be excused. William is such a good
boy. Surely that should count for something, Anne thought.
“I’ll never-”
“Shh, don’t think on it any
more, dear. There will be time enough tomorrow to worry. Just go to bed and get
some sleep. I’m sure things will look much brighter in the morning.” Anne
brushed the tears from her son’s cheeks with her thumbs before clapping him on
the shoulders soundly, signaling that he should get up.
William stood and helped his
mother to her feet.
“I’m sorry, Mum. I shouldn’t
be keeping you from your rest. Or causing you such worry.”
“Never mind about that. I’m
just glad you’re alright and not lying in a ditch somewhere, murdered.”
William managed a small
smile for her and then helped her up the stairs before retiring to his bedroom
for that night.
He made straight for his
writing desk. If he hadn’t been feeling so tired and drained he would have sat
down to write in his journal. But as it was he merely removed the pen and
remaining pieces of parchment from his jacket, including the piece with Miss
Buffy’s address on it, and stuffed them in the top drawer of the desk.
Then he shed his clothes,
got into his night gown and turned off the kerosene lamp. He slid under the
covers and was almost asleep before remembering his spectacles. They were still
in his jacket pocket. His mum hadn’t bothered to put them back on his head and
had slipped them into his jacket instead. He could see well enough to get
around without them. Of course, things did appear a little blurry when he
didn’t wear them, making reading most difficult, so he rarely took them off.
But he could have gotten by not wearing them most of the time when he wasn’t
reading or writing, if he didn’t care about not seeing clearly.
William threw the covers
back and lumbered over to the chair he had folded his jacket over. He could
have just left the spectacles in the pocket, but was afraid that he’d panic in
the morning if they weren’t at his bedside table and he’d forgotten where he
left them.
He should have lit a candle.
Since he didn’t, he fumbled
around in the dark before finally finding the spectacles and then made his way
back to bed. He was lucky he didn’t stumble and break them.
When William slept, he
dreamt of vampires and his American angel of mercy.
9
William hadn’t left the
house for two weeks. He hadn’t made his usual calls and he hadn’t gone to any
parties, even though he was still invited to some. He wouldn’t even go out for
church on Sunday. Many people were beginning to wonder if he had taken ill.
Of course, those who had
been at Cecily’s and witnessed ‘the scene’ knew that he was hiding out of shame
and probably a broken heart. A few of these folks, like infamous gossip Sally
Pritchett, were more than happy to tell the tale to anyone who would listen.
“Can you believe William the Bloody actually thought he had a chance with Cecily! Please!” Sally would say after the telling. “Poor thing. You’ve got to feel sorry for him. I’d wonder if he hadn’t thrown himself off a bridge…If my maid Judy hadn’t ran into the Brighton’s maid Lucy and heard that he was alive and well. Although, horribly depressed as you can imagine.”
Cecily herself was mortified
by the whole fiasco. But what else could she have done. She couldn’t let him
think he had a chance with her. She just wanted it all to go away. It was
embarrassing being a topic of gossip. And she couldn’t help but feel a little
bad for William. She was most relieved that he hadn’t met a bad end over it.
Now if only people would stop talking about it.
10
Buffy was disappointed not
to have seen him at the park or anywhere else in the past few weeks. Willow and
Tara were as well. After hearing about him, they were very curious to meet him
for themselves.
“I can’t believe it! Human
Spike! That is too much!” Willow had exclaimed after Buffy had told her
and Tara of the eventful evening.
“Yes. And it’s William,”
Buffy corrected. “He’d give you a funny look for sure if you called him Spike.”
“I hope we get to meet him.
He sounds nice,” Tara said.
“He was… He kind of reminded
me of Willow, back in high school,” said Buffy.
“Ah, so he’s a fellow social
outcast,” said Willow.
“Yep. Glasses, tweed suit,
fussy hair. Check, check and check. And of course the supposedly awful poetry.
I haven’t heard any of it though. His friends could just be uncultured swine,”
Buffy said.
“Poor Spike- er, William,”
said Tara. Then she furrowed her brow and said, “Hey, wait a minute. Didn’t you
once say Spike said he’d always been bad?”
“Oh, yes. He’s a complete
liar,” Buffy replied.
“Or was. Or would have
been,” Willow added.
“Well, I couldn’t just stand
there and let him get killed!”
“Of course not,” agreed
Tara. “I’m sure Willow wasn’t implying-”
“I wasn’t! No implications here!”
Willow said.
“Did you see Angelus or
Darla?” Tara asked, changing the topic.
“No, thank goodness. And I
hope not to see them. I don’t need that.”
“Hmm,” the pair of witches
said agreeing.
Buffy then turned her head
to look out the big picture window of their flat. She got that far off look on
her face that Willow knew only too well.
“Penny for your thoughts,”
Willow offered.
“What? Oh, I was just
thinking about William.”
“Oh really?” Willow
said.
“You know, she did
describe him as ‘kind of adorable’ earlier,” Tara teased.
“I was just wondering if he
was alright, that’s all,” she huffed. “It’s not like I’m in love with him or
anything.”
“You do like him, though,”
Willow prodded.
“Well, of course. He seems
like a nice enough guy. And after hearing what his so called friends did to
him…not to mention that Cecily girl who ripped the still beating heart from his
chest and squashed it flat…Who wouldn’t sympathize?”
Buffy then sighed and rolled
her eyes at the ‘knowing’ looks she was receiving.
“And yes, I suppose
he was pretty cute. Not normally my type, but pretty cute nonetheless.
And of course he still has those blue eyes and the nicely sculpted face, what
with the cheekbones and delicate yet masculine features-” She caught herself.
“Not that I was ever attracted to Spike! No! No! No!”
“Of course not,”
Willow and Tara said with mock certainty.
And then, the two witches
looked at each other in sudden realization of a possible disaster.
“Um, Buffy, did you really
say and do all the things you said you did?” Willow asked.
“Yeah. So?”
“Are you aware that you
broke, like, a thousand rules of etiquette? We bought and read all those
etiquette books for a reason, Buffy,” Willow chastised.
“Hey, he’s the first person
I’ve talked to besides you guys and shopkeepers on the street! It’s not like
I’ve had any big practice. And plus, I was in Slayer mode and it was Spike-
William. It threw me! How could I think of etiquette at a time like that?!”
Buffy exclaimed.
“But Buffy, you must always
think of etiquette,” Tara began, “Victorians, especially the upper class, are
very particular and unforgiving of breaches in etiquette. William might forgive
the ones you’ve made already, because you saved his life. But he won’t be able
to be seen in public with you, if you don’t act like a lady.”
Buffy pouted. “How am I
supposed to be myself if I have to go around acting all Jane Eyre!?”
“Well, if it doesn’t bother
William himself, then we can act pretty much like ourselves when we’re in
private. Within reason. But in public, you must behave. Otherwise
you’ll ruin your reputation and damage his by association,” Tara said.
Buffy had then sighed in
resignation. She would have to have Willow and Tara help her.
Oh cruel world, that has
such anal retentive people in it.
Buffy now found herself
looking for William in crowds. Hoping to see him at the market or on the
street, if not at the park.
Finally, in the middle of
the third week, she decided to send him a letter.
11
William was holed up in his room, head on his writing desk, feeling sorry for himself. His mother had been trying to talk him in to going out again. He knew he was being pretty callow, but he was just too depressed to care. What was out there for him anyway? He was already a social misfit before the incident. Now he would be more of an outcast than ever. And the thought of seeing Cecily again gave him a feeling of sickly dread.
He would have been tempted
to investigate the park, but what if he saw someone he knew? If they saw him it
would at best lead to an awkward conversation, and at worse lead to a session
of being mocked and ridiculed. Especially, if the person in question was
Charles Gallows or one of his crowd. He didn’t even want to think of encountering
or being seen by Sally Pritchett. He shuddered at the thought.
He sighed and got up from
his desk. He’d been in his room for a while now and ought to check in on
Mother. He was almost to the drawing room when their maid, Lucy, stopped him
with the mail.
“You’ve got a letter from
someone wif the strangest name, Master Brighton,” Lucy said in her lower class
accent, as she handed the letter to him.
William took it and looked
at the return address.
The Royal London Pavillion
2-22 Grand St., Rm. 19
London
She had sent him a letter,
as she said she would. A small butterfluttery feeling began to form in the pit
of his stomach as he opened it. The first flush of not entirely unpleasant
anxiousness he’d felt in weeks.
Dear William,
I hope this letter finds you well. I’ve been looking out for you at Beacon Park and around London, but have yet to see you. Please do seek us out at the park this Saturday. We will certainly be there between 12 noon and 2 o’clock in the afternoon. My friends Willow and Tara are very interested in meeting you. And I would like to see you again as well, of course.
Hope to see you there.
Sincerely,
Buffy
“Huh,” William said,
slightly stunned. He read it over a few more times, just to make sure he was
reading it write.
She really was
interested in seeing him again.
And while it wasn’t close to
anything like a love letter, something about it was very flattering. Had he
ever gotten such a piece of correspondence from Cecily he would have near
fainted away from excitement. Thoughts of Cecily were pushed aside by thoughts
of Miss Buffy as the butterfluttery feeling returned. It was a personal
invitation. Just for him.
Now don’t get all excited, his inner voice chastised
before a smile could fully take hold on his lips. It’s just a letter. Just
an invitation to meet with her and her two friends. Doesn’t mean she fancies
you or anything.
He sighed, the smile fading,
but the fluttery feeling remained.
He folded the letter back up
and put it in his jacket pocket. Then he went to check on his mother.
She was sitting on the blue
velvet couch doing her needlepoint and humming a tune. The tune broke off as
she began coughing. It was a deep cough. Like the kind you get when you go
swimming and water goes down the wrong pipe.
William handed her a
handkerchief.
“Oh. William. Thank you,”
Anne said as her coughing subsided.
William nodded his head and
then sat down on the ottoman in front of her.
“I- I was thinking of going
out tomorrow,” he said.
“Oh? Really? What finally
changed your mind?” Anne said, much relieved that he would finally be getting
out of the house.
“I, um, got a letter from
Miss Buffy Summers. She said that she and her friends wanted to meet me
tomorrow at Beacon Park.”
Anne sat down her
needlepoint.
“Oh, isn’t that wonderful!
How sweet of them to think of you! You must send Miss Buffy my thanks when you
see them,” Anne said.
“Of course,” said William.
Anne noticed her son looking
a little unsure. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m sure everything will be fine.
You’ll see,” she said picking her needlepoint back up.
--- To Be Continued . . .
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