Chapter Text
Viola shifted eagerly on her feet as she watched the carriage slowly make its way across the courtyard and towards the front of the estate. The very moment the coachman whistled and his team of panting, snorting horses came to a stop, she bounded across the cobblestone in swift strides.
"Dearest Brother!" she called out with a mild impatience that failed to fully hide her excitement.
The door creaked open and Viktor emerged, blinking in the crisp autumn air and bright morning sun. He paused to readjust his rumpled clothing: Norfolk jacket, tall leather boots, and knee breeches. Apparently, he'd been anticipating some sort of strenuous activity on the grounds.
"Why on earth are you dressed like that?" Viola scoffed.
"You told me to dress for sport on the first day!" he said defensively.
"I said croquet!"
"You made no such distinction."
Viola inspected him reproachfully. "I hope you brought more than that outfit with you."
Viktor rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'll be attending your wedding in breeches, Viola. Please, have a little faith in my fashion choices." He reached forward to draw her into an embrace and placed a kiss on the top of her head. "Not all of us work in the industry, you know."
A high-pitched squeal from inside the carriage interrupted them. "Auntie Viola!" A petite, raven-haired girl emerged next, flying down the mounting block and throwing herself into Viola's arms in a blur of blue. "Your dress is so pretty!"
"As is yours, Madeline," Viola responded with a wide grin. She held the twelve-year-old girl at arm's length to look her over. "The blue silk looks magnificent with your eyes. Seems like Papa bought you clothing far more appropriate for the week-end than he did himself."
Viktor hummed in dry amusement. "Fine fashion is wasted on me, Viola. Who do I have to impress? Other than Alice, of course." With that introduction, he returned to the carriage to offer a hand to his wife. "Quick, let's all make a bet as to what color she'll be wearing."
Alice laughed sarcastically as she ducked through the doorway and descended the carriage steps, sporting a matching black ruffled blouse and twill walking skirt. She secured a country bonnet around her head, modestly trimmed with black ribbon and a fan of raven's feathers. "I'm 39, Viktor. Far too late to change my routine now." At the bottom step, she slid her hand into the crook of her husband's waiting arm. "Don't fret," she directed to Viola. "I won't wear black to your wedding. Bad luck and all."
Viola waved away the thought with her hand. "That's the least of my concerns. Walter's in charge of the planning, and it's been one bump in the road after another." She motioned for the group to follow her across the courtyard as a collection of staff members worked to unload suitcases from the carriage. Alice veered off to greet a few familiar faces among them.
The family was escorted to an elaborate outdoor luncheon setup: tables had been erected on the front lawn and piled high with slices of cold roast beef, stacks of cucumber, mint, and cheese sandwiches, pitchers of sparkling ginger beer, buckets of iced champagne bottles, bowls of shiny apples and pears, mountains of fragrant fruit tarts and buttery shortbread cookies, and individual servings of wobbling blancmange. Madeline babbled with delight, narrating each and every dish she spotted. Her father put an arm around her shoulder and pressed her to his side.
"Can I really take as much as I'd like?" Madeline chirped.
"Certainly," Alice said, opening her black lace parasol and swinging it over her head. "But be sure to thank Grandmother next time you see her. This is quite the welcome party she's assembled."
"That would be Walter, mostly," Viola corrected as she caught up with them. "He'll be along shortly. We might as well eat while we wait."
Viktor picked over the picnic spread, opting for some of the lighter fare. Madeline made a beeline directly for the dessert table.
"Don't give yourself a stomachache, dear," Alice warned, eyeing Madeline's ever-growing pile of pastries.
Viktor looked up from the other side of the table. "She never gets blancmange at home, let her…" Alice interrupted him with a glance. "Yes, listen to your mother, pigeon," he wisely concluded.
A blanket already awaited them, neatly unfolded in a shady patch beneath an enormous, sprawling oak tree. Madeline busied herself counting and collecting acorns, shoving as many as she could into the leather purse that hung from her chatelaine. With plates and glasses strewn about the lawn, the three adults fell into a state of easy conversation. Alice and Viola snuggled side by side and struck up a lively exchange, getting each other up to speed with what had occurred in their lives over the last several months.
"Edmund's helping his parents get settled," Viola explained, referencing her fiancé. "You likely won't see him much before the wedding."
Viktor readjusted his position to lie on his side across the blanket, scooting closer to the girls. He picked at a slice of roast beef on his plate. "I still cannot believe you ended up with someone your own age. The fact that Edmond is not at least twenty years your senior is a shock nobody in this family was prepared for."
Viola snorted and punched him on the shoulder. He wrinkled his nose at the impact. "I make a mature enough bride as it is, Dearest Brother. Perhaps you wouldn’t notice, seeing as you haven't stopped viewing me as the same teenage girl who paid you visits at the villa. Some of us have moved on with our lives."
"Not me," he declared passionately, motioning to his wife across the blanket. "Still chasing the same beguiling woman, still besotted and woefully undeserving." Alice raised her eyebrows and smiled coyly at him, a faint blush gracing her cheeks.
Viola groaned. "Are you two going to behave like this all week-end? I cannot afford another one of your painfully unsubtle attempts at sneaking around."
"I will play the model citizen, and I will ensure that my wife does the same," Viktor pledged unconvincingly. "After all, I have always maintained full control over her actions, and she's never once used her enchantments to lead me astray." Alice gave a bellowing laugh, much to Viola's chagrin.
"Please don't make me regret inviting you," Viola huffed.
"No regrets. In fact, I brought you something that I think you'll appreciate." Viktor rolled to his side and pulled a small metal case from his pocket. He handed it to Viola and she immediately popped it open. "I thought you'd like to carry it tomorrow, perhaps. We took it shortly before…well…"
Viola stared down at the black-and-white daguerreotype of Rob, dressed smartly in a suit and seated in the garden of Viktor and Alice's small cottage home. She ran her thumb across the glass, hovering over his silver swoop of hair and the black patch covering his right eye. His expression was calm, genteel. Precisely as it stood out in her memory. She placed her trembling lower lip between her teeth, unable to speak without betraying her emotions.
Viktor reached for her hand. After blinking several shimmering tears from her eyes, Viola ventured a response. "It would have been lovely for him to be here, though I know he wasn't in the best of health near the end."
"You'd dare break his heart, seeing you married off to another man?" They laughed together, Viola dislodging a few stray tears in the process. He squeezed her hand. "He would have been so proud, Viola. I know that for a fact. As proud as I am of you today."
Alice made a motion in Viktor's direction, and he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. She dabbed her watering eyes, then passed it to Viola to do the same. The three of them sat in silence, trading sympathetic sniffles as their thoughts wandered to faraway memories of the cherished former butler and beloved friend.
A cool fall breeze prickled their sun-warmed skin. Several dry leaves rustled in the grass nearby.
"Look, Papa!" Madeline called, crunching through the fallen leaves and plopping herself between the adults, breaking the solemnity of the moment. She opened her chatelaine bag and showed him the acorns. "We don't have any oaks in our backyard at home, and this is such a pretty tree. Do you think we could try to plant these when we return?"
The group let out a collective breath of relief at the lightened mood.
"I don't see why not, pigeon." Madeline scrunched her nose at the moniker. "Ah, right, my promise. Madeline." She seemed appeased by his adjustment.
With sentimentality shelved for now, the conversation flowed freely and genially. Viola closed the case and tucked the daguerreotype into her reticule, returning it under her dress. Its weight against her skin offered the occasional bittersweet reminder of a particular gap in their dynamic, a precious member of their circle whose reserved compassion and kindheartedness would now and forevermore exist in memories alone.
Walter trudged through the grass, eyes raking the field in search of his suspiciously absent sister.
"There you are!" Viola shouted. "We were waiting for you and just about to give up!"
"I'm only a little busy, Viola," Walter called back tersely. "You could be assisting me and not out here playing lawn games the day before your wedding."
Viola rearranged her face into a dramatic display of distress. "It's too stressful, Walter. The most helpful thing I could do is rest my nerves before tomorrow, and what better way to do so than engage in some harmless frivolity?"
"Not 'harmless' to me; I still have the final approvals to make for the menu."
"It's my day!" Viola's voice crackled with annoyance. "And Dearest Brother showed up just as lunch was being served! Someone had to be here to receive him!"
Walter blinked as if noticing Viktor and his family for the first time. He moved to greet them but stopped short. "What—what are you wearing?"
"What? A man cannot dress appropriately for the sport?" Viktor said. "I almost forgot we have two fashion enthusiasts in the family."
Walter blushed modestly at his insinuation but ignored his comment. "Right. Welcome. How was your ride?"
"A strain on the tailbone, but worth every bit of discomfort." His brother's eyes narrowed slightly at the indelicate joke, but he took Viktor's hand and shook it warmly regardless.
"Please excuse Daleth. She's been assisting me all morning, and I encouraged her to take a rest."
Viola appeared unmoved by the news of her sister-in-law. "Well, since you've come all the way here to chase after me, why don't you stay for croquet? We'll need a fourth anyway. Madeline's run off with the cousins."
Walter balked, likely searching for a polite way to decline. Viola shoved a mallet in his hands before he had the chance to do so. "I suppose a single round won't throw me too off schedule."
"Excellent. You can take red, I'll take yellow. Viktor—"
"My wife will claim black, no doubt," he teased as they exchanged a smile. "I'll take blue."
The four brought their balls and mallets to the first hoop in preparation. The start of the game was fairly unremarkable, but tensions quickly rose as Walter found that his extensive experience with golf somehow did not translate directly to croquet.
"Sorry for this one, Walter," Viktor smirked as he knocked his brother's ball away from the third hoop with his own. He immediately turned back to Alice and continued the same stream of inane chatter he'd been subjecting them to for the entire game. His wife seemed to be taking it in good spirits, at least.
"Focus, Walter!" Viola hissed under her breath, staring daggers at the couple.
"I can't with his incessant prattle," Walter growled, attempting to correct his ball's trajectory.
Viktor prated on and on to his wife, recounting some story about playing piano for a pub full of circus performers. "At least he waited until after dinner to interrogate me. A footstool, he said! Can you imagine? The audacity of it. As if I haven't found ways to overcome my wife's buxom, Amazonian figure without resorting to—"
Walter cleared his throat. "Viktor! Will you cease your blathering and take your shot?" The sharpness of his words failed to relieve the weeks of anxiety behind them, his outburst a valve that offered only a slight release from a pressure that hovered just below bursting.
"Ah, apologies," Viktor said, more or less unruffled. "We don't get much time for uninterrupted conversation at home." He took another shot and managed to jump his ball over Walter's, putting him in the lead and Walter second. He nodded to his brother affably, then dove directly back into rattling off some inconsequential exchange or another to his audience of one.
"Why is he so good at this?" Walter snarled under his breath. Viola tipped her head back and groaned.
Viktor had apparently caught the remark. "Alice and I played almost daily at the villa when the weather was nice. She had it worked into her schedule. First, breakfast. Then sweeping, then organizing the library, then—"
His yammering was mercifully interrupted by the patter of many feet on the grass, and the group looked up to see the flock of cousins descend on them, alight with excitement.
"Papa!" Madeline called out. "The stable master said we could take the ponies for a ride today!"
"Is that right, pige—er, Madeline?" Viktor corrected. "You'd better ask your mother first."
"Me?" Alice said incredulously. "You have more experience with riding than I do."
"That so?"
Alice exhaled sharply, brows creased, fighting valiantly to suppress a grin.
"Uncle Viktor," Walter's youngest daughter cut in, mercifully oblivious to his double entendre. "My brother has been telling me lies about you."
Madeline rolled her eyes. "I told her it's not that interesting of a story, but she won't let it go."
Viktor kneeled down to face the nine year old. "What did he say, Maggie?"
"That you used to kill people with just a touch! And that you could take your head off like a Dullahan!"
Viktor let out a booming laugh. "I have never killed a single human being, Maggie. My head…" He placed his palms to his temples and tugged, "is firmly on my body, most days. And while I did once suffer from an affliction, it is not so anymore. See?" He straightened and jabbed a finger into his wife's side as she laughed and swatted back at him. "As she lives and breathes."
"I told you it was a lie!" Maggie yelled to her older brother.
"It's not a lie, it's just not that interesting!" Madeline insisted.
The collection of cousins made their way back to the stable, arguing all the while. Viola took her shot and then motioned for Viktor to continue.
"Sounds far more positive when you phrase it that way," she teased. Viktor smiled.
"I'd rather they think it an adventure than the heartache it truly was." He knocked his ball through the final hoop and against the finishing peg. "Yes! Finally! Sorry for the second place, Brother."
Walter dabbed at his face with his handkerchief, a poor attempt at concealing his growing irritation. "You don't plan on telling Madeline the whole story?" he said with a critical tone.
"Oh, all in due time," Viktor said, gathering his ball and mallet. "She benefits from all the good effects of the healing. Someday, perhaps, she'll relate more to the pain. I hope that day never comes, but life inevitably delivers us there at one point or another."
"Things do have a curious way of repeating," Walter noted.
"True. But each generation is a chance to try again." Viktor clapped his brother's shoulder as he passed him, then grasped his wife's hand and swung it jovially as they headed back towards the mansion. Walter drew a deep inhale as he stared out across the green, mind absorbing his brother's words, before turning to follow in the wake of his expressive banter.