10th April, 1891 — Evander’s House, Swallowbury

Day two; a second letter from Alfred; still no news of Caroline. Reading Alfred’s letter was about the only thing he could recall doing with his day. After work he had trudged up to the Church of St. Fergus for the candlelit vigil. Except the flickering candlelight and the church music and the prayers and general hush as people dabbed their cheeks with handkerchiefs only made him feel more certain that Caroline and the rest of those who had not been found were already dead.

He felt both a little manic, and then a surge of calm as he walked home again in the falling darkness and let himself in and made it two paces into the hallway before he couldn’t see the use in standing. So without even taking off his coat, Evander sank onto one of the bottom steps of the stairs, propped his head wearily in his hands, and stared diligently at his shoes.

He was not certain of how long he had been sitting there, particularly, when there were footsteps in the hall. Ah, Miss Clearwater. That made sense. Charity must already be in bed. (He had had sense enough not have taken her to the vigil, not that she cared about Caroline; but he could not have chanced her talking about dented heads in public tonight.)

He murmured a hello to her. Or at least he thought he did; he couldn’t be sure the word had made it past the lump in his throat.

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Louisa Clearwater

  

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News of the shipwreck had cast the entire villages of Hogsmeade and Irvingly into a pallor. Even running her daily errands gave Louisa the distinct sense that they should all already be in mourning. While grateful that none of her relatives had been on the ship, she knew the house hadn't managed been spared. Louisa tried to shield Charity from most of it, but there was no mistaking the talk around town. And even without the talk, Charity was smart enough to pick up that something was amiss, so the news had been delivered to her swiftly about the wreckage and its lasting effect on the household.

Dinners were kept in silence, which left the governess wondering if there was anything she could do at all. There wasn't much aside from waiting. The first day, Louisa supposed would have been the worst, but as the day dragged on with little news, it became apparent that things would only get grimmer with each passing hour.

After ensuring Charity had some reading material for bed, Louisa found herself still restless and thought to go down to the sitting room and read for a little while. Mr. Darrow still hadn't returned from the candlelight vigil, and so she might as well wait for him. After making herself a cup of tea, Louisa set out in search of the book she'd mislaid somewhere when a noise at the foyer caught her ear. She changed course and walked in the direction of the rustling.

Slowly the shadowed outline of Mr. Darrow sitting on the steps emerged; he hadn't even turned on the hallway light. With a quick flick of her wand, the hallway illuminated ever so slightly so as to not suddenly blind him. Lips pursed in sympathy, Louisa approached and wordlessly held out the saucer with the untouched cup of tea in her hand. Steam gently rolled up from the liquid, indicating it was still hot. "You look like you need it more than me." she said quietly, placing a hand on the banister.

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   Evander Darrow

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He probably should have dragged his face out of his hands before trying to greet her at an audible level, but Evander did not until a gentle light appeared in the hall and he lowered them, because the light meant Charity’s governess could no doubt see him sitting here.

He also ought to have stood up, but - he couldn’t muster the energy for it. He would regret it later, if Miss Clearwater thought him peculiar (- more peculiar than she probably already thought him -), but tonight and indeed for the past few days, it had been difficult enough to think past now. If Caroline was floating dead in the ocean, he supposed it didn’t matter if he was thought peculiar anymore. He would live shut up in this house for the rest of his days as an old eccentric bachelor and even Miss Clearwater and Charity both would soon leave him and then Evander expected he would waste away like - like Dickens’ Miss Havisham, only with more cobwebs and a great deal less theatricality.

“Oh, I couldn't possibly,” Evander protested, as he took the cup and saucer anyway. Trying not to rattle or spill it - his fingers felt numb from the walk home, though they were well past winter now - he rested it carefully on his knees, curling his hand around the cup and instantly feeling the warmth of it, for all he felt sorry for accepting it.

He felt a sigh go unheaved in his chest, and inhaled some steam from the tea instead before he spoke. “Have you ever felt as though you - your whole life - might just be cursed?” Evander murmured, not looking at her and hardly conscious of what he was saying. Like everything was bound to go wrong, and only a fool would keep believing otherwise.

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Under normal circumstances, Louisa would have laughed at his question. With her history, there was no doubt in her mind that she was cursed in some way or form. And had she been a less practical woman, she would have feared she brought that curse upon the household she currently served in. Something that, likely, a younger version of herself might have thought. But as it stood, Louisa thought herself rather at peace with her past, and didn't seek out some form of reasoning other than life had seen fit to bestow her with a great deal of misfortune when it came to her love life.

"Yes." she said softly, her hand not letting go of the saucer until she was sure he had a (somewhat) steady grip on it. "Though I needn't bore you with any of the details of my own misfortunes; you look as if you've been dealt enough of them for your lifetime." Louisa could tell the stress that had descended upon him the minute he realized the potential fate of his beloved fiancé was not unlike what she imagined her face must have looked like when she dealt with the reality of her past lover's demises. As at peace as she was, life seemed to like reminding her of the luck she'd been given - or lack thereof. After a pregnant pause, she spoke again. "Is there really no hope?"

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Evander blinked, hands tightening on the teacup and saucer – and he took a small sip to digest it. Yes, she had said. Not ‘of course not, Mr. Darrow, you’re not usually so irrational’ or ‘cursed, how foolish’, but I needn’t bore you, and it made him look up to where she stood, perhaps remember the world beyond himself, just a little.

“That bad, then?” Evander said dryly, at her comment about how he looked. There was something near to a laugh warming up in his chest at that, and the feeling almost surprised him, the first of it he had felt in days. But she was right, in one way or another: he looked terrible, exhausted and stressed and frantic, with the dark circles of not having slept; and he had lost people enough for a lifetime.

He wondered at her misfortunes; wanted to ask, but...

“I don’t know,” he said with a sigh, more honest than he had allowed himself to be, maybe honestly asking for some advice. Miss Clearwater was a calm creature, sensible and guarded enough not to throw away lines about all being well when it wasn’t, Evander trusted that. “It’s almost worse to hope, isn’t it?” Only served to deal oneself a second wound when the worst did come true. He wasn’t sure that he’d survive it, if he didn’t meet the news prepared this time.

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Louisa laughed lightly, though there was little humor to be had in the moment. Under normal circumstances, she would have stayed standing until he bade her to sit (with him being her employer and all), though she thought this particular stance would call for a little loosening of the rules. With a wave of her wand, she summoned a stool and sank down upon it with a sigh. "If it helps, I've seen worse." she said with a slight smile tugging at her lips. Then:

"In my experience, hope only exists to lure its victims into a false sense of security and fails to prepare them for the worst." Her response was a great deal darker than she had thought it would sound. Looking quickly at him, hoping to not have despaired him any further, Louisa tried to backtrack. She cleared her throat. "Although, to be fair, in my experiences I was either led to believe there was hope or I knew that there was no hope to be had, for I had already seen there was nothing to be done." She winced, tempted to clap a hand over her mouth to prevent her from bringing them even further into a pit of desair.

"I apologize, I may not be much help to your conscience tonight." She shifted in her chair uncomfortably. "I — I can say goodnight here."

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I’ve seen worse. He really did almost laugh at that, and the matter-of-fact tone in which she answered his next question was so gloomy, so familiar, that she might have stolen the words from his own mouth.

She had always seemed so – well, just... he wouldn’t have guessed. She was better at hiding the misery she had suffered, then, better at her brave faces and bright sides: like Caroline. But at the same time, she understood. “Yes,” he murmured, almost a little amusement in it – maybe it was the relief of someone comprehending. The relief of not being told everything will work out.

There really was no guarantee of that.

He took a sip of the tea she had sacrificed to him, mulling on that, when Miss Clearwater apologised and tried to excuse herself. 

“No,” Evander blurted out, with more haste than he had intended, “no, I –” he reached out a hand to halt her, “You’re a great help, actually.” It’s nice not to feel alone; it’s nice not to pretend for a moment. I don’t mind your company. But he couldn’t say it: he rather ought to let her retreat, because dealing with this was not in her governessing duties, after all – “And I’ve stolen your tea. Could I get you a drink instead?” Another cup of tea, or – he gestured at the living room where she might have a brandy or a gin, and could – stay for a little while longer, if she didn’t mind.

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Lousia hadn't expected him to reject her self-dismissal. She wobbled slightly, grasping the edges of her stool to steady herself as she clumsily sat back down on the stool, studying him with an inquisitive gaze. She'd gotten to know Evander Darrow quite well during her employment under him - though it was more how he was as an employer and his habits than how a friend would. That her revealing even the vaguest parts of her background to him was comforting told her at least she hadn't brought their evening to further depths of despair. It wasn't a cheerful thought; just intriguing. There weren't a lot of people she knew that would appreciate such depressing words as a response to bad news.

Perhaps misery really did love company.

She followed his gesture to the living room and for the first time that night cracked a ghost of a smile. "A drink sounds like just the ticket." She responded. Memories from her past had been resurfaced; digging up old wounds from underneath healed scars would always leave her to reminisce on old times. Would always remind her she would be best as she was; everyone she loved seemed to die, so why shouldn't she just accept that and live her life to the best of her abilities? "I suppose this is the time to tell you I've been dying to try your Armagnac." she quipped dryly.

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For a moment, he felt a little... surveyed, under her sustained, unyielding look. No doubt she thought he was a fool, then, entirely strange. Evander regretted saying anything, but then –

Oh. She had agreed. Evander hauled himself up off the stairs, edging past her carefully with the half-drunk tea, and cast a brief smile at her over his shoulder. Wordlessly, he retrieved a glass for her and the bottle in question, grateful to have anything else to focus on but the thought of his presumably-drowned fiancée. He poured Miss Clearwater a generous measure and passed hers over. “The perfect time,” he agreed.

Before he put the bottle aside, he added a splash to his teacup, because alcohol could hardly sour his mood tonight, and poor Miss Clearwater couldn’t see him any lower than this. Evander set his drink down on the piano top and took up the piano stool for himself, because he was in too morbid a state to sit anywhere comfortable.

He glanced over at her to see whether the Armagnac was proving worth the sacrifice of her night. “Any thoughts on a toast?” he suggested, just as dryly.

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She followed him through to the sitting room, flicking her wand back over her shoulder to make the stool appear back up in her own room; otherwise one of their feet might find it on the way back upstairs for the night. Despite the rather sober nature of the night, she couldn't help but smile just a bit. Though she would never admit it to anyone else, she'd spent many a night in this same position, despairing over the lives lost in her presence; the difference was that tonight, she wouldn't be alone. And it was a somewhat comforting thought, not being alone in one's melancholy (or in Mr. Darrow's case, hopelessness).

She accepted the glass with a small grateful smile, watching as he added some of the Armagnac to his teacup before setting it down. With her own glass, she swirled the liquor watching it as it made a small whirlpool.

Once he'd taken his own seat at the piano bench, she sank into the chaise with a resigned sigh. Her shoulders slumped inward slightly, though only as much as her corset would allow, and she averted her gaze to the flames of the dying fireplace as she contemplated her toast. "To lonely hearts and what little hope they hold onto." She said eventually, raising her glass in a poetic toast as she flashed him a sardonic smile. "How's that for a morose toast?"

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loveliness by MJ <3

“Perfect,” Evander said, dry but not insincere. “Most distinguished, thank you,” he added, raising his teacup in salute and even managing a short laugh. He had never known misery loves company to be so true as now. Miss Clearwater’s company was easy though, natural; there was nothing irksome in her demeanour, and no well-meant but useless fare to try and cheer him up.

No, indeed; she was an expert at this. “I suppose I may as well give up on marriage now for good,” Evander considered, a natural continuation of the musings that had been swirling around his head all night. After this, that was really the only option – this, meaning his utter certainty Caroline had drowned. He’d spoken aloud, he realised belatedly, even if he had meant the resolution mostly for himself. So he glanced over at Miss Clearwater on her chaise, tilting his head thoughtfully. “I was really only marrying for Charity’s sake to begin with,” he confessed; and if it was too soon for the splash of brandy to have made it to his brain, Evander would blame his exhaustion for it instead. “But at least she’ll still have you.” He peered at her mock-sternly, as if to add so you mustn’t get married and leave her, then.

By the sounds of it, though, Miss Clearwater had faced her share of heartbreak and hardship, and seemed sensible enough to have also given up.

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"Nonsense." Louisa replied firmly after another swift sip of her drink. She set it down temporarily to fix him with her gaze and shook her head slightly. The state of her life was absolutely a lost cause given the casualty rate of her past partners, but with Mr. Darrow only potentially one fiancée down, she still had the lead and wasn't about to let that go too easily. But even with her immediate reaction to his decision, Louisa's eyes widened slightly at his next confession.

Perhaps it was the drink but her mouth easily popped open in an expression of frank surprise. She hadn't had much of an interaction with the soon-to-be Mrs. Darrow — well, she certainly hoped it was soon-to-be and not the Late-Almost-Mrs.-Darrow — but she could have sworn there was quite an attachment between the two; certainly more than she could ever hope for at this point, and she had enjoyed watching them from afar knowing that at least there might have been a happy ending for someone.

To gloss over the fact that she'd been slightly taken aback at his comment, Louisa cleared her throat. "You don't mean to tell me you're planning on going elsewhere after this, are you?" She said, relying perhaps too much on the Armagnac to keep her tone light and teasing. "I thought you weren't the biggest fan of sailing and the Seven Seas, and all that exciting, albeit somewhat nauseating, adventure!"

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   Evander Darrow

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Nonsense, she said. Evander was a little befuddled by that. He liked the word very much: but it was usually him attributing it to others, and not anyone to him. Nonsense was not a language to which he was much accustomed.

And he had clearly been too candid here, if her reaction was anything to go by – but Evander’s care for what others must be thinking had evaporated by the time he had stumbled home and closed the door, and Miss Clearwater, by misfortune of being in the house, would simply have to suffer the unvarnished truth.

He snorted, a little less dignified than usual, at what she said next. “Me, going somewhere? Hardly.” Evander shook his head at the ludicrous thought of it; Miss Clearwater had observed him well enough to know that. He had no love for travel, and even less for sailing. “And after this –” the full extent of the Santa Antonina disaster was yet unknown, but even what they knew was nightmarish enough – “I cannot see how anyone with an ounce of sanity could be excited to set out on an adventure.” (An ounce of sanity already ruled out unhinged people like Alfred, naturally.)

“I only meant that I’m not much use to her as it is,” Evander added more soberly, letting his gaze drop again. He could sufficiently be her uncle and legal guardian, of course, and feed and clothe her and see her suitably cared-for, but he would not go so far as to say he was good at it. Charity, without some kind of further feminine influence or role model, would... well, he dreaded to think what would become of them if they only had each other to depend upon.

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He had a point. Tragic shipwrecks at sea hardly were something to stir up flights of fancy in anyone — especially, she figured — people like her and Mr. Darrow who weren't the most adventurous types to pack up a bag and head out to sea. Though from what she'd heard, Mr. Darrow's brother was very much the type. Which, she supposed, was good for Charity. She was a bit more adventurous than Louisa was, so it didn't take much skin off her back to be content with letting Mr. Darrow's brother play adventurer with the child.

Despite her joking previously, her observation of him softened at his admittance. Perhaps were they not employer and the employed, Louisa might have reached out to pat him comfortingly on the hand. But she instead took another sip of her drink. "I shouldn't think you were." she said, the alcohol perhaps making her a bit more blunt than she should have been. Her cheeks immediately flooded with color at her embarrassment and she cleared her throat. "What I mean to say, is that children are frightful to have under normal circumstances."

Mr. Darrow wasn't the only guardian to confide in her their fears of child-rearing, though he might be the first one to do so whilst sharing a drink in mourning over a potential dead fiancé. She'd encountered quite a few parents who were quick to share their worries of never bonding with their child, their own flesh and blood. And while Louisa herself didn't have any children (with her luck, she likely wouldn't be able to bear them), she had enough experience around them and their families to know that what Mr. Darrow was feeling wasn't out of the ordinary. "And when a child comes into your life — one that you certainly didn't think you'd have to care for let alone provide for and nurture — well, what you're feeling is to be quite expected." She finished by tipping her drink back and finishing it.

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Evander startled at her first remark, I shouldn’t think you were, staring abruptly at her and accidentally hitting the piano keys at his side with his elbow in the process, striking a sharp discordant note in the quiet. He winced, both at himself at her impression of him... but then relaxed a little. Miss Clearwater was matter-of-fact and candid and did not mince her words, certainly did not sugarcoat things for anyone’s sake, and that was something he ought to like her for.

He did like her for it, actually, had liked the downbeat tone even a little bit before she elaborated and explained her meaning. And so she did not think him utterly inept, then – or at least, no more inept than one ought to be in the situation. Evander’s mouth curved upwards at the corner, bathing in her words with some measure of comfort in them. (She was quite good at making him feel more cheerful about things in the strangest possible way, wasn’t she?)

“I suppose that’s one way to look at it,” Evander said, tilting his head in gratitude as he tried not to chuckle over children are frightful still, as he half-wanted to. He took a long draught of his own tea and said without thinking, as he replaced the cup on the saucer, “I admire your fortitude in becoming a governess, then.” His eyebrows were a little raised, as if surprised at where she had ended up, dealing with all sorts of children as charges and seemingly undaunted by it. Evander had not quite connected the dots between an educated spinster with a brisk manner and a selection of dead fiancés, and one of the few career options available to her; he probably ought to have, though, since it had probably been the best choice left to her after suffering such a run of bad luck.

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   Louisa Clearwater

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Thank Merlin he'd taken it that way. Louisa had found herself searching his expression for any sign of if she'd overstepped and had crossed a line. But the appearance of the smile that had graced his features as he took in her words caused her to breathe an inward sigh of relief. She had escaped insubordination. The sound of the piano keys he had hit in his shock still seemed to reverberate throughout the room - a reminder of the potential consequences of her bluntness.

I suppose that's one way to look at it. One of many, though it was still an outlook Louisa found got her through the tough times when children themselves were being difficult. Talk about insubordination! They seemed to think it was a threshold one must cross in order to reach the end of their long days.

She had to laugh slightly at his complement. Fortitude. Yes, that was quite an appropriate word for what had brought her into her profession, wasn't it? "It may not have been by choice, but I am happy where I ended up." She replied with a somewhat contented sigh. She could feel her cheeks start to flush from the alcohol, and her fingertips were slightly tingly as they held onto her still empty teacup. Despite the dourness of the evening, she did feel lucky to have ended up in the household of such a kind employer. Charity may have been odd, but Louisa frankly enjoyed children with....well, idiosyncrasies was the best word she could use to describe the child. "Life seems to have led me here for some reason, and there are far worse circumstances to be under."

She pressed her lips together, worried again she might have said the wrong thing; one could easily tack on, 'Far worse circumstances such as drowning on a boat.' "My apologies," She said in advance, feeling the heat trickle up her back. "I'd momentarily forgotten."

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   Evander Darrow

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