April 28th, 1890 — Museum of Magical Miscellany

It had been Georgi’s idea to go to the event this evening, which had come as something of a surprise.  A private event at the museum, some wealthy Frenchman, a friend of Georgi’s, was showing off his collection of ‘native’ artifacts procured from the around the world and he had suggested Madeleine come with him.  Ana had wrinkled her nose and insisted she would rather help the maid sweep the hearthstones than attend herself - and since there was no chance of Ana getting her hands dirty Georgi had settled on Madeleine as a suitable replacement.  But only after she had been forced into an exceptionally tight corset, and her hair was quaffed and set elaborately by Ana’s maid – all with the purpose to ensure that she didn’t ‘disgrace him.’  She had learned quickly that Georgi was a vain man – the only real connection between he and Ana had seemed to be her beauty and his wealth. 

The evening, it transpired, to be little more than an opportunity for Mister Abelard, of Paris, to show off to his friends and most of the artifacts were forgotten by the company in favour of the refreshments which featured fine cigars and good whiskey.

So by the time Madeleine slipped away from Georgi to get back to the gallery there was almost no one there and the dense green velvet curtains, designed to give the room ambience, to feign the appearance of dense jungle, served to screen the few other interested parties from view.  Creating quiet muffled avenues between the exhibits. Mister Abalard had encouraged his guests to touch and explore the items, to go beyond the usual academic voyeurism, he seemed he cared more for the spectacle than the objects themselves. 

One area was full of taxidermy from the Amazon, monkeys and gibbons frozen mid chatters, birds about to take wing and snakes raising up to strike an invisible quarry.  A tray of beautiful butterflies, ornate and spectacular in their presentations were pinned on velvet pillows – as beautiful as they were, there was something tortured about them – or maybe that was just the discomfort of her scalp bleeding through into real life.  On a large plinth surrounded on 3 sides by red curtains stood a jaguar.  The little brass name plate read:

{Jaguar– Female Shot 1887}

She looked at the creature, and thought about the evening in St. Petersburg a year before, and reached out a pale hand to touch its nose

---

Dress

  

---

Arven's sister was making valiant efforts to incorporate him more into local society, with the spirited desire that he might finally meet his match and settle down. For Winifred's concept of home and happiness was family — and while Arven loved his family, his heart would always reach out for the next great adventure. But here he was anyway, albeit quietly begrudging, out of respect for his sister and her... rather unrealistic ambitions for him.

It would come as no surprise to those who knew him that Arven would be magnetically attracted to the exotic exhibits — though it did not sit right with him that so many rare animals had been killed and stuffed for a curator's pride.

As he surveyed the exhibits, he noticed another in the quiet. It was Miss Madeleine Kozlova, a young Russian he'd met last Winter at a dinner in Saint Petersburg. Having opened up to express wild ambitions, and then immediately closed back up again in shame, Miss Kozlova had made quite the impression. Coming to stand beside her, Arven followed her gaze to the jaguar.

"Looks like you finally got to meet Antonia."

  

---

For a long second, she was lost in a distant moment - the thick velvet curtains surrounding Maddie muffling the sounds of the rest of the world, like being underwater, the only sound was her own breath in her ears. Just as her fingers touched its nose, a voice broke through the stillness, like a crack of thunder and Madeleine started, jerking her hand away from the jaguar as though burned. The surprise had set her heart hammering in her chest, a painful sensation when matched with an over tight corset.

When she realised who had come upon her, her heart was sent hammering again, a blush racing up her throat to colour her cheeks. Oh Merlin! It was him, the explorer she had spilled her guts to, embarrassed herself in front of and that who had clearly been so put off by her ridiculous outpouring of foolishness that when she had plucked up the courage to write he had clearly thought it pointless to write back. She didn’t blame him, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t mortified.

’Yes, well’ she managed, glancing from him back to the jaguar, frozen mid snarling swipe, ’we felt we ought to renew our acquaintance.’ she offered a small smile. He was clearly trying to be both patient and civil, ’It seems like it might be the evening for renewed acquaintances’ she acknowledged and offered her hand to shake in greeting, ’it is nice to see you again Mister Fisk’. And it was, but she should have guessed that coming back to England might mean seeing or hearing from him again, his family were notable and numerous enough to make that almost a certainty.

She was older now than when they had first met, a little more comfortable, or perhaps a little more resigned that what she really wanted would never really be possible. ’What brings you among this company?’ she asked, her opinion of Georgi was not an especially good one, and his ‘friends’ seemed vain and vacuous, neither of which had suited her first impression of Mister Fisk.

---

Arven Fisk

  

---

Unlike the fool in his story, Miss Kozlova did not allow her hand to be snatched by the lunging jaguar. It was as it should be — younger folk yearning from the older. But Arven got the impression she hadn't learned a huge amount from their conversation in Saint Petersburg; except that she had a wealth of ambition within her, and it was capable of spilling out and embarrassing her in a flurry of blushes.

Of course, Arv did not find such things embarrassing. On the contrary, dreams were something to be proud of... and follow.

"And you, Miss Kozlova", he replied amiably, shaking her delicate hand. "And I'm here on account of my sister, who wishes me to mix more, and socialise... perchance to find a suitable match", he finished dully. "In fact", he realised with a hint of amusement; "it seems my reason for being here is exactly the same as yours was at our last meeting."

They were both prone to begrudgingly attending social events on account of a well-meaning sister.

  

---

It was his turn for confessions it seemed, and the tone with which he spoke told her he was no more thrilled with a cynical mate hunt than she was. Although given that most of the dreadful company consisted of spouses, and in some scandalous cases mistresses she wasn't sure how much luck he would have here. Maddie had been brought only because Georgi was too vain to go alone, but there were few single women here, at least few who were not otherwise tied to the gentlemen present. The rowdy crowd was more of a gentlemans club than an academic social circle, even the refreshments had not been catered with women in mind- whiskey and rum rather than wines or lighter spirits.

'Well then you have my sympathise with that Mister Fisk', she said with a rueful laugh, 'You might wish Antonia had finished you off, she might have been kinder than some of the mothers of
England.' For the first time in her life, she wished she had a drink in her hands, then at least she might have something to do with her hands, at the moment they were conspicuously idle and she was trying to avoid fidgeting, as she was prone to do when nervous. There were a myriad of questions crowding her brain, if he hadn't desired to continue their aqaintance, which she presumed was why he had ignored her letter, then why approach her here. He could have ignored her and she likely would never have known he was at the party.


'And pleased as I am that you remembered my name, you will find me 'Backus' in England rather than Kozlova' she explained a little sheepishly, part of her didn't really want to tell him that, it was nice not being the scorn of Witch Weekly with everyone she met, but it would do no good to hide it, he would likely know soon enough. There was nothing to be done about that.

---

Arven Fisk

  

---

Arven chuckled — Miss Kozlova was right that he'd probably prefer another round with the jaguar than some of the conventional class habits that took place around these parts. She probably would too; but she was more practiced than he.

"Miss Backus", he amended obligingly. "And of course I remember your name; you made quite the impression. In a good way", he clarified immediately, aware that she had been really very embarrassed by the whole thing. Arven, on the other hand, found her openness and ambition refreshing.

  

---

When he changed her name she offered a curtsy to him, ’My lovely hosts thought it better to disassociate with my more modest English roots, than with my Grandfathers fortune.’ she explained, she owed him that explanation, at least before he asked someone else and the change spiralled into some sort of determined con game in the pages of witch weekly. ’My Russian mother, married an Englishman who my grandfather hated and his estate has passed to my sister and I.’ she divulged, ’a not uncontentious act to almost everyone on the planet it seems.’ the last brought a rueful smile to her lips, not sad exactly but resigned. ’It has made the waters I swim in…murky.’ she admitted. Disclosure was better than secrets, and if he was inclined to renew the acquaintance, it would be better to know exactly the woman she was, far away from the girl in that Russian drawing room.

He perhaps knew all of this, maybe that was why he hadn’t written back, maybe one of his family had told him to have nothing to do with the upstart Backus girl? She couldn’t be sure. But fortune favoured the bold it was said, and screwing her courage to the sticking place, ’You said,’ she started, ’That I made a good impression, might I be so bold then to ask’, she swallowed the lump that was in her throat, ’Why you did not write back?’ she tried to look at him, but settled for the apple of his throat, and brushing a stray strand on blonde hair behind her ear – a decent compromise – it was easier to wear your heart on your sleeve when you were not looking into someone’s eyes.

---

Arven Fisk

  

---

Arven listened with polite but genuine interest to the tale behind her name — or names. A tale of family, fortune, and would-be ruin; and it transpired that Miss Backus was in fact an heiress. While he did not know the girl well, he could imagine she probably hated this fact about herself... for it would mean there was likely a whole school of suitors swimming around her and her sister like piranhas, eager to claim her estate. No doubt she'd rather be poor and free than rich and caged.

He might've spoken of this, and related more close to her family tale, but then she was distracted by something. With some surprise, Arven noted pain on her young face. Write... back...?

"My dear girl, I'm afraid I didn't receive any letter from you", Arven shared truthfully. "Please rest assured, I would've responded. Perhaps you sent it to me in Russia, after I'd already left the country?" he suggested curiously, none the wiser as to why her letter had not reached him.

  

---

She had checked, a note to their host to confirm the details on where to send her note and confirmed that he was still close at hand.  They had been in each others spheres for quiet some time.  But he still hadn’t responded? Was it true – what he was saying -that he hadn’t received her letter.  Could Ana really have taken such extreme steps to separate her from someone she might have communicated with that didn’t meet her standards?  The nervous knot in her throat dropped to the pit of her stomach and became a cold uneasiness about what else Ana and Georgi might have decided was appropriate or otherwise for her.  Was that why she hadn’t heard anything from Mister Crouches office?

’It seems I am the more deceived,’ her mouth set in something like defiance and her blue eyes flashing, unsure if tears of anger or a scream was closer to her throat.  How could they! ’I wrote to you Mister Fisk, after our meeting, I wanted to apologies for leaving as I did, of the display I made of myself in my...frustration’ it was the best word she could think off.  ’I did you a discredit, for I thought perhaps either my emotions on that night, or my situation might have stopped you.’She took a deep breath and finally met his eyes, ’I would like, that is,’ she faltered a little, ’if you wouldn’t mind, I would like the opportunity to get to know you better.’ She shook off her awkwardness, if he said no then – well she had lost nothing, she believed she had lost his friendship a year ago, ’But I hope you’ll say yes, I believe we could be good friends.’ she offered her hand to shake his. 

---

Arven Fisk

  

---

Arven raised his brow — she'd been deceived? Did she mean by him? With no pretence that he was looking at the exhibits instead of her, Arven gazed down at her inquisitively, but clarification did not come. But as she spoke further, he came to realise that Miss Backus was not accusing him of deceiving her, but somebody else. He did not know who, but... he could make assumptions based on what she'd told him about her family.

"There is no need for apologies, Miss Backus. On the contrary, it was your openness, your willingness to emote, that made you so admirable and memorable. Of course I'd like us to be friends". He took her hand to shake — and given that he'd found himself illicitly alone with an appealing lady who'd he'd somewhat "corrupted" with his ideas, it was his wild instinct to kiss her hand — but he resisted. For he did not want to encourage certain feelings in a young girl who, in his opinion, needed space to find her own path.

"You are always welcome to write to me, should you wish to offload otherwise constrained thoughts. If there exists a way to slip letters past your handlers", he added darkly.

  

---

Maddie’s smile brightened immensely when he shook her hand, and her resolve crystallised. She had spent the past few years, even before St. Petereburg, believing that Ana’s word was gospel – that her life had no meaning beyond what she had been told it would have once she was married. While the bulk of her inheritance would not vest until she married – she still had the options she had had before she finished school. As she contemplated, and in a moment of distraction, Maddie undid the clip that held the elaborate hair in place and the tension in her scalp eased, a symbolic sluffing off of Georgi and Ana’s ridiculous expectations.

’It is often said Mister Fisk, that where there is a will there is a way’ she gave a conspiratorial laugh, ’And please, call me Madeleine’ she added. She considered a moment, choosing her words carefully, ’I was very honest with you once, unbidden!’ she gave another chuckle, ’Would you allow me to prevail upon you once again? I fear no one else would tolerate my effusions as you once kindly did.’ She could hear the boisterous laughing of the party of drinkers somewhere beyond the curtains, by the sound of laughing no one would be taking a tour of the exhibit any time soon.

---

  

---

Arven responded to her resilience with a lopsided smile. She was (perhaps?) new to sneaking slivers of her own way of life behind her family's back, but Arven wished her luck with it, and had confidence that she'd rise to the challenge. Whether her first steps into rebellion were a phase or the beginning of a whole new way of life he didn't know, but he supported her either way. Even a short-lived dream was one worth having.

"Prevail away, Madeleine. And do call me Arven", he returned in kind.

  

---

’Thank you Arven’ She flashed a bright smile, ’My life has become about this inheritance,’ she explained, her gaze shifted off to the middle distance and her brow furrowed in self contemplation. ’It was a lot money, life changing.’ and it had been. A bakers daughter had had the chance to raise her station in life, and at one time, to be viewed as someone worthy of someone like Handsome. It was ridiculous! ’But the caveat, the requirement that I marry has changed my life.’ she took a beat and snapped out in what was obvious annoyance, ’and not in a good way.’ She could feel a rant about Ana and Georgi whispering at the back of her throat, but she held it back – if not for them she wouldn’t have met Mister Fisk. She paced as she spoke, her steps quickening in pace as she strode back and forth in front of Antonia’s plinth.

She stopped, turning away from him her frame deflated a little, her shoulders slumping, the realisation washing over her like a tide ’I can’t do this anymore’ she half whispered to herself, ’I can’t pretend.’ It was all things she knew, objectively in her head, but saying them out loud, giving them voice and air, and space to breath here in this muffeled sanctuary made them real, and brought them to life. If it meant forgoing the inheritance, the life her grandfather had gifted her to spite her father then that would be that. She leaned heavily on antonias plinth as though physically exhausted by the sudden realisation.

---

  

---

Although he was encouraging and inspiring and had a sort of rough-hewn wisdom, Arven did wish he could be a more appropriate friend to Madeleine. Not "appropriate" meaning a girl her age, but someone who'd walked in her shoes, been what she had been through and emerged from the other side all the stronger for it. He briefly searched his mind for female friends who might fit the bill, but the only ones he could think of were currently abroad, living rough, Arven-style. Would Madeleine want to go that far with her desires to travel? Probably not.

"I can't pretend to know exactly what you're feeling, but I can imagine how painful it is to reach for freedom and find so many barriers. Have you considered... that the Galleons in your inheritance might in fact break down one or two of those barriers? Money is a very powerful thing. It would be a challenge, but if you found the right husband — a soul open-minded — you could do the minimum to secure your inheritance, and thereby fund your dreams."

The alternative was running away with no money, disowned by her family, unmarried and barely out of her teens. Not even Arven would recommend that as an "adventure".

  

---

She wasn’t sure what response she expected from him, but his response was pragmatic and measured, more measured than she felt in this moment. Maddie was in a mood to burn down cities in this moment and tell Georgi where to go with his boorish, disgusting friends.

’A mercenary marriage? ’ if she was honest she hadn’t, she had always taken the balance of power to sit with her suitors, to pick her, to pluck her like a flower from a garden, choosing her, and the fortune that came with her and that she should be thankful. ’I wouldn’t be the first person in history to do that.’ she ran a hand through her hair. Little did she know that her own sisters elopement had been elicited by much the same motivation. Notions of a marriage of love, where someone could love her for her, and where she could still get what she wanted seemed far off and distant - a childhood dream, better left behind, no dream could come without sacrifice. It seems she was destined to have one or the other -she just needed to decide which she wanted more.

Still she nodded, and pushed herself up from her heavy lean against the jaguars plinth. ’If you know of anyone in the market for a wife and some money, please pass along my name’ she gave a sardonic, rueful laugh. ’As long as they are not currently sitting in the other room drinking with…’ she stopped herself from badmouthing Ana’s husband, ’with the other company, they are in the running.’

---

  

---

"Not mercenary, no", he clarified with a huff of mildly disconcerted amusement. "I just mean a suitable marriage. Not suitable by anyone else's definition — just by your own. There are young gentlemen out there who would not simply tolerate your wanderlust but support it. But like I said... if that's what you want to do, it's a challenge you'll have to rise to."

For if Madeleine could find a husband who would both appease her family and encourage her dreams, that would be a rare win-win situation. Something worth hunting and fighting for. It would take time and effort; but she had friends to help. Friends like Arven.

"Are there no boys you went to school with who might do the trick?"

  

---