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A Conversation in the Yellow Drawing-Room, chapter 4
Title: A Conversation in the Yellow Drawing-Room, And Other Letters To Mrs Strange
Fandom: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell
Genre Drama
Rating: Teen and up
Characters: Emma Pole, John Childermass, John Segundus, Stephen Black
Pairings: Emma Pole/John Childermass
Chapters: 4/?
Words: 1923
Summary: Lady Pole writes a letter to her friend Mrs Strange about an unexpected encounter.
The whole fic on AO3
Dearest Arabella,
I fear the content of this letter will alarm you, but keep in mind I am writing this safe and secure, even if the last few days have been full of dramatic events.
Rosehill is a charming house, and I have continued to settle down. The walled garden is full of roses, but I suspect it’s the overabundance of wild roses all over the hills around the house is behind the name. They are in full bloom now, and it is beautiful.
I was taking a stroll around the garden an evening three days past. Suddenly I heard someone calling my name, and when I looked around, I saw Mr Childermass standing outside a side gate. It’s made wrought iron, but little can be seen of it as the wild roses has almost covered it. I don’t think it’s possible to open, and I was smiling as I called out to him to come in by the main gate which was standing wide open. But he remained at the closed gate, and as I came closer, it struck me he called me by my first name, and how strange that was. I have never asked Mr Childermass to call me Emma, and he has never taken the liberty. It was also odd of him to propose to enter by a gate which anyone could see had not been opened in years.
When I came close, he called out again. “Emma, let me inside.”
“Mr Childermass,” I said, rather irritated by his forwardness. “The front gate is open. You only have to go around the corner to find it.”
“No,” he answered. “It has to be through this gate.”
He was almost completely obscured by the flowering roses, and I stepped closer, lifting my hand to move some of the long supple canes aside. As I did so my fingers brushed against the cold iron of the gate, and suddenly I saw it was not Mr Childermass who was standing there. It was a man I had never seen before, a man with such a handsome countenance I knew at once he could not be human. He was clad in green silk which shifted to pink as he moved, and his eyes were green as well. Fear filled me and I nearly fled before I realised he could not get in. Someone must have barred his entry with an iron gate a long time ago, and as mistress of the house, it was up to me to bid him enter.
I told him to go away, and that I wanted naught of his kind, but the Faerie man only continued to plead with me. He promised to fulfill my every wish if I let him in, his words falling quickly from his lips. At first, he still sounded like Mr Childermass, but as he spoke his voice changed. It grew strangely quiet, like the wind rustling through leaves, but I could still every word. I said nothing more and left, his voice still murmuring in my ears until I was inside. And though I had taken care to walk slowly, I found my heart was beating as if I had been running for my life. I always knew I would attract something stronger and more dangerous than the little twins I sent to Stephen, but I had still hoped I would free myself before it happened.
The chances this would be the only and last encounter was, I knew, slim, but I decided to not let it get to me. Since moving here I have discovered a penchant for gardening, and as the next morning was bright and warm, I spent it with my head gardener, Mr Greenwood. (And isn’t that the most fitting name for a gardener?) I know he is secretly amused by my ignorance, but he also approves of my enthusiasm and has proved to be a patent teacher. I could be content with telling him what to plant, and where, but I feel you have to know how something work to truly understand it. So under Mr Greenwood's supervision, I weeded flower beds, learning what makes a weed and not a flower. Suddenly there was a strong pain in my left hand, and to my surprise, I found several long rose thorns embedded in my palm. As I removed the thorns, Mr Greenwood dug around where my hand had been and found a long thorny wild rose tendril. He expressed surprise as there had been none of those growing in the garden before. When he pulled at it, it lifted easily from the soil, and we found it had grown in a straight line from the side gate.
I went inside to have Pampisford clean and bandage my hand, feeling most uncomfortable. Some time later Mr Greenwood came to inform me these strange plant shoots were all over the garden, and he was very puzzled over the speed they were growing. But I know it was the man of roses and thorns and I knew it was magic behind them.
I slept poorly as I kept having dreams of the Faerie calling for me, still begging and nagging me to be let in. Then I woke up from a throbbing pain in my left hand, and I found it swollen and mis-coloured. And when Pampisford pulled apart, the curtains from my window I nearly screamed; almost the whole window was covered in flowering wild roses.
By this time I was frightened, and in considerable discomfort, as my hand grew steadily worse throughout the day. Immediately after breakfast, I wrote not only Mr Childermass but also Messrs Segundus and Honeyfoot about my plight. But though I was sure they would respond with speed, I also knew I could not expect any help until the next day. I spent the whole day indoors and Mr Greenwood and his boys worked diligently to remove the wild roses from the garden. But it they grew with an unnatural speed, and in the early evening, they found their way in through the kitchen door, causing the kitchen maid to quit on the spot. She said she could not abide magic and I cannot fault her for that. I would have liked to leave too, only I was afraid to step outside the garden.
By evening I was feverish and when the bandage was unwound from my hand, the wound had blackened, and the swelling was even larger. I could not bear the lightest touch and refused to let it be bandaged again. Pampisford was quite put out with me for not wanting a doctor, but as I was convinced the wound was magical, I didn’t think a doctor could be of any help at all.
Sleep refused me as my hand gave me no rest. As I lay in bed, I could hear the rustling of the growing rose canes, and as it grew louder, I could hear the Faerie man’s voice in it. It promised me love and to heal my hand, and everything I could ever want, if I only invited him in. Despite the pain, I was not tempted. I know far too well that a fairy’s promise always comes with a catch. Then something tickled my neck, and to my horror, I realised the canes had found their way into my bedchamber. They were in full bloom, but among the flowers were thorns, wickedly long and sharp.
You probably already wonder why I had not made use of Mr Childermass letter, but until now I had thought myself safe in my bedchamber. But I always keep the litter close, and now I took it and jumped out of bed. It should have been an easy few steps to thrust it into the glowing ember of the fireplace, but I found myself hindered by the wild roses. At my first step they lashed out at me, the thorns tearing at my nightgown, and then the thorns pierced my skin. I could feel the sharp pricks on arms and legs, and blood trickling from many small cuts. My every moment we met with new assaults, and my way through the room was slow and arduous. I was almost by the fireplace when I stumbled and fell down on my knees, and I realized one thorny stalk had wound itself around my ankles. But I flung myself forward and threw the letter into the fireplace, fervently hoping the cinders would still be hot enough to set the letter on fire.
For a moment nothing happened, but then the letter burst into flames. The fire grew high and white and without heat, and from it, Mr Childermass stepped into the room, as calmly as if he had entered by any ordinary means. I was half delirious from pain and fear, but I still had the presence of mind to stretch my wounded hand towards him. I didn’t know what could be done about it, but I knew it was the root of this terrible ordeal.
Mr Childermass gave my hand a quick glance and produced a small knife which looked wickedly sharp. Before I could react, he seized my hand and cut straight through the swelling. It hurt, but it was a clean hurt, and blood and pus welled forward. Mr Childermass looked closer at the wound and swore. I usually can’t abide profanity, and I will not repeat what he said, but despite his roughness, I had never heard him swear before. I believe it was only a result of the unusual situation and decided not to take offense. I could also see what he saw; something embedded deep into my flesh. Mr Childermass took his handkerchief, so he didn’t touch it directly and pulled out a thorn. It was far larger than any of the thorns I had pulled out myself, and I had a terrible feeling it had grown inside my hand. He flung it and the handkerchief into the fire, and again the fire flared up, but now it grew hot, before it died down, and as the flames went out, I could hear screaming inside my mind.
When the screaming stopped I realised all the wild roses were gone without a trace. And my skin was no longer trashed by thorns, and my nightgown was whole again. Only my hand was still bleeding though it already hurt less than it had. I was in no condition to move, but Mr Childermass lifted me into a chair and set out to take care of my hand before he carried me to my bed. I was too exhausted to speak, and could only thank him for his help in few and inadequate words. I feel asleep almost at once, and the last thing I noticed was him taking my good hand and holding it with an unexpected tenderness.
I slept soundly and felt unexpectedly rested when Pampisford entered the room. Only then did it struck me she had slept through the drama of the night, and she is usually a light sleeper. She was so pleased with my improvement she failed to notice the new bandages, and of Mr Childermass there was no trace.
I have spent the morning writing this letter to you, and a few minutes ago Pampisford told me Messrs Childermass, Segundus and Honeyfoot have come to call on me. I have much to speak with them about, so I will send this to you with a promise to write again soon.
With all my love,
Emma
Fandom: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell
Genre Drama
Rating: Teen and up
Characters: Emma Pole, John Childermass, John Segundus, Stephen Black
Pairings: Emma Pole/John Childermass
Chapters: 4/?
Words: 1923
Summary: Lady Pole writes a letter to her friend Mrs Strange about an unexpected encounter.
The whole fic on AO3
Dearest Arabella,
I fear the content of this letter will alarm you, but keep in mind I am writing this safe and secure, even if the last few days have been full of dramatic events.
Rosehill is a charming house, and I have continued to settle down. The walled garden is full of roses, but I suspect it’s the overabundance of wild roses all over the hills around the house is behind the name. They are in full bloom now, and it is beautiful.
I was taking a stroll around the garden an evening three days past. Suddenly I heard someone calling my name, and when I looked around, I saw Mr Childermass standing outside a side gate. It’s made wrought iron, but little can be seen of it as the wild roses has almost covered it. I don’t think it’s possible to open, and I was smiling as I called out to him to come in by the main gate which was standing wide open. But he remained at the closed gate, and as I came closer, it struck me he called me by my first name, and how strange that was. I have never asked Mr Childermass to call me Emma, and he has never taken the liberty. It was also odd of him to propose to enter by a gate which anyone could see had not been opened in years.
When I came close, he called out again. “Emma, let me inside.”
“Mr Childermass,” I said, rather irritated by his forwardness. “The front gate is open. You only have to go around the corner to find it.”
“No,” he answered. “It has to be through this gate.”
He was almost completely obscured by the flowering roses, and I stepped closer, lifting my hand to move some of the long supple canes aside. As I did so my fingers brushed against the cold iron of the gate, and suddenly I saw it was not Mr Childermass who was standing there. It was a man I had never seen before, a man with such a handsome countenance I knew at once he could not be human. He was clad in green silk which shifted to pink as he moved, and his eyes were green as well. Fear filled me and I nearly fled before I realised he could not get in. Someone must have barred his entry with an iron gate a long time ago, and as mistress of the house, it was up to me to bid him enter.
I told him to go away, and that I wanted naught of his kind, but the Faerie man only continued to plead with me. He promised to fulfill my every wish if I let him in, his words falling quickly from his lips. At first, he still sounded like Mr Childermass, but as he spoke his voice changed. It grew strangely quiet, like the wind rustling through leaves, but I could still every word. I said nothing more and left, his voice still murmuring in my ears until I was inside. And though I had taken care to walk slowly, I found my heart was beating as if I had been running for my life. I always knew I would attract something stronger and more dangerous than the little twins I sent to Stephen, but I had still hoped I would free myself before it happened.
The chances this would be the only and last encounter was, I knew, slim, but I decided to not let it get to me. Since moving here I have discovered a penchant for gardening, and as the next morning was bright and warm, I spent it with my head gardener, Mr Greenwood. (And isn’t that the most fitting name for a gardener?) I know he is secretly amused by my ignorance, but he also approves of my enthusiasm and has proved to be a patent teacher. I could be content with telling him what to plant, and where, but I feel you have to know how something work to truly understand it. So under Mr Greenwood's supervision, I weeded flower beds, learning what makes a weed and not a flower. Suddenly there was a strong pain in my left hand, and to my surprise, I found several long rose thorns embedded in my palm. As I removed the thorns, Mr Greenwood dug around where my hand had been and found a long thorny wild rose tendril. He expressed surprise as there had been none of those growing in the garden before. When he pulled at it, it lifted easily from the soil, and we found it had grown in a straight line from the side gate.
I went inside to have Pampisford clean and bandage my hand, feeling most uncomfortable. Some time later Mr Greenwood came to inform me these strange plant shoots were all over the garden, and he was very puzzled over the speed they were growing. But I know it was the man of roses and thorns and I knew it was magic behind them.
I slept poorly as I kept having dreams of the Faerie calling for me, still begging and nagging me to be let in. Then I woke up from a throbbing pain in my left hand, and I found it swollen and mis-coloured. And when Pampisford pulled apart, the curtains from my window I nearly screamed; almost the whole window was covered in flowering wild roses.
By this time I was frightened, and in considerable discomfort, as my hand grew steadily worse throughout the day. Immediately after breakfast, I wrote not only Mr Childermass but also Messrs Segundus and Honeyfoot about my plight. But though I was sure they would respond with speed, I also knew I could not expect any help until the next day. I spent the whole day indoors and Mr Greenwood and his boys worked diligently to remove the wild roses from the garden. But it they grew with an unnatural speed, and in the early evening, they found their way in through the kitchen door, causing the kitchen maid to quit on the spot. She said she could not abide magic and I cannot fault her for that. I would have liked to leave too, only I was afraid to step outside the garden.
By evening I was feverish and when the bandage was unwound from my hand, the wound had blackened, and the swelling was even larger. I could not bear the lightest touch and refused to let it be bandaged again. Pampisford was quite put out with me for not wanting a doctor, but as I was convinced the wound was magical, I didn’t think a doctor could be of any help at all.
Sleep refused me as my hand gave me no rest. As I lay in bed, I could hear the rustling of the growing rose canes, and as it grew louder, I could hear the Faerie man’s voice in it. It promised me love and to heal my hand, and everything I could ever want, if I only invited him in. Despite the pain, I was not tempted. I know far too well that a fairy’s promise always comes with a catch. Then something tickled my neck, and to my horror, I realised the canes had found their way into my bedchamber. They were in full bloom, but among the flowers were thorns, wickedly long and sharp.
You probably already wonder why I had not made use of Mr Childermass letter, but until now I had thought myself safe in my bedchamber. But I always keep the litter close, and now I took it and jumped out of bed. It should have been an easy few steps to thrust it into the glowing ember of the fireplace, but I found myself hindered by the wild roses. At my first step they lashed out at me, the thorns tearing at my nightgown, and then the thorns pierced my skin. I could feel the sharp pricks on arms and legs, and blood trickling from many small cuts. My every moment we met with new assaults, and my way through the room was slow and arduous. I was almost by the fireplace when I stumbled and fell down on my knees, and I realized one thorny stalk had wound itself around my ankles. But I flung myself forward and threw the letter into the fireplace, fervently hoping the cinders would still be hot enough to set the letter on fire.
For a moment nothing happened, but then the letter burst into flames. The fire grew high and white and without heat, and from it, Mr Childermass stepped into the room, as calmly as if he had entered by any ordinary means. I was half delirious from pain and fear, but I still had the presence of mind to stretch my wounded hand towards him. I didn’t know what could be done about it, but I knew it was the root of this terrible ordeal.
Mr Childermass gave my hand a quick glance and produced a small knife which looked wickedly sharp. Before I could react, he seized my hand and cut straight through the swelling. It hurt, but it was a clean hurt, and blood and pus welled forward. Mr Childermass looked closer at the wound and swore. I usually can’t abide profanity, and I will not repeat what he said, but despite his roughness, I had never heard him swear before. I believe it was only a result of the unusual situation and decided not to take offense. I could also see what he saw; something embedded deep into my flesh. Mr Childermass took his handkerchief, so he didn’t touch it directly and pulled out a thorn. It was far larger than any of the thorns I had pulled out myself, and I had a terrible feeling it had grown inside my hand. He flung it and the handkerchief into the fire, and again the fire flared up, but now it grew hot, before it died down, and as the flames went out, I could hear screaming inside my mind.
When the screaming stopped I realised all the wild roses were gone without a trace. And my skin was no longer trashed by thorns, and my nightgown was whole again. Only my hand was still bleeding though it already hurt less than it had. I was in no condition to move, but Mr Childermass lifted me into a chair and set out to take care of my hand before he carried me to my bed. I was too exhausted to speak, and could only thank him for his help in few and inadequate words. I feel asleep almost at once, and the last thing I noticed was him taking my good hand and holding it with an unexpected tenderness.
I slept soundly and felt unexpectedly rested when Pampisford entered the room. Only then did it struck me she had slept through the drama of the night, and she is usually a light sleeper. She was so pleased with my improvement she failed to notice the new bandages, and of Mr Childermass there was no trace.
I have spent the morning writing this letter to you, and a few minutes ago Pampisford told me Messrs Childermass, Segundus and Honeyfoot have come to call on me. I have much to speak with them about, so I will send this to you with a promise to write again soon.
With all my love,
Emma
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