Work Text:
Neville Craven had never been one to drink. He had, on more than one occasion, described it as a vile habit kept up only by the lazy and stupid. That’s why Ms. Medlock was so surprised to find him hunched over his desk, glass in hand with an almost empty bottle of bourbon.
Lightning outside flashed, followed quickly by a loud boom of thunder. Furious winds shook the house. Far away in his nursery, the year-old master Colin cried inconsolably, despite the best efforts of the nanny.
“Are you quite all right, sir?” Ms. Medlock ventured tentatively.
“Do you know what day it is, Medlock?” he mumbled miserably.
“It’s the seventeenth, sir.”
“It’s the anniversary, Medlock,” he said, pouring himself another glass before violently throwing his head back to drain it.
There was another crack of thunder.
“It’s been an entire year. One long, lonely, miserable year,” he moaned.
“It is master Colin’s birthday, sir. I was wondering if mayhaps you’d want to come wish him well.”
“He’s an infant, Medlock! What understanding would he have? Besides, I’m in no shape to see anyone, much less a child.”
She took a closer look at him in the dim candlelight. He wasn’t lying. The doctor hadn’t shaved today. His cravat was askew, and his eyes were sunken and dark.
“Might I bring you some tea, sir?” she asked. Her usually sterile, professional voice, was laced with concern. She hadn’t seen him in this state in, well, ever.
“You’re excused, Medlock.”
“Sir, I really must insist-”
“I said, you’re excused!” he thundered.
“Very well, sir.” She walked out of the room slowly, torrents of rain lashing on the tall windows of his study. She closed the door quietly, peering at him as the crack of light got smaller and smaller. She swore she could hear him sobbing.
Lightning flashed again, and the branches of a tree beat the side of the house. Colin’s crying grew louder. Using a lantern, she made her way down to the nursery. Inside she found a restless master Colin in the arms of the harried nanny, who was desperately trying to calm him.
“I’ll take the young master, dear,” she said.
“But ma’am, I-”
“I know dear, but you need your rest as well,” Medlock said, taking the squalling infant from her.
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you ma’am,” the nanny rushed off to her adjoining chamber.
Medlock rocked the baby, quieting him quickly. She had always had a way with children, and her one regret was that she had never had any of her own.
“Now then, master Colin,” she said to the infant in her arms, “Ye shouldn’t go off a wailin’ like tha’. Ye know the doctor don’t like it much. ‘E sends his regards for yer birthday o’ course. Yer father as well.”
She was slipping into her native Yorkshire, but she didn’t mind. Colin was the only one who could hear her over the noise of the storm.
“Poor lad. Ye remind him of the mistress, thy mother.”
Colin was fighting sleep now, his tiny eyes opening and shutting as he tried to stay awake.
“He loved ‘er too, ye know. ‘E tried to keep it hidden, but I knew, I knew. Nearly killed the both of them, when she died.”
Colin was blinking slower now, as sleep overtook him.
“Ye look so much like ‘er,” Medlock sighed, laying him in his crib. “I wonder if either of ‘em will ever be able to so much as look at ye withou’ tearin’ up.”
She walked towards the door to see herself to bed.
“Goodnight, master Colin. And happy birthday."