Chapter Text
Silence. Just the way he liked it, normally. Except today wasn’t a normal day and with every passing moment of absolute stillness his emotions consumed him with increasing hunger. Grief, was the big theme of the hour, that and guilt. The Captain stared out of the window, motionless but for a subtle sniff, a delicate twitch of his moustache as he regained his composure. His brow furrowed at what he assumed was a squirrel running up a tree halfway across the estate. One eyebrow quirked, watching as it flitted in and out of view before his attention was suddenly dragged to a black car rumbling to a halt on the gravel in the courtyard. He noted with quiet annoyance that he was not the only person to have noticed as the steadily rising babble of excited and curious voices downstairs gathered at the front windows.
“Who are they?”
“Alison were you expecting visitors?”
“Red Man!”
“Post doesn’t come on a Sunday, Robin!”
“Looks like a bailiff vehicle if you ask me, nasty business, reminds me of an old friend I had from Cambridge, Peter Caster-Wallbrooke, Stunning wife, page 3 girl who left him virtually bankr-“
“Ooh look she’s coming out! I wonder if she’s nice.”
“Guys!” Alison’s voice broke the chatter, “Please!” she hissed, and the Captain saw her leave the house, hurrying over to the car to assist what appeared to be the world’s littlest old lady out of the car, their voices muted through the window pane. He welcomed the distraction from his thoughts, though the quiet hum of impatient ghosts was starting to grate. He cleared his throat and adjusted his swagger stick, ready to move out from his post to re-establish a sense of order in the group before he could have sworn he made eye contact with the elderly visitor. He froze, staring at the woman staring back up at the window, her lips moving as she spoke to Alison before her focus was pulled elsewhere, Alison guiding her to sit on the edge of the water fountain. It can’t be. The Captain was sure he hadn’t taken a breath since he saw her, yet his un-beating heart felt like it was now kept in an ice cold vice grip. Nonsense. Go downstairs and sort out the troops, and then see to it that this intruder isn’t going to cause any further disruption to the house. His heels clicked together, turning on the spot before he marched downstairs, a niggling feeling in the back of his mind. She would have turned 98 in August… Fool, she hasn’t been seen here since the funeral in 1944, not since Colin disgraced the three of you. He felt sick, jaw setting as he attempted to push all undesirable thoughts from his mind. It’s not her. You broke the poor girl’s heart. He cleared his throat yet again. Well I didn’t. Colin did. She wasn’t to know. She was never to know. It wasn’t right. Wasn’t…normal. But she knew before that, didn’t she old boy? Knew well before you did. He stopped just short of the common room, coughing pointedly to get everyone’s attention.
“Right! That’s quite enough of that, move away from the windows please and on with what you were doing before.” There was a synchronised groan from the group, Robin and Julian breaking away first to go back to their chess game.
“Apparently her husband was an officer here during the war.” Pat nodded, gesturing to Alison and the visitor.
“Was he now?” The Captain pursed his lips, rocking back on his heels, the grip tightening on his swagger stick. Pat nodded again, the shorter man clearly trying to choose his next words carefully.
“Yeah… I-it’s kind of ironic really, y’know. I-I mean her turning up here all of a sudden… o-on your Death D-”
“A lot of women’s husbands died during the war, Patrick, wasn’t that uncommon. I should think it’s just coincidence.” He frowned, looking out of the window at the pair at the fountain, his eyes narrowing cynically. Pat shuffled awkwardly, his hands clasping behind his back.
“I-I’m not going to pry…but you should go see her.” He murmured softly, The Captains gaze snapping defensively over him. “W-what I mean is if her husband was here, then you probably knew him. I-I know she won’t be able to see you, but it might bring a little comfort to her, t-to you even.”
“I’m an officer of his majesties armed forces, I don’t NEED comfort, Patrick.”
“Then why you here an’ not upstair in mood?” The Captain turned, staring at Robin who hadn’t even looked up from his chess board to make his point.
He passed Alison on the outside, observing her expression guardedly as she made her way back into the house to make a cup of tea. His head tilted back a fraction, daring her to make a comment of which there was none. Hmm, quite. He sniffed, his swagger stick clasped firmly behind him with both hands for moral support as he stepped closer to the fountain.
“It’s been seventy five years... And you still have that godforsaken stick!” The sudden speech made the captain flinch, suddenly defensive.
“N-Now look here… I- I don’t know who you are o-or how you can converse with me, b-but-“
“Oh don’t play that game with me, you might have stayed the same all these years but life went on for the rest of us.” The woman sniffed, turning to look at him. “I’m 98, William, I’ve had 2 strokes and a heart attack so, yes, I can see you.” She stabbed her walking stick into the ground to support herself a little more. “I didn’t come here for an argument, though god knows I have a lot to say to you… but if that’s what you want then go back to your hiding spot and mope.” She sniffed again, bringing out a small delicate handkerchief to wipe her nose with.
He stood stunned, studying the woman closely before his resolve broke and he found himself sitting down beside her, swagger stick resting on his lap gently. “I died with it in my hand…” He stated softly, the pair of them staring off into the distance. “So I can’t let it go… I don’t know how it works but it’s just become a permanent fixture.” He was treated to a ‘hmm’ in response so fell quiet, cautiously throwing a somewhat nervous glance in her direction before watching a seagull stamp on the ground with its feet. Alison came out after a long while, quietly handing her a cup of tea which she took with one gnarled and trembling hand, nodding thanks to the young girl who shot back inside with an anxious smile to the captain. He hadn’t noticed it before, having tried to reject the notion that it was her, but despite the cruel effect age had had on her, she really hadn’t changed that much in the years they had lost. Her hair, which was once long and fiery red (a stark contrast to the wartime fashion) was now shoulder height, straight and pure white. He allowed himself a small smile. She never was one for rollers and mousse. The smile soon faltered as he watched her take a dainty sip from her cup. Her hand shook worryingly hard, causing the sleeve of her red coat to ride up, revealing bony wrists, mottled and paper thin skin which looked as if it was held on by the hospital ID bracelet she still wore like a badge of honor. The date, he noted, was two weeks ago. He winced, wanting to reach out to take the cup from her. To help her as she struggled to sit the cup back down beside her. Did I cause this? He shook the thought from his head, following her gaze back across the grass in front of them and back into the tense silence.
“I’m sorry I haven’t visited.” Her voice croaked a little as she eventually broke the silence, The Captain shook his head, looking over at her.
“Margaret, I understa-“
“No.” she cut him off bluntly, and he found himself met with the same green eyes he had managed to convince himself he loved 80 years ago, yet the hurt they reflected injured him more than any bullet he may have accidentally caught during the war. “No you don’t understand. So please don’t insult me and pretend.” He fell quiet at that. “Five years, we were married, William. Five years. I didn’t even want to get married that young but you…you…” she huffed, fidgeting with her walking stick. “You strung me along that entire time, lied to my face and then all that at your funeral” she practical shook, decades of bottling up finally coming to the surface. His gaze fell to the floor, ashamed as he recalled the service held a lifetime ago.