Chapter Text
You wake up in your little bed, the grey sheets tangled around your ankles. Above you, you can hear the thump, thump, thump of your father demanding breakfast.
But you haven't got his food. He didn't give you anything to make for breakfast. You haven't even a breakfast for yourself.
You stand and hurry into the kitchen, your hands frighteningly empty. You open the cabinets hoping there is some food to be made—of course, there isn't. It's all upstairs with Pa.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Crack.
The sound of splintering wood crashes into you. You need to hurry. Pork, veal, beans, strawberries, rum, something, anything. Maybe you can go down to the market this morning.
Up the stairs you run to tell him your plan. But the door to his room won't open. The end of the hallway is splintering off, the wall is gone—he's shaking the house apart—you can see the river rushing below and feel the water on your face.
The doorknob, which has always been sticky at best, is jammed up and slippery, and you can't even get a good grip on it. The wind is whipping into the hallway now. The house is creaking terribly, as though it will fall into the Thames at any moment. Even still: thump, thump, thump.
The wood is rotting beneath your bare feet. You grip onto the door handle as a last resort when you finally slide down with the splintering wood, the thumping of Pa's cane merging with the rush of the water to form a terrible, sick tempo, and as your fingers slip from the doorknob—you knew they would—you-
Clara gasps as the water engulfs her, hands gripping tight to whatever she can find—but what she finds is soft white sheets, dry and warm from the sleeping bodies it protects. She takes a second to breathe and calm her racing heart.
She pushes herself up onto her elbows. The room is dark. The sheets have come untucked from the corners of the bed, and Herbert, who sleeps beside her, has brought them around his shoulders. Clara pauses and watches the rise and fall of his ribs as he breathes, calmer—she hopes—than she in sleep.
Though the room is dark, a thin flicker of light flashes under the door, and she notices the lack of company to her other side. She carefully pushes the sheets away. Donning her night jacket and slippers, she tiptoes down the hall to the parlor. There's a fire lit there, and on the sofa before it sits Pip, engrossed in a book.
She shuts the parlor door, which catches his attention. He sets the book down and looks to her with concern, a tiredness in his eyes that she is sure her own reflect. "Good evening, Clara," he says, his voice low.
"Morning now, I think, Pip," she says, settling on the sofa beside him. He moves to make room.
"Is it?" He looks to the clock in the corner of the room, the light from the fire glinting from the arms. "I hardly noticed the time." Then he looks to her. "And what wakes you so early?"
Clara sighs. She closes her eyes for a moment, tipping her head to the side and leaning heavily on Pip's shoulder, grateful for his presence beside her. “Just a nightmare.”
Pip nods. “What of?”
“My father.”
“Ah,” says Pip. “Old Gruffandgrim.” He slips an arm around Clara's waist and tugs her closer.
“Such a silly name for such a… serious man,” Clara says. She takes up the corner of her nightgown and picks at the threads.
“He did seem the sort to show up in nightmares,” murmurs Pip. “Wholly unpleasant, if you'll pardon my saying so.”
"You're right," she says. "I'm not sorry he's gone."
"I must say I much prefer you here than in that house," Pip replies, squeezing her waist in as comforting a way as he can.
Heart warmed, she fixes her gaze on the fire before her. The glow of it is warm and yellow, and the heat of it and of Pip beside her provides stark contrast against the cold squall that occupied her dreams.
From her side comes, "Did I ever tell you about my sister?"
“No,” Clara says.
Pip takes up her slender hand and begins to run his thumb across her knuckles. "She was a terror," he says, "and she raised me by hand; though more by way of her hands, I should think, for she used them fearfully against me, and against poor Joe—her husband—when he got in the way."
Clara hums. “She does seem the sort to show up in nightmares,” she says, flashing Pip a small, sympathetic smile.
Pip laughs wryly at that. “She often did.”
"Still?"
"No, no longer. I have found better people who ease my mind.” He squeezes her hand. "As I hope to ease yours."
Clara smiles.
They're silent together for a minute. By degrees, Pip seems to fall asleep. First his hand around hers loosens—though never lets go—then his head tilts, coming to rest partially on her own. Outside, the church bells form the chorus of one in the morning.
This rouses him from his sleep long enough for him to bring Clara's hand to his lips. "Good night, Clara," he mumbles.
Clara only just manages to reply in kind before dozing off herself.
Warm murmurs drift above her head, and she is certain it isn't a dream. With concentrated effort, she opens her eyes.
Above her—for at some point she has become rather horizontal—is Pip, and below her too, for her head has come to rest in his lap. He is speaking in warm tones over her head to Herbert, who, after a moment, comes into view just above her to kiss Pip.
Her yawn draws the attention of the two men above her. The combined warmth of their smiles turned on her is near blinding. She sits up.
After morning greetings—and her own complaints of a stiff neck—Herbert settles a hand on her arm. “Was my company so poor last night?”
“I’m afraid the company of my own mind was poor last night, Herbert, and I would not have troubled anyone with it, but Pip was already awake.” Clara leans into his touch with a small smile. “Worry not.”
“If you insist,” Herbert says, and he excuses himself to get ready for the day with a gentle reminder to Pip to do the same.
Pip stands, stretches, pulls Clara up to stand before him. “Did you sleep well?”
“As well as one can when she is not in a bed,” Clara says playfully. She sobers a little, then. “Thank you, Pip.”
“Of course,” says he, and kisses her. “I'll be sure to come to bed early tonight.”
“You had better. But first, you had better dress for work, or else you'll be late.”
Pip heeds her with a smile and a lingering touch, and as he disappears into the hallway, she turns to the cool embers in the fireplace, determined to coax it back to its solid warmth.