Cal Bishop (memento_vivere) wrote in at_the_gates, @ 2011-03-06 18:52:00 |
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Entry tags: | cal bishop, david riedmaier |
I just don't care if it's real
Who: Cal Bishop (memento_vivere) & David Riedmaier (_machiavellian_)
What: Miss Ella clearly doesn't like having another boy living under her roof, but Cal knows that despite the menacing scowl she keeps giving the English boy, she'll let David stay as long as he needs to.
Where: Miss Ella's house, London.
When: 1986
Warnings: N/A
When she was asked whether she'd be willing to take care of her deceased cousin's son, Ella Fitzpatrick had been reluctant - to put it mildly. At sixty-five, she was too old to be taking care of a child, not to mention inexperienced. But that little boy didn't have anyone else and he was all that was left of Bess, that silly girl who thought running away and marrying a peasant was the secret to having a 'normal' life. How far had that got her?
So she agreed to take him in - couldn't it have been a girl? - and did her best to raise him proper, the way she'd been brought up; put clothes on his back, food in his stomach, saw to it that he went to school and did his homework. He was a quiet boy and well-behaved, which was a relief. Had he been a loud, messy, little nuisance, she would have thrown him out. But he didn't speak unless spoken to, did his share of housework without complaining, never asked her stupid questions about the books, candles and visitors and kept to himself most of the time.
For a while, it was like sharing a home with a small ghost and that - ghosts - was something Miss Ella was used to. Did she like him? Well, she didn't dislike him as much as she'd expected. For a little boy Cal Bishop wasn't so bad.
And then another little boy showed up at their door in the middle of the night, bruised and bleeding, and not just any little boy but James Godfrey's nephew. She'd watched them from the hall, watched her charge fidget and almost flail - who knew he could become that animated? - and missed her chance to interfere in favour of watching Cal pull that beaten boy into her home, closing and locking the door behind them.
It was a bad idea, harbouring that Merchant child in her house, Ella knew that, and she certainly didn't like having two of those living under her roof, but the peasant boy seemed to care about the English boy's well-being, and that was something she hadn't thought possible.
Three days later, the two boys were sitting in her kitchen, eating sandwiches. "I won't be home until later tonight. Clean up the dishes when you're done," the old lady said, directing her usual scowl at the boys, "and take Mr Schubert for a walk before you go to bed."
"Yes, Miss Ella." Cal jumped up to help her into her jacket. Casting a last glare at the boy in her kitchen she picked up her bag and left while Cal tried to keep the dog from following after her.
"Feed the dog."
"Yes, Miss Ella. Goodbye, Miss Ella!" The door slammed shut, and the dog made a beeline for the kitchen - forbidden territory when the old woman was around - dragging Cal along.
"For an old, senile fart you're pretty strong, Mr Schubert," Cal muttered as he let go and went to wash his hands in the kitchen sink. The dog sat down next to David's chair and stared at the food in the boy's hand.