Chapter Text
A pianoforte replaced, and Diana’s faith in a better world restored once Anne finished her impromptu reading performance; Ms. Barry finally managed to play her piece at the evening portion of the recital. Done so with grace and the most calculated of wrist flicks, the audience was moved to- or, rather, goaded into for the sake of politeness, as Agatha stood first, and could not stand in a crowd alone in the face of an old-fashioned social cue- applaud our raven-haired pianist from an upright position; the standing ovation doing much to improve both girls’ sullen moods, and managed to rather endear Agatha’s parents to dear Di.
Some shawl or another tied and wound round Diana’s shapely hips, the dress was covered enough to allow Mr. and Mrs. Pawlikowski a pretence of not noticing the burnt marks, closing their eyes to their daughter’s friend’s clumsiness for the day, an omission so well executed that neither girl suspected they had been caught in their misfortune. She extended a hand gently, surprised to feel the calloused grip of a farmer in Mister’s hand, despite the Pawlikowski family’s supposed, newfound, Canadian wealth. Rough or not, Agatha’s father smiled down at Diana, warm and rugged, “Miss Barry, good to make your acquaintance.” His accent was thick, a broken thing which did not match his sturdy nature, but Diana knew not to comment, nor- heaven forbid- speak on it with Aggie, knowing that if Mr Parr (for that remains to be how Diana, along with the rest of company referred to the family still) was half as prideful and patriotic as her dearest mate, she would be resented until graduation. And forevermore.
“Likewise, Mr. Parr,” the choice of address was a wrong one, recognisable only by the faintest tremor in the corner of the man’s mouth, making Diana reevaluate and correct herself to a simpler ‘Sir’ from then on. Before she could offer a sweeter introduction, Agatha’s mother interjected, her frown lines deep, mouth pulled taunt into a sharp line.
“Pleasure to meet you, Diana,” the informality of which did not escape our heroine, alas, “you played beautifully. Are you parents in attendance? We should like to introduce ourselves, and offer congratulations for their bringing-up of such a fine lady as yourself.” Mrs. Parr said so warmly, with a jolly smile that would almost endear her to Diana, if not for the fatal addition of her final sentence. “Our Agata could learn much from you, in an aim to be less so deplorable herself.”
Diana did not like Magdalena Pawlikowska then, nor did she tolerate ‘Madge Parr’. Yet allowances had to be made, a vow to remain civilised crossing Diana’s youthful mind, in effort to prevent argument, and the very real possibility of subsequent alienation it would provoke between herself and her dearest Aggie, had her parents deemed Diana an unsuitable pal.
Introductions made, the girls sat side by side in their little wooden carriage, hands clasped together for warmth, for the winter had begun to settle crisply around them, snow crunching underfoot of the drawn horse as it clip-clopped forwards. The initial, carefully outlined evening plans had suggested Diana stay at the quaint country manor for dinner- had her nose not intuitively hoisted itself up, turning away from foreign cuisine- before leaving once more to rejoin her aunt in the city. Such a perfect plan it was, yet the reality remained unchanged in its startlingly unfortunate turn of events.
Hopping down from the wagon with a thud, both our dear Diana and Agatha ran at the highest speed granted possible by their heavy skirts and winter boots. Ploughing through the heavy sheets of snow when their hands disconnected, when Diana found her usually graceful foot sinking into the white fall, swallowed whole by nature’s blanket. While buried, this foot hooked itself onto one thing or another, rendering Diana’s balance a useless trifle, as she planked forwards, alabaster brow hitting the packed ground, until all that was left for Agatha’s gaze to fuss over was a trail of fanned-out locks- remarkable similar to the spill of ink on a fresh page- and a very cold, very soiled dress.
Halting immediately at the sight, Agatha ran backwards, pace retraced back to her darling companion. “My! Diana, whatever happened, get up, up!” Grabbing Ms. Barry by her arms, she hauled her over, first onto Diana’s side, then her back, the beauty soaked thoroughly to the bone as consequence.
“A-a-agg-ggie, I f-fear that I a-am cold. We must-” whatever Diana had intended to add, it was lost on them both as she swallowed a rather animal yelp, pain jolting her docile manners out of her once she made the mistake of attempting movement of the fallen leg, “zounds! It is broken! ”
“What!” What, indeed, as Agatha waved her father over with utmost urgency, attempting to pull and tug until Diana was settled into her side without having the offending injury ache.
In effect, Diana was carried up to the house in vastly unfamiliar arms, settled only by the knowledge that Aggie was running alongside her, clutching Diana’s fallen boot in her arms, as though it were a slipper belonging to her most favoured fairytale princess. Ankle decidedly not broken, yet facing a rather nasty sprain, she was settled in Agatha’s bed, piled high with enough animal-printed coverlets to endanger suffocation had her head slipped beneath the duvet at some point during nightfall- and she was in for a prolonged stay.
“Diana, I must make an inquiry of valiant importance.” Agatha’s gaze swept over Diana in a measured stare, content with the sight of ruffled hair, flushed nose, and a paisley nightgown from her own wardrobe, top button undone some to allow a flash of rather titillating collarbone.
Feeling uneasy at the upcoming question, Diana steeled herself at some accusation or another; predicting that her Aggie saw through her Cathrine Earnshaw-esque ploy to guarantee the girls more time spent together, “...proceed?”
Agatha busied her plump hands with buttoning Diana’s gown up, ensuring more bodily heat to stay enclosed to the skin near Diana’s sculpted neck, as she pondered seriously, “whatever does ‘zounds’ mean?”
Her face breaking into an even, heavily amused smile, Diana barked out happily, humoured by dearest Aggie’s apparent aversion to Shakespeare.
“Oh, Aggie! I shall lend you my copy of Romeo and Juliet , I promise, in exchange for that lovely dress of yours I had ruined.” Giggles followed into late morning.