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Chapter Text

As the train pulled into the station, Rebecca shielded her eyes with her hand. She leaned against the side of the rented car, scanning the train compartments for a familiar face. She did not find her until the train had come to a halt. The train doors opened and there she was, stepping down onto the platform. Face breaking into a wide grin, Rebecca walked towards her. 

“Beatrice!” she called. “Bee, over here!”

Beatrice’s head snapped up. It took her a moment to find Rebecca, then her eyes lit up. They met halfway between the train and Rebecca’s car. Without hesitation, Rebecca wrapped her arms around Beatrice, pulling her into a tight hug before kissing her on both cheeks. 

“There you are,” Rebecca said. “I’m so glad to see you.” 

“Likewise.” Beatrice’s face was flushed. “You haven’t been waiting too long?”

“Not at all. Do you have any more luggage?”

“Just this.” Beatrice gestured at her suitcase. 

“Wonderful. Let’s not dawdle, then. We might make it there before dark if we’re lucky.” 

Still grinning broadly, Rebecca led the way to the car. She took Beatrice’s suitcase and stowed it in the trunk, then held open the passenger door. Once they had closed the doors, Beatrice glanced at the backseat. 

“You came alone?”

“Oh yes, Danny stayed home to prepare. I tried to talk her into coming with me, but she wanted everything to be perfect for your arrival. She thinks you’re rather slumming it with us.” Rebecca started the car. She looked over at Beatrice just in time to see her blush.

“But I would never—” Beatrice began. “You know I don’t think that, do you?”

“I know. Danny’s just… To tell you the truth both of us were a little nervous.” She turned onto the road, picking up speed as they left the small town behind them. 

“So was I.”

They did not speak for several minutes. Rebecca kept her eyes on the road, scanning for the signs and turnings that would lead her back the way she had come. The world around them had softened in the twilight. 

Finally, Beatrice cleared her throat. “In fact, I still am. Nervous, I mean. With everything that has happened…”

“I know.” Rebecca bit her lip, then reached over to touch Beatrice’s hand. “It’s so good to see you.”

“And you.”

The sun had set completely by the time Rebecca turned down a final bend in the road and stopped the car. They had driven into the mountains, past a village and several stately looking houses further out. As always, she felt a flutter of anticipation looking out at the lit windows before them. It did not matter where they were staying or how long they had been staying there — as long as she knew that Danny would be with her when she opened the door, each place had felt like coming home. 

She held open the lid of the trunk until Beatrice had taken out her suitcase, then walked ahead to the door, fumbling with her keys in the darkness. 

“You could just knock,” Beatrice said. 

“Yes, yes I know. But Danny might be at the other end of the house. I don’t want to rush her, not when— not when there’s already so much excitement about you coming to see us. Danny! We’re here.”  Rebecca led the way into the house. She put down her bag on a chair in the narrow corridor, then pointed at the staircase to her left. “We’ll take up your bags later. We have the guest room all set up for you upstairs. Danny?”

A door opened at the opposite end of the corridor. Danny poked out her head. “There you are. I didn’t hear the car.” 

“Well yes, I took it to the shop this afternoon, remember? It shouldn’t backfire anymore. At least not quite as much.” Rebecca smiled at her, standing halfway between Danny and Beatrice, who was still standing by the front door with her suitcase in her hand. Rebecca smoothed out her skirt with her hands. How long had they waited for this moment, only for her to stand in between the two of them with nothing of note to say? Danny raised her eyebrows. When Rebecca did not move, she stepped out of the kitchen and into the corridor, wiping her hands on her apron. 

“Mrs Lacy,” she said, striding towards Beatrice much as she might have done in the great hall at Manderley. In this small corridor, her posture was out of place, almost as if Danny had stepped back in time. “How good of you to come.”

“Mrs Danvers.” Beatrice held out her hand. “You look well.” 

“So do you. Here, let me take your suitcase.” Instead of shaking Beatrice’s hand, Danny took her suitcase and set it down by the stairs. “We can show you upstairs later. Unless you would prefer to take a tour of the house now.” 

“No that’s… that’s quite alright.” 

Danny nodded. “You must be hungry. Was your train terribly delayed?”

“Well there was some trouble earlier in the day. It cost us an hour or two. Poor Rebecca must have been bored out of her mind.” 

“I was fine,” Rebecca chimed in. What a strange picture to see the two of them standing next to each other. “In fact, I was late setting out from the house. If your train had been on time, you would have had to wait with me until the mechanic finished with the car. So, no harm done.” 

“Except for the ambience of our dinner,” Danny said. “I had laid the table on the terrace since I expected you long before dark. No matter, do come through to the kitchen, Mrs Lacy. I am afraid we do not have a dining room.” 

“We could still eat outside,” Rebecca said. 

“By candlelight? Don’t be absurd.” 

As Danny walked past her and back to the kitchen, she gave Rebecca a reassuring smile. 

“We could however,” Danny called from the kitchen, “consider after-dinner drinks on the terrace.”

The kitchen was a comfortable room with pots and pans hanging from a rack on the ceiling and a door that led to the terrace and back garden. The door stood open, allowing the cool night air inside. The square table stood pushed against the outer wall, just large enough to allow for three plates. 

Beatrice gestured towards the bowls and pots on the counters. “Did you make all this yourself?”

“I did not.” Danny pulled out chairs for her and Rebecca. “We have a local girl who comes in a few times a week. We prepared everything together. Now sit, sit.” 

Once they had taken their place at the table, Rebecca found it easier to take in the situation. She had taken on the task of pouring wine, a floral white to go with the fish and salad. Before long, Beatrice was telling them all about her journey and asking after the house. It came as a relief whenever Danny answered a question before she could. In fact, it was Danny guiding the conversation, steering them clear of such incendiary topics as home, widowhood or Max. How strange that a skill she had honed for decades could become so rusty with disuse. She had presided over dozens, if not hundreds of dinners at Manderley without so much as an awkward pause. But then, it was different with Beatrice. She had known that it would be. 

She rose to clear their plates before Danny could object, ignoring the slight twinge in her scar. It had healed well enough, though it was quick to remind her of any overexertion. It had been a long day. 

“Why don’t we take our wine out onto the terrace?” Rebecca asked, stacking plates in the sink with her back to the table. “It shouldn’t be too chilly yet.” 

“Very well.” Danny pushed back her chair.

“Maybe you could point me towards the bathroom before we do?” Beatrice asked. 

“Of course.” Danny said. “It’s upstairs, first door on the right. I’ll show you to your room while we’re at it.” 

When they had gone, Rebecca leaned over the sink, hands gripping the counter. She took a few deep breaths, willing the muscles in her stomach to relax. What was wrong with her? Both her and Danny had awaited Beatrice’s visit with feverish excitement. They had talked it over every night for weeks, wondering what food to serve and which places to take her to. There had been so little variation in their lives for months, aside from their ever-changing domiciles. She had not expected to be so nervous around Beatrice. Nor had she expected Danny to be so very calm. 

“Rebecca?” The kitchen door shut with a soft click. Danny came up behind her, bringing her hands to her waist and pulling her gently back from the sink. “What’s the matter? Are you in pain?”

“No.” Rebecca sank back into Danny’s embrace. “It’s nothing, I’m just…” 

“What?” Danny’s voice was soft in her ear. 

“I thought it would be easy, but now that she’s here I’m almost… afraid.” 

“Oh, darling.” Danny kissed her cheek. 

“I’m not who I used to be.” 

“Neither is she.” 

“The way we’re living here, I never — I didn’t think I’d be ashamed.”

“But you are?”

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologise,” Danny said. 

“Please understand.” Rebecca turned in her arms, brought her face close to Danny’s. “It’s not us. It’s not you. I could never be ashamed of you. Only, this house… with everything she’s used to, I…” 

“She seemed very content when I showed her upstairs, delighted even. And we know she’s preparing to sell, even if she didn’t want to elaborate in her letters. Listen, if Beatrice had wanted us out of her life, she would have had the perfect opportunity. As it is I rather think we’re stuck with her.” 

“And she with us.” 

Danny laughed. She leaned in for a kiss and Rebecca met her gratefully. Danny was right. Surely she was right. 

“Who’s stuck?” Beatrice stood in the doorway, grinning sheepishly. “I hope I’m not interrupting?”

“No, of course not.” Rebecca shook her head and reached for her glass of wine. “I was just saying you’re stuck with us. At least for the time being.” 

“That’s what I like to hear. Now, didn’t you say something about sitting outside?”

Just outside the door to the terrace, a sturdy wooden bench stood against the back of the house, overlooking the long slope of the garden. Danny brought out three cushions for them to sit on, along with the large woollen blanket from the sitting room. They sat, wine in hand and Rebecca in the middle, looking out across the dark landscape. 

“See there,” Danny said, pointing, “if you strain your eyes you can just see the lake, right there at the foot of the hill. Once the moon is out you’ll be able to see it clearly.” 

“Do you maintain the garden yourself?” Beatrice asked. Rebecca leaned back on the bench so she could address Danny directly. 

“For the time being. We did not plant anything new, of course, we haven’t been here long enough.”

“And even if you were going to plant anything, we’d hardly be here long enough to enjoy it,” Rebecca said, taking Danny’s hand. “That’ll have to wait until we’re back home.” 

They lapsed into silence. Rebecca wondered if they might all be thinking the same thing. Come the autumn, herself and Danny would make plans to return to England. They would have to find somewhere to settle. But where would that be? Where could they go given everything that had passed?

“The papers…” Rebecca spoke without thinking. 

Beatrice sighed and took a long sip of wine. “They’re losing interest, finally. The initial smear campaign ebbed off a month or two ago. By that time even the most irrelevant tabloids had had their go. No it’s only a jab here and there. Crawley has been invaluable in all this, but of course we all knew he would be.” 

“It must have been so difficult.”

“Well, you know Maxim has always been a bit of a recluse.”

Rebecca scoffed. “I’m not talking about him. I’m talking about you, taking the brunt of it all by yourself.” 

“I’m fine.”  Beatrice’s face was calm, but something had shifted in her expression, become closed off. 

Rebecca put down her wine-glass on the flag-stones and rested her head against Beatrice’s shoulder. She was still holding Danny’s hand with her left. Her right she held out to Beatrice, smiling when Beatrice’s fingers closed around hers. “You’ve been very strong. And we’re so happy you’re here, aren’t we, Danny?”

“We are.” 

“You keep saying that,” Beatrice mumbled. 

“That’s because it’s true. Now, you promised us stories of your wild adventures over dinner. How’s ‘Miss Smith’?”

“Don’t tease, you know I’ve learned her name.” 

“And that you’ve been offered to call her by her Christian name. How is she?”

As Beatrice dutifully launched into a description of Miss Smith’s progress, Rebecca drew her legs up onto the bench. With her feet on Danny’s lap and her head on Beatrice’s shoulder, she allowed herself to relax. She became drowsy as Danny and Beatrice continued the conversation, moving away from general enquiries into the specificities of Beatrice’s house and garden, the roses she had planted and the things she was beginning to sell. A painting here and an ornament there, a table and chairs from the attic. 

“And there’s a beautiful yellow rose they call The Poet’s Wife. I don’t tend to go for yellow very much, but you wouldn’t believe how fragrant it is.”

“You might dry one of them for me, should you get the chance.” 

“Excellent idea. And if you don’t mind the colour, you might get one for your own garden, wherever you end up settling. Oh, I know, I’ll buy you one as a housewarming gift.” 

“That would be very generous.” 

Somewhere between sleep and waking, Rebecca gave a deep sigh, adjusting her head on Beatrice’s shoulder. It was getting chilly. At some point, she did not recall when, Danny had draped the blanket over their legs. She felt Danny shift next to her and check her watch. 

“It’s getting late. Rebecca?” Danny’s hand, gentle on her shoulder. “Let’s turn in. You’re exhausted.” 

Rebecca shrugged. 

“Go on then,” Beatrice said. “We have all the time in the world. Surely we can use some of it for sleeping.” 

Their pillows and glasses were quickly cleared away. As Rebecca put down their glasses on the counter next to the sink, Danny closed the terrace door, shutting out the night. Yawning, Rebecca began to rinse the dishes. At once, Danny was by her side. Shaking her head, she took the brush from Rebecca’s hand. 

“Let me do it.” 

“I’m fine,” Rebecca protested. 

“I’m happy to help,” Beatrice chimed in.

“No.” Danny turned her back to the sink, scrubbing brush in one hand and the other on her hip. “This is a matter of five minutes. We’ll finish up tomorrow. Rebecca, why don’t you show our guest upstairs. I will be up in just a moment.” 

“As you say.” She kissed Danny’s cheek and led the way out of the kitchen. Beatrice followed her. 

“I see she’s still in the habit of running whichever household she steps into?” 

“You can take the housekeeper out of Manderley…” Rebecca gave a tired smile. “To her credit, she has become a lot more amenable to letting me take care of her now and then.”

The upstairs corridor was as narrow as its twin downstairs. Three doors led off of it — two bedrooms and the bathroom. She left Beatrice in the guest bedroom with a brief hug and a pat on the shoulder. 

“Come find me if you need anything.”

“I will.” Beatrice stifled a yawn behind her hand. “I’m all set for now, I think.”

“Good night.” 

Moving on to hers and Danny’s bedroom, Rebecca allowed herself to sink into what had become their evening routine. Closing the shutters, turning on the lamp on Danny’s bedside table, turning down the bed. She changed into her nightdress and dressing gown, then sat at the vanity to take care of her hair. She had allowed it to grow back from the chin-length cut she had given it on impulse the year before. Now, it came down almost to her shoulders, as thick and dark as it had always been. 

“You might have waited for me,” came Danny’s voice from the doorway. 

“I haven’t done anything except get changed,” she replied. 

“Good. You’re tired enough without having to deal with this.” Danny wrapped a strand of Rebecca’s hair around her finger.

“Where you’re right…” 

She leaned back as Danny began to detangle her hair. Danny’s hands were gentle against her scalp, each measured movement the natural result of a decades-old ritual. Hair drill, Danny. It seemed to take no time at all until Danny put down the hairbrush and kissed the top of her head. Rebecca rose from the chair and embraced her, holding her close for a few moments before she made her way over to the bed. Curling up under the covers, she watched as Danny took her hair out of its twist and began to brush it out. 

Rebecca reached up to the back of her neck and undid the clasp of her necklace. She let the delicate chain drop into her palm, moving it back and forth in her hands. “I hope Beatrice will be happy while she’s here.”

“I’m sure she will.” 

“And I hope it won’t be… difficult for you.” 

Danny met her eyes in the mirror. “What do you mean?”

“Only…” Rebecca’s fist closed around the necklace. “I want you to know that nothing will come between us now. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.” 

“I know.” 

“You do?”

“Yes.” 

A gentle knock on the door made them both jump. Rebecca sat up in bed, drawing her dressing gown around herself. “Come in, Beatrice.” 

The door opened just wide enough for Beatrice to stick her head inside the room. She was in her pyjamas, her old flannel dressing gown hanging open. “I hope I’m not disturbing you. I just realised I hadn’t asked you about breakfast.”

“Oh.” Rebecca ran her hand across her face, rubbing at the spot between her eyebrows. “We’re up early most days, but after the journey you’ve had you’re more than welcome to sleep in.” 

“No, I wouldn’t want to disrupt your routine.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Rebecca saw Danny’s shoulders rise and fall in a silent sigh. Without turning from the mirror, Danny said: “Why don’t you come in for a moment, Mrs Lacy, and we’ll fix a time for breakfast.” 

“Alright.” 

“Come sit with me,” Rebecca said. 

She moved over on the bed and patted the covers next to her. Beatrice sat down on the edge of the bed. A blush had crept into her cheeks at Danny’s invitation. She would not meet Rebecca’s eye. 

“Now, seeing how late it is I highly doubt Rebecca and I will be up at our usual time,” Danny said. “I don’t suppose we’d have breakfast ready until at least half nine. How does that sound?”

“Wonderful,” Beatrice said, a little too quickly. “It sounds wonderful.”

“Good.” Danny turned on the chair and gave Beatrice a small smile, sweeping her hair over her shoulder to begin braiding it. “While you’re here, I would very much like to hear more about that yellow rose you mentioned earlier. Did you find it difficult to maintain?”

“No, not at all.” As Beatrice continued to answer Danny’s questions, Rebecca reached out and put a hand on her arm. Slowly, as if she were barely even conscious of it, Beatrice made herself comfortable on the bed, leaning back against the headboard and absentmindedly patting Rebecca’s hand. 

Finally, Danny tied her braid with a piece of black ribbon and picked up her nightgown from the bed. She folded it over her arm and went over to the door. “I will be right back.”

Beatrice started. “I really should go. I’ve kept you up long enough.” 

Rebecca shook her head. She kept her hand on Beatrice’s arm and smiled. “Bee. Why don’t you stay a while?”

Momentarily torn, Beatrice looked from Danny to Rebecca and back again, the blush rising back into her cheeks. When she turned to Danny for the second time, Danny raised her eyebrows, still wearing that small smile. 

“I…” Beatrice bit her lip. “Very well. I suppose I could stay a little longer.” 

Chapter Text

“Mrs Lacy, they’re here! The car’s just pulling up. Mrs Lacy?”

“Coming!” Beatrice called. She leaned closer to the window in the abandoned guest room, watching  the unfamiliar car pull up the driveway. Her hands tugged at the hem of her cardigan, then flew to her head to catch a strand of loose hair. She turned from the window and crossed the room, sending ripples across the white sheets covering the furniture. 

Down the corridor, running footsteps announced her assistant, who came to meet her just as she closed the door to the guest room behind herself. 

“They’re here,” the girl said again, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “And just in time too. I was hoping I would get to see them before I need to get going.” 

“Yes, I saw them pull up the drive. They must have taken a cab from the station.” Beatrice led the way downstairs. “So silly, refusing to let me pick them up. They can’t have that much luggage.”

The girl did not reply. Even walking in front of her, Beatrice felt her assistant’s nervous excitement and suppressed a smile. The girl’s feelings were not so different from her own, though Beatrice took great care to appear as calm as she could. 

Williams had already opened the front door and stood to attention outside. Reid was following him now, pausing when she saw Beatrice and the girl descend the stairs. Beatrice gave her a nod and took the lead as they crossed the hall. By the time Beatrice’s feet found gravel, the car had pulled up to the door. The driver stepped out to open the door on one side, Williams moved to open the other. Rebecca got out first, accepting Williams’ offered hand with a gracious smile. 

Beatrice could not help it — her heart leapt to her throat when she saw Rebecca’s face, those cool dark eyes moving at once to find her. A few seconds later, Mrs Danvers had appeared from the other side of the car. A strange mixture of the novel and the familiar, Mrs Danvers brushed off her skirts and handed Rebecca her cane. She still kept to dark dresses, their sleeves long and their collars high, though the fabric was more elegant than her old uniform had been. Her hair was pinned up as meticulously as ever, but the style was different, softening the sharp angles of her face. 

Beatrice went to meet them, holding out her hands. “Rebecca, Mrs Danvers, welcome back.” 

“Bee.” Rebecca pulled her into a swift embrace and kissed her on the cheek. Mrs Danvers accepted her offered hand and shook it, briefly. Then she stepped back, falling into step behind Rebecca. They followed Beatrice to the front door, where Reid and the girl were still waiting. The girl was bouncing on the balls of her feet again, beaming, her hands clasped behind her back.  

“Mrs Danvers, Mrs de… Mrs—” 

“Rebecca will be fine.” Rebecca extended her hand to the girl, smiling. “Miss Smith. You look well.” 

“So do you. And please, if you don’t mind you might call me Anna.”

“I do not mind,” Rebecca said. They all returned to the hall, Rebecca’s cane clacking on the stone tiles. “Though I am curious, I thought you had such an unusual name? Or was that just your last name?”

The girl blushed. “Well, my middle name is Gabrielle, after my mother. I suppose that might be unusual to some.” 

“At any rate,” Rebecca said, “they are lovely names for a lovely young woman who I am happy to see again.” 

“Thank you. Hello, Mrs Danvers.” 

“Miss Smith.” A smile played around Mrs Danvers’ mouth. 

Beatrice looked from her housekeeper and her assistant to her guests. She hardly knew what to say, or what to offer first. All she could think of was the warmth that had crept into her chest and the smile that stretched her mouth so wide it hurt. She had not truly known how much she had felt their absence until this very moment. 

“Shall we have some tea?” Beatrice asked. One could not go wrong with tea. 

“Actually,” Anna bit her lip. Her cheeks were still bright red. “Mrs— Rebecca, I was wondering if I could ask your advice on something first?”

“Frank is taking you out tonight, isn’t he?”

Anna nodded. “To the pictures. I don’t know what to wear.”

“Ah, a crisis of fashion.You had better make a start on the tea without me. I’m needed upstairs.”

“I’ll have a cup brought up for you,” Beatrice said. 

“Excellent.” Rebecca adjusted the handle of her cane in her hand and motioned for Miss Smith to lead the way upstairs. 

Reid disappeared down the servants’ passage a moment later, leaving Beatrice alone in the hall with Mrs Danvers. Beatrice turned to her at once, her eyebrows raised. 

“How long have they been in contact?”

“Not for long,” Mrs Danvers said. The corners of her mouth twitched. “We had a letter from Miss Smith about three months ago. I say we, it was addressed to Rebecca. They have been in correspondence ever since.”

“Three months? So that would have been around the time…”

“Around the time Mr Crawley became a more frequent visitor to your house, yes.” Mrs Danvers said. 

“Secretive girl, she didn’t say a thing. She might have asked me for advice, I was right here. Though I suppose Rebecca knows more of courtship than I do.” She paused. “And of men.” 

Mrs Danvers made a small sound in the back of her throat. Beatrice was almost sure it might have been a laugh. 

“Shall we have our tea then?” She asked. “You must be parched.” 

Mrs Danvers assented. Together, they made their way to the library. A good fire had been kindled there, and the lamps lit. It was this nod to the change in seasons, the looming presence of yet another winter alone in her house that cast a shadow over Beatrice’s joy. Mrs Danvers and Rebecca had returned to her yes, but for how long? Surely they would want to settle somewhere, and sooner rather than later. Whatever time they had together could only ever be limited. 

Beatrice went over to the fire and took up the poker. There was nothing to be done, no stray log to push back into place, but it allowed her to turn her back to the room, and Mrs Danvers, while she rearranged her expression. When she turned back to the room, Mrs Danvers had taken a seat on the very edge of the sofa, her handbag at her feet. Beatrice took the armchair opposite her, Giles’ old favourite, and crossed her legs. They waited in silence until a maid came into the room to lay out the tea things. Beatrice caught the flash of surprise on Mrs Danvers’ face. Once she had gone, Beatrice poured the tea.

“I no longer keep any footmen,” Beatrice said, putting down the teapot. “It is more economical. Williams was appalled, of course, but even he understands. Times are changing.” 

“So you really are selling?”

“Yes. As things stand the buyer will take possession in January. Gives me time to find myself a new place.”

“I am sorry.” 

“Don’t be. I have made my peace.” Beatrice watched Mrs Danvers over the rim of her teacup. She held herself ramrod straight, her cup and saucer balanced on her knees. Her expression was difficult to read. 

“Still, to leave one’s home of thirty years… it will be an adjustment.” 

“That it will be. But I would rather be proactive and sell than fall on hard times and rely on friends and family to care for me in my old age. Maxim would, of course, but it would not be easy.” She avoided Mrs Danvers’ eyes as she said her brother’s name. She did not have to look to know the expression Mrs Danvers would be wearing. Beatrice cleared her throat. “It’s strange, isn’t it, Rebecca and the girl taking such a liking to each other?”

“It did strike me as odd in the beginning,” Mrs Danvers said, “but stranger things happen all the time.” 

“I suppose so.” 

Rebecca did not reappear until after the tea things had been cleared. She sauntered into the room with her cane held loosely in one hand and let herself fall onto the sofa next to Mrs Danvers. 

“Well,” she said, “The girl is adequately attired and on her way to the pictures with Frank. He sends his greetings, Danny, I saw him at the door. He looks well. What have you been talking about?”

Beatrice and Mrs Danvers exchanged a look. 

“I’m selling the house,” Beatrice said. 

“So it’s final?”

“Yes.” 

Rebecca sighed. “I won’t say I did not see it coming. How do you feel?”

“I will be fine.” 

“That is not what I asked.” 

“It is all the answer you are getting,” Beatrice said. “Now why don’t I show you to your room? You can have a rest before dinner.” 

She had chosen a room just a few doors down from her own for Rebecca and Mrs Danvers. She left them there to rest and unpack before making her way back down the stairs. She retreated to her parlour and made a futile effort to combat the chaos that had taken over her desk. She had been distracted these past few weeks, worrying over guest rooms and menus and putting off more important questions. Her inventory of the house, for one, and the decision of where to settle next. There was no question of leaving the county. She could endure selling this house, but uprooting herself entirely? 

Beatrice whiled away the hours until dinner answering correspondence and carefully avoiding the letter from her solicitor she had stowed away in the top drawer of her desk. Her bid on the country house had been successful. All that was left to do was to accept it and move forward with the renovations. But that would make it final, even more final than agreeing to the bid she herself had received on the house. More final than reducing her staff and discussing retirement with Reid and Williams. 

Dinner was a quiet affair. It was not until they had returned to the library and Beatrice had dismissed Williams for the night that she began to feel a little more at ease. The curtains had been drawn, shutting out the rain and the darkness. From her place by the fire it became easier to think about the last time they had seen each other, those bright days in Italy. Rebecca had made herself comfortable on the sofa, drawing her legs up onto the seat. Mrs Danvers had not sat down. She had her back to the room and was scanning the bookshelves. Beatrice watched her make her slow way around the room.

“So,” Beatrice said finally, unable to bear even another minute of silence. “You’re back.” 

Rebecca looked up. “We are.”

“Have you made any decisions? About where you’ll go?”

“Not yet. London seems the most prudent option, and of course I still have my flat there, but Danny hates London.”

“I do not hate London,” came Mrs Danvers’ voice from the back of the room. 

“Yes you do,” Rebecca insisted. “You always have. I won’t drag you back there unless there are no other options.” 

“You’re welcome here for as long as you want to stay,” Beatrice said. “But you know that already.”

“Will you take us along to your new place as well if we don’t decide in time? We don’t take up much space.” 

“I’ll take you, but I will not take the boatload of clothing you’ve parked in my attic.” 

“That is more than fair,” Rebecca said. “I’ll sort it out as soon as I’ve had a good night’s sleep. Be aware that may take a while.”

“Have you not been well?” Beatrice asked. 

Rebecca shrugged. “I’m not finding things as easy as I used to. I was told to expect that, back at the hospital, but living through the experience is a different matter. Makes me feel caged in. Danny’s always reminding me to take it easy.” 

“Yes, because I am the one carrying you up to bed when you forget to pace yourself.” Mrs Danvers came over to the sofa and stood behind Rebecca, putting a hand on her shoulder. Rebecca reached for her hand and placed it against her cheek. 

“I would be utterly lost without you.” 

Mrs Danvers smiled. She walked around the sofa and took her place next to Rebecca, pulling Rebecca’s feet onto her lap. Rebecca sighed contentedly and leaned back against the cushions. Beatrice turned her face towards the fire. There had been something so simple in Mrs Danvers’ movements, the kind of quiet intimacy Beatrice had once shared with her husband. It made her heart ache. It had been more than a year since Beatrice had sat in the same spot, resting her head against Giles’ shoulder as he read to her. Without him, the room felt unbearably empty. Her hands were cold. 

It was a few moments before she could bring herself to look back at the women opposite her. They seemed comfortable enough sitting in silence, though Beatrice suspected they were having a conversation of their own, held entirely through quick glances and squeezes of each other’s hand. 

Eventually, Mrs Danvers cleared her throat. “It is getting rather late. I’ll turn in now, if you don’t mind.”

Rebecca smiled at her. “Go ahead. I will be up in a moment.” 

“Good night, Mrs Lacy.” 

“Good night,” Beatrice said. “The room should be all ready for you. You know where to find me if there is anything else you need.”

Mrs Danvers gave her a nod, squeezed Rebecca’s shoulder and left the room, closing the door carefully behind herself. Rebecca sat up. She put her feet on the floor and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. 

“And what about the two of us?” She asked. 

“I should turn in as well,” Beatrice said. 

“How about a nightcap then?”

“If you like.” 

She made to stand up, but Rebecca shook her head. “Allow me.” 

Beatrice stood up anyway, but turned her attention to the fire while Rebecca went over to the sideboard and poured their drinks. She adjusted the screen and pushed at a fallen log with the poker,  taking longer than was strictly necessary. When Rebecca appeared at her side, she accepted her glass and made to turn back to her armchair. Rebecca stopped her. 

“Why don’t you sit with me?”

Beatrice felt her face grow warm as she moved to sit next to Rebecca on the sofa. She wrapped her hands around her glass, unable to meet Rebecca’s eyes. 

“Bee,” Rebecca said quietly. “Look at me.” 

Beatrice obeyed. 

Rebecca regarded her for a long moment, then took a sip of whiskey. “You look lonely.” 

“Hardly.” 

“Danny thinks so too.” 

“So you’ve already discussed your assessments of me. Have you come to any conclusions?”

“We’ve missed you,” Rebecca said. “Even more so since your visit. What we had, Danny and I, it felt different after you left. Incomplete.” 

Beatrice shook her head. “You had each other.”

“And still we missed you. It’s difficult not to, you know, once one gets to know you.” Rebecca set down her glass. She put her hand on Beatrice’s wrist, pulling gently until Beatrice took her own glass in one hand and gave Rebecca the other. Rebecca squeezed her hand, smoothing out Beatrice’s fingers. “How have you been since you came to see us? You never really said in your letters.” 

Beatrice drained her glass. “I have been fine. Busy. Maxim remarried, you know.” 

“Yes, it was in the papers. Daphne de Winter, sounds ridiculous, don’t you think?”

“Are you jealous?”

“God no. All that’s behind me now. I am morbidly curious, but not jealous, never jealous.” Rebecca’s face was tranquil. “Do you like her?”

“What does it matter?”

“So things with Max have been…”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Beatrice set down her glass on the armrest of the sofa and ran her hand across her face. It wasn’t enough. She stood up, pulling her hand from Rebecca’s grip, and went to stand by the fire again. Her empty glass landed on the carpet with a dull thump. She heard Rebecca rise and come to stand next to her, felt Rebecca’s arm settling around her waist. Automatically, she wrapped her arm around Rebecca’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” Rebecca said. “About all of this. If it would be easier not to have Danny and I in the house—”

“No,” Beatrice said quickly. “No, it doesn’t matter. Don’t leave, not so soon.” 

“Alright.” 

They had both returned to her. For now. Beatrice turned. She needed to look at Rebecca, to look and look knowing that whatever time they had, it would never feel like enough. Rebecca’s hand was still on her waist. Beatrice took a step closer, amazed when Rebecca mirrored the movement. Rebecca’s hand came to the side of her face, stroking her cheek. Beatrice closed her eyes. She winced when Rebecca’s lips brushed against hers, then leaned in, her hands at the back of Rebecca’s neck, burrowing into her hair. It was only a few seconds before she drew away, breathless and hurting. 

“We can’t,” Beatrice whispered. “I promised her—”

“Do you know what Danny said to me before we came downstairs?” Rebecca interrupted. “She told me to comfort you in any way I could. In any way. This is the only way I know how.”

“No.” Beatrice stepped back, shaking her head. “No, you can’t give me this knowing it will end. Whatever we do, whatever we have will only ever be temporary. I can’t endure that, Rebecca, not anymore.” 

“It doesn’t have to be temporary.” 

“I’m not going to be your concubine, if that’s what you mean.” 

“That is not what I mean,” Rebecca said coolly. 

“Well, I’m tired and not in the mood for riddles.” Beatrice took a deep breath. “I have a long day tomorrow. You know your way upstairs, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Is there anything else you need?”

“No.” 

She could not stand the way Rebecca was looking at her. “Good night then. Turn off the lights when you leave.” 

Chapter Text

Danny dressed in the semi-darkness of Mrs Lacy’s guest room. She had drawn back the curtains on the window furthest from the bed and hung her day dress over a chair. While she put on her undergarments, she watched the sky begin to lighten. Danny sighed. Old habits really did die hard. She looked over to the bed where Rebecca still slept, and put on her dress. By the time she had put up her hair, the sky had turned a dull grey. 

Gently closing the door behind her, Danny crept out of the room and down the stairs. It seemed that she had risen even before Mrs Lacy’s servants, though of course she could not speak for Mrs Reid. As Danny crossed the hall, she heard no movement from the servants’ passage nor any of the rooms. She hesitated before knocking on the door to the library. The spurt of bravery that had carried her downstairs and to this door had dissipated. She felt more like a servant out of bounds than a houseguest, which would in some ways hold true as long as she and Rebecca were staying in this house. For all the freedom they had known on their travels, here Danny had returned to the role of Rebecca’s maid. She was an elevated lady’s maid, perhaps, almost a companion, but did that mean she was free to roam Mrs Lacy’s house without provoking questions?

Her hand on the door handle, Danny did her best to shake off the feeling she was being watched. With a quick look over her shoulder, she opened the door to the library and slipped inside. The air in the spacious room had cooled overnight, the tall shelves cast stark shadows in the grey light of dawn. Danny drew her shawl more tightly around herself. With another glance at the door she began to wander around the room, perusing the titles her eyes had only flitted over the night before. Mr Lacy’s collection was eclectic, she spotted more than one volume he had bought from the travelling bookseller in Kerrith. Danny scanned the shelves for the book she had bought for him all those months ago, but she could not find it. 

“Find something good?”

Danny spun round. Mrs Lacy was standing in the doorway, still dressed in her pyjamas and dressing gown. Automatically, Danny took a step back from the shelves and folded her hands. 

“I hope you don’t mind my being in here,” she said. “I did not mean to intrude.” 

“You’re not intruding. If you would like to borrow anything, please feel free. Giles would be happy to know his books were of use to someone. I’m afraid I just read the same ones over and over again.” 

“He built a wonderful collection.” 

Mrs Lacy smiled at her. “Would you like to see his pocket editions? He had a shelf altered specially for them.” 

Danny followed Mrs Lacy to a different part of the room where, she now saw, a smaller shelf had been fitted inside the frame of another. Her heart gave a painful squeeze as she spotted the grey lining binding she had automatically set out to find. The feeling took her by surprise. She had not known Mr Lacy intimately, had barely spent more than a few minutes in conversation with him during his lifetime. And yet, faced with his careful collection, with the lingering grief of his wife, Danny felt herself overwhelmed with the knowledge that Mr Lacy would never read these books again. Next to her, Mrs Lacy let out a trembling breath. 

“I wanted…” Danny began, her voice darting nervously into the silence. “I wanted to thank you for your steady correspondence. We were so cut off, Rebecca and I, and with her name in all the papers… knowing that we had at least one ally was the greatest gift.”

“Of course. I hope I never gave you cause to doubt my stance on all this?”

“No, never.”

“Because,” Mrs Lacy’s voice caught, “if I had even so much as suspected that I might not have made myself clear… I was on your side. I am on your side. Unwaveringly.”

Danny closed her eyes. She was acutely aware of Mrs Lacy so very close to her, staring intently at Mr Lacy’s books. She was short of breath, a tingling heat building in her fingertips. She was only half conscious of her own movements, of her hand moving to cover Mrs Lacy’s.

“Beatrice,” Danny whispered. 

“Not you too.” 

“Why not?”

Mrs Lacy shifted on her feet. “You’ll be the death of me, both of you.” 

When Danny turned to look at Mrs Lacy, one eyebrow raised in quizzical mockery, she found Mrs Lacy already facing her, biting her lip. 

“Beatrice,” Danny said again. How long had it been since she had dared to call Mrs Lacy by her Christian name?

Her hand trembling beneath Danny’s, Mrs Lacy closed her eyes, opened them again. “But then, what death could be sweeter than this?”

In one swift movement, Beatrice bowed her head, her hands coming to Danny’s shoulders. Her lips crashed into Danny’s, full of the same need that had spoken from each of her letters. Danny met her readily. Before she knew it, she had brought one hand to the back of Beatrice’s neck, the other to her waist, pulling her even closer. She met Beatrice’s lips hungrily, already gasping for breath.  

“God,” Beatrice groaned. Her hands resting on Danny’s shoulders, she pushed Danny back against the high shelves. “God, I missed you.” It did not sound like a voluntary admission. Each kiss, each desperate touch seemed to force the words from her, sending them out into the room where they could not be unsaid. “I missed you, I missed you.” 

With nothing to say but I know, Danny chose silence. She clung to Beatrice, clung to the truth in Beatrice’s words, the vulnerability she would be quick to deny once the moment had passed. She drew out the kiss as long as she could. When Beatrice finally drew back, Danny held her close, watching her expression. She saw the elation drain from Beatrice’s face. 

“Well, I…” Abruptly, Beatrice took a step backwards, freeing herself from Danny’s embrace. The distance alone did not seem to be enough. Beatrice turned her back on Danny, gripping the back of the sofa for balance. “As I said, feel free to borrow any book you want. I should go upstairs and dress. I have rather a lot on my plate today. Excuse me.” 

More out of habit than anything else, Danny stood to the side — back straight, head bowed — as Mrs Lacy turned and, with a curt nod, swept out of the room. Once Mrs Lacy had gone, Danny let out a long breath. Her heart had barely found back to its usual speed, she could still feel the flush on her cheeks, the heat in her swollen lips. The state of her hair she did not even dare consider. She smoothed it back as best she could, however futile the effort seemed. The rest she could tackle once she had returned upstairs. With the top buttons of her dress refastened, Danny took another deep breath and returned her attention to the books. 

*

It was a relief, that evening, to follow Rebecca back into the guest room, spent from a day of sorting through luggage, making a start on the mending, and strained conversation over breakfast, lunch and dinner. Had it only been herself, Rebecca and Mrs Lacy, Danny was sure peace would not have endured as long as it had. Miss Smith, transformed and confident as she was, provided a most welcome distraction, first with general enquiries and later with an account of her outing with Frank Crawley, delivered among much stammering and blushing. That the girl had become very fond of Mr Crawley was obvious. Where such fondness might lead was another question entirely. At any rate, it was not her concern. 

“It really is lovely, being back here.” Rebecca was making her way around the room, drawing the curtains. “Like coming home, almost.”

“Almost,” Danny said. She sat on the edge of the bed, combing her hair over one shoulder with her hands. Now matter how many years lay ahead of them, she was sure she would never grow tired of these new rituals, of watching Rebecca move about a room that was theirs, or as good as theirs. She had turned on the lamp on the bedside table. It cast a circle of light over their bed, growing more distinct as the room grew darker. 

“At the very least it’s not like our last hotel in Calais.” Rebecca rolled her eyes at the memory. She went over to her side of the bed and sat down, her hands coming to the buttons of her shirt. 

“Well now, nothing could be quite like that.” 

Somehow, she could not help but think back to the morning, the look in Beatrice’s eyes as she had kissed her. And now there was Rebecca, unbuttoned shirt slipping off her shoulders, exposing her skin. Danny cleared her throat. 

“What?” She was too late in rearranging her expression. Rebecca caught the look in her eyes and smiled. “It has been a while, hasn’t it? Our last weeks on the road were so terribly busy.”

Danny felt a telltale warmth rushing into her cheeks. She cursed inwardly. Twenty years and counting, and Rebecca could still make her blush like a schoolgirl. She began to braid her hair rather more vigorously than necessary. “The journey was strenuous. It was more prudent to rest.”

“But now…” Rebecca stood up, wearing only her underwear, and made her way over to pick up her dressing gown from the chair by the vanity. 

Danny followed her with her eyes as Rebecca came to stand in front of the mirror, an old habit of hers, and shed the rest of her clothing. Rebecca put on her dressing gown, but left it hanging open, running her hand over the scar on her stomach. Barely conscious of her own movements, Danny went to stand behind her and put her hands on Rebecca’s shoulders. 

“But now.” Danny squeezed Rebecca’s shoulders, moving forward to kiss her on the cheek. “Has your scar been bothering you?”

“Not since last night. I will have to resume my exercises now that we’re more stationary. I’ve made too much progress to grow sloppy now.” Rebecca sighed. She took Danny’s hands and wrapped them around her waist, her own resting on top. 

“I’ll remind you.”

In the mirror, she watched as Rebecca moved their joined hands, running them over her stomach, along the winding edges of her scar. When their eyes met, Danny knew their thoughts were turning in the same direction, to those strange months of recovery, the first few times Danny’s hands had touched the altered plane of Rebecca’s skin and lingered there, rediscovering. She thought of the look in Rebecca’s eyes, her purposeful disinterest, and the fear Danny had sensed beneath it. Rebecca had never asked the question, but Danny answered it anyway, brushing her fingertips over pale and purple skin alike. 

“Beautiful,” she whispered. “So very beautiful.”

She felt Rebecca let out a breath. It was always the same, that sigh of relief. She turned her head and pressed her lips against the line of Rebecca’s jaw, then her neck, allowing her hands to stray. Rebecca sighed again, leaning against her. Her breath quickened as Danny’s hand moved upwards, thumb brushing over the curve of her breast. Danny repeated the motion, her other hand firm on Rebecca’s hip, holding her steady. Rebecca moaned. A second later she had turned in Danny’s arms and kissed her. 

“Take this off,” Rebecca said, tugging at the sleeve of Danny’s nightgown. “Right now. I want to see you.” 

Danny obliged her, feeling her face flush again as Rebecca allowed the dressing gown to slip off her shoulders. The moment she had pulled her nightgown over her head and dropped it onto the foot of the bed, Rebecca’s arms were around her. They fell back onto the bed together. Rebecca winced. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes,” Rebecca said impatiently. “Just a twinge.” 

“Do you need—” Before she could finish her sentence, Rebecca had taken hold of her wrists, pinning them behind her head with a smile. 

“What I need is for you not to get distracted. God, it really has been too long.” Rebecca kissed her again, one hand still holding Danny’s wrists, the other brushing along the side of her face. When she  finally straightened up, Danny was breathless, staring up at her with wide eyes. “There now. Stay focused, won’t you Danny? Be good for me?”

“Always.” Danny closed her eyes. When Rebecca’s lips met hers, her mind turned utterly, wonderfully blank. 

Chapter Text

For once, Danny had fallen asleep before her. Rebecca lay on her side, watching her fondly. Danny’s hair was dishevelled, loose strands fanning out onto the pillow behind her. She was still smiling, even in her sleep. With a sigh, Rebecca adjusted her pillow and wrapped her arm around Danny’s waist. Danny did not wake up, though a moment later, she buried her face against Rebecca’s shoulder. Rebecca lay very still, her cheek resting on Danny’s hair, listening to Danny’s slow, even breaths and the rumble of the sea only just audible through the open window. She ought to have fallen asleep by now, exhausted as she was, but even with the pleasant heaviness of lovemaking still weighing down her limbs, she could not keep her thoughts from running in circles. 

After a year spent travelling all around the continent, sleeping in narrow hotel bed after narrow hotel bed, here was all the comfort and luxury she had known for most of her life. Here was Danny, back in her uniform with her hair pulled tight, back to playing her part as companion, carer, servant. She felt herself slipping back into an old self with every step of her feet on Beatrice’s expensive rugs, a shadow of Rebecca de Winter, jarring now that she had been free of her for over a year. 

She had done her best not to look too far ahead during all their time abroad. It had only ever been the next train, the next hotel, the next stop on their ever changing routes. When thoughts of England and Cornwall and home did visit her, it had been in her sleep, in restless dreams that were far too vivid. Winding paths through the woods, waves against a rugged shore, rows upon rows of rhododendrons blooming red, and Manderley. Always Manderley. Would she ever be free of it?

That night she dreamed not of the exterior of the house, but of the rooms she had known so intimately for most of her adult life. Her morning room, her desk, blue walls and the chaiselongue by the fire. Her life labelled and pigeonholed next to the phone that brought her Danny’s voice each day. She passed through the room like little more than a gust of wind, moving into the hall and up the stairs without effort. The doors to the west wing stood open, as did the door to her rooms beyond. The windows were open too, wind playing with the curtains as she swept into the room. A strange longing filled her as she turned slowly on the spot. She could hardly remember how trapped she had felt when all she could see now was the comfort of her own things, her own routines. Nothing unpredictable, nothing out of place. But of course that had been an illusion too. The strain underneath the smooth veneer of her days had never disappeared, always lurking inside her skin, ready to twist and poke at her from within. She shivered. The room around her seemed to lose its colour, dust was settling on her vanity, the flowers on the dresser wilting in front of her eyes, petals drooping, then dropping to the floor. There was an indent on her side of the bed as if someone had sat there. It was out of place, a sign of life in the decaying room. There was a faint smell rising from the bed clothes — dust and disuse — and the embroidered case with her nightgown had shifted on the pillow, a scrap of silk just poking out. As she watched, the case fell open entirely, the nightgown slipping out on its own accord, arranging itself across the bed as if it were a person. Rebecca’s heart began to race. Somewhere, far away, she thought she heard someone crying. 

She jerked awake, hands clutching at the bedcovers. The room around her was growing light and on the other side of the bed, Danny was looking at her. 

“What is it?”

“I—” There were no words. She was not sure why the dream had sent her heart galloping in her chest, or why it had her reaching out for Danny, pulling her in as if it was the last time she would ever touch her. 

“It’s alright,” Danny said. “Sh-sh, you’re alright. I’m here, I’m here.” 

She buried her face against Danny’s shoulder, relieved when she felt Danny’s arms around her, steady, unmistakably real. She let out a long breath, forcing her hands to release their grip on Danny’s nightdress. It was alright. She was not alone. 

“You should try and go back to sleep,” Danny said gently. “It’s only four.” 

“What about you?” She mumbled the words into the crook of Danny’s neck. 

“I will be here.” 

“But—”

“I don’t mind. I have my book. Sleep, Rebecca, and dream happier dreams for my sake.” She felt a low laugh vibrate in Danny’s chest. With a sigh, she settled more comfortably against Danny’s side and closed her eyes. 

When she woke again, the other side of the bed was empty. She reached out at once, feeling the sheet still warm beneath her touch. Danny was making her way around the room, pulling back the curtains. Danny turned. 

“No more nightmares?”

“None,” she confirmed. Her mouth felt very dry. She sat up and reached for the glass of water on her bedside table. She emptied it slowly, watching Danny bring light into the room. The water stilled her thirst, but it could not wash away the thought that had followed her even into this second, quieter sleep. “I wish I could see it.” 

Danny’s hands stilled on the lock of the window she had been about to open. Rebecca saw her shoulders tense. “No.”

“I don’t miss it. God knows I don’t, I just wish I could see what she’s making of the place. It’s morbid curiosity, nothing else.” 

When Danny turned to her, her face was calm, her expression deliberately neutral. “You’ll have to rely on secondhand accounts. I’m sure Mrs Lacy will be invited soon enough. She’ll be able to describe it to you.”

“I know.” Sighing, Rebecca got out of bed and went towards Danny, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Danny, I know I can’t go back. I didn’t mean to worry you. Let’s forget about it.” 

“Alright.” Danny bit her lip. “Here, let me help you dress.” 

At the breakfast table, she could not help but think back to Danny’s words. Surely, Beatrice would be invited soon. And if she was, surely Beatrice would not return without news, even if she were trying to protect her brother’s privacy. It would be enough. It had to be enough. Rebecca took a sip of her tea. 

She looked over at Beatrice, half hidden behind the day’s paper, and found herself speaking before she had really given thought to what words might come out of her mouth. “Bee?”

Beatrice looked up. “Yes?”

“What do you know about the new Mrs de Winter?”

Across the table, Danny heaved a sigh. Beatrice put down the paper. 

“You know I only met her once.” 

“Humour me?”

Beatrice looked at her for a long moment, then reached for the teapot and poured herself another cup of tea. “A wedding breakfast is hardly the best time to form an accurate opinion of a person. But from what I’ve seen of her, Daphne appears to be very well-bred. Her conversation was easy, her manners flawless, and she was very well-dressed. Her ensemble was perhaps a little conservative, but it suited her well, and should be to Maxim’s taste.”

“How old is she?” Rebecca asked. 

“Twenty-three or twenty-four, if I remember correctly.”

Rebecca snorted. “I’m not surprised he wanted a clean slate.” 

“Yes, well…” 

“Will you visit with her any time soon?”

“There has been no formal invitation as of yet. I’ll stop by in a week or so if I haven’t heard anything by then. Either way,” Beatrice raised her eyebrows, “why do you ask?”

Rebecca shrugged. “Idle curiosity.”

*

As she was setting out for her morning walk, Miss Smith caught up with her. By the looks of it, she had thrown on the first coat she’d found in Beatrice’s coat room. It dwarfed her with its broad shoulders and long arms. 

“Would you mind if I joined you?”

Rebecca gave her a small smile. “Not at all.”

The girl fell into step beside her, burying her hands in her coat pockets. They were halfway down the garden path before she spoke again. “Mrs— Rebecca, I have to ask: are you alright?”

Rebecca laughed. “Oh, you sweet girl, was that why you were in such a hurry to come find me?”

Miss Smith blushed. 

“I am perfectly fine. You needn’t have worried.”

“I was just thinking…” 

“That I’d be upset to hear about my replacement?” 

Miss Smith nodded. 

“That is very sweet of you. Again, you needn’t worry. I’m curious about her, certainly. Anyone in my position would be. But that life is far behind me now and I would not have it any other way. Though while I’ve got you here,” she put a hand on Miss Smith’s shoulder and smiled again. “Why don’t you tell me about your outing with Frank?”

Rebecca had a sense that the girl was trying to hide her smile. It was of no use. Her face began to glow as she launched into a description of her evening, from the moment Frank had picked her up in his car to the moment he had brought her home. Dinner at the pub, where they had talked over the chances of being able to catch a certain art exhibition in London before it closed, the walk to the pictures under the yellow light of the street lamps, then the walk back to Frank’s car, conversation never once lagging as they were deep in discussion about the evening’s film. There was a distinct lack of description, Rebecca noted, of the hour she had spent in a seat next to Frank at the pictures, and how it might have felt. 

“Tell me,” Rebecca said finally, “when do you suppose he’ll pose the question?”

“Oh,” Miss Smith gasped, her face flushing scarlet. “Oh, you mustn’t say such things. We are friends, that is all. Good friends. But you mustn’t insinuate—”

“That you’re quite mad about him?”

Miss Smith shook her head vigorously. “It doesn’t matter what… what I might feel. I’m not the sort of person men marry. And after all, it has only been three months.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that you might be the sort of person Frank would marry?”

“I… it may have crossed my mind.” Miss Smith directed her gaze at her shoes. “There is something he said in passing about meaning to go up to Scotland and see his family next spring. That I could meet his mother if… if I liked. But it doesn’t mean anything. He just knows how little I’ve seen of the world. He’s trying to be kind.” 

“Will you go with him?”

“Why, yes of course, if he asks again. I’ve never been to Scotland and he’s told me so much about it. The way he describes it… the way the hills glow with different colours once the wildflowers bloom, the wide open sky and the mountains. I reminds me of home. I would love to see it, so I could try and paint it.”

“You should go,” Rebecca said warmly. “I’m sure he will ask again come spring. Frank isn’t one to make empty promises.” 

Miss Smith turned her head to the side, evidently fascinated by a scraggly tree to her left, but even so Rebecca could see her beaming. 

Chapter Text

A hush fell over the house after breakfast. With Rebecca and the girl out on their walk, Beatrice turned her attention to the chaos on her desk. She picked up the letter from her solicitor, topmost on a pile of unanswered letters, and put it to one side. Today, she told herself. She would attend to it today. She began to sift through the stack of letters. Any regarding business she put to her left, personal ones to her right. She stopped when she recognised the handwriting on one of the envelopes. Mrs Danvers’ final note from Italy, the script as neat and sparse as it had been in every one of her letters. There had been other, shorter notes as the two of them had made their way through Austria, Germany and France, some written by Mrs Danvers, others in Rebecca’s handwriting. For a moment, Beatrice wondered why she had not put this letter away with the others, certain as she was that she had answered it the same day it had arrived. She pulled the letter out of the envelope, unfolding it carefully. Here, again, was Mrs Danvers’ writing, each paragraph carefully considered. It was not until she had skimmed the whole page that she realised why she had not put the letter away. Beatrice felt herself blush. There, at the bottom of the page were words that had thrilled her more than she was willing to accept. 

Yours affectionately, Mrs M. Danvers. 

Affectionately. She had put the letter to one side the first time she had read those words, and buried her face in her hands to hide the flush on her cheeks. Affectionately. It was unbelievable that a single word had her blushing like a schoolgirl, a word from Mrs Danvers nonetheless. No, not from Mrs Danvers. From Danny. Not that Beatrice had dared to call her by that name in all their months of correspondence. It had hung in the air between them, spanning miles upon miles. She knew exactly when she had said it last — during the night they had spent together in this very house, in the very room her and Rebecca had claimed once again. But those had been different times. It was not for her to force that kind of intimacy now. Unbidden, her mind flashed to the previous morning, Mrs Danvers’ body trembling against hers in the library. Beatrice’s lips burned. Before she was sure what she was setting out to do, she had jumped up from her chair and was out of the room and halfway up the stairs. She gave herself no time to consider before knocking on the door to the guest room. 

“Yes?” 

Beatrice opened the door. Mrs Danvers was sitting by an open window, a basket of clothing at her feet and a threaded needle in her hand. She had turned to look towards the door. Her expression, that careful neutrality Beatrice knew so well, shifted when she saw who had knocked. Mrs Danvers smiled. 

“Here you are,” Beatrice said, needlessly. 

“Indeed.” Mrs Danvers put down her mending. There was distinct amusement in her face now.

“If you are going to be sewing for a while, you might find the windows in my parlour more suited to your purpose,” Beatrice said quickly. Oh, she could have kicked herself. What was she doing here? “They face east, you know. The light, it… you’ll have an easier time seeing your… your stitches.”

“Are you asking me to join you in your parlour, Mrs Lacy?”

“If you like.” Beatrice felt uncomfortably warm. “At any rate, you needn’t sit up here by yourself. Not unless you want to be alone, of course. If that is the case, I am sorry for disturbing you. I suppose I should return to my work as well. Consider this an open invitation, and do forgive the interruption.” 

“Beatrice.” 

She had made to leave, but the sound of her name stopped her short. It was followed by the drawing back of a chair, a rustle of dark skirts and swift steps behind her. Beatrice turned back to see Mrs Danvers looking up at her, the basket of mending cradled in her arms. 

“I would not mind the change of scenery,” she said. A faint blush had spread over her cheeks. “And I would have told you as much, had you given me the chance to reply.” 

Beatrice stared at her. She willed herself to make some suitable reply, but it was impossible. “You used my name. My first name.” 

Danny’s eyes did not leave her face. “Do you mind?”

“No.” Her voice was unsteady. “Not at all.”

“I’m glad.” Danny bit her lip. “I did worry you might think me too forward.” 

“If anyone had been too forward, it would have been me intruding into your bedroom.” 

“It would not have been the first time.” 

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Beatrice cleared her throat. “Shall we go downstairs?”

The morning clouds had parted, allowing bright streaks of sunlight to fall across the floor of the parlour. Sitting at her desk, Beatrice had a clear view of Danny at the table by the east-facing window. She had resumed her sewing, but more than once Beatrice looked up to see her hands resting in her lap, her face turned towards the sun. There were flashes of silver in her hair, more than even a few months ago. They caught the light whenever she moved, and Beatrice became entranced by how each streak of silver curved along her head before winding itself neatly into where her hair was pinned up at the nape of her neck. She put down her pen. 

“This reminds me of Italy,” she said. “I think about it often. Those mornings wandering through the garden. We were both up so early. You know, if you look out of the window you’ll be able to see the rose I was telling you about. It’s nothing much now, of course, only a few dried blossoms, but you’ll be able to see it bloom next year. No, a little further to your left.” 

Beatrice stood up. She went over to the window and stood behind Danny, pointing out the row of rose bushes a little way removed from the house. 

“I shall look forward to it,” Danny said mildly. 

Without thinking, Beatrice allowed her hand to come to rest on Danny’s shoulder. The dark fabric of her dress was warm from the sun. “Do you ever think back to…”

“Of course.” Danny brought her hand up to cover Beatrice’s.“Don’t.”

Beatrice flinched. “What?” 

“Don’t pull back.” 

“I don’t want to.”

“But?”

“I’m frightened.” 

“Beatrice.” The word was so gentle out of her mouth. “Sit with me.” 

Beatrice sat, grateful for the closed door behind them, and grateful for the broad window seat that was still not broad enough to place them entirely apart. Her knees were touching Danny’s now, the feeling flooding her with a warmth that had nothing to do with the sun. Danny smiled at her, softly and a little sad. 

“It would be foolishness, would it not, to deny that there was a sort of affection between us?”

Beatrice swallowed. “I suppose it would be. But what is the use when—”

“When we would be a mere day’s travel away? Maybe less? You tell me. I thought I had seen you happy in Italy.” Danny had taken her hands and pulled them onto her lap. 

“I was. Of course I was. Believe me, I am not trying to be difficult. It is only… I don’t know whether I can face losing the two of you again. How can I allow myself this when I know it cannot last? It was difficult enough, coming back here on my own. But god, Danny, I want to. I want to allow myself to be happy, even if it is only for the present moment.” Tears were welling up in the corners of her eyes. Beatrice pressed them shut. She did not resist when Danny put an arm around her and pulled her close. She rested her head on Danny’s shoulder, breathing in her familiar scent, her warmth, and allowed herself to be comforted. 

“We are not letting you go,” Danny murmured, her cheek resting against Beatrice’s hair. “Not unless you force us to. Maybe not even then.” 

Beatrice did not know how her hands had found their way to Danny’s waist, or when she had turned her head to press her lips against the side of Danny’s throat. 

Danny let out a small gasp. “We’ve missed you. I’ve missed you. And with every one of your letters I missed you more.”

Beatrice allowed her lips to travel upwards, tracing a line along Danny’s jaw. “God help me.” 

This time, it was Danny who pulled her in. For a moment, Beatrice wondered whether she might lose her mind. What was she doing? Hadn’t she decided, firmly decided, not to give in to temptation? Yet here was Danny, one hand on her cheek, kissing her so tenderly Beatrice could hardly sit upright. Danny’s hand clenched around the fabric of her shirt. Beatrice gasped. What did it matter, really, how much it would hurt later, when she could have this and have it now? She leaned forwards, pushing Danny back against the window frame. She kissed Danny harder, parting her lips, inviting Danny to do the same. Danny gave a soft moan as Beatrice’s hands roved over her body. Beatrice shivered at the sensation of Danny untucking her shirt and slipping her hand underneath. She drew back, panting. 

“Let me lock the door.”

“What about the window? Won’t we be seen?”

Beatrice shook her head. “Not while the sun is at this angle. It will be too bright to see inside.” When she stood up, her legs were not quite steady. 

“Then we should hope for clear skies.”

Beatrice laughed. She could not help herself. It was nervous laughter, she was out of breath, and she quickly walked towards the door, turning the key in the lock. Her steps slowed as she walked back across the room. Her heart was pounding in her chest at the sight of Danny, still leaning back against the window frame, her hair dishevelled and the top button of her dress undone. A few steps away from the window seat, she paused. She could not help it. 

Danny raised her eyebrows. “What is it?”

Beatrice ran a hand across her face. “Only… this year, your letters, I—”

“I know.” Danny held out her hand. 

“God, Danny.” Emboldened, Beatrice took her place in the window seat again. It was barely a second before Danny’s hands were on her waist, pulling her back in. Beatrice gasped again, but shook her head. “No, come here.” Beatrice glanced down. She watched Danny pause, then flush scarlet. 

“Oh.” 

Her hands shook as she pulled Danny onto her lap. A sigh escaped her as Danny’s weight settled onto the tops of her thighs and Danny’s hands came to her face, stroking her cheeks, her jaw. 

“I’ve missed you,” Beatrice whispered. 

Danny kissed her, hard. There was only this now. Danny’s hands, her lips, Beatrice’s back beginning to ache from being crowded together in such a small space, wrapping her arms around Danny and kissing her back, running her hands over her body, finally unafraid. Beatrice closed her eyes. 

By the time the front door opened, and Rebecca knocked on the parlour door, they had resumed their previous positions. Beatrice was halfway through writing a letter, the flush on her cheeks faint enough to be attributed to the sun. Danny was still in the window seat with the basket of mending at her feet and a book in her hands. 

“Why hello there,” Rebecca said. “Did you miss me?”

“Terribly,” Beatrice said drily. “How was your walk?”

Rebecca grinned and closed the door behind herself. “Brightened by tales of young love. I must say, from everything I’ve heard today, Frank seems to be just as infatuated as ‘Miss Smith’.”

“It wouldn’t be a bad match for her,” Beatrice said. “Although there is the awkwardness around Manderley.”

“Yes, that. I wonder if Frank would give it up for her. I think he might. He’s more of a romantic that I’ve given him credit for. Anyway, how did the two of you pass your time?”

Beatrice opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out. Wordlessly, she lifted up the stack of letters on her left and waved it at Rebecca. “I… letters. Correspondence. You know how it is.” 

Rebecca raised her eyebrows. “I certainly do. And what about you, Danny?”

To Beatrice’s envy, Danny’s voice was entirely level. “I attended to the loose seam on your silk blouse. I’d been meaning to get to it for weeks, but it was certainly not an endeavour to be attempted on a train. Much too delicate.” 

“I see.” Rebecca walked over to the window and took her seat next to Danny. Beatrice became very interested in the polished surface of her desk. “I almost feel guilty for dawdling so long on my walk when the two of you have been so productive.” 

Danny smiled at her. “You can always join us tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

A strange sense of levity carried her through the rest of the day, from folding and putting away the mending to climbing up into the attic to survey what they had left behind the year before. She took a short walk of her own while Rebecca rested in the afternoon, strolling through Beatrice’s gardens. Her eyes wandered along the winding garden path and she held out her hand, running the tips of her fingers along bare branches and dying leaves, picturing what it would look like in the spring. When she made her way around the house, approaching the eastern windows, warmth rushed through her limbs, sending her hands tingling. There was the row of rosebushes Beatrice had pointed out to her, there was her particular favourite, The Poet’s Wife, and there was the feeling of Beatrice’s hand settling on her shoulder, so familiar and yet so foreign. 

When she had told Rebecca to do whatever was necessary to soothe Beatrice’s worries, she had not dared imagine herself in the same position. How could it be that Beatrice had turned to her first, that Beatrice had not rejected her comfort the way she had Rebecca’s? Her face grew warm at the memory of Beatrice’s arms around her waist, Beatrice’s hand lifting the hem of her skirt and moving up her calf and to the bare skin of her thigh. 

Beatrice had become more familiar to her with every one of her letters. Always working, always keeping her spirits up even when winter storms had trapped her and the girl in the house for days and all letters had been delayed. Her mood sinking when the anniversary of her husband’s death approached, then rising again at the first signs of spring. Detailed descriptions of her walks, of long rides across the fields, then her preparations to settle into a smaller life, more suited to a humble widow. Danny had laughed at this description. 

This morning had not been the first time, of course. Two other encounters had echoed through the years behind them, one fuelled by jealousy, the other… she could not say. She had sunk into it, desperate for distraction, comfort. It had hung in the air between them all this time, thought it had gone unacknowledged in their correspondence. But, she thought, this morning had been the first time neither of them had been wishing for someone else. 

Close to her path around the house stood a wooden bench, cleverly hidden behind a clump of bushes. Danny sat down, clasping her hands. Had Beatrice always been so gentle? Had she touched Danny like this before — with something approaching reverence? Danny heard herself cry out again, the sound muffled against Beatrice’s shoulder. She thought of Beatrice’s hand moving up her thigh, how easily her legs had parted for it, betraying her own eagerness. She thought of Beatrice hesitating, fingers hooked around the waistband of her underwear, and her own whispered please. 

God, what were they doing? Hadn’t there been enough complications, enough conflict between all of them? Danny stood up. For a moment, she stood, undecided, then she brushed off her skirts and walked back towards the house. 

That night, she lingered in the bathroom while Rebecca prepared for bed, unfolding and refolding the towels Beatrice’s maids had laid out for them. She had brushed her teeth twice as long as she usually did, and washed her face so vigorously her cheeks were still glowing. There was nothing short of running a bath to justify her dawdling much longer. Danny sat on the wooden stool next to the bathtub and buried her face in her hands. 

“What on earth are you doing in there?” Rebecca called from the bedroom. She sounded amused. 

“Coming.” Danny ran her hands over her face. She made sure she had left everything in its proper place before turning off the bathroom light. 

Rebecca was sitting up in bed with one of her red notebooks in her lap. She smiled as Danny came into the room. “Everything alright?”

“Yes. I was just taking my time.”

“As is your right,” Rebecca said contentedly. “Though I will say I’ve been looking forward to having you next to me again. Tonight and on all nights after.” 

“You’re very chipper.” Danny sat down at the vanity and picked up her hairbrush. 

“Don’t worry, it will pass.”

There were a few minutes of silence, broken only by the scratching of Rebecca’s pen and the hairbrush making its way through Danny’s hair. It was not until she had begun her usual braid that Rebecca spoke again. 

“Now,” she said lightly. “What really happened in Beatrice’s parlour this morning?”

Danny turned sideways in her chair. Rebecca had closed her notebook and was watching her. Danny might have thought Rebecca had only asked out of mild curiosity, if one of Rebecca’s hands had not been wrapped tightly around the other. For a moment, she wished she could have deflected the question with a joke, anything so she would not have to tell the truth. But that was not what they had agreed upon. No more secrets, no more lies. 

“She came to find me upstairs,” Danny said finally, “to ask me to sit with her in her parlour. We talked about her visit, about our letters, and when she came over to the window to point out something in the garden, well…”

“You and her…” 

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Rebecca looked down at her hands. “I hardly know what to say.” 

“Is there anything you want to know? I’m an open book, you know that.”

“I’m not sure I do want to know.”

“I’m sorry.” She had finished tying off her braid and let the end of it drop down her shoulder. 

“What? Danny, no. Come here.” Rebecca held out her hand. "I'm not angry at you. Not at all."

"Then what is it?"

"I don't know."

Rebecca was silent for a long time. Danny sat down on the bed, arranging her pillows. Next to her, Rebecca put away her notebook, then her pen, and slipped under the covers. She lay on her side, the blankets pulled up to her chin. Danny joined her, her stomach twisting at the expression on Rebecca's face. She turned off the lamp on her bedside table. The room fell into darkness as Rebecca did the same. Danny reached out to her, running her hand along the outline of Rebecca's arm under the blanket, brushing it along her face, stroking her hair. 

"She wanted you," Rebecca said suddenly. "She wouldn't have me, but she wanted you."

Danny did not know what to say. 

"Of course, I do not blame her. I am not who I was. I can't blame her for being repulsed by–"

"Repulsed? What on earth do you mean?"

Rebecca snorted. "Oh come on, Danny. Who else but you would be loyal enough to want me now? With that grotesquerie slashed across my stomach?"

Danny drew back. The sting of Rebecca's words came unexpected. "My love for you has never been dependent on your looks or your health; and I would bet my last dress that she would say the same. I suggest you talk to her about it yourself. I would like to sleep now, if you don't mind. I am rather tired."

"Danny..."

"Good night." She rolled over, turning her back on Rebecca. The room felt too hot suddenly, the bed too narrow with Rebecca still looking at her. She crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“Danny, listen—”

“No,” Danny said, “you listen. I am sorry you feel this way, but I would really rather sleep before we discuss the matter any further. We’re tired. Let’s not say anything we might regret tomorrow.”

“I… alright. Sleep well.”

“Good night,” Danny said again. With effort, she unfolded her arms and rolled onto her other side. She brought her hand to Rebecca’s cheek and pulled her in for a kiss. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

Chapter Text

She woke to the sound of the curtains being pulled back from the windows. Bright October sunlight lit up the room, falling across the bedcovers and warming her face. Rebecca blinked. Danny was over by one of the windows, tying the last of the curtains into place. 

Rebecca yawned. “Good morning. You’re dressed already?”

“Good morning. Yes, I have to speak to Mrs Reid. I won’t be long.” Danny turned from the window and, with a small smile in her direction, made her way over to the door.

Rebecca sat up in bed. Her body protested against the sudden change. “Danny…”

“We’re alright. Don’t worry.” The door closed behind her with a click.

Rebecca sank back against the pillows. A soreness had crept into her muscles overnight, such as she had only ever known from the day after a ball or a particularly strenuous sailing expedition. And what had it been this time, she thought darkly, but a stroll through the attic and a few stairs. Of course, Danny would have been quick to remind her of their journey, of draughty stations and narrow train carriages, but it would not do. It was not the journey, travelling had never bothered her. It was her that was different, that was lesser now. Mrs de Winter had been endlessly energetic, unfazed by something as trivial as a set of stairs. Mrs Mason was tired, shrouding her aching body in shawls and cardigans. Her steps were laboured. Mrs Mason had not set foot on a sailboat in over a year. 

Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, Rebecca sat up again, slower this time. She pulled her nightgown over her head before reaching for her dressing gown at the foot of the bed. With the dressing gown draped over her shoulders, she pulled back the covers. The floorboards were cold beneath her bare feet. Rebecca waited until the first shock of cold had passed, then she brought her hands to her stomach. It had become a matter of routine, or so she liked to tell herself, to massage her scar, from the purple ridge of skin in the middle to the pale pink edges. Every morning she sat on the edge of the bed and stared straight ahead while her fingers moved in gentle circles. It was supposed to aid her recovery, just like the exercises that would follow after, bending and stretching her body until she did not feel quite so stiff and exhausted. 

By the time Danny returned to the room, she was dressed and had taken her place at the vanity. She had laid out her jewellery for the day and the nail file next to it. She wanted something to keep her hands occupied. She watched Danny in the mirror, balancing a silver tea tray in one hand and closing the door with the other. 

“Here.” Danny put down a cup of tea in front of her, brushing a hand over her shoulder before she retreated to the window seat with her own. For a moment they sat in silence, sipping their tea. 

Then Rebecca put down her cup. “I hurt your feelings last night.” 

“Yes.”

Rebecca glanced over at the window sill, feeling her cheeks flush. Danny was looking out of the window, her face blank and calm. 

“I thought,” Rebecca began again, “I thought I was only speaking about myself. I never intended to hurt you, of course, but will you tell me what I said? I’d never want to repeat it, even by accident.” 

Danny sighed. “In all the years I’ve been by your side, did I not show you over and over again that I would love you no matter what? If you had broken your leg riding, I would have loved you. If you had had his child, I would have loved you, even if it had meant we could never escape him. I loved you even when I thought you did not want me anymore.”

Rebecca winced. They did not often speak about their months apart, the unforgivable words that had come tumbling out of her mouth and could never be unsaid. 

“And yet you look at me and call my love loyalty. You have called it a sacrifice. As if I were doing you a kindness by loving you exactly as you are. But Rebecca, I am not kind. I am not selfless. I am here for the most selfish reason imaginable, because living without you would not be living at all. No alteration to your body or mind would make a difference to me, and it hurts to hear you doubt that. As for Beatrice…I would feel that I had fundamentally misjudged her if your injury made any difference to how she views you.”

“Beatrice?”

“Yes, isn’t that who we were talking about last night?”

“You called her by her first name.” 

“Oh.” Danny turned her empty cup in her hands. “I suppose I did.”

Rebecca looked down. She had been spinning something in her hands while Danny had spoken, the ring that had replaced the wedding band on her left hand. Silver, rather plain, with a single garnet. The oval stone caught the light as she turned the ring over and over. 

“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “I never thought to look at it this way. I never meant to hurt you.” 

“Do you understand me now? At least a little?”

“I think so.” She slipped the ring onto her finger. It fit her exactly, having been sized only a few months ago. Rebecca stood up. It was only a few steps over to the window seat, no more than a few seconds until she was at Danny’s side, setting Danny’s cup aside and clasping her hands. She could not look at Danny now, instead fixing her eyes on their hands intertwined in Danny’s lap. Her heart was beating fast, her hands trembling with something more than just shame. She leaned towards Danny, burying her head against her shoulder. “Only… I am so afraid.”

She heard Danny suck in a breath. “Is there something you haven’t told me? Something I should know about?”

Rebecca shook her head. 

“Then what is it?”

“The way I look now…” She felt Danny tense next to her, felt her own hands clenching around Danny’s. “I know you don’t mind, I promise I do. But sometimes, I cannot feel that it is true, even when I want to. And Beatrice is under no obligation to put up with it, but the thought that she might not want— I’m sorry, I’m not making sense.”

“You are,” Danny said slowly. “But—”

“What if I’ll never be beautiful again?”

“Rebecca.” 

There was something in Danny’s tone, so tender yet exasperated, that made it impossible not to raise her head. “I’m being very shallow, is that what you think?”

“I think that however hackneyed the saying may be, beauty is very much in the eye of the beholder. You will always be beautiful to me.”

“I really am sorry for what I said.” 

“I know. You should talk to Beatrice, she’ll tell you something similar, I’m sure.”

*

Danny stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the neat stack of suitcases in the corner of the attic. The blinds had been removed from the attic windows, lighting up the room just enough to take in the task that awaited them. 

“I thought we had gone through more of them before we left,” Rebecca said. The red leather suitcases were foreign to her now, the clothes neatly folded inside them relics of a bygone era. What use did she have for evening gowns and party dresses? “They seem to have multiplied.” 

Danny shook her head. “Your wardrobe has always been impressively diverse.”

“Overcrowded more like. I can barely even remember what we left behind here. Surely all these clothes can’t have meant much to me.” 

As Rebecca let her eyes travel over the the suitcases they had arranged on the floor, she noticed Miss Smith peering into one that was already open, smoothing out a pale blue evening gown. 

“Do you like it?”

Miss Smith jumped. “Why yes. I’ve rarely seen anything so beautiful.”

“Take it,” Rebecca said. “This shade of blue would look lovely on you.”

“Oh Rebecca, I couldn’t. And surely it wouldn’t fit me.” 

Rebecca waved away her doubts. “Nonsense, once we have it taken in and hemmed here and there it should fit perfectly. In fact— Danny, there should be some more treasures for Miss Smith to find, shouldn’t there?”

“We should have some very suitable day dresses over here, yes,” Danny said thoughtfully. “And one or two ensembles that would do nicely for travel. I will take your measurements this afternoon and we’ll see what can be done.” 

“But really,” Miss Smith said, an edge of desperation to her voice. “I cannot possibly take these clothes. I thought you were going to sell them.”

Rebecca put a hand on her shoulder. “I will be haggling over every penny for the clothes I do sell, it will take hours. You would be doing me a favour by taking some of them off my hands.” 

Before the girl could argue any further, Danny opened another suitcase and pulled out a blouse. “Yes, this will look very charming on you, Miss Smith. Come over here so I can see how the colour suits you.” 

Beatrice came to Rebecca’s side and rolled her eyes. “I practically had to drag her to London last autumn to at least add a few pieces to her wardrobe. Let us hope Danny is more successful than I was.”

Danny? Rebecca raised her eyebrows.

“At any rate, now that you are all set up, I should go downstairs and attend to my own work,” Beatrice said, a faint blush creeping into her cheeks. 

“I’ll come with you.” Rebecca gestured at Danny and the girl and looped her arm through Beatrice’s. “I would only be in the way.” 

They made their way down the narrow attic staircase. Rebecca kept her hand on the bannister, gripping it tightly with every step. The steep steps were giving her trouble after the exertion of the journey a few days before. Beatrice kept hold of her arm, the gesture as reassuring as it was casual. Back in the sunlit corridor that housed both of their bedrooms, Beatrice turned to her. 

“Would you like to rest now or were you going to come downstairs with me?”

Rebecca’s mouth turned dry. She had not expected her opportunity to arise so quickly. “Actually, I wanted to speak with you for a moment. Alone.” 

“Alright.” Beatrice gestured at the door to her bedroom. “Up here?”

“Yes, that would be fine.” 

Beatrice opened the door for her. Rebecca stepped into the room, crossing her arms over her chest. It had changed very little in the past year. Giles’ dressing gown hung over a chair by the bed, and on a small table next to the sofa lay the usual assortment of magazines and trinkets. But there was also the green cardigan Danny had knitted, hanging over the chair by the vanity, and a stack of letters on the bedside table. The door closed with a click. She felt Beatrice stepping up behind her. 

“Is everything alright?” Beatrice asked. “Are you well?”

“Yes, yes, I am quite well.” Rebecca cleared her throat. “It is only… Danny told me about — about you and her. About yesterday.”

“Oh. Did it upset you? I’m sorry if it did. I rather assumed the two of you had come to some sort of agreement.” 

“I would not call it an agreement, at least if there was an agreement, it was unspoken. But that’s not… I am not upset about the two of you.” Rebecca ran a hand over her face. She turned to Beatrice, her legs trembling, and found Beatrice looking at her with concern. 

“Then what is it?” Beatrice asked. “Tell me how I can help.” 

“I… the other night, when I kissed you… you said you didn’t want… but then you and Danny, well. Oh, listen to me, I am not making any sense at all.” Rebecca laughed, sounding shrill even to her own ears. “I suppose it made me wonder if you’d only told me to stop because you weren’t interested anymore, not because it might hurt your feelings.” 

Beatrice stared at her. “Why on earth would I not be interested in you anymore?”

“Because of this.” Rebecca gestured at her stomach. “It would be alright, you know. I would understand. And I’m sure we could come to an agreement, the three of us. I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of your happiness, if that is what Danny wants too.”

“You’re right, you are not making sense.” Beatrice’s hands came to her shoulders, gripping them firmly. “Surely, you must have noticed the abhorrent scar on my elbow from when I broke my arm? And that awful gash on my knee? I don’t remember those blemishes ever stopping you before.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“Of course it is. Now listen to me. You are just as… alluring to me now as you have always been. It has taken me a tremendous effort not to barge into your room to take back what I said that first night. I do not know how long I will be allowed to keep the both of you and it frightens me. But yesterday I realised that even if I was going to lose you again, I am not strong enough to deny myself what is right in front of me.”

“Then you still… you still want me? Even as I am now?”

“If anything,” Beatrice bit her lip. “If anything, I want you more.”

“Thank you.” 

“Don’t be silly.” Beatrice squeezed her shoulders. “Now why don’t you come downstairs with me. I’ll order some tea for us and you can rest while I write my letters. Or do you think those two in the attic will miss you anytime soon?”

Rebecca laughed and shook her head. “Danny will be relieved not to have me in the way for now. And maybe the girl will be more inclined to take my clothes if it’s someone else offering.”

“Wonderful.” Beatrice held out her arm and Rebecca took it without hesitation. She felt buoyant with relief, almost deceptively light, but the past year had taught her how much of an illusion that feeling could be. Sure enough, once they had reached the stairs, Rebecca was glad of Beatrice’s arm steadying her. There was still a slight tremor in her legs, rendering her unsteady. Halfway down the stairs, Beatrice squeezed her arm. The sensation sent a jolt of warmth through her. Rebecca could not help but wonder at how easily Beatrice had eased her worry. She would have to apologise to Danny again. 

“What’s funny?” Beatrice asked, catching her smile. 

“Danny was right and she’ll be very smug about it.” 

“Right about what?”

“About you.” 

*

From the broad window seat of Beatrice’s parlour, Rebecca had an excellent view of Beatrice at her desk. She had kicked off her shoes and pulled her feet up onto the window seat and held her cup of tea in both hands. Beatrice had balanced hers on a small stack of ledgers. Now and then she put down her pen and absentmindedly reached for the cup. There had been a moment of awkwardness when Rebecca had taken her seat. It was difficult not to picture what had happened in this spot the day before — Danny and Beatrice, without her. It was a point of connection she had no part of, a secret moment she had no right to know more about. Yet here she was, sitting in the same spot that Danny had sat the day before, watching Beatrice write her letters.

At the desk, Beatrice put down her pen. “My solicitor is the most dull correspondent you could imagine.”

“Is he now?”

“Oh yes. I don’t know how he does it. I should be on the edge of my seat reading about the deal he is closing for me, but no. Here, would you like to read about the house I am buying?”

“Would I ever!” Rebecca put aside her cup and went over to the desk. She stood next to Beatrice, one hand on her shoulder. Beatrice fanned out the papers on her desk, revealing not only a long letter, but a photograph and a floor plan. 

“As if I did not know how the rooms were set up,” Beatrice said dismissively. “I knew the old lady who owned the house.”

“Is it far from here?”

“Not very. I did not want to leave the county. It was not an easy feat, you know. Moving into the dower house in the village would be unacceptable, but finding a property that was not connected to some large estate was quite the challenge. I was looking for something smaller than this house, but I did have some requirements. Sufficient guest rooms, for one.” 

“And I take it you succeeded?” 

“Oh yes.” Beatrice smiled up at her, and put her own hand on top of Rebecca’s. “I had to think of Miss Smith, of course, and the two of you. But even with all that, I would be able to house at least one other guest, should any friends of mine wish to stop by.” 

Rebecca looked down at the photograph of the house. There was a tightness in her throat that could not be explained away. 

“Look here.” Beatrice stood up from her chair and pointed at two windows on the upper story of the house. “These would be your rooms. You’ll be just about able to see the sea from here, at least on a clear day. I thought you’d like the view, especially if you do settle in London.” 

“Bee.” 

Beatrice turned to her, smiling. “Yes?”

She had no words. Here was Beatrice, who had taken them in and let them go, and waited, waited waited, offering another safe harbour. Beatrice, who would walk past their empty rooms day after day, staunchly keeping them dusted, always in readiness for their return. Who else would ever care for them quite this much? She reached out and took Beatrice’s hand, running her thumb over the back of it. It was not enough. She moved forward even as Beatrice did the same. She heard the legs of the chair scraping across the floorboards as Beatrice pushed it out of the way. 

Beatrice kissed her, not reluctantly as she had before, but full of purpose. Rebecca gasped as Beatrice’s hand came to her waist, the other to the back of her neck. She braced herself against the desk, burying her hands in Beatrice’s shirt, pulling her in. When Beatrice brought both hands to her waist and motioned for her to sit on the desk, she did not object. Pushing books and papers out of the way, she took her place on top of the desk, pulling Beatrice back in by the loose ends of her shirt. She parted her lips, moaning softly as Beatrice’s tongue slipped into her mouth. Truly, who else would care for her and Danny quite this much?

Chapter Text

As the blustery days of late October made way for the thin rain and fog of November, Beatrice felt herself settling into a tentative routine. She rose early and, if the weather allowed, went for her morning walk before her two guests and Miss Smith joined her for breakfast. After breakfast, she went to her parlour to write letters and lay out the day’s work. More often than not, Rebecca joined her there, as did Danny. They all went their own ways when the time came for her and Miss Smith to make their rounds of the estate, visiting tenants and farmers. Aside from a short lunch, they often did not reconvene until tea was served in the library. 

Danny held herself in the background now, Beatrice noticed. She pinned up her hair in her old way again. When they sat down to tea, she favoured a chair to the side of the table, sitting only once Rebecca and Beatrice had been served. She was Mrs Danvers again, Rebecca’s carer and companion, never to be confused for a member of the family. It was wise, of course. Beatrice could not deny it. Only after dinner, when the servants had been dismissed for the night, did she allow her posture to soften. She sat on the sofa next to Rebecca then, still reserved, still a little too quiet, but once Miss Smith had gone up to bed, her demeanour thawed. 

Sometimes Beatrice took her place in the armchair closest to the sofa and after a while, Danny would glance at her, smiling slightly, and hold out her hand. There were more such moments between them now, between all of them. Rebecca’s arm looped through hers as they walked through the garden and down towards the cliffs. Danny’s hand just brushing hers as they passed each other in a corridor. Stolen kisses in her parlour, the library, by her bedroom door as they parted for the night. Never more than a kiss now. The first storm of their reunion seemed to have passed. Beatrice tried to be grateful for it. Surely, it was easier like this. They had taken such risks those first few days. It was better to be careful, more reserved. It did not matter that each kiss only made her eager for more. 

But really, she told herself, it would be too complicated. They had all caused each other enough pain. It was better that Rebecca and Danny were faithful to each other. She needed no place in their lives beyond the one she had. She certainly did not need a place in their bed. 

There was a knock on the door of her parlour. Beatrice put down her pen. It had hovered above the paper for at least a minute, threatening to drip ink while she was lost in thought. “Come in.” 

The door opened and there was Danny with two cups of tea on a tray. Beatrice stared at her. 

“There’s no need for you to carry tea trays in my house,” she said. 

“There is when I want to see you,” Danny said mildly. “Rebecca is feeling under the weather. I can hardly invite myself to sit in your parlour without her.” 

“One day we’ll do away with all this pretence.” 

“Perhaps.” Danny put down her tray. “Am I disturbing you?”

“Not at all. I’m glad you came.” Beatrice accepted her tea with a smile. It was perfect — strong, with only a splash of milk. “I was thinking about something you said yesterday. The bookseller will be in Kerrith today, won’t he? For the last time this year?”

“Yes.”

“I quite forgot to tell you, I have an errand to run near Kerrith this afternoon. I would be happy to drive you to the village if you wanted to have a browse.”

“I would like that.” 

“Wonderful,” Beatrice said. “I was going to set out in half an hour. Would that be too soon?”

“No, that would be perfect.” Danny put down her empty cup. “I had better go and prepare.” 

Danny rose from her chair. Before she turned to go, she brushed her hand along Beatrice’s. Beatrice’s heart accelerated. 

“I will see you in half an hour,” Beatrice said. 

Danny, halfway to the door already, turned to look over her shoulder with an impish smile. “Yes, you will.” 

It became exceedingly difficult for Beatrice to focus on her work after this. Had thirty minutes ever gone by so slowly? Just when she had decided to let the rest of her correspondence wait until the next day, Reid stuck her head inside the door, which Danny had left ajar. 

“The phone for you, Mrs Lacy.” 

Beatrice looked up in surprise. “Can it wait? I was just about to head out for the morning.” 

Reid hesitated. “It’s Mrs de Winter, madam.” 

“I see. Tell her I will only be a moment.” 

Beatrice folded the letter she had been writing and put it back onto the small stack of unfinished work to her right. A call from Daphne was most irregular. They had not spoken more than twice since her and Maxim’s wedding breakfast. What she had told Rebecca this morning was true — she knew next to nothing about the new Mrs de Winter, except that her style of dress was entirely sensible and that she came from a good family. She was young, of course, quite young for a man of Maxim’s age, but given his involvement with Anna the year before, Beatrice had not been surprised.  That Daphne should call her now, however, was cause for surprise. The appointed time for an invitation was so long past Beatrice had not expected it to come at all. Maybe her brother had chosen to keep his second marriage more private than the first. 

On her way to the telephone, Beatrice rearranged her face into a politely neutral expression, though of course Daphne would not be able to see it. She picked up the receiver. 

“Daphne. Good morning.” 

“Beatrice,” said the second Mrs de Winter. “I am glad to find you at home.” 

“Oh yes? What can I do for you, my dear?” Beatrice pulled a face. The endearment sounded stilted even to her.

It was a moment before Daphne replied. “Maxim is going to London on Friday.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” There was something rather businesslike about Daphne’s tone. “I realise we have been amiss in not paying you a visit much sooner than this, so if it would not be too much of an inconvenience I thought I might come and see you. For tea, maybe?”

Beatrice sat down. The chair next to the telephone gave a slight creak. “Well of course you would be more than welcome. But wouldn’t you rather I came and saw you at Manderley?”

“I remember you speaking very fondly of your house at the wedding. I would like to see it, if you don’t mind.”

“Very well,” Beatrice said. She was suddenly glad that there was no one there to see her face. “Do you have a means of getting here?”

Again, Daphne hesitated. “I thought I might ask Maxim to drive me to the station.” 

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll pick you up myself. How’s two o’clock?”

*

Beatrice kept her eyes on the road. Fog was beginning to creep up from the water, forcing her to drive more slowly than she would have liked. She had made the journey to Kerrith more times than she could count, but even though she knew she could have followed the narrow, winding country road in her sleep, she was uneasy. Fog could play tricks on the eyes. It could make the world around oneself just unfamiliar enough that one wrong turn of the steering wheel could land one face first in a hedge. Then there was Danny, sitting in the passenger seat with her hands neatly folded, taxing her concentration. She had put on her winter coat, gloves, and the same hat Beatrice had seen her wearing on their countless visits to Rebecca’s hospital room. Now and then, Beatrice thought she felt Danny’s eyes on her. She kept a firm grip around the steering wheel, watching for each turn of the road. 

“You seem preoccupied,” Danny said suddenly. 

“It’s the weather.” Beatrice paused, peering ahead for any sign of oncoming traffic. “And… I received a call from the new Mrs de Winter. She’s coming for tea on Friday.”

“Oh.”

“I offered to come and see her, but she insisted. I’m not sure… I do not think it would be wise for Rebecca and Daphne to meet.” 

“I agree,” Danny said. 

Beatrice glanced over at her, surprised. Danny’s face was set. 

“Rebecca likes to think she has moved on,” Danny said slowly. “And I’m sure she has. However, I do not think she has left Mrs de Winter behind just yet. She is so… hungry for any news from Manderley. I worry what such a meeting might bring up for her.” 

“Quite.” A car came trundling around a bend in the road ahead. It slowed before them, swerving gently to let them pass. Beatrice tipped her hat at the driver. “And I cannot imagine that my brother would be at all pleased with the introduction.”

“Have you had much contact in the past year?”

Beatrice sighed. “Maxim has become something of a recluse. He never said so, even after you’d left, but he was unhappy with my… involvement in the whole situation. We speak now and then, but not with any regularity. No doubt he’s warned Daphne about me. I am something of an old busybody.”

“I don’t like to think you’re losing touch with your only family because of us.” 

“Maxim might be my only blood relation,” Beatrice said fiercely, “but he is not the only family I have. Now, here’s the turning for Kerrith already. We have made good time.” 

It was a relief when the first houses of the village appeared on either side of the road. Beatrice drove slowly, more out of pretence than out of necessity. The streets were almost deserted. She parked on the side of the road not far from the village square. Without the comforting noise of the engine, the silence between her and Danny grew heavy. Beatrice looked over at her, and found that she was holding her handbag in both hands, her gloved fingers wrapped around the handle. 

“I’ll walk you there,” Beatrice said. 

“Won’t you be late for your appointment?” Danny asked. 

“No, I… I have plenty of time.” 

Avoiding Danny’s eyes, Beatrice got out of the car and slammed the door, wincing at the icy drizzle from above. She rummaged in her coat pockets for her gloves and put them on. Meanwhile, Danny had come to stand next to her, her face expectant. 

“It’s this way,” Danny said gently. 

Beatrice fell into step beside her, wondering at once how it would look — Mrs Lacy strolling through Kerrith with her brother’s old housekeeper. She cursed herself for the thought. None of that mattered now, did it? 

“You might want to walk a few steps ahead,” Danny said suddenly. 

Beatrice stopped and turned to her. Danny was twisting the handle of her bag in her hands. She would not quite meet Beatrice’s eyes. 

“No, really,” Beatrice said, but Danny shook her head. 

“I would prefer it. As far as I know, the Manderley staff is still largely intact. If any of them were to make their way down to the village today…”

“Oh.” Beatrice bit her lip. “Yes, alright.”

Danny glanced up at her. “Thank you. The bookseller usually sets up towards the back of the green, near the old willow tree. If he hasn’t packed up already in this weather.”

“I will lead the way then.”

“Thank you, Mrs Lacy.”

Beatrice set off in the direction Danny had pointed out, striding out quickly so that Danny would not see her face. She had winced at this sudden return to formality. It was necessary, surely. Danny had always been a better judge of propriety than herself or Rebecca. 

Nearing the village green, Beatrice’s eyes scanned the different stalls that had been put up there, their proprietors shivering in the rain just as she was. She found the bookseller towards the back, just as Danny had said, a round-faced man in a coat with fraying sleeves. He looked up as they approached and his face broke into a wide smile. 

“I say,” he called. “Mrs Danvers! How long since I saw you last? It must be more than a year now?”

“About that long, yes,” Danny said. Beatrice saw her fingers clench at this noisy address. “Good morning, Mr Tanner.”

“Even so,” the bookseller said, “I am pleased to see you. And you’ve brought company, how jolly.” 

“This is Mrs Lacy,” Danny said. “Mr Lacy’s widow.”

“My, of course you are.” His face growing earnest, Tanner took off his cap and bowed his head. “You late husband was one of my most treasured customers, Mrs Lacy. But I am sure you know that. Never out of sorts, never a harsh word from him.”

Beatrice gave him a weak smile. “Oh no, he was very even-tempered. I’m pleased to meet you, Mr Tanner.” 

“Do look around, and take your time,” he said. “I was going to begin packing up with the weather turning the way it has, but I can wait a little longer.” 

“Thank you,” Beatrice said. 

She glanced at Danny who gave her a curt nod. Feigning confidence, Beatrice went over to the crate furthest from the bookseller’s curious eyes and began to look through it, slowly reading each title. After a while, Danny came to stand next to her. 

“Isn’t it about time you set off?” Danny asked. “I’ll find somewhere to take shelter if the rain should get any worse. I don’t mind. You really should not miss your appointment.”

Beatrice picked up a book at random, fixing her eyes on the title without reading it. “I did not have any appointments this morning.”

Next to her, Danny stiffened. Beatrice glanced down at her, her heart accelerating. Had she misstepped? Had she had the wrong idea, driving Danny here? Holding out the book in her hands, Beatrice took a step closer to her, bowing her head as if to discuss some nuance of the title and cover. 

“I had no reason to drive to Kerrith,” she said in a low voice, “only I had heard about the bookseller and I thought you might like to go. I wanted… well, I wanted to come with you.”

Danny had reached out one hand, holding gently onto the book just as Beatrice was. “But why?”

“I suppose I wanted time with you, away from the house, away from all the pretence and secrecy. Did I overstep? It was an honest mistake if I did.”

“You didn’t overstep.” Danny cleared her throat. “I think you would enjoy this book.” 

“Oh yes?” For the first time, Beatrice took in the title. “Jane Eyre. I must have read that in boarding school. It’s a pocket edition too, I wonder if Giles had a copy.” 

“He did. But…” Turning slightly so that the bookseller would not see, Danny’s hand reached across the cover and brushed her gloved fingers. Beatrice shivered. “This one could be yours.” 

A strange feeling took hold of her then, lodging in her stomach and anchoring itself there, even as they made their way back to the car. With the small bundle of books deposited in the trunk, Beatrice turned the key. The engine sprang to life, startling her with the noise she had found so comforting before. The feeling was one she had not felt in many months, a wild fluttering recklessness. 

“There is fog drawing up from the bay,” Beatrice said slowly. “We would be home sooner if we took the landlocked roads. Though of course, I am more familiar with the longer route along the cliffs.” Her heart began to pound as she heard Danny shift in her seat, felt Danny’s eyes searching her face. 

“Take the longer route,” Danny said. 

"As you wish."

Chapter Text

Beatrice's hands tightened around the wheel as she steered the car back onto the narrow road. They soon left the village behind, driving much slower than before. There really was fog drawing up from the bay, rolling in in thick grey sheets. Danny could barely make out the next turning in the road. Without much thought, she gripped the edge of her seat, as if that would be any help in the event of a collision. 

"Don't worry," Beatrice said suddenly. "I won't let anything happen to you."

“I’m not worried.” With effort, Danny commanded her fingers to relax, moving them to hold her handbag instead. 

“My mistake.” Beatrice drove in silence for a moment. Then— “Why did you ask me to drive this way? I thought you would want to be home as soon as possible.”

“Maybe you don’t understand me as well as you think you do,” Danny said. Her chest constricted at Beatrice’s words. Had Beatrice wanted her to choose the shorter route? Maybe she had misread their interactions. Maybe Beatrice had wanted to see the bookseller for Mr Lacy’s sake, not hers.

She did not dare look at Beatrice, not until she felt the car slow and Beatrice pulled onto a sandy patch next to the road. A small outcropping of the cliffs had formed a natural viewpoint there. A bench had been constructed out of weather-worn logs, inviting passersby to pause and enjoy the view. There was no view now, of course, only a wall of grey as the fog continued to rise, threatening to engulf them entirely. When she finally turned her head, she saw Beatrice staring straight ahead. 

"It's not home," Danny whispered. "Not to me."

"Of course. That was a poor choice of words on my part. But that doesn't explain–"

"I do not want to go back yet, because the moment we do I will have to hide again."

"Hide? Hide what?"

"Myself," Danny said. "How I feel. I am growing rather tired of pretending to be someone I am not, and of pretending I feel differently than I do. I see how you look at me — but you of all people should understand that I am doing what needs to be done to protect us, all of us. I cannot be Danny when we could so easily be discovered. If we go back now, I will be Mrs Danvers again.” Here, she turned to Beatrice, not just with her head, but with her whole body. “I don’t mind being free of her now and then.”

“One day, we’ll do away with all of this pretence.” 

“Maybe.” 

It was difficult to see out of the windows now. The world around them had turned to grey. Danny was sure it must be cold, but Beatrice had left the car running, and even without it her thundering heart would have kept her warm. Danny let go of her bag. It slid from her hands and landed near her feet with a thump. She paid no mind to the noise. Keeping her eyes on Beatrice’s stunned face, she took off her gloves, one after the other. She reached out her bare hands for one of Beatrice’s, pulling the glove off her fingers and enclosing Beatrice’s hand in hers.

“Let us not worry about what we may or may not achieve in the future,” Danny said softly. “We are here, and there is no need for pretence.”

She watched as Beatrice took off her other glove, stuffing it into the pocket in the car door. Beatrice turned towards her, her knees knocking against the gearstick, and raised her hand to Danny’s face. She closed her eyes, gasping as Beatrice’s fingers rested against her jaw and pulled her in for a kiss. She responded readily, reaching out her hands, touching Beatrice in whatever way she could. A few  moments later, Beatrice pulled back, panting. Danny put her hand against Beatrice’s cheek. 

“If you could wish for anything in the world,” she began, “what would you wish for?”

It was the wrong question. Of course it was. She had been too sure of her own importance, when there were much worthier things Beatrice could have wished for. The people she had lost, the safety and comfort of her old life. And yet, Danny thought she read her answer in Beatrice’s face, and it was just an improbable as she had hoped. Stay. 

“If you could ask for anything you wanted?” Danny repeated, running her thumb across Beatrice’s cheek.

Beatrice’s eyes were wide, her lips still flushed from their kiss. “Get in the backseat.” 

“What?”

“You said I could ask for anything. Get in the backseat, please.”

Startled, Danny reached for the door handle. She pushed the car door open, sucking in air through her teeth as the cold, humid air rushed over her face, and climbed into the backseat as quickly as she could. Her heart leapt when she saw Beatrice had done the same. Danny heard her own rapid breathing, noticing only then that the car engine had stilled. Beatrice climbed onto the seat, leaning over her and pushing her gently against the door. 

She brought her mouth close to Danny’s ear. “No more pretence?”

“None,” Danny whispered. 

At once, Beatrice’s lips settled against the side of her face. She left a trail of kisses along Danny’s jaw even as her hands began to undo the buttons of Danny’s coat. Danny arched her back, freeing the folds of her coat from between her and the car door. Her hands found their way to Beatrice’s hips, steadying her. Then her coat lay open, her scarf pushed aside, and Beatrice lips were hot against her skin. Beatrice’s hands made quick work of her brooch, her collar, the buttons of her blouse. She could not help but moan softly as Beatrice began so unlace her shift. She moaned again, louder now, at the feel of Beatrice’s mouth against her collarbone, the slope of her breast, Beatrice’s tongue moving over her nipple. Without thinking, she twisted her hand into Beatrice’s hair, urging her not to stop. 

Beatrice’s thigh found its way between her legs. She was barely conscious of her hips rocking against it, chasing for friction. Noticing her efforts, Beatrice took a fistful of her skirts, rucking them up above her knee. 

“Oh.” Danny moaned at the pressure of Beatrice’s knee against her knickers, her fingers still tangled in Beatrice’s hair. Beatrice straightened up, almost as breathless as Danny was. 

“What do you need?,” she asked. 

Danny hesitated. 

“Remember. No pretence.” 

“Your mouth,” Danny whispered. The words were equal parts mortification and relief. She felt her cheeks flush, even more so when she remembered where she was — reclining half-undressed in the backseat of Beatrice’s car. 

“You’ll tell me if you’re too cold.”

Danny nodded. 

Beatrice smiled at her, gently disentangling Danny’s hand from her hair. She leaned in, pressing her lips against Danny’s. Danny reciprocated eagerly, gasping as Beatrice’s lips travelled along her jaw, her neck, down to her breasts. Finally, Beatrice dived under her skirts, her hands running along Danny’s legs as she did so. Beatrice’s fingers were cold, but what made Danny shiver even more was the sensation of Beatrice tugging at the waistband of her knickers, then pausing. 

“Yes,” Danny said. Her voice cracked on the word and she cleared her throat. “Yes.”

She gripped the seat for balance as Beatrice pulled down her knickers, shifting slightly as Beatrice smoothed her skirts back down over her legs, protecting her from the cold. Then Beatrice’s mouth was on her. Had she felt any residual sense of restraint, it would have deserted her now with the feeling of Beatrice’s tongue against her, driving her to dig her nails into the upholstery of the car, her head thrown back with pleasure. Her moans rang through the car, amplified by their cramped surroundings, but Danny did not care. There was no one to hear her except Beatrice. She cried out when Beatrice dug her nails into her thighs, pulling her even closer. A familiar heat began to build inside her as she rocked her hips against Beatrice’s mouth, and Beatrice’s nails dug into her thighs again as if in response to her desperation. 

“God,” Danny cried. As she came, she moaned Beatrice’s name, her hand clutching at Beatrice through the fabric of her skirt. 

Beatrice did not move until Danny had stopped trembling. Then, she slowly straightened up, wincing a little as she stretched her back and smiled at Danny, leaning towards her for a kiss. Danny pulled her in eagerly, shivering as Beatrice’s shirt brushed over the bare skin of her chest. 

Beatrice drew back. “You’re cold.”

“Not very,” Danny said. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does. Let me start the car. We have to get you warmed up.” 

“No,” Danny said quickly. Her hand was on Beatrice’s hip, holding her in place. “You haven’t given me any time to reciprocate.”

Beatrice blushed. “That’s hardly necessary.” 

“I want to,” Danny said. She looked up at Beatrice, surprised to see Beatrice biting her lip. “What is it? Don’t you want me to?”

“It’s not that, believe me. Only, if you did…” Beatrice’s face had flushed scarlet. “I rather think I would be too overcome to drive us home.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yes.” 

Danny bit the inside of her cheek to hide her smile. “Later, then.” 

“Yes, I…” Beatrice hesitated. “I would like that.” 

They spent the rest of the drive in companionable silence. Danny, still shivering slightly even after buttoning her shirt and coat, found herself the recipient of Beatrice’s scarf, wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Whenever she was sure Beatrice had her eyes firmly on the road, she buried her nose in the scarf, taking in the scent of the wool and Beatrice’s perfume. 

The fog still lay thick over the roads and pastures, forcing Beatrice to drive much slower than usual. They returned to Edgecomb house in the late afternoon. Just before passing the gates, Danny regretfully unwound the scarf from her shoulders and passed it back to Beatrice, ignoring her protest. 

“It’s safest this way,” Danny said. 

Beatrice sighed. “I know.” 

There was no one to greet them besides Williams, who held the door for them and took Beatrice’s coat as usual. Danny carried her own coat to the coat room and stepped into the small guest bathroom adjoining it. She turned the tap and waited for the water to warm, then carefully washed her face and mouth. When she straightened up and saw herself in the mirror, her face was bright red, her hair still slightly disheveled. Biting her lip, Danny reached back and pulled two pins out of her hair. She smoothed back the loose strands and pinned them into her bun. She could always blame the flush on her face on the cold. There was nothing to be done about it now. 

She returned to an empty hall. Beatrice had disappeared, no doubt to right her appearance just as she had. Danny pushed back her shoulders, folded her hands. As she did so, she felt her expression settling into the familiar mask of Mrs Danvers. She made her way up the stairs, moving almost without sound. Turning into the corridor that housed the family rooms, she saw a thin sliver of light creeping out from under the door to her and Rebecca’s room. All of a sudden, she felt an emptiness inside her, a yearning absence she remembered all too clearly from those terrible months of separation. She walked faster, knocking lightly on the door before stepping inside. Rebecca was sitting up in bed, writing in one of her journals. She put down the book as Danny approached, greeting her with a smile. Danny went up to her at once and, sitting on the edge of the bed, put her arms around Rebecca, burying her face against Rebecca’s shoulder. Rebecca kissed the top of her head. 

“Why, hello,” she said. “Is everything alright?”

Danny pressed her lips against the side of Rebecca’s throat. “I missed you. Terribly.”

Chapter Text

Rebecca shivered. The fire in the library had been lit long before dinner as usual, the logs piled high just recently, and yet she was cold, even curled up on the sofa closest to the fireplace. Danny had gone to fetch her a cardigan, while Beatrice and the girl had vanished into Beatrice’s parlour on a “quick errand”. Rubbing at the gooseflesh on her arms, Rebecca took in this unexpected moment by herself. She had not left her room or her bed all afternoon. She had told herself the decision had been deliberate. She could hardly have joined Danny and Beatrice on their drive to Kerrith; it would not do for her to be spotted there after a year in exile. She had no business in that part of the country anymore. Nor had there been much sense in sitting downstairs by herself. Though Miss Smith would surely have offered to keep her company, the girl was busy enough with her work. 

Now that she had finally ventured downstairs, Rebecca was forced to admit to herself that her confinement had not been a voluntary act. Her heavy head and aching muscles had turned even sitting at the dinner table into a challenge. She had done her best to hide her discomfort, but Danny at least had not been fooled. As they rose from the table, Danny had come to her side, the movement as natural as if she had always intended to do so, and taken her arm, looping it gently through hers. Having deposited Rebecca on the sofa, Danny had immediately turned to go upstairs and find her something to wear. Now, there was the soft creaking of the door as Danny returned to the library, a cardigan folded neatly over her arm. 

“Here.” Danny placed the garment around her shoulders and Rebecca gratefully slipped her arms into the sleeves. 

“Thank you.” 

She closed her eyes as she felt Danny lean down and kiss the top of her head. Then Danny came to sit next to her, taking Rebecca’s hand and pulling it onto her lap. Rebecca shivered. 

“You look feverish,” Danny observed. “How are you feeling?”

“Rather indisposed.” Rebecca sighed. “I may turn in early today.”

Danny squeezed her hand. “That may be wise. We can go up immediately if you want. I won’t mind.” 

“No, no. I want a word with Bee before we do. I’m quite alright sitting up for a while longer.” 

Despite the look of scepticism on her face, Danny did not fight her. They sat in silence until Beatrice returned from her errand, Danny’s hand brushing gently along her arm. Beatrice returned alone, closing the door to the library behind herself. 

“Anna has gone upstairs,” she said briskly. “Something about having a letter to write. Judging by her notable change in colour I’d say she is writing a note to Mr Crawley. Oh the joys of young love…Now.” Beatrice sat in her usual armchair and crossed her legs. “How are we feeling this fine evening?”

Rebecca bristled at her hearty tone, so much the old Beatrice from years ago, trying to be subtle and failing entirely. Was it that obvious how ill she felt?

“Curious about your plans for the tea on Friday,” Rebecca said. “I don’t suppose you’re keen for the former and current Mrs de Winter to sit down at the same table?”

Beatrice had the decency to look guilty. 

“Don’t worry,” Rebecca said. “I doubt I would have it in me to attend. I’ll stay nice and tucked away upstairs.”

“You know I would ask you to join if I could.” 

Rebecca inclined her head. A thought was beginning to take shape in her mind, a sudden, desperate desire. She needed to know who this new woman was; what she had done with Manderley. 

“There is one thing I would like to ask,” she said slowly. 

“Yes?”

“I want you to have Danny serve the tea.”

“What?” Danny and Beatrice spoke in unison. Beatrice looked scandalised, Danny rather resigned. 

“With a housekeeper and butler of my own I do not see how I could explain that to Daphne,” Beatrice said. “Or to Maxim if he gets wind of it.”

Rebecca knew her expression had become stubborn, her face set in the way it often had when she had still been Mrs de Winter. “She did not give you much notice. Williams will take his half day and Mrs Reid will be feeling under the weather. It’s the least you can do, Bee.” 

"The least I can do? What are you talking about?"

"You are asking me to hide myself away like a criminal."

"That is not—"

"Is it really so much to ask to have Danny serve? Can you blame me for being curious about my successor? Surely it won't matter to Daphne. She would have no reason to tell Max about it." Rebecca felt her voice grow sharp, hiding her desperation. "Are you really so afraid of him?"

Beatrice's face flushed. "Afraid? If I am being cautious it is purely for your sake." 

"Then I don't see why you would deny me."

For a moment they stared at each other, Beatrice's fingers digging into the arm of her chair. Then—

"Fine," Beatrice said. A chill had crept into her tone. She rose from her armchair and smoothed down her shirt. "I will make the necessary arrangements."

Rebecca watched as she turned and left the library, closing the door firmly behind her. 

"Rebecca," Danny said. 

Rebecca flinched. She knew Danny's tone well, this mixture of exasperation and resignation. Danny would not fight her, not over something like this, and yet her voice mirrored Rebecca's own discomfort. She had been unfair to Beatrice. She had been Mrs de Winter again, wielding power she could no longer lay a claim to. 

"Wait for me?" She paused just long enough to see Danny nod, then pushed herself up from the sofa and crossed the library on unsteady feet. She pulled open the door. Beatrice was halfway across the hall already, her footsteps echoing on the stone tiles. 

“Bee, wait,” she called. She watched with relief as Beatrice stopped and turned to her, her expression guarded. “I’m sorry. I was unkind just now. Of course you are being cautious, we all should be.” 

Beatrice passed a hand over her face. “You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”

She shook her head. 

Beatrice sighed. She came towards Rebecca and put one hand on her shoulder. “If I have Danny serve, will you promise not to force a meeting with Daphne? I can explain away a stray housekeeper, but you…”

“I promise,” Rebecca said at once. “Really, Bee, I’m not looking to cause trouble. Only… I need to know.” 

Beatrice’s expression softened. She put her hand against Rebecca’s face, flinching slightly at the contact, then brushed her thumb over Rebecca’s cheek. “I will take care of it. But why don’t you go up to bed? You feel quite feverish.” 

“I suppose that’s not a bad idea.” Rebecca wrapped her arms around herself. In the chill of the hall, even her cardigan did not offer enough protection. 

“I’ll send up some tea and honey for you,” Beatrice said. “And do tell me if it gets any worse. I’ll phone for the doctor.” She gave a small smile and leaned down to kiss the corner of Rebecca’s mouth. “Good night.” Then, suddenly businesslike, she crossed the hall and vanished into the servants’ passage. 

For a moment, Rebecca stood alone, rocking slightly on the balls of her feet. When she finally turned, Danny had appeared in the doorway to the library. She held out her hand. At once, Danny was by her side. Danny’s hand in hers was cooler than it should have been. She shivered. Gooseflesh erupted on her arm, sending a tremor through her body. 

Danny regarded her earnestly. “Shall we go upstairs?”

Rebecca nodded. She put her arm around Danny’s face and felt Danny’s arm settling around her shoulders. Her legs trembled with each step on the broad staircase. By the time Danny reached past her to open the door to their room, she was lightheaded, her ears ringing from the exertion.

She crossed the room without looking back and sat on the bed, gripping the bed post to steady herself. It was colder up here than it had been in the library. 

"Why don't I run you a bath?" Danny asked, her voice soft from the other end of the room.

"I really just want to sleep. A hot water bottle perhaps, if you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind. But let me help you change first. You can barely sit upright."

She sat in silence as Danny knelt behind her on the bed, gently moving Rebecca’s head to rest against her chest. Though Danny’s hands were cold on her skin, she felt herself relax, her mind settling into a pleasant haze. The lamplight softened before her eyes. She sighed when Danny guided her head onto the pillow. The weight of the duvet settled over her, still not warm enough, but better at least. Better. 

“I won’t be long.” 

Danny’s voice floating away from her, the pressure of Danny’s hand lifting from her shoulder, a painful absence. Her eyes falling closed, her body curling in on itself, the twinge of her scar only an echo. The ebb and flow of the waves distant even through the open window, never close enough, never like Manderley. 

But Manderley wasn’t hers anymore; Manderley belonged to another woman now. Another woman walking where she had walked, picking up the house telephone just like she had each morning. Had they kept on the maid Danny had trained up as her successor? What had been her name — Judy? No, Jane. She could see it in her mind’s eye — the new Mrs de Winter with a soft voice and round shoulders, her housekeeper devoted at her side. But the woman was not Daphne. She had never seen Daphne. There had been no picture in the papers to announce Maxim’s engagement, only an advert, so discreet anyone but her might have missed it. The engagement of Miss Daphne White to Mr Maximilian… And the housekeeper was not that young maid, was not Jane, it was Danny, standing shoulder to shoulder with this woman who was not Daphne, who might have been Beatrice. 

Rebecca, more than half asleep already, turned in bed, her hand reaching out to the other side of the mattress. Her fingernails scraped along the cool white sheets, but found only emptiness. Danny had not returned to her yet. Danny was not there. No one was there. Rebecca’s hand curled into a fist. In an unconscious movement, she pulled her arms close to her body, tucking her fists under her chin. By the time the warmth of the hot water bottle began to seep into her body, her fingers had untangled herself, moving slightly with every even breath. 

Chapter Text

Beatrice paced the room in her slippers. Back and forth, back and forth. It was the only concession she had made to sleep wear thus far. She had been too agitated to change, stopping only to free her aching feet from their shoes. Why had she not refused Rebecca? Who was Rebecca to make demands of her and her staff? Had she not proven herself to be trustworthy time and time again? She shook her head. It was a senseless train of thought. What was done was done. It did not matter that she disproved of the idea. She had agreed. There was no turning back now. Her stomach twisted at the thought of Daphne’s cool eyes, the shrewd expression Beatrice had seen passing over her face even on her wedding day, as she took note of the woman serving them. Would she put two and two together? Would she tell Maxim who had poured her tea at Edgecomb house? And what then?

When Maxim had remarried, and married someone so young no less, she had resolved to do what she had not done for Rebecca. She would be present. She would pay attention. She would show Daphne that there was always somewhere for her to go. Any hint of contact between Daphne and Rebecca put that tenuous connection at risk. If only she had not given in. If only she had been stronger. Beatrice sat on the chair in front of her vanity and buried her face in her hands. She was failing Daphne; she was failing them all. 

A soft knock at the door made her jump. “Who is it?”

“It’s Danny. May I come in?”

After a second or two, Beatrice ran her hands over her face and sat up straight. “Yes, of course.” 

The door opened and Danny slipped inside, quiet as usual. She lingered in the doorway, her hand still on the door handle. Her expression was cautious; as if she were unsure of how she might be received. The look on her face made Beatrice’s stomach twist. 

“How is Rebecca?” She asked. 

“Asleep for now. I’m sure it’s only a cold, but I will keep an eye on her. I do worry ever since…” Danny broke off. When she spoke again, she took a step towards Beatrice, her face apologetic. “She doesn’t mean to put you out.”

Beatrice raised her eyebrows. “Have you come to apologise for her?”

The words were heavy on her tongue. She felt them drop into the room and settle between them, a wall of resentment and fear. Whatever moments they shared, whatever tenuous connection was forming between them, Danny’s loyalty, her heart, would always lie with Rebecca. 

It was not fair of her to ask for anything more than they had shared already. It was not fair to demand more of Danny’s affection than she could possibly give. Over a year ago she had promised not to come between Danny and Rebecca ever again, and what was she doing now? Where was her resolve?

“Rebecca is perfectly capable of apologising for herself.”

“Then why are you here?” The moment the words were out of her mouth, Beatrice wished she could take them back. Hurt flashed across Danny’s face. She turned her head, but even in profile Beatrice could see her inhale, smoothing the mask of Mrs Danvers across her face. “Danny, I…”

“I did not realise I was intruding,” Danny said. Her voice was cool now, painfully distant. “I will leave you be.” 

“Danny, wait.” Beatrice jumped up from her chair. She caught up with Danny just as she had turned the door handle and put a hand on her arm. Danny stiffened under her touch. “Please. I didn’t mean… What did you come here to tell me?”

“It was nothing of importance.” 

“Tell me anyway? Please?”

“I thought,” Danny said hesitantly, “we had left things rather… unfinished this afternoon. I came to check on you.” 

“Oh.” Beatrice took a step backwards, her face flushing scarlet. “And here I am, being simply beastly to you over something you had no part in. Can you forgive me?”

Danny sighed. “Of course I can. You were not the only one taken by surprise this evening.” When she turned to look at Beatrice, her expression had softened. “Maybe we can put it behind us for now. How are your knees?”

If her face had been red before, it was positively burning now. Beatrice bit her lip. “I am not as… sprightly as I once was.” 

“I hope you haven’t found cause to regret the unexpected exertion?”

“No,” Beatrice said at once. “Not at all.”

Her heart began to hammer as Danny turned fully away from the door and came towards her. She saw her own hesitation mirrored on Danny’s face; then Danny’s hand came to rest against her arm, her touch light, questioning. Beatrice nodded. 

“There is something else we left unfinished in the afternoon,” Danny said gently. 

Beatrice blinked. “I… after tonight, I don’t know if I…”

“Would you like me to draw you a bath?”

“A bath?”

“It does not have to be anymore than that.” Danny gave her a small smile. “A bath for your aching joints. No more, no less.” 

“Alright.” 

Danny motioned towards the vanity. “Why don’t you sit?”

Beatrice sat. She angled her chair so she could watch as Danny opened the bathroom door and stood in front of the bathtub. The stopper dropped into the tub with a thunk. The taps squeaked as they turned, and Danny stooped down to adjust the temperature. Then Danny went over to the small linen cabinet on the wall and took out a fresh towel. She placed it on the stool next to the bath, smoothing her hands over it before she straightened up. 

When she turned back to Beatrice, her cheeks were flushed, steam rising from the bathtub behind her. Beatrice found herself riveted by the ease of her movements, so self-assured even in this unfamiliar space. She leaned forward in her chair, hands on her knees, her fingertips tingling as Danny came towards her again.

“It will take a moment,” Danny said. She stood next to Beatrice’s chair, indicating that Beatrice should turn to face the mirror. 

Beatrice did as Danny asked, feeling a telltale warmth creep back into her face. Danny moved to stand behind her, one hand resting on her shoulder, the other brushing a stray hair away from her temple. Beatrice closed her eyes. Now both of Danny’s hands moved to her hair, deft fingers pulling out pin after pin. She could not help but feel self-conscious when her hair fell loose and grey past her shoulders. She had not worn it this long in years, the style did not flatter her. It had not mattered when there was no one to see.

“You look troubled.”

Her eyes snapped open. Danny’s hands had halted their movements, resting lightly on either side of her head. “I’ve rather let myself go, don’t you think?”

Danny did not reply at once. She ran her hands through Beatrice’s hair, the movement tugging gently at her scalp. Beatrice shivered. 

“On the contrary. I was just thinking how lovely you look with your hair down.”

“You’re not my lady’s maid,” Beatrice said irritably. “There is no reason for flattery.”

“You really are in a foul mood tonight.” Danny pulled back her hands. “Let me turn off the water, and then I will set you straight.” 

Beatrice sat as if rooted to the spot, staring at her own wide-eyed expression in the mirror. As the taps squeaked again in the next room, she raised a hand to her hair and pulled a strand of it over her shoulder. She had long preferred herself with her hair much shorter, in waves that brought out the sharper angles of her face. 

“Now.” Danny had appeared behind her again, quiet as a shadow. “Why would you think you had let yourself go? You look remarkably well to me.”

Beatrice could not meet her eyes. Danny’s hands had come to her shoulders, squeezing softly. “Well, my hair for one. I haven’t had it cut in months, and it’s been even longer since I’ve had it set. I look positively untidy.” 

“Not to me,” Danny said. “Nor to anyone except your own eyes. But if it bothers you…” Beatrice gasped as Danny gathered up a fistful of her hair and tugged. “I can cut it for you. And you can make an appointment in London to have it set. Easy. Was that all?”

Beatrice could not reply at once. Danny’s free hand brushed along her shoulder, then up to the side of her neck, Danny’s thumb tracing her jaw. “I… God, you must think me such a fool, but I tore a hole in the cardigan you made me. It caught on a fence and tore clean through.” 

“I’m sure I can mend it.” Danny’s voice was close to her ear now, her lips almost brushing Beatrice’s skin. “But you see, none of this counts as proof to me. You have done well for yourself since we last saw you, and you had better believe me.”

“Or what?” Beatrice asked breathlessly. She was acutely aware of Danny’s fingers tangled in her hair, of Danny’s mouth so close to her ear. Please don’t stop, she thought. For the love of God, don’t stop. 

“Or I will have to find a way to persuade you.” 

Danny’s lips settled softly against the side of her throat and she gasped, tipping back her head. In response, Danny’s hand tightened in her hair. She pressed kiss after kiss to Beatrice’s neck, then her jaw, then the corner of her mouth. Beatrice turned her head, chasing after Danny’s lips with her own, but Danny drew back and shook her head. 

“Do you believe me now?” Danny was looking at her with almost hypnotic intensity, holding herself just out of reach. 

“Not… not quite.” She could not keep herself from staring at Danny’s mouth. 

“I see.” Danny smiled at her. “Then I shall have to try and persuade you again. It would be a shame for my efforts to go to waste.” 

“Won’t the bath go cold?” What an idiotic thing to ask. Not for the first time in Danny’s presence, Beatrice could have kicked herself. 

“I don’t think so. I let the water run rather hot. By accident, of course.” 

“Of course.” 

“Now, where were we?” Releasing her hold on Beatrice’s hair, Danny straightened up, still smiling. Beatrice followed her without thinking, pushing her chair out of the way. 

“I believe…” Beatrice broke off. “I believe you were going to persuade me again.” 

“I believe you are correct.” 

Danny’s eyes were still on her, bright and determined, and Beatrice felt her knees begin to shake. Danny took a step towards her, then another, and as Beatrice moved backwards to make room for her, her thighs collided with the polished surface of her vanity. She leaned against it, glad of the support for her knees, and Danny came closer still, pushing against her until Beatrice could think of nothing but Danny’s face, the scent of her hair, the thick folds of Danny’s dress pressing against her thighs. Danny’s face was flushed, radiating warmth. Beatrice did not think. She raised her hand to Danny’s face, cupping her cheek. She ran her thumb from Danny’s cheekbone to her jaw and back again, feeling her stomach tighten as Danny shivered under her touch. She repeated the movement, would have brought her thumb to trace Danny’s lips if Danny had not caught hold of her wrist. 

“I also believe,” Danny murmured, “that it is my turn to touch you.” 

“There’s no—”

“Oh, hush.” Danny kissed her, the touch of her lips the gentlest reprimand. Beatrice let out an involuntary sigh. Already, her back was arching towards Danny’s touch, her hands tangled in the folds of Danny’s dress, keeping her as close as could be. She lost all sense of time as Danny kissed her, as Danny’s nimble fingers helped her out of her skirt, then her blouse, her stockings and garters.  A moment of pause as Danny placed her dressing gown around her shoulders and she slipped her arms inside the sleeves, relishing the sight of Danny’s eyes raking over her body. 

“You must be remembering me as I was twenty years ago,” she joked half-heartedly, “to be looking at me like that now.” 

Danny did not laugh. She ran the tips of her fingers along Beatrice’s collarbone, then down to her breasts, tracing the slope of them, the softness of her sagging skin. “Silly woman.”

Beatrice closed her eyes. She gasped softly as Danny leaned in and pressed her lips to side of her neck, the hollow of her collarbone. She braced herself against the vanity as Danny’s lips travelled lower, as Danny lowered herself onto her knees with a rustle of black fabric. Beatrice drew her dressing gown around her chest, warding off a sudden chill. Danny’s palms were splayed against her thighs, their gentle pressure inviting her to sink into the feeling of Danny touching her, taking care of her, Danny, Danny — and suddenly, all she could see was Rebecca, the stubborn twist of Rebecca’s mouth, her feverish eyes and glowing cheeks. The resentment she had fought to suppress spread through her chest faster than she could contain it. The feeling of Danny so close to her, which she had craved only a second ago, was unwelcome now, it was too much. 

Her hands were on Danny’s shoulders before she could think. “Danny, I—”

Danny looked up at her and, seeing the change in her expression, rose to her feet. “Are you alright?”

Beatrice could not answer at once. She wrapped herself in her dressing gown, crossing her arms over her chest. To her horror, she was close to tears. “I… I can’t tonight, I’m sorry. I’m too… all I can think of is her and what she asked of me.” — Of us, she thought. — “I won’t have you touch me while I feel— it wouldn’t be fair.”

“I see.”

“Yes.” 

“Would you like me to leave?” 

Beatrice swallowed. There was a lump in her throat. “I think that might be best.”

“Alright,” Danny said. She reached out and, very gently, squeezed Beatrice’s arm. She took a step closer, her eyes questioning. “May I?”

Beatrice nodded. She closed her eyes as Danny kissed her again. Part of her wanted to pull Danny in, to hold her here until she could forget her anger. But she had been right to stop. She was right to let go. Even so, she cupped Danny’s face in her hands, drawing out the kiss. When she finally drew back, Danny was smiling. 

“Good night,” Danny murmured, her face only inches from Beatrice’s. “Don’t forget about your bath.” 

Chapter Text

The second Mrs de Winter wore an ensemble in steel grey. The light wool fabric was expertly cut, though the cut itself leant towards the conservative. Her hair was pinned back from her face. As Danny stood in the entry of the servant’s passage at the back of the hall, she noted the severity it brought out in Mrs de Winter’s face, rather striking for her young age. At a glance from Beatrice, Danny strode across the hall to meet them. 

“Good afternoon,” she said. “May I take your coat?”

“Thank you.” Mrs de Winter handed her the coat without a second glance. “You have a lovely house, Beatrice. Your description certainly did it justice.”

“Thank you, dear,” Beatrice said. “Why don’t we go through to the library. We’ll have the tea served there.” 

Danny stood to the side as Beatrice ushered the new Mrs de Winter into the library, then went to the coatroom to hang up her coat. From there she retreated into the servant’s passage, then down the plain wooden staircase into the basement. Danny paused in the doorway to the kitchens and cleared her throat. Her eyes fell onto the large table in the centre of the room. Beatrice’s cook and kitchen maids had prepared the tee on an elegant silver tray. The steaming tea pot stood in the centre along with a platter of sandwiches and another of scones. Cream and jam to the side, then biscuits, milk and sugar. At the sound of her arrival, Beatrice’s cook looked up. 

“Tea’s on the table.” Given Danny’s lack of a clear position in the hierarchy of the household, the cook seemed to have decided to forego addressing her by name. Danny could not blame her. She so rarely ventured down into the basement now, there was barely any pretence of her being a member of staff. Aside from fetching the occasional tea tray,  she had no point of contact with the other servants. She could only hope they were as discreet as Beatrice thought they were. 

“Thank you,” Danny said. “I’ll take it up now. They’ve just gone through to the library.”

“I don’t see why Mrs Reid couldn’t have served instead of you,” said the cook sullenly. 

Once again, Danny was thankful for her mask, the smooth facade of Mrs Danvers. “Mrs Reid is indisposed.” 

“She looked just fine this morning.”

Danny gripped the tray with both hands. “You’ll have to take that up with her. Thank you for the tea.” 

Her arms shook slightly as she carried the heavy tray up the servants’ stairs. Danny smiled grimly to herself. Who could blame the cook for resenting her? Who was she to intrude into the workings of the household? Rebecca was right. It would not do for them to stay with Beatrice much longer. She had no role here, no justification for her presence. Sooner or later the servants would begin to talk. Her steps echoed in the empty hall. Outside the polished door of the library, Danny closed her eyes. She breathed deeply, the scent of the tea rising strong and inviting from the steaming pot. She willed her features to go slack, smoothing out the worry lines between her eyes. She was Mrs Danvers now. She would fade into the background like a good servant should. Mrs de Winter would not know her. Danny turned the door handle with her elbow and backed into the room. Her steps were silent now, muffled by the thick carpet. She closed the door, then turned, her back straight and her face calm. She approached the table silently. Mrs de Winter was facing away from her, sitting on the settee with her ankles crossed. 

Beatrice looked up as Danny began to unload the tray, then turned back to her conversation with Mrs de Winter. Danny did not shift her attention from her task until all items from the tray had been arranged on the table to her satisfaction. Once the tray was empty, she straightened up and made her way to the back of the room, setting down the tray on a nearby sideboard. Danny turned her back to the wall and stood with her back straight, her hands folded. She had practiced the art of becoming near invisible for decades. If the new Mrs de Winter was at all used to household staff, she would barely notice her from now on. Danny shifted on her feet until she had found a comfortable position. How long had it been since she had stood to attention at a party or a ball? How long since she had been on her feet from dawn to dusk, managing a large household, training her staff, stealing moments with Rebecca? It seemed like another lifetime. Now there was a new woman sitting in the same spot Rebecca had occupied the night before; a new woman bearing Rebecca’s name. 

“Now, my dear,” Beatrice said, pouring out their tea. “You have been very good to listen to me harp on about my house, but what about you? You have been settled at Manderley for some months now. How are you finding it?” 

Mrs de Winter accepted her tea with a nod. When she spoke, Danny was once again struck by her tone. It was cool, efficient, not at all the voice of a young bride. “It was a change from London, of course. I don’t mind the rural life. A larger staff than I had yet managed, though I have not run into any problems. I had my concerns, with a housekeeper so young, but they appear to have been unfounded. Everything is running as it should.” 

Danny felt a moment of pride at the mention of Jane, the young maid she herself had trained as her successor. Though she had never wished herself back at Manderley, she had often wondered what might have become of it. There would not have been much to do while Mr de Winter led a bachelor’s life, but with a wedding and the subsequent stream of visitors, Jane’s training would have been put to the test.

“I am glad you have found everything to your satisfaction,” Beatrice said. “A good housekeeper is a most valuable asset.”

“Yes, Mrs Davies has been most thoroughly trained. Maxim would not tell me much about his old housekeeper, only that she chose to leave Manderley with the former Mrs de Winter. She was most careful in training her successor. Mrs Danvers was her name, wasn’t it?”

To her credit, Beatrice’s expression did not betray her discomfort for more than a second. “Yes, that is her name. You’ll find it is not unheard of to have a change in housekeeper on the advent of a new marriage. After all, who among us does not wish to shape their new home exactly according to our wishes?”

“It does make me wonder,” Mrs de Winter said, “that a woman of her training should choose to leave a most prominent position when she was not pressed to do so.” 

Beatrice cleared her throat. “A professional connection of more than thirty years is not easily broken, my dear. Never underestimate the devotion of a dedicated servant.”

“I suppose you’re right.” 

Mrs de Winter put down her cup. She leaned forward, examining the platter of sandwiches before choosing one and putting it onto her plate. As she ate and complimented the sandwich, the topic of conversation shifted to less complicated matters. Beatrice enquired after her acquaintances, coaxing Mrs de Winter into detailed accounts of her visits to the local families. They sat together for just over an hour. When there was no return to delicate topics, Danny allowed herself to lean lightly against the sideboard. Mrs de Winter had not spared her a glance ever since she had sat down, which was as it should be. Finally, the clock over the mantle chimed five. 

“Well,” Beatrice said, “I had better drive you home now. Didn’t you say Maxim was expected back at seven? The tea was most excellent, Mrs Danvers. Please give my compliments to the cook.” 

Danny froze. She watched the expression of shock appear on Beatrice’s face just as Mrs de Winter rose from the settee and turned. For the first time, she took a good look at Danny. Her eyebrows knit themselves together. Once again Danny observed how strange it was to see such a stern expression on a young woman’s face. Though maybe, she thought, it was her own opinions of youth that were biased. After all, she barely remembered what it was to be young. 

Mrs de Winter turned back to Beatrice. “So she is staying with you. I’d heard a rumour.”

“She is, yes. I thought it best that you did not cross paths.”

“Quite,” Mrs de Winter said. She glanced back at Danny. “Does Maxim know?”

“I suspect he does.”

“I see. Well, I see no need to bring it up to him. I am hardly going to be corrupted by a good cup of tea. Do give my compliments to the cook as well as Mrs Lacy’s, Mrs Danvers.” Mrs de Winter gave her a nod as she walked past Danny and out of the library with Beatrice on her heels. 

As soon as they were out of sight, Danny stacked the empty dishes on to the tea tray and carried it over to the door. Just as she had reached the doorway, the murmur of conversation she had heard from the hall came to an abrupt halt. Curious, Danny took one step into the hall, balancing the heavy tray. She stopped short at the sight of Rebecca at the foot of the stairs with her cane, a woollen shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She knew at once that Rebecca had not expected to run into any of them. Her cheeks were still flushed with fever, her eyes overly bright. 

Beatrice had frozen in the act of opening the front door for Mrs de Winter. Mrs de Winter herself stood perfectly calm, her coat over one arm. For the first time, Danny saw something shift in her expression. 

“Good afternoon,” Mrs de Winter said. 

“Good afternoon,” Rebecca replied. Her eyes were wide, curious. She looked as if she were barely awake. “I take it you are my replacement.”

Chapter Text

The new Mrs de Winter did not shrink back. “I take it you are my predecessor. How do you do?”

“How do you do.” 

She had known that Maxim’s second wife was young, but it had been nothing more than an abstract fact. The woman standing before her now looked only a year or two older than she had been at the time of her wedding, only a year or two older than Miss Smith was now. Glancing behind Mrs de Winter, she saw Beatrice frozen by the door. 

“I did not expect to run into you at this time,” she said, more for Beatrice’s benefit than anyone else’s.

“You wouldn’t have in a minute or so,” Mrs de Winter said. “I was just leaving. Good afternoon, Mrs Mason.” 

“Good afternoon.”

With a curt nod, Mrs de Winter threw her coat around her shoulders and turned towards the door Beatrice was still holding open for her. As she did so, Rebecca noted her shoes — grey to match her ensemble, simple, elegant. Mrs de Winter disappeared through the open door and Beatrice followed her. Once the door had closed behind them, Rebecca let out a breath. She leaned against the banister, one hand heavy on her cane. She looked at Danny. 

“I did not think she would stay so long.” 

“I know,” Danny said. 

“Do you?”

“Of course I do.” Shaking her head slightly, Danny put down her tray. She came over to the stairs, holding out a hand to help Rebecca down the final step. “You look terrible.” 

“Not quite what I was looking to hear after unexpectedly encountering the woman who has replaced me.”

“You know what I mean,” Danny said. “I hoped the fever would have gone down by now.” 

“It has,” Rebecca said. She leaned against Danny’s shoulder, thankful for her steadying frame. “That’s why I came down to fetch my journal. I’d left it in the parlour.” 

“Oh, but I’d brought it up for you while you were sleeping earlier. It’s in the drawer of your bedside cabinet. I should have said.” 

“Then I suppose I upset Beatrice for nothing.” Her heart was beating fast now, protesting the exertion of the stairs. Trembling slightly, she lowered herself onto the bottom step and rested her head against the bannister. “I really only came for my journal. Bee won’t believe that.” 

Danny sighed. “You’re not the only person to fail at subterfuge today. She hardly has the high ground. We gave ourselves away well and good, and all we can do is hope the new Mrs de Winter stays true to her word and does not give us away. I do agree with Beatrice. The less Mr de Winter knows about us the better. Come, I’ll help you back upstairs.” 

“I’d rather rest for a moment.”

Danny looked at her doubtfully. “It’s cold on the steps, but if you say so… Let me take this tray down to the kitchens. I’ll only be a moment.” 

“Take your time.”

As soon as Danny was out of sight, Rebecca allowed her shoulders to slump forwards. She hid her face in her hands, conjuring up the image of the new Mrs de Winter. She had carried herself like a much older woman. There had been no flutter of nerves about her, none of the desperate curiosity Rebecca herself would have felt — that she had felt even now — at meeting the woman who had once walked the same halls, given orders to the same servants. Mrs de Winter had simply looked at her, sizing her up maybe, and come away with the conclusion that she had nothing to fear. The expression on her face had remained uniformly calm, almost stern, again so unusual for someone of her age. 

Somehow, it reminded her of Danny. Even when she had still been full of exuberance, enjoying the early days of her marriage to the fullest, Danny had been by her side, guiding her, steadying her. Danny had never lost her head. Who did the new Mrs de Winter have? Was there someone by her side or did she rely solely on herself to find her way in her new life? What had she seen when she looked at Rebecca? Not a threat, certainly. Not anymore. She had never returned to what she had been before her illness. The long months of recovery had carved new lines into her face. Her hair had grown out and she wore it plain, pinned up at the back of her head. There was nothing to fear from her anymore. She was a woman well into middle age. The spell she had once cast so easily had faded. There was nothing left for her here. Dropping her hands to her knees, Rebecca allowed her eyes to travel around the empty hall. She had drawn out the moment of separation for too long. It was time to leave. 

The realisation lodged deep inside her chest as Danny accompanied her upstairs. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she kept a tight hold on Danny’s hand, pulling her down onto the bed. They settled onto the pillows together, Danny’s arms around her, and a dull ache grew inside of her as she buried her face against Danny’s chest. There was nothing left for her here. It was time they started over. 

She fell asleep in Danny’s arms. The exhaustion she might have fought any other day now came as a relief. She allowed herself to sink into darkness and dreams, running down the stairs of Beatrice’s empty house, then through the woods around Manderley down to the cove — her cove — and aboard her treasure, her Je Reviens. Her dream self did not tire, her sleeping bones did not ache. She was free on the waves, the wind sharp on her face, and when she jerked awake some hours later, the ache inside of her had only grown stronger. Surely her boat would be long gone now. Surely Max would have sold it. It had been the last thing on her mind while they had been preparing to leave. When she had finally remembered, she had allowed herself to hope, childishly perhaps, that it would still be waiting for her when she returned; that Max would have heart enough at least for that. 

She excused herself from dinner, shaking her head at Danny’s worry. She wasn’t hungry. She did not want to see Beatrice. Half an hour later, a maid brought her chicken broth and bread on a tray, a small pastry to one side. Danny’s doing. Rebecca smiled at that. Anything to get her to eat. Anything to take care of her. Danny would come with her, even if it hurt. Danny would leave with her if she asked. Danny, Danny. Beatrice. She would be alright. London wasn’t far. She could come and see them, couldn’t she? She could come by any time. She had her assistant now. She had been alright while they were abroad. She would understand. She would try to understand. With her dinner finished and put to one side, Rebecca sunk back into the pillows and waited. Danny came up early. 

“Not much use sitting up without you,” Danny said with a smile, and she thought of Beatrice, alone in her library, alone in her new house, turning in early night after night after— “How are you?”

“Rather tired.” It was only half a lie. 

“It’s good we’re sleeping early, then. You need your rest. Say,” Danny paused halfway through unbuttoning her blouse, “would you mind if I took a bath? I’ll join you as soon as I am finished.”

“Of course not,” she said. “Take your time.” 

It was best that Danny made use of these comforts while she could. She returned Danny’s smile, watched her lay out new towels and turning the taps before she turned to close the bathroom door. “I’ll be with you shortly.” 

“Take your time,” she said again. She heard the water splashing against the rim of the tub as Danny stepped inside. She leaned over Danny’s side of the bed and stole a look at Danny’s pocket watch. It was early still, barely past nine. 

Before she knew what she was doing, she had swung her legs out of bed. Her clothes were rumpled, her hair falling loose around her face. She reached for the shawl she had left at the foot of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. Then she grasped her cane tightly in her hand and stole out of the room. In the corridor, she fell into a faster step. The sound of her footsteps would not carry all the way to the bathroom. She was at Beatrice’s door within moments, knocking as soon as she saw a sliver of light spilling out from underneath. 

“Come in.” Beatrice was at her vanity. She looked around to see who had come in. Her face tightened as she saw Rebecca, but nonetheless she stood up from her chair and came towards her. “How are you?”

Rebecca did not reply. She walked towards Beatrice, suddenly determined. They met in the middle of the room. Rebecca’s cane clattered to the floor as she brought her hands to Beatrice’s face and kissed her, hungrily. Beatrice gasped. Her hands came to Rebecca’s waist. It was not a tender kiss. They clung to each other, hands grasping at each other’s clothes and hair, teeth nipping at each other’s skin, lips chasing after lips with all the anger and frustration neither of them could bear to speak about. It felt like an eternity before Rebecca drew away, panting, her hands grasping Beatrice’s lapels and pulling her close. 

She stared into Beatrice’s eyes, her anger still dangerously close to the surface. “I’ll share you with Danny, but I won’t share you with her.”

Beatrice stared at her. Blinking fast, Rebecca released her hold on Beatrice’s shirt and picked up her cane. She left Beatrice’s room without looking back. 

The bathroom door was still closed when she slipped back into hers and Danny’s room. With trembling hands, Rebecca shrugged off her day clothes, leaving them in a pile on a nearby chair. She combed her hair with her fingers and got back into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. Facing away from the middle of the bed, Rebecca closed her eyes. Tears were pricking at the corners of her eyes. It was all too much. 

To be back in Cornwall, so close to the life she had left behind, a life that still haunted her more than she liked to admit. To see the woman who had taken her place, to hear her speak and look into her eyes, to know that Beatrice would do for her what she had done for Rebecca. Or would she? Would she do everything she had done with Rebecca? No, that was absurd, and even if she did, what did it matter? She had no claim on Beatrice. Beatrice had a right to do whatever she liked once Rebecca and Danny were out of her way. She would understand why they had to leave. She would forgive them. Anything beyond that was too much to ask. Rebecca had known from the beginning that they would have to move on. 

Their sanctuary with Beatrice had only ever been temporary. But then why did it hurt so much to imagine Beatrice on her own in her new house? Why did the thought of Beatrice and the new Mrs de Winter together leave her cheeks stained with tears? She was being ridiculous. She ought to have been practical. It was time to leave and they would leave, no matter how little she actually wanted to. Rebecca curled up under the covers, wrapping her arms around her chest. She did not stir when Danny emerged from the bathroom and slipped under the covers next to her, nor when Danny leaned over and pressed a kiss to her temple. She feigned sleep until Danny next to her had drifted off. Then she rolled onto her back and lay awake, listening to the sounds of the sleeping house all around her. 

*

Within a few days, Rebecca’s cold had all but cleared up. Neither she nor Beatrice spoke about the kiss. They were cordial with each other, losing no words about their irritation on the day of Mrs de Winter’s visit. She could sense Danny watching them in confusion. But how could she have explained to Danny something she had no explanation for? That for a moment, she had felt more possessive over Beatrice than she had any right to be? After all, hadn’t it been herself who had kept Beatrice at arm’s length for twenty years? No, there was no way she could have explained it. All that was left to do was plan for their departure. 

The next time Beatrice set off on her morning errands, Rebecca asked to borrow her parlour. She installed herself behind Beatrice’s desk, scribbling on a piece of scrap paper until Danny joined her.

“I need to talk to you,” Rebecca said. She looked over at Danny, sitting in the window seat with a basket of mending. Danny put down her needle. 

“Yes, I thought you might.” 

“It is time we left, Danny. We always said we would and we’ve drawn it out for too long already. I have contacted my tenant in London. His lease is up at the end of this year. I’ll go to London next week to see what state he’s leaving the place in. I want you to come, and Beatrice too, get her used to the idea. We’ll move to London permanently in January.”

Danny looked at her for a long moment. Her face was perfectly calm. “Alright.” 

“Alright?”

“I’ve told you before, I will follow wherever you go. So, London.”

“And you don’t mind?” Her hands, hidden from Danny’s view behind the house telephone, began to shake. 

“I do not mind.” 

“But you hate London.” 

“It doesn’t matter. If you think London is our best call, we will go there.”

There was that feeling again, that roiling anger she had felt kissing Beatrice in her bedroom. “But won’t you be unhappy?”

Danny folded her hands in her lap. “If we’re together, I will be happy.”

“Oh for God’s sake, Danny.” Her voice echoed through the room, the words sharp enough to cut. She rose from her chair, towering over Danny from a distance. “Just admit that you want to stay here. With her.” 

Danny’s expression did not change. “Only if you admit the same.” 

“No,” Rebecca snapped. “That is not how I feel. Fine, if you’re so happy with everything I decide, have it your way. We’re going to London and that’s final.” 

“As you wish.”

Rebecca stared at her. It was more than anger, she thought. It was more than fear. She was making the right decision and yet it hurt almost too much to bear. She took up Beatrice’s book of household records and slammed it down in the centre of the desk. Then, without anything else to do, she picked up her cane and left the room, hoping desperately that, for once, Danny would not come after her. 

Chapter Text

Beatrice had not been to London in some time. She had grown rather unused to it, she realised now, the hustle and bustle of the streets, the constant clamour of people and automobiles all around her. They had driven up after breakfast and checked into their hotel. This was a little luxury — the same hotel her and Giles and favoured on their journeys to London. When she had gone alone, she had stayed with Grace, of course. Her room was generously cut, the windows large and the draperies rich in their colours. Rebecca and Danny had a room just a few steps down the corridor. They were to stay for only one night, enough time for Rebecca to conclude business with her tenant. Maybe enough for a visit to a museum or a play. It was a shame they could not have brought Anna, but Rebecca had insisted. After that strange moment after the tea party, Beatrice had not wanted to argue. She sensed that her peace with Rebecca was a tremulous one; that an actual resolution had not been reached, but rather just postponed. 

Beatrice pushed away that thought as she stood on the pavement just outside their hotel, waiting for the other two to join her. After a few minutes, Rebecca stepped through the revolving door, cane in hand, followed closely by Danny. To Beatrice’s surprise, Danny had changed, switching out her uniform for a plain dress with a high collar. It was similar enough that anyone else might not have noticed, but Beatrice found the change rather bewitching. 

“There you are,” Beatrice found herself saying. For a moment, she sounded just like she had in the past, hearty, a little impatient, a different woman altogether. “I thought you might have gone to sleep.” 

“Hardly,” Rebecca said. Already, London seemed to have sharpened her. She held herself upright, her eyes traveling up and down the street. “I am meeting my tenant at three. There’s no need for you and Danny to come, in fact, I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Are you sure?” Danny asked. 

“Yes. You should see something while we’re here. Maybe Beatrice could take you to one of the museums. We’ll meet for dinner before the opera.” 

Beatrice nodded. They had agreed on the restaurant on their way up, one of Rebecca’s old haunts, though not one Beatrice minded. Nonetheless, she turned to Danny. “I don’t mind that plan at all. What do you say?”

Danny was still looking doubtful, her eyes fixed on Rebecca. “I suppose so. If you’re sure you’re equal to the exertion.”

“Of course I am,” Rebecca said curtly. “No need to fuss. I’ll see you at six.” Her expression softened. “Try to enjoy yourself.”

“Fine.” 

Beatrice moved to stand next to Danny as Rebecca gave both of them a nod and waved down a taxi. Naturally, one immediately stopped for her. Rebecca climbed inside and closed the door. She did not look around as the taxi drove off. Beatrice looked at Danny, who’s face had not relaxed. Her brows were furrowed, her lips pursed, and she did not turn to look at Beatrice. 

“Well,” Beatrice said helplessly. “It doesn’t have to be a museum, if that’s not to your taste. A café, maybe? Or a bookshop? I’ll take you anywhere you like.” 

“I’ve been to London before, you know.” 

Beatrice shrunk back at Danny’s tone. Had she done something wrong? Finally, Danny turned. When she saw the expression on Beatrice’s face, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, I am rather preoccupied. But I would enjoy seeing one of the museums. I barely had the chance to explore any time we were in London. Do lead the way, and please forgive me.” 

“Of course.” Unthinkingly, Beatrice reached out and touched her arm. “Which one of us has not been a little preoccupied of late?”

In a moment of sudden, urgent need, Beatrice took Danny’s arm and looped it through hers. When Danny did not draw back, she led the way down the street. She did not look back at the hotel or wonder about what passersby might think of them. She did not think about Rebecca. She felt Danny relax as they walked together, heard Danny’s interest as she pointed out the sights. Whatever came next, she thought, however painful the inevitable separation would be, this moment, at least, was good. 

The museum stood just as tall and imposing as it had when Beatrice had been twenty-five. She led Danny through the same cavernous rooms, heard their footsteps echo in the same way they had many years ago when Giles had led her from painting to painting, sculpture to sculpture. The air was just as cool, the conversations around them just as hushed. Beatrice did not have the knowledge of art and history her husband had had, but she pointed out the paintings he had liked and the ones she herself preferred. Danny’s hand was resting on her arm and sometimes, when they were standing alone in front of a piece of art, Danny’s thumb drew circles on her sleeve. 

Just as she had done when Giles had taken her here, Beatrice eventually found herself grow tired. “How would you like to go and sit at a café?”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Danny said.

“You’re sure? We can stay a bit longer.” 

Danny squeezed her arm. “No, I have rather looked my fill.” 

They made their way back onto the street. Beatrice looked around, wondering if there was some minuscule chance she could still find the café Grace had taken her too, if the place was even still open. It had been thirty years ago, after all. So much had happened. She tried to retrace their path from memory, leading Danny down a side street. Her heart leapt as she saw the dark awning in the same place she had expected, though when they drew closer, the place looked different and the name was not the same. No matter. They found seats inside, savouring the warmth that engulfed them as soon as they entered. The afternoon had turned rather brisk while they had been inside the museum. Beatrice picked up the menu and, seeing that it was quite long, gave an appreciative chuckle. 

“What is it?” Danny asked. 

Beatrice held out the menu. “About thirty years ago, I was sitting at a table very similar to this one, trying to make conversation with a rather beautiful woman. I was entirely out of my depth and doing my best to hide it. It did not seem to matter to her at all.” 

“Rebecca did mention you and Miss Whitby, now and again. Will you tell me about her?”

“She was the sister of Giles’s friend Frederick. Grace was quite an unusual woman, even more so when we were young. She was older than me by a few years, yet unmarried. Her parents indulged her way of life, seeing as they had Frederick to place their hopes and dreams on, though I doubt they knew which circles Grace moved in. She had a place here in London, and lived there alone. I still wonder why she took such a fancy to me, but she did, and never wavered in her kindness or her affection until— well. She was only forty-two when she died.”

“I’m so sorry. You must miss her terribly.”

“It comes and goes.” 

There was a pause. When Beatrice looked up, Danny’s eyes were fixed on her, her expression pained. Beatrice thought of Rebecca, making arrangements to take over her flat. She thought of her new house, the two empty rooms near hers. 

“I’m sorry,” Danny said. 

“I know.” She could not bear to talk about it now. Not here, where memories of a happier time crowded all around her. “Let’s have some tea, shall we?”

Rebecca met them in time for an early dinner. The restaurant she had chosen was close enough to the opera house that they would be in no rush to get there. Beatrice found herself savouring the elegant place settings, the pleasant lighting and even the waiters in their starched collars. The atmosphere of indulgence helped her forget why they were here. Rebecca seemed to have the same goal in mind. She did not speak more than two sentences about her flat, only that there was a small amount of work to be done, but that it should not prevent them from moving as planned. After that, the matter was dropped, and none of them picked it back up. Instead, they shared a number of small, delightful entrées, then an indulgent main course, while a waiter kept their wine glasses filled. 

At the opera, an usher led them into their box. It was private — another luxury they had allowed themselves — with only three chairs. Without a word, Rebecca and Danny picked the two outer seats, leaving the middle one free. Beatrice sat down. Somewhere underneath the pleasant buzz of the wine she felt a sting of pain. They would leave her. They would go to London and leave her. They would walk these streets without her, go to the opera without her, they would be altogether happy. Her hands curled around her program, creasing the thick paper. Down in the stalls, the audience were still taking their seats. Beatrice watched them, listened to the hum of a hundred simultaneous conversations, until the lights finally dimmed. A hush fell over the audience. All eyes turned towards the stage. As the orchestra struck the first melancholy chord, Beatrice felt Rebecca’s hand close around hers. A few moments later, Danny took her other hand and held it tightly. Together they watched as Violetta Valéry fell in love with a young man named Alfredo.

As they piled into a taxi after the opera, Beatrice sat in front. She watched the opera house disappear through the passenger window. She could feel her unease growing, anticipation morphing into dread. They would have to speak about it, and soon. There would be plans to be made, arrangements to be finalised. There would be her own move to think about, a change she had foolishly hoped she might not be facing alone. But not tonight. Tonight she only wanted to forget. Soon she would sleep, and dream, and think of anything but the thing foremost on her mind. 

A hush had fallen over the elegant reception area by the time they returned. Beatrice gave a nod to the night clerk and led the way upstairs. The long corridor that housed their rooms was deserted. There was the faintest sound of a phonograph playing a few rooms down. They lingered in the corridor together, strangely reluctant. Beatrice felt as if there were a charge in the air between them, a buzzing electricity. 

Rebecca took a step towards her and took her hand, the gesture uncharacteristically meek. “Why don’t you join us for a nightcap?”

“It does seem a shame to turn in right away.”

“You should join us.” Danny had stepped closer on her other side. “After all, we have barely had a chance to discuss the opera.” 

At a nod from Beatrice, Rebecca took out the key to their room and unlocked it. She did not let go of Beatrice’s hand, leading her inside and to the loveseat in one corner of the room. “Do get comfortable and I will pour the drinks.” 

Beatrice settled onto the loveseat. The effects of the wine, which had been almost too strong during the first act of the opera, had faded into a pleasant buzz. She accepted her drink from Rebecca, pleased when Rebecca pushed a delicate armchair closer to the loveseat and Danny sat down in the empty seat next to her. Danny’s thigh was pressing against hers, and underneath the gentle haze of the wine, Beatrice felt her stomach tighten. 

Their conversation turned to the opera, the music and costumes, the chemistry, or lack thereof, between the soprano and the tenor playing her lover. 

“You only say that because you have no eye for men,” Rebecca said, laughing, as Beatrice brought up the subject. 

“That might be so.” There must have been something in Beatrice’s face, something rather too serious. She thought she saw a faint blush on Rebecca’s cheeks. 

“If you had no eye for Alfredo, what did you think about Violetta?” Danny asked.

Beatrice turned to look at her. “I’m afraid I hardly paid attention to her either. I was preoccupied.” 

“Preoccupied how?”

Beatrice hesitated. Moving slowly, deliberately, she reached out and took Danny’s hand in hers. She unfurled Danny’s fingers, brushing her thumb along each of them in turn. Then, unthinkingly, she raised Danny’s hand to her mouth and kissed it over and over again, her lips lingering after each kiss. Rebecca made barely any sound as she settled on the armrest of the loveseat, only the slightest rustle of fabric. Next thing Beatrice knew, Rebecca’s hand was on her jaw, tipping her face upward. She looked into Rebecca’s eyes, their expression so different from the last time Rebecca had moved to kiss her. Even with the buzz of the wine slowing her thoughts, Beatrice’s heart began to race at the unmistakeable desire in Rebecca’s face. She held out her free hand and Rebecca took it and placed it against her own cheek. Rebecca’s skin was warm, familiar. Beatrice pulled her in. When the kiss came, it was almost unbearably tender. On her other side, Danny moved closer, her hand sliding up Beatrice’s thigh. Beatrice moaned softly against Rebecca’s lips. Danny’s lips settled against the side of her throat and she gasped. She closed her eyes at the feeling of Danny’s lips travelling up to her jaw. Then Rebecca’s hand turned her head and she moaned again, knowing even with her eyes shut that the person kissing her now was Danny. For what seemed like an eternity, there was only this — the three of them exchanging kisses on the loveseat, Beatrice trembling with desire as first Danny’s then Rebecca’s hands roamed her body, and finding her own hands uselessly reaching out for either of them. Finally, she caught hold of Rebecca’s hand, intending to pull her down onto her lap, but it was Rebecca who pulled her up instead and Beatrice, her eyes snapping open, readily obeyed. 

She was only too aware of the blush on her face as Rebecca led the way towards the bed. Danny followed. They all came to stand next to the bed, facing the mirror that stood against the opposite wall. Rebecca smiled at her and brought her hands to the buttons of Beatrice’s blouse. 

“What—” Beatrice began. 

“I want to see you.” 

Beatrice bit back a whimper. She kept her eyes trained on Rebecca as Rebecca unbuttoned her blouse, gasping with surprise as Danny’s hands slipped it gently off of her shoulders. Against her better judgement, she stole a glance at the mirror. Danny was standing behind her, hands back on her shoulders, her blouse lying discarded on the floor. Then Rebecca moved closer, blocking her view as she pulled Beatrice in for another kiss. By the time she drew back, Beatrice was decidedly short of breath. 

“Your skirt,” Rebecca whispered, pulling back just enough to be able to speak. 

Without hesitation, Beatrice undid her skirt and let it drop to the floor. To her surprise, Rebecca took another step back and, with an impish smile, slowly lowered herself onto her knees. 

“Rebecca—”

“Did you want to go to bed in your stockings?” Rebecca asked innocently. 

Beatrice shook her head. As Rebecca began to unclasp her stockings, Beatrice could not help but lean against Danny for support. Her legs became unsteady as she felt first Rebecca’s fingers, then her lips teasing at the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Danny meanwhile was still behind her. One hand firmly around Beatrice’s waist, her other hand wandered, stroking from her collarbone down to her breast, thumb circling her nipple under her underdress until Beatrice moaned again. She was barely conscious of Rebecca rolling down her stockings and nudging her to lift her feet one after the other to take them off. Rebecca rose to her feet, her eyes raking over Beatrice in her satin shift. 

She stepped right up to Beatrice, so close that she felt both of their bodies press against her. “What do you want?”

Her body burning with desire, Beatrice could only answer truthfully. “Take me to bed.” 

How they manoeuvred themselves onto the bed without stumbling was something of a mystery to Beatrice. She only knew that moments after she had spoken, Rebecca and Danny were in bed on either side of her. They leaned over her, each resting one hand gently on her hip. There was a moment of silence as they all exchanged looks, then Rebecca drew Danny in for a passionate kiss and they both turned back to Beatrice. Amid an unending stream of kisses and their hands stroking and teasing Beatrice until her moans rang through the room much too loudly, both Danny and Rebecca took off their own dresses. Then they pressed against her, pulling her close. Rebecca gave a low laugh as Beatrice’s lips chased after hers. 

“Darling,” Rebecca murmured. 

Desperate, Beatrice reached out both hands, intending to pull Rebecca on top of her, to slip her hands under Rebecca’s underclothes, but Rebecca held her back. Beatrice stared up at them both, confused. Danny’s smile was tender. She cupped Beatrice’s cheek in her hand. “You have taken care of us for so long. It is high time we took care of you.” 

Chapter Text

The first day of December dawned grey and cold. If she could have caught a glance of the sea through one of the windows on the higher floors, Danny was sure she would have found it mirror-smooth. Almost a week had passed since their excursion to London and by and by, Danny had found herself able to look Beatrice in the eye again. Rebecca had not yet reached such a point of reconciliation. She had begun packing the day they had returned and spent enough time in the attic to make Danny believe she really had made her decision. Rebecca went through box after box of her possessions, mercilessly culling what she believed she had no right to keep. That, at least, was how Danny saw it. From time to time, she snuck into a box of discarded clothing, pulling out a piece she knew Rebecca to be particularly fond of. 

Beatrice held herself in the background. She gave Rebecca the use of her parlour whenever necessary, conducting her own phone calls from the much less comfortably situated hall telephone. She had Mrs Reid and the maids assist Danny in bringing down boxes from the attic with clothing to be donated or sold. She even agreed to spare Anna for twenty minutes at a time so that Danny could begin altering some of Rebecca’s old clothes for her. 

It ought to have been a quiet season, Danny thought, if Rebecca had not gotten it into her head to move in January. As if another month or two would have mattered all that much. The damage was already done. Danny could see it in the way Beatrice held herself, her back straight and her face set. She would not show them truly how much they were hurting her. A single night in London had hardly been an antidote for that kind of pain. If anything, they had made it worse. 

Now, a week after the fact, Danny found herself pulled back and forth between Rebecca and Beatrice. Rebecca’s manic energy, Beatrice’s stoic grief. They needed her, both of them, but until Beatrice was able to admit what she felt, she was beyond Danny’s help. So, on that first morning of December, Danny drew up a chair next to Beatrice’s desk and began to assemble an inventory of their possessions. Rebecca sat in Beatrice’s chair, tapping on the desk with the end of her pen. 

“What’s the matter?” Danny asked. Rebecca had been buzzing with nervous energy since they had woken up in their London hotel to find the middle of the bed empty. Beatrice had stolen away while they had still been asleep. 

“Nothing,” Rebecca said irritably. “I’m just tired of waiting. The decision is made, why can’t my tenant hurry up and leave?”

“You’d want to move before Christmas?” And leave Beatrice here alone, she added silently. 

“Yes. The sooner we get out of here the better. I’m tired of inaction, Danny. I need my life back, or whatever’s left of it.”

Danny kept her eyes on the inventory list in her lap. “I did not realise your life felt like such a shambles to you. I thought we had done rather well so far.”

“Oh, you know what I mean. Staying here was only ever a stop-gap solution. We’ll do much better on our own.”

“As you say.” Danny could barely prevent herself from adding the word madam to the end of her sentence.

“And really,” Rebecca continued, “I’m only in your way with the packing. I should be focusing on running errands. I’ll find Beatrice now and ask to borrow her car. Sit at the desk while I’m gone, you’ll ruin your back.” 

Danny did not sit at the desk. She watched Rebecca leave the room, angling her chair so she could see the door, then brought her focus back to the inventory list. Rebecca’s clothes would be the least of their problems. There was furniture to think about, their favourite pieces from the morning room, and some valuable ornaments Danny would not entrust to the movers. She made a note of each item on her list, marking the ones that worried her. She ought to have taken measurements before going to London. Would they even be able to fit the pieces into Rebecca’s flat? She gave a start as Rebecca strode back into the room. 

“I’m taking the car into the village,” she announced. “I won’t be back for lunch. Can you come and help me change?”

Suppressing a sigh, Danny folded up her inventory and slipped it into her pocket. “Of course.” 

She followed Rebecca upstairs. She had barely closed the door when Rebecca was already reaching behind her back, attempting to undo the buttons at the back of her dress. 

“Let me do that,” Danny said, shaking her head. She helped Rebecca out of her dress and into a blouse and trousers. “What’s your hurry anyway? It’s only just past ten o’clock.”

Rebecca turned to face her as she yanked a pullover over her head. “I just can’t stand it anymore. I can’t sit still and plan, I need to be doing something.” 

“And you’re sure you don’t need me to come along?”

“No, you should keep doing your inventory. I won’t be around to interrupt.” Rebecca gave her a smile. Her hair was dishevelled from putting on the pullover. 

Relenting, Danny put a hand on Rebecca’s shoulder. “Alright. But let me fix your hair before you go.” 

“Gladly.” 

Danny did not dare go back to the parlour after Rebecca had left. Without her car, Beatrice would be confined to the house just as she was. They had barely had a moment alone all week, but Danny could not bring herself to seek her out. Why had Beatrice left that morning? Why had she not woken Danny at least? Danny had asked herself these questions over and over again. It was futile, of course. Beatrice was the one who had the answers. 

Too unsettled to sit still, Danny made her way up to the attic. They had all but cleared out their pile of possessions. Most of Rebecca’s finer dresses had been sold, save for a few favourites. Her wardrobe having been reduced to a reasonable size, all that was left to do was pack. At Rebecca’s insistence, Danny had added two practical skirts and blouses to her own wardrobe. Even that had seemed excessive, but as Rebecca kept reminding her, she would soon be free of her uniforms. Crouching over a suitcase, her hand brushing over the fine fabric of one of Rebecca’s dresses, Danny pondered this change in dress code. She had never minded her uniforms. There had been something predictable about them; she had felt safe in her long black skirts, virtually unaltered throughout thirty years of service. Now, at the threshold of a different life, she almost resented that safety slipping away. Her new clothes were dark still, the skirts almost sweeping the floor. She had chosen high necklines, similar to the ones she was used to. She had no desire to reveal any more of her body than she had done this far. Pulling herself out of her thoughts, Danny closed the suitcase in front of her. 

When she came downstairs for lunch, she found Beatrice alone in the dining room. Danny’s heart sank. “No Miss Smith today?”

Beatrice shook her head. “She’s down in the village with, well, I’ll give you three guesses.” 

“Mr Crawley again? He does seem to be getting serious.”

“Oh yes, I think we can expect a summer wedding.” Beatrice looked down on her plate. “I shall miss her.” 

“You don’t think they’ll stay nearby?”

“I doubt it. He couldn’t stay on at Manderley under the circumstances, and he has family in Scotland. I expect they’d go there.” 

“I see,” Danny said. “I’ll be sorry to see them go. Both of them.” 

“Yes, quite.” 

“I suppose I shouldn’t be sitting down to lunch with you,” Danny said. “Not with Rebecca and Miss Smith both gone.” 

Beatrice looked at her, her expression defiant. “I don’t give a damn about should or should not. Do you think I enjoy having to treat you as my inferior? Do you think I want to lose even a half hour of your company?”

The entrance of Williams put a halt on the conversation. Danny sat very still as Williams served their lunch. She wondered what he thought of her, the former housekeeper being served in the dining room with his employer. Did he resent her as much as the cook did? 

“We have barely had a moment all week,” Beatrice continued, stabbing at her food with her fork. “Even this morning you were hiding from me.” 

“I was in the attic,” Danny said mildly. “I’d hardly call that hiding. Regardless, I rather thought that was what you wanted.”

“And what on earth makes you think that?”

Danny weighed her words carefully. “After we returned from London, I did not get the impression that you were looking for company beyond that which already existed. I was trying to… give you your space.” 

“Well, soon I’ll have more space than I’d ever know what to do with,” Beatrice snapped. Then she paused, looking ruefully at Danny. “You see, I try to give myself an air of great rationality but… I fear when it comes to you I am not a rational creature at all.” 

The turning of the door handle stopped them both short. Williams had come to take their plates and bring the desert. Danny stared down at her bowl of peach compote, her head angled slightly to one side. Maybe Williams would not see the flush on her cheeks. 

“Maybe,” Danny began, her spoon clinking against the side of her bowl, “I could defer our packing to a later time. That is, if you would like me to sit with you this afternoon.”

“I should like that.”

They finished their meal in silence. As Danny put down her spoon, she wondered how it could be that such a simple invitation could still make her blush. Should she not have been used to Beatrice’s company by now? Should it all not have been rather commonplace?

Beatrice led the way out of the dining room. She stopped short halfway across the hall, turning to Danny with a slight frown on her face. 

“Mrs Danvers,” she said, just loudly enough to be overheard by the maids cleaning the library, “I wonder if you might take a look at a cardigan I tore some time ago. I keep meaning to have it mended, but I simply have not found the time.”

“Of course, Mrs Lacy. I’m sure I could help.” 

 Beatrice’s frown turned into a smile. “Do come upstairs with me and I’ll find it for you.” 

“Gladly, madam.” 

Again, Beatrice led the way. Danny followed her upstairs, casting glances over her shoulder now and then. She felt safer once Beatrice had closed the door of her bedroom behind them. 

“You really should give me that cardigan to mend. You’ve had to do without it for too long.” She thought of the pride she had felt seeing Beatrice wearing the cardigan she, Danny, had made for her, that surprising rush of affection. “I like seeing you in it.”

“I will,” Beatrice said. “Only, I thought we might spend some time together first. You know, while we’re…”

“Alone?”

Beatrice cleared her throat. “Yes.”

Danny took a step towards her and put her hand on Beatrice’s arm. “I have to ask. Why did you leave that morning? Was there anything we did that—”

“No,” Beatrice interrupted. “Nothing like that at all. It was— you were… it was rather wonderful. It was my own troubles that made me leave, not you.”

“And will you tell me—”

“Not yet,” Beatrice said quickly. “Not now. Who knows when I’ll have you by yourself again.”

Danny raised her eyebrows. “Have me?”

“You know what I mean.” Beatrice looked as if she were fighting back a smile. “Why don’t we sit for a while? Have a bit of a rest? You’ve been on your feet all morning by the sound of it.” 

Faced with a choice between the armchair by the fireplace and the window seat, Danny made a start towards the latter, but Beatrice held her back. 

“Lets sit somewhere we both fit.” 

Danny’s face grew warm as Beatrice gestured towards the bed. She bowed her head and went over to it, sitting gingerly on the edge of the mattress to take off her shoes. Meanwhile, Beatrice went to lock the door. 

“Can’t be too careful,” Beatrice said. 

“Quite.” 

Danny watched as Beatrice settled onto the bed next to her, arranging her pillows and stretching out her legs. Emboldened, Danny pulled up her feet and leaned back against the headboard. Beatrice looked over at her. 

“Have we ever done something quite like this?”

“I don’t think so,” Danny said. “We’ve never had the time. Or the inclination, I suppose.”

“I might have had the inclination if I’d known you like I do now.”

Danny suppressed a smile. “If you’d known me to possess more qualities than just a pretty face?”

“Oh I always knew that. Though of course you do have an exceedingly pretty face.” 

“Now you’re mocking me.”

“No,” said Beatrice, suddenly serious. “No, Danny, I am not.”

Danny looked down at her hands, momentarily lost for words. 

“Do you have any idea how very fond I am of you?” Beatrice asked. “What a wrench it is to let you go?”

“London is not too far. And we—”

“You misunderstand me.” Beatrice sat up, leaning towards Danny with sudden intensity. “I adore Rebecca, of course I do, but it is not just the loss of her company I am grieving. Having you here, knowing you and your company— Danny, have I not shown time and time again that there is enough room in my heart for more than one sort of affection? You have become… so very dear to me, and I will be very sorry to see you go.” 

“Are you asking me to stay?”

“No. I would not ask that of you. I only wanted you to know… how much you matter. Look at me.”

Danny looked up. Beatrice was close to her now, her expression gentle. Nothing remained of the polite formality of the past week. All that she had said stood written in her face for Danny to read. Unable to stop herself, Danny reached out and put her hand against Beatrice’s cheek.

Beatrice gave her a small smile. “We needn’t think about it now, about any of it. I’m so very glad to have this time with you.” 

“So am I.”

Looking at Beatrice’s earnest face, Danny knew this was as close as they would come to a resolution. She could not, would not betray Rebecca. She would follow wherever Rebecca chose to go. Beatrice knew that as well as she did. All that was left was to give herself over to the time they had now. With a soft sigh, she allowed herself to slide down and rest her head against the pillows. She lay facing Beatrice, who mirrored her position. After a moment or two, their hands found each other in the empty space between them. Beatrice squeezed her fingers. The sensation sent warmth rushing through her body, colouring her face. 

“If only,” Beatrice said, “there was a way to halt time even just for a few hours.” 

“What would you want to do during those hours?”

Beatrice smiled at her. “Too many things to list. Talk with you for hours at a time, share stories, read novels.”

“I never took you for a voracious reader.” 

“Not when I was younger, perhaps.” Beatrice shrugged. “I was far too busy. You know, I was always expected to lead a life of leisure. Leave it all to my housekeeper and sit around embroidering tablecloths. Not that there would have been anything wrong with that, but that sort of life would never have suited me. Giles knew that.”

“The two of you were well-suited,” Danny said, smiling. 

“We were. I like to think that he needed me as much as I needed him. He had his head in the clouds sometimes.”

“And you were the one to bring him back down?”

“Well, I had both feet on the ground. I’ll forever be grateful he never attempted to keep me cooped up inside the house. For one thing, I might have murdered my mother-in-law if he had.”

“I think Rebecca might have liked to do the same sometimes, those first few years. The old housekeeper was devoted to Mr de Winter’s mother.” 

“I certainly didn’t envy her,” Beatrice said decisively. “Not when Maxim expected such different things from her than Giles ever would have expected from me. But she did find ways to stay active, didn’t she?”

There was a pause. Danny looked down at their clasped hands. 

“I only meant the sailing.” Beatrice sounded apologetic. “And the riding and her renovation of Manderley. She has to remain active, just as we do, that’s all.”

Danny gave a thin-lipped smile. “Don’t mistake her. Rebecca enjoys a life of leisure more than she’d ever admit.”

Another pause. When Danny raised her head, Beatrice was looking at her curiously. “I think this is the first time I’ve heard you speak of her like that.”

“I am too old and too sensible to think of her with pure adoration. I love her for who she is, not for who I might once have thought her to be.” Danny paused. “I’d do the same for you if you just let me see you for who you are.” 

Beatrice stared at her. Danny stood her ground. She felt the truth of what she had said, even if she had never planned on saying it. She could love Beatrice, she knew. Not in the same way as she loved Rebecca, but a different way, a way suited to Beatrice and Beatrice alone. Maybe it had not always been that simple, but it felt simple now. 

“You needn’t say anything,” Danny said quietly. “We’ve said quite enough for the present.”

“Yes, I…maybe you’re right.” 

“I hope I haven’t offended you.”

“No,” Beatrice said at once. “You haven’t.”

“What else was on your list of things to do in our endless time? I could fetch something to read.”

“No,” Beatrice said again. “No, I’d rather just… be close to you. If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind. I don’t mind at all.”

Even with the weight of their words settling between them, it felt only natural that they should settle onto the pillows together, drawing each other in. It was only natural that Beatrice’s hand should come to her waist and her own hand to the side of Beatrice’s face; that a lingering kiss should lead to another. Soon, the hours Beatrice had so wished for slipped by in a gentle haze. By the time they resurfaced, night had fallen. With a surge of guilt, Danny reached over to the bedside cabinet to check the time on her pocket watch. She froze, staring at the watch as her hands grew suddenly cold. 

“What is it?” Beatrice asked. 

“It’s almost seven.” Danny sat up on the bed. The movement was too fast, it made her dizzy. Nonetheless she forced herself into a standing position, gathering up her clothes. “Rebecca hasn’t come back.”

“What makes you say that? We wouldn’t have heard the car, we’re on the wrong side of the house. Maybe she’s in her room.” 

“No.” She was buttoning her dress now, her fingers trembling. “I would know. Something’s wrong. What was I thinking, losing track of time? What if something’s happened?”

She went over to the vanity, dragging her fingers through her tangled hair and pinning it up as quickly as she could. In the mirror, her face was flushed, her eyes wide. 

“Danny.” Beatrice came up behind her. She took Danny by the arms and turned her around. “Danny, nothing’s happened. She’s either in the house or she’s running late. This isn’t like last year. She’s alright.” 

“You don’t know that,” Danny snapped. 

Beatrice sighed. “I suppose I don’t. Why don’t you go check your room and I’ll ask Williams if there’s been a message?”

Danny nodded. She almost ran out into the corridor. There was no light in hers and Rebecca’s room. She barged inside without knocking and found the room just as she had left it in the morning. For a moment, Danny stood frozen. It was nothing, surely. Rebecca had lost track of time. It had happened before. Maybe she had decided to go on a drive after running her errands. None of these sensible possibilities could silence the crushing feeling of guilt. She had lost track of time. She had allowed herself to lose herself in Beatrice’s company and now Rebecca had not come home. What if something had happened? What if— 

Rebecca standing behind her desk, blood soaking the fabric of her dress. Her arms were trembling under Rebecca’s weight again, her hand left a smear of blood on the steering wheel, Rebecca was reaching for her, her consciousness fading fast. She was jumping out of the car, hoisting Rebecca’s limp body into her arms, they were taking Rebecca from her, wheeling her away, she was begging, shaking—

“Danny. Danny.” Someone had taken her by the arm, shaking her. “Look at me.”

She turned. It was a moment before the strange woman came into focus. It was Beatrice. Not a stranger at all. With difficulty, Danny tried to focus on what she was saying. 

“There hasn’t been a message,” Beatrice said. She was holding onto Danny with both hands now, as though afraid Danny might fall. “But if something had happened while she was in the village we would know by now. Everyone there knows my car. She must have gone for a drive and forgotten the time. It’s started to rain. She might have stopped somewhere for dinner. We’ll soon know more.” 

“We—” Her voice was hoarse. “We can’t just sit around and do nothing.”

Beatrice squeezed her arms. “We won’t. If she’s not back by nine o’clock I am calling the police.” 

Chapter Text

Rebecca hurried down the broad stairs and into the entrance hall. It was a miracle she had even been able to sit through Danny fixing her hair. She could not bear it anymore, she simply couldn’t. Not when after a full week since their return from London, Beatrice had not managed more than polite smiles and the occasional peck on the cheek. How could she have left without saying a word? Had that night meant nothing to her? How could she have made everything so horribly, damnably difficult so soon before their parting? No, she could not stay in the house a moment longer.

There were no errands, really, or at least none that were particularly pressing. She had a letter to post, a moving company to inquire after. And while she was in the village, she might ask if there had been any telegrams for her. She usually avoided the post office, or any place where she might have to give her name. The scandal of her divorce and well-documented adultery had not died down enough for the people here to have lost interest. Had she been in London it might have been a different matter. Five such scandals happened there every week. But this was Cornwall and she was intimately connected with several of the most prominent families in the county. Damn Beatrice and her popularity. Damn her own past and the glamour of the Manderley balls. She would never live it down here, the memory would never fade. It would suffocate her just as Manderley had done. Worse, it would make her resent Beatrice almost as much as she had resented Maxim. 

She barely registered the sound of the telephone ringing as she made her way towards the little coat room to the side of the hall. She took her coat from the rack, glad that Beatrice’s butler was not there to do it for her. Williams hid his feelings behind an impenetrable wall of professionalism, but surely, he must have his own opinions about his employer harbouring a known adulterer. Had he and Mrs Reid tried to shield the maids from this knowledge? Surely they would be pleased to see the back of her. Rebecca turned back into the hall and promptly found herself face to face with Beatrice’s butler. She might have blushed at her uncharitable thoughts if she had not been in such a hurry. 

“What is it, Williams?” She asked instead, more brusquely than she had intended. 

“The telephone for you, Madam.” Williams seemed unmoved by her tone. “It appears to be an urgent matter.” 

Rebecca followed him to the telephone in Beatrice’s parlour. She picked up the receiver, not bothering to take a seat. Not five minutes later, she found herself leaning against the desk, staring down at the phone in her hand. One piece of bad news was all it had taken to render most of her errands pointless. A pipe had burst in the flat above hers only some hours previously. Her tenant had evacuated, leaving the relevant authorities to assess the damage. The repairs would take weeks, if not months. Rebecca slammed down the receiver. It did not matter. It couldn’t matter. She and Danny would go to a hotel instead. They could not stay here. She could not bear to stay a day longer than she had planned for. 

Leaving the door to the parlour wide open, Rebecca strode across the hall, throwing her coat around her shoulders, her cane clutched tight in her hand. She did not look at Williams, barely bothered to thank him as he opened the front door for her. The car had been brought round for her. She threw her coat and cane onto the passenger seat and got in. It was not until she had started the car and was a good way down the drive that she stopped to think. She pulled over to the side of the road, the car rumbling beneath her. She couldn’t go back to the house, not yet. She had to do something, anything. She would go back once her insides no longer felt like biting, writhing snakes. She could at least drive to the village now, post her letter, run a pointless errand or two. That would buy her time. 

It did not buy nearly enough time. All too soon she found herself on the pavement outside the post office, her hands empty and her mind still racing. She could not explain the desperation screaming inside of her. What should it matter if her plan was delayed? She would still get her way, wouldn’t she? Danny would follow her, would always follow her, and they would finally start over. Why could that prospect not feel like a relief?

The clerk was looking at her through the window of the post office. Rebecca gave her a nod and set off down the road, back to Beatrice’s car. She had looked over Danny’s inventory list, those pieces of furniture they had taken with them after the divorce. Would she even be able to take them all to her London flat? It wasn’t minuscule, but it certainly wasn’t Manderley. She thought of her desk, orderly drawers that had once contained most of her life; the life that she allowed others to see, anyway. She thought of the divan from the morning room, how out of place it would look against the plain walls of her flat. In her imagination the walls were stained with damp. How long did it take to repair this kind of water damage? Would they manage?

There were things she hadn’t been able to take at all. Her bedroom furniture had belonged to the house, even the vanity at which she had taken her place almost every night for twenty years. The things she had left behind in the boathouse, now aged from damp and disuse. And her boat, her beloved fishing boat, her treasure. Had Max bothered to have her taken out of the water for the winter or had he left her to rot? Worse, had he sold her without even asking Rebecca what she wanted? The thought made her sick. She had to know, had to be sure what had happened to her boat, this little bit of freedom. 

Rebecca turned the key in the ignition. She drove out of the village, picking up speed. She would have to hurry, but what were fifty miles, really? If she was back by dinner time neither Danny nor Beatrice would be any the wiser. As she drove along the familiar roads towards Kerrith, the slate grey skies turned darker. It began to rain, only a light drizzle, but enough for Rebecca to switch on the lights. She couldn’t pause to think. If she did, she would have to turn back. She had no right to go to Manderley, in fact, Max had made it quite clear that she was never to return. But she needed to know. It was as simple as that. 

The rain persisted the whole way to Manderley. Rebecca drove by way of the village, driving to where the tourists parked their cars on the way to the beach. That would be the way to go about it— go up to the cove by way of the public path and clamber down the cliffs as she had so often done. She wouldn’t be seen, not in this weather, but she would have certainty. She would be able to rest if she knew. Her steps were not as sure on the cliffside path as she remembered them. She found herself grateful for her cane, as much as its necessity sometimes shamed her. In the past, the walk to the cove would have taken her about ten minutes. Today, it took her twenty. Her body was already protesting the exertion of the day, the walk through the village, the long drive, and now this— and she had not had any lunch. Rebecca was sweating in her winter coat, but taking it off would have been foolish. She wiped her forehead with her handkerchief, stopping as the small footpath down to the cove came into view. 

Casual passersby would never have noticed it. It was not a proper path like the one on the cliffside, only a sliver of bare earth, winding down to the rocky beach just out of sight. She glanced over her shoulder. There was no one else on the path, no chance of being seen. Her breath came in short gasps as she climbed down to the cove. More than once, she almost slipped on loose pebbles, catching herself just in time. By the time her feet touched even ground, the usual twinge in her scar had turned into a persistent ache. 

She stood at one end of the cove, looking over the crescent of rocks and water that had once been hers. Max had never come down to the beach if there had been a chance of running into her. He had had no power there. In the cottage by the water’s edge she had been free of everything but her own shame. Returning now brought her now relief. She did not know what she had expected. The cottage stood dark and empty, the door bolted shut. From where she stood, she could see that the shutters were open, the same checkered curtains hanging over the windows. With effort, Rebecca pulled her eyes away from the cottage and directed them towards the water, the lone buoy floating in the bay. It meant nothing. Maybe he’d had the boat taken to the shipyard for the winter. But Max didn’t care for sailing; he’d never cared for her boat. Why keep it when it would have fetched a good price? She had driven by the shipyard on her way into the village, casting her eyes over the boats set up for winter. There had been no sign of the Je Reviens. And still, it might mean nothing. Maybe Maxim had found a different place to put it up, somewhere he wouldn’t have to see it ever again. 

On heavy feet, Rebecca went towards her cottage. Had his new wife seen the way it had been fitted up? Had she taken a liking to it? A year ago she had had the roof and windows patched. She’d never returned her things to the cottage afterwards. She’d never gone back at all. She inched towards the cottage and its dark, dead windows, unsure of what she was most frightened to find. Finally, she was close enough to rest her hands on the damp walls. She leaned towards the window, peering through a gap in the curtains. There was the sofa bed, spots of damp clearly visible on the red fabric. There were cobwebs in the sink, around the mantle, in all corners of the room. The small table next to the bed had fallen. It lay on its side, legs pointing aimlessly into the room. Rebecca drew back. There was a padlock on the door, she saw now, large and slightly rusted. Max had locked away her life for good. 

“This cove is private.”

Rebecca stiffened. Sometimes, his voice still followed her into her dreams. It came to her from the shadows, calling to her from just out of sight. She never saw him, a small mercy at least, but in those dreams she knew that Max would always be watching her, waiting to catch her out. 

“Did you not hear what I said?” His voice came again. “This cove—”

She turned. A few feet away, Max stopped short. He stared at her, brow furrowed, as if he could not place her right away. Rebecca took a step towards him, placing her cane on the ground in front of her. It was only a moment before Max found his voice. 

“Rebecca.”

“Yes.” She watched him as she spoke, took in every change in his face, his looks. He was beginning to go grey. He was familiar. He was a stranger. Her hand shook on the handle of her cane. 

“What are you doing here?” Max’s voice was level, but his eyes were hard. “I thought I had made myself more than clear—”

“Clear that you never wished to see me again, I know,” she said. “I did not think I would run into you here.”

“And you think that makes it alright?”

“No.” She shook her head slowly. “No, Max, I don’t. You shan’t see me here again. I have what I wanted.”

Max took a step towards her. “What did you take from that cottage? What abhorrent, filthy things could you still have hidden in there?”

She held up her free hand, showing her empty palm. “You won’t see me here again.” 

He was closer now, his winter coat billowing around his legs. Rebecca walked past him, striding towards the far side of the cove, where the much gentler footpath led up into the Happy Valley and from there to the public path on the cliffs. She did not look back. 

Chapter Text

It had begun to rain around eight o’clock. Beatrice stood by the window in the library, staring out into the darkness as if straining her eyes would somehow force Rebecca to come home. Behind her, Danny was striding back and forth across the room. For once, her footsteps were audible, a nervous rhythm out of step with the pattering of the rain outside. If Beatrice could have born to look, she would have found Danny’s face chalk-white, her hands twisted together. Once again, Beatrice checked her watch. A quarter to nine. Her stomach dropped at the thought of going out into the hall and dialling the number of the local police station. What on earth had Rebecca been thinking? At five minutes to nine, Beatrice turned from the window. Her eyes met Danny’s. She almost flinched at the blind panic in Danny’s face. 

“We’ll find her,” Beatrice said. Reluctantly, she walked towards the door, her feet growing heavier with every step. Once she went into the hall, it would be almost nine. She would have no excuse not to call— at this moment, someone rang the doorbell once, twice, three times. Beatrice broke into a run. She was at the door before Williams was and wrenched it open. There stood Rebecca, dripping wet, her shoulders slumping forward. She was leaning heavily on her cane. 

“There you are,” Beatrice forced out, her voice rather higher than usual. “Where on earth—”

Rebecca did not seem to hear her. She stepped past Beatrice into the hall, handing her sodden hat and coat to Williams, then went straight into the library. Beatrice followed, torn between bewilderment and fear. Rebecca went straight to the drinks cart. She poured herself a generous measure of Scotch and drank it down, shuddering as she put down the glass. Only then did Rebecca pause and look up. Beatrice followed her eyes. They were fixed on Danny who had frozen in the middle of the room, staring at Rebecca, her eyes huge in her white face. 

“He sold it,” Rebecca said to nobody in particular. “That son of a bitch sold my boat. It was my fault. I didn’t make any arrangements for it. But the gall of him, he didn’t even ask, he couldn’t even be bothered— but she’s gone now and it’s all my fault, just like this whole mess is my fault. I’ll never see her again and she was the only good thing about that blasted place and… and—”

Rebecca’s voice had grown steadily louder. Her hand was shaking on her cane, her hair falling into her face in streaks. She looked almost deranged. 

“You went to Manderley.” Danny’s voice was low, dead. 

“Yes!” Rebecca shouted. “Yes, I went to goddamn Manderley and he sold her, he sold my Je Reviens without even telling me. He sold her and she’s gone, she’s gone and we can’t move because of that damned pipe, and I, I can’t— I’ll never see her again. I’ll never sail her again.” 

“Actually, you will sail her again.” Beatrice said. Rebecca’s head whipped towards her. “Maxim did sell your boat, but he sold her to me. I’ve had her put up for the winter in the shipyard down in the village. Forgive me. I didn’t know if you’d ever want to sail again after… but I couldn’t bear for him to sell the boat to anyone else.” 

Rebecca stared at her for so long Beatrice was not sure her words had gotten through to her at all. Then Rebecca blinked once, twice, tears began to roll down her cheeks as she stared and stared at Beatrice. 

“You… you bought her?”

Beatrice nodded. With two quick steps, Rebecca was with her. Her cane clattering to the floor, she wrapped her arms around Beatrice. She let out a sob. Beatrice held her. She felt Rebecca relaxing against her even as she was crying, her shoulders twitching. 

“It’s alright,” Beatrice murmured. “It will be alright.” 

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Danny turn and walk to the other end of the room. There she stood, looking out of the window, her shoulders stiff and her face still white as a sheet. Beatrice felt a twinge of guilt. What must it feel like to Danny that Rebecca had turned to Beatrice for comfort instead of her? Or had it simply been because Beatrice was closer?

It was a few minutes before Rebecca lifted her head from Beatrice’s shoulder. Her eyes were red from crying. When Beatrice offered her a handkerchief, she took it with a weak smile. 

“There are… things we need to talk about,” Rebecca said hoarsely. “Our move to London… we may be delayed by some weeks.”

“You’ll stay with me as long as you need, of course,” Beatrice said. She could not help the feeling of wild, jubilant happiness that was already growing in her chest. They would stay a little longer. They would be with her.

“Thank you.” Rebecca squeezed her hand. “Really, Bee. I can’t thank you enough.” 

She made no sound save for the rustling of her skirts and yet Rebecca and Beatrice both looked towards her as Danny turned away from the window and left the room. Beatrice caught a glimpse of her face. It had turned into a mask, her eyebrows furrowed and her lips pressed together. 

“Danny,” Rebecca said. “Danny, wait.” 

Danny did not seem to hear. At once, Rebecca went after her, one hand pressed to her stomach. Her cane lay forgotten on the floor. Beatrice crouched down and picked it up. She took a deep breath, then followed Rebecca out of the library. By the time she had made her way into the hall, Rebecca was at the top of the stairs, turning down the corridor. Beatrice hurried after her, Rebecca’s cane clutched in her hand. The door to Rebecca’s and Danny’s room stood open. Beatrice stepped inside to find Danny by the window, her back to the room. Rebecca stood at the foot of the bed, holding onto the bed frame for balance. Neither of them acknowledged her arrival. 

“Danny,” Rebecca said softly. “Talk to me. Please.”

At first it looked to Beatrice as if Danny were standing stock still. Then her eyes fell to the hem of Danny’s skirt and she realised Danny was shaking. A moment later, Rebecca came to the same conclusion. She crossed the room and put her hand on Danny’s shoulder. Finally, Danny turned. Her face was as white as it had been in the library, her eyes wide and dark. 

“Please,” Rebecca said again. 

Danny crossed her arms over her chest. Beatrice could see her fingers digging into the fabric of her dress. “You promised.”

“I know,” Rebecca whispered. 

“You promised you would not disappear again. You promised you wouldn’t go back.” 

“I know.”

Danny’s voice grew stronger, more agitated. “How could you? I had no way of knowing if you were safe. What if someone had seen you? What if you’d been hurt? What if he had been there? Did you ever think of that?”

“He was there.” 

“What?”

Rebecca’s hand dropped from Danny’s shoulder. She took a step sideways, leaning against the wall. She looked older, suddenly, and deathly tired. “Max saw me looking into the boathouse. We… we spoke, briefly. I promised I wouldn’t come back.” 

“Well,” Danny spat, “He and I both know how you feel about promises.”

Rebecca visibly recoiled. “That’s not fair.”

“How could you go back there?”

“I don’t know.” Rebecca held out her hand again, a plea for understanding. Or forgiveness. “Danny, I don’t know. I haven’t been well. I keep dreaming about Manderley, about my cottage, about— and I can’t stay here, I can’t stand it, and then I got that call in the morning, about the pipe—”

Along with the leaden weight that dropped into her stomach at Rebecca’s words, Beatrice understood that she had heard enough. Her movements were stiff as she took a few steps into the room and placed Rebecca’s cane against the foot of the bed. 

“If you will excuse me,” she said quietly. 

Both Danny and Rebecca flinched. Rebecca turned to her, looking stricken, as if she had only just realised Beatrice was there. The room felt too small for the three of them now, between Danny’s anger and her own despair and that pleading look on Rebecca’s face. 

“Bee, I—”

“It’s quite alright.” Beatrice was surprised at how level her voice still was. “I know how you feel about being cooped up with me.”

“Bee, that’s not…” Rebecca clapped a hand in front of her mouth. New tears were welling up in her eyes. “It’s not about you, it never has been. You know how much I value your company; you must believe that.” 

Beatrice shook her head. “Forgive me, but we will have to continue this later. I…”

She could not finish her sentence. Even that was too much. Rebecca called after her as she turned and left the room, but Beatrice did not heed her. She needed to get away. Her own room was only a few doors down the corridor. She hurried inside, bolting the door behind her. 

Her room had been prepared for the night in the usual comfort, the bed turned down and Gile’s old dressing gown laid out. The lamp on her bedside table cast a golden glow over it all. It did nothing to comfort her tonight. Beatrice leaned back against the door. Before she knew it, she was sliding onto the floor, hugging her knees. Her body protested the sudden change of elevation, her knees cracking loudly, but it did not matter. It was all she could do to curl in onto herself, to let the pain of Rebecca’s words wash over her. 

I can’t stay here, I can’t stand it.

Had she really been so foolish? She had known that Rebecca had not found it easy to return to Cornwall. Part of her had even agreed that London might be the better place for them to go. Yet, another, much more tender part of her had hoped that Rebecca might adjust; that she might even grow to enjoy the comforts Beatrice’s house and company could offer her. Beatrice began to cry. It was her own fault. She had been foolish to hope, foolish to love them both the way she did. Nothing she could offer would ever have the power to hold them. A great gasp burst out of her as she thought of Danny, and the unexpected tenderness Beatrice had found with her. But Danny could never be happy without Rebecca. She could not be without Rebecca. That would never change. All that was left now was to grieve. 

More than half an hour passed before Beatrice pushed herself back into a standing position and stumbled over to her bed. Mechanically, she took off her clothes and hung them over the back of a chair. She put on her pyjamas, then slipped her arms through the sleeves of Giles’ dressing gown. She sat at the vanity, avoiding her own reflection as she pulled the pins out of her hair and brushed it out. Finally, she let herself fall onto the bed and curled up facing the empty pillow next to her. After the first surge of pain she now felt hollow. Her heartbeat echoed inside her empty body. She allowed herself no thoughts, no reflections. She only listened to her heart, mapping out how it beat fast, then slowed, then beat fast again whenever an unwanted thought made her stomach clench and her hands curl into fists. She did not react at once when there was a soft knock at her door. It was past ten o’clock. Whatever someone wanted from her could wait until the morning. Then—

“Beatrice, it’s me.” It was Danny’s voice. 

Slowly, painfully, Beatrice raised her head, then sat up on the bed. Crying had made her dizzy. She lumbered over to the door and unlocked it. Danny stood just outside the door. She was dressed for the night, a dark dressing gown covering her nightdress, and her hair hung over her shoulder in a long braid. That peculiar silver streak wound its way to the very tip of it, catching the light as Danny shifted on her feet. Without another word, Danny stepped into the room and closed the door behind herself. She drew Beatrice to her, her arms firm around Beatrice’s waist. Beatrice sank into the hug, bowing her head so it rested on Danny’s shoulder. Then, too soon, Danny drew back. She took Beatrice by the hand and led her over to the bed. 

“But what about—” Beatrice began. 

Danny shook her head. “Not tonight.” 

Beatrice climbed back into bed. She knew her confusion was showing on her face, but Danny did not explain. Instead, she tucked the covers around Beatrice and smoothed them down before moving to the other side of the bed. One of the many strands of worry inside Beatrice’s chest eased as Danny got into bed next to her, slipping under the covers and pulling her close. Even with pain and worry warring for attention inside her, she could sink into Danny’s arms and know that at least  in this moment, she was home.