Brendan straightened his tie, took a deep breath, and knocked on the Wentworth's front door. Today would determine so much. It would determine whether he could see Bridget again and whether the Wentworths might let him marry Bridget someday.
He'd shaved, gotten dressed in his new suit which Mr. Pettigrew had tailored impeccably, and had even gone to church that morning in hopes the word would get around that Brendan Connelly was a changed man.
But not completely changed. He still wore the same boots he'd worn as an Evergreen hand, but he'd dusted them off and shined them up as best as he could. He shifted in his boots as he waited at the door, almost hoping that nobody would open the door. Then he wouldn't have to pretend like he knew what to talk about for the whole afternoon.
"What's happening?" Frances hissed. Beside her Arabella Mudd, Jemima Wigfall and Worcester Pettigrew made an odd spectacle, all of them trying to peep around the same corner of the same building at the same time.
They had all offered to escort him to the door; heck they'd all offered to go in with him, each giving their own opinion of how they could help:
"Why, your sponsorship by a man of the world, a successful businessman and a member of the Town Council would boost your standing with the Wentworths considerably, Mister Connolly!" Mr Pettigrew had claimed.
"Maybe seeing how another person with a disability can lead a normal and independent life might make them less worried about letting Miss Monahan out of their care and into yours, Mister Connolly." wondered the blind girl, Frances Grimes.
"Let me come with you, Mister Connelly: if there's any trouble, we'll biff 'em up and drag her outta there!" Jemima had offered.
"I'LL come with you Mississippi, and them there Wenworths'll be so gosh darn busy talking to me, what with me bein' a much-admired-actress now, that you can have a good old chin-wag with Bridge, without 'em stickin' their beaks in" Arabella had boasted.
They were well meant offers, but ultimately rejected by the handsome young man: all they could do was make sure his tie was straight, his shoes polished and a lucky rabbit foot stuffed in his pocket (this latter courtesy of Frances "It was my brother Frank's; he was wearing it when he was shot") and watch as he walked up to the door, knocked, and was let in.
Rebecca looked up from the book she was reading. The knock on the door told her that young Mister Connolly had finally arrived. He was supposed to have come for this afternoon tea a few weeks ago but Bridget had fallen ill with a fever. Although she had recovered within a week, other circumstances had prevented this soiree from taking place.
She got up from her chair and glanced at her husband. He had put down the newspaper and turned his head towards the door. They wanted to have a brief chat with Brendan before Bridget came down to prepare him. During the last couple of months since Bridget had come to live with them, her health and even some of her demeanour had improved. Bonnie, who had originally arrived to help out with Ruth, proved to be capable of looking after both of her charges.
Going to the front door, Rebecca opened it and smiled, "Good afternoon, Mister Connolly, please come in."
@[Bailey] Javia
Want... dolls!
Bridget had woken from her fever with her mind even hazier than usual, a couple of weeks ago. She had dreamed some strange dreams and, to be honest, wasn't sure now if what she remembered was real from before the fever or not: strange images floated in and out of her brain at the best of times. Pictures, sounds, feelings, voices, even smells. They had some meaning she was sure but, as she reached out for that meaning, it seemed to slip from her her grasp every time. She had grown more and more dependent on Miss Bonnie to tell her what to do and what to say... or rather what to try and say... and when to do it. Miss Bonnie was kind. She wanted what was best for Bridget.
Even now, Miss Bonnie was helping her to get all dressed up nice in her cast-iron corset and going out dress and with her leg fixed on. She was no longer allowed to put herself in danger by wandering willy-nilly around the town on her own: when she was not ill, she was given nice little walks out under supervision. She was not taken out every day, so putting on the dress was an exciting time for her. However, she had learned not to shout out wildly when she was excited. She was now amazingly well behaved, even docile, when in company with the family. It was only to be hoped that she would maintain her well schooled decorum when she met this Mister Connolly who was coming to see her.
There was a knock downstairs and voices, that must be the visitor now! Bridget started to struggle to her feet (or rather foot) but was bidden to wait, and patiently. She nodded her understanding and sat back down. Connelly. The name was familiar, she just couldn't quite grasp it... it was there, floating like a thistle down, dodging her grasp. She thought of that young man in her dreams. The pretty one. Mrs Wentworth Ma'am's sons were handsome. She saw them sometimes. Mr Matt from the hotel and Charlie, very occasionally. And kind Mr Wentworth who she used to give her pennies to once. But... what had she been thinking about? Oh well, it was gone now. She wondered why she was all dressed up. Maybe Miss Bonnie was going to take her out for a walk. Bridget smiled.
Even though it was just a short time until the door opened, Brendan had gotten even more nervous in that time. What if they weren't home for some reason? What if they knew it was him and had decided not to let him in? Those were all ridiculous what-ifs, he knew even as he thought them, but he had elevated this meeting to such importance in his mind that any obstacle, no matter how small or imaginary, felt insurmountable.
When the door did open, Brendan gaped for a moment at Mrs. Wentworth. Fortunately she spoke first, which gave him a second to gather his thoughts.
"Afternoon, Mrs. Wentworth." He stuck out his hand and almost withdrew it, wondering if he'd made a social blunder. Did ladies like Rebecca Wentworth shake hands? "Thanks for havin' me," he said, feeling the need to fill in the relative silence of the stately house. "I've really been lookin' forward to it."
That was an understatement. It'd been torture to stay away from Bridget for so long, especially now that he was so close at the Wigfall's boarding house.
"How is Bridget?" he asked eagerly. Maybe it was rude to inquire about Bridget so soon, but he couldn't stop himself.
Rebecca smiled, "Bridget is well. I'm sorry that have been unable to see her until now. The fever she had the day you were supposed to come was unexpected but she has now recovered fully from it."
She made her into the sitting room and showed Brendan to a seat on the couch. Her husband got up briefly as he waited for his wife to sit. He was there mainly for moral support and to help in what way he could.
After Brendan had sat down, Rebecca continued, "Mister Connolly, before we bring Bridget down to see you, we wanted to prepare you. Don't worry, it's not bad...at least we don't think it is. Her looks have improved vastly since she came to live with us but you may find things are not quite as they were."
Sighing, she looked over to her husband, who gave a reassuring nod before turning back to face Brendan, "As you know, we don't know what exact nature of Bridget's malady really is. What we do know is that she sometimes forgets things. So, if she does, please pretend that all is well."
@[Bailey] Javia
Brendan nodded to Mr. Wentworth and settled himself onto the sofa, trying not to slouch and trying not to worry about what the Wentworths would need to prepare him for. Had Bridget's fever changed her considerably?
Apparently it wasn't anything horrible, but it was still something new. Something he hadn't known about Bridget before.
"She...forgets things?" he echoed, a confused frown spreading over his face.
She hadn't forgotten things before, had she? She had always slipped easily into her own far-off world, but she remembered things, like their dance. Maybe he just hadn't been around her enough to notice. Brendan was realizing that as much as he liked -- maybe even loved -- Bridget, he didn't know that much about her.
But that was what this afternoon was for. He and Bridget could spend time together in a safe, stable environment. He nodded, taking in Mrs. Wentworth's words. "So...don't make a big fuss about it. Yes, ma'am."
He couldn't help glancing around the room to take in the fine furnishings. And to see if Bridget was hiding somewhere, waiting to greet him with an enthusiastic "BRENAN!"
@ [Javia
Rebecca nodded, "That's all we need to hear. I'll go get Bridget now."
She went upstairs, opened the door to Bridget's room and let Bonnie that they were ready. She gave Bridget a reassuring smile before going back down again.
When Rebecca had left, Bonnie turned to her young charge, "Bridget, it's time to greet our visitor. Don't forget to take your time going down the stairs and hold onto the rail. I will be right behind you."
Getting up and down the stairs was one of the first things Bonnie had taught Bridget. Thankfully, the Wentworth house had a set of stairs that were wide, giving Bridget all of the room she needed to manoeuvre and as long as she took her time, she would be all right. The daily exercise of going up and down the stairs had strengthened her good leg a little bit but Bonnie knew that there was a lot more to be done.
As opened the door wide enough for Bridget to walk out, she gently placed her hand on the girl's shoulder, "It will be all right. Mister and Missus Wentworth and I will be there if you need us."
Bonnie wasn't sure how much Bridget would remember of the etiquette and manners she had been taught. In fact she wasn't quite sure how Bridget would react to Brendan since his name didn't seem familiar to her. Maybe the girl would react differently when she saw him.
Want... dolls!
As opened the door wide enough for Bridget to walk out, she gently placed her hand on the girl's shoulder, "It will be all right. Mister and Missus Wentworth and I will be there if you need us."
Bridget smiled. She had become dependent on Miss Bonnie's constant presence and her comforting reassurances about her progress. She started to descend the stairs, one at a time, she could even count them as she went now: "One"... "Two"... "One"... "Two"... "Two"... "One" Not like when she used to lollop pell-mell up and down stairs at Mister... emmmm. Mr Crabbe's house. Yes, Sometimes then, she used to fall over, and she seldom fell over now in Miss Bonnie's care.
When she entered the parlour where her family were waiting, Brendan may have had a small shock by the fact that, in usual Victorian practice, her hair had been cut off to make her cooler during her terrible fever, but maybe an even bigger one when she failed to focus on him but looked straight to Mister and Mrs Wentworth and gave a little nod (she was now discouraged from those clumsy curtseys she used to do, which often resulted in a spill) and informed them, gleefully.
"Walk... down... s.. stairs!"
Brendan was indeed shocked at the change in length of Bridget's hair. She looked so waifish, like a little pixie. It served to underscore how dainty she really was. Maybe she'd always been that slender, or maybe it was a lingering effect of the fever even though she was obviously being well-cared for. And yet, her new hairstyle suited her somehow.
He broke into a grin and even put his arms out to catch her in what he assumed would be a mad dash across the room to him.
But instead of gallumphing over to him, she walked demurely over to Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth. For a minute Brendan's brows knit together in confusion, but then he couldn't help but smile at how proud she sounded of her triumph over the stairs. Maybe she would notice him in a minute, or maybe Bonnie or Mrs. Wentworth would point him out. He stayed seated, not wanting to distract Bridget.
@ [Javia