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rainbowfic2021-09-24 09:36 pm
thisbluespirit) wrote in rainbowfic2021-09-24 09:36 pm
Ecru #8, Vienna Orange #15 [Heroes of the Revolution]
Name: Too Good To Be True
Story: Divide & Rule/Heroes of the Revolution
Colors: Ecru #8 (judge); Vienna Orange #15 (Now we will build you an endlessly upwards world, embrace you for all your worth)
Supplies and Styles: Paint-by-numbers (fromshadowsong26 – too good to be true)
Word Count: 970
Rating: G
Warnings: Mentions of imprisonment, living in a dystopia.
Notes: 1992; Liz Cardew, Charles Terrell, Julia Graves. Follows on from Shadows and Phantoms. This piece completes Ecru.
Summary: Liz has to give her verdict.
***
“I won’t,” Liz insisted for the umpteenth time. “I can’t.” She’d answered every call duty made until now, but there were limits. Charles had met her mother at least once or twice himself and he couldn’t be the only one. Let someone else be the one to dismiss this absurd claim, while Liz let the dead rest in peace.
Charles had caught her at the end of the General Health Committee meeting, and was now busy stuffing files back into folders, while that annoying personal secretary of his hovered at his elbow. “Liz,” he said. “I know. I’ve arranged to see her myself and you’re going to watch from a distance via video.” His secretary coughed behind him, and he turned. “Yes, yes, Bradley. Give me two minutes.”
“Damn you, Charles.”
“I shall take that as a yes.”
If Charles hadn’t sent a car for her, Liz might still have tried to make excuses. Mother was gone. This couldn’t be her. Liz had been forced to face uncomfortable truths about her original family over the years, but she didn’t believe Mother had simply abandoned her, and she didn’t want to be forced to do so if this wild story proved true. It was impossible, anyway.
Liz leant forward in the chair, watching a bare room with two chairs and a desk on the small TV screen in front of her. The hotel had supplied her with tea, and even some biscuits. She tried to dunk one of them in the tea and hit the edge of the cup, spilling tea into the saucer and casting crumbs onto the floor.
The screen jumped and lines swam down it as Charles entered the tiny black and white space with a woman Liz couldn’t see clearly yet. She had long grey hair tied back and something about the turn of her head seemed familiar.
Liz lost the beginning of the conversation in noise as the two of them sat, but Charles had evidently introduced himself.
“Goodness,” said the impostor, in tones that stole Liz’s breath. “Does the PM welcome back every exile in person?”
“You are something of a special case, Mrs Iveson. And we’ve met before, although I don’t expect you to remember. Now, if you could explain again how you came to be on the island?”
The woman who could not possibly be Mother gave a small, tired smile. “It was after I’d died. The second or the third time, that is.”
“I’m sorry?”
“It’s all rather complicated. The first time I disappeared – or died – I imagine you must know about. After that, I was imprisoned for a long time. I’m not sure where, only that it was Mr Jemmings’s doing. I’d prefer not to talk about that. Caroline got me out in the end.” She hesitated and lifted her eyes. “Gosh. It does seem wrong just to say people’s names out loud, as if it won’t get them into trouble. But then I don’t suppose Caroline is still alive. Is she?”
“I’ve no idea,” said Charles. “If you give me the name, I’m sure someone can find out for you.”
Liz, shut in the viewing booth, gripped the desk. Caroline had been Father’s first wife. She’d tried to find her once before, too, ages ago, to ask her questions. She hadn’t got anywhere.
“I’m not sure if I want to know,” said the oddly plausible impostor. “The answer always seems to be something one would rather not hear.”
Charles coughed. “If we could return to how you came to be on the island?”
“Caroline rescued me,” she said. “I was very ill for a long while, but, after, I began to go out again – to do a few little things in the Resistance. I couldn’t imagine anyone would bother about me, but I was recognised and arrested – properly this time. They took me to Hallam.” She paused, and took a sip of water. “Oh, dear. I don’t care to talk about that either. He had got much worse since the start – but you must know that. Quite paranoid. I told him Mr Jemmings had been hiding me, which was partly true, and I only hope that gave Jemmings trouble, because if ever anyone deserved it –” She stopped, pursing her lips and looking up. “I suppose it does sound unlikely, doesn’t it? But I was angry.”
Charles murmured, “No, no. Please continue, if you can.”
“Ron was there – Mr Whittaker, I mean – oh, but you knew him, didn’t you? Terrell! I do know that name. You came around once or twice with Ron, before Edward was Foreign Secretary.”
“I did, yes.”
“Ron arranged everything – set up my ‘execution’ – and sent me to Scotland, to the island. It was for people he’d helped who needed to keep well out of the way – too well-known, too important, I’m not sure. We didn’t tell each other our real names. The pretence was that it was a research station, for productivity and agriculture – or, I suppose, it really was, in the end. Not being a scientist, I helped out in the vegetable plots. So I have been growing potatoes and cabbages and beans all this time. I think that was fair punishment, really.”
“Oh, God,” said Liz, pulling out the earpiece. She stood up and sat back down again. It was Mother. Only Mother could possibly come up with an explanation like that. She laid out her hands on her lap in front of her and tried to smooth out their trembling.
Then, setting her face, she rose again and crossed to the door, stumbling out into the security man outside. She caught hold of him. “Tell Mr Terrell yes,” she said. She took a deep breath. “And also – ask him if I can see Mrs Iveson. She’s got some more explaining to do yet.”
***
Story: Divide & Rule/Heroes of the Revolution
Colors: Ecru #8 (judge); Vienna Orange #15 (Now we will build you an endlessly upwards world, embrace you for all your worth)
Supplies and Styles: Paint-by-numbers (from
shadowsong26 – too good to be true)Word Count: 970
Rating: G
Warnings: Mentions of imprisonment, living in a dystopia.
Notes: 1992; Liz Cardew, Charles Terrell, Julia Graves. Follows on from Shadows and Phantoms. This piece completes Ecru.
Summary: Liz has to give her verdict.
***
“I won’t,” Liz insisted for the umpteenth time. “I can’t.” She’d answered every call duty made until now, but there were limits. Charles had met her mother at least once or twice himself and he couldn’t be the only one. Let someone else be the one to dismiss this absurd claim, while Liz let the dead rest in peace.
Charles had caught her at the end of the General Health Committee meeting, and was now busy stuffing files back into folders, while that annoying personal secretary of his hovered at his elbow. “Liz,” he said. “I know. I’ve arranged to see her myself and you’re going to watch from a distance via video.” His secretary coughed behind him, and he turned. “Yes, yes, Bradley. Give me two minutes.”
“Damn you, Charles.”
“I shall take that as a yes.”
If Charles hadn’t sent a car for her, Liz might still have tried to make excuses. Mother was gone. This couldn’t be her. Liz had been forced to face uncomfortable truths about her original family over the years, but she didn’t believe Mother had simply abandoned her, and she didn’t want to be forced to do so if this wild story proved true. It was impossible, anyway.
Liz leant forward in the chair, watching a bare room with two chairs and a desk on the small TV screen in front of her. The hotel had supplied her with tea, and even some biscuits. She tried to dunk one of them in the tea and hit the edge of the cup, spilling tea into the saucer and casting crumbs onto the floor.
The screen jumped and lines swam down it as Charles entered the tiny black and white space with a woman Liz couldn’t see clearly yet. She had long grey hair tied back and something about the turn of her head seemed familiar.
Liz lost the beginning of the conversation in noise as the two of them sat, but Charles had evidently introduced himself.
“Goodness,” said the impostor, in tones that stole Liz’s breath. “Does the PM welcome back every exile in person?”
“You are something of a special case, Mrs Iveson. And we’ve met before, although I don’t expect you to remember. Now, if you could explain again how you came to be on the island?”
The woman who could not possibly be Mother gave a small, tired smile. “It was after I’d died. The second or the third time, that is.”
“I’m sorry?”
“It’s all rather complicated. The first time I disappeared – or died – I imagine you must know about. After that, I was imprisoned for a long time. I’m not sure where, only that it was Mr Jemmings’s doing. I’d prefer not to talk about that. Caroline got me out in the end.” She hesitated and lifted her eyes. “Gosh. It does seem wrong just to say people’s names out loud, as if it won’t get them into trouble. But then I don’t suppose Caroline is still alive. Is she?”
“I’ve no idea,” said Charles. “If you give me the name, I’m sure someone can find out for you.”
Liz, shut in the viewing booth, gripped the desk. Caroline had been Father’s first wife. She’d tried to find her once before, too, ages ago, to ask her questions. She hadn’t got anywhere.
“I’m not sure if I want to know,” said the oddly plausible impostor. “The answer always seems to be something one would rather not hear.”
Charles coughed. “If we could return to how you came to be on the island?”
“Caroline rescued me,” she said. “I was very ill for a long while, but, after, I began to go out again – to do a few little things in the Resistance. I couldn’t imagine anyone would bother about me, but I was recognised and arrested – properly this time. They took me to Hallam.” She paused, and took a sip of water. “Oh, dear. I don’t care to talk about that either. He had got much worse since the start – but you must know that. Quite paranoid. I told him Mr Jemmings had been hiding me, which was partly true, and I only hope that gave Jemmings trouble, because if ever anyone deserved it –” She stopped, pursing her lips and looking up. “I suppose it does sound unlikely, doesn’t it? But I was angry.”
Charles murmured, “No, no. Please continue, if you can.”
“Ron was there – Mr Whittaker, I mean – oh, but you knew him, didn’t you? Terrell! I do know that name. You came around once or twice with Ron, before Edward was Foreign Secretary.”
“I did, yes.”
“Ron arranged everything – set up my ‘execution’ – and sent me to Scotland, to the island. It was for people he’d helped who needed to keep well out of the way – too well-known, too important, I’m not sure. We didn’t tell each other our real names. The pretence was that it was a research station, for productivity and agriculture – or, I suppose, it really was, in the end. Not being a scientist, I helped out in the vegetable plots. So I have been growing potatoes and cabbages and beans all this time. I think that was fair punishment, really.”
“Oh, God,” said Liz, pulling out the earpiece. She stood up and sat back down again. It was Mother. Only Mother could possibly come up with an explanation like that. She laid out her hands on her lap in front of her and tried to smooth out their trembling.
Then, setting her face, she rose again and crossed to the door, stumbling out into the security man outside. She caught hold of him. “Tell Mr Terrell yes,” she said. She took a deep breath. “And also – ask him if I can see Mrs Iveson. She’s got some more explaining to do yet.”
***