MJD: chapter five

So, this is Christmas...

Chapter five.
Christmas. 1887

Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents.

Louisa May Alcott
1868 Little Women, pt.1, ch.1.

My story was complicated. My story was not the kind of story you tell your loved ones at Christmas; nor was it the best one to be shared easily. Now, as the hour of our meeting was fast approaching, I contemplated and pondered over it, realizing, with horror, that I could never burden Monty with all the details and hope he would understand or believe me.
What would you do if someone told you all that? Would you stay? Would you run? Perhaps, you'd think the narrator a raving madman? Or, which is much worse, a liar?

Oh yes, being a liar in his eyes would have been much worse than passing for a lunatic or even a criminal. Every sinner deserves forgiveness, every man has a chance of redemption. A criminal can be acquitted, pardoned and freed. A madman can be placed in custody or treatment. But what would you do with a liar?..

No liar in my experience was ever granted trust again. No liar deserved to be loved again. Liars are murderers of hearts. Liars are worse than any vermin. That's what I've learned, that was what I grew up believing.

I knew I could not betray Monty in any way, and I knew that, should I dare tell him everything, there would be no word of lie in my tale. But to him, all that would seem false. He was, after all, a barrister, born and raised in values of Anglican church, a perfect specimen of Victorian pragmatism and practicality. His mind was wound up differently, with no cogs for mysticism, prejudice or superstition, his mind was clear and sharp, as the first winter ice. His heart was in the right place, of course, but I suspected that in the face of my story his mind would prevail, and he would most certainly leave. But perhaps, I was wrong? It could well may be, but I had no desire to test this idyll of a relationship.

I should have thought this through. What a fool I was, what an absolute, utter fool, to think I could play mortal once again. To dream of having someone to love. To care too much. But it was too late. My heart was his. And he knew that.

Deep in thought, I stood by the window observing the street somewhere below. The world was getting ready to celebrate. London looked magnificent with all the decorations, and of course, that was a posthumous gift of the late Prince Albert, who was gone too soon but left a wonderful legacy- and a void in his Royal wife's heart.
I sympathized with Victoria, having lost so many people I loved but I could not understand her negligence in questions of her people's wellbeing.

Yes, of course, here, in the West End, everything was completely fine, but only a very strong and knowledgeable man would dare step out in the East end. With all my prowess and immortality, I was more than cautious- but I could not be harmed, which could not be said about all the others.

Molly and George were fine there, but even they used to call the slums of London dangerous. George's advice still rang in my head.

'Wha'ever 'appens, m'lord, don ' take 'im there. Not even fer a second. Keep 'im away. '

'If they notice him, he'll be haunted for good' Molly would add, nodding 'This ain't no place for a boy like yours. For the likes of him, girls could tear each other up. He's too good, keep an eye on him'.

They were right, of course. Monty was glowing, and I would notice it even with mortal eyes. He was too good looking, too. Once, he said, observing us side by side in the mirror, that we looked really alike.

'You look more like my brother than my brother does!' He exclaimed ' but compared to you, I am bleak. Were you a woman, I would call you exquisite'.

He was wrong. I was not exquisite. I was anything but. To my own eyes, of course. But I saw only him. And I wished for more- but the time was unstable, cruel and devoid of compassion. The storm was brewing but its climax would come in four years. The storm was brewing, and no one knew where it would hit the most.

Amidst those unhappy thoughts I lost track of time and didn't notice how Monty appeared. He looked younger than ever, his cheeks still slightly red from the cold outside. His eyes sparkled mischievously, and he was, as I noticed, in high spirits.

'Merry Christmas, Lawrence' he smiled 'You seem...preoccupied. Is something wrong?'

'It's nothing, don't worry. Just a ghost of s headache. You look as if you have a cunning plan or is it just the lighting?'

Monty laughed.

'Well...You can say that. I've brought you a gift.' He reached inside his coat and to my surprise, produced a somehow aghast kitten. Its fur had a greyish-misty tint, and its eyes were almost sapphire blue, exactly the shade of Monty's. It seemed quite docile and charming, but I was aware of the reaction cats usually have when a vampire is present. However, this one merely yawned and settling in my hands, purred loudly.

'That, as far as I know, means he likes you' Monty chuckled 'I didn't want you to feel lonely while I'm away. I found him on the stairs of the Old Bailey, can you imagine? Poor fellow was shivering all over. Such a relief he's feeling better now. What would you call him?'

I paused for a moment.

'I must admit, he looks a bit like you. Would you mind?'

A boyish smile ran over his lips. He looked so charming that I could hold back from kissing him. When I pulled myself back from him, with some considerable effort- I saw he was smiling.

'I was hoping you'd do that' he said 'I really did.'

Inside, I was trembling. Sometimes my actions didn't coincide with my logic, and this moment was exactly one of those. You might say, I was overpowered by my own feelings, which, in retrospect, never did me any good.

'Thank you for being so thoughtful, Monty' I said 'He is lovely. Compared to this, my present looks cold and heartless, but...I can assure you it is not. Here...'

'How elegant' Monty picked up a velvet pouch from my open palm and inspected it. His long fingers reached inside and found the gold chain. 'Are you going to chain me to the wall, Mr.Graves?' He teased 'What a whimsical idea! Oh...look, it's a watch!'

My gift sat comfortably in his hand, a silver-lidded watch, with a neatly made inscription inside. 'MJD' it read, nothing too fancy, but the script was quite artistic, and, were you to turn it in a certain way, the initials read 'LG'. Monty, being as sharpeyed as a falcon, noticed it right away.

'Oh Lawrence ' he said, his voice trembling a little 'It is so beautiful '

'I'm glad you like it, dear boy ' I said before I could think. Monty looked at me in surprise, but in a moment his concern was gone.

'I quite like how it sounds.' He said 'but let's leave it here. The world doesn't have to know, does it?'

Relieved, I nodded, albeit too enthusiastically. Monty was a born diplomat, I had to give him that. Suddenly I noticed that a watch lacked something vital: it had nothing to keep it steady in a buttonhole. Fumbling in my pocket, I've found a coin and placed it into a latch at The end of the chain. The coin was a silver guinea.

'Now you won't lose us both' I said 'keep it safe'.

'I shall. But look, Lawrence! It's snowing!'

It was snowing indeed, and it felt as if the skies were blessing London - and us. Finally I felt that my future wasn't bleak and lonely any more. I wasn't alone. I had Monty. Life wasn't a disaster- it had a meaning.

I felt alive for the first time in 200 years. I was in love and I knew I was loved in return.
That alone could make me happy for all eternity.

That night was the most magical night in my long life, and, anticipating your questions and innuendos, I will say this: we spent it together, saluting the coming year, reading aloud and telling stories.

Christmas is, after all, the time for purity, light and hope, isn't it?