Chapter Text
“This is the warmest I’ve felt in I don’t know how long” Edgar exclaimed, bustling into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, chest and cheeks flushed bright red from the steaming hot bath. “Feel as though I’m finally thawing out.”
Isabel’s reflection smiled at him distractedly from her dressing table mirror as she brushed her hair, the jade green dress she’d selected for this evening hanging from the handle of her wardrobe door.
As he began to dress Edgar tried to ignore the awkward atmosphere that lingered in the room but each time he caught sight of his wife from the corner of his eye he couldn’t fail but see how utterly unenthusiastic she looked at the prospect of heading out to Lady Felicia’s New Year party at Montague Hall. Staring into space she brushed the same lock of blond hair over and over again and she hadn’t even made a start on her makeup.
“We don’t have to go” Edgar said plainly, tucking his crisply ironed shirt into the waistband of his trousers.
“Pardon?”
“Tonight. The party. We don’t have to go.”
“But Lady Felicia will be expecting us.”
“I’m sure she’ll understand.”
“What about Father Brown? We said we’d give him and Brenda a lift.”
“There’s nobody better at cadging a lift than Father Brown, I’m sure somebody else from the village will play chauffeur.”
The hairbrush fell still in Isabel’s hand. “We’ll miss the fireworks” she said without a trace of disappointment.
Edgar chuckled, “It’s tipping it down with rain” he reminded her, “I rather think the fireworks will be a wash-out.”
Swivelling on her padded stool Isabel turned to face him. “You wouldn’t mind missing the party?” she asked.
“Mind?! Izz, I’ve spend half my life trying to get out of Lady Felicia’s social gatherings!”
That comment at least brought a hint of a smile to his wife’s face. With a gentle nod the matter was settled.
“Wait there” Edgar instructed her, slipping from the bedroom, his footsteps rattling down the stairs.
In his absence Isabel turned her attention not to applying her makeup as intended, but instead to moisturising her bare face, rubbing a second cool smooth cream into her hands and forearms. She heard the resonant rumble of Edgar’s voice downstairs then other sounds she couldn’t quite decipher. When he appeared again a short while later he did so backwards, pushing the door open with his hip, tea tray held in two hands.
“What’s that?” Isabel asked peering to see the tray strewn with an assortment of food. There were sausage rolls, crackers and cheese, Christmas cake and more but thankfully no mince pies; She’d scream if she had to eat another one of those.
“Not as fancy as the canapés they’ll be serving at Montague I’m afraid” Edgar apologised, slipping the half drunk bottle of white wine from under his arm.
“I could rustle us up a proper meal” Isabel offered, though in truth she was in no mood to cook.
“Nonsense, this’ll do us fine and besides it’s freezing downstairs, better we stay up here.”
He was right of course, they’d let the fire burn down in anticipation of being out for the evening, it would hardly be worth the bother to relight it now.
“Go on then, get in” he gestured for her to slip beneath the covers. Exchanging her dressing gown for her nightdress she did so while Edgar stripped back down to his underwear.
“I called Father Brown” he informed her, arranging the tea tray on the bed before carefully peeling back the layers of blankets on his side. “He already had another lift arranged in case we weren’t able to attend.” In case they were still looking after Mary.
“And did you ask him to make our apologies to Lady Felicia?”
“Yes.”
“What did you tell him? What will he say?”
Settling himself against the headboard a grin spread across Edgar’s face. “I told him that you were all dolled up and ready to go but that your terrible old grump of a husband changed his mind, too worried about midnight riots at the Red Lion.”
“Oh Edgar, don’t joke!” she giggled. She couldn’t bear to think of him being called out tonight. Tonight, more than ever, she needed him here.
The impromptu picnic proved to be exactly what they needed, sitting side by side nibbling on leftovers though neither of them touched the wine yet, agreeing to have a glass at midnight to ring in the New Year. Slowly their conversation found its usual easy rhythm as they shared recollections about New Years gone by, most of which for Edgar involved some work related anecdote. They spoke of anything and everything except Mary, happy in each other’s company depsite her absence by their bed being impossible to ignore.
With the tea tray set aside they shuffled to meet each other in the middle of the bed, Edgar’s arm looped around Isabel’s shoulder as she read extracts from the book of poetry leaving both of them feeling even more sentimental than usual. But the events of the past week soon caught up with them both, the book falling into Isabel’s lap as her head nodded against Edgar’s shoulder. Resigning themselves to sleep they turned out the lights, laughing at the absurdity of the fact that the party would only just be getting started at Montague. Instinctively they curled together, Isabel grasping Edgar’s arms where they wound around her waist, his breath warm on the back of her neck as he breathed in the scent of Mary still lingering on her nightdress.
When they stirred a few hours later Isabel turned in Edgar’s arms to face him and wordlessly they found each other. Gradually tenderly murmured names were pressed to cheeks, terms of endearment whispered into ears, declarations of love buried into the crooks of necks.
Isabel needed to feel the weight of Edgar above her, needed his strong body to cover hers while he in turn needed to feel the way she clung to him, pulling him closer, her soft hands caressing him.
Their lovemaking was often playful or passionate, but even in their tenderest moments together neither of them had felt the quiet intensity they did now. For Edgar this had always been an expression of his love for Isabel and as such, he realised, he’d never truly considered the potential of their union. But what if this time the end was in fact a new beginning? In that moment he found himself praying to a God he wasn’t sure he believed in for something he never knew he wanted.
Afterwards, lying side by side in the darkness, all Edgar could think of was a new life being created magically from their overwhelming love for one another. They both knew how unlikely that was but, logic be damned, his hands traced the line of Isabel’s stomach and hips beneath the blankets, moving without command, imagining her body swelling and blossoming over the coming months. How wonderful it would be the first time she pulled his hand to her stomach, her blue eyes sparkling through tears of joy, exclaiming “There!”, as he felt their baby kicking inside her.
Old wives tales whispering to her subconscious Isabel lay on her back, knees raised, a pose that somehow felt entirely natural tonight, Edgar’s hands tenderly caressing the contours of her body. She knew her silent prayer was unlikely to be answered, after all she was no longer a young woman and there’d been no more children after Eddie despite years of trying. Yet no matter how hard she tried to temper her hopes her heart wanted one thing and one thing only. Closing her eyes she prayed more fervently than she’d done in years.
Edgar’s mind drifted peacefully, conjuring an image of a blond haired little girl cradled against his chest, sapphire eyes gazing up at him. He saw a tiny tottering figure with bouncing curls tied in ribbons waiting to greet him giddily when he came through the door, her podgy little arms outstretched, desperate to be scooped up. He knew how much Isabel would love a daughter, a miniature version of herself to dress in pretty clothes, a little chatterbox who’d exhaust them with endless questions: she’d be their very own little ray of sunshine. Would they name her Grace, after his mother? As lovely as the sentiment was in his mind he already knew she’d couldn’t be anything other than Beatrice.
Isabel meanwhile was imagining a sturdy little boy with Edgar’s neatly parted dark hair, his serious handsome face breaking into a mischievous grin at the drop of a hat. He’d have a love of poetry, maybe even performing! How proud Edgar would be to have a son to carry on the Sullivan name: perhaps he’d follow in his father’s footsteps and become a policeman though Edgar would never force him to. They wouldn’t be able to call him Edgar though, not with already having Eddie, and besides it wasn’t a name Edgar himself was particularly fond of. Benedict? Yes, a good solid name and one that held such fond memories for them both.
Slowly, as was often the case, the part of Edgar’s brain that loathed seeing him content began to gnaw away at his imagined happiness. Did it really make sense to lie here wanting this? Weren’t there dangers to consider given Isabel’s age? He’d never forgive himself if anything happened to her. And what of the changes she’d be forced to make? After all it was Isabel who’d bear the brunt of the childrearing duties; She’d have to give up her work with Father Brown and she’d be unlikely to have the time or energy for her many hobbies. Having only just regained her freedom after caring for Ronald for so many years was it selfish of him to wish for something that would doubtlessly impact her life far more than it would his?
And what if he wasn't a good father? What if his own upbringing had left a stain that couldn't be removed? It was all well and good convincing himself that he'd be on hand to help, that his love for their child would be enough to steer him in the right direction, but was he simply being naive? He couldn't face the thought of failing as a father, not only for the damage he knew that could do to a child, but for the strain it would undoubtedly put on their marriage. Selfishly he couldn't bear the thought of doing anything that would diminish him in Isabel's eyes, anything that would make her love him any less.
Isabel’s fears began bubbling to the surface too as she considered the challenges of being an older mother. It had been exhausting enough looking after Mary for just a few days, could she really go through weeks, months, years of that again at her age? Then there were all the sacrifices she and Edgar would be forced to make to accommodate a child in their lives. It was easy to lie here thinking how wonderful it would be for them to become parents together but in truth they were still getting used to being married. And while during their engagement they’d broached the subject of starting a family both had viewed it through the prism of how unlikely it was to happen. Edgar had undoubtedly warmed to Mary but did he truly want to be a father?
A sudden cacophony of raised voices from the street below shattered the silence in their room. Isabel felt Edgar’s body tense next to hers then he propped himself up to consult the clock on his bedside table: 23:55. For a moment he worried about the prospect of drunks causing trouble but when the voices piped up again it was clear they were exchanging merry banter, nothing that should concern the police. Thoughts turning briefly to work Edgar realised that should his duty sergeant require his assistance he was under the assumption his boss was at Montague Hall for the evening. Surely somebody there would inform him of Edgar’s change of plans or if not the man should hopefully have the wherewithal to try calling the house. As the voices died away, replaced by the gentle patter of rain against the window, Edgar managed to push aside such worries, focussing once more on Isabel lying peacefully beside him.
Easing the blankets up around their shoulders he pulled her closer, wanting to feel the warmth of her body pressed against his in this, their protective little bubble. His hopes and fears about what the future might hold ebbed away when she reached up and stroked his cheek, replaced instead by a deep sense of gratitude. Here in the warmth of Isabel’s embrace Edgar had found something he’d never dared hope for, something he’d never admitted to himself he’d been longing for, something he’d always feared he was unworthy of: pure unconditional love.
Isabel too turned her thoughts to giving thanks, smiling at the knowledge she was happier now that she could’ve ever dreamed she’d be after Ronald’s untimely death. She’d feared she’d never know happiness like his again yet here she was, head resting against the chest of the man she loved, a man who loved her just as fiercely in return and, though he didn’t always find it easy, strove to make that love for her clear.
As the clock ticked steadily towards the hour the occasional burst of laughter and song echoed through the streets below accompanied by the yelps of people splashing through icy puddles.
“You were right about the fireworks” Isabel whispered in the dim light, “Not sure they’ll bother setting them off in this rain.”
“So you don’t regret staying here?” Edgar asked, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
There was a pause then, hand resting across Edgar’s heart, Isabel gazed up at him. “Edgar” she said, voice brimming with emotion, “I’m perfectly happy here, just the two of us.”
Though not always good at reading between the lines Edgar received the message loud and clear: she was perfectly happy to welcome in the New Year just the two of them together but more importantly she’d always be happy for it to be just the two of them, if that’s how fate decided it should be.
“Yes, this is perfect” he agreed, closing his eyes contentedly and burying his face into her hair.
Despite the ups and downs of the past year this had been the happiest of Edgar’s life. “Now I’ve had a few months practice” he mumbled sleepily, “I think I’m ready to be your husband every day of the year.”
Isabel laughed softly, her fingers tracing circles across his chest, “I’m very glad to hear it!”
It was hard to believe another year was about to begin and, as much as they were looking forward to their future together if Isabel and Edgar could’ve lived 1955 all over again they’d’ve gladly done so.
When the clock struck midnight ripples of cheers rang out along with the distant chimes of Kembleford’s bells whilst in the cosy solitude of their bed Isabel and Edgar pressed their lips tenderly to one another’s; In that moment time stood still.
The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.