Safe Haven | PG13 | The House of Eliott
Title: Safe Haven
Prompt: Two friends talk about life and love
Fandom: Beatrice/Penelope, The House of Eliott
Requested by: kitnkabootle
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 5117
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: Happy birthday to my dearest friend, kitnkabootle! I hope you enjoy the story!
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Beatrice Eliott progresses through the rain, head bowed away from the sullen spattering of the elements. Her hat bears the brunt of the rain’s icy sting, though her face is chilled and her hands numb to the cold. She clutches her coat more closely to her chest and quickens her step and clicks rapidly along the sidewalk, avoiding harried businessmen and deep puddles alike. She’s nearly reached her destination.
The walk has done her good. She needed the fresh air. Though there’s insurmountable work to be done, Beatrice felt the need to take a step back for the sake of her own sanity. She had considered going to the pictures but knew it would be a waste of coin. She has decided instead to seek refuge in the company of a friend.
She looks up and inspects the dark building, hoping that she has come to the correct location. It’s difficult to see in the dark. She knocks hesitantly at first and then harder when she’s more sure of herself.
When Penelope opens the door, her expression is one of complete surprise. “Beatrice! What in heaven’s name are you doing here at this hour?” She stands aside, allowing Bea to pass.
“I could ask the same of you,” Bea responds, pulling off her sodden coat and hat. Penelope takes the wet items and hangs them from a hook in the hall while Bea stamps her feet against the carpet. “Shouldn’t you be home?”
“Shouldn’t you?” Penelope raises an eyebrow.
Bea cannot help but laugh. “Fair enough. Does the work day never end at the mission?”
“I’m no good at home when there’s work to be done,” Penelope replies, leading the way into one of the rooms adorned with beds. Only one of the beds is haphazardly made and Beatrice can tell that it has recently been slept in. Penelope smoothes out the wrinkled sheets and grins sheepishly at Bea. “Sometimes I just stay here.”
“But there’s no heat!” Bea responds.
“There’s enough to suit my purposes,” the other woman quips defensively. “Don’t become a mother hen like Jack or I’ll chuck you back out in the rain.”
Bea knows that Penelope’s threat is hollow, but she nods her head in agreement. How can she judge Penelope when she herself left the overbearingly rigid confines of her own home and business? “You’re right. I apologize. You must know that I worry about you.”
“Of course I know,” Penelope says, sitting down on her bed. “You worry about everyone.”
Bea offers a crooked smile, sitting on the bed opposite her. “I suppose that’s true.”
“Ah, at least you can admit it. There’s hope for you yet, Beatrice Eliott.” Penelope tilts her head to the side, studying Bea closely. “What brings you here?”
“I needed to get away,” Bea admits. “I needed space.”
“And you chose my mission?”
“This is going to be a safe haven, is it not? It seemed fitting.”
“Do you need saving, Beatrice?”
The question is more difficult to answer than Bea would care to admit. She thinks that perhaps she does need saving; she’s spent so long picking up the pieces of everyone else’s lives that she’s forgotten to do the same for herself. She cannot remember a time when she was not the caregiver, the leader, the one to turn to in a crisis. Has she ever truly been taken care of? She doesn’t think so, at least not after her mother died. But she will not admit this to Penelope, who knows her as strong and steadfast. She cannot allow that image of herself to crack. “No.”
Beatrice can see that Penelope doesn’t believe her for a second. The younger woman has always been rather good at reading people, and Beatrice has never been immune to Pen’s cool, watchful eye.
“You don’t have to tell me what you think I want to hear,” Penelope says. She reaches back and unpins her hair, allowing the brown locks to fall over her shoulders. “You and I both value honesty.” She runs her fingers through her hair, her fingers massaging her scalp. She lets out a little contented sigh. “I’m flattered that you chose to come to me. I would have thought you’d seek out the more appealing of the Maddoxes.”
Bea blushes. She had briefly considered going to Jack but decided against it as she passed the door of his studio. Things have become complicated with Jack. “You’re hardly unappealing, Penelope.”
Penelope shrugs dismissively. “There seems to be a bit of a divide though, wouldn’t you say? You and Jack tend to pair off, leaving Evie and I on our own.”
“That’s not my fault,” Bea bites back defensively. “You and Evie have always marched to your own drum. I thought we were all friends. It’s certainly not my fault if there’s a separation.”
Penelope smiles as if she’s pleased to have riled her up. “Evie and I do see things somewhat differently, I suppose. She’s a good friend to me.”
“Am I?” It’s suddenly very important for Beatrice to know that she’s a worthwhile friend.
“What sort of question is that?”
“I cannot offer the same friendship that my sister can-“
“No, and I’m glad for that.” Penelope leans forward, balancing her elbows on her knees. “I appreciate our friendship because of who you are, not because of my friendship with Evie.”
Bea nods somberly.
“Are you two still quarreling? Is this some sort of competition?”
“No, it isn’t. Evie and I are on very precarious footing at the moment. I know she’s spoken to you about it.”
Penelope nods. “I also know that you weren’t pleased about that.”
“I prefer some things to be private. I don’t like my affairs to be aired in public.”
“I’m hardly public,” Penelope replies with a laugh. “I don’t think that’s what’s truly bothering you.”
“Oh?” Beatrice brushes aside a stray blonde curl from her forehead. “Perhaps you should enlighten me.”
“Evangeline is younger than you. She’s more independent than you were at her age. She does things her own way, as you’ve said. I think it bothers you that she is so carefree with her freedoms, whereas you feel more constrained and reserved.”
“Are you saying that I’m jealous of my own sister?”
“Frankly? Yes.”
Bea knows that she should have expected this from Penelope. The other woman has always maintained a certain unapologetically blunt honesty. It’s a refreshing change for Bea, but it still unnerves her. She’s spent her entire life in the shadows of half-truths.
She also cannot deny that Penelope is right. She is jealous of Evie.
“You’re not a bad sister for being jealous, Beatrice,” Penelope adds. “It’s human nature.”
“Jealousy is dreadfully unbecoming.”
“It’s honest is what it is. Claiming otherwise is just another way of hiding. Take Jack and I. I’m horribly jealous of him. He has a freedom that I don’t just because he’s a man. Things come twice as easily to him. I envy that about him, but I accept it for what it is. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re jealous of Evie’s youth. She has the luxury of being twelve years younger than you and has been spoiled because she doesn’t know what it means to care for herself. She is independent because you bear the responsibility of maturity. Beating yourself up for envying her is only going to make the situation worse. Accept it and move on.”
“Is that what you did? Move on?”
“What else is there to do? I will never be a man. I will always have to work twice as hard to gain any respect. You’ll never be twenty-one again. These are our lots in life.” Penelope arches her back, groaning as she stretches her aching muscles.
Bea feels a pang of pity for Penelope. She has had the luxury of sitting in a well-heated fashion house, dealing with bookkeeping and humoring clientele, whereas Penelope has likely spent her day scrubbing the floor on her hands and knees. Though Penelope is nearing the opening of her mission, funds and volunteers are still lacking. Bea feels foolish for her complaints.
“You’re right. At any rate, I didn’t come here to drone on about the same things Evie has.”
“Why did you come?” Penelope smirks. “To drone on about something else?”
Bea lets out a genuine laugh. “I didn’t want to be alone tonight, to be honest.”
“How did you know I’d be here and not at home?”
“I know you, Penelope. For all of our differences, we are cut from the same cloth, so to speak. I know how important this mission is to you. I daresay I’d be sleeping in the workroom if I didn’t have an apartment in the same building.”
Pen chuckles. “Married to our work, we are.”
Bea nods slowly, her mind briefly drifting. “Do you think you’ll ever get married?”
Penelope shrugs. “I almost did, once upon a time. I’m not so sure anymore. Marriage is terribly conventional, don’t you think?”
“There’s something appealing about that level of security and companionship…that connection with another person.”
“You don’t need a man to be secure, Beatrice.”
Bea smiles sadly. “Yes, but I can’t keep myself warm every night.”
“Sure you can,” Penelope says, getting to her feet. “That’s what blankets and a good Scotch are for.”
Beatrice laughs heartily, feeling lighter than she had just hours before. She’s missed having friendships with women. She’s missed the girlish excitement of having a confidante who is not her own flesh and blood. “You’re terrible.”
“Would you have me any other way?” Penelope asks with a grin. “I’d offer you some tea, but I’m afraid I’m conserving coal. Care for a Scotch?”
Beatrice should say no and almost does, but she surprises herself by agreeing. The idea of a stiff drink is overwhelmingly appealing. She rubs her hands together, hoping that her frigid fingers will begin to warm up.
Penelope stands and Bea makes to follow her. The brunette places a hand on her shoulder and eases her back onto the bed. “Allow me. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll only be a moment.”
Beatrice reluctantly does as she’s told and removes her shoes. She flexes her toes, allowing them to move freely without the confines of uncomfortable heels. Her feet are stiff and she rubs them thoroughly, working her thumb into the arch of her foot. She sighs, remembering the last time anyone rubbed her feet for her. She’d been bed-ridden with the flu. Evie had been sixteen and ever so attentive.
The blonde is aware of how much has changed since those days of Evangeline’s adolescence. She’s becoming a woman of her own volition, her fierce independence asserting itself with little regard to Bea’s feelings. She’s proud of the woman her sister is becoming, but she knows that it will only be a matter of time before she makes a life of her own. She knows that she’ll be alone soon, and the fact of it makes Beatrice ache inside. Perhaps this is the reason for her dismay at their turmoil; they only have so much time together and Beatrice doesn’t want it to be tainted with pointless quarrels.
She should be home with Evie, but Beatrice cannot summon the will to leave the mission.
“Here you are,” Penelope announces, holding out a white mug.
Bea furrows her brow at the sight of it, wondering if it’s tea after all, and laughs to see the amber liquor generously filling the ceramic.
“I hope you don’t mind the lack of elegance,” Penelope says, taking up her seat on the bed beside Bea’s.
“Not at all. The lack of decorum is rather refreshing, actually.”
Penelope laughs. “Don’t tell me you miss your brief stint in the poor house?”
“It’s not that. It’s just…the society we keep. I’m grateful to them for keeping us in business, but they’re so…”
“Stuffy? Boring? Conservative?”
Beatrice laughs. “Yes, exactly.” She sips delicately at the alcohol and winces as it burns its way down her throat. “I wonder…”
“Hmm? Go on. You mustn’t become shy now.”
“I sometimes wonder if that’s how you view me…stuffy, boring, and conservative.” There is a hesitance in Bea’s voice. She fears she already knows the answer.
“There was a time when I did, yes,” Penelope admits. “I think that’s what I like about you now. You have your own place in society, but you don’t forget that yours is not the only one that exists. You’re so very aware, Beatrice, of everything.”
“No one’s ever said that about me,” Bea confesses. “It’s usually Evangeline who receives such accolades.”
“She’s aware, yes, and outspoken about her awareness. You don’t say a lot, Beatrice, but there’s an entire world existing in your mind. It’s a shame you were never given the chance to let it out.”
Bea is quiet for a moment, taken aback by just how well Penelope can see her. They’ve hardly maintained a close friendship, so it’s a shock to Bea that she is understood so thoroughly when people who’ve been in her life much longer don’t know her at all. “People depend on me,” Beatrice finally says, her fingertip tracing the lip of the glass. “I fit a certain image in their minds. Were I given an opportunity to share that part of me, I don’t think it would be appreciated.”
“Why?”
“You know as well as I do that people abhor change. Though we crave things to be different, the minute something fails to meet the status quo, people panic.”
“Spoken like a true radical.”
Bea smiles and pointed at her. “I know you agree with me. The only difference between us is that you are brave enough to fight through the panic to inspire change, and I simply step into the background and allow things to remain the same.”
“For the sake of everyone else,” Pen guesses. “And to your own detriment.”
“I suppose so, yes.”
“There’s such a light in you, Beatrice,” the brunette says, shifting on the bed so that she is lying on her side. “If only you would let it shine.”
Bea feels a flicker of something warm in the pit of her belly at the way her friend is looking at her. When was the last time she felt so…appreciated? Has anyone ever said anything like this to before?
“Why do you look as though you’ve never heard that before?” Pen questions. “Surely others have seen it?”
Bea stalls by taking a larger gulp. She coughs delicately into her hand. “No. No one but you.”
“Well, clearly everyone else is blind or mad. Or both.”
Beatrice lets out a chuckle. “You’re quite the flatterer, Penelope Maddox. Between you and your brother, a spinster is bound to get a swelled head.”
Penelope gives a hearty laugh. "Let it be known that my dear brother and I both have excellent taste. Well, most of the time. I'm not quite so giving of my compliments as he is."
"He is quite the...playboy." There is an edge to Bea's voice when she says this. She hadn't meant to sound so judgmental and she wonders if the alcohol has loosened her tongue. Perhaps it's time to stop drinking.
"There's no need to be jealous of Jack's flirtations with other women, you know. I think he's rather more serious about you than he has been about anyone else."
"I'm not..." Beatrice stops herself and smiles wryly at Penelope. "All right, I suppose I am jealous. I have no reason to be. It's not like there is any sort of unspoken commitment between us."
"Would you like there to be?"
Bea's cheeks flush a crimson hue. "I'm unsure, to be honest."
"Tell me why." Penelope curls up on her bed, drawing her legs beneath her as she leans against the pillow.
"I don't know how I feel about him. Sometimes I can't tell if he is flirtatious because he cares for me or because he pities me."
"Have you asked him?"
Bea scoffs. "No! What if I were being presumptuous? I would never assume that--"
"That he could have true feelings for you?"
Bea nods.
"You have no notion of your own self-worth, do you?"
"I think well enough of myself."
"But that's not much at all. You don't believe that anyone could possibly recognize your beauty, strength, or talent, do you?"
"As a woman of a certain age, perhaps. But I don't believe that anyone sees in me the prospect of an ideal wife or partner." She says this wistfully, knowing that her fairytale has likely passed her by. There will be plenty of opportunity for romance for her beautiful young sister. As for her own possibilities, they will reside within the pages of a book or the vicarious tales of others. She swallows another mouthful of Scotch and is grateful for the burning sensation in her belly; for the briefest of moments, it numbs the painful ache in her heart.
"Have you given up the idea?"
"Let's just say that I'm not wholeheartedly optimistic about my chances. Don't misunderstand, Pen--I would love to meet someone who loved all of me, not just the parts that conveniently fit the role of wife and mother. I know I don't need companionship, but I would like it."
"Would you settle, Bea? Would you forego true love simply to have a companion?"
Bea intends to say no; it's on the tip of her tongue but something stops her. Penelope's dark eyes watch her closely. There is something about the intensity of her stare that unsettles Beatrice, that makes her second guess the truthfulness of her words. She cannot lie to Penelope and, sitting closely in a darkened room while rain beats steadily outside, Beatrice cannot lie to herself.
"I might. If there were a man who loved me, with whom I was comfortable and secure, I might overlook not being in love with him." She chuckles ruefully. "I am too old to be waiting for a love that may never come. It would be better to be sensible."
"Love isn't a business arrangement, Beatrice."
Bea raises an eyebrow.
"I don't want to see you settle, nor do I want to see you squander your opportunities. You've closed yourself to the world." Penelope opens her mouth to say something and promptly closes it, looking away for a brief moment before continuing. “Love isn’t about sense. I rather think there’s nothing sensible about it at all. Perhaps you’re ignoring the possibilities because you’re afraid of that. Beatrice Eliott is nothing if not a sensible woman.”
“You think I’m afraid of love?”
“I think you’re afraid of losing control. I think you’re afraid that love may not fit your expectations and I think that you don’t want it unless you are in charge of it. Marrying a man you don’t love is easy because it allows you to choose what you give of yourself. Allowing yourself to love and be loved in return means giving yourself completely to someone else and allowing them access to you that no one else has. That terrifies the hell out of you.”
Beatrice’s cheeks are burning and she cannot understand why, though she has a suspicion that Penelope has given voice to all of her unknown fears. “I had no idea you were such an advocate for love. Perhaps you’re in the wrong profession.”
“You’re avoiding the issue, Bea.”
She sighs. “Why do you care so much about my love life? It’s not as if I’m actually marrying anyone. There are no men in my life.”
“There’s Jack.”
“Is that what this is about? Are you pushing me for us to become involved?”
“This is simply about you. Perhaps Jack is the man for you. Perhaps he isn’t. I’m not the one to decide that. You are.”
“And here I thought you wanted me to be your sister-in-law.”
Penelope smiles and reaches out a hand, which Beatrice takes in her own. Her palm is clammy and Bea squeezes it with her fingers. “I would be honored to have you in my life, Beatrice, in whatever capacity you choose. I would be happy to be your friend, sister-in-law, lover, accomplice, colleague…”
Bea takes particular note of Pen’s claim that she would happily be her lover, but her mind is hazy with drink. She does not pull her hand away. “Lover?”
“I would be a fool not to desire a woman like you.” Penelope takes her hand away.
Bea’s cheeks burn hotter. Her stomach tenses hard. Blurred visions of Penelope’s mouth fill her mind and she shakes her head to make them disappear. “I wasn’t aware that you…”
“Fancied women?”
Beatrice nods dumbly.
Penelope shrugs as if she hasn’t just admitted something shocking enough to render Bea speechless. “I fancy people, those who are strong-willed and deep and authentic. People like you.”
"I'm flattered," Beatrice says after a pause.
"I'm not trying to flatter you. I'm just being honest. After all, haven't we agreed that honesty is the most important aspect of our friendship?"
Bea nods. "Does Evie...or Jack..."
"Do they know that I harbor deviant tendencies?" She barks out a laugh. "Hardly. It's not something I broadcast. Who I fancy is my business."
"I feel honored that you chose to share that detail of your life with me," the blonde says. Her vision becomes slightly blurred and she blinks a few times.
"You're not much of a drinker, are you?"
"Is it that obvious?"
Pen smiles and shakes her head in amusement. "Come on then. Let's get you some water. We can't have you wandering drunkenly in the dark when you leave."
"Are you trying to get rid of me?"
"Not yet. I'd be happy if you stayed, but you're far too sensible of a woman to stay out all night."
"Perhaps I'm feeling reckless."
Penelope gets to her feet and laughs, knocking back the rest of her drink. "That'll be the day."
Beatrice rolls her eyes and makes to copy Penelope's actions and is surprised to find only a drop left in the cup. The look on her face only makes Penelope laugh harder. "Oh shush," Bea says, grabbing hold of Pen's arm to pull herself to her feet. She sways when she is standing upright and leans the length of her body against the other woman's to avoid falling over. The warmth of her leaves Beatrice breathless. She gulps.
"Do I make you nervous?" Penelope asks, her tone challenging.
"No. Should I be?"
They stand in silence for a moment, watching each other carefully. Bea's cheeks are flushed and Penelope, for her part, is unreadable. Beatrice wishes that she could read her mind and wonders if she'd be scared of what she discovered.
"There was a time when I made you nervous. Do you remember?"
"I've gotten to know you since then."
After another quiet moment, Penelope smiles and takes Bea's hand in her own. "Good. I'm glad." She tugs her hand in the direction of the door. "Come."
Beatrice allows herself to be led down the hallway and into the spacious kitchen. Light from a streetlamp filters into the room through the window above the sink, and as Beatrice leans back against the island in the center of the room, she watches the shadows strewn across the floor.
Penelope cleans out the two cups, her back to Bea. The older woman watches her as her body moves. She thinks about what she's learned tonight about Penelope and, more importantly, about herself. She is not surprised or disgusted by Pen's revelation; Bea is only disappointed at not having figured it out sooner. She also feels a surge of privilege at being the chosen individual entrusted with this aspect of Penelope's life. She feels a level of closeness with her now, the type of closeness that perhaps no one else has. It's an unfamiliar feeling. Is this what Penelope meant when she referred to the closeness found with true love? She is beginning to think that perhaps there is merit to Penelope's advice. Perhaps this is something that she has overlooked.
Penelope dries the cups and fills them with water before she turns around, handing one to Beatrice. She mimics Bea's position, resting her hip against the sink. In the dark, it's the perfect picture of intimacy.
"What are you thinking about?" Beatrice asks after a momentary hesitation. She takes a large sip of water.
"I can't give away all of my secrets, can I?"
Bea smirks. "You could if you wanted to."
"I can trust you with the deepest, darkest secrets of my soul?"
Bea sobers a little, wondering what else this fascinating, mysterious woman might reveal to her. It's exciting and terrifying all at once. "Of course you can."
Penelope is quiet for a moment before answering. "I have no secrets, I'm afraid."
"I find that hard to believe. You revealed a rather fascinating one just a few minutes ago."
Penelope waves a hand. "That was my last one."
Bea finishes her water and sets the cup down. "Liar."
With a laugh, Penelope shakes her head. "What do you want to know?"
"Anything." She ruminates on this. "Everything."
Penelope takes up Beatrice's cup. "There is one secret..."
"I knew it!" she exclaims excitedly. "Tell!"
Penelope turns around and begins to refill the blonde's glass. "I know you and Jack kissed."
Beatrice is flushing brighter than ever. She wishes that Penelope would turn around. "He told you?"
Pen spins then, her face blank. "He did."
She is torn between the Maddoxes, wanting to know what Jack confessed with as much curiosity as wanting to know how Penelope has taken the news. She thinks about their conversation and furrows her brow. "Is that why you've been pushing this conversation about Jack?" Penelope doesn't answer so Bea continues. "What is this about?"
"I was curious to see if you'd tell me about it...if it was important enough for you to confide in me."
"I don't appreciate playing games, Penelope. For Gods' sake, be direct! If you want to know, just ask! You've asked me about everything else. Why is this any different?"
Penelope sighs deeply and runs her hand through her long brown hair. “It wasn't my place to comment on it."
"You're my friend. What are friends for if not to comment on the things we do in our lives?"
"All right then. This kiss. Was it just a kiss, or was it something more?"
"I've already told you that I'm not sure how I feel about Jack. He's a wonderful man. I just don't know if he's the man. I'm not rushing into anything with him or anyone. But in that moment...he wanted me. I liked feeling wanted. It's been so long since a man has paid me that sort of attention. I felt...beautiful." Bea sighs wistfully. "It was a lovely moment, but it has passed."
"You deserve more than a fleeting moment of passion to feel wanted. Please, Beatrice, don't settle for anything less. It's not fair to Jack, nor is it fair to you."
"You're making more out of this than is necessary, I assure you. It was just a kiss."
"I apologize. I have a knack for getting myself worked up about issues that I feel strongly about."
"It's one of your more insufferable and endearing qualities."
Pen’s wry smile is a refreshing break from the serious turn their conversation has taken. "I don't know if I should feel flattered or insulted."
"Why not both?"
Penelope concedes and nods. Bea is overcome by an urge to hug her for caring with such ardor that she does. She sets down the empty cup and folds her arms around Penelope's lanky frame. She can tell by the other woman's stiffened shoulders that she is surprised. Beatrice hugs her more tightly. "Thank you for tonight, Penelope. Thank you for your friendship. If only you know how much it means to me."
The taller woman finally relaxes into the embrace and curls her arms around Bea's waist. "I daresay it means the same to me," she says, her voice laced with emotion. "You're very special to me, Beatrice Eliott. Please, never forget that."
"I never will." She pulls back and kisses Penelope's cheek. It’s soft, much softer than Beatrice expects. Penelope Maddox is all rough edges and hardened philosophies that so much softness intrigues her.
Then, as if it’s the most natural occurrence in the world, their mouths meet in a soft kiss. It is unexpected for both of them but neither backs away. They allow the kiss to linger. There is no urgency or demand. All that exists in this moment is a mutual appreciation.
Penelope's mouth is shaped differently than Jack's. Beatrice should feel guilty for kissing another Maddox or wrong for kissing a woman, but she does not. She feels like she's found the safe haven that she so desperately sought.
It is Penelope who breaks the kiss. "I'm sorry."
"I'm not." Beatrice gives a reassuring smile. She steps back, already missing the warmth of Penelope's body. She glances at the floor, at her feet as they shuffle back, and she notices that the streaks of rain against the window are no longer speckled across the shadows. "The rain has stopped."
"Has it?" Penelope turns to look over her shoulder at the window. "So it has. Perhaps you should take advantage of the respite and head home."
Beatrice isn't ready to leave, nor is she ready to ask Penelope if she may sleep on her bare mattress. However, the prospect of going home to her empty bedroom and her specifically ordered life no longer seems as daunting. It all seems somehow to be more manageable now that she has gained a little perspective. She has few answers and even fewer resolutions for how to combat her loneliness or juggle her various hats, but she has reaffirmed her belief that she is a capable woman. She has Penelope to thank.
They walk together down the hall. Penelope maintains a safe distance while Beatrice collects her shoes and her damp belongings. As she pulls on her coat, Penelope speaks. "Thank you for coming tonight. I didn't realize how much I needed or wanted the company until you were here. I'm glad for the time we've spent together." She clears her throat. "I'm glad to have you in my life."
"And I'm glad to have you in mine." Beatrice takes a step closer and kisses Penelope's cheek again. She smiles to see that her pale flesh is pink.
Fortified by the promise of friendship and support and the possibility of more, Beatrice Eliott heads for home.
---
Prompt: Two friends talk about life and love
Fandom: Beatrice/Penelope, The House of Eliott
Requested by: kitnkabootle
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 5117
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: Happy birthday to my dearest friend, kitnkabootle! I hope you enjoy the story!
-
Beatrice Eliott progresses through the rain, head bowed away from the sullen spattering of the elements. Her hat bears the brunt of the rain’s icy sting, though her face is chilled and her hands numb to the cold. She clutches her coat more closely to her chest and quickens her step and clicks rapidly along the sidewalk, avoiding harried businessmen and deep puddles alike. She’s nearly reached her destination.
The walk has done her good. She needed the fresh air. Though there’s insurmountable work to be done, Beatrice felt the need to take a step back for the sake of her own sanity. She had considered going to the pictures but knew it would be a waste of coin. She has decided instead to seek refuge in the company of a friend.
She looks up and inspects the dark building, hoping that she has come to the correct location. It’s difficult to see in the dark. She knocks hesitantly at first and then harder when she’s more sure of herself.
When Penelope opens the door, her expression is one of complete surprise. “Beatrice! What in heaven’s name are you doing here at this hour?” She stands aside, allowing Bea to pass.
“I could ask the same of you,” Bea responds, pulling off her sodden coat and hat. Penelope takes the wet items and hangs them from a hook in the hall while Bea stamps her feet against the carpet. “Shouldn’t you be home?”
“Shouldn’t you?” Penelope raises an eyebrow.
Bea cannot help but laugh. “Fair enough. Does the work day never end at the mission?”
“I’m no good at home when there’s work to be done,” Penelope replies, leading the way into one of the rooms adorned with beds. Only one of the beds is haphazardly made and Beatrice can tell that it has recently been slept in. Penelope smoothes out the wrinkled sheets and grins sheepishly at Bea. “Sometimes I just stay here.”
“But there’s no heat!” Bea responds.
“There’s enough to suit my purposes,” the other woman quips defensively. “Don’t become a mother hen like Jack or I’ll chuck you back out in the rain.”
Bea knows that Penelope’s threat is hollow, but she nods her head in agreement. How can she judge Penelope when she herself left the overbearingly rigid confines of her own home and business? “You’re right. I apologize. You must know that I worry about you.”
“Of course I know,” Penelope says, sitting down on her bed. “You worry about everyone.”
Bea offers a crooked smile, sitting on the bed opposite her. “I suppose that’s true.”
“Ah, at least you can admit it. There’s hope for you yet, Beatrice Eliott.” Penelope tilts her head to the side, studying Bea closely. “What brings you here?”
“I needed to get away,” Bea admits. “I needed space.”
“And you chose my mission?”
“This is going to be a safe haven, is it not? It seemed fitting.”
“Do you need saving, Beatrice?”
The question is more difficult to answer than Bea would care to admit. She thinks that perhaps she does need saving; she’s spent so long picking up the pieces of everyone else’s lives that she’s forgotten to do the same for herself. She cannot remember a time when she was not the caregiver, the leader, the one to turn to in a crisis. Has she ever truly been taken care of? She doesn’t think so, at least not after her mother died. But she will not admit this to Penelope, who knows her as strong and steadfast. She cannot allow that image of herself to crack. “No.”
Beatrice can see that Penelope doesn’t believe her for a second. The younger woman has always been rather good at reading people, and Beatrice has never been immune to Pen’s cool, watchful eye.
“You don’t have to tell me what you think I want to hear,” Penelope says. She reaches back and unpins her hair, allowing the brown locks to fall over her shoulders. “You and I both value honesty.” She runs her fingers through her hair, her fingers massaging her scalp. She lets out a little contented sigh. “I’m flattered that you chose to come to me. I would have thought you’d seek out the more appealing of the Maddoxes.”
Bea blushes. She had briefly considered going to Jack but decided against it as she passed the door of his studio. Things have become complicated with Jack. “You’re hardly unappealing, Penelope.”
Penelope shrugs dismissively. “There seems to be a bit of a divide though, wouldn’t you say? You and Jack tend to pair off, leaving Evie and I on our own.”
“That’s not my fault,” Bea bites back defensively. “You and Evie have always marched to your own drum. I thought we were all friends. It’s certainly not my fault if there’s a separation.”
Penelope smiles as if she’s pleased to have riled her up. “Evie and I do see things somewhat differently, I suppose. She’s a good friend to me.”
“Am I?” It’s suddenly very important for Beatrice to know that she’s a worthwhile friend.
“What sort of question is that?”
“I cannot offer the same friendship that my sister can-“
“No, and I’m glad for that.” Penelope leans forward, balancing her elbows on her knees. “I appreciate our friendship because of who you are, not because of my friendship with Evie.”
Bea nods somberly.
“Are you two still quarreling? Is this some sort of competition?”
“No, it isn’t. Evie and I are on very precarious footing at the moment. I know she’s spoken to you about it.”
Penelope nods. “I also know that you weren’t pleased about that.”
“I prefer some things to be private. I don’t like my affairs to be aired in public.”
“I’m hardly public,” Penelope replies with a laugh. “I don’t think that’s what’s truly bothering you.”
“Oh?” Beatrice brushes aside a stray blonde curl from her forehead. “Perhaps you should enlighten me.”
“Evangeline is younger than you. She’s more independent than you were at her age. She does things her own way, as you’ve said. I think it bothers you that she is so carefree with her freedoms, whereas you feel more constrained and reserved.”
“Are you saying that I’m jealous of my own sister?”
“Frankly? Yes.”
Bea knows that she should have expected this from Penelope. The other woman has always maintained a certain unapologetically blunt honesty. It’s a refreshing change for Bea, but it still unnerves her. She’s spent her entire life in the shadows of half-truths.
She also cannot deny that Penelope is right. She is jealous of Evie.
“You’re not a bad sister for being jealous, Beatrice,” Penelope adds. “It’s human nature.”
“Jealousy is dreadfully unbecoming.”
“It’s honest is what it is. Claiming otherwise is just another way of hiding. Take Jack and I. I’m horribly jealous of him. He has a freedom that I don’t just because he’s a man. Things come twice as easily to him. I envy that about him, but I accept it for what it is. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re jealous of Evie’s youth. She has the luxury of being twelve years younger than you and has been spoiled because she doesn’t know what it means to care for herself. She is independent because you bear the responsibility of maturity. Beating yourself up for envying her is only going to make the situation worse. Accept it and move on.”
“Is that what you did? Move on?”
“What else is there to do? I will never be a man. I will always have to work twice as hard to gain any respect. You’ll never be twenty-one again. These are our lots in life.” Penelope arches her back, groaning as she stretches her aching muscles.
Bea feels a pang of pity for Penelope. She has had the luxury of sitting in a well-heated fashion house, dealing with bookkeeping and humoring clientele, whereas Penelope has likely spent her day scrubbing the floor on her hands and knees. Though Penelope is nearing the opening of her mission, funds and volunteers are still lacking. Bea feels foolish for her complaints.
“You’re right. At any rate, I didn’t come here to drone on about the same things Evie has.”
“Why did you come?” Penelope smirks. “To drone on about something else?”
Bea lets out a genuine laugh. “I didn’t want to be alone tonight, to be honest.”
“How did you know I’d be here and not at home?”
“I know you, Penelope. For all of our differences, we are cut from the same cloth, so to speak. I know how important this mission is to you. I daresay I’d be sleeping in the workroom if I didn’t have an apartment in the same building.”
Pen chuckles. “Married to our work, we are.”
Bea nods slowly, her mind briefly drifting. “Do you think you’ll ever get married?”
Penelope shrugs. “I almost did, once upon a time. I’m not so sure anymore. Marriage is terribly conventional, don’t you think?”
“There’s something appealing about that level of security and companionship…that connection with another person.”
“You don’t need a man to be secure, Beatrice.”
Bea smiles sadly. “Yes, but I can’t keep myself warm every night.”
“Sure you can,” Penelope says, getting to her feet. “That’s what blankets and a good Scotch are for.”
Beatrice laughs heartily, feeling lighter than she had just hours before. She’s missed having friendships with women. She’s missed the girlish excitement of having a confidante who is not her own flesh and blood. “You’re terrible.”
“Would you have me any other way?” Penelope asks with a grin. “I’d offer you some tea, but I’m afraid I’m conserving coal. Care for a Scotch?”
Beatrice should say no and almost does, but she surprises herself by agreeing. The idea of a stiff drink is overwhelmingly appealing. She rubs her hands together, hoping that her frigid fingers will begin to warm up.
Penelope stands and Bea makes to follow her. The brunette places a hand on her shoulder and eases her back onto the bed. “Allow me. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll only be a moment.”
Beatrice reluctantly does as she’s told and removes her shoes. She flexes her toes, allowing them to move freely without the confines of uncomfortable heels. Her feet are stiff and she rubs them thoroughly, working her thumb into the arch of her foot. She sighs, remembering the last time anyone rubbed her feet for her. She’d been bed-ridden with the flu. Evie had been sixteen and ever so attentive.
The blonde is aware of how much has changed since those days of Evangeline’s adolescence. She’s becoming a woman of her own volition, her fierce independence asserting itself with little regard to Bea’s feelings. She’s proud of the woman her sister is becoming, but she knows that it will only be a matter of time before she makes a life of her own. She knows that she’ll be alone soon, and the fact of it makes Beatrice ache inside. Perhaps this is the reason for her dismay at their turmoil; they only have so much time together and Beatrice doesn’t want it to be tainted with pointless quarrels.
She should be home with Evie, but Beatrice cannot summon the will to leave the mission.
“Here you are,” Penelope announces, holding out a white mug.
Bea furrows her brow at the sight of it, wondering if it’s tea after all, and laughs to see the amber liquor generously filling the ceramic.
“I hope you don’t mind the lack of elegance,” Penelope says, taking up her seat on the bed beside Bea’s.
“Not at all. The lack of decorum is rather refreshing, actually.”
Penelope laughs. “Don’t tell me you miss your brief stint in the poor house?”
“It’s not that. It’s just…the society we keep. I’m grateful to them for keeping us in business, but they’re so…”
“Stuffy? Boring? Conservative?”
Beatrice laughs. “Yes, exactly.” She sips delicately at the alcohol and winces as it burns its way down her throat. “I wonder…”
“Hmm? Go on. You mustn’t become shy now.”
“I sometimes wonder if that’s how you view me…stuffy, boring, and conservative.” There is a hesitance in Bea’s voice. She fears she already knows the answer.
“There was a time when I did, yes,” Penelope admits. “I think that’s what I like about you now. You have your own place in society, but you don’t forget that yours is not the only one that exists. You’re so very aware, Beatrice, of everything.”
“No one’s ever said that about me,” Bea confesses. “It’s usually Evangeline who receives such accolades.”
“She’s aware, yes, and outspoken about her awareness. You don’t say a lot, Beatrice, but there’s an entire world existing in your mind. It’s a shame you were never given the chance to let it out.”
Bea is quiet for a moment, taken aback by just how well Penelope can see her. They’ve hardly maintained a close friendship, so it’s a shock to Bea that she is understood so thoroughly when people who’ve been in her life much longer don’t know her at all. “People depend on me,” Beatrice finally says, her fingertip tracing the lip of the glass. “I fit a certain image in their minds. Were I given an opportunity to share that part of me, I don’t think it would be appreciated.”
“Why?”
“You know as well as I do that people abhor change. Though we crave things to be different, the minute something fails to meet the status quo, people panic.”
“Spoken like a true radical.”
Bea smiles and pointed at her. “I know you agree with me. The only difference between us is that you are brave enough to fight through the panic to inspire change, and I simply step into the background and allow things to remain the same.”
“For the sake of everyone else,” Pen guesses. “And to your own detriment.”
“I suppose so, yes.”
“There’s such a light in you, Beatrice,” the brunette says, shifting on the bed so that she is lying on her side. “If only you would let it shine.”
Bea feels a flicker of something warm in the pit of her belly at the way her friend is looking at her. When was the last time she felt so…appreciated? Has anyone ever said anything like this to before?
“Why do you look as though you’ve never heard that before?” Pen questions. “Surely others have seen it?”
Bea stalls by taking a larger gulp. She coughs delicately into her hand. “No. No one but you.”
“Well, clearly everyone else is blind or mad. Or both.”
Beatrice lets out a chuckle. “You’re quite the flatterer, Penelope Maddox. Between you and your brother, a spinster is bound to get a swelled head.”
Penelope gives a hearty laugh. "Let it be known that my dear brother and I both have excellent taste. Well, most of the time. I'm not quite so giving of my compliments as he is."
"He is quite the...playboy." There is an edge to Bea's voice when she says this. She hadn't meant to sound so judgmental and she wonders if the alcohol has loosened her tongue. Perhaps it's time to stop drinking.
"There's no need to be jealous of Jack's flirtations with other women, you know. I think he's rather more serious about you than he has been about anyone else."
"I'm not..." Beatrice stops herself and smiles wryly at Penelope. "All right, I suppose I am jealous. I have no reason to be. It's not like there is any sort of unspoken commitment between us."
"Would you like there to be?"
Bea's cheeks flush a crimson hue. "I'm unsure, to be honest."
"Tell me why." Penelope curls up on her bed, drawing her legs beneath her as she leans against the pillow.
"I don't know how I feel about him. Sometimes I can't tell if he is flirtatious because he cares for me or because he pities me."
"Have you asked him?"
Bea scoffs. "No! What if I were being presumptuous? I would never assume that--"
"That he could have true feelings for you?"
Bea nods.
"You have no notion of your own self-worth, do you?"
"I think well enough of myself."
"But that's not much at all. You don't believe that anyone could possibly recognize your beauty, strength, or talent, do you?"
"As a woman of a certain age, perhaps. But I don't believe that anyone sees in me the prospect of an ideal wife or partner." She says this wistfully, knowing that her fairytale has likely passed her by. There will be plenty of opportunity for romance for her beautiful young sister. As for her own possibilities, they will reside within the pages of a book or the vicarious tales of others. She swallows another mouthful of Scotch and is grateful for the burning sensation in her belly; for the briefest of moments, it numbs the painful ache in her heart.
"Have you given up the idea?"
"Let's just say that I'm not wholeheartedly optimistic about my chances. Don't misunderstand, Pen--I would love to meet someone who loved all of me, not just the parts that conveniently fit the role of wife and mother. I know I don't need companionship, but I would like it."
"Would you settle, Bea? Would you forego true love simply to have a companion?"
Bea intends to say no; it's on the tip of her tongue but something stops her. Penelope's dark eyes watch her closely. There is something about the intensity of her stare that unsettles Beatrice, that makes her second guess the truthfulness of her words. She cannot lie to Penelope and, sitting closely in a darkened room while rain beats steadily outside, Beatrice cannot lie to herself.
"I might. If there were a man who loved me, with whom I was comfortable and secure, I might overlook not being in love with him." She chuckles ruefully. "I am too old to be waiting for a love that may never come. It would be better to be sensible."
"Love isn't a business arrangement, Beatrice."
Bea raises an eyebrow.
"I don't want to see you settle, nor do I want to see you squander your opportunities. You've closed yourself to the world." Penelope opens her mouth to say something and promptly closes it, looking away for a brief moment before continuing. “Love isn’t about sense. I rather think there’s nothing sensible about it at all. Perhaps you’re ignoring the possibilities because you’re afraid of that. Beatrice Eliott is nothing if not a sensible woman.”
“You think I’m afraid of love?”
“I think you’re afraid of losing control. I think you’re afraid that love may not fit your expectations and I think that you don’t want it unless you are in charge of it. Marrying a man you don’t love is easy because it allows you to choose what you give of yourself. Allowing yourself to love and be loved in return means giving yourself completely to someone else and allowing them access to you that no one else has. That terrifies the hell out of you.”
Beatrice’s cheeks are burning and she cannot understand why, though she has a suspicion that Penelope has given voice to all of her unknown fears. “I had no idea you were such an advocate for love. Perhaps you’re in the wrong profession.”
“You’re avoiding the issue, Bea.”
She sighs. “Why do you care so much about my love life? It’s not as if I’m actually marrying anyone. There are no men in my life.”
“There’s Jack.”
“Is that what this is about? Are you pushing me for us to become involved?”
“This is simply about you. Perhaps Jack is the man for you. Perhaps he isn’t. I’m not the one to decide that. You are.”
“And here I thought you wanted me to be your sister-in-law.”
Penelope smiles and reaches out a hand, which Beatrice takes in her own. Her palm is clammy and Bea squeezes it with her fingers. “I would be honored to have you in my life, Beatrice, in whatever capacity you choose. I would be happy to be your friend, sister-in-law, lover, accomplice, colleague…”
Bea takes particular note of Pen’s claim that she would happily be her lover, but her mind is hazy with drink. She does not pull her hand away. “Lover?”
“I would be a fool not to desire a woman like you.” Penelope takes her hand away.
Bea’s cheeks burn hotter. Her stomach tenses hard. Blurred visions of Penelope’s mouth fill her mind and she shakes her head to make them disappear. “I wasn’t aware that you…”
“Fancied women?”
Beatrice nods dumbly.
Penelope shrugs as if she hasn’t just admitted something shocking enough to render Bea speechless. “I fancy people, those who are strong-willed and deep and authentic. People like you.”
"I'm flattered," Beatrice says after a pause.
"I'm not trying to flatter you. I'm just being honest. After all, haven't we agreed that honesty is the most important aspect of our friendship?"
Bea nods. "Does Evie...or Jack..."
"Do they know that I harbor deviant tendencies?" She barks out a laugh. "Hardly. It's not something I broadcast. Who I fancy is my business."
"I feel honored that you chose to share that detail of your life with me," the blonde says. Her vision becomes slightly blurred and she blinks a few times.
"You're not much of a drinker, are you?"
"Is it that obvious?"
Pen smiles and shakes her head in amusement. "Come on then. Let's get you some water. We can't have you wandering drunkenly in the dark when you leave."
"Are you trying to get rid of me?"
"Not yet. I'd be happy if you stayed, but you're far too sensible of a woman to stay out all night."
"Perhaps I'm feeling reckless."
Penelope gets to her feet and laughs, knocking back the rest of her drink. "That'll be the day."
Beatrice rolls her eyes and makes to copy Penelope's actions and is surprised to find only a drop left in the cup. The look on her face only makes Penelope laugh harder. "Oh shush," Bea says, grabbing hold of Pen's arm to pull herself to her feet. She sways when she is standing upright and leans the length of her body against the other woman's to avoid falling over. The warmth of her leaves Beatrice breathless. She gulps.
"Do I make you nervous?" Penelope asks, her tone challenging.
"No. Should I be?"
They stand in silence for a moment, watching each other carefully. Bea's cheeks are flushed and Penelope, for her part, is unreadable. Beatrice wishes that she could read her mind and wonders if she'd be scared of what she discovered.
"There was a time when I made you nervous. Do you remember?"
"I've gotten to know you since then."
After another quiet moment, Penelope smiles and takes Bea's hand in her own. "Good. I'm glad." She tugs her hand in the direction of the door. "Come."
Beatrice allows herself to be led down the hallway and into the spacious kitchen. Light from a streetlamp filters into the room through the window above the sink, and as Beatrice leans back against the island in the center of the room, she watches the shadows strewn across the floor.
Penelope cleans out the two cups, her back to Bea. The older woman watches her as her body moves. She thinks about what she's learned tonight about Penelope and, more importantly, about herself. She is not surprised or disgusted by Pen's revelation; Bea is only disappointed at not having figured it out sooner. She also feels a surge of privilege at being the chosen individual entrusted with this aspect of Penelope's life. She feels a level of closeness with her now, the type of closeness that perhaps no one else has. It's an unfamiliar feeling. Is this what Penelope meant when she referred to the closeness found with true love? She is beginning to think that perhaps there is merit to Penelope's advice. Perhaps this is something that she has overlooked.
Penelope dries the cups and fills them with water before she turns around, handing one to Beatrice. She mimics Bea's position, resting her hip against the sink. In the dark, it's the perfect picture of intimacy.
"What are you thinking about?" Beatrice asks after a momentary hesitation. She takes a large sip of water.
"I can't give away all of my secrets, can I?"
Bea smirks. "You could if you wanted to."
"I can trust you with the deepest, darkest secrets of my soul?"
Bea sobers a little, wondering what else this fascinating, mysterious woman might reveal to her. It's exciting and terrifying all at once. "Of course you can."
Penelope is quiet for a moment before answering. "I have no secrets, I'm afraid."
"I find that hard to believe. You revealed a rather fascinating one just a few minutes ago."
Penelope waves a hand. "That was my last one."
Bea finishes her water and sets the cup down. "Liar."
With a laugh, Penelope shakes her head. "What do you want to know?"
"Anything." She ruminates on this. "Everything."
Penelope takes up Beatrice's cup. "There is one secret..."
"I knew it!" she exclaims excitedly. "Tell!"
Penelope turns around and begins to refill the blonde's glass. "I know you and Jack kissed."
Beatrice is flushing brighter than ever. She wishes that Penelope would turn around. "He told you?"
Pen spins then, her face blank. "He did."
She is torn between the Maddoxes, wanting to know what Jack confessed with as much curiosity as wanting to know how Penelope has taken the news. She thinks about their conversation and furrows her brow. "Is that why you've been pushing this conversation about Jack?" Penelope doesn't answer so Bea continues. "What is this about?"
"I was curious to see if you'd tell me about it...if it was important enough for you to confide in me."
"I don't appreciate playing games, Penelope. For Gods' sake, be direct! If you want to know, just ask! You've asked me about everything else. Why is this any different?"
Penelope sighs deeply and runs her hand through her long brown hair. “It wasn't my place to comment on it."
"You're my friend. What are friends for if not to comment on the things we do in our lives?"
"All right then. This kiss. Was it just a kiss, or was it something more?"
"I've already told you that I'm not sure how I feel about Jack. He's a wonderful man. I just don't know if he's the man. I'm not rushing into anything with him or anyone. But in that moment...he wanted me. I liked feeling wanted. It's been so long since a man has paid me that sort of attention. I felt...beautiful." Bea sighs wistfully. "It was a lovely moment, but it has passed."
"You deserve more than a fleeting moment of passion to feel wanted. Please, Beatrice, don't settle for anything less. It's not fair to Jack, nor is it fair to you."
"You're making more out of this than is necessary, I assure you. It was just a kiss."
"I apologize. I have a knack for getting myself worked up about issues that I feel strongly about."
"It's one of your more insufferable and endearing qualities."
Pen’s wry smile is a refreshing break from the serious turn their conversation has taken. "I don't know if I should feel flattered or insulted."
"Why not both?"
Penelope concedes and nods. Bea is overcome by an urge to hug her for caring with such ardor that she does. She sets down the empty cup and folds her arms around Penelope's lanky frame. She can tell by the other woman's stiffened shoulders that she is surprised. Beatrice hugs her more tightly. "Thank you for tonight, Penelope. Thank you for your friendship. If only you know how much it means to me."
The taller woman finally relaxes into the embrace and curls her arms around Bea's waist. "I daresay it means the same to me," she says, her voice laced with emotion. "You're very special to me, Beatrice Eliott. Please, never forget that."
"I never will." She pulls back and kisses Penelope's cheek. It’s soft, much softer than Beatrice expects. Penelope Maddox is all rough edges and hardened philosophies that so much softness intrigues her.
Then, as if it’s the most natural occurrence in the world, their mouths meet in a soft kiss. It is unexpected for both of them but neither backs away. They allow the kiss to linger. There is no urgency or demand. All that exists in this moment is a mutual appreciation.
Penelope's mouth is shaped differently than Jack's. Beatrice should feel guilty for kissing another Maddox or wrong for kissing a woman, but she does not. She feels like she's found the safe haven that she so desperately sought.
It is Penelope who breaks the kiss. "I'm sorry."
"I'm not." Beatrice gives a reassuring smile. She steps back, already missing the warmth of Penelope's body. She glances at the floor, at her feet as they shuffle back, and she notices that the streaks of rain against the window are no longer speckled across the shadows. "The rain has stopped."
"Has it?" Penelope turns to look over her shoulder at the window. "So it has. Perhaps you should take advantage of the respite and head home."
Beatrice isn't ready to leave, nor is she ready to ask Penelope if she may sleep on her bare mattress. However, the prospect of going home to her empty bedroom and her specifically ordered life no longer seems as daunting. It all seems somehow to be more manageable now that she has gained a little perspective. She has few answers and even fewer resolutions for how to combat her loneliness or juggle her various hats, but she has reaffirmed her belief that she is a capable woman. She has Penelope to thank.
They walk together down the hall. Penelope maintains a safe distance while Beatrice collects her shoes and her damp belongings. As she pulls on her coat, Penelope speaks. "Thank you for coming tonight. I didn't realize how much I needed or wanted the company until you were here. I'm glad for the time we've spent together." She clears her throat. "I'm glad to have you in my life."
"And I'm glad to have you in mine." Beatrice takes a step closer and kisses Penelope's cheek again. She smiles to see that her pale flesh is pink.
Fortified by the promise of friendship and support and the possibility of more, Beatrice Eliott heads for home.
---