babyjosephine: (Default)
[personal profile] babyjosephine
Late 1961

It wasn't that she hadn't been invited. It was that she hadn't been planning to go until Mallory and Vi begged her. And the both Mallory and Vi had to work and couldn't make it in time and neither were interested in fashionably late entrances. They wanted to stare at Robert for the full duration. They also wanted Alice to stare at Robert for the full duration because it had been almost three years since they first encountered him and in those three years, Alice had heard of nothing but him. He was almost a mythological creature, really. A name instead of an actual person. She had almost stopped believing he existed.

Her mother hired a driver to take her up to Manchester. Randolf was due at another function with the company and her parents couldn't attend. This would be the first time Alice was going anywhere completely alone without any connections at all, except her name and her family. But her name and her family was somehow relevant to every party. She didn't feel overwhelmed, just nervous. She wasn't interested in being the center of attention.

Dressed in a dark green cocktail dress, with dark green, almost black gloves to match, she looked like the center of attention, in any case. Their family's driver gave her dark red hair a kiss as he helped her out.

"What time do you want me back?" he asked. "I told your mum I'd have you home by midnight."

"Then, um, I don't think I'll be staying long. Two hours, tops."

Their driver nodded and gave her a little salute. "Enjoy yourself, Miss Alice."

"I will!" she called, her heels clicking on the pavement as she entered the elegant hotel and sought out the ballroom.
babyjosephine: (Default)
[personal profile] babyjosephine
August of 1961

Another sticky hot day in a summer heatwave that was growing tiresome as it failed to lift by the end of August. It most likely couldn’t lift at all, owing to the fact that there was just so much of it—so much heat and humidity and so little proper air that the three girls by the lake were too hot to actually jump in the water. They were lounging in bikinis on a floating pier, yellow sun umbrellas offering no shade at all.

“We should go inside,” murmured a blonde one, her elbow over her eyes.

“Shh,” hissed the second, whose hair was brunette. “I’m dreaming.”

“About what?” asked the third, a redhead.

The brunette giggled.

“Tell us!” murmured the blonde.

“Tenner says it’s about your doctor,” muttered the redhead.

The blonde sighed. “Robert.

“Who else would I dream about?”

“All you two do is talk about him.”

“Al, if you’d stayed in training and gone to work with us, you’d know what we were talking about!”

Alice, whose skin was turning a shade of pink that would soon be as red as her hair... )
babyjosephine: (Teenaged)
[personal profile] babyjosephine
Summer of 1960.

“Well, what am I to do?” Alice asked, swinging her feet beneath her so that her heels bounced off the cabinets below. The kitchen counter was no place for sitting, but Margaret was out for the afternoon. “And I don’t understand her fix with me absolutely not being in the wedding.”

“She hasn’t got a fix, Alice,” Scott muttered around an apple. It was caught between his teeth as he used both hands to search for a knife.

“She’s not letting me, though. It’s not as though you have a dozen sisters. There’s no rule for how many bridesmaids you have. Mum and Dad had loads of people in their wedding!”

“She wants to keep it small, Alice. Plenty of groom-sisters don’t make it into weddings.”

“That isn’t fair for any of us.” Alice looked out the window at the bright day and let her heel bang more resolutely against the wood cabinet. “I’m afraid I can’t like Winifred anymore.”

Scott looked up, knife in hand, though he hardly looked dangerous with an apple in his mouth. “What?”

'She’s a domineering psychopath.' )
babyjosephine: (Poor little rich girl)
[personal profile] babyjosephine
12 April, 1947. Alice Fitzwilliam's seventh birthday.

Charlie would be home from school very soon. Home from school for the weekend because it was Alice’s seventh birthday and Mummy made him come home.

Alice was bouncing about the house in her tap shoes, clicking noisily through every hall and every door. Her friends were going to arrive in an hour, and Isabella was putting off dressing her daughter for the occasion until she had calmed down, or at least was presented with birthday-related obstacles, such as cake and presents. Any premature stain would cause unneeded stress.

As she clamored down the stairs into the servants’ hall, their housekeeper, Margaret, peered out of the kitchen. “What on earth are you doing, Miss Alice?” she asked, always soft but strict, as she had raised several boys of her own, most of whom worked on the property.

“Nothing! May I see my cake?” she asked, trying to sneak past Margaret into the kitchen, but Margaret gently took her shoulders and turned her away.

“Why don’t you go put on a show for the boys whilst you wait, hm?”

“Mummy says I can’t wear my shoes out of doors anymore—” Someone called her name and Alice squeaked. “I bet that’s Charlie come home!” She raced down the hall, sliding on the floors and giving Margaret several heart attacks (“Child’s going to split her skull.”) until she was upstairs again.

Upstairs, but hardly safe. )

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