Work Text:
It is when Cressida carries the plates into the kitchen and Penelope excuses herself to go to the loo that Colin is finally able to lean towards his sister, his expression worried.
“El, it’s got worse.”
“Has it?” Eloise replies, frowning. “I think she seems all right.”
“Do you really?” Colin looks almost reproachful.
“All right, maybe a little quiet,” Eloise says, thinking about it. “She keeps stopping herself?”
“Exactly! There are things she wants to say, but she doesn’t. I keep catching her just sitting there, staring at people,” Colin whispers.
“What people?”
“When we’re out. She just sits there staring at people. Didn’t you see the way she was staring at Cress?”
“She’s always glaring at Cress.”
“Yes, but she used to talk while she was glaring.”
“You’re right about that.”
“Could you talk to her? In case it’s…” Colin looks at Eloise. “…something to do with me that means she can’t talk to me?”
“You’re good, Colin,” Eloise says. “And I…” But she has to stop there, because the bathroom door opens.
Soon Penelope comes back in and sits down at the large round table that Eloise and Cressida have set so beautifully on this Friday evening in August. Cressida follows, carrying a tray of coffee and biscuits.
Colin smiles. “Ah, I’ve been looking forward to this. Haven’t I, Pen?”
“Yes, it’s absolutely… yes, you have. Been looking forward to partaking of the Cowpers’ famous biscuits.”
Her face is completely serious. Then she remembers to smile, a little too late and a little too quickly.
Cressida, Eloise and Colin all stare at her.
“Are you being sarcastic?” Cressida asks.
“Darling,” Eloise says.
“Sorry. No, I’m not,” Pen says.
And that is when Eloise realises Colin is right.
A little while later, Cressida is in the kitchen fussing with the dishes and leftovers, and Colin is out on the balcony, smoking while he makes a phone call.
“Pen,” Eloise says. “Is everything all right?”
“What did Colin tell you?” Penelope asks immediately, her face going blank.
“No, I just… All right, he’s worried. He says you don’t seem yourself.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” Pen says, gloating into the kitchen, at Cressida’s back.
“Come on,” Eloise says. “I can see there’s something eating at you.”
“You do not know me, and rest assured, you never shall. But be forewarned, dear, I certainly know you.”
Eloise sits there with her mouth half open, blinking.
Penelope flinches.
“Oh, sorry. I was sharpening my knives.”
She claps both hands lightly over her face.
“Colin’s right! There’s something wrong with me.”
“Oh, Pen.” Eloise puts a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Tell me.”
“Silence can wield more power than words…”
“Well, I actually think talking might be better in this particular instance.”
“I know! That wasn’t me…”
“What do you mean?”
“I…”
Cressida comes back into the dining room and, smiling, starts gathering up more dishes.
Penelope looks at her.
“At last, London's smart set has made its return.”
Cressida stops short and glares at Penelope.
“What’s that supposed to mean? See, El? She’s still doing it—”
“I didn’t mean it to sound like that,” Penelope says. “I was just thinking out loud.”
Cressida looks at her for a moment, then gives Eloise a look as she carries the last dish into the kitchen.
“Darling,” Eloise begins, only to be interrupted by Pen.
“In a town filled with ambitious mamas and fortune-hunting gentlemen, marrying above one's station is an art form, indeed.”
“What?” Eloise exclaims. “What on earth are you… Are you talking about us? Me and Cressida? I’m actually getting really disappointed in you now, Pen.”
Eloise’s face crumples.
“When are you going to understand how bloody bright she actually is? She makes me light up.”
Penelope looks towards the kitchen and says, as though from very far away,
“But as we know, the brighter a lady shines, the faster she may burn.”
“Now you’re going too far! For God’s sake—”
“I will not insult the devil by drawing parallels between him and Cressida…”
Penelope slaps a hand over her own mouth.
Eloise gapes at her, then gets to her feet and plants both hands on the table.
“This isn’t you. I can’t believe you actually mean any of this. Not really. Not in your heart.”
“What thing is more fragile… than the human heart?”
And it is that line, combined with Colin returning from his phone call on the balcony in a small cloud of cigarette smoke and the sound of Cressida’s approaching footsteps, that makes Eloise grab Penelope by the shoulders and haul her to her feet.
She raises her voice, making sure Cressida can hear.
“We’re going to talk in the study. This is not okay. Come on.”
She drags Penelope into the other room, shuts the door and deposits her on the sofa.
“Right. Tell me.”
“I find myself suddenly at a loss for words,” Penelope says, still wearing that faraway expression.
“Penelope! Snap out of it!”
Penelope blinks and looks at Eloise.
A moment later, she starts to cry.
“They’re not my thoughts. It’s like… there’s a voice.”
Eloise’s expression changes.
“What does it say?”
“Things I would never say.”
“Pen. Those aren’t someone else’s thoughts. They’re yours.”
Penelope grows frustrated.
“I KNOW they’re mine, El. That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“This voice… it doesn’t sound like me.”
“Thoughts don’t sound like anything.”
“Mine do.”
Eloise’s eyes narrow.
“All right…” she says cautiously. “What does it sound like, then?”
“English. Very posh. Impeccable diction. Slightly judgmental,” Penelope says hesitantly. “It’s… low. Not deep exactly. Rich. Older. Very English. I already said that. Ridiculously well-spoken. She sounds warm, which somehow makes it worse.”
Eloise’s eyes flicker over Penelope’s face, searching it.
“And this is a voice that talks to you? Like a Son of Sam sort of thing?”
“No! It’s more like… a cleverer, older version of me narrating what I’m looking at. Except she’s meaner about people.”
“Yes, well, that part I’m familiar with. Nothing gets past you. But that’s not… We’ll come back to that. So this is your voice?”
“Not exactly.”
“But you just said—”
“Eloise, I know whose voice it is.”
“Oh?” says Eloise.
“It’s Julie Andrews's.”
Eloise looks at Penelope for a very long time.
Her friend shows no sign whatsoever of joking.
So Eloise says nothing.
And if Julie Andrews has not begun speaking again by now, then there they sit to this very day, dearest gentle reader.