#Deep Heart's Core

[wherewindysurgeswend]

heads up 7up

tagged by the wonderful @veiliza. thanks!

rules: post the last seven lines of your book.

A wealthy woman of her grandmother’s generation, exactly the type of person who usually disapproved of her, had decided that she was an integral part of her daily routine. And Larry and Margaret certainly seemed to appreciate Kathleen distracting their grandmother.

“Do you have a job, Kathleen?” Mrs. Kittredge asked one afternoon. Kathleen looked up, startled by the question. “No, why?”

“I just wondered. You seem like a smart young woman; you must have a career in mind.”

“I suppose so. I’m just not sure yet, is all.” Mrs. Kittredge nodded gravely.

“Well, I might have an opportunity for you.”

[magnificentmarvelousmadammim]

The Deep Heart‘s Core - IMDB trivia

Interesting notes for the next episode of Outlander from the ep’s IMDB page.

[mkvmal-blog]

Deep Heart's Core | Kate Price

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So Ghostly Then The Girl Came In

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The Journey On

Siu'il A Ru'in

The Labyrinth

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[wherewindysurgeswend]

deep heart’s core colour palettes

anna

hex codes:  #aef1edff, #babdc0ff, #c6a4ceff, #ccf7e1ff, #dae4ecff

margaret

hex codes: #f1aee6ff, #fdc2d6ff, #ffffe1ff, #9b1b46ff, #169db3ff

kathleen

hex codes: #ffd10aff, #205c34ff, #602072ff, #251e7cff, #a71111ff

larry

hex codes: #494947ff, #264931ff, #af0c0cff, #490c57ff, #11266fff

general taglist: @veiliza​

[wherewindysurgeswend]

deep heart’s core: chapter ten

chapter 1

chapter 2  

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

chapter 7

chapter 8

chapter 9

taglist (please dm, send an ask or leave a comment if you’d like to be added or removed):  @rememberedkisses @veiliza​

Anna’s hotel room was small and a little dingy, but she was too exhausted to pay much attention. She kicked off her shoes and sunk into the armchair that was in the corner of the room. Maybe she would have time for a quick nap before she had to go to work. But that didn’t end up being possible, because there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” she said. The door opened and a bellhop walked in. “Are you Miss Anne Burke?” he asked. She sighed. “Yes,” she said, recognizing that there was no point in arguing. 

“Someone’s on the phone for you. Will you come downstairs?”

“Miss Burke?” said the voice on the other end of the line, “this is Mr. Sutton, from the Montreal Daily News. Miss Gordon tells me she didn’t find you at the station.” Anna hesitated.

“I didn’t find her either,” she lied through her teeth, “so I just took a cab here.” At least that last part was true. There was a pause, then Mr. Sutton spoke again. 

“Well, how soon can you be here?” he asked. Anna looked at her watch.

“Half an hour,” she said with a sigh. So much for getting some sleep. She went back to her room, fixed her hair, changed into a fresh skirt and blouse, put her shoes back on and went downstairs to hail a taxi. 

As she stepped out of the taxi in front of the newspaper building, Anna felt a familiar wave of anxiety wash over her. Once again she began to ask herself pointless questions: what if she had made a mistake and this was the wrong building? What if they turned her away because they still thought their employee’s name was Anne Burke? What if she got fired for some reason? What if they were already done covering the trial and they sent her back to Montreal?? What if, what if, what if. But as soon as she was in the newsroom she felt right at home. There was something about the loud, intermingled conversations, the smell of the ink, and the never-ending click-clack of the typewriters that made her feel in her element. Maybe she had chosen the right career after all. As much as she craved peace and quiet in her everyday life, the particular brand of chaos that existed in a newsroom had never fazed her. In fact, in a strange way, it almost calmed her down. Feeling much better, she strode up to the door at the back of the newsroom that was labeled “C.H. Sutton, Editor.”

Just ten minutes into dinner with the Kittredges, Kathleen could already understand why Mrs. Kittredge had wanted company. She had been a little surprised when Mrs. Kittredge called her relatives dull: surely Larry and Margaret… But despite how much fun they usually were, witty Larry and talkative Margaret seemed to shrink when they were around their grandmother. Larry barely said anything, and what he did say was far from entertaining. He seemed to be trying exceptionally hard to show his grandmother that he could be serious and restrained. Margaret, who could usually turn just about any topic into a lengthy conversation, seemed to have adopted a don’t-speak-until-you’re-spoken-to attitude, staring aimlessly into her glass with an almost sullen expression. Mr. Kittredge, for his part, was chewing his steak in relatively contented silence. His wife kept glancing around the table, seemingly waiting for someone to start a conversation. 

Noticing that the elder Mrs. Kittredge seemed to be growing more and more impatient with the situation, Kathleen finally spoke. “When are you returning home, Mrs. Kittredge?” she asked. 

“I’ve booked passage on the same ship my son is sailing on. Now that I’m here, I might as well spend some time with my family,” the lady in question replied with a smile. Kathleen couldn’t help noticing that the smile didn’t look altogether sincere, and that the rest of the Kittredges looked supremely uncomfortable.

The rest of the evening passed without anything of note happening. The most exciting moment was when Margaret dropped her fork and had to ask for another – which earned her a disapproving glare from her grandmother. While Margaret’s parents were helping Mrs. Kittredge get a taxi back to her hotel, Kathleen lingered in the entrance of the restaurant with Larry and Margaret. It was a nice restaurant – nicer than most of the ones Kathleen, with her perfectly average middle-class upbringing, had eaten at. Larry and Margaret were a few feet away from her, whispering to each other. Kathleen caught a few words of what Margaret was saying. “– going to make it?” she was saying despairingly. Kathleen edged closer to them so she could hear. “First Phyllis, now Grandmother,” Larry lamented, an as yet unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, “I might as well just jump in the Seine right now.” He noticed Kathleen standing nearby and seemed to perk up. “Kath!” he said with his typical dramatic inflection, “do you think you can handle grandmother like you did at dinner for a little longer? Maybe that way I won’t have to drown myself.” Kathleen laughed. 

“I can certainly try,” she said, “I would much rather you stayed alive, after all.”

“Well,” said Mr. Sutton, “We hope you’ll be able to start work soon. You see, Miss Burke –”

“It’s Byrne.”

“It’s what?”

“Byrne. B-Y-R-N-E.”

“Funny, I was told they were sending a Miss Burke. Anne Byrne, then?” He pulled a sheet of paper out of a folder on his desk and crossed something out.

“No, it’s Anna. Well, strictly speaking it’s Rachel, but I’d much rather be called Anna.” Mr. Sutton nodded. “Anyway, as I was saying,” he said, “do you think you could go to the courthouse tomorrow? Come here at nine o’clock and I’ll give you a press badge.” Anna nodded.

“That should be fine.”

The rest of the day was of little consequence. Anna ate dinner in the hotel dining room – overcooked chicken breast, steamed carrots, mashed potatoes with too much salt in them, and a sad, limp square of sponge cake. She lingered over her coffee for a while, but when the majority of the diners had left and it was just her and a young man in a pinstriped suit who was smoking cigarette after cigarette and kept glancing over at her, she began to feel mildly uncomfortable and went back to her room. 

Adjusting to the time zone should have meant that she was up much later than usual, but the trip had worn her out so much that, in spite of the uncomfortable bed, the loud conversation coming from the room next to hers, and the streetlight that was shining directly into the window, Anna was out like a light within ten minutes of going to bed. She slept soundly and dreamlessly and woke up with the pale yellow July sunlight shining in her face.

Feeling decidedly perkier than the night before after a good night’s sleep, Anna found it in herself to dress nicely and brush her hair before heading to the newspaper office. She got her press badge from Mr. Sutton and was at the courthouse before the trial even started. Sitting on a hard wooden bench with a yellow legal pad in her lap and a pencil tucked behind her ear as always, sandwiched between a middle-aged man who seemed to be another reporter and a slightly giddy-looking young woman who, Anna suspected, was only there as an onlooker, Anna couldn’t help feeling a little excited. She knew it was wrong to feel anything as positive as excitement over a murder trial, but after all, it was her first big assignment. She was on her way to becoming a real reporter – that was something!

[wherewindysurgeswend]

deep heart’s core: chapter nine

chapter 1

chapter 2  

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

chapter 7

chapter 8

taglist (please dm, send an ask or leave a comment if you’d like to be added or removed):  @rememberedkisses @veiliza​

It was raining by the time the train pulled into the station in London. Anna laughed a little to herself. She had been told it rained a lot in England, but she hadn’t it expected it to be raining when she arrived. Smiling weakly at Mr. Welch, she picked up her suitcase, put on her hat, and stepped off the train. She scanned the crowd, looking for a sign with her name: her boss had said he was sending a car for her. The station was filled with people holding hand-lettered signs bearing the names of the people they were there to pick up, but as far as she could tell, none of them read “Anna Byrne.” She wondered if they hadn’t gotten her birth name instead, but there was no “Rachel Byrne” either. 

There was, however, a woman in a tweed suit holding a sign that read “Anne Burke.” With a sigh, Anna walked up to the woman. “Are you from the Montreal Daily News?” she asked. The woman nodded. “Are you Miss Burke?” she asked sharply. 

“Yes. Well, no. I’m Anna Byrne, but I think you’ve got my name wrong.” The woman shook her head. “No, I’m here for Miss Anne Burke. If you aren’t her, you’d best move on.”

“No, you see, there is no Anne Burke. I’m Anna Byrne, and I’m the reporter covering the Thornbury case. Isn’t that who you’re here to pick up?” The woman looked exasperated.

“I don’t know what Anne Burke does, I only know I’m here to pick her up.” Anna sighed. Arguing with this woman was like arguing with a brick wall. At this point it would be easier to just take a taxi. She apologized to the woman and headed for the exit. 

Stepping off the train in Paris, Kathleen smiled to herself as she saw her parents exchange a tender glance. She had heard the story dozens of times, about how they had spent their honeymoon in France – a belated honeymoon, a few years after their marriage, because Europe had been war-torn when they had met in the autumn of 1915, and just as bad when they married a year later. Joseph and Florence had spent most of April, 1921 in Paris, leaving four-year-old Kathleen with her grandmother. Kathleen couldn’t really remember, of course, but she had been told that the trip was only supposed to last three weeks, but the boat had been delayed and they had had to stay for four. It was one of those stories that the Lynches liked to bring up at dinner parties, along with the time Kathleen had been sent home from school for arguing with her English teacher and the time Mary had tried to run away from home at age six.  

The Lynches walked into the hotel lobby and Joseph headed for the check-in desk. Florence was close behind him, but Kathleen stayed behind to keep an eye on the younger children. Paul and Mary seemed to be having some kind of argument. James was staring at the chandelier in the hotel lobby as if in a trance. No wonder, Kathleen realized. He had never seen anything quite like it. Pulling her brother by the hand to get him out of the other guests’ way, she took him back to where their other siblings were. 

The first few days of the Lynches’ vacation were fairly uneventful. They visited some tourist attractions, ate at some sidewalk cafés, and slept in hotel beds that were just a little too firm. But on the day, Kathleen arrived in the hotel lobby and was told that someone had called the hotel for her and requested that she call back as soon as possible. 

Almost immediately after the number had been dialed, Kathleen heard a panicked Margaret Kittredge on the other end of the line, speaking far too quickly for Kathleen to understand her. After being asked repeatedly to slow down, Margaret was finally able to explain what the fuss was: “Grandmother’s here.” 

After a pause that was far too long for Kathleen’s taste, Margaret asked, “How quickly can you get over here?” Kathleen looked at her watch. 

“Half an hour if I walk. I’d take a cab or the metro but I don’t have any French cash.”

“I’ll pay for the cab. I’ll be waiting for you outside the hotel. And be sure to dress nicely. Grandmother can be quite… judgemental.”

When Kathleen’s cab pulled up in front of the hotel, Margaret was standing outside, looking more nervous than Kathleen had ever seen her. She was pacing back and forth and kept reaching up to run her finger through her hair, realizing that she couldn’t do that without ruining her perfect finger waves, and lowering her hand again. Kathleen watched her run up to another cab and attempt to pay the driver before realizing that the passenger was a stranger. She suspected Margaret had done this multiple times before, so she stuck her head out the window and called out to her. 

In the elevator on the way to Mrs. Kittredge’s room, Margaret and Larry, who had been waiting inside the lobby, smoking cigarette after cigarette to calm his nerves, tried to give Kathleen as much advice as they possibly could on what to say to their grandmother. “Make sure your handshake is firm,” said Larry.

“But not too firm,” Margaret added, “or she’ll say you aren’t ladylike.”

“Be respectful.”

“But don’t be weak.” “Smile.”

“But don’t grin.”

“Look her in the eye.”

“But don’t stare.”

“Be serious.”

“But don’t be sullen.”

“Be –” but Kathleen never found out what Larry was going to tell her, because the elevator doors opened.

Margaret Sterling Kittredge was nothing if not impressive. At age seventy-five, she still had perfect eyesight and wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing glasses. Her spine was still straight as an arrow. Like her sons and grandchildren, she was on the tall side, and rather thin. She had the Kittredge eyes, but they weren’t dreamy like Margaret’s, mirthful like Larry’s or frank like Margaret’s father’s. They were cold and steely and her gaze was sharp and level. Her silver hair was arranged in a pompadour – the style had gone out of fashion some thirty years ago, but Mrs. Kittredge wore it with such dignity that it didn’t matter. She wore a dark red velvet gown and an impressive diamond brooch and, seated on a chintz armchair with her hands folded in her lap and her legs daintily crossed at the ankle, she looked to Kathleen like a queen surveying her kingdom. 

“So,” said Mrs. Kittredge, “this is the Lynch girl.” It wasn’t a question; it was a declaration. Kathleen felt certain that even if she hadn’t been the Lynch girl, she still would have agreed with Mrs. Kittredge, because contradicting her was out of the question. “Come here,” said Mrs. Kittredge imperiously. Kathleen obeyed. “What was your first name, again?” she asked, not unkindly but not exactly kindly, either. “Kathleen.”

“Now, Kathleen, you understand why it is of utmost importance that you be discreet about this whole… situation.” Kathleen nodded.

“Of course. I had no intention of spreading this around, Mrs. Kittredge. You can count on my discretion.” 

“I’m sure I can. But you understand why I had to come here anyway, don’t you? We can’t have it known that my late son had an illegitimate child – a child born during his marriage to my daughter-in-law, no less.” Kathleen hesitated.

“What – what would the consequences be?”

“Oh, you know. The Kittredges are an old family, Kathleen. Our social standing is precarious, but if we lose it, we lose everything. So it falls to me to make sure we don’t lose it.” 

“Mrs. Kittredge, there’s something I have to tell you.” Mrs. Kittredge stared at Kathleen.

“I’m afraid… I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.” Kathleen glanced at Larry and Margaret, both of whom seemed to have guessed what she was about to say. Larry looked incredulous but not necessarily unhappy, but if looks could kill, the one Margaret was giving Kathleen could have decimated an army. Nevertheless, Kathleen didn’t back down. “Mrs Kittredge, I’m not your granddaughter. It was all a prank that Larry helped me pull on your son. I hope you’ll accept my apology, because I truly didn’t intend for it to get this out of control. But your son wired you before we could tell him it wasn’t true and, well, here we are. And I hope you won’t blame Larry, because it was all my idea.” 

The silence that followed probably lasted only a few seconds, but it felt like hours. Finally, Mrs. Kittredge opened her mouth, and Kathleen steeled herself for what she assumed would be a lecture. But instead, Mrs. Kittredge did the unexpected: she laughed. Margaret was the first to speak. “Grandmother,” she said incredulously, “do you really think this is funny? You came all the way across the Atlantic for nothing!” 

“Peggy, when you get to be as old as I am, you’ll understand the value of a good joke. And besides, Montreal is unbelievably dull these days. Nothing to do but attend parties held by women I’ve never liked. I might as well be in Paris.”

“But… you hate jokes. I’ve never seen you laugh in my life.”

“There’s always a first time.” she turned to Kathleen. 

“I like you,” she said decisively. Kathleen stared at her. After a pause, Mrs. Kittredge continued.

“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. It’s not many girls who would go along with something like this to help their friends. You’ll go far, Kathleen Lynch.”

After the required pleasantries, Kathleen started to leave the hotel room, but Mrs. Kittredge called her back. “Would you do an old woman a favour?” she asked. Kathleen was startled by the request. “Of course,” she replied.

“Would you come to dinner with us tonight? I’m afraid my relatives are dreadfully dull at times. I could use the company.” Kathleen, not knowing what else to do, accepted the invitation and headed back to her hotel.

[wherewindysurgeswend]

deep heart’s core: chapter eight

chapter 1

chapter 2  

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

chapter 7

taglist (please dm, send an ask or leave a comment if you’d like to be added or removed):  @rememberedkisses @veiliza 

The crossing of the channel was short, and for most of it, Kathleen could see the French coast. Her parents and siblings were below deck, but she hadn’t been able to keep herself away from the sea air. Larry and Margaret, whose family had happened to book passage on the same boat across the channel, were bickering as usual, but Kathleen couldn’t make out what it was about. Something stupid, now doubt. Kathleen could understand that. You didn’t grow up as the eldest of seven children without picking up the habit of arguing because you were bored. 

The boat docked and the passengers began to disembark. Kathleen noticed a blonde woman waving frantically at whoever was to Kathleen’s right. Kathleen turned to see who that was and saw Larry, his face buried in his hands, looking supremely uncomfortable while Margaret laughed. These clues, along with Kathleen’s intuition, told her this must be the notorious Phyllis. 

Kathleen edged closer to her friends to hear what they were saying. “— come on this trip in the first place?” Larry lamented. His voice was slightly muffled, as his face was still buried in his hands. Margaret just kept laughing.

“Peggy?” said Larry, suddenly lifting his head and turning to face his cousin.

“What?” she replied, trying to control her laughter.

“Will you throw me overboard now? I don’t think I can handle the rest of this trip.”

“What, and spend the rest of the trip babysitting Phyllis by myself? Nothing doing.” Larry groaned. “Kath? You’ll do it, won’t you?”

“Rather not have your blood on my hands, thanks.”

“It would be a mercy-killing! No jury would convict you!”

“Your logic is dubious at best.”

“Fine. Can you at least hand me my cigarette case, then? It’s in my coat pocket.” Kathleen rifled through the pockets of the grey wool overcoat Larry had draped haphazardly over his suitcase. She found the cigarette case and tossed it to Larry. “Don’t throw that,” exclaimed an indignant Larry, “it’s a family heirloom!” 

“How can it be an heirloom? It’s monogrammed. Got your initials on it.”

“They’re my father’s initials too, genius.”

“I don’t think something that belonged to your father counts as an heirloom.”

“What are you, the heirloom police? Just hand it to me like a normal person, won’t you?” He opened the case, extracted a cigarette, and lit it. Margaret made a big show of waving her hand in front of her face to waft away the smoke. “You know, doing that doesn’t make me want to quit smoking any more, Peggy. If anything it makes me want to keep doing it if only because it clearly annoys you so much.”

“So you’d ruin your lungs just to get a rise out of me?” “Peggy, the twenty-one years we’ve known each other should have taught you that I would do anything to get a rise out of you.” Margaret muttered something under her breath. Larry opened his mouth as if to say something, but the crowd of passengers started moving toward the exit and he had no choice but to pick up his suitcase and move with them. Kathleen hung back to wait for her family, waving goodbye to Larry and Margaret. 

“All right, Kath?” Florence asked when she caught up to her daughter, “sorry to be leaving your friends?”

“Not so much. They’ll be in Paris, too, after all. I’ve got the address of their hotel.” Florence nodded. “Well, at least one person will be having a good time on this stupid trip,” Kathleen’s brother Joseph muttered. Florence gave him a disapproving look. “Nobody forced you to come,” she pointed out. “You kind of did,” said Kathleen, “he’s twelve. Were you really going to let him stay at home alone?” Florence chose not to continue the conversation, opting instead to ask Kathleen if she had put any more thought into continuing her studies. Kathleen gave her usual answer, mumbling a few sentences about how she had looked into it but she hadn’t been able to find a course of study that really appealed to her. She was saved from having to say anything else by the arrival of her father and the rest of her siblings. 

As soon as they were off the boat, Margaret was engulfed in a fur-coated, heavily perfumed hug. The whole affair was so disorienting that it took Margaret longer than it should have to realize that this was Phyllis and not some stranger. It took her even longer to realize that Phyllis was talking to her. “... just bored out of my skull,” Phyllis was saying, “there’s absolutely no-one of interest here! You would think Paris would be fascinating but it’s dull as dishwater. I’m so glad you’re here, Peggy. Maybe now we can have some fun instead of just sitting around at the hotel bar every night.” Margaret couldn’t think of anything intelligent to say, so she just smiled weakly. “Hello, Phyllis,” Larry said drily. 

“Larry! It’s been ages since I’ve seen you,” said Phyllis. The words were friendly, but the tone with which Phyllis said them was decidedly not. Margaret had never been able to extract from Larry why their engagement had ended, but she could tell it hadn’t been on good terms. Phyllis threw her arms around Larry’s neck, and Margaret could see her lips moving as she whispered something in his ear, but she was too far away to hear. 

The train to Paris was just like Phyllis had described her time in France: dull as dishwater. Phyllis tried to make conversation, and Margaret really did try to keep up, but everything Phyllis said, through no fault of her own, seemed so pointless. Larry nudged her with his elbow. “Five-letter word for ‘strained’?” he asked.

“Tense.” 

“Thanks.”

“Doing crosswords?” Phyllis asked, a little coldly (or so Margaret thought). Larry nodded.

“Yes. Say, Phyllis, have you got a seven-letter word for ‘hide’?”

“Conceal. So, what have you two been up to since we’ve seen each other? I know Peggy is getting married, when is that happening?”

“Next spring.”

“Am I invited to the wedding?”

“Of course.” Margaret couldn’t see Larry’s face, but she could tell he was rolling his eyes. 

“And who are your bridesmaids?”

“Mother chose them,” Margaret mumbled, “I wanted Amanda Habersham for my matron of honour but grandmother doesn’t like her, so my cousin Bernice – I don’t know if you know her, she’s my mother’s brother’s daughter – is going to be maid of honour. She’s only seventeen so it’s all very exciting for her.” Phyllis nodded.

“Shame I didn’t know about the wedding sooner, I could have done it.” 

“I don’t think mother would have –” Phyllis laughed, somewhat humorlessly. She took a cigarette case out of her purse, extracted a cigarette, and raised it to her lips. “Got a light?” she asked Larry. He tossed her a matchbook without looking up from his crossword puzzle. “Thanks,” said Phyllis, lighting the cigarette. She turned back to Margaret. “That’s true. Your mother doesn’t like me, does she?” Margaret didn’t know what to say to that. 

“Why do you say that?” was all she could manage. Phyllis took a drag from her cigarette and looked straight at Margaret. “No use being polite. She doesn’t like me. Mothers usually don’t, though, so I’m sure it’s nothing personal.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Margaret said quietly. Larry scoffed.

“Cut the shit, Peggy, you know it’s true. You’ve heard aunt Doreen talk about Phyllis.”

“Same old Larry,” said Phyllis, “still about as subtle as a battle-axe. You haven’t changed at all.”

“Same old Phyllis,” said Larry, refusing to look up from his crossword, “all the kindness and understanding of a tarantula.”

“You know what, Larry? I’m glad you never change. Gives me a sense of stability in life. You’re like a dime-novel plot: cheap, vulgar, and above all, predictable.”

“Now, now, there’s no need to be cruel,” said Larry absently, “I draw the line at being called cheap and vulgar. I may be predictable, but I have class. Peggy, have you got an eight-letter word for ‘double-dealing’?”

“Deceitful.”

“Interesting word for you to be using, Larry,” said Phyllis innocently.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” said Larry without looking at her. 

“Oh, you know,” Phyllis continued sweetly, “just that you’re no stranger to that kind of thing.”

“Nor are you, Phyllis,” Larry shot back, finally meeting her gaze, “or have you forgotten what happened in London the summer we were engaged? Because if I remember correctly, you –”

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Margaret interrupted, “can’t you two keep it together? It’s been less than an hour since we arrived! I know you can’t stand each other, and believe me, I don’t like this any better than you do. But can you at least pretend you don’t hate each other’s guts?” Larry and Phyllis glared at each other and said nothing. Margaret put one hand on Larry’s shoulder and leaned over to rest the other on Phyllis’s forearm. “Come on, let’s try to make this bearable, shall we?” Neither Larry nor Phyllis said anything. 

“Oh, come on,” said an exasperated Margaret, “can’t you just be civil for once? You’re acting like children.” Larry and Phyllis both muttered something that sounded like acquiescence, and Margaret decided not to press the issue. At this point, just stopping them from ripping each other’s heads off was an incredible feat.

[wherewindysurgeswend]

deep heart’s  core: chapter seven

chapter 1

chapter 2  

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

taglist (please dm, send an ask or leave a comment if you’d like to be added or removed):  @rememberedkisses @veiliza​

By the time the ship docked in Southampton a few days later, Anna, Kathleen, Larry and Margaret had become more or less inseparable. Margaret’s mother had raised her eyebrows a little, but ultimately, she was just glad Peggy had friends. And the Byrne girl seemed harmless enough. One of her husband’s employees, Junior had said. Cub reporter and all that. At least the girl had direction in life. 

Anna packed up her things, checking upwards of a dozen times to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything (not that it helped to allay her anxiety). She felt like she was about to cry, and she wasn’t sure why, so she tried to ignore it. She tied a scarf around her suitcase to stop it from falling open (it still had a broken clasp) and took one last look at the cabin before closing the door. 

As the boat pulled into the port, Anna, standing in between Larry and Margaret, had millions of things she wanted to say, but she couldn’t get any of them to make enough sense to say out loud. When the boat finally stopped moving, she opened her mouth and tried to speak, but suddenly Margaret was hugging her and making her promise not to forget to write, and Larry was slapping her on the back a little too hard and handing her a slip of paper with the name of their hotel in Paris, and Kathleen was laughing and telling her where she was staying so Anna could call her, and someone was saying the passengers should move towards the exit. She folded up the slip of paper and put it in her pocket. That feeling she had had earlier, the wanting-to-cry-but-not-knowing-why feeling, intensified and she swallowed the lump in her throat. You didn’t cry because you had to leave people you had only known for a week. It was ridiculous, and if there was anything Anna didn’t want to be, it was ridiculous. 

The passengers disembarked and Anna followed the stream of people who were heading towards the train station. She checked her watch against the timetable and, concluding that, assuming her watch wasn’t off, she had thirty-seven minutes to kill before she had to catch the train to London, so she wandered into the train station café with the vague idea of getting a cup of tea and maybe something to eat. 

Anna sat down at the counter and asked for a cup of tea and a scone. The waitress, a pretty, blue-eyed redhead in her late twenties or early thirties whose name tag read “Daisy”, smiled kindly at her and tried to make small talk. “Where’re you headed?” she asked.

“London.”

“That’s where most people are going. Are you an American? You sound like an American.”

“Canadian. Not that far off, really.”

“Ah. Well, I knew you couldn’t be English. Not with that accent. What’re you going to London for?”

“Work. I’m a reporter. Montreal Daily News.” She showed Maisie her press card. “I’m here to cover that murder trial — you know the one, I’m sure. It’s been all over the papers for months.”

“The Thornbury case, you mean? Nasty business, that. Papers say they’re sure to get a conviction, though. Trial shouldn’t last long.” Anna nodded.

“That’s what I’ve heard. I don’t expect to be here long — I should be back home within a few weeks.” Daisy nodded and handed Anna her tea and scone. 

The tea was weak and the scone seemed a little stale, but Anna hadn’t eaten in a little too long and didn’t mind. She laughed a little to herself, thinking about what Kathleen might say about the scone if she were there. It was funny, Anna thought, how once someone was your friend, they were always with you a little. Even when you had only known them for a week, like her and Kathleen. Or her and… but she didn’t want to think about Margaret. She didn’t want to prove Kathleen right. Still, she wondered if Margaret might be thinking about her. 

As it turned out, Margaret was. Or she had been, until Larry nudged her a little too hard and her reverie faded. “What do you want?” she asked irritably. 

“Nothing. I was bored and I felt like bothering you. Do you know a four-letter word for ‘gloomy’?”

“Blue.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Since when do you do crosswords, anyway?”

“Since ten minutes ago, when I got bored and there was one in the paper. What were you thinking about, anyway?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing, huh? Is that Anna Byrne’s new nickname?” Margaret glared disdainfully at him over the rims of her sunglasses. “I don’t know what you’re implying.”

“Yes, you do, but you’re going to make me spell it out for you. You were thinking about Anna.”

“That’s ridiculous. Why should I be thinking about Anna?”

“You’ve got that stupid, dreamy look you get whenever you talk to her.”

“What? No! Maybe you were thinking about her. And you just want to get me off your trail! Yes, that’s it. You’re playing four-dimensional chess.”

“Damn it, now I owe Kathleen five dollars. She said you would say that.”

“Oh? And what did you expect me to say?” 

“Oh, you know. Play dumb and make me explain it to you in excruciating detail until the whole idea seemed silly.”

“Damn it, I should have done that. Would have worked better,” Margaret muttered.

“So you were thinking about her.”

“I didn’t say that. Do we have to talk about this now?”

“No. What’s an eight-letter word for ‘mistress’? It should begin with a P.”

“Paramour. But that can’t be the clue. You’re just teasing me.”

“Yes, it is. Honest to God.”

“Show me the puzzle, then.”

“I can’t believe you don’t believe me. I thought you trusted me, Peggy.”

“Why should I trust you? You’re a skunk.”

“Your words have stung me to my very core.” He handed her the puzzle and, sure, enough, he hadn’t been lying. Margaret wanted to laugh at herself for being so sensitive. She had never been like that before.

Anna boarded the train and found her seat. She tucked her suitcase under the seat, took off her hat, and sat down. It occurred to her that she should have brought a book or something, but it was too late now, so she resigned herself to spending the trip staring idly out the window. It was a shame, really, that she hadn’t brought a book. Even if it wasn’t a good book, it could at least serve as a defense against a chatty traveling companion. She checked the time. The train would be leaving in five minutes. Hopefully nobody would be occupying the seat next to her.

No such luck. Just when Anna thought she was safe, a middle-aged man in a blue serge suit sat down next to her. “Afternoon,” he said, tipping his hat to her. He had an accent that was difficult to place — it could have been Canadian or American, or he could be a European who spoke English as a second language. “Afternoon,” said Anna flatly. She hoped that if she was as unenthusiastic as possible he might not make small talk, but she hoped in vain. “Going to London?” he asked. She nodded.

“So am I. I work for the Montreal Daily News.” Anna stared at him.

“Really? So do I!”

“You don’t say! Well, isn’t that a funny coincidence?”

“I guess you’re here for the Thornbury trial as well, then.”

“No. I’m the new foreign correspondent. You’re here for the trial?”

“Yes.”

“You must be the new girl, then. Miss Burke, was it?”

“Byrne.” He didn’t seem to hear her.

 “They told me they put you on this story. I must say, I would have gone with someone more experienced, but I suppose the editor knows what he’s about.” Anna was beginning to feel supremely uncomfortable. If she had been braver, she would have told him, in no uncertain terms, that she couldn’t care less what he thought. Instead, she just made a noncommittal sort of sound and waited for him to stop talking. 

“Well, at any rate, I suppose I’ll be seeing you around,” he said, after droning on for nearly two insufferable minutes, “here’s my card. Look me up if you need anything.” Anna turned the card over in her hands: Peter H. Welch. She highly doubted she would want to look him up, but at least she knew someone in London now.

[wherewindysurgeswend]

CHARACTER INTRODUCTION: PHYLLIS

Phyllis laughed, somewhat humorlessly. She took a cigarette case out of her purse, extracted a cigarette, and raised it to her lips. “Got a light?” she asked Larry. He tossed her a matchbook without looking up from his crossword puzzle. “Thanks,” said Phyllis, lighting the cigarette. She turned back to Margaret. “That’s true. Your mother doesn’t like me, does she?” Margaret didn’t know what to say to that.  “Why do you say that?” was all she could manage. Phyllis took a drag from her cigarette and looked straight at Margaret. “No use being polite. She doesn’t like me. Mothers usually don’t, though, so I’m sure it’s nothing personal.”

full name: phyllis carolyn schuyler

age: 22 (born january 19th, 1914)

gender and sexuality: female (she/her), heterosexual

family: one older sister (jane)

appearance: 5′4″, blue eyes, hair dyed platinum blonde. always very well-dressed, wears a lot of makeup. her hair is always perfect. 

personality: phyllis has acquired the reputation for being catty, but whether or not that is justified depends on who you ask. it’s true that she can be prickly, that she has a manipulative streak, and that she holds grudges, but phyllis has her soft side – not that many people get to see it! 

biography: growing up in the same high-society circles as the kittredges, phyllis schuyler seemed to have an easy time of it. she enjoyed parties and pretty dresses and fit in well with her peers. she knew she was being groomed to be a model wife, and unlike her childhood friend, margaret kittredge, she saw no problem with that – except the choice of husband! by age twenty-two, she had gone through three fiancés (one of whom was larry kittredge), and her mother had more or less given up on matchmaking. this was all right with phyllis: if she was going to be married, she would much rather choose the groom herself. spending the summer of 1936 in france, her trip was interrupted by the arrival of two acquaintances: an old friend and a former fiancé. this should have made the vacation unbearably tense, but phyllis had some tricks up her sleeve. after all, she knows something about larry kittredge, and he’s not overly keen on having it be public knowledge. and if she can just figure out how to manipulate that to her advantage...

taglist (please dm, send an ask or leave a comment if you’d like to be added or removed): @tunes-on-a-typewriter @rememberedkisses

[wherewindysurgeswend]

deep  heart’s core: chapter six

chapter 1

chapter 2  

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

taglist (please dm, send an ask or leave a comment if you’d like to be added or removed): @tunes-on-a-typewriter @rememberedkisses

Anna was sealing an envelope containing a letter to her mother when she realized she had forgotten to mention the name of her hotel in London. She knew her mother would be anxious to reach her as soon as possible, so she tried to pry open the envelope with her fingernails without damaging it too much. This, she reflected, was the kind of situation in which it might be useful to have long nails, like Margaret. That must make it easier to do this kind of thing. Right at that moment, there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” she said, “door’s unlocked.”

 The door opened and in walked Margaret Kittredge, looking flawless as always in a pink silk blouse and pearls. “Speak of the devil,” said Anna. Margaret looked puzzled.

“Come in, Margaret. I was just thinking about you.”

“Oh? Why?” Anna laughed a little.

“Oh, I was just trying to open this envelope and wishing I had longer fingernails.” She held up her ink-stained hand with its close-cut nails. “It occurred to me that you must not have that problem.” Margaret took the envelope from her and opened it.

“Like this, you mean?” Anna laughed.

“Thanks. What did you come here for anyway?”

“Well, I told myself it was because I wanted to tell you about my grandmother, but I know perfectly well Larry’s already told you. I just wanted to see you, is all. Care to go for a walk?” Anna glanced at her watch. “Why not? I’ve got time.” She got up to join Margaret.

“You should take a sweater,” said Margaret, “It’s pretty windy on deck.” Anna picked a grey cardigan up off the bed and tied it around her waist. 

They left Anna’s cabin and headed above deck. “So,” said Margaret after a while, “Who’s Esther Byrne?” Anna gaped at her.

“My mother, but… how did you…” Margaret laughed. 

“Her name was on the envelope.”

“Oh. Right. She’s my mother. I — I already said that, didn’t I?” Margaret laughed again.

“Yes, you did. What are you writing to her for?”

“Just to let her know I’m all right. She worries, you know. I figured I would mail it when we arrive. She should get it pretty quickly then.” Margaret nodded, trying to act like she knew what it was like to want your mother to know what you were doing and whether or not you were all right. It wasn’t so much that Mrs. Kittredge didn’t worry about Margaret, or that Margaret wanted her to be worried. It was just that all her life, Margaret had felt like she was surrounded on all sides by her family. If she were in Anna’s place, she would just be glad for the escape. 

On deck the sun was shining, but, like Margaret had said, a chilly wind was blowing. Anna put on her cardigan and crossed her arms. Margaret watched her do it, wondering at the frenetic energy that always seemed to surround Anna. It was odd, she thought, that such a quiet, cautious person should be like that. No matter what was going on, Anna always seemed to be in motion: pacing, tapping her foot, drumming her fingers on the railing, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. 

Anna noticed Margaret watching her and laughed nervously. “What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing. Just drifted off, I suppose.” Anna nodded and smiled like she understood.

“Your collar is crumpled,” said Margaret, “Let me get that for you.” She reached over and smoothed the collar of Anna’s cotton blouse. The fabric was printed with tiny blue flowers. Forget-me-nots, Margaret thought.  “Thanks,” said Anna, “happens all the time. I never think to check.”

The rest of the walk was uneventful. They made small talk and watched a few puffy white clouds sail across the unbearably blue July sky. Margaret walked Anna back to her cabin right before dinner, and Anna headed to the dining hall. Dinner was equally uneventful. The most exciting moment came when one of Kathleen’s younger brothers dropped his knife and had to ask the waiter for another. 

“Anna?” Kathleen asked as they were watching the sunset after dinner.

“Hm?”

“I’ve asked you three times if you were cold and you haven’t answered. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Just daydreaming, I guess.”

“You spent the afternoon with Margaret, didn’t you?” Anna nodded.

“Yes. Why?”

“Because whenever you’ve spent time with her you get all dreamy and you don’t listen to anything I say. What’s going on with you and her?”

“Nothing! We’re friends.”

“That’s what I said about Pierre Labonté eight months ago, and look where that got me.”

“Kath, I’ve known you for less than a week. You must realize I don’t know Pierre Labonté from Adam. Well, I do know a Pierre Labonté, but considering mine is over eighty years old and has seven grandchildren, I doubt it’s the same one.”

“My last boyfriend. He wanted to get married. Gave me this.” She pulled at a fine silver chain that hung around her neck and took the end of it out of the inside of her blouse. A gold engagement ring was hanging from it. Anna looked incredulous. “You’re engaged? Aren’t you a little young?” Kathleen laughed. 

“I’m eighteen. It’s fully legal. I haven’t made up my mind yet, anyway.”

“This is beside the point. What are you driving at with me and Margaret? You think I’m in love with her?” Kathleen shrugged.

“If you want to call it that, yes.”

“But she’s a girl. A woman. Whatever.”

“And you’re…” she dropped her voice conspiratorially. “A lesbian, aren’t you?”

“I’m not! Well, I am. Sort of. I don’t know. Do we have to talk about this?”

“Don’t worry. I won’t say anything about it. I’m the same way.”

“I thought you said you had a boyfriend.”

“I did. I do. Whatever. I had a girlfriend before him, though.” 

“Oh. How could you tell, anyway? About me, I mean.”

“Nothing in particular. I’m just good at noticing these things, is all. You’re not obvious about it, if that’s what you’re asking.” There was a lull in the conversation, until Anna found it in her to be annoyed again.”Whatever. I’m not in love with Margaret.”

“O.K. If you say so.” Kathleen didn’t look or sound even remotely convinced, but she dropped the subject. Anna wondered if her friend hadn’t been onto something. Surely she wasn’t in love with Margaret. That was ridiculous. And yet… was it normal that she could perfectly recall what it had felt like when Margaret’s fingertips had brushed her skin earlier that day when she was fixing her collar? When you weren’t in love with a girl, did you blush whenever anyone mentioned her name? Did people who were just friends with Margaret have her appear suddenly in their thoughts at least a dozen times a day?

[wherewindysurgeswend]

deep heart’s core: chapter five

chapter 1

chapter 2  

chapter 3

chapter 4

taglist (please dm, send an ask or leave a comment if you’d like to be added or removed): @tunes-on-a-typewriter @rememberedkisses​

Margaret couldn’t stay mad at Larry forever, so she stopped trying after a few hours. Kathleen had also more or less given up on her dislike of Margaret, rationalizing that since Margaret had stood up for her, she couldn’t be all bad. After much coaxing, Anna had finally managed to get someone — in this case, Larry, with multiple interjections and corrections from Margaret — to explain what had happened. When the story was over, she looked at the three of them in bemused silence. “But why in the world would you think that was a good idea?” she finally said after a long moment. Kathleen shrugged.

“It seemed like it might be fun. And besides, now I know my theory works.” Anna was tempted to say something disapproving, but she kept herself in check. Larry looked at his watch. “Well,” he said, “it’s nearly lunchtime. Shall we go?” He gestured to Margaret to follow him and the two walked off towards the first-class dining hall. Anna and Kathleen headed to the second class dining hall.

The dining hall was crowded and noisy. Anna and Kathleen found their way to their usual table, narrowly avoiding colliding with a busboy, and sat down next to Kathleen’s parents. ‘Hello girls,” said Florence, “Have a nice morning?” Anna and Kathleen looked at each other. “Yes,” said Anna, as convincingly as possible, “Not very eventful.” she could see Kathleen stifling a giggle.

The waiter put a bowl of vegetable soup and two saltine crackers in front of Anna. She was adding salt and pepper to the soup when she heard what sounded like an argument happening at the entrance of the dining hall. One of the voices sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. She turned her head to see what was going on. “Larry?” she said aloud when she saw who was there. Kathleen, who had been talking about politics with her father and carefully taking all the carrots out of her soup (she hated carrots) looked up and saw her friend. She called his name loudly enough for him to hear and then, when he was looking at her, motioned for him to come join them. Joseph and Florence Lynch, who hadn’t met Larry, looked at each in confusion. Larry said something Anna couldn’t quite hear to the man he was arguing with. Whatever he had said seemed to win him the argument, and he hurried over to the table. Up close, Anna noticed that he seemed to be out of breath, like he’d been running. He pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and waved it in Kathleen’s face. “Do you see this?” he asked, “It’s a disaster! What the hell are we going to do?”

“Of course I don’t see it, Einstein,” said Kathleen, “You keep waving it around, and besides, I don’t have my glasses on. Give me that.” she grabbed the piece of paper, put on her glasses, and read it. Anna saw her eyes widen in disbelief. “No!” she said incredulously to Larry when she was finished. Larry nodded sadly.

“Yes,” he said resignedly. 

“But I thought your uncle said —”

“He was wrong.”

“But what are we going to —”

“What can we do?” 

“Surely there’s something!” Larry shook his head. Joseph Lynch, who had been looking on in complete confusion, finally spoke up. “For heaven’s sake, will someone just tell me what’s going on? And who in the world is this?” he gestured vaguely toward Larry. 

“Lawrence Sterling Kittredge, Jr. at your service, sir,” said Larry, holding out his hand for him to shake. Joseph eyed him suspiciously then turned back to his daughter. “What the hell is going on, Kath?” 

While Kathleen was recounting the whole story to her parents, Larry turned to Anna. “Evening, Miss Byrne,” he said.

“Anna. And it’s half past noon.”

“I know. I just thought ‘evening’ had more charm to it.” Anna couldn’t help laughing.

“Fair enough. So, what’s going on?” “This,” he said, handing the piece of paper to Anna, who read it. It was a telegram addressed to Larry’s uncle and signed Margaret Sterling Kittredge. At first this puzzled Anna: why would Margaret be sending telegrams to her father, who was on the same boat as her? And if she did, why would it be cause for such alarm? But she quickly realized that this was from the other Margaret Kittredge: the much-feared matriarch. But it was the content of the telegram, not its author, that made Anna understand what the commotion was about. “She’s meeting you in Paris?” she asked Larry. Larry nodded.

“Yes. I guess it stupid to think she would just let it go. She never misses an opportunity to make me squirm.” He said the last part with a bitterness that surprised Anna. 

“This is bad, isn’t it? I mean, she’ll want to meet Kathleen. How’s that going to go?” Larry shrugged. “Guess so. Not much we can do about it now. I suppose if anyone can charm my grandmother it’s Kathleen.” Anna had to admit that part was true. People just liked Kathleen. Still, from what she had heard about Larry’s grandmother, she wouldn’t want her friend to have to confront her. “But… What are you going to tell her? Admit you lied?” Larry laughed, but he didn’t seem happy. “Are you kidding? She’ll eat me alive — eat both of us alive. No, I suppose we’ll just have to keep up the charade a little longer — just long enough for Kath to convince her she’s not going to blackmail anyone, and —” 

“Blackmail?” said Kathleen, who had happened to catch a word of what Larry had said, from across the table, “Who are you blackmailing? Can I come?”

“What was that you said about Kath convincing your grandmother she wasn’t going to blackmail anyone, Larry?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t blackmail Larry’s grandmother. I thought maybe you had dirt on some awful person and I wanted to help you extort them.”

“You’re really not helping your case, Kath.”

“Case? Who’s got a case? I just like helping my friends, is all.”

“That’s our Kath,” said Larry drily, “always ready with a helping hand.”

“I’ll have you know, Lawrence, that I am a kind and generous person and I did not come here to have aspersions cast on my character in such a way as this,” said Kathleen in mock offense. 

“I suppose you didn’t, since you came here to have lunch,” Larry shot back. Kathleen rolled her eyes at him.  “If you must make jokes, Larry, at least make good ones.”

“Who says my jokes aren’t good? Anna’s laughing, isn’t she?”

“Anna laughed for four solid minutes an hour ago when Margaret mispronounced ‘picturesque’ as ‘picture-askew.’ I don’t think Anna laughing at something proves it’s funny.” Anna crumpled up a paper napkin and tossed it at Kathleen. “If you don’t want me implying you would blackmail people then you shouldn’t imply I don’t know what is and isn’t funny.”

“Luke 6:22: ‘Blessed are you when men hate you, and ostracize you, and insult you, and scorn your name as evil, for the sake of the Son of Man. Be glad in that day and leap for joy, for behold, your reward is great in heaven. For in the same way their fathers used to treat the prophets.’”

“I’m Jewish, Kath. Just tell me I’m afraid of the truth like a normal person instead of quoting scripture at me like some kind of deranged evangelist.”

“Fine. You’re afraid of the truth.”

“No, I’m not, but I appreciate the effort. Larry’s joke was funny, end of discussion.”

“I must say, Annabelle —”

“Not my name.”

“That’s irrelevant. I thought we were friends, but now I find you have betrayed me. Oh, cruel fate!”

“My apologies. Anyway, I should be going now. I have to finish that letter to my mother. Good luck with… well, whatever this is.” She got up and left.

“Does Margaret know?” Kathleen asked Larry.

“I don’t know. I suppose her father will have told her.”

“She’s never going to let you live this down, is she?”

“Margaret has never let me live anything down in my life. If you hang around her long enough you’ll know about every humiliating thing I’ve ever done.”

[wherewindysurgeswend]

made some more character aesthetic moodboard things! these ones have more of an actual structure to them beyond “here are some pictures i like that suit their vibe”

taglist (please dm, send an ask, or leave a comment to added or removed): @tunes-on-a-typewriter @rememberedkisses

[wherewindysurgeswend]

i did some character moodboard thingies bc Bored™

taglist (please dm, send an ask or leave a comment if you’d like to be added or removed): @tunes-on-a-typewriter @rememberedkisses

[wherewindysurgeswend]

i did an aesthetic/moodboard thingy for my wip? i guess? it’s a little messy but i think it captures the vibe.

taglist (please dm, send an ask or leave a comment if you’d like to be added or removed): @tunes-on-a-typewriter @rememberedkisses

[wherewindysurgeswend]

the anna/margaret playlist is here! enjoy :)

here it is on youtube as well for those who don’t use spotify 

taglist (please dm, send an ask, or leave a comment to added or removed): @tunes-on-a-typewriter @rememberedkisses

[wherewindysurgeswend]

anna: if it bites you and you die, it's venomous. if you bite it and you die, it's poisonous.

margaret: what if it bites me and it dies?

larry: that means you're poisonous, jesus christ, peggy, learn to read.

margaret: what if it bites itself and i die?

kathleen: it's magic.

margaret: what if it bites me and someone else dies?

kathleen: that's correlation, not causation.

larry: what if we bite each other and neither of us dies?

kathleen: that's kinky.