Moonstone fic
Sep. 10th, 2008 08:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elabyHa, it's not a post about Sherlock Holmes! It's about The Moonstone XD Don't worry, I'll post Holmes stuff later, I promise. Or threaten. It amounts to the same thing :3
I <3 Victorian detective stories. Especially slashy ones. I was reading The Moonstone today, and GAH, Ezra Jenning is so goddamn tragic T_T But he's practically canonized by the text, which is pretty awesome for a mixed race feminized male character in Victorian England.
Story title: Surrender
Fandom: Wilkie Collins's The Moonstone
Pairing: Ezra Jennings/Franklin Blake
Rating: G
Word count: 541
Summary: An entry from Franklin's journal on the day he sees Ezra Jennings for the last time.
Warnings: This takes place near the end of the book, so there are implicit spoilers about how things turn out. Ezra Jennings dies shortly before the end of the book, of an undisclosed illness the pain from which he takes opium to alleviate. The opium gives him awful nightmares. He was born in one of the British colonies to an English father and a native mother whose nationality we never learn. He was dogged throughout his life by a horrible reputation for something he was wrongly accused of, and that combined with his "foreign" look made everyone, with the exception of Franklin (and later Rachel), mistrust and treat him terribly. The last few weeks of his life were dedicated to solving the mystery of the Moonstone and reconciling Franklin and Rachel.
Franklin Blake's journal, June 26, 1849
We went down on the train to London this morning. Ezra Jennings accompanied us to the station, and I was heartsick at the prospect of leaving him behind, but he firmly refused our invitations to join us. I don't know why I hoped him to do otherwise. As Rachel was talking to the porter about our luggage, I took him aside to try one last time.
"You're sure you won't be persuaded to come?"
"It's absolutely impossible," he said. "I have my patients, and I could not dream of taking your attention away from Miss Verinder for even a moment."
"She does want you to come too," I pointed out, but he only gave me a sad smile.
"Your kindness means far more to me than I will ever be able to express, Mr. Blake, but I'm afraid I simply can't." His voice was as calm and unaffected as it had ever been, but I confess leaving him was harder for me than I had expected it to be. I put out my hand. He took it, and as he shook my hand, he said:-- "Well, Mr. Blake, you can rest assured this will be the last time we meet."
I should have been used to his humble manner by now, and to references to his illness, but still this shook me. "My dear Mr. Jennings, nothing could be further from my wishes," I told him. "I should be quite distraught never to see you again."
"Just the same, it's for the best--" He stopped abruptly, as if the sincerity of my words had only then struck home. For the first time since I'd met him, I saw a wholly unguarded expression on his face. Still clasping my hand, he lowered his head, but not before I caught a glimpse of tears in those gentle brown eyes.
"Mr. Jennings?" I asked, not daring to move. He lifted his head and gave a soft, self-deprecating laugh.
"You see? A female constitution, I told you."
"Nothing of the sort," I said automatically. In spite of the obvious pains he had taken to keep me from becoming at all interested in him, I found myself filled with pity for the hardships he had encountered and was still encountering. "You've done me such a service. You've given me my life back. I don't know how I can repay you."
"Your happiness is the only reward I need," said he. Then, as I stood there not quite knowing what to say, he lifted my hand and bent over it. For a moment, I thought he would kiss it, and then his fingers tightened on mine and something shook him through and through. He hastily dropped my hand.
"Mr. Jennings?" I asked, my concern flaring despite his attempts to hide whatever had so pained him. There was suddenly a low whistle from the train, and he turned from me.
"You'll miss your train, Mr. Blake."
"Yes—yes, of course." I walked past him, toward where Rachel was stepping up into the car. When I was halfway there, I stopped and looked back. "I'll write," I said. "We'll see you again soon."
Ezra Jennings smiled, uncomplicated and without reservation, and it was like a surrender.
[Edit: Link to the post in![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
rarelitslash for my own reference: Surrender]
I <3 Victorian detective stories. Especially slashy ones. I was reading The Moonstone today, and GAH, Ezra Jenning is so goddamn tragic T_T But he's practically canonized by the text, which is pretty awesome for a mixed race feminized male character in Victorian England.
Story title: Surrender
Fandom: Wilkie Collins's The Moonstone
Pairing: Ezra Jennings/Franklin Blake
Rating: G
Word count: 541
Summary: An entry from Franklin's journal on the day he sees Ezra Jennings for the last time.
Warnings: This takes place near the end of the book, so there are implicit spoilers about how things turn out. Ezra Jennings dies shortly before the end of the book, of an undisclosed illness the pain from which he takes opium to alleviate. The opium gives him awful nightmares. He was born in one of the British colonies to an English father and a native mother whose nationality we never learn. He was dogged throughout his life by a horrible reputation for something he was wrongly accused of, and that combined with his "foreign" look made everyone, with the exception of Franklin (and later Rachel), mistrust and treat him terribly. The last few weeks of his life were dedicated to solving the mystery of the Moonstone and reconciling Franklin and Rachel.
Franklin Blake's journal, June 26, 1849
We went down on the train to London this morning. Ezra Jennings accompanied us to the station, and I was heartsick at the prospect of leaving him behind, but he firmly refused our invitations to join us. I don't know why I hoped him to do otherwise. As Rachel was talking to the porter about our luggage, I took him aside to try one last time.
"You're sure you won't be persuaded to come?"
"It's absolutely impossible," he said. "I have my patients, and I could not dream of taking your attention away from Miss Verinder for even a moment."
"She does want you to come too," I pointed out, but he only gave me a sad smile.
"Your kindness means far more to me than I will ever be able to express, Mr. Blake, but I'm afraid I simply can't." His voice was as calm and unaffected as it had ever been, but I confess leaving him was harder for me than I had expected it to be. I put out my hand. He took it, and as he shook my hand, he said:-- "Well, Mr. Blake, you can rest assured this will be the last time we meet."
I should have been used to his humble manner by now, and to references to his illness, but still this shook me. "My dear Mr. Jennings, nothing could be further from my wishes," I told him. "I should be quite distraught never to see you again."
"Just the same, it's for the best--" He stopped abruptly, as if the sincerity of my words had only then struck home. For the first time since I'd met him, I saw a wholly unguarded expression on his face. Still clasping my hand, he lowered his head, but not before I caught a glimpse of tears in those gentle brown eyes.
"Mr. Jennings?" I asked, not daring to move. He lifted his head and gave a soft, self-deprecating laugh.
"You see? A female constitution, I told you."
"Nothing of the sort," I said automatically. In spite of the obvious pains he had taken to keep me from becoming at all interested in him, I found myself filled with pity for the hardships he had encountered and was still encountering. "You've done me such a service. You've given me my life back. I don't know how I can repay you."
"Your happiness is the only reward I need," said he. Then, as I stood there not quite knowing what to say, he lifted my hand and bent over it. For a moment, I thought he would kiss it, and then his fingers tightened on mine and something shook him through and through. He hastily dropped my hand.
"Mr. Jennings?" I asked, my concern flaring despite his attempts to hide whatever had so pained him. There was suddenly a low whistle from the train, and he turned from me.
"You'll miss your train, Mr. Blake."
"Yes—yes, of course." I walked past him, toward where Rachel was stepping up into the car. When I was halfway there, I stopped and looked back. "I'll write," I said. "We'll see you again soon."
Ezra Jennings smiled, uncomplicated and without reservation, and it was like a surrender.
[Edit: Link to the post in
rarelitslash for my own reference: Surrender]
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-09-16 02:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-16 09:21 pm (UTC)No, you didn't tell me that! Ha! *giggles* I knew you'd read it once, but I didn't know it was when you were pregnant. Or that it was when you started to feel me move :) Obviously your awesome reading choices shaped my future interests!