Chapter Text
i.
There’s a sudden commotion at the front door that morning, the sharp trill of the doorbell followed by the din of barking dogs which interrupts the otherwise quiet day they’d been having. Siegfried had been catching up with his correspondence, had been enjoying the lull of a slow surgery when he hears his younger brother’s voice echoing across the hall.
“I’ll get it!” Tristan calls, which is enough to give Siegfried pause, his pen still poised over a half-written letter to Richard Carmody.
Now, quick, leaden footfalls are followed by the bang of the door swinging open and his little brother’s crow of delight. “Blimey, you made it! How was the journey—”
An unfamiliar voice replies, but the answer is lost in the ringing of lively laughter and commemoration between comrades, the thumping of fists against backs. “—and you’re sure it’s no trouble? Your family won’t mind?”
“Not at all, old chap,” says Tristan, assuringly.
At this, Siegfried sets down his stationery.
He peers suspiciously around the archway, wondering what duplicity his brother has devised this time, and spies him shaking hands with a soldier Siegfried has never seen before. He looks perhaps a few years younger than Tristan, with sandy blonde hair, a pleasant sort of smile and so many freckles that from a distance, he appears almost tanned.
“Tristan,” Siegfried calls then, his eyes narrowed. “Care to introduce us?”
His brother jumps at the sound of his voice. “Oh, Sieg— hello! I didn’t see you there—”
He stammers, wearing a familiar guilty-faced expression Siegfried has seen one too many times before. Looks every bit the lad of seventeen again, when he’d eaten the entire chocolate cake Mrs Hall had prepared for a party, or when he’d pretended poor Peter the Budgerigar was not laid to rest in an instrument drawer. The new boy however, seems none the wiser to anything untoward. He is all politeness as he takes off his hat now, and offers his hand for Siegfried to shake.
“William Bates, Mr Farnon. It’s an honour to meet you at last. Tristan here, always speaks so highly of you.”
Siegfried gives the lad a surveying look.
"Billy and I served together in Cairo,” Tristan adds then, quickly. “He’s just stopping in on his way home to Lancaster.”
He takes the proffered palm in his own just as Mrs Hall comes out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and smiling at the newcomer.
“I see. Well, you’re a credit to your country, young man,” Siegfried says, approvingly.
“Thank you, sir,” says Billy, turning now to the housekeeper. “—and this must be Mrs Farnon, of course. So lovely to put a face to the name. My and you look so young, I’d never have guessed you were Tristan’s mother.”
“Um—” she says, looking startled. “No, that’s—”
Siegfried too, baulks at the misnomer, his face flooding with heat and suddenly, it is his turn to stammer. “Well, actually—”
He turns toward his brother sharply, expectantly, waiting for him to correct what must have been a misunderstanding, a message perhaps lost in miscommunication. But Tristan, far from being helpful or contradicting his friend, appears not to have heard anything out of the ordinary.
Instead, he is clearing his throat loudly now, and gesturing with exaggerated motions toward the sitting room. “Ah, where are my manners? You must be exhausted from your travels, Billy. Come through here, why don’t you?”
Siegfried notes that his ears have gone very pink. "Don't worry, I'll bring your things in just a moment," he calls then, over his shoulder.
And as soon as William is out of earshot, he ducks back into the hall.
“Ah, yes, so quick thing," says Tristan now, scratching his head. "Billy might have possibly got the notion that you two are married, and that you’re well, sort of my parents—”
And upon seeing their horror-struck faces, he gives an apologetic sort of shrug. "Sorry."
Then he picks up the small trunk unceremoniously and turns on his heel, following his friend to the next room, without looking back.
ii.
The shock takes a few minutes to subside.
Tristan and his guest are already settled in the sitting room, reminiscing on their desert days and laughing gaily when Mrs Hall comes back in with a tray full of tea things, her face prettily flushed. Siegfried on the other hand, does not sit. Instead, he is gripping the back of the sofa with as much restraint as he can muster, wondering what on earth might have possessed his little brother to tell such tall tales.
It is a testament to the years of practice Tristan has had unfortunately, that he can so masterfully elude Siegfried's glare now, how he skilfully evades each and every dagger stabbed into the side of his head. His exuberant chatter and cool composure is only betrayed by the beads of sweat forming at the back of his neck.
“Thank you so much, Mrs Farnon,” William says then, smiling as Audrey passes him a cup of steaming tea and a rare, rationed biscuit. “—and thank you both, for letting me stop in for the night.”
At this pronouncement, Mrs Hall nearly drops the teapot she'd been pouring from. And Siegfried, who had been attempting a civil sip of his own drink, nearly chokes in surprise.
“Tristan,” he says then, with what he hopes resembles a grin more than a grimace. "Might I have a word please?"
His brother appears to be sinking steadily into the armchair, evidently attempting to merge with the upholstery. “I can’t just leave Billy, Dad," he replies, through gritted teeth.
“Nonsense!” says Siegfried, his smile widening more dangerously still. “William doesn’t mind. Do you, William?”
“Er—” says William. And possibly seeing the maniacal glint in Siegfried’s eye, he shakes his head slowly in the negative. “No, not at all, sir.”
“Marvellous," he cries, turning now to the housekeeper. “Family meeting. You too, please, Mrs Hall—”
But the words have no sooner left his lips when he realises his mistake. A split second too late, he registers that the others have frozen in alarm, while their newcomer looks puzzled, searching the room for the aforementioned Mrs Hall. And his errant little brother, who would not meet his eye before, is presently half standing from his seat and imploring, shaking his head almost imperceptibly, silently entreating for Siegfried not to disclose the gambit to his guest.
Siegfried groans inwardly, cursing Tristan in every foreign language he knew, and possibly some he did not.
“I mean— that is to say, Mrs… Farnon,” he tries. “Dearest. Might I speak with you in the… hall?”
He finishes a little lamely, but the housekeeper is all grace and poise as stands from her seat smoothly now, smiling at William and making her excuses. “Yes, of course."
iii.
Any semblance of civility vanishes however, as soon as they are out of earshot. And despite Siegfried’s determined declaration, they do not in fact, stop in the hallway. Rather, he drags a stammering Tristan by the ear across the little passage, and into the examination room, while Mrs Hall shuts the door behind them with a sharp click.
“What the bloody hell were you thinking?” he demands then, rounding on his little brother, his voice absolutely shaking with anger.
Siegfried couldn’t remember the last time he had been this upset, but trust Tristan to incite the red hot fury he'd tried so hard to temper. To sully his name would be one thing, but any besmirching of Mrs Hall’s reputation would simply not be tolerated.
“Look, it wasn’t my fault,” the younger Farnon insists, hands in the air beside him. “ Billy must have got the wrong end of the stick or—”
“Tris,” the housekeeper interjects then, silencing his defence with one withering look and crossing her arms before her.
“Oh yes, alright,” Tristan sighs. “Look— we had only just met and everyone was talking about where they were from, and telling stories about their families. And I might have just… simplified matters a little.”
He gives a small, feeble shrug.
“Simplified!” groans Siegfried, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You call this simplified?”
He begins pacing the small space between the examination table and the sink, incensed that his dastardly little brother has landed him into this sticky situation, this entirely awkward encounter that he must extricate himself from. And maybe, there is another reason for his anger now, quite possibly, there is something else teeming beneath the surface which he is not yet ready to admit to.
“Honestly, big brother! I never expected in a million years, that he’d be visiting Skeldale. I didn’t think—”
Siegfried stops mid-stride. “That’s just it, Tristan. You didn’t think! You never think—”
“Oh here we go,” Tristan says, shaking his head now as they fall back into old habits. “Look, I've said I’m sorry. Only—"
"Only what?" he snaps.
His brother hesitates for a moment, his eyes flicking between them before barreling on. “—only, I don’t see the problem exactly! You two are practically married, anyway. If not for a ring, you could hardly tell the difference if you were.”
Siegfried stares at him, open-mouthed.
“Now hang on a minute—” he stutters, feeling his ears burning scarlet once more.
“I really don’t think—” says Audrey, shaking her head.
But what she does not think, regrettably, they do not get to find out. Because they are interrupted then, by a sudden rap at the door. Next second, Tristan swings it open to find a concerned-looking William standing before them.
“I’m very sorry to interrupt,” he says. “But if it’s any imposition at all, Mr Farnon, I can stay at the nearby inn—”
Each of the Mr Farnons gawk at him, and then hasten to reply, the elder in the affirmative - an assured yes please - and the younger in protest no doubt, to dissuade his friend from leaving. Mrs Hall is quicker however, beats the pair of them to it and places a gentle hand on the arm of her supposed husband.
“No imposition at all, lad,” she says, swiftly. “Is it, Siegfried?”
She raises one shrewd eyebrow, gives him the same look which had worked so effectively on his little brother, not five minutes before.
“No, no, not at all,” he mumbles, begrudgingly.
The housekeeper smiles brightly. “Lovely. You can have Tristan’s room, Billy.”
And Siegfried watches with some satisfaction then, as Tristan’s expression of great relief fades momentarily.
“Hang on, then where will I—” he starts, before realisation dawns on him. “Ah yes, the cupboard. Of course.”
Mrs Hall pinches his cheek. “There’s a good lad. Now, lunch will be on the table in half an hour so I suggest you boys get settled in and washed up.”