A Dark and Stormy Night (2)

He turned his head a little to kiss her hair. Opening his eyes, he found himself looking into two green ones staring unblinkingly back at him from the top of the bedside chair. Disconcerted, his hand groped for the sheet to pull it up.

This unexpected movement caused Catherine to raise her head. "Vincent, what?--" Following his gaze, she spotted the little voyeur, then turned back to her husband in amused surprise. "Dear heart, he's only a cat."

Vincent reluctantly tore his gaze from their observer to face Catherine. "I wonder. Perhaps I should take him to Narcissa and ask her opinion."

Catherine traced the unique line of Vincent's lips with her fingers, then kissed him thoroughly. "You can hardly blame him for watching. He's probably just impressed."

"Catherine ..." Vincent lowered his eyes. Even after almost a year of loving her this way, and seven months of marriage, he was never quite sure how to respond to compliments of that sort. The need to do so was obviated by a peremptory yowl from the doorway.

"I wonder if he's hungry," Catherine speculated, looking toward the bedside clock. "Oh, good grief!" Leaping out of bed, she tugged Vincent after her. "I had no idea it was so late," she gasped as she threw on a robe and slippers. "Don't you remember? We've got a horde of Tunnel children due in less than an hour for the latest *Story of English* tape." Catherine scooped up the cat with one hand and propelled Vincent toward the bathroom with the other. "I'll feed this feline vacuum cleaner and take my shower downstairs."

"We could shower together," Vincent offered.

"Oh, right," Catherine answered dryly. "Today's lesson is supposed to be language, not sex education."

Vincent drew himself up in affronted, if naked, dignity. "Don't you trust my self-control?"

"Always," Catherine replied as she treated herself to one more quick kiss. "But I can't say the same for mine."


It was a near thing, but Catherine managed to get everything ready just as a familiar knock sounded on the cellar door. "Just a minute!" she called out, securing her four-footed guest before opening it to Brooke and the children. As they poured into the kitchen, they were immediately entranced by the kitten. All asking questions at once, they jockeyed for the best petting positions.

"Children, this is supposed to be a lesson in English, not animal behavior." A slightly damp but reasonably kept Vincent entered the kitchen and regarded his pupils with mock disapproval.

"But he's so cute," Samantha insisted.

"Which, of course, excuses everything," Vincent laughed.

"Why don't you all help Catherine carry the food into the living room, and we'll tell you how we acquired our new boarder."

Still a little awed by Catherine's house, the children were very careful as they carried the platters and baskets across the hall. "Wow, there's a lot of food here." Zach sniffed appreciatively at a basket of apple-cinnamon muffins. "We all ate breakfast, you know."

"And I'll bet you can still manage to eat more," Catherine countered. "You look an inch taller every time I see you. Besides, Vincent and I haven't had breakfast yet."

"Oh?" Catherine was startled by Brooke's speculative grin. She was growing up, and Catherine made a silent promise to herself not to forget it.

"Yeah, we wondered what happened to you guys last night," Eric announced through a mouthful of bagel. "You usually come Below on Friday nights."

"Well, we kind of got involved with other things," Catherine explained lamely, avoiding Brooke's eyes. "And it got to be pretty late, and since we had to be here this morning for your English lesson..."

"Well, it's a good thing you *didn't* come last night." Teresa was happily petting the kitten, delighted by his ecstatic purr. "Otherwise nobody would have been here to help him."

Her sister Maria watched, wide-eyed, as Teresa's lap was mercilessly kneaded. "Where did he come from?"

Catherine and Brooke brought hot chocolate from the kitchen while Vincent began a dramatic, if heavily edited, account of the kitten's rescue. Sensing he was the center of attention, the furry dynamo exhibited his feline prowess by mercilessly chasing a grape around the floor. At the conclusion of the narrative, Kipper asked the sixty-four-dollar question. "What's his name?" Discovering he had none, the children insisted no more time should be wasted. Suggestions were tossed out thick and fast. In short order, Marmalade, Leo, Kzin, Cuddles, Aslan, Pumpkin, and Surprise were discussed and discarded. A silence fell in which the sound of mental wheels turning could almost be heard. Naming a cat was an important matter.

Vincent cleared his throat. "What about Bulwer-Lytton?"

Catherine looked blank. "Who, or what, is a Bulwer-Lytton?"

"A relatively obscure and largely untalented Victorian novelist," Vincent explained. "Originator of that deathless phrase--"

"It was a dark and stormy night!" The children shouted in unison.

"Vincent makes us read his stuff to help us learn how not to write," Zach explained.

Catherine grinned. "I like it. It's certainly appropriate to the circumstances." She regarded Vincent fondly. "You're probably one of the few people in New York who knows that didn't originate with Snoopy." Catherine knew Vincent's cultural literacy was sufficiently vast to encompass the legendary beagle as well as minor Victorian novelists. What a remarkable man she'd married.

"That's a pretty long name for a little cat," Zach objected.

"Well, obviously, he has to have a nickname too," Samantha informed him in a superior tone.

"You could call him Bulwer for short," Teresa suggested.

"Or Bull," Vincent amended, his gaze firmly fixed over Catherine's head.

"I think Bulwer's perfect," Catherine announced, in a tone that did not invite disagreement. "It's kind of dignified—maybe he'll grow into it."

Samantha bounced up and down in excitement. "We should have a naming ceremony for him, just like we do for babies!"

A sudden flicker of emotion, gone almost before he felt it, caused Vincent to turn quickly to Catherine. Her head was bowed, and she seemed inordinately interested in the pattern of a sofa pillow.

"That's dumb," Kipper scoffed.

"Did you have one for Arthur?" Maria asked.

"Nope," Kipper pointed out.

"We wouldn't want to hurt Arthur's feelings," Vincent suggested softly.

"I guess not," Samantha reluctantly agreed.

"Well," Vincent continued, "I think it's time we learned about English in Shakespeare's time. Do you think you'll be able to pay proper attention, or shall I take Bulwer upstairs?"

Faithfully promising Vincent they would not be distracted, the children settled down and remained on their best behavior throughout the tape and their teacher's subsequent lesson. Afterwards, they all helped Vincent and Catherine clean up so they could go Below without further delay. Unwilling to leave Bulwer on his own, Catherine found an old picnic basket that could be pressed into service as a cat carrier. As they made their way, they decided it was much too dangerous to let Bulwer loose in the Tunnels. However, they were at a loss to decide how to limit his wanderings in a place that lacked real doors. To any Tunnel resident, a curtain closing off a room was as inviolate as a locked door would be, but how to explain that to a kitten? Catherine finally concluded they would have to trust to Mouse's ingenuity to come up with something. Kipper found the idea of a Mouse helping out a cat very funny.

Vincent and Catherine spent the rest of the weekend absorbed in the life of the Tunnels. Vincent spent every day there when Catherine was at work, but Catherine was seldom able to manage more than one or two nights a week Below in addition to weekends. Since the loss of her father, and her marriage to Vincent, Catherine had become an integral part of the community, and when she was Below she seemed to spend all her time inundated by people wanting to show her what they'd been doing since her last appearance. The children, especially, were as fascinated with "Vincent's Catherine" as ever, but less in awe of her since her presence had become so familiar.

As he and Catherine prepared for bed that evening, Vincent watched Bulwer test the web-like contraption Mouse had rigged over the door of their outer chamber. Fortunately, it seemed to be one of his successful inventions. The kitten didn't seem to mind--perhaps he saw it as a cat gym provided for his amusement, rather than a means of restraint. Entering the inner room, Vincent found Catherine already in bed, gazing fondly at Kristoffer's portrait of them where it graced the wall next to the door. She smiled as the artist's rendition and the even more beautiful original stood side by side for a moment; then Vincent moved forward to settle gratefully beside her in the large bed.

"If you don't mind, Catherine, it would probably be a good idea to spend tonight sleeping."

"After last night, I'm forced to agree. I could hardly keep my eyes open after dinner." She snuggled close to her deliciously warm husband. "Besides, I read someplace that the average married couple makes love 6.2 times per month. We're way ahead." Silence. "Vincent?"

"I was just wondering how one makes love .2 times."

"Too quickly for my taste!" Catherine laughed.

Vincent rubbed his cheek against Catherine's hair. "I'm afraid we take advantage of your generous nature. You give so much in your work Above, then come Below where we demand even more. No wonder you're tired."

"Don't be silly--I love it; especially the children."

Vincent held her closer. "I noticed."

"I can't believe how fast little Cathy's growing--and Lena's such a good mother. I was so worried whether bringing her down here was the right decision. Thank God it worked out so well."

"Catherine--have I told you how happy I am to be married to you?"

Catherine lifted her head to look at his face. "Regularly. But I never get tired of hearing it." She gently traced his cheekbones, and the line of golden fur from his nose to where it disappeared under his hair. "I love you."

Vincent stroked her hair as she settled back against his chest, not trusting himself to speak for a moment. "And I love you."


* * *


Several days later, Vincent meandered along the familiar route towards what Cullen had dubbed "the Chandler-Wells Residence." Slipping through the well-concealed entrance, an engineering triumph of Mouse and Cullen, he made his way up the narrow winding stair concealed inside the wall of the house. He paused, concentrating on the bond. Catherine was near, and alone ... she was always careful to warn him if it wasn't safe to enter. As he drew his attention back to his other five senses, he realized something smelled quite wonderful. His long fingers went unerringly to the hidden trigger. As the wall pivoted, Catherine turned to smile at his entrance.

"Catherine," he exclaimed in astonishment. "You're ... cooking?"

"You don't need to sound quite so surprised. It's hardly the first time you've seen me do it."

"It isn't something you ... er ... choose to do often." In the interests of diplomacy, among other things, he bent to kiss her. "Mmmm."

"What?"

"You have something very tasty on the corner of your mouth."

"You're just trying to distract me. I happen to be quite a decent cook, if you don't expect anything too complicated." Catherine began stacking dishes on the counter. "My mother liked to cook. I used to help her in the kitchen, before ... well, then my dad had a very grandmotherly sort of housekeeper who let me do the same with her. I'm sure she felt sorry for me."

"You must have been very lonely, with your father working so hard."

Catherine took off her floury apron, the better to embrace her husband. "Dear heart, don't sound so sad. That's all in the past ... and you've given me an even bigger family to replace the one I've lost." They stood there for a long moment, until a peremptory buzzer from the direction of the oven called Catherine back to her responsibilities. Vincent sniffed appreciatively as she carefully took four loaves out of the oven.

"Is there some particular reason," Vincent queried, "for this sudden..."

"Domestic fit?" Catherine smiled and turned back to begin loading the dishwasher. "Part of it's the holidays coming up. Thanksgiving's pretty close, and pumpkin bread seems just the thing for this time of year. Besides, we had a shower today at lunchtime for one of the paralegal’s. Maybe that got me in the mood."

"A wedding shower?" Vincent asked idly, as he began putting away containers of baking supplies.

"No. A baby shower." Catherine's voice was even--too even. Through the bond, all Vincent could sense was a smooth, impenetrable surface. Her absence of emotion told him more than its presence ever could. She never tried to hide her feelings from him, unless they might cause him pain. He stood still, irresolute, at a loss for what do. Her back to him, she calmly continued with her task like an automaton. Stretching out a hand to her, Vincent was about to speak when a knock rapped at the cellar door. Catherine quickly moved to open it, and the moment was lost.

"Jamie! We didn't expect to see you tonight."

"I'm sorry. I know you were just Below last night and you must have lots of work to do..."

Catherine patted Jamie's shoulder. "Nothing that can't wait another day. How can we help?"

"It's the play we're working on for Thanksgiving. Mouse has come up with some terrific special effects, but they're kinda complicated. I told him we needed to do a trial run, a kind of... what do you call it..."

"Technical rehearsal?" Vincent prompted.

"Right! Well, you know Mouse, he insists Vincent and Catherine are the only ones outside the cast who can see what he's got planned. He wouldn't pay attention to anyone else's advice anyway." Jamie sighed. "I told him you were probably busy, but he can't stand waiting 'till Friday."

"Of course we'll come," Catherine said brightly. "Won't we, Vincent."

"Of course."

Relief was obvious on Jamie's face. Getting Mouse to accept "no" for an answer could be very trying.

"Why don't you come Below for dinner? There's still time. I'll help you carry the pumpkin bread."

Vincent shook his head in dismay. "Jamie, that is the most blatant hint I have ever..."

Smiling, Catherine began wrapping the warm bread in towels while Vincent unearthed a basket. "I hope William won't think I'm after his job."

"Don't worry, Catherine," Jamie reassured her. "Even if your bread is better than his, nobody would dare say so."

After a short but spectacular demonstration of Mouse's latest inspirations, all concluded that more work was necessary. A little nervous about her responsibilities as head of the costume department, Lena begged for Catherine's advice. Vincent encouraged Catherine to accept the task, claiming a good long visit with Father was overdue.

"Vincent! How good to see you again so soon. How was the rehearsal?"

"Fine, Father." Vincent sat wearily in a chair opposite him. "We were able to put the fire out right away."

"What?"

"Never mind."

Alerted by something in Vincent's voice, Father looked sharply at his son. "Is something wrong? You came for more than a visit, didn't you?"

Vincent sighed and leaned back in the chair. "I cannot bear to see Catherine hurt ... but she is in pain, and I am the cause."

"Surely not! I can't believe you..."

"Father, she wants a child. My child."

A charged silence hung in the air for a moment, then the older man spoke with great care. "She's told you this?"

"Not in so many words. We haven't really discussed it since we first became lovers, but that was almost a year ago. I was unwilling to risk it, but Catherine has such courage ... I'm sure she agreed because of my fear, not her own."

"Has she said or done anything recently," Father asked, "that leads you to believe her desire for a child is more intense?"

"It is less what she says than what she avoids saying—and feelings she takes care to block from me." Vincent leaned forward, his head in his hands. "But I know it's true--and I don't know what to do."

"How can I help?"

"I know the story of how I was found, but I thought perhaps... some small thing, some detail you thought unimportant, anything that might tell me ..." Father started as Vincent's fist pounded the table in frustration. "If only I knew!"

"One thing I'm sure of--Paracelsus' story was a total fabrication, meant only to manipulate and hurt you. You must put it out of your mind."

"But--"

"Vincent, it makes no sense! Higher species require the care of parents to survive--it would be evolutionary suicide to destroy one's mother at birth."

"Women die in childbirth," Vincent said hoarsely, regretting the words as soon as they left his lips.

A look of pain passed over his father's face like the shadow of a cloud over the ground. "I know that only too well." Father sighed. "Vincent, no matter what I've told you, you've convinced yourself that you were the cause of your mother's death in childbirth--or that she abandoned you because she couldn't bear the sight of you."

"Both likely possibilities," Vincent insisted bitterly. Father reached over to lay a hand on his son's arm. "No more likely than a number of others. Yes, your mother may have died in childbirth, but for reasons having nothing to do with your uniqueness. She could have been sick, or poor, with no medical care. Such women die giving birth at a disgraceful rate, even today." Vincent remained silent, so Father was emboldened to continue. "She could have been in the control of others, who took you from her without her knowledge. It may even have been kindly meant--you were left at a hospital. The rags you were wrapped in gave no clue, nor did your condition. You were small, and very sick at first, but we weren't sure how long you'd been outside. It could have been no more than exposure. You didn't appear premature, at least not significantly."

"In other words, no one knows anything of use. Father, how can I allow Catherine to risk herself when I know so little? If anything happened to her because of me, I couldn't bear it."

"There is another consideration."

Vincent lifted his head wearily. "What?"

"Your biochemistry is unusual. Scientifically speaking, I think it's unlikely you and Catherine could conceive a child ... surely that's occurred to you?"

"Yes," Vincent admitted. "If that were the case, I think she could accept it in time. But never to know, never to try ... she loves me so much, Father, I can still hardly believe it."

"And, loving you as she does, it's only natural she wants to bear you a child."

Vincent looked at his father in wonder. "She would even welcome one like me."

Father grasped Vincent's hand. "She is not the only one. But what about you? How do you feel?"

"Sometimes, when I see her with the children Below--or even with that kitten--I think there is nothing I could want more. But to expose her to such a risk, or place such a burden on a child ... " Before Father could think of an encouraging response, familiar footsteps sounded in the passageway.

"Well, are you two having a nice visit?" Catherine kissed Father lightly on the cheek before moving to her husband's side. "Lena's finally through with me. I really should spend some time working ... would you like to stay Below longer?"

Vincent rose to his feet and slipped his arm around Catherine. "No, I'll come back with you. Goodbye, Father." As he bent to kiss the older man's forehead, Father hugged him closely. Their eyes held for a long, wordless moment when they parted.

"Goodbye, Vincent--Catherine. Take care."


* * *

Part Three

BATB Home