Title: Bittersweet
Fandom: Penny Dreadful
Rating: Teen
Genre: Drama, unresolved sexual tension.
Word Count: 1998 words
Pairings and/or Characters: Sir Malcolm Murray/Vanessa Ives, Ethan Chandler/Vanessa Ives, Ethan Chandler/Ferdinand Lyle, Victor Frankenstein, Sembene
Warnings: None
Summary: They don’t realise it, the people in the large stone house, but the love they feel for each other is perhaps the strongest protection they have.
AN: Written for the Rare Pair Fest 2015. This fic takes place during the second season, before Dorian Grey's ball. I know that there are several suggestions in the show that Sir Malcolm is Vanessa’s biological father, but as I’m not keen on incest I prefer to think otherwise until it is spelled out, and not just suggested.

Two of my interests have influenced this fic. First; the history of perfume and the way we relate to smells. After the scene when Evelyn Poole is buying perfume, I started to wonder which perfume Vanessa would wear. And I think a perfume by Guerlain; Jicky, would suit her well. It is the oldest perfume still in production and when it was released in 1889 it was a bit of a revolution; it was one the first perfumse using synthetic notes; coumarin and vanillin. It was also the first abstract perfume, meaning it wasn’t dominated by a single note. The first modern perfume if you want. It really is a rather odd perfume, often described as a “lavender-vanilla” but with so much else going on. There are citrus and herbs as top notes, followed by patchouli, vetiver, rose and carnation, to dry down to a vanilla civet with hints of leather. It really changes a lot during the time you wear it. I am, however, talking about vintage versions of the perfume here. Modern Jicky is very nice, but much smoother in its formulation. (It’s a sad fact that perfumes are frequently re-formulated, often with the aim to make them cheaper, which can drastically change the way they smell.)

Secondly I love fashion history and upper class women clothes could be quite complicated in the late 19th century, often requiring a second pair of hands to get on and off properly. We never see a lady’s maid skulking around Sir Malcolm’s house, to which I gather either he or Sembene must help Vanessa with her more elaborate clothes…

The quote in the beginning is from Elegies IV. The Perfume by John Donne.


—Which, if in hell no other pains there were,
Makes me fear hell, because he must be there—
Though by thy father he were hired to this,
Could never witness any touch or kiss.
But O! too common ill, I brought with me
That, which betray’d me to mine enemy,

They don’t realise it, the people in the large stone house, but the love they feel is perhaps the strongest protection they have. Ask them and they will say they feel fear, hate and shame far more than they love, but they are wrong. They all love, deeply and perhaps desperately and this is creating a bond that makes them stronger without knowing it.

Victor

They call it friendship, but it is truly the love of brother and sister they feel. That’s why Vanessa sits with Victor as he goes through the ritual of abuse, adding yet another mark to a pale arm. He feels she understands even if she doesn’t approve. He thinks if he would tell anyone about the things haunting him, then it would be Vanessa. Perhaps she’ll even understand a little of what he wanted to create and the horror of what he has accomplished.

Vanessa both wishes she could help him and feel envy because he has found, albeit temporarily, oblivion from all that hurts. Victor has secrets, but so has she and until any of them is ready to tell the other, they can at least find a little relief in holding hands. Like children, lost in the woods, just before they come to the glen with the gingerbread house.

Ferdinand

Ferdinand Lyle loves, almost certainly hopelessly, but he is used to that. He hadn’t expected to fall in love with the tall American, but then one never really does expect falling in love. You simply do, regardless if the feeling is mutual or not. He knows he is a ridiculous man, and it is a role he has exaggerated and played at over the years, adding affections and drama to provide a good show. But here, in this house, he is met with respect, and more than that, with kindness. He had not expected that. Suddenly he has friends who see the man he really is and accepts him. His betrayal of them hurts him more for every day that passes and he hates Evelyn Poole for making a puppet out of him.

Perhaps he loves without hope, but he senses that if he would make an overture he may be rebuffed, but never mocked. Ferdinand has been mocked plenty over the years, but never developed a taste for it. He won’t, of course. He suspects that the one walking in Ethan’s dreams is the formidable Vanessa. Who can blame him? He himself can sometimes feel the tug of attraction in her presence even if she possess nothing to tempt his desires. He is happy to just have the chance to work alongside Ethan, sharing his discoveries with him, if not anything else.

And then, in the moment when the narrative, he has tried to translate forms a coherent whole, in that magical moment he suddenly dares to cover Ethan’s large hand with his own chubby one. For a heartbeat or two only, when he doesn’t even breath or look up, before he hastily removes it. Then he can't help glancing at the man beside him, and finds, to his great consternation and a sudden small hope that Ethan’s eyes are smiling at him.

Ethan

Ethan loves Vanessa like he loves himself. No, correct that, he loves her as he once loved himself, before self-loathing and shame took over his life. She is as much his reflection as the image he sees in his mirror and yet all her own. If he ever dares to tell her he thinks she will understand, but he is afraid of the possibility that she will not. She trusts him, it's a complete and blind trust and he is scared, so mind-numbingly scared that his confession will destroy the faith she has in him. Not just for his own sake, he tells himself, but for Vanessa’s too. She need to trust him and he will do anything to let her continue to do so.

Sir Malcolm

It took a long time for Sir Malcolm to realise that the rage he felt toward Vanessa had very little to do with her betrayal toward Mina. The truth was too uncomfortable, so he hid it behind righteous anger instead. She had slept with his daughter’s fiance, on the night before the wedding, no less, leaving Mina weeping in desolation in her room. Plenty of reasons for a protective father to rage about. But he had never cared about the milksop Mina had wanted to marry and was secretly relieved when the wedding was cancelled. She could make a much better match when she had calmed down. No, the real reason for his enormous anger was because Vanessa had given herself to a boorish young man, when she ought to have been his instead. Such a shameful reason, such a sinful reason, one he only admitted to himself when he was alone and not until a long time had passed.

A ritual had grown between them, born the very first day Vanessa came to stay with him. He had told her he expected her at dinner punctually and when she didn’t turn up he had not waited many minutes before he stormed into her room in a temper, ready to reprimand her for her tardiness. He had fully expected her to mock him, to glide past him in exquisite slowness when he flung the door open. Instead he found her in near tears, her evening gown still open to the waist at her back.

“I forgot, I have always had a maid and I can’t button it myself.”

Still angry, at himself as much as her, he had buttoned the gown for her, almost ripping the delicate fabric in his haste. So angry that he was finished before he realised what he had done. Vanessa stood with her back to him with her head bowed, a blush spreading over her white skin and he was suddenly ashamed. This was totally inappropriate, there was no excuse for it and he reddened himself when Vanessa spoke in a low voice.

“I won’t be able to get them unbuttoned again.”

“I will do it and tomorrow I will put in an advertisement for a maid for you.”

But he never did and Vanessa never reminded him. Instead an evening ritual emerged where he lightly taps her door in the evening and she, if she requires help, asks him to enter. It isn’t proper, if anyone outside their household would ever find out it would be considered scandalous, but there is never a hint of seduction in her stance. When he comes she is always completely dressed, apart from those buttons she can’t reach and her chemise and corset covers only slightly more skin than her evening gowns does.

It’s the physical closeness he craves, a few minutes when they have to stand so close that if he raised his hand, just so, he would brush against her skin. And he would only have to bow his head a little to be able to kiss her neck. So close that he inhales her scent with every breath. There is nothing nice about Vanessa’s perfume, nothing easy. Women wear perfume and they smell nice, but not hers. It’s always different, yet forever the same, just as Vanessa is herself. In the early morning there are fresh lemons and sleepy lavender, just as she is freshly washed, but still not completely awake as she settles at the breakfast table to drink her coffee. During the day, as her moods rapidly wax and wane, joy, anger, sudden despondency, he can smell a bouquet of flower, one always replacing the other in the same dizzying speed as her frame of mind change. She can walk past him in brisk effectiveness, leaving a scent of something almost metallic and energetic in her wake, but it may just as well be dreamy roses, mixing with the scent of the cigarettes she smokes. But he likes it best in the evening when it has turned into soft sweetness like vanilla and sugary spices, still entwined with something sharp, almost feral. It’s a perfume both intensely cold and with scorching heat and it is as difficult to pinpoint and sort out as the woman who wears it.

Sir Malcolm never questions why Vanessa doesn’t press the issue of a proper maid. He tells himself that he has known her all of her life and she must see him as a father figure, someone far too old and safe to fear any advances from. And he won’t betray her trust, however much he wants her. There have been little enough decency in his life, he will not put pressure on this young woman whom he has already used so much. For once he will not let his wants dictate his actions. For Vanessa he wants to be an honourable man.

Vanessa

Vanessa feels she doesn’t dare to love anyone.

She recognises the bond between her and Sir Malcolm, it’s so strong she feels she can almost touch it at times, but she doesn’t call it love. Still, sometimes she wonders what would happen if she turned around and faced him, if she caught his hands in hers and kissed them. Sometimes Vanessa thinks he would meet her fire with his own. But she doesn’t turn to him, because she feels she couldn’t bear to see rejection in his eyes, which, surely, is what would happen.

It isn’t only rejection Vanessa fears. She is afraid that if she gives in, she will find it isn’t Sir Malcolm but the demon who embraces her. It has already visited her wearing his face, perhaps it is ready and waiting for her to let her guard down. It haunts her dreams; Sir Malcolm turning into the leering demon and then she would be lost, forever.

Then there is Ethan who, ever since he stepped into her life, have been there for her. Without demands, without expectations he has been behind her every step of the way. If she would close her eyes and let herself fall, she is sure he would be there to catch her. With Ethan she feels safe and just because of that she hesitates. She could love him, Vanessa is sure of that, if she only let herself. He doesn’t deserve her turning into a raving madwoman. Like a fairy tale in reverse, love could turn her into the wicked witch, not a princess. And fairy tales never end well for those who are tainted.

Sembene

Like Ferdinand Lyle, Sembene has found friendship where he thought none could be found. He came here because of Sir Malcolm, a relationship forged from a kinship of forever saving each other. He knows Sir Malcolm isn’t a good man, but then he isn’t one either. In a way he thinks they deserve each other, two flawed men becoming a little better because of their mutual care. And then, like a gift from the gods, he doesn’t think he is worthy of, there are suddenly others. He has a sister now, and brothers and he would lay his life down for each and every one of them, here in this place so far away.

He alone in this large house sees how the bonds of love tie them together, criss-crossing each other to create a web, even if he isn’t fully aware of the strength it gives them. But when he listens at night, and he listens often, the silent house tells him he is with his family now. He is not afraid of death because he knows he will be mourned. He will not be forgotten, and thus he will live on in their minds.