Disclaimer: All characters, minus Eric Lincoln, belong to the estate of L.M. Montgomery. The opening extract is from a translation of Fantome de l’Opera, by Gaston Leroux. The Lamplighter is written by Maria Cummins.

My Fairytale Hero

“Of love...daroga...I am dying...of love...That is how it is... loved her so!...And I love her still...daroga...and I am dying of love for her, I...I tell you!...If you knew how beautiful she was... when she let me kiss her...alive...It was the first...time, daroga, the first...time I ever kissed a woman... Yes, alive...I kissed her alive ...and she looked as beautiful as if she had been dead!”

Nan Blythe let the book fall away from her hands with a little shudder of excitement. Reclining to rest on the wall as she perched on the window seat, she allowed her thoughts to drift away to the realms of fantasy explored by so many girls before her; filled by countless sunsets, spring flowers and dark, mysterious suitors. Nan had been a frequent visitor to this dreamland over the years, having inherited her mother’s romantic notions and an overpoweringly vivid imagination.

This imagination, which had once stopped her from sleeping with conjured visions of ghouls and spirits, was being indulged of late with a new passion for literature. Walter and Di had always been the readers in their junior set and much as Nan had enjoyed her childhood fairy stories, books were not normally the lifeline for her that they were for her twin.

This had all changed when her housemate at Queens, Mollie White, had pressed a slim grey volume into her hand, accompanied by a breathless whisper of recommendation and lavishly embossed in gold with the legend The Lamplighter. Nan had left it unread in her drawer for several weeks but eventually picked it up, out of sheer boredom, on a dull and rainy day in late November.

The lavishly described trials and heartbreaks of the angelic ladies and gallant men that were contained within these flimsy pages had awoken a long neglected characteristic in Nan: her fervent yearn for romance. Since the dissolution of the lurid stories she had built around the Glen in her childhood, a part of Nan’s brain had held her imagination in firm rein when it started to spin story webs. Despite being a child brought up to see the magic and beauty in life, self preservation had made Nan’s delicate spirit a little more prosaic over the years.

The lovers of her new reading material, however, had managed to firmly ingrain themselves in her fancies over the dour winter and soggy spring months at Queens. She read voraciously, swapping volumes with other members of her circle whom had all picked up on this new fad with enthusiasm. Sensible, rooted Diana had looked on with raised eyebrows, but was happy to lend her own beloved collection of books and packages from Walter into the pool of yarns being gobbled up by Nan.

By the time that the final examinations were over (somehow Nan had shaved time away from her new obsession to study more practical subjects) and the sun had began to shine for summer, Nan had once again become a fully fledged dweller in the realms of fantasy. A return to Ingleside, dreamy Rainbow Valley and the small libraries possessed by Mother and Walter had been welcomed with open arms and Nan had spent the few weeks that she had now spent at home constructing careful little microcosms in her mind, where dashing horsemen saved maidens from terrible fates and beautiful sentiments were whispered in moonlight.

Nan was occupied in constructing an opera house, complete with phantom, in her dreamland when she heard swift footsteps coming up the stairs and muffled voice called “Nan?”

The gothic columns of her theatre left unfinished, Nan scrambled out of her window and turned the corner to face Susan, almost invisible under a pile of clothes held in her wiry arms. Her worn brown face was just visible over the top of a starched petticoat and she quickly unloaded some of her burden into Nan’s arms as that young lady appeared.

“Why that dreadful beast felt the need to track dirt all across my clean laundry I will never know. He must have been dancing an Irish jig on it, for every single piece was crumpled worse than a piece of tissue and you’d never know how much dirt one animal could have on it, that’s what. At least its mother was as sanitary as can be expected, for all its devilment.”

Susan shook her head, as if to indicate that although the good Lord must have had his reasons to create cats, she for one could not fathom them. Shifting her bundle around in her arms, she cast an appreciative look at the slim girl in front of her.

“I can’t say but that that pink is a nice colour on you Nan dear, even if that dress is a little bit red for my tastes. I knew a girl once, Doreen Plummer, who always insisted on wearing scarlet even though she had the most fearful reddish hair. Not a nice dark red like your ma’s or Diana, mind, but a real garish orange. That said, though, Leslie Ford likes to wear her red as well and she’s always been a handsome woman. You need a pin for that bit of hair,” and Susan balanced her load precariously in one arm whilst she fixed a curl out of Nan’s face with her hand.

Nan had to smile at Susan’s mothering, and her compliment. Susan did not dole out praise too freely, living in horror of one of her brood turning out spoiled, but she believed in credit where credit was due and the girl did look lovely, in simple rosy organdie trimmed with ribbon. Nan herself had always liked to be admired, earning her a reputation amongst the more spiteful Glen girls as proud, and her spirits lifted as she smoothed down her brown hair with a free hand, assorted garments still held in the other.

“Where’s Di, Susan? I haven’t seen her for at least half an hour.” Nan had crept out to read on the window seat after dressing with her twin, simply desperate to learn the fate of the Persian and Raoul.

“In the living room with the doctor and your dear mother – which is where you should be, miss. Walter and Jem are both down there as well, for I believe you shall all have to be hurrying along presently. Ah well, all very merry for you young fry to be off to the dance. I, meanwhile, should be putting this laundry away.” With a smile to Nan that showed the pleasure that she found in seeing her adopted babies off in their finery, Susan bustled down the hallway to allocate the rest of her load to its respective owners.

Nan made her way down the stairs, her head still populated with fanciful notions. As she entered the room where most of her family was sat her twin sister noticed the slightly dreamy expression of her face and rolled her eyes quietly. She loved her books and dreams as much as any of the Blythe swarm, but Nan had always managed to take fantasy to a level close to reality and it had been a pest when they were children, never mind now that they were older.

Gilbert was the only other in the room to notice how far away his eldest daughter was and was struck by how similar her face was in this mood to that of her mother. Though Di normally bore a closer physical resemblance to Anne with her mop of messy red hair and green eyes, Nan had inherited her spirit. Amused by the familiarity of her expression, Gilbert addressed her directly as she settled onto the couch between Jem and Doc.

“Where are you, my Nan? Fairyland or Glen St Mary?”

Anne looked at her husband reproachfully but Nan had learnt to take a joke and smiled good naturedly. The scene was ended by the squeak of the front door opening and then a call from the hallway.

“Hello? Anybody alive in here?” Jerry Meredith poked his dark head around the door into the living room. “There you all are. Where’s Susan? Not like her to leave the door unmanned.”

“Well!” Jerry jumped as Susan spoke from behind him and, accompanied by a shout of laughter from the Blythes, scurried into the room followed by a giggling Faith. “I must be going deaf, Jerry Meredith, for I certainly didn’t hear you knocking! Have you no manners at all?”

“Sorry Susan,” muttered Jerry meekly, shooting a grin at Nan and Jem on the couch. “Not everyone had the benefit of your upbringing.” He looked at the little woman frowning up at him and the grin that came naturally to him broke through. “Or your gingerbread.”

Susan attempted to remain stern, but there were twinkles breaking through in the corner of her eyes and she let out a small smile as she flicked a handful of tea towels in Jerry’s direction. “You’ll all have plenty to eat at the dance tonight I should imagine, though I may not have been in the position to go dancing for a good few years now.”

All the occupants of the living room were suddenly inflicted with the image of Susan, her feet clad in giant brown boots and wearing a sizable maroon apron, dancing a quickstep amongst the gay young set of the Glen. The doctor emitted a muffled guffaw and hid behind his newspaper, afraid of causing offence.

Jem decided that it was high time for a change of subject. “Why are you two here now, then? Wasn’t the plan to meet at the dance?”

Faith spoke. “We just thought that it was a gorgeous night for a walk – and little Bruce was screaming fit to bust at home, so we scarpered. We came down through the old Taylor pasture and then Rainbow Valley, which takes the same time. Speaking of which, shouldn’t we be off?”

Murmuring in acquiescence, the young Blythes stood up from their seats and were subjected to much fussing from Susan, who darted around her four charges with an eagle eye, straightening jackets and fluffing out ruffles. Susan lived in horror of the Ingleside folk being perceived as uncared for and she would rather die than have any of them walk into a crowded hall with stained shirts or torn bodices. Having been pronounced as acceptable, they bade their goodbyes to their seniors and made their way out of the house and down to the road which wound around the corner towards the centre of the village

They began their walk as a group, but slowly they peeled off into the divisions which came most naturally to them. Jem, still the captain of his brigade despite being at Redmond for most of the year, gravitated towards the front of the procession with Jerry by his side and Di and Walter followed close behind, near enough that the two pairs could carry on some sort of conversation over their shoulders. The remaining two lagged behind so that Nan could update Faith on the latest exploits in her book without the scorn of the older brothers – though Faith, for the sake of her father’s much maligned reputation, attempted to stay away from things like romantic novels she enjoyed Nan’s lurid retellings. Nan was just reaching the juiciest part of the escapade when they reached the crossroad in the centre of the village and were hailed by two figures making their way down the harbour road.

Ken and Persis Ford were hiking along the broad lane and were happy to find the old Rainbow Valley crowd on their journey. They had been late escaping from the House of Dreams, still in chaos after the family arrived the previous day, and had taken a shortcut across the harbour dunes, but Persis especially found it hard going in delicately shaped dancing heels and was hobbling slightly as she joined Nan and Faith at the back of the parade.

Nan greeted her old friend with customary pleasure, although Faith was less impressed. Though Persis was a perfectly nice girl, she had always been a little more standoffish than amiable Ken and Faith preferred him to his threateningly bewitching sister. Ken himself had settled into step next to Di and Walter and was already deep in conversation with them.

Persis, sensing the unspoken frigidity in the silence that had been forced into Nan’s story after her arrival, attempted to strike up a conversation.

“Is Una not here tonight, Faith?”

Faith’s curls bounced as she shook her head. “She decided to stay at home with Bruce, as Father and Rosemary are over in Mowbray Narrows having dinner with the Reverend Lockwood. I don’t think she wanted to come at all, to be honest; she’s always been so dreadfully shy about talking to people. And being the minister’s daughters, we can do nothing but talk at these things.” Faith herself was happy to chatter away to all and sundry, though it was a grievance to her that she dared not dance anywhere except her bedroom, with an imaginary partner.

Persis smiled sympathetically, though Faith’s slightly biased eyes saw it as a patronising smirk and was annoyed. Persis Ford was a little less than ten months younger than Faith and, petty as it was, Faith had always felt irritated by the city girl’s air of confidence and maturity. And she could – and did - dance so prettily!

Nan, who had her suspicions about the forced cordiality between her two friends, was glad to be able to bring an end to the subject. “Look,” she cried with a sudden brightness, pointing her finger to a cluster of lights ahead “I do believe it’s the village hall, all lit up like that.”

The Glen St. Mary Hall it was, and as the band drew closer they could hear the laughter and babbling of boys and girls streaming in through the doors and the sweet, lilting melody played by the band. The young folk followed their contemporaries into the hall and were suddenly caught up in a whirl of heat and music and laughter. The moment the eight stepped across the threshold Persis was swept away by a Cooper boy from the Upper Glen and Jem was immediately pounced on by Sissy Flagg, bold and flashy in a dress of sickly pondweed green, and dragged away to join in the dancing. Ken, laughing at the desperate expression on his friend’s face, took Di’s hand and followed the cowed Jem with the intention of, if nothing else, providing an excuse if the persistent Sissy attempted to drag the poor man out into the dark garden with her.

Jerry and Walter, both much amused by this spectacle, turned to make their way over to the doors of the far wall, followed after a second by Faith who was positively scowling. The porch at the back of the hall held benches which were the seating spot of choice for lonely attendees, softly whispering sweethearts and woeful manse children alike and Walter, not a social creature by nature, liked to spend some of his evening out there discussing the universe with the Merediths and Eleanor Craig, the Methodist minister’s daughter.

And so, Nan found herself suddenly alone in the midst of the hall. Sighing a little to herself, she moved to follow the other three out to the porch - but found her path blocked by a smiling stranger with a twinkle in his eye.

“Forgive me,” he said, holding out a hand “But I noticed that I may have been lucky enough to catch a space in your dance card. Might my luck continue to filling it?”

Nan looked up at his face. It was not one that she recognised, but it was pleasing enough. The stranger was dark, with thick black hair brushed away from his face and strong features preserved from being haughty by his genial smile. Realising that he was waiting for an answer, she shook her head a little to clear it and replied.

“Of course, I’d lo– I mean, I would be pleased to dance with you.”

Taking his hand, she moved into the melee of dancers in the centre of the hall. After a minute or so, he spoke.

“And, if you forgive the intrusion, how would such a pretty girl be left alone for a minute?”

Nan blushed a little, but continued dancing. “I only just arrived. My brothers and sister, and my friends, are all around somewhere.” She paused, searching for something else to say. “I’m Nan Blythe, by the way.”

“Why, how rude of me!” exclaimed her unknown partner. “I should have introduced myself straight away. My name is Eric Lincoln. I’ve been staying with my uncle, Andrew Elliot, across the harbour and I heard about the party tonight. I suppose you are a local yourself – Nan? An abbreviation?”

“Yes, for Anne,” answered Nan, slightly dreamily. She was still looking at her new acquaintance’s face and marvelling. Eric! So close to the phantom of her book! Why, it was stunningly romantic to be swept off dancing by such a stranger – such a handsome stranger. His dark good looks were the exact same of so many of the brave, dashing heroes she adored. She suddenly realised that he probably expected a little more in the way of conversation from her. “My name is Anne, but that’s Mother’s name so I’ve always been called Nan.”

“It suits you,” Eric agreed, with a little twist of humour in his voice. He was a cheerful, solid sort of fellow but he had not made it to twenty two without realising his effect on young, easily impressed girls. “It’s a sweet name.”

This simple compliment was, in his low tones, utterly overwhelming for Nan. Her pink cheeks darkened to a deep crimson and though she didn’t realise it, in her equally rosy dress she looked even more charming than before. Eric realised that she really was a rather good looking specimen, although not as dazzling as the golden haired siren he had spotted her with a moment before. He shot her another smile and, as the dance ended, made a little flourished bow and kept a light grasp on her hand.

“Now, Miss Nan Blythe, would it be utterly presumptuous for me to request another dance?”

By the time that the sweets for dinner had been brought out, Nan was giddy with delight. Eric was everything that the hero of her imagination ought to be – handsome, loquacious, charming and a good dancer. To be true, he had looked at her a little uncomprehendingly when she quoted Keates’ “Bright Star” sonnet as they looked at the sky together from the porch, but surely full knowledge of the romantic poets was not a necessity in a man?

Eric had gone to fetch two slices of sugary layer cake for the pair of them when Nan was sprung upon by Diana and Persis.

“Nan Blythe! Who is that man that you’ve been dancing with all night? Not a Glen boy, surely?” Diana attempted to crane her neck across the crowd to catch a better glimpse of Eric without looking a complete fool. Needless to say, she was not entirely successful.

“Of course he’s not a native, wouldn’t we know him? Oh, Nan, who is he?” Persis was just as curious as Diana, but had been taught all her life by various governesses and private schools that craning to look at a man was a most shocking offence.

Nan gave a little smile, pleased that the girls seemed as impressed by Eric as she was. She revelled in her captive audience for a little while before giving in.

“His name is Eric Lincoln and he’s Andrew Elliot’s nephew, visiting across harbour. And he asked me to dance and, well, he’s a very good dancer and so we danced a lot and-” Nan broke off with a helpless grin. Persis and Diana both let out gleeful cackles and only just managed to stifle them as Jerry came strolling over.

“Hello girls,” he said cheerfully, offering up a plate of cake. “Anybody want a slice? Eleanor and Faith have disappeared somewhere and I’m left holding the desserts.” He noticed the expressions on Diana and Persis’s faces as they tried to suppress their giggling, as well as Nan’s flushed cheeks. “Have I missed something?”

“And who are all these friends?” Eric had returned from the table bringing two plates of confectionery delight just as Jerry held. He gave one graciously to Nan and then picked up his own, looking expectantly between her and her companions. Diana and Persis quickly swallowed their laughter and attempted to look demure, a state that definitely did not come naturally to them. Jerry looked at the pair of them in confusion and then turned towards the newcomer, offering a hand.

“Jerry Meredith.” He shot Nan a glance and she remembered her manners.

“And this is my twin sister, Diana, and this is Persis Ford.” Nan looked up at Eric with a smile, which quickly faded as she noticed the glimmer in his eye which appeared as he reached out to shake Persis’s hand – but he was not shaking it! He raised it to his lips and kissed it lightly, before moving around Nan, closer to the startled Persis.

“And I am Eric Lincoln. What a pleasure it is to meet you all,” he replied politely, but his eyes were fixed only on Persis and he had not let go of her slim, pale hand. Music began to play suddenly from the band behind them. “I do believe that the next dance has begun. Would you do me the honour of dancing, Miss Ford?”

Persis looked slightly panicked and shot a worried look at Nan, who stood stricken by the wall in cold silence. Unable to think of an excuse to get out of it, Persis gave in to her upbringing.

“I will dance with you,” she answered briefly, and Eric led Persis towards the dancing without a backwards glance, unlike his unwilling partner who, twisting around, attempted to express to Nan with her eyes how sorry she was.

Nan did not notice Persis’s frantic optic telegraphing, nor the comforting arm which Di had slipped around her waist. The twin sisters, united in common disappointment, stood watching Persis and Eric Lincoln – whom suddenly seemed terribly sinister and not friendly at all – twirl amongst the dancers as Jerry stood behind them attempting to eat the large amount of cake he had to dispose of as quietly and surreptitiously as possible.

The trio stood there for several minutes, until the band wound up the song and the couple in front of them stopped moving and acknowledged each other politely. Eric kept a hold on Persis’s hand and appeared to be asking something of her, but Persis shook her head and made towards her friends, a desperate look on her face.

“Nan, darling-” she held her hands out in desolation, but Nan did not take them. The proud, scornful girl removed her twin’s arm from her waist, turned neatly on her heel and strode away from the scene, the only sign of her distress the choked sob that Jerry caught as she left.

“Oh, where is she going?” cried Diana, making to follow her twin. For some reason that Jerry didn’t really understand, he held out a hand to stop her.

“I’ll go,” he explained, offloading the remains of his cake onto Di and shooting a sympathetic look at Persis, who stood behind the remaining twin with an anguished expression, wringing her hands in anxiety. “She’ll probably want to go home and I can walk her. I wasn’t having the best of times anyway.” This was not entirely true. Jerry had thoroughly enjoyed talking to Walter and Eleanor Craig this evening, even if Faith had disappeared with Jem, but for some reason the sight of Nan upset had taken the sheen off of the night for him.

Diana bit her lip and looked doubtfully towards the doors that her twin had left swinging. She wanted to comfort Nan, but she had no idea of what to say and Jerry was always so very capable. She nodded at him and moved back to link her arm through Persis’s own, knowing that the evening had been ruined for her friend as well as her sister.

Having bid a rushed goodbye to the Glen matrons hosting the dance, Jerry burst out through the hall doors, greatly surprising a couple who had been sweethearting under a tree outside. Shouting an apology behind him, he sprinted up the road to catch up with the slim figure in pink who was disappearing into the darkness.

“Nan! NAN!” She turned around as she heard her name being yelled. Jerry was running towards her and he only just managed to halt before bowling her over, leaving him slightly breathless. He bent a little in order to catch his breath before straightening up and looking into her red-rimmed eyes. He sighed softly.

“I’ll walk you home.” He tried to take her arm, but she pulled it away roughly and began walking again. Her toes were beginning to hurt in shoes that were a touch too small, but she would never have admitted it.

“I know the way, thank you.” Her tone was frosty and she had wrapped her arms around herself, a little self contained ball of misery.

“Just thought you might want some company,” Jerry shrugged. He continued to walk beside her, matching her strides perfectly. For some reason, this agitated Nan more than his presence itself. She span around to face him, the tears in her eyes suddenly replaced by sparks.

“Just leave me alone, Jerry! I don’t want you here! Just-let me be.” Her voice was shrill and angry, still faltering slightly with recent sobbing. The pins which held her hair away from her face had come loose over the course of the evening and several locks had fallen out of place, giving her a dishevelled appearance.

Jerry was a patient lad, but he felt the injustice of this statement a little too keenly and spat back “I don’t see why you’re so riled up; it wasn’t me that dropped you!” He immediately regretted the words and shrank back slightly as Nan’s cheeks began to flush – and not for the same reason that they had done so earlier that night.

Then, to his surprise, she began to cry.

These weren’t the noisy, easily cured tears that he was used to from his tiny brother, or the staged, melodramatic weeping he’d seen from plenty of bereaved mourners in the church. Individual drops were running down her cheeks accompanied by vigorous sniffing and she was trying her best to conceal her state, swiping violently at her wet face, though she failed miserably.

Thoroughly alarmed, Jerry began ransacking his pockets for a handkerchief but, finding nothing, settled for gingerly patting her on the shoulder.

“Don’t cry, please! Please Nan, just stop crying. It’s all alright, you don’t need to cry. Just stop crying Nan, please…” He was aware that he was being completely useless, but hadn’t the foggiest idea what else to say.

Her face was still flushed and damp as she looked up at him, teardrops slowly falling off of her face and onto the collar of her dress.

“It’s just – he was so nice and he spoke so beautifully – so romantically. I just thought he was wonderful and now I’m behaving like such a little fool.” Her voice cracked towards the end of her speech and a fresh wave of tears brimmed up in her eyes, threatening to spill over.

“Oh…” Jerry cursed himself as he desperately tried to think of something comforting to say. It didn’t help that he was suddenly seized with the urge to storm back into the hall and knock that smug Eric Lincoln head over heels.

“And he seemed to like me, I thought, and he danced with me such a lot and it was just all so perfect, just like a book.” The wave of tears had broken and Nan’s face was awash once more.

Jerry, not knowing what else to do, took her arm and tugged it slightly, encouraging her to begin walking again with him. Even if he was of no use, he thought, surely her mother or Susan – actually, not Susan – or somebody would have something helpful and wise and feminine to say. Faith and Una entrusted all their confidences to each other or to Rosemary and he had never had to deal with the woes and tribulations of young girls before.

They had walked in silence for at least fifteen minutes before Nan spoke again.

“He was very handsome, Jerry, wasn’t he?”

Jerry mumbled a reply that could easily have been affirmative or negative. He felt highly discomfited by the route the conversation was taking, though he was merciful that there were no more tears.

“And Persis is so lovely. No wonder that he would rather have danced with her than me – they fit. Persis is just what a heroine should be, all goldy and-” Nan’s spiel had been cut off as Jerry stopped suddenly and, pulling on her arm, spun her around to face him. His face was very stern all of a sudden and Nan realised how very grown up Jerry had become since his return from Queens.

“Nan Blythe,” he began, looking into her eyes in utter seriousness. “Never say that Persis Ford, or any other girl for that matter, is prettier than you or cleverer than you or in any way superior, because you can be darned sure that she isn’t. Nobody-” and here Jerry halted, because he was only just realising what he was saying and was suddenly overcome with a flood of shyness. “- nobody is,” he finished lamely.

Nan was looking at him in wonderment. Had Jerry really just said all that? Why, it was more romantic than anything she’d ever heard – quite as good as all the things that heroes said in novels.

Jerry, unaware of the compliments that Nan’s mind was paying him, was mentally flagellating himself for having been so idiotic as to vocalise all the thoughts that he hadn’t even known he had until thirty seconds ago. To him, Nan’s dreamy face looked blank and taken aback and he was about to open his mouth and ruin the moment with prosaic conversation when Nan’s face began to change. A light flooded into her teary eyes, illuminating her whole face with an expression of affection and gratitude. Her mussed hair and tearstained cheeks were transformed into features of classic beauty, at least in Jerry’s eyes, and he swallowed whatever useless comment was about to come out of his mouth and instead bent down and kissed hers.

Quite suddenly, Nan thought, she didn’t mind about Eric Lincoln at all.

She had found her fairytale hero.

The End