She was reading her book in her usual place by the little terrace used to store the gardening tools when the children rushed up to her that day. She nearly jumped out of her shoes and was about to scold when she noticed their faces.

Aside from their breathlessness, dressed in their best Sunday clothes, they were suddenly the picture of well-behaved children—the only proper kind, as their Great Aunt Adelaide might say: clean, silent, and grim as all hell. Honestly, though, it frightened her more than any of their wild schemes.

"Children," she said, uneasily, "You should all be—"

And before, she could say anything more, Simon launched into a hurried, rambling story filled with barely-understandable mentions of the horrid Mrs. Quickly, their Aunt Adelaide, and the old donkey in the front yard. The more Evangeline listened, the more she felt invisible hands wring her stomach, until at some point she blinked, and saw Nanny McPhee turn into the hallway and meet her eyes.

Simon, Evangeline realized, was still speaking.

Evangeline didn't want to hear any more, so she grabbed Simon's hand firmly and pulled herself up. Only then, as Simon stopped, did she realize what Simon hadn't yet asked her to do. Evangeline took a breath.

"Well," she said, in a soft voice she didn't trust, "we can't let that happen, can we?"

She then turned to Nanny McPhee, who by then had come to stand just a step away.

"Nanny McPhee, if you and Tora could, erm, help me get ready, I—" Evangeline paused. "…I don't have much," she finished, lamely.

Nanny McPhee, as mysteriously understanding, as ever, nodded. "Yes, of course."

Nanny McPhee turned, and the children followed, even the boys—which would be just as well, Evangeline thought. Some of the children, it seemed, hadn't fully understood Simon's plan yet, she realized as she walked. Simon was a clever one. The thought made her smile.

Simon, himself, though he routinely preferred to be at the end of the line, lagged more than usual to match Evangeline's pace.

"Aunt Adelaide said she was going to turn one of the girls into a proper lady who can say her vowels," he said quietly. Oh.

Evangeline put her arm around his shoulder. He'd grow into a kind and good gentleman like his father one day, only he'd have Mrs. Brown's intelligence, too.

"Clever boy," she said.

.:x:.

Actually, she didn't really have anything to take besides her cloak and bonnet.

"Goodbye and thank you, Nanny McPhee," Evangeline said by the side of the house, which was distant enough from the main door. The Nanny smiled at her, and the warmth in her eyes made Evangeline feel a little better.

"Please say goodbye to Cook for me," she requested, "even though I was a poor excuse of a scullery maid." She attempted a grin. "Always saying it'll snow in August before I'd be useful to anyone, you know."

Nanny McPhee nodded. "Of course."

"Mr. Brown, too!" Evangeline couldn't help but blurt. "I mean…He probably doesn't know how much it meant to me when…when he let me stay…after Mrs. Brown died…"

She suddenly remembered that the children were still there. "Of course, I'm the scullery maid, so he wouldn't know it, anyway, would he?"

Nanny McPhee smiled again. "I am sure he could say the same of you, Evangeline."

Evangeline couldn't help but grin a little, not because it was true, but because Nanny McPhee spoke so nicely to her and always knew what to say. Giving Evangeline one last nod, Nanny McPhee went to fetch Aunt Adelaide.

"I don't mind living with Great Aunt Adelaide," said Chrissy after a pause. "Honest."

Evangeline supposed that she wasn't nearly as calm as should have liked, because she snapped, "Don't be silly!" in a voice harsher than she would have liked.

Evangeline took a deep breath. "Family's shouldn't ever be broken up," she said curtly, refusing to think of how her older brother and sister died in the workhouse. "Besides, your father loves you all very much."

"Father wouldn't want you to go, either," said Eric.

Evangeline mustered a smile and did not reply—Aunt Adelaide would return soon. "Go hide."

The children, bless them, took a few steps back and stopped. Nervous herself, Evangeline found their bravery irritable. Aunt Adelaide could change her mind at any moment—worse, her vision might be restored. She muttered, "Go hide and don't come out until we are far away, all right?"

Evangeline nudged Chrissy towards the shadow and walked up to the coach, where a footman helped her inside. It was easily the fanciest one she'd ever been in, not that she had ever been in one. She probably would have spent more time admiring it in any other situation, but she immediately turned back to the children, who had even closer. Simon was steps away.

"Blast," Evangeline muttered under breath, "just leave."

Seeing Simon might make Aunt Adelaide demand the other children to see her off, too. Evangeline told him to leave one last time when he was within earshot, but the poor boy wouldn't have it.

"I just want to tell you," he began, "that I didn't…I mean, I didn't want things to turn out like this and I—that is, I—I wanted to say—I want to say…"

Oh. Evangeline swallowed, and leaned out the window. "Oh, Simon. Go."

Aunt Adelaide had crossed the doorway and would look at them at any moment.

Hesitating one last time, Simon finally turned and ran. He would make sure his brothers and sisters were safely out of sight.

"There you are, gel!"

Evangeline stiffened. There was no going back now. She could muster only enough courage to bow her head in greeting to Her Ladyship, risking a glance at her face as she did so.

The coach began to drive away.

And suddenly, just as they were about to pass the gate that marked the path to the Brown cottage, she heard it.

"Chrissy! Chrissy!"

Her nerves, which for the most part, remained miraculously calm throughout the past half hour, flared to life and her heart beat faster than the sound of the horses' hooves.

"Now then, you'd better tell me your name, little girl."

And so, after endless seconds of silence in which Mr. Brown's frantic voice rang in her ears, Evangeline spoke.

Great Aunt Adelaide approved.

Evangeline felt a great wave of relief and, though the sound of hooves and panic echoed in her head, she had to smile.

Clever boy.

.:x:.

Author's Note: A very not-great, unedited, first-out-of-two-or-three chapter I wrote in the span of an hour, mostly to resolve some missing moments from the movie. Because Thomas Sangster's character was great and I missed all the very tiny, tiny hints of Mr Brown/Evangeline—which, considering who the actors are, was a damn shame. Of course, I don't know why I complain about it really, when the movie is clearly not supposed to be considered as something out of yet another Austen-based remake. But period romances are wonderful and pathetically addictive bad fanfiction fodder. Frankly, character introspection was more important here than writing (as it was rather absent in the movie) so HA.

This has been a long-winded complaint about how cute, bland, and yet utterly plotbunny-inducing this film is. For example, I only remembered after I write this, that in the bedtime scene following Chrissy's rescue, Simon can't express his thanks in words.

If you are too lazy to review, copy and paste:

I read this story, thought it wasn't a total waste of my time, and am too lazy to review.