Well, guys, I'm alive.

The reason for this obscenely long hiatus was that all of a sudden, I just had absolutely no inspiration, and I didn't have any idea what to do with this chapter. I still don't - but I do know what to do with the other chapters, so I'm not going to make the whole story suffer because of this one stupid, pesky part of it. So... I'm uploading this chapter, even though it's not finished. Don't worry, nothing plot important happens, it just cuts off very abruptly.

I really am sorry for this cop out you guys. Hopefully, I will come back later and write the part I gave up on. For now, I'm posting this, so that I can continue to the next chapters.

On a more cheerful note, I read an early draft of the screenplay for The Woman in Black on line and it was pretty cool. There was a lot more detail about the characters and what had happened to each of them. Jennet's back story was very different from the one I gave her. If you just google 'Woman in Black screenplay', the pdf of it is one of the first things to come up. I recommend checking it out.

On an even more cheerful note, special thanks to Riri Goei, GeneMarie85, Brainstorm, GDB, C00kieguirl and HyperCaz for reviewing.

And on another, only slightly more cheerful note, I do not own The Woman in Black or any of its various drafts and adaptations.

Onto this poor, malformed chapter... (Jennet's POV again).

Funerals were horrid things, really. All of them. I hadn't thought so quite so strongly at the service following my father's death ten years ago—the only one I had attended, until now. Now, however, I had spent the better part of a day in a stuffy old church, surrounded by Mother's tearful and doddering old friends and pretending to listen to a clergyman, to whom Mother had probably spoken twice in her life, as he sermonized about her warmth and compassion during her time on earth. Which, of course, only served to prove that he hadn't known her at all.

After the funeral and burial, we stayed a week in the estate that had been mine and Alice's childhood home, which I thoroughly hated, but which Alice refused to leave until all the business of inheritance and the sale of the property had been settled. Alice herself was as much of a wreck as she had been a week ago and talking to her rarely yielded more than a solemn nod or shake of the head in response. All things considered, by the time we were piled into a carriage and on our way back to Crythin Gifford, I regretted my mother's death as intensely as anyone else did.

Won't Mr. Kipps be proud of me for this touching display of emotion? I thought dryly, drumming my fingers against the frigid wood of the window frame of the carriage. "Who do you suppose thought up the idea of a funeral, originally?" I asked at length.

Alice looked up as if unsure that I was speaking to her. Her sleeping husband was the only other person in the carriage with us—the few servants who had come with had a carriage of their own. "I wasn't asking the horses," I prompted.

"Oh heavens, Jennet, I don't know," she said wearily, leaning back against the wall behind her.

"Were there funerals before the Bible?"

"We'll see if we have any books that address the subject when we get home."

"And must they be so insufferably long?"

She sighed. "Jennet. Is it essential that we discuss this now?"

I slumped against the warped wooden wall of the carriage and turned my attention to the window. I hated it when people asked questions they already knew the answers to. There was a threadbare patch on my mourning dress, the dusty old ill-fitting thing that Alice had found for me at the back of a closet. It was webbed with seemingly permanent wrinkles surrounded by patches of material that were discolored from neglect and disuse. And no amount of washing it had gotten it to smell like anything but rotting wood. I had hated it instantly, but it was the only one with a removable corset and there hadn't been time to have me fitted for a new one. I scratched at the loose threads. Maybe if there was a hole in it, I could hope for a new one the next time somebody died.

"Jennet, stop that," said Alice.

"Why?"

She didn't respond. After a few moments, I repeated, "Why?"

Still no response. I hated funerals, I hated stupid questions, I hated my mourning dress. But there was nothing I hated so much as being ignored. I scratched harder.

She reached over her husband to grab my wrist and pull my hand away from the dress. "Why do you insist on being such a child?" she demanded.

"I'm not a child. And you're not my mother."

"If you weren't such a stubborn thing you would realize that I'm only trying to protect you from catching a chill. We'll be home in an hour or two and I don't want you stepping outside in a dress with a hole in it."

"You didn't say so before, even when I asked you twice. You just like telling me what to do. You hate it when I do something you didn't have a hand in deciding, even when it's just picking at threads."

She let out an exasperated breath, which puffed out in front of her in the chilly interior of the carriage. "Yes, Jennet, when I keep you from harming yourself it's because I'm a horrible tyrant, not because I care about my family."

I didn't know what to say, so I glared at her for a moment and then fixed my eyes, once again, on the countryside racing past outside my window. She might care about the rest of her family, but she certainly didn't care about me. She hated me. She never let me do what I wanted to and she had hardly paid me a scrap of attention for over a week.

But of course, if she had been less than attentive of late, it was because Mother had died, I thought, as my anger ebbed away. I didn't remember the two of them being particularly close before Mother had fallen ill, but then Alice had always been sad to see anything die. Even mice and spiders. And she really wouldn't have had any need to be protective if she truly didn't care about me. She was right. I was being childish.

"I'm sorry," I murmured after a while, still looking out the window. "I know you're only trying to help. It is very cold and the last thing I need is to catch a chill. Especially now. It's just that I'm about to be a mother myself and I can't afford to be a child. So it made me angry when you called me one."

I listened for a while, eyes still on the landscape, but she didn't say anything. Had I finally upset her so much that she refused to speak to me?

"I don't mean to be so stubborn," I added, avoiding eye contact, in case I was about to be scolded. "I promise I'll try harder not to be."

I waited another few minutes and still she didn't answer. Finally, I looked over at her, half expecting to be slapped. She was asleep.

XXX

I hadn't thought I would ever be happy to see Eel Marsh House other than the very first time I had arrived there, penniless and hardly more than a month pregnant. But as the carriage finally rolled over the last few feet of Nine Lives Causeway, I was more than a little bit glad to be back. The actual act of stepping outside of the carriage and walking into the house was less than enjoyable, of course, thanks to the half a day I had spent over the ride home and the full ton I seemed to weigh these days. Still, even I had to admit it was good to be back.

Mr. Kipps was waiting for us just inside the door when we got there. It was Sunday, his day off, and I had the sudden feeling that he had been at his window, watching for us all day. The staff had a letter for Alice and Morgan, which had arrived for them while we had been gone. Mr. Kipps offered to carry my suitcase upstairs for me while they read it.

"You were gone an entire week. Mr. Drablow said it would only be a few days," he noted as I followed him up the stairs.

"Well, if you were lonely, then you certainly needn't blame me," I replied, clutching the railing. "Goodness knows I wasn't in favor of being there more than five minutes."

"Oh, of course. Burial services can be quite trying, and especially when you've had such a long journey there and back. You must be tired."

"Yes, well, at least it's all over now. Father is already dead so as long as none of us drowns on the causeway, no one else important should die for a good long time."

He paused, looking back at me. "You really ought not to say things like that."

"I know."

He turned back around and continued up the stairs. "Well, in any case, I'm sure you'll be happy to hear some good news, for a change."

"Why? What's happened?"

We had reached the door to my room and he set my suitcase down in front of it. "Are you still hoping to find employment for after your child is born?" he asked.

"Yes, I am," I replied, hardly daring to speculate what he was going to say next.

"Well, I believe I've found it for you." He looked so pleased with himself. "A colleague of mine in another village is looking for a new secretary. I explained your situation to him and he said he would be happy to speak to you when he returns to Crythin Gifford—he lives in a town about fifteen miles from here. You would have to go and live there, but the wages would be more than reasonable and he assured me you would have no trouble finding a place to stay."

I suddenly felt as though I might float away like a balloon. "And—and you think he might hire me? Despite -" I looked down at myself, "-this?"

"He said it was certainly possible. I made vague arrangements for you to speak with him in a week, when he comes back to settle some paperwork." I must have looked as shocked as I felt because he quickly added, "That is, if you don't object."

"Of course I don't!" I replied hastily. "I'm just—well, I'm surprised. You did tell him my child is illegitimate, didn't you?"

Mr. Kipps said nothing. All I could do was laugh.

Just then, Alice came up the stairs, looking rather annoyed. "Oh, there you are, Jennet," She said. She looked at me and Mr. Kipps, standing at the door to my room and her eyebrows furrowed. "What are you two doing up here by yourselves?"

"Mr. Kipps was carrying my suitcase for me," I explained. "And he has good news."

I waited for her to ask what it was, but she only said, "That's wonderful. We're having company in an hour. Please get ready."

"In an hour?" I repeated. "But we just got here."

"I know," she sighed, "but they're coming nonetheless and they'll be dining with us. "Mr. Kipps, I know you're very busy these days, but we would be pleased if you would join us as well."

"Of course. I'll leave the two of you to your conversation," he replied, and disappeared down the hall.

"Who is coming?" I asked, feeling much less cheerful than I had a moment ago.

Alice didn't look any happier. "Do you remember Mother's old friends, the Lakewoods?"

I did, unfortunately. Ghastly old couple.

"They heard the news of her death, but weren't able to attend the burial because they were visiting their niece in France," Alice continued. "But apparently they wrote to us to say that they would be in to visit and offer us their consolations this evening. And we didn't receive the letter until today, of course, because it's been sitting here the whole time."

I groaned. "I would feel much more consoled if they weren't coming."

Alice frowned at me. "Frankly, Jennet, I'm not fond of them either, but I'm going to be a proper hostess and show them the respect our parents would have shown. And so are you." She turned rather huffily and stalked down the hall to her own room.

She was still angry at me from earlier, I presumed. But I hadn't really been all that bad, had I? I sighed and lugged my suitcase the rest of the way into my room, leaving it in the middle of the floor to be unpacked later and wishing now more than ever that I could have changed into a different dress. I turned to face the mirror and saw my reflection recoil—I looked awful. My dress was wrinkled and somehow looked dustier than it had when Alice had found it at the back of her closet, my cheeks and nose were red from the chill outside and my hair was a tangled mess. There was nothing to be done about my dress or my face, but I could at least improve the state of my hair. Alice had a pretty way of pinning her hair back. My features were more angular that hers were, so it wouldn't frame my face as nicely, but I decided to try it anyway.

As I struggled with my hair I began to feel anxious. The Lakewoods probably didn't know I was with child. Our family had done our best to cover it up. As I thought about it, I realized it was more than likely that they didn't even know where I was, only that I had left my parents' home without having managed to find a husband. They had never liked me. What a nasty shock they would have to arrive and find me here, with the disposition of a hornet and the size of a barge.

After a frustrating number of failures to make my hair look acceptable, I found myself wandering into my sister's room. She was at her own mirror, smoothing her dress and making the final touches on her hair, which she had pulled back tightly into a bun at the nape of her neck.

"Would you mind terribly if I asked you to help me with my hair?" I murmured, doing my best to seem sweet and innocent.

She looked at me for a moment and then, to my surprise, smiled and stood up, motioning for me to sit down where she had been. "You haven't asked me to help me with your hair since you were twelve," she chuckled as I sat down in front of her mirror. "What's the matter?"

"I was trying to pin it back the way you do sometimes, with the little swirl by your ear, but I couldn't."

"I'm not surprised. Did you brush your hair first? It's so tangled." She picked up a brush and began running it through my hair.

"Mr. Kipps seems to have missed us," I observed, hoping to steer away from another argument.

"Yes," Alice agreed, "it seems he was quite anxious for us to come home. He is rather strange, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is. He's nice though. Ouch! Don't pull so hard."

"Sorry."

"Did you know he's a widower? And he had a son too, but he died just before he came here."

"Who? Mr. Kipps? He never told that to me or Morgan. The two of you are rather close, aren't you?"

I shrugged. "Oh, and I nearly forgot to tell you! He might have found me work with a man in another town. I would have to go and live there, but I could pay rent and buy food and everything all on my own. It's perfect. It's exactly what I needed."

She swept my hair back, tying it into a bun like hers, and waited a few moments before responding. When she finally spoke, she didn't sound nearly as excited as I had anticipated. "That's wonderful, dear," she said calmly, "but wouldn't you like to raise the child here?"

I turned to face her and replied, "Oh, Alice, I know how excited you are about this child and how much you'll want to fuss over everything, but you could come and visit whenever you wanted to. I don't know that I would have room for you, but—well, I could sleep on the floor. This really is a good thing. I hate being such a burden to you and . . . I would finally be doing something right."

"Jennet, you are not a burden," she said firmly. "Morgan and I are both more than pleased to have you staying with us. And, to be honest, I would feel much better if you and the child staid here."

"But why?"

"It's safe here."

"No it's not," I argued. "We all run the risk of drowning just by stepping outside." It wasn't her real reason. Why was she lying?

"That's not true—you know we take every precaution against accidents and besides, the entire family and staff would be here to make sure the child didn't wander too close to the causeway."

"If we went away there wouldn't be a causeway."

"Yes, but there would be crowded streets and dangerous people, and have you thought of who is going to care for your child while you're working every day?"

I hadn't. But that didn't mean I wouldn't think of something in time! "What's the real reason you want me to stay?" I demanded, hoping to draw attention to the flaws in her argument, and away from the flaws in mine.

She turned and began unpacking the things in her trunk (something anyone except Alice would have had a servant do for them), her irritation clear in the frown that now seemed fixed to her face. It was the second time I had angered her today, and probably the thousandth since I had come to stay with her. Only this time it was she, not I, that was being unreasonable and I felt my indignation rising at this uncharacteristic turn from her. What reason could she possibly have that she couldn't tell me about? This was my baby we were arguing over; there was nothing that I didn't have a right to know about.

Perhaps it was because she was upset with me and she didn't want to talk with me about serious matters. That at least made some sense. Perhaps she thought I would react irrationally to whatever it was she had to say.

"I did apologize, you know," I said after a few moments. "This morning, during the carriage ride. You didn't hear because you were asleep. I suppose it's my own fault everyone is always angry with me."

Alice sighed and her frown lifted slightly. "Not entirely. I haven't been in very high spirits since Mother's death, as you know, and I'm rather anxious about the Lakewoods' visit. Perhaps we could discuss this sometime when we're both feeling a bit less strained."

I nodded, tired of arguing with her. "Of course, we don't even know if I'll be hired."

She nodded. Just then, there was a knock at the door and after a moment, Grace stuck her head in and said, "Mrs. Drablow, Miss Humfrye, the Lakewoods are here. They're a mite early, but Mr. Drablow is with them. Shall we tell them you're busy?"

"Why don't you serve them drinks and have them seated – we'll be down in just a minute," said Alice. Grace nodded and flitted away.

Alice sighed. "Nearly an hour early." She tucked a stray wisp of hair behind my ear. "Well, we only need deal with them for one night and just a bit of tomorrow morning."

"Oh, they're staying the night?"

"Yes, they still have quite a bit of travelling to do and they need to recover their energy." She moved to the door. "Are you coming?"

"If I must," I replied and allowed her to help me out of her chair. "Alice?" I asked, trailing her down the hall to the stairs.

"Yes?"

"I suppose they will be rather . . . unimpressed to see me like this."

Alice turned and looked at me steadily. "Jennet, if Mr. and Mrs. Lakewood find your condition objectionable, they are free to leave whenever they like." She continued back down the stairs.

A swell of gratitude was warm in my chest, temporarily blocking out the twist of nerves that had materialized there. As thick-skinned as I tried to seem, I hated the feeling that I was an embarrassment to my sister, and it was good to hear her wave off the inevitably negative opinions of Mother's friends so easily. Nevertheless, I found myself biting my lip as the nerves returned. As a little girl, I had always been terrified of the old couple's visits. Evidently, that was still the case. I told myself to stop being foolish, but as we reached the bottom of the stairs and neared the dining room, where the Lakewoods and the rest of the household waited for us, I muttered, "Alice, do you suppose I could just stay in my room tonight?"

"Why?"

"I feel ill."

"No you don't. You always turn pale when you're ill and you look just fine right now. I don't think you've ever lied to me in your life, Jennet, what's the matter?"

I sighed and twisted my fingers together. I wasn't a child. And I didn't want her to think that I was, but all the same, I replied, "It's just that they were always so horrid, even when we were little and I… well… do you remember when I first came here to stay with you I stayed in my room for a week and then you made me go for a ride in the village with you because you said I needed fresh air and you wanted to buy some strawberries from that woman at the market but she just glared and refused to give you any and said that the men here were unscrupulous enough without you bringing in sluts from other villages and—"

I realized that I was babbling. My throat began to close. I looked down, determined not to cry and unsure why I was so emotional suddenly.

Alice looked alarmed. "You laughed about that at the time," she said tentatively.

I sniffed and nodded. "I don't know why I'm being like this."

"The pregnancy, no doubt," she said smoothly, probably only half believing it.

Before I could reply, a voice from the next room called, "Is that my little Alice Humfrye? I see you there in the doorway. Oh, I don't think you've grown much since last time we met, but no matter. Come and sit."

Alice said, "Yes, of course, Mrs. Lakewood," and went into the next room muttering under her breath that she had been thirty-two last time they had met and how much could she possibly have grown since then? I followed her reluctantly, unsure what I should do. Mr. Kipps ducked in a moment later, I noticed, and politely waited to be introduced.

Alice had asked the Lakewoods about their journey thus far and Mrs. Lakewood was relating their misfortunes, which apparently were vast and detailed. "We roomed at an inn near the border two days ago," she was saying. "Simply appalling. Everything was filthy."

"It was three days ago," her husband corrected her.

"Two days ago," Mrs. Lakewood said firmly, "and the food was worse than you can imagine. Alice, who is that young woman standing behind you? She looks as though she's not sure quite where she is."

"Mr. and Mrs. Lakewood," Alice sighed, "you remember my sister Jennet, I'm sure."

The woman squinted at me, unsmiling. It had been nine years since we had last seen each other and I could almost hear her asking herself where I had been this entire time and why I had suddenly reappeared. "Oh, yes, of course. So sorry, my dear," she said, "I didn't recognize you. You were so much smaller last time I saw you."

I shifted my hands where I had rested them on my belly, and wondered how I should respond. I didn't believe for a moment that the woman was referring to the height I had gained, but I was still hoping we could pass the night with no outward mention of the pregnancy. Mrs. Lakewood poked at her husband's arm. "Hiram, look how much young Jennet has grown." Fortunately, dinner had just been served and Mr. Lakewood was paying no more attention to me than he was to his wife.

And that's where it cuts off. I had planned on some comic relief with this curmudgeonly old couple, but evidently I'm not capable of that right now.

I don't really think I deserve reviews this time.