A/N: This is a rewritten version of the original chapter. I reread the chapter and I realised that I hated it, so here goes. Oh, and I'm sorry if the layout is a little sloppy. Somewhere along the lines, something went wrong. Get it? Somewhere along the lines? ...Oh, fine...I thought it was funny.
Disclaimer: One does not own the characters. Or at least, not most of them. If one were able to draw like Kaori Yuki, one would have been long deceased of happiness.
-:-:-:In which::-:-:-
A murder is committed and a woman takes a card.
We are introduced to the characters.
The weather is cold and leads to Other Things.
A girl gives information.
A person is bought.
A scream broke the silence of the night. A figure ran down along the dark alley, dropping a small card along the way. Whether that had been intended or not was unknown.
As the figure ran, it's hands fumbled hastily with something. It was long, and the sharp edges of it glinted in the moonlight, except for a few sections where the light could not get to. These sections were the ones that were covered in blood.
As the footsteps died away, so did the shadows. Now, without the shape to block the light of the wonderful half moon, it's light flowed down, illuminating instead, the face of the dead man, slumped in a corner.
It was late at night. Miryam Bashevis walked steadily through the crowds. To the rest of the world, it was Helena Harper who walked. It was Helena Harper who breathed. It was Helena Harper who held her umbrella like she was going to use it to whack someone at any moment. It was Helena Harper who got hopelessly lost in the streets.
She swore under her breath. It would take ages to get back at this rate. Not to mention the fact that her shoes were killing her. She could have sworn that they had some sort of personal grudge against her.
She shivered. Her thin dress wasn't warm enough, considering the weather she had to endure. It was very low cut, exposing her neck and only just covering enough of her. There was a black lace corset around the waist, with golden lining. It would have been a striking dress, if it wasn't for the fact that the back of the corset was so sloppily tied. Oh, well. At least she could breathe properly.
The coins in her purse jangled. The purse had once been a dark pink, almost purple. But now, the color was indistinguishable under the layers of filth. It hadn't been washed in months, maybe even years. She had counted the day's payment before, over and over, to make sure she got it right. It came up to a pitiful amount of £5. That was barely enough to pay for her lodgings.
She sighed heavily. She leaned against one of the nearby walls and took of her shoe, rubbing the sole of her foot. There was a faint singing from up ahead, but she didn't notice it. Her feet were more important.
A man walked up the alleyway, a bottle in his hands. He was wearing a dark red coat and a black cape that contrasted perfectly with the coat. He had a three cornered hat with fake black locks on his head. In his pocket, almost falling out of it, was a mask. It might have been white, but then again, it might have been blue. He didn't walk. He stumbled. He didn't sing. He howled.
He didn't jump, he hopped. Miryam screamed as she felt something touch her on the waist. She whirled around and slapped the man soundly across the face. She stared in horror at what she had done. She looked at her hand, then back at the man, who was tottering. It was a reflex sort of thing.
She picked up her shoes and ran. The man made a grab at her feet, then straightened as best as he could and teetered after her. She thanked whatever gods were up there that she had managed to get her shoes off before. But then again, these were going to make for some serious calluses.
She whacked herself mentally. Now wasn't exactly the best time to be thinking about her feet. She made a sharp turn into and alley and stayed there, catching her breath. She listened for footsteps but the ones that sounded had faded into the distance. The man had probably given up a long time ago. Somehow, Miryam felt slightly disgruntled by that. It was extremely unflattering, especially when ego feeding was needed.
She patted the side of her head to make sure her hair was in place, turning around to observe her surroundings. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight she saw. It was a dead end. Literally.
Against the cold brick wall was a corpse, slumped against it. The walls were covered in blood. It was either the work of a mad man or a mad dog. It would have been more comforting to know if it were a mad dog. Miryam gingerly put her umbrella under his chin and tipped it up. Unseeing eyes stared back up at her. She lowered her umbrella and took a deep breath.
Counting slowly to ten, she walked back towards the way she had come from. Her face was pale, slightly green, even. She looked traumatized and she believed she had a right to be. Her foot nudged something thick on the ground. She jumped and gave a little shriek, thinking that maybe it would be a part of the man's insides that had been thrown aside. Though it was beside her better judgment, she looked down.
Under her foot was a thick piece of card. She breathed a sigh of relief and picked it up. The only part of the man on it was a bit of his blood along one of the edges. On it was depicted a picture of a tower being struck by lightning. There were people falling out of it, heads towards the ground. She flinched at the thought of the end they were going to be meeting, but somehow found it rather amusing. It was the way they were drawn. She stuffed it into her pockets. She didn't care much for tarot cards herself, but maybe there might be others at work that might find it amusing as well.
Riffuel Raffit was tall. Riffuel Raffit had light colored hair. Riffuel Raffit had eyes as light his hair, contrasted with clothes as dark as a burnt tree. Riffuel Raffit had a sweet disposition and a calm temperament. Riffuel Raffit knew that anyone who wanted to work for Cain and live had to have that.
Riffuel Raffit was silent. Riffuel Raffit could go into a room, get behind you and yell BOO! but he didn't want to because he didn't want to lose his job. Riffuel Raffit knew his last name was funny and sounded like 'rabbit'. Riffuel Raffit preferred to be known as Riff.
With the same silence as has just been described, he walked into the room that was Cain's study. He glanced at the dark haired young man. He was sitting in a big, comfortable, expensive chair. That swirled. Chairs that swirled were perfect when it came to intimidating people. It worked particularly well if it was dark.
Riff out the tray down onto the table. It made a soft plink!-ing sound as it made contact with the hard wood. The butler ignored it and proceeded to pour tea into a teacup with a delicate floral pattern.
"You know," Cain said after a while, not looking at Riff, "if you look at that picture of Merry for too long, it looks like the teddy bear has something stuck up it's nose." He indicated the picture.
"Yes, sir," Riff said, not wanting to argue with him. What he really wanted to ask was why Cain was staring at the pictures, but he felt that there was no polite way to get about it, so he just went with the time-old classic "yes, sir" routine.
He handed Cain the newspaper that had arrived that morning and stood by him. There weren't many butlers who were allowed to stay. Most of them were hounded out of the room until they were called back in to take a message or something of the like. Cain, however, appreciated the company.
The newspapers rustled as the young count unfolded the paper. He sipped his tea daintily as he studied the headlines. Devastating crash for A. Greenegg S. (which stood for solicitor) & E. Hamilton stocks, Hunting's only landmark goes up in flames: A landmark lost etc. Underneath that was an advertisement that read Hurry to Francis Mash's Sunnyside Circus! Tickets available now! See the Flying Man, the Lion Tamer, the Monkey Trainer AND MUCH MORE!
Cain raised an eyebrow at the advertisement and resolved not to let Merryweather catch sight of it. What kind of insane man named a circus Sunnyside Circus, anyway? And of course there were the original names. Just think! A Flying Man! How mysterious! He 'hmmph'-ed to himself and turned the page.
An article caught his eye. Or rather, it grabbed his eye. It was all over the page. One couldn't help but notice it. Cain read the headlines silently, interest in his eyes.
"There's been a murder," he said after a while.
Riff looked up from his (not very interesting) job of wiping the table so as not to leave stains. "Is that so, sir?" he replied. He had just the faintest feeling of dread in his stomach. He was sure Cain wouldn't – maybe even couldn't – leave the subject until he got all the information he wanted.
"The newspapers say that the murdered man was a Mr. Henry Grey," Cain continued, ignoring Riff. He snorted. "That name has no personality whatsoever."
Riff sighed inaudibly. He wanted to tell Cain that not every one had a father who named his child after the first human being in the Bible to kill a man. He wanted to say that at least Henry Grey had a last name like he did, rather than a name like Raffit. Instead, he said, "Yes, sir."
Cain gave the newspapers a shake and looked up irritably at Riff. "Is that all you have to say this morning?" he snapped. "If you don't have anything interesting to say, then don't speak." He looked back down at the newspapers, feeling slightly ashamed of himself for being sharp with no reason. "It says here that a young woman was seen stepping out of the alley where the man was killed at about a quarter past twelve in the morning."
"Would that make her the prime suspect, then, sir?" Riff asked cautiously.
"How should I know?" Cain asked, shrugging. "It doesn't concern me."
Riff opened his mouth, then closed it, deciding that "Yes, sir." was not the best choice of words.
Cain walked through the cold, wet streets of London. A carriage screeched to a stop as the young man crossed the road without even looking. The passenger poked his head out of the window and swore at him. Cain ignored the man. His personal motto for the streets was, "I don't stop to watch the traffic. They stop for me." When he had said this to Riff, the butler had sighed and looked altogether rather weary.
Cain shivered under his thin coat and wished he had listened to Riff and wore a thicker one. He hurriedly stepped through the first door on his left. He felt grateful for the warmth inside the building.
"Why, hello," a voice crooned from behind him. Cain felt shivers run up his spine at the sound. It was a sort of masculine, yet feminine voice. All in all, it sounded like a man trying to sound like a woman. He felt that maybe he had stepped through the wrong door.
He turned around and stared at the chest of a tall, big woman. Her brown-red hair was piled high on her head and her chin connected smoothly with a strong jaw. She was quite pretty, but all in all, much too intimidating for Cain's liking. Anyone would have felt intimidated if they had seen a woman of her stature.
The woman's face was practically white with make-up. But underneath all the cosmetics, there was a mild-mannered, cheerful face. In her delicately painted hands, she held a long pipe between two fingers. "I'm Ember," she said, flashing him a wide smile. "Welcome to the Troubadour's Head. Feel free to look around."
She winked at him conspiratorially. "Mind you, though, some of the girls are a little tetchy tonight, so's I'd watch it if I were you," she continued. She grinned, then walked off, blowing out a fine breeze of smoke. Cain sighed slightly at her departure. He stood awkwardly in the middle of the room before taking a seat at a free table.
He observed his surroundings. There was a lot of laughter and giggling, as well as smoke. Through the smoke, he could see numerous men and women. Some men were young, and some men were old. A majority of them had their hands around the girls, or rather, around a place that was below the waist and not quite decent.
Two girls walked past his table. One wore a brilliant dress of red and gold. The corset around her waist was a dark copper and had black lining which complimented it very well. The other was dressed in black and white. The piece of clothing around her waist very nearly sank into the background of her dress, but it was made discernable by a faint outline and white laces. Cain noticed, however, that the back of their dresses were not done up properly. Probably so their customers don't have a hard time undressing them, Cain thought sourly, glaring around him. The girls threw a glance at him. One whispered something to the other. They both giggled, then scuttled off.
At the table beside him, two girls were talking to each other. One, a girl with black hair, was speaking in the hushed, urgent tone of someone who really needed to get something out of their system. She had a strong face. That was the only way you could have described it. She wasn't pretty and she wasn't attractive. She was just the sort of girl you would see in the street, salute for being a woman, then pass along on the other side of the street. She was really rather intimidating.
She slid something across the table. It was long and thin, Cain noted, but that was about all he had been able to see. The other girl, an attractive red-head who, unfortunately, didn't look too bright, took a long look at it. Her face paled considerably and she threw back her head, letting out a shriek that would have made a banshee stare, cover it's ears and run (or float. It depended on whether the banshee preferred walking or floating).
The black haired girl shushed her. There was an uneasy silence. The girl rolled her eyes at the world. She grabbed the hand of the red-headed girl and forcefully dragged her out of the room. Activity hesitantly reared its head, looked around to make sure they were both gone, then resumed, though on a less cheerful note. Some of the gentlemen apologised to their pouting women and left.
Cain stood up from his seat and followed the two females into the hallway. He looked both ways, but saw only the red-head, leaning against the wall. Her shoulders were heaving and she was making funny little noises that would have made any normal person sound like an idiot, but made her sound extremely pitiful. He walked up to her and tapped her lightly on the shoulder. She turned to face him, looking surprised. There were clear tears in her eyes.
"Madam," Cain crooned, putting on the I'mahaughtynoblewhoisverykindandnextremelyhandsome act. "May I know what has distressed you?"
His voice was soft and cooing, making him, personally, sound like a pigeon with constipation. His tone of voice completely contradicted his feelings, but it paid off. The girl blushed furiously and her tears ceased, lost in the wonder of having this Tall, Dark and Handsome Stranger talking to her.
"It's Mary," she murmured, clearly charmed. "Marianna Susan Cleopatra Athena Potts. But you can just call me Mary. Everyone else does."
"A fine name," Cain said, feeling slightly irritable. She had completely ignored his question. "Miss Potts, a woman like you shouldn't be standing alone here, crying her pretty eyes out. Come now. What is troubling you?"
"It's nothing," Marianna Susan croaked, her face suddenly turning pale, which made her look like a snow queen with red-hair.
Cain groaned and slapped his forehead mentally. "There's not way such a lovely lady like you, looking the way you are, cannot be distressed. You uttered such a scream…I was really quite worried for your safety."
Marianna Susan's cheeks turned red, contrasting with the pale skin of her face. Her cheeks looked like twin blossoms against a canvas of snow. Cain leaned in towards her until his face was only a few inches away from hers. "You can tell me," he said softly, smiling at her.
Marianna Susan's heart fluttered inside of her. Her mouth nervously began to smile. "Well," she said, just as softly, as though they were two lovers whispering sweet nothings to each other, "I was talking to Helena…"
There was a light tap at the door. "Helena?" Ember asked from the outside.
Miryam stood up and unlocked the door. "Yes?" she asked. She noted the dark-haired gentleman at her side. "How may I help you?"
Ember gestured at the man and gave her a smile. "You have a customer," she said brightly. It had been a while since Miryam had had a customer. Ember said it was because all the men were afraid of intelligent women. Marianna Susan put it down to the plain fact that Miryam was scary.
"But don't we usually meet in the main room?" Miryam asked, her voice rising in protest.
Ember looked at her sharply. It was both meaningful and sympathetic at the same time. "He insisted," she said firmly. "And what can we do if a customer insists?" she added, sighing.
Miryam scowled. Meaning, she thought, that he had paid more than usual. Gods, she hated rich people. "Come in, please, sir," she said sullenly, trying to smile but failing miserably.
"My, my," the man said, raising an eyebrow. "Wonderful personality, this one."
Ember smiled and nodded. Cain returned the gesture. Miryam stepped aside and let him into her room. Ember stood outside the door for a moment, doubtful for the young man's safety, then decided it was none f other business and left.
Cain stood in the middle of the room and looked around. It was really quite a plain room. There was a bed in one corner and awful floral curtains along the windows. On the far right side of the room, there was a crudely made table and worse chairs. There was a cupboard in another corner. It looked like it had gone through hard times, the poor thing. There were a few pictures on top of it, and a few along the wall. They all looked out of place. They either looked like they should have been put in a noblewoman's parlor, or like they should have all been burned the moment they had been finished.
"Well?" Miryam demanded, crossing her arms and tapping her foot on the floor.
Cain's train of thought had been broken by her sharp voice and he glanced coldly at her. "Madam," he said, bowing ever so slightly, "I do not intend to hurry myself. I believe in value for money."
Miryam's face reddened and she winced, dismissing the filthy image that had formed in her mind. Her black curls bounced slightly as she attempted to dislodge them from her head, as they seemed to have gotten stuck somewhere between her ears.
Cain took a seat and leaned his elbows on the surface of the table, surveying her. Miryam had the distinct feeling that he was deciding how she should be cooked before being eaten. Braised, boiled, fried… It was not a nice thing to imagine. "Now that I have your attention," Cain said, steepling his fingers. "I am Count Cain Hargreaves, a little extra information for you to know, because I do not like being referred to as 'that man' or otherwise. I have some questions for you."
"We charge two pounds for just plain flirting, three pounds for—" Miryam began reciting. Cain stopped her.
"I didn't mean that sort of question, Madam," he said irritably. "First off, what is your name?"
"It's Helena," Miryam replied cautiously, giving him a suspicious look. "Helena Harper. Why?"
"That," Cain said, "is clearly none of your business. Second question: What is your favorite color?"
"What does that have to do with anything??"
Cain ignored her. "What I want to ask is none of your business," he sniffed. "And besides, it was just out of personal interest. And now, what is the air speed velocity of a swallow?"
Miryam stared hard and long at him. She decided he was either going to get to the point soon, or he was thoroughly insane. Either way worked with her.
When Cain got no answer, he continued. "Now I understand that you have something that is connected to the murder that has been reported in this morning's newspapers."
"I don't," she said defiantly. "And even if I did, that clearly is none of your business."
Cain raised an eyebrow and glared coldly at her. "Touché, Madam," he said dryly. "Come now, your friend Marianna Susan Cleopatra Athena Potts has already told me all about it. A very nice girl, she is. You should try to be more like her. You would never run out of customers then, I assure you."
"She didn't!" Miryam said accusingly.
"She did," Cain said smoothly, with all the calmness of a person who is not exactly sure, but hopes he will be able to accomplish something by lying.
Miryam stared at him for a long moment, looking wretched. She knew the game was up. She wished now she hadn't told Marianna Susan about it. That girl gossiped like a magpie. The only point was that no one could begrudge her for it, partly because she was so charming and sweet. Sulkily, she took the bloodstained card out of her pocket and slid it across the table.
Cain looked down at it. "Is this what she screamed at?" he muttered. "Good gods."
"What is this to you?" Miryam demanded.
Cain looked up at her, his face blank. He didn't like it when people demanded him to do things. If someone had told him to walk on the right side of the road, he would have nodded, then proceeded to walk onto the left side, just because they had told him to go to the right. "Nothing," he answered simply. "Did you see who did it?"
"No."
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
"Definitely?"
"Oh, for God's sake!"
Ember raised an eyebrow. "What?" she asked, uncomprehending.
Cain sighed wearily. It was embarrassing enough as it was, having to tell her this. Making him tell her at least three times was Cruel and Unusual Punishment. "I enjoyed Miss Harper's hospitality very much," he repeated. "And I would like to have her live in my home. I'm sure she would make a fine friend to Merryweather." If I wanted Merry to end up with the wrath of Hell, the why not? he thought dryly.
Miryam stood stonily behind him. Her face was contracted into a deep scowl. At the door was Marianna Susan, unseen by the dark-haired girl. That was probably for the better. Miryam would have yelled at her, Marianna Susan would start crying and Ember would get mad. Nope. It wasn't too good an idea to show herself. She didn't like getting yelled at.
There had been many a time where Miryam wanted to slap the girl, and this was one of those occasions. Yet, she had never found the heart to hit her. You just couldn't help but feel guilty for marring that perfectly shaped, perfectly colored face. She settled for yelling very loudly instead, which was just as bad since it made the poor girl cry her crystalline tears.
Ember put the pipe to her lips and took a thoughtful drag. "I'm sorry," she said. "I don't think that's possible, sir. You see, even though this line of work is not one I would recommend to young ladies, I simply cannot allow you to take Helena. Not because she is an asset to our… store, but because it would be completely irresponsible."
Cain looked at her admiringly. He might have applauded her, but felt it would have been undignified to do so.
"I'm sorry," Ember repeated. She shook her head to emphasise her point. "I simply cannot agree. It would be a breach of our trust."
She stood up, indicating that her mind was made up and the meeting was over. As she got up from her chair, she accidentally bumped her hip into the table, which bumped into the wall, which made it tremble, which caused flakes of whitewash to fall from the ceiling. Ember blushed slightly.
Cain saw the opportunity and dived for it like a meerkat towards its hole in times of danger. "I see," he said, sounding somewhat remorseful. "I was willing to pay a considerable amount for her. Please reconsider. It will be enough to fix up this place and have you and your girls living in comfort."
Ember weakened at the offer. She took Miryam aside to consult her. "Well, dear?" she asked. :What would you like to do? Would you like to stay here?"
Miryam didn't really like the patronizing tone to her sentences, but she had never managed to dislike Ember. Much as she liked her, thought, she didn't want to stay. People stabbed each other in the back here. She paused here to think a bitter thought about a certain someone called Marianna Susan. "No," she said. "I'm sorry. But, no. I wouldn't like to stay here."
Ember smiled, a little ruefully. She really was a nice character, this Helena. But she was an extra mouth to feed and there weren't many men asking for her. "Ah, well," she sighed. "Such is love."
Miryam's face reddened with indignation. "I'm not in love with him," she said, her scowl back in place.
Ember just grinned. "Have a nice time, dear," she tra-la-la-ed. Miryam glared at her, but dared not say anything in case the innuendo she had in her mind hadn't been intended.
As Miryam walked out the door and towards her room to pack her things, she noticed a teary-eyed Marianna Susan, slumped against the wall in a way most girls like her did when they cried. She stared at her and raised an eyebrow.
"Helena" Marianna Susan bleated, sounding like a pitiful lost lamb in the garden and looking just as sweet. "I-I'm so sorry!" She flung her snow white arms around Miryam's neck and hugged her hard, making her funny little noises again. "I'll miss you soooooooooooooooo much!!" she cried, barely coherent.
In the room, Cain looked at Ember. "Do you get many people asking for that girl?" he asked, indicating Marianna Susan.
Ember shrugged. "It depends whether they prefer them to have brains or lily-white arms and necks," she said simply.