Notes: Written for the Winter 2012 Exchange at the LJ comm. "layton_exchange". Note that the fic and even this description contain spoilers for Spectre's Call, so please don't read further if you haven't completed the game. The prompt I decided to work on was for a fic that dealt with Brenda discovering Descole's disguise and the lead up to her kidnapping.

Jean Descole was a confident man who knew that he was good at many things.

One of those things was his ability to disguise himself. Descole went through so many different identities that acting as another person became like second nature to him. In fact, even Descole was just another one of his disguises. The truth behind who he was and why he did what he did was not a story he freely disclosed to anyone. For the moment he was Jean Descole and sometimes he was Jean Descole disguised as another person. This was all that was important.

There were two kinds of personas that he would generally adopt to use to his advantage.

The first of these was to come up with an entirely new individual from scratch. This meant that he had the freedom to mould the character he was playing into whatever he wanted. Of course, this came with the complication of having to create a believable setting for this character to come from, should any suspicious bystander decide to research them. Often, he would have to produce fake documentation to back up his claims, but that was hardly a difficult task for someone as skilled as him to manage.

The second kind of persona, however, came without the need for any fake documents at all. As this kind was to become an already existing person. Everything about that person was already there; he just needed to research them enough to know exactly how they'd react in any situation, so that he could fool their loved ones into believing that he was them.

Also, he had to dispose of the original person that he was imitating.

That was what his current disguise had required. Weeks of scouting Misthallery had been the starting point, followed by months of watching the Triton Manor, taking in every little detail of how these people behaved around one another, before he could finally make is move.

Descole had chosen to take on the role of the butler, Doland. With this person, he could freely pass through the home without being disturbed, as well as having some influence on the rest of the staff. Even Clark, the town's mayor, seemed to frequently ask Doland for advice about the authority position that he was so ill-suited to. Influencing the mayor fitted Descole just fine.

And so, Descole had disposed of Doland, locking the man in the wine cellar. Conveniently, Doland was the only one who ever went down to the cellar, seeing fetching the best wine for every occasion as his personal duty. The cellar was deep and the walls were thick, so even if Doland could break free of his gag there'd be no way anyone above would hear him cry for help. Especially not when you took into account how distracted and distant the Triton family was from each other – rarely would any of them even gather in the hallway that led to the cellar for a prolonged period of time.

This had all been almost too easy for Descole. No one doubted Doland, leaving him free to continue his research into the Golden Garden, bringing in more men to help with his work and making arrangements with the corrupt chief of police, Levin Jakes. He couldn't have asked for a better situation if he'd tried. Misthallery was truly filled with people who were easy to manipulate.

Or that would have been the case, if it hadn't been for Clark's wife, Brenda.

By nature, Descole cared very little for women. He tended not to pay too much attention to them if it could be avoided. But almost from the moment he'd adopted the role of Doland, he could feel Brenda's cautious gaze upon him.

He was silently enraged by her suspicions, as he felt that he acted out the role of Doland perfectly, leaving no room for doubt. Everyone else trusted him, so why didn't this woman?

Wherever he went in the house, he knew that she was never far away. Being unemployed meant that she had all the time in the world to watch him and this was the only thing that slowed him down in his work.

It did not, however, put a stop to it altogether. As in the evenings, after the Triton family were safely tucked up in bed, he would still leave to relay orders to Jakes. It put more trust in the man than Descole wanted, but having Jakes act in his steed was the only way to go about this without raising the Tritons' suspicions about Doland being absent for very long.

The apparently naturally suspicious Brenda, however, could not be fooled by even short moments of Doland acting outside of his routine. As on one night, when Descole was about to leave, she called to him from the top of the staircase.

"My lady, you should be resting in bed," Descole, under the guise of Doland, commented. It was a credit to him that he kept a perfect composure and did not even twitch in annoyance as Brenda walked down the stairs.

"I could say the same to you," replied Brenda, drawing level with him.

"This good place cannot be expected to run itself," he countered, "I have many tasks that still need to be dealt with. It's just that I find it more appropriate to do so while you all sleep, lest I bother you during the day."

Frowning, Brenda said, "Tasks that involve leaving the house?"

"Do you not include the gardens as part of your domain, my lady?" retorted Descole.

"I doubt that you have any business there at this time of night. And even if you did, we have a gardener to deal with such things. A gardener that you hired yourself," she reminded.

"Because of that, it is my duty to make sure that the people I employ work to the highest of standards. It would be shameful to think that I'd brought a sub-standard worker here," he argued.

"It doesn't matter anyway, because you're not going to do anything in the gardens," Brenda accused, "I've seen you leave the house every night for weeks now and despite my husband being the mayor, you can't say that the whole town is our grounds that needs to be governed by you."

Before he could stop himself, Descole murmured, "Given the shoddy job he does, he certainly needs someone to clean up after him."

"I beg your pardon!" Brenda snapped.

"I'm just saying that Mr. Triton has not been in his position very long," Descole corrected, "There are many things that he does not understand and until he gets a good handle upon them it is my duty, as his servant and as a citizen of Misthallery, to keep the machine well oiled."

"Oiling machines does seem to be high on your list of priorities," agreed Brenda.

Descole was momentarily thrown. She couldn't be implying that she knew what was going on in the factory, could she?

"I don't understand what you mean," he muttered.

"I think that you do. And if you don't, then perhaps I can ask your buddy Jakes about what it is you're up to," she challenged.

This had gone too far.

With a speed that Brenda clearly didn't expect to come from Doland, Descole pinned her to the hall of the hallway, covering her mouth before she could scream.

"I admire your snooping skills to have seen as much as you're implying you have," he hissed, "But this admiration is cut short by your stupidity for confronting me on your own, like you have done. Had you gone to Jakes, I doubt that he would have been anymore merciful than me. In fact, you're probably lucky it was me you came to instead of him."

Keeping his hand over her mouth, he pulled her from the wall, her limbs flailing in protest as he dragged her towards the cellar door. Some furniture was upset in the move, but that was the least of Descole's concerns right now, as it took all of his effort to thrust the door open, throwing her down the stairs, before following inside and locking the door behind them.

There were cries of pain as Brenda crashed against the floor, but she was a strong woman and soon sat up, gritting her teeth as she looked around. As her eyes settled on the gagged and bound figure of Doland however, she couldn't suppress a gasp of horror.

"I suppose this confirms your worries," Descole said, unable to hold back a chuckle, "Now you know for sure that I am not the real Doland. And because of this knowledge, you will not be allowed to leave this place."

Brenda backed up towards Doland, clearly wanting to untie him, but Descole was faster than she was, grabbing her arm and pulling her away from him.

"Why are you doing this?" Brenda demanded, "Who are you and do you want with my family?"

"Do you really think that I'm going to tell you anything like that?" he laughed, "If you're such a good stalker then you should have figured that out for yourself."

She glared; "You can't do this! Maybe you got away with pretending to be poor Doland, but you can't be two people at once! My family will see that I'm gone!"

"Ah, but the beauty of it is that I've already got the perfect cover story for such an incident," Descole purred, "I do my research and I've seen firsthand that you often travel alone, leaving Misthallery for long periods of time. I think it would be perfectly suited for you to take a long holiday, given how strained your relationship with your husband has been lately. You haven't been so happy with him for placing so much trust in me, have you? It frustrates you that he does not see what you see. That instead, what he sees is someone so willing to help him make the right decisions as mayor."

"Don't you use Clark against me!" Brenda yelled.

"Why do I need to, when you've already done such a great job of using him against yourself?" answered Descole, "If only the two of you had talked more. I'm sure that he'll be devastated when he hears the news of your flight, though probably not surprised. Thank goodness that he has the shoulder of his trusted butler to cry on."

"You're a sick freak…" she growled.

"And you are an ill-prepared woman. A hiccup on my otherwise perfect plan," he replied, "Now if you'd be so kind as to hold still while I tie you up." Brenda was certainly not so kind, putting up an admirable struggle, before eventually being bound alongside the real Doland. Pulling back, Descole looked thoughtful; "It's a bit of a shame, really. You are so far the only person in Misthallery who's shown any kind of intelligence. With you out the way, I daresay that my plan will be smooth sailing from here on out. If only you'd tried a little harder, you might have made a difference, but as it stands your whole family is now helpless against me," he concluded.

He left the cellar for the moment. There was still damage to be dealt with upstairs. Her accusing glare did not leave him until he'd closed the door, however. That gaze was one of the reasons that Descole knew this was only a temporary solution. He couldn't leave a smart person like Brenda simply tied in a cellar for long. It would be too risky.

At least now he could be sure for a little while that no one would be following him, though.

He knelt down to pick up a vase that had been upset by the struggle.

"Doland, what's going on?"

Releasing another silent curse, Descole turned to see the Triton's young son, Luke, watching him from the top of the stairs, teddy bear clutched in his hand.

"Nothing at all. There was just quite a gust from outside that upset the hall as the door was opened," replied Descole.

"Who was going out this late?" Luke asked. Just like his mother, it seemed that the boy asked too many questions…

"Your mother has just left," said Descole, "But this is something that I feel would be best for me to discuss with your father before you. All the same, it is nothing you should worry about and I'd advise you head back to bed, while I clear up."

"Mum's gone…" Luke whispered. For a moment, he looked at the door, but then his eyes were fixed back on Descole, "Did you try to stop her?"

"It is not my place to do so," Descole answered.

Luke glanced at the upset furniture, and then towards the cellar door; "But it looks like…"

"I believe that your mother ventured into the cellar before she left. Perhaps to get a gift to give to her friend Thomas or one of the staff," cut in Descole, before any further suspicions could form in the boy's head.

"All right then. I guess I'll… go back to bed," mumbled Luke.

"Would you like me to escort you?" Descole offered.

"No, it's okay. I can walk myself," declined Luke.

And in that instant he was looking at Descole with that same glace of suspicion that Brenda had been using on him this whole time. Perhaps he was too young to figure it out, but it was clear that Luke had inherited his mother's intellect and would need to be watched in future…

"Goodnight, Master Triton."

"'Night Doland… Maybe if you see mum again before she leaves, you can tell her I said goodbye…"

Descole smiled widely.

"I'll pass on the message."