Author's Note: I've tried to keep things as close to canon as possible, but I've set Diedrich's and Frances' ages at nineteen and seventeen, respectively. Diedrich is on the younger end of the spectrum of nineteen, and Frances is currently in the middle of being seventeen. I should also point out this is a slow-burn romance, so there won't be any mushy stuff for some time, but I promise there will be smooches later on! I don't know how often I'll be able to update, but I'll try to as often as I can. Thanks to my awesome friend Tina for agreeing to beta this monstrosity. Reviews are both encouraged and highly appreciated! Now without further ado, please enjoy the story!
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Chapter One
Diedrich had never cared much for England. The weather was too gloomy, the food too uninspired, the people too dour. To be fair, Diedrich hadn't exactly had a grand tour of the country, but he was a cynical sort of person, and if what he had been exposed to was this unpleasant, the rest of England couldn't be much better.
On this particular day, however, Diedrich was convinced the universe was conspiring against him, as a nasty rainstorm had rendered him stuck at Phantomhive Manor with none other than the Queen's Watchdog himself, Vincent, Earl Phantomhive and the bane of Diedrich's life.
"Dee? Are you listening to me?"
An imperious voice interrupted Diedrich's thoughts, and Diedrich turned his gaze away from the window and toward the source of the disruption. Phantomhive was looking at him, his head cocked to the side in a way that so reminded Diedrich of a dog he almost laughed. Almost.
"What? Oh, of course." Diedrich was an atrocious liar and knew it.
"Then what did I say?"
"Er, well, I'm fairly sure you mentioned something about the queen."
"Really now, Dee, am I that boring? You promised me you'd give me your full attention this time, too. I can't say that you're entirely wrong, however. Her Majesty has just given me the task of capturing the perpetrator of a series of very grisly murders."
Phantomhive crossed his legs and leaned back in his seat, twiddling his thumbs as he did so.
"The killer has a lovely little habit of decapitating the victims and carving the letter 'M' into their flesh in their own blood. They left a letter behind for the police at the scene of their most recent crime, referring to themselves as The Mortician."
Before Diedrich had the chance to reply to this grim statement, there was a resounding knock on the door.
"Come in," Phantomhive said airily.
The door opened and in stepped a girl with long, plaited blonde hair and eyes that were narrowed in vexation and anger. Diedrich recognized her immediately. The girl in question was Frances, the most skilled fencer he'd ever seen and one of the most fearsome people he'd ever met, and Diedrich knew a thing or two about fearsome people. She also happened to be Phantomhive's younger sister.
"Where's my hairbrush, Vincent?" she demanded, locking eyes with her brother, who looked utterly unfazed by her icy glare.
"Why should I know?"
"I left it right on my dresser before I went to find Tanaka to ask him to make me a cup of tea and it had mysteriously vanished when I came back. You're always snooping around my room—I honestly don't know what you think you'll find in there—so of course I figured you have something to do with its disappearance. Give it back."
Diedrich felt as though he were intruding on a private squabble between siblings and prayed the large armchair he was currently seated in would swallow him up. Phantomhive said nothing, suddenly very fixated on a piece of thread dangling from the sleeve of his coat.
"Give. It. Back."
"If you want it, you'll have to find it," Phantomhive said in an irritatingly singsong voice. Frances looked as though she would like nothing more than to slap her brother, but she managed to maintain her composure, now turning her attention to Diedrich.
"Diedrich," she began, "have you any idea where my dear brother has hidden my personal property?"
"Don't tell her, Dee, or you'll ruin the fun."
Diedrich looked from Phantomhive, who appeared theatrically distraught, to Frances, and it took all of two seconds for him to decide whose side he was on.
"I saw him put something in one of his desk drawers, Lady Frances. The middle one, I think."
"Why thank you, Diedrich, you're such a gentleman, unlike some people around here."
Frances marched over to the location of said desk, opened the middle drawer and pulled out a small blue hairbrush, then walked back to Diedrich and Phantomhive and proceeded to whack her brother over the head.
"You deserved that and you know it," she said, twirling the brush between her fingers. She smiled briefly at Diedrich before smirking triumphantly at her brother and exiting the room with her chin held high and her hairbrush in hand.
"Charming girl, isn't she?" Phantomhive asked, rubbing at the spot Frances had smacked him.
"She is, actually. A bit terrifying, I won't lie, but very charming. She's certainly got an aura of charisma about her," Diedrich said honestly.
"I suppose you're right. She's only awful when I've done something to upset her, and that's no one's fault but my own. But I digress. There's still a bit more you should know about our mysterious murderer.
"They, for whatever reason, seem to have some sort of personal vendetta against me, because the bodies have all turned up in places I frequent when I'm in London and that can't be a coincidence."
Something about what Phantomhive had said earlier was niggling at the back of Diedrich's mind and was making him very uncomfortable.
"Hold on now. You said this person calls themselves The Mortician? You don't think—"
"Undertaker is our man? Come on Dee, use your brain," Phantomhive laughed, tapping his head. "I know you've got one. Do you really think Undertaker would go around lopping off people's heads and then write a letter signed The Mortician? He might as well tattoo the words I'm The Mortician! onto his face and dance naked in front of the police station."
It was a rather stupid suggestion, now that Diedrich thought about it, and he inwardly cursed himself for having said it aloud. The man who was known simply as Undertaker to the rest of those in Phantomhive's inner circle was a odd bat, but he was not an idiot in any sense of the word. Anyone who was associated with Phantomhive to even the smallest degree had to have some sense of self-preservation.
"Let me get this straight. The Queen has asked you to track down a serial killer called The Mortician who cuts the heads off their victims and carves the letter 'M' into the skin of those poor wretches, correct?"
Phantomhive smiled.
"Do you have any idea how you're going to go about this case? This person is clearly very disturbed, but what's most troubling to me is that they're targeting you specifically and they seem awfully confident they won't get caught. I mean, they left a letter for the police to find; it's like this is just some game to them."
"Oh, I'm sure it is, Dee. But the trick to any game is to know how to play it."
Diedrich sighed, running a hand through his hair. He'd always hated the way Phantomhive acted like he was indestructible, as though he were above mere mortals. One day, Diedrich knew, that attitude would land him in a very sticky situation, one he might not be able to weasel his way out of. He looked at his old schoolmate, who seemed perfectly at ease—was he humming—and sighed. It would be a wonder if Phantomhive lived to see twenty-five.
"And I'm going to have you, of course. The whole reason I sent for you is so you'd be able to help me investigate these murders and capture this nasty fellow. Ah yes, I almost forgot: we'll be relocating to my townhouse in London within the next day or two before beginning the operation, so you might want to start packing."
The morbidity of the conversation combined with the disagreeable weather outside did nothing to help Diedrich's already-bad mood, and he rose from his seat, declaring he was going to retire for an hour or so to the room Phantomhive had allowed him to occupy during his stay at the manor. Phantomhive murmured a goodbye, and Diedrich quickly dismissed himself, eager to drift into blissful slumber for just a little while.
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Phantomhive Manor was not nearly as grand or large as Diedrich's own castle, Weizsäcker, but Diedrich knew he could've hoped for no better place to stay during his time in England. The servants were appropriately deferential to him, and it was not as though Phantomhive was an ungracious host. Frances wasn't bad company, either. She was intelligent and had possessed commanding presence even when she'd been young. Diedrich had first met her when he and Phantomhive had graduated from Weston College. Frances had been a serious-faced fifteen year old, giving her older brother an approving yet distant smile while the families of the other graduates nearly suffocated them with embraces and kisses. Diedrich remembered Phantomhive dragging Frances over to him, insisting that they make conversation and exclaiming with the utmost confidence they would "get along brilliantly!"
It had been awkward, naturally, for a few minutes, but Frances had eventually complimented Diedrich's hair and that had eased some of the tension. He, in turn, had praised the elegance her dress was and declared he couldn't believe how such a sophisticated young lady could possibly be related to Vincent Phantomhive. Frances had laughed at that and proceeded to tell Diedrich all sorts of stories about her brother, most of which would probably cause Phantomhive to have a heart attack if he'd known they were no longer family secrets.
With Frances on his mind, it was therefore oddly fitting when Diedrich encountered Frances at the top of the stairs.
"Diedrich, I'm glad you're here. I'd like a word, if you don't mind."
The statement itself was diplomatic enough, but Diedrich could tell by her tone that he really didn't have a choice in the matter.
"Not at all, Lady Frances," he replied. Frances beckoned to him, and Diedrich walked over to her.
"What exactly did my brother tell you about The Mortician?"
Images of bloody, headless corpses swam in Diedrich's mind, and it took him a moment before he was able to answer.
"He told me enough."
"Then you know that he is putting himself in more danger than he's possibly ever been in before and he's essentially accepted a suicide mission. Truth be told, my brother is one of the cleverest people I've ever known, but sometimes he can be so pathetically dim. He's under the impression he has this whole situation completely under control, but I know he's in over his head this time. The Mortician is after him specifically and he's walking right into their trap if he takes this job.
"I've tried to convince Vincent to let me help you two, to do some investigating of my own, but he refuses to listen to me." Frances scowled and crossed her arms, giving an indignant little huff.
"You're his sister. He's only trying to keep you safe," Diedrich said.
"That's his argument, and I understand that, but as his sister, I'm not going to just sit back and watch him throw himself into a case that's almost guaranteed to get him killed if he refuses to accept help. I think he'd be more open-minded about my offer if he knew that I'd be with someone he could trust. And he does trust you, Diedrich. I've heard him say so myself."
Diedrich had no idea what to do. On the one hand, what Frances said was true; Phantomhive did seem to be The Mortician's sole target, and there was a very good chance they were expecting him to walk right into their path. Diedrich didn't know if he could sleep at night if Phantomhive got himself killed and he'd had the opportunity to prevent it. However, Frances was Phantomhive's younger sister, and if anything happened to her while she was under Diedrich's protection…
"I'm sorry Lady Frances, but I'm going to have to decline your offer. I can't risk putting you in danger, or your brother would have my head. Quite literally, if I know him well enough."
There was a flash of hurt in Frances' wide green eyes, but it lasted for only a moment.
"Very well. I'm not going to beg. I'll do what I must to keep my brother safe, and if that means taking on this job alone, then that's what I'll do."
Her dramatic proclamation was part of a tactic of manipulation that was uniquely Phantomhive, a tactic in which you found yourself agreeing to whatever had been asked of you and not realizing it until it was too late. Oh yes, Diedrich was very familiar with this ploy, yet he began wondering if Frances' plan wasn't a better idea after all.
"Fine. I'll do it. But your brother isn't going to be happy about this."
"I know, he isn't, and that's why I'm going to say I was the one who coerced you to help me so he knows you aren't the one he ought to be cross with."
"You coerced me? That makes you sound awfully nefarious, Lady Frances. Like some kind of temptress."
The look in Frances' eyes was so venomous Diedrich physically recoiled, and he backtracked immediately.
"I'm sorry. That was completely inappropriate of me to say. I wasn't thinking. You know, I actually haven't been thinking at all today. This ridiculous English weather does something to my head."
"I suppose I can excuse you. Vincent's mentioned several times how you're occasionally prone to rudeness and saying thoughtless things. Now come on, let's not waste any more time. We might as well get this over with as soon as we can."
Diedrich followed Frances back to Phantomhive's room, slowly digesting everything that had just transpired. He had agreed to become an accomplice in Frances' plan to go against her brother's wishes and throw herself right into harm's way. If anything happened to her, Diedrich would be held responsible, not that he disagreed with that. The very thought of Frances Phantomhive ending up decapitated and left to rot in some filthy gutter made him ill.
Frances rapped three times on Phantomhive's door and there was a brief pause before a casual "Yes?" was heard from within the room. Frances turned to nod at Diedrich and the two stepped through the door.
"Back for round two, are you, Frances? My head is still throbbing where you hit me, so if you plan on attacking me with your hairbrush again, please choose a different spot. I don't want a dent in my head," Phantomhive said.
"This is serious, Vincent. I know that the Queen has charged with an extremely dangerous task, one I don't think you fully grasp how much of a risk it puts your life at. Yes, I am also very aware you're planning on roping poor Diedrich into this mess, but I don't think he can offer much help other than acting as your bodyguard. He doesn't know London like I do. I'm going to handle the investigations for you, and I convinced Diedrich to protect me."
Phantomhive was quiet for a long moment. He rubbed at his temples, exhaling slowly.
"Frances, we've already been over this. You're not getting involved and that's my final word."
"Please listen to me. The Mortician is after you specifically, and every time you step outside to carry out an investigation there's a chance you'll end up dead in an alley. They're expecting you to seek them out. It's a game, and they're just aching for you to join in and play."
"Frances."
Phantomhive's voice was low and deadly, and any lightheartedness he may have had was gone.
"Can you imagine, for just a moment, how I would feel if I was told your body was discovered in the streets of London with its head missing and the mark of a serial killer carved into one of its arms? I can't let that happen to you. We're the only family we've got left."
"That's why you need me."
Frances was staring her brother down, daring him to argue. Phantomhive tried to match her steely glare, but it proved futile, and he crumbled.
"Fine. I'll reconsider. If you don't mind, I'd like the both of you to leave. This won't be an easy decision, and I don't want either of you breathing down my neck while I think this matter over."
Frances about-faced and withdrew from the room. Diedrich said nothing, shrugging at Phantomhive before leaving the other boy to his thoughts, closing the door behind him and wondering just what he had gotten himself into.