Devil May Care
Author: Nefret24
Disclaimer: The characters of the Lost World are not mine and are the property of Newline, John Landis et al. I am not making any profit from this story.
Category: Alternate Universe, general action/suspense, Marguerite-centric, M/R
Author's Note: Let me say first off- I am completely new to the show and even more new to writing fanfiction for it. So. Any errors or blatant mis-characterizations I apologize for in advance and please point out these to me so that I can get it right. I have read up on my spoilers and ep summaries, so if you haven't seen em all, esp. The Secret, and do not wish to receive any unwanted prior knowledge, turn back now.
That being said, here is the premise of my quasi-alternate universe. Marguerite funded the expedition but clearly the money came from what remained from Xian's gold that didn't end up with "a foreign power." This story is based on the "what if" Marguerite didn't have enough money to fund the expedition and had to return to some of her old ways and haunts to get it- while of course, running into a couple familiar faces. Veronica lovers, I'm sorry, the logistics of the story require her to be MIA- nothing against her character but them's the breaks.
I'd also like to thank Jane H. and Venetia J. from the Yahoo tlwff list- you guys are the greatest for answering my questions for me!
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"No cares or woes, Whatever comes later goes, That's how I'll take and I'll give, Devil May Care" ~ Devil May Care, Bob Dorough
"It's a great huge game of chess that's being played all over the world Oh what fun it is! How I wish I was one of them! I wouldn't mind being a Pawn, if I only might join- though of course I should like to be a Queen best." ~ Alice, Through the Looking Glass, Lewis Carroll
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London, 1922.
Marguerite Krux was pretending to have a fabulous time. Never one to scorn a party or the pleasures afforded by socializing with the affluent, it was her company that set her mood afoul. The young whippersnapper on her arm was chatting with a similarly vapid and pasty individual on the finer points of a cricket match that they had both witnessed the previous afternoon.
Marguerite hated cricket. She couldn't fathom how grown men marveled over a game that consisted purely of whacking around a tiny ball around with a large bat. In fact, if given the opportunity, she would love to take a cricket bat to the behinds of both of the idiots droning on beside her.
Chess, now that was a game. There was strategy to be conceived, wits to be conquered and tested, and it could be played indoors and while seated with a glass of the finest of French wine. Her kind of game.
The conceited creature on her arm was unfazed and considered her small smiles and occasional nods as enough license to continue in his discussion, giving her leave to scan the luxurious drawing room and its occupants. Marks. Every last one of them a pawn in the chessboard she alone manipulated. The woman laughing in the corner with the tiara sparkling with diamonds, the old hag on the settee with her long necklace of large pearls, the bulbous army officer by the door who twirled a ruby-studded monocle. Sooner or later, they'd all be missing something valuable.
A shame for them, a boon for me, thought Marguerite simply as she sipped her champagne. And the first one to get it is this young prick, she added to herself with no little satisfaction. It was the least he could do, after dragging her from one old bore to the next.
She noticed that he was looking at her expectantly, so she faked a laugh, a gentle tinkling noise that seemed to please him very much and laughing back, he returned to his conversation. She returned to her drink and idle scansion of the room. It was so tedious being polite. Probably why she didn't make a habit of it.
She watched his profile out of the corner of her eye. He wasn't horribly unattractive and he certainly was rich- both attributes which had peaked Marguerite's attention. Vain young men with money to burn that was not their own seemed to be an ever-growing subsection of the British population. She had spotted him in Hyde Park that afternoon, desperately trying to figure out how much to tip the hansom cab driver who had deposited him there. Naturally, she had decided to come to his rescue; what self-respecting girl wouldn't, after seeing the compact wad of bills held out for all the world to see? And who would turn down an invitation to dinner at an expensive restaurant and the chance to relieve the self-same individual of some of his burdens, like his stuffed wallet, his sapphire cufflinks, and his precariously dangling gold chain watch? Not Marguerite Krux, certainly.
Though it is fortunate that he isn't as pasty as his friend, she thought, looking over at that individual, his straw-colored hair greasy from too much hair solution and teeth that protruded unattractively between his lips. At least she didn't have to cozy up to him for money; from the scuff marks on his shoes and his frayed shirt sleeve she could tell he was much less fortunate in his benefactors than his friend. She suppressed a grimace as she watched the spittle fly from his mouth as he talked. London society had been so much more refined in her day.
In her day. Though she certainly was considerably older than her companion, she wasn't archaic for heaven's sake! She wondered vaguely if the term "old maid" would apply to her now. Probably. What a hideous term. Women were sensible not to marry- not to have their fortunes taken up by some moronic tyrant they call husband, to be left alone without control over money or decisions. Love was as much as a game as the one she was playing with the idiot by her arm. Though she supposed it was better to be thought as a lonely older woman rather than have her past known. She knew she could still turn heads when she wanted to (hell, she had trapped this young upstart, hadn't she?) and that was enough. Affection only made her sloppy and efficiency was one attribute she liked to think that she cultivated.
Her companion seemed to be extricating himself from the spittle-spewing man, so she helped him to make their excuses and move away to the other end of the room.
"Darling," she cooed in a sweet voice, and running a light index finger down his right lapel, "how about a stroll in the garden?"
"W-what?" he asked, a bit startled by her forward suggestion and suitably distracted by her attentions.
"A moonlit walk, perhaps?" she said again, dipping her voice seductively. "The gardens seem so inviting, don't you think?"
He glanced out at the window behind them that overlooked the well-kept grounds of the house and then back to Marguerite, who had taken his hand into hers and was tugging it playfully.
"Oh. Oh. Oh, yes. Rather," he said emphatically, nodding his head vigorously, his eyes wide with anticipation.
As Marguerite began to make her way to the door of the drawing room, she smiled to herself. It was almost too easy.
She led him along the garden path, giggling as if she was ten years younger and considerably less intelligent, him close at her heels, acting in a similar ridiculous manner though not in guile. Glancing behind her, she flashed him a grin while checking their distance from the house. They seemed to be far enough away not to arouse suspicion or have anyone notice their activities.
She slowed her steps and took his hand, allowing him to slow down as well. She looked up at the sky as he regained his breath, idly wondering what was happening to the younger generation that they couldn't handle a little bit of exercise.
"I've had a nice time tonight, Nigel," she said obliquely, and was rewarded as a rosy blush affected his cheeks.
"So have I," he returned.
This is going to be all uphill, Marguerite thought disgustedly. She certainly couldn't vamp him if he was going to keep acting stubbornly like the schoolboy he is.
She smiled at him warmly as a reply and squeezed his hand lightly. Spying a marble bench not far away, she began to formulate a plan of attack.
"Maybe we should just sit and watch the stars!" she suggested, gesturing towards the bench. That was certainly the cliché romantic situation for young people, wasn't it? If that's what the blighter expected, that was what he'll get.
"Right. Capital idea, old thing, er, dear heart."
Oh God, thought Marguerite. How thoroughly distasteful to be considered insulted by such a harmless endearment. An idiotic endearment to be sure, but still, she didn't think her age showed that much. She chucked it up to his ever increasing nervousness. She began to suspect that her companion was a bit of a novice when it came to the opposite sex- not a bad advantage for her, but still, it did tend to make everything so much slower and less enjoyable.
They sat down on the bench and focused their eyes on the sky. No stars were to be seen, of course; between the smog and the city lights it was impossible to see anything but dark sky. She humored him though. "Oh, what a beautiful, beautiful night!"
He nodded eagerly in assent, and kept trying to sneak furtive glances in her direction as if he was contemplating his next move and didn't want her to notice. Too bad she noticed everything.
The Queen picks her pawn
She laughed, to which he added his own nervous chuckle, and she dropped her voice down again and spoke in a stage whisper in close proximity to the side of his face. "Not as beautiful as me, you're supposed to say."
His face suffused with a blush again, he chuckled nervously. "Marguerite. I-"
"Shhh," she said, taking both her hands into hers.
The Queen moves forward
"Is there someone else? Is that it?" she asked in a plaintive voice, as she stroked his wrists with her thumbs and holding his eyes with hers. "Because I know we've just met, but I've had such a lovely time perhaps you think me too forward?" She dropped his hands and turned from him, hoping she had sounded suitably pathetic with that last statement. Her hands in her lap, she secretly stowed his cufflinks into a hidden pocket in her skirt. Too easy. Now for the rest
His hand clumsily patted her shoulder and she half-turned to face him, fixing a slightly teary-eyed expression on her face.
"Marguerite- dash it all, there is no one else. Here, I say" he began, a panicked expression creeping into his face. Apparently, he must be more frightened of weeping females than vamping ones, Marguerite thought. And his speech patterns got ever so much more inarticulate. He probably can't even dress himself without his valet!
His hand was searching for a handkerchief and was about to enter his inside jacket pocket when she stayed it, keeping it pressed against his chest with her own.
"You mean it?" she asked incredulously. What was incredulous was that he was buying this act hook, line and sinker, she chuckled to herself.
The Queen attacks
"What? Oh yes, of course, dearest–"
"Darling!" she bleated and kissed him full on the lips. It was short-lived, as it took the poor boy by surprise but even so, he didn't know what to do with it. What a shame, Marguerite thought disappointedly. The British education system was really lacking these days.
"Oh- may I- oh-" Nigel managed before he put his arms on both her shoulders in a awkward embrace and kissed her back, still ineptly but this time of longer duration. Marguerite desperately tried not to groan with protest. Was she really reduced to this? Those cufflinks had damn well better be 24 karat gold if she was going to suffer such disgusting embraces.
Marguerite's hands were placed up against his chest and were fully occupied.
The Queen takes the pawn.
Suddenly, she broke off the kiss and affixed a wild, wide eyed stare on the shubbery. "Oh my goodness! Is someone there?"
Nigel, shocked and turning puce again, began to stutter horribly. "D-d-did you s-s-see s-someone?"
Marguerite pointed a shaking finger to the yonder bushes. "I heard something from over that way- oh! You don't think we've been discovered?"
Nigel was clearly ready to wet his pants and quickly made the suggestion that they go back into the house. A British gentlemen could not be caught in embraces with an older lady after less than a day of acquaintance without some kind of nasty rumor- a rumor which might reach back to those moneyed relatives and have certain consequences on one's spending money.
Marguerite permitted a small smile to creep over her face as she let him lead her away. His wallet and his pocket watch had joined his cufflink in her skirt, and darling Nigel was too busy looking over his shoulder for those mysterious individuals who might have seen his clumsy performance to notice they were missing.
Their goodbyes were hurried and somewhat distant, but Nigel did his gentlemanly duty of escorting her to a hansom cab. He was still considerably shook up- probably never been kissed before, thought Marguerite ruefully- and didn't even mention the fare.
Just as well, she snickered to herself. I have all his money.
So she ordered the cab to take her to her rooms at the Ritz and tipped the driver only adequately, to increase her take of the night. Not a bad day's work, really.
As soon as she entered her room, she drew all the curtains closed and reached for the sherry on the portmanteau. After pouring herself a generous glass and taking a hearty swig, she extracted a small black case out from underneath her mattress. Moving over to the table, she extracted her magnifying glasses and jeweler's tools.
She stayed awake into the wee hours of the morning examining the worth of the watch and the links. The links were indeed 24 karat and should sell well, but the watch was only a cheap gilded imitation that wouldn't fetch as much as she had hoped for. Still, she had a sizable amount of cash money now on hand, in a nice leather case to boot. And she was one step further to getting exactly what she wanted.
She slept like a purring cat until one in the afternoon.