Author's Note: Hello! Claire here. I just want to thank those that showed such interest in this concept for a fic, and for Roz and Danielle who both edited every sentence and chapter you'll read. If any of you are interested in checking their stuff, you can search the provided links to their accounts. Thanks. xx
/users/Roz1013/pseuds/Roz1013
/users/stbartsmolly/pseuds/stbartsmolly
-BookishTea
The sky was a deep and angry shade of grey, a backdrop for the lightning that flashed, and soon a large clap of thunder roared above. It was impossible to avoid the sound, which explained the bunched set of shoulders belonging to a lone figure that made their way to the front door of a looming building. There was no doubt it was once beautiful, with craftsmanship woven into the dark bricks that made up the architectural masterpiece. Now with each flash of lightning, the crumbling facade revealed that the building was no longer in its prime, instead it stood out like an inescapable shadow.
And yet the inside of the dwelling was not much better, only revealed when the heavy oak door was knocked upon. It took a few moments, but eventually the sound of locks being undone and clicking was heard. The door was swung open and sheer darkness, much like a gaping void, outlined a stoic man in the door frame.
"Yes?"
The visitor squinted against the rain pelleting their face, "Is this Rose Point Manor?"
"It is."
They paused, a terrible gust of wind lunged at their back, ignoring the thick wool coat and many layers of clothing. It made talking almost impossible through the chattering of teeth, but still they managed.
"I-I'm M. Hooper, I e-exchanged letters with the caretaker?" Anxiously, Hooper removed a series of letters that had been tucked in the coat's pocket, and despite the protection, already the rain was causing the papers to become illegible. Still, Hooper offered them with a shaking hand.
The stoic man refused to even touch the documents, only glanced at them with a raised brow before he stepped back.
Before Hooper could voice any inquiry, the man was soon returned with a lantern in hand. It was raised to Hooper's face, casting an orangish glow as it made Hooper's eyes involuntarily close. After a few painful seconds the blinding fixture was finally moved back and Hooper was free to see once more.
Seemingly satisfied with what he saw, the man made way for the manor's guest, allowing the short form to scurry inside to get away from the night's frigid weather.
"Thank you," Hooper mumbled, ever thankful to be somewhere warm and dry for the time being.
The man said nothing, only used the lantern to guide himself to a wall where a knob resided. He twisted it, and the Rose Point Manor came to life.
Lights that lined the stretch of walls flickered on, breathing into the building as if it were morning. M. Hooper was aware, being in the medical field, that there was constantly new inventions popping up everyday. But such creations were still met with an audible gasp of awe.
"Wonderful!"
"Yes, it is a useful little thing," The man offered with a humorless smile; he clasped his hands together before him, "The master of the house is away, so I'll be in his stead. My name is Mr. Lancret, my duties are to make such you enjoy your stay, Dr. Hooper."
"I'm not one for formalities, Mr. Lancret. Mark would be fine."
Mr. Lancret stiffened, "Such customs are necessary to keep society in order, Dr. Hooper. Lest we turn into animals ."
Mark flushed with embarrassment at the cold tone, staring at his muddy shoes instead of meeting the other's gaze. The two found themselves surrounded by silence as they travelled down the long corridors. The lights made sure that the floor was visible, but did not alleviate the feeling of being suffocated.
The portraits on the walls seemed to leer at Mark, their eyes following his movements. His spine crawled with the thought, and he hurried his pace to stay closer to the manor's caretaker. If Mr. Lancret noticed, he made no comment on the action.
Eventually they ventured up a grand staircase, which Hooper couldn't fully appreciate visually, but he liked to believe he could estimate its beauty just from the smoothness of the wooden banister. This led them to even more hallways filled with rooms.
Like a rat in a maze , Mark thought bitterly.
They stopped in front of a door which appeared to be painted darker than the rest.
"This will be your room for the night. Your early arrival didn't give us adequate time to prepare a proper room, so you'll be using the Master's for the time being."
Mark nodded and accepted the lantern Mr. Lancret still carried, he almost dropped it from its surprising heaviness, but he held it long enough for the other man to remove his set of keys from his coat pocket and unlock the door. The metal of the key glinted against the shadows, catching Mark's eye.
I'm sure some birds would fancy something so shiny , Mark thought wistfully.
The door creaked as it opened up, adding to the stillness of the house. Mark shifted his weight, somehow nervous of what lay ahead.
Mr. Lancret grabbed the lantern from Mark's hands and strolled inside, bringing Mark's safety with him. This house was strange, filled with tension that made no promises of good intent.
Just remembering the paintings and their eyes had Mark chasing after the man and into the room.
As Mark entered the room, he took note that the lantern was placed on a table as Mr. Lancret roused the flames in the fireplace.
The crackling and spitting comforted Mark. His body ached and slumped with exhaustion. The trip had been a long and arduous , and he was eager to finally get some rest.
He stared longingly at the bed at the opposite side of the room, but he didn't advance towards it. Mr. Lancret instilled a harsh reality that one's appearance meant more than comfort, which held Mark at bay.
Mr. Lancret grunted as he righted himself from his crouched position, hand automatically placed on the muscles of his lower back as he stood up straight. The poker was placed in its rightful place, among the rest of the iron tools.
He turned back to the manor's guest, hands clasped together before him, "The bed has been made already, and there are spare clothing in the dresser's middle drawers for tonight and tomorrow. Though I'm sure by that time your luggage will manage to show up, the storm can't delay it forever. If that's everything, Dr. Hooper." He made his way to the door, grabbing the lantern as he went.
"Sir!" Mark called, causing the elderly man to hesitate with the doorknob in his grip.
"Yes?"
Mark cleared his throat, "May I perhaps have a key to the manor? I wouldn't want to constantly bother you over opening every single door I come across."
"Usually that would have been a splendid idea..." Mr. Lancret slowly answered, his brows knitted together, "though I'm sure the Master would prefer certain doors to remain locked."
Mark smiled in a way that he hoped was relaxing, "I hope you don't see me a thief, Mr. Lancret."
It was silent as his words rang through the room, and as the seconds ticked by, Mark wondered if it would be enough. His worries seemed pointless, as Mr. Lancret gave a single and curt nod.
"Not at all, Dr. Hooper." The door began to slowly shut, "It'd be more for your own protection. Good night."
The glow from the lantern painted the old man in a ghoulish light, as his final words had a shiver running up Mark's spine. As the door came to a shut, Mark waited until the footsteps disappeared from the door and down the hallway until they eventually faded.
He quickly crossed the room to the door, turning the doorknob until the lock engaged and then slid the bolt at the top into place. In any other instance it would appear to be an over excessive amount of protection, but at that precise moment, it felt like too little to Mark. He couldn't take the chance of someone coming into his room while he slept, and discovering his true identity.
Mark sighed and reached for his hair, hands gentle as they slid under the chestnut locks and prodded until fingers found wads of spirit gum. This was the tricky part, trying to separate the wig without removing clumps of Hooper's natural hair. With a few whispered curses, eventually the tiresome endeavour was ended and the wig was placed on the dresser. The sideburns and the accursed mustache next, the latter left an angry red streak across the upper lip.
The clothing was the worst, but the joy of removing the sodden garments surpassed the dislike. The coat, folded, was placed on the fireplace mantle so it could be dried. The rest of Hooper's attire was stripped down, until only the undergarments remained. The chest bindings, which Hooper despised even greater than the foul weather howling outside, was slowly unwrapped.
A great exhale was released, as if finally one was able to breathe. Eyes shut in bliss, small hands expertly reached up to unpin the long locks of hair attached to Hooper's head, and to let them fall.
Molly Hooper opened her eyes, and smiled weakly. She tip toed around the clothing pooled on the floor, and wandered over to the dresser. The heat from the fire was on her back, easing the chill from her body as she searched for some clothing to wear for the night.
Near the back she found what she sought. Withdrawing it, she let it unravel as she held it before her. The cream coloured nightshirt was at least three sizes bigger than her own, but Mr. Lancret did believe his guest was a man. Molly's smile crumbled away at the thought. She was so tired of pretending to be something she wasn't, just to perform the duties she loved.
She uttered a soft sigh as she slipped the shirt over her head, covering her once bare knickers as the article ended just below her knees.
After giving the door once last glance to make sure it was indeed locked, Molly crept into bed, humming with delight at the mattress that eagerly embraced her sore body.
She had spent many a nights in a carriage, resorting to sleeping in uncomfortable positions to shorten the distance between her and this house. All those sleepless nights and twisted muscles had been worth it for this, a warm and soft bed to have for the night.
The fire cracked loudly, overseeing the tired woman slipping into a welcome slumber.