Black Beauty
Chapter One: Her Beauty, Exposition
Fog rolls off the Thames in willowy waves, mist seeping between the cracks of mortar in the brick buildings and moistening the stones of the cobbled streets. Puddles reflect the light gray sky of early morning, ripples shuddering through them as carriages and wagons rumbled past. The cries of peddlers have not yet pierced the air, but their yawns echo down the alleys as the heave crates of oranges or lavender irises bound by scarlet ribbons into their arms, weight they hopefully would bear for a few hours, seeing as the crowds would usually buy off all of their wares before noon.
As the sun rises, the influx of people exiting their houses and apartments rises too. And as sun begins to cast vast shadows over fair London Town; beggars creeping from their gutters to wallow in them and wait for charitable persons. Along with the beggars are the robbers and thieves, daggers in their coats and fingers itching to nab a pouch of coins.
The fog dissipates, and the crowds of bodies replaces it. It is just as fluid as mist, sliding off and gliding past opposing forces without a bat of the lash. But for the plump, sensibly dressed nobles and their snide wives, noses wrinkled in distaste, the crowd departs for them like the Red Sea did for Moses. Children weave through the tumults of people, contorting their nimble limbs to brush by the legs of strangers. Now the peddlers yell to sell their goods, on the edges of the bustling crowd, mostly on upside-down crates to tower over the customers.
High above them, settled on the peaks of the shingle rooftops, birds in a variety of color were perching, crowing their tunes to the bluing sky. Cats slink about too, in search of breakfast.
Among the rows of feathered beasts, a mass of black is balancing on the rise of the roof, crouched into an animalistic pose. A sheen of crude, unfeeling emotion is in its narrowed eyes. Wiry eyebrows furrow and relax, as if weighing a decision that was to be made hastily. A hunger pains them, despite the 'dining' that had occurred early last night.
Suddenly, as the figure deepens the arch in its back in thought, a whistle sliced through the constant noise of the street below, catching everyone's attention. The figure straightens back up, curiosity singing in his gaze.
"Murder! Murder! Murder on the bank of the Thames!"
The figure's vague outline of lips broadens into a smirk, finally giving show to an ocean of jagged white teeth.
So, they've found my poor, little snack, eh? How dreadful, Scotland Yard will never have an inkling of an idea. It'll just be an unfortunate case that will be forgotten in a few months' time.
The dark silhouette again hunches back over, looking alike to a brutish gargoyle that watches over a church's grounds. In the blink of an eye, it launches itself forward, dashing down the slope of the roof, metal soles slapping against the drab shingles. The gathering of birds take flight, darting in any direction, wings cutting through the air. The darkened figure flies off the building, black cape whipping wildly. Through the confusion of befuddling news, all eyes were cast at one another in wonder.
"Who could it be? Was it gruesome? How much blood had been spilled? Was it between scorned lovers? Or gang rivals? Perhaps untrustworthy business partners?"
As the crowd buzzed, the dark figure had flown over them and easily landed on the opposite building, straightening to show off its abysmal height, casting a shadow roughly twice its length. With an air of proudness and control, it turned back to the occupied street of whispering, feeble, delicate, succulent bodies, hungry eyes peering down on them.
They had no idea of the great disaster that would soon befall them, of the terrible nightmares that peeked at the horizon, looming like a bank of rain clouds. Now, they only whispered, but, shortly, the screams of the dying would replace them.
Shine now, London, but soon I will snuff you out like a candle. Your innocence cannot remain for much longer now, and your defenses will be much too weak to be a match to my power. I believe this city can sate my hunger.
The blackened form ran its blood-red tongue over its pale lips before clicking it coyly.
But only time can tell.
Laverna stepped out onto the shadowed doorstep of her family's five-story apartment, her face beaming at the busy street before her. She had always loved the thriving city of London; the vendor's obscure goods, the wails of unhappy children, the haggling of cheapskates, the pleas of the poor. These noises consumed all of her hearing, enough that her older sister had to probe the small of her back to make her move.
"Laverna, please. Clinton is to meet us at the corner in four minutes. Do not prolong my suffering, dear sister! I will die if I do not see my beloved Clinton at my promised time!" Persephone, Laverna's sister, was ninteen, with a harebrained, wispy demeanor that was hard not to adore. Persephone was gifted with the pale yellow hair of her father, and deep brown eyes alike to her mother's mother. She was dressed in a jade dress of simple design, but her waist was trimmed to its maximum smallness, compressed to impress her fiancée, Clinton. They had been engaged since her birth, and fortunately, they fell in love as soon as they laid eyes on one another. Alas, this did not stop her never ceasing flirting with the opposite sex.
Laverna, eighteen, had always been envious of her sister's fair hair while her own was a caramel color, but couldn't deny the pride she held for her bright green eyes and thick black lashes. Laverna's waist was not as tiny as Persephone's, but she held firm belief that a woman's true power lied in her personality and mind.
Rather than wear a dark color of dress like her sister, Laverna wore a white gown, almost blending in with her snowy skin. A pastel pink shawl was wrapped around her shoulders and gathered in her arms to protect her from the bite of early October wind. Her caramel hair held three bands of gold, holding together multiple twists in her up-do, but allowing thick curls to flow to her bosom.
Rolling her eyes at Persephone's dramatic plea, Laverna stepped down from the brick step as she remarked, "Anything for you, darling sister."
They continued on into the lively horde, Laverna taking her time to appreciate her surroundings, more or less annoy her sister, while Persephone gripped Laverna's arm, tugging and threatening. Laverna admired the citrus fruits in the wooden crates that sat underneath a watchful eye, and when a young boy approached her with beautiful irises shaded a dark purple, she pulled a coin from her purse and placed in the palm of the wide-eyed child. With a smile, Laverna knelt gently as the boy placed the flowers underneath the bands in her hair, making sure they were absolutely perfect.
"Thank you," the child chirped as he admired the radiant face of the brown-haired girl with the green eyes.
Lanvera elegantly dipped her head and curtsied. "No, thank you."
Persephone looked on, her emotions unclear.
The two moved down the crowded street towards the intersection a few yards beyond, and soon, Persephone silently burst forward with enthusiasm, dashing through the bodies to an unseen place.
With a grumble, Laverna followed suit, her hands gathering the skirts of her ivory dress, surging past the people separating them. She caught up with Persephone, lightly huffing as she stopped behind her. Peering over her shoulder, she saw that Clinton Burges was yammering his head off to her sister, his eyes frantic and alert.
"...and Scotland Yard has no idea what could have caused this, Seph. It looks so sloppy and wild, they are speculating an animal, a rabid dog, since beasts from the forests wouldn't come this far into the city... it's madness, Seph. Pure madness."
Laverna stepped forward and took her place beside her sister, a hand pressed against her chest. "What's wrong, Clinton?"
Clinton's perceiving blue eyes bore into Laverna's, and she felt the fear he felt pulsate through her. "There was a body found this morning along the Thames. It is so mutilated the Yard hasn't found out any identification, or what gender it is. They say it's a crazed dog, but..."
"What?" Laverna probed gently, her stomach twisting and writhing from the thought of unmarked, bloody heaps.
"I don't think it's an animal, Lavvy. It's a deranged madman. A murderer is on the loose in London... and I don't know if anyone can stop him."
Persephone gave a snort, though it was strained and shaky. "There is only one body, Clinton. Don't go around acting like Arthur Randall, making assumptions and such!"
Clinton gave a twisted smile and placed his pointer finger on the tip of his noise. "Aw, but there is more than one body, Seph. Remember the one about a week ago?"
"Yes, but that killer was caught, right?" She answered confidently.
Clinton shook his head, his sandy blonde hair trembling in the passing breeze. "He was pressured into admitting he did it. They only thought he did it, but he didn't. His alibi fits, but the Yard refuses to review his case. They've shackled an innocent man."
Laverna couldn't believe what she was hearing. Scotland Yard was formed on the belief of protecting London from terrors, not speculating and hoping they guessed right. The thought of a guiltless person being chained up in a dungeon deep in the ground sent her insides lurching.
But if there's anyone Scotland Yard will go to for help in this case, I know who...
"Clinton, is Auntie Opal's library open this time of day? I know she is a frail woman, with strict times, and I don't want to bother her if it's not." Laverna knew exactly when Auntie Opal, a silver-haired widow that leaved just down the way with a library teeming with books, opened said library, and knew it was open now, but she only intended her visit as a cover for more important business.
"It should be. If you plan on heading over there, let us accompany you," Clinton offered, gentlemanly down to the core.
Persephone shot him a sad look. "But we were supposed to picnic in the gardens today. You promised."
Clinton returned her dismal glance with a tender gaze. "I remember, darling. But there is a murderer rampaging through the city, need I remind you. I dare not leave your younger sister unattended."
Laverna gave an unseen frown but replaced it with a forced smile as their eyes found her face again. "I would be honored."
Clinton linked his generously muscled arm through Persephone's, sending a light blush to settle on her cheeks. Laverna bitterly gave her arm to Clinton, who gingerly connected them.
As Clinton escorted the ladies down the street, Laverna clawed her way through her thoughts to formulate a plan to visit her friend, the only one outside of Scotland Yard who had any shred of information of the murders.
Curiosity always got the best of Laverna, that she couldn't deny. It wasn't any better that her friend encouraged it, providing her with dreams that was shameful for a young woman to have, books of philosophy, details of the body's inner workings, and answers to her countless questions.
In her daze, Laverna felt herself brush shoulders with someone harshly, throwing her from Clinton's arm. She instantly felt the blush of her ignorance dominate her cheeks, gazing behind her to apologize to whomever she had so rudely made contact with.
At first, Laverna saw was a tall figure clad in black, with broad shoulders, but dark brown hair brushed back from a pale face soon formed. The black-cloaked figure turned its head quickly to the side, the glimmer of glasses perched on the end of its nose catching Laverna's eye.
Otherworldly green-gold eyes shot down to Laverna, who was easily two heads shorter than the man glaring at her. His strong jaw made it apparent that he was a man, an almost expressionless frown on his pale lips, his eyebrows the same color of his dark hair. To Laverna's opinion, she thought this man was handsome.
Behind him, she spotted the face of a boy older than her with the same green-yellow eyes and pressed suit, but his countenance was soft and boyish. His hair wasn't neat, it was wind-tossed and two-toned; blonde on top and black underneath. One of his yellow eyebrows was quirked up.
"Terribly sorry, miss." The tall one she bumped into said, sighing, ready to be on his way again. He pushed back his glasses with a black-gloved hand.
Laverna instantly lowered his worth in attractiveness due to his mild rudeness, slightly disappointed that he was this indifferent to a lady he had bumped into. A tilt settled on her lips, a mix of a frown and a grimace.
She refrained from lashing out her anger on this stranger. She quickly damned manners.
"Quite alright, sir." She piped now with false enthusiasm. "But I do suggest that you get your head out of the clouds before you accidentally step on Big Ben."
And with that, Laverna returned to Clinton's side, her nose high in the air. She was happy Persephone and Clinton hadn't heard anything, otherwise her mother would've never let her hear the end of it.
Glancing back, she found the man still standing there, unspeakably beautiful eyes wide and shocked. Laverna let her smile conquer her face as she continued to look back at the tall, rude, mysterious, handsome stranger with his smaller companion fighting off a grin. She kept this up until the crowd swallowed up the very sight of him.
"What was with all of that commotion, Lavvy?" Persephone asked, not all that intrigued.
"Oh, that? It was nothing." Laverna answered, a smile tugging on her lips.
As they arrived at the building that contained Auntie Opal's apartment, they promptly knocked on the dark wood door that held was outfitted with gold leafing and stained glass windows. Opal Gladstone, eighty-one years of age, answered the door, her pale eyes lighting up when she saw the trio at her doorstep. She entreated them in, claiming she had black tea and cheese danishes ready for whenever they liked.
Clinton and Persephone quickly asked for their tea now, while Laverna asked to go to the library alone. Auntie Opal led the young couple into her drawing room for refreshments, Laverna slipping away down the halls and up the grand staircase outfitted with paintings done in a range of mediums; oils, pastels, watercolors, and charcoal.
There was one Laverna like particularity; it was an oil painting of Leda, a woman from Greek mythology who had slept with the King of the Gods, Zeus, while he was in the form of a beautiful swan. It wasn't the content of the scene that intrigued Laverna, it was the way the strokes of the painter's hand was so loving and careful, you could feel the admiration for the two characters that laid on a bed of roses, wrapped around one another in a beautiful dance.
Laverna only took a moment to again appreciate the lovely painting before continuing on, calm and graceful, her skirts bunched up in her hands so she didn't trip on the material as she ascended the stairs.
As soon as she cleared them, she turned left into another hallway, now running. The carpet muffled her footsteps, unlike the wooden stairs, who would've given her away to her hurried pace.
She only had a so much time.
Laverna flew into the library, pausing only to throw off her shawl onto an arm chair before dashing straight to the large bay window that faced east, giving a clear view of the Thames River. She threw open the right furthermost window, where the peak of the neighboring house met her. She flung her leg over the windowsill, placing her heeled boot on the drab gray shingles of the roof. She ducked her head and pitched the rest of her body out, immediately starting her run over the half-foot wide space she had, not bothering to glance down at the forty-foot drop on either side.
She reached the edge of the roof and glanced around for a foothold while she lowered herself to the next roof, a story lower than the house. She found one, and holding onto the side of the roof, dangled her body over the side until she built up the confidence to let go.
Laverna fell to the next roof with a huff, but she was thankful she didn't twist her ankle or break a leg. She continued down the flat roof, heading to the back of the house where a scrap pile of wood and thrown-out furniture would her next goal. She easily maneuvered down the hill of trash to the cobbled alley way. With a sigh, Laverna casted a smile at her trek, amazed at the little time it took to complete it.
Satisfied, she turned to the clear way of the alley, where it lead to the main street.
She ran, and did not mind her awe-stricken peers.
Laverna peeked from behind the wagon to the low, monotone building across the street, taking time to admire the cryptic sign for the equally cryptic place; it read 'Undertaker', and the building housed the corpses of deceased. Pleased by the absence of police officers or investigators that she suspected were there, Laverna deserted the wagon she used for hiding and crossed the empty street, eyes still scouring for Yard dogs.
The caramel-haired girl walked up to the door and rose a hand to knock, until the sound of muffled voice caught her ear. They were coming from inside, and Laverna could not make out who was talking, or how many people were in there.
Aggravated, Laverna contemplated just barging in, but she knew if her friend was in the middle of business, he would never let her live over it. She thoughtfully rubbed her chin until a plan came to her, which she quickly placed into action.
Laverna crept to the side of the gray-stoned building where a narrow alley led to the back door of the building, and quietly slipped her body through the cramped and damp space to her destination. She turned the corner to metal door that opened into her friend's private quarters, connected to the main room where he conducted all business.
She was happy to find it unlocked, and immediately but discreetly unlatched the bar that held it closed, and squeezed her body through the gap.
Laverna found herself in the small, musty room of her friend's living quarters, his unkept bed with ash gray sheets and black quilt strewn over it, a beat-up antique armoire in the corner, a wash basin was set up in the lone chair beside the door.
Crossing the room to the door, Laverna pressed an ear to it and closed her eyes, listening. The voices weren't any stronger, but now they sounded angry. Biting her lip, Laverna quietly twisted the knob and opened the door.
She paused at the door way to see if she could spot anyone from her position, but she could not. Carefully, she tip-toed down the hallway, wary of squeaky or loose boards. Laverna was not familiar with this part of the building, for she mostly visited her friend in the front part where he attended to business. He had only showed her the back rooms, which were mostly supply closets, once, and she had almost broken a bottle of embalming fluid. He refused to let such a bull into his china shop ever again.
Laverna, reminded of the incident, remained weary of anything breakable.
Nearing her goal, the main room where coffins were laid out and shelves stocked with bottles filled with liquid and powders, Laverna slowed. She could picture the silver blades and rusted scoops laid on the counter that ran the length of the room, ready to be used on her friend's 'clients'.
One time, while she was visiting, he asked her why she wasn't bothered by his 'clients'. Some were lying in their coffins ready to be given back to loved ones, while others were posed on his operating tables ready to be 'beautified'. Laverna studied each one carefully. Some were murder victims, others withered and worn from full years, and a few were young; ripe and teeming with possibilities (which, of course, would never be achieved).
She thought hard on his seemingly innocent question. Finally, she realized the truth.
"Because they're more understanding than the living." Laverna answered. "They don't judge, stare, or gossip. I can tell them my secrets and they won't betray me."
Her friend only smiled at Laverna, nodding. "Yes, yes. That's why I'm fond of them, too."
A voice pulled her out of her memories. It wasn't enchanting, per say, but it was familiar and soothing. It was meant to be cold and collected, but Laverna felt secure within it. She barely caught what they were saying, but it wasn't important to Laverna anymore. They could say anything in that pleasant voice and it would sound all the more beautiful to her.
Sadly, the voice had finished and next heard her friend's wheezy answer that was followed by a dark chuckle.
"What binds me to them anymore? All of you are nothing more than maggots, burrowing your nasty selves deeper into the rotting bloated corpses that weren't in your paperwork."
A hiss splintered the silence.
"Why are we here, anyway, Sempai? We're wasting our time on this washed-out fool."
Laverna finally reached the turn of the hallway that led into the main room, and silently approaching it, Laverna contemplated her next move.
Unsure of what to do, Laverna decided to just scout out the room, to see who was in there.
With a deep breath, Laverna took another timid step closer to the corner, gripping the wall so she didn't trip from nerves.
Quietly, she peered into the room from behind the wall to shield her, but she hardly saw a thing before a blanket of black consumed her.
"Tsk, tsk. What do we have here?"