In the opinions of the cynical, London's desolate atmosphere was an apt symbol of the doubt and uncertainty plaguing its people at this particular time. Was the dawn of a new era rising to greet them, or was the sun of the glorious era they had known setting, gradually fading into memory? Such was the conflicted attitude of the gigantic crowds of mourners clogging London's streets, straining to watch Queen Victoria's funeral procession. The familiar black that had draped her person for decades had been replaced with white, such an unusual color for mourning that it only added to the uncertainty. The new King Edward VII pursued the horse-drawn carriage on foot, and beside him walked "that German" the Kaiser. Farther back were more distant relatives and the unrelated aristocracy.
On an inconspicuous rooftop, partially hidden from view by the London smog, stood a handsome, disinterested devil. Rarely did the demon find himself in London. Not after Ciel he mused to himself, never quite sure what he felt when thinking of his former master. The coffin of Queen Victoria passed by slowly, a white satin pall draped across it, velvet and ermine drapes as elaborate trappings. It rattled on the gun-carriage it had been placed. With the demise of the Queen, Sebastian could finally breathe a sigh of relief, believing for the first time in years that the dramatic story of Ciel Phantomhive's life and those of his close associates would finally draw to a close.
As he turned to leave, he felt a sharp prickle on the back of his neck, compelling him to refocus his eyes on the procession. One of the unrelated nobles caught his attention, nearly at the end of the aristocratic procession. A genteel lady glided across the cobbles. If a black swan could be heartbroken, then her performance was faultless. Sebastian narrowed his eyes and searched the crowds eagerly to find her soul's scent. Once located, he sucked in a breath. Regret, anger, and corruption so bittersweet he could practically taste it, like strong vinegar. Sebastian stroked his fangs with his tongue and chuckled when he heard his stomach rumble. It had been many years since he'd dined on any soul. After Ciel… His melancholy memories did little to quell his hunger.
A crisp breeze wafted through the air, lifting the miniature veil worn by his mourner. Had his heart been capable of beating, the pale face behind that veil would have stopped it. He recognized those large eyes and the mass of blonde hair immediately. Elizabeth Midford, Ciel's betrothed. He wondered what had become of her- meaning what imbecile she'd been married off to. A heavy weight settled in his chest, and Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose hard. It seemed that all loose ends had not yet been tied up.
Lady Elizabeth Atherton, Dowager Marchioness of Clare, kept her head bowed respectfully as she walked the streets, barely able to see Queen Victoria's coffin. Her eyes did not stray from the hemline of her skirt even when she brushed up against another person and murmured an appropriate apology. Her gaze did not deviate from her starched white gloves even when the cannons roared a last salute to Queen Victoria. Mercifully, the service ended just before the evening temperature plummeted. Snow began clinging to the Marchioness' long eyelashes as she made her way to her carriage. Her gruff bear-like coachman offered her his hand and doffed his brown top hat before shutting the carriage door.
"Where to my lady?"
"The townhome, Mr. Corey." The Marchioness did look up this time, confirming that no observant passerby would see the impending hideous breech in protocol. She tossed the burly coachman three farthings. He knew better than to draw attention to his lady with words, but after a second of his gaping bug-eyed expression Elizabeth muffled laughter with her glove. In a wry voice she commanded him.
"Do try not to donate more than a halfpenny to the grocer when you order your whiskey this evening. You've an early day of it tomorrow."
"Beggin' your pardon, my lady?"
"My daughter and I are expected at the Marchioness of Midford's estate in Buckinghamshire. We leave at first light."
"Of course. But-…my lady, this is too generous!" Elizabeth only chuckled and waved his concern away.
"Somehow I believe our late Majesty would approve of a little merriment. A wake, if you will."
"Right, ma'am."
Several quiet moments passed between Lady Atherton and her servant as he shuffled his feet. Elizabeth cleared her throat demurely and chuckled again.
"Mr. Corey?"
"Yes my lady?"
"Home, if you please."
"Eh…? Oh! Straight away, ma'am."
Elizabeth sighed in relief as her carriage finally rolled through London towards her townhome. Camouflaged by the night, a black shadow flew through the night, a mere breath behind the carriage. Just as the carriage bearing the Atherton livery tumbled to a halt, the street lamp across from Elizabeth's townhouse flickered out. The dark demon slithered into the new patch of shadows and leaned against the lamp pole.
Sebastian watched the bumbling coachman help Ciel's former fiancée from her seat. He ran the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip as he watched her sashay to the front door and greedily inhaled to experience the bitterness in her soul a second time. Suddenly, Elizabeth tossed her loose blonde hair over her shoulder and whirled to stare into the night. Directly at Sebastian.
"Show yourself!" Her sharp command would have rattled the poise of a fellow mortal. Unaffected, Sebastian lingered in the shadows and relaxed his shoulders as he observed her pale green eyes darting around. Lady Atherton shivered and hurried to let herself into her townhome. He chortled to himself She failed to see me, but felt my presence…how very…unique. He stepped forward and eagerly studied the front of the townhome, searching for a window into Lady Atherton's bedchamber.
After lighting the kerosene lamp at her mistress' bedside, Elizabeth's timid maid curtsied and waited for further instructions. Silence reigned. Then, a gentle wave of Lady Atherton's pale hand sent the maid on her way.
"That will be all. Good evening, Brigit."
"Good evening, ma'am."
Elizabeth sighed quietly as the door clicked shut and continued brushing out her soft curls. Shivering a little in her lilac dressing gown, she returned the brush to its proper place on the vanity. The early evening snow had turned to a sloshing downpour since her arrival at the townhouse. A stray flash of lightning outside her window captured her attention briefly. Rising with a discreet little yawn, Elizabeth started to turn away from her vanity. A blur at the corner of the vanity mirror stilled her. The kerosene lamp flickered ominously.
"You haven't outfitted your chambers with electricity yet? Tsk, your household staff is a detriment to your genteel reputation, my lady." Swiftly Elizabeth whirled to peer into the shadows, surpassing a fearful shiver.
She recognized the figure that strode into the center of her bedchamber, impeccably dressed as always.
"Sebastian Michaelis."
"Indeed, my lady." Silence reigned supreme as Lady Atherton studied him in the flickering lamplight, frowning severely.
"My lady, if I may, you are not fast enough to bring the hilt of your dagger around your person. I would disarm you in a heartbeat." Her brows shot to her hairline, a gesture evocative of her mother, the Marchioness of Midford. Her right arm, stretched behind her and only an inch away from the blade she always kept on her person, fell to her side. She huffed angrily.
"Quite a coincidence that I should make your acquaintance again after so many years. You know who I am, don't you Sebastian?"
"You are the Lady Atherton, Dowager Marchioness of Clare. Though when last I saw you, you were simply Miss Elizabeth."
"I suppose you are aware that I as well as the Marchioness of Midford have been trying to locate you and the other former retainers of the Phantomhive family for years?" Sebastian smiled apologetically, hiding the extent of his knowledge.
"Unfortunately, that information did not reach me. I have been…abroad for a very long time."
"Spare me the half-truths and ambiguous answers. I know what you are, Sebastian Michaelis. I am no fool." The black butler ceased smiling and studied the woman standing across from him, collected and cool.
"Then…you know that Ciel-"
"Yes, I know what you were to Ciel. You were his tutor, his advisor…and his spy. On occasion, his weapon. Those do not sound like the qualifications of a mere butler." Sebastian raised his brows, watching Lady Atherton gracefully stalk towards him. He could sense a lingering fear, buried deep beneath the surface, beneath her initial emotions. Nevertheless, Elizabeth forced herself to look him directly in the eye. She exhaled and tilted her head at him, as though he were the prey on a sleek jungle cat. It was all Sebastian could do to keep from chuckling; little Elizabeth truly had no idea what she was dealing with, or she would know her bravado was ludicrous.
"Now that you are here, I should like to enlist your services. To the devil with this proposition being 'ill-mannered'." Elizabeth's face did not express any emotion, but her voice rose and fell passionately as she sent the oath into the space between them. Sebastian stepped back for a moment as he continued to look at the Marchioness. No, she had no clue of what he was or what deal he'd forged with Ciel. Perhaps he could use this to his advantage. A deal of souls need not be struck yet; this opening to Elizabeth might be lost if he gambled with too much. The butler called upon his experience as the Phantomhive butler, seemingly so much time, and so many ghosts ago. He bowed respectfully.
"I find there is nothing untoward about it, my lady. If you would permit me, I would be honored to serve your house." The Marchioness huffed again.
"How lovely. A pleasure, really. Now get out. You can apply formally come tomorrow morning, before I depart for the country." Her droll reply was dry enough, the kerosene lamp by her bedside could have set it aflame.
"Of course-"
"Out." Had he not been caught entirely off-guard, Sebastian might not have allowed the Lady Atherton to wrench him around to face the exit. She jerked the knob, threw open the door, and impatiently pushed the butler out of the candlelit chamber. The door thudded closed behind him, and the butler chuckled upon hearing a dead bolt deliberately click into place. He crept down the stairs without a sound and strode into the pouring cold rain outside. My, how 'Miss Elizabeth' has changed! Delightful…
He quickly rounded the street corner, engrossed in thought. Sebastian sensed another presence before he felt a hand snaking down the sleeve of his shirt. He turned to see a small boy, his horror and panic momentarily overwhelming him as he noted the eyepatch.
"Well 'allo sir. You look 'ungry. Care for anything off me trolley?" It's only a street hawker. This man is not Ciel. Now he could absorb more minute details, like the age lines, missing teeth and stubble that accompanied the eye patch. His stomach rumbled. I haven't had a meal since...The devil narrowed his eyes calculatingly. Simple depravity. A hidden envy of the well-to-do. How mainstream. How disgusting. This particular scum meant nothing, and quite honestly would help tide him over until a new contract was forged.
Sebastian smiled to himself as he embraced the darkly demonic delight that boiled in his bloodless veins. He tugged off his pristine white gloves with his teeth and turned back to face the vendor with a hellish grin.
"Actually…I'm ravenous."