Author's note: I have finished an entire story in the time it has taken me to churn out three measly chapters of this one. Rrrgggghhh. Stupid writer's block and my own shirking avoidance of my keyboard.
Two days later, the comfortable if genteelly shabby household of Okina Bennet exploded into an avalanche of feminine frenzy at mid-morning. Safely ensconced in his study, the master of the house winced as the noise careened his way in the form of one beaming, rapturously ecstatic wife who was pouring out a stream of high-pitched babble that was as incomprehensible as it was enthusiastic. Trailing in her wake were Okon, Ayama, and Suzume, their excited voices only adding to the clamor and causing Mr. Bennet to visibly cringe.
A large, ornate, and rather ostentatious envelope was triumphantly placed in front of Mr. Bennet's wary eyes as the females pounced on him and let loose four different streams of jumbled explanations, shrieks, squeals, and swoons. With experience born out of years of practice, Mr. Bennet patiently disentangled the competing threads of speech until the plain truth was at last conveyed: the missive in question was an invitation from no other person than the young earl of Phantomhive, courteously requesting the presence of the entire Bennet family at a formal ball to be held the following week.
The explanation brought only deafening squeals of delight from the younger Bennet sisters and rapidly escalating excitement. Tsubame and Misao, who had been drawn to their father's study by the noise emanating from its bowels, were considerably more restrained. Tsuabame's face flushed slightly with the thought of perhaps dancing with Mr. Bingley once again, but Misao's mouth tightened in a hard line and her stomach rolled in alarm as the name of their host reached her ears.
Lord Phantomhive! Misao thought with consternation and no small trace of suspicion. Remembering the strange train of events which had culminated in her spending an exciting moment in the arms of the lord's indescribably handsome butler, Misao blushed crimson and cleared her throat several times to hide her embarrassment. But alarm quickly replaced the blushes as other fresh memories rushed to the surface. The death of Sir John Edgington had been quickly bruited about the shire, and friends and neighbors alike sighed over the tragic death of the man, victim to a panicked carriage horse and subsequent accident. But Misao was not easily fooled; a too-convenient overturned carriage was more than just a coincidence after the whispered conversation she had overheard.
Time and time again in the ensuing two days after the ball, Misao had heavily considered approaching her father and baring the whole incident to him. But something held her back: a quiet but indismissible worry that doing so would put her family at risk. Misao had a growing conviction that her nosy scamper across the roof had landed her smack in the middle of something much bigger and darker than she had a right to know about, and whatever it was could easily put everyone in her father's house in danger. After carefully considering the situation, Misao had decided to remain silent and deal with whatever it was on her own two feet.
She was still grasping firmly to that conviction a week later when, back in the damned corset and too-tight shoes and once again being forced to act delicate and dainty when she would very much rather not, Misao found herself along with her mother and sisters in the sumptuous and glamorous ballroom of the Phantomhive manor surrounded by the very best of high society and painfully aware that her lower-ranked family was sticking out like dead mice in a Christmas pudding.
Okina Bennet had abandoned his family, stuck at home with complaints about mild chest pain and fatigue; surveying the glittering throng and the cold looks of disdain being directed towards the Bennet ladies, Misao was convinced that her father was making the whole thing up to get out of the highfaluting event. Not that she blamed him in the slightest. She would have made her excuses about "taking care of Father" and stayed home if she didn't have the deeply-seated conviction that the ostentatious invitation was simply a ruse for the earl of Phantomhive to have a chance to interrogate her for why his butler had found her capering around on a roof overhearing things that were clearly none of her business. Of course, there was a possibility that the invitation had been finagled by a certain Mr. Bingley whose eager attention to Tsubame at last week's ball had not gone unnoticed; perhaps the gentleman in question had enough clout with the lord of Phantomhive to request the presence of the Bennets at an event that was far above their social standing. But Misao felt certain to the soles of her feet that there was something looming and ominous waiting for her somewhere in the expansive halls of the Phantomhive manor, and her keen eyes kept sweeping the room, measuring everyone she saw and taking in every flash of movement and sound.
Unfortunately, a lot of that movement and sound were currently being produced by her close kin. Riko Bennet, ecstatic to the point of raptures at being in the middle of the highest of high society, was making a commotion of herself and Okon, Ayama, and Suzume were little better, the four females cheerfully unaware of how coldly they were being looked down upon by many of the other people in the room. Misao cringed as her mother's brainless babble filled her ears and her sisters' high-pitched tones only added to the pointless chatter. She wasn't easily embarrassed and didn't care much for people who didn't know what end of a knife to throw at an enemy, but Misao couldn't stifle the overwhelming urge to tie her mother up in a quiet corner somewhere until the evening was over, less Riko completely disgrace the entire family.
Luckily Mr. Bingley was in attendance and artfully commandeered the attention of the rapturous matron and four of the five Bennet girls, Misao quietly edging away, intent on putting some distance between herself and the rest of her family less she end up smacking heads together in efforts to shut them all up. As grateful as she was for Mr. Bingley's kind attentiveness, Misao was highly peeved to discover that the insatiably unpleasant Mr. Darcy was in attendance with his friend and, as usual, was standing aloof and disdainful despite the clusters of elegantly-dressed young women eying him with obvious interest. Intent on avoiding any possible contact with the gentleman, Misao glided away and buried herself in the bustling crowd. It was clear from the exquisite gems and fine brocade surrounding her that the people she was currently rubbing elbows with were aristocrats to their boots, and she had little expectation of finding anyone of her acquaintance in the mix of the hoity-toity.
Just as Misao was contemplating slipping away to the library to wile away what was turning out to be an exceedingly boring, not to mention tension-filled evening, the lightest of touches on her elbow caught her attention.
"Ms. Bennet." The voice was honeyed silk, low and intimate in her ear, and the familiarity of it sent shivers up her spine. "Lord Phantomhive would like to speak with you privately for a moment if you would be so kind as to follow me." Misao didn't need to turn her blushing face to know that the butler Sebastian was bending elegantly over her, his presence making her stomach turn somersaults.
As a result, her response was a weak, "Oh! I..." Trailing off, Misao tried to force her buzzing brain into cooperation. Strictly speaking, it went against social protocol for the earl to request a private audience with a young woman without the benefit of a chaperon. It might look bad. But Misao was uncomfortably aware that her mother probably wouldn't care if her second daughter danced around naked in front of the earl while clenching a rose in her teeth if it meant that Riko had a chance of wrangling some high-class husbands for her other four daughters. Plus, the earl is only twelve. Just a child. Hardly a threat to my honor, Misao thought to herself, but her feet, independent of thought, were already following Sebastian as the butler slid gracefully through the crowd, bowing and smiling with exacting grace and courtesy.
Misao obediently let Sebastian lead the way and soon found herself in exquisite sitting room facing the young lord himself. As her eyes fell on the earl, something like common sense finally rattled loose and she pulled herself upright, alert and wary. What did the young lord want of her? The sound of the door latching behind her did nothing to reassure Misao, even though she did not hear a lock turning. Determined not to show nervousness, she kept her eyes on her host's face.
Young he was, the boy who sat in the wing-backed chair was examining her with a flat, calculating blue eye that gave away nothing. The other was hidden behind a patch, but if anything the single eye made the direct stare all the more intense and focused.
"Sit down, Ms. Bennet. Sebastian will pour you some tea." His voice was level and steady, unbroken by puberty but even the tones of a boy could not disguise the arrogance and privilege in his voice. It was the speech of someone long accustomed to having his own way in all matters. No, not a child, Misao corrected herself silently as a cup of steaming Earl Grey was placed in her palm, but she barely tasted the liquid, so intent was she on the slender boy-man in front of her.
Without preamble, the young earl began. "I'll get to the point: I called you here because you have certain skills that would be useful to me."
Misao forced herself to remain calm. Lifting the tea to her lips, she said, "Which are?"
"Information-gathering," the earl of Phantomhive responded. "I have need of those who are skilled in that area. I believe we could come to a mutually beneficial agreement."
"Information-gathering for what exactly, Lord Phantomhive?" Misao questioned, struggling to keep the growing clamor of warning from clawing its way out of her stomach. Not for the first time, she wished that her father had accompanied her family to the ball.
"Ms. Bennet." The young lord's voice grew harder and a trifle louder. As she watched, his hands clasped together and one finger began thoughtfully stroking an ornate blue ring which flashed on his thumb. "I will tell you this: the Phantomhives have long existed as guard dogs to the crown, protecting those who threatened the royal family. As the last surviving member of the Phantomhive line, this duty has fallen on my shoulders. And I intend to uphold it."
Misao's fingers tightened on the fine bone china teacup, tension rising in her. "And this duty involves...unpleasant tasks, I might expect? Such as a certain Sir John Edgington?" As soon as the words escaped her lips, Misao knew there was no going back. She'd put her toes on the tightrope over the gaping chasm, and the options were either fall spectacularly or pick her way forwards in a desperate attempt to find stable ground.
Not the slightest trace of surprise flared in the young lord's face. Calmly, he responded, "If need be, then yes."
Putting the teacup down less she crush it in her fingers, Misao responded tightly, "I won't kill for you, Lord Phantomhive."
"I didn't say anything about killing..." the earl responded evenly but his guest wasn't finished.
"I'm also not going to gather information which will lead to the death of someone," Misao spat out tightly, belligerence crowding out a rush of fear. "If you think I'll do your dirty work so that you can murder anyone who might make the royal family look bad, then think again, my lord." Setting the cup down with a rattling thump, Misao poised herself to rise quickly to her feet and sweep dramatically out of the room, hoping against hope that the butler wouldn't quietly but determinedly bar her way and force her to quickly think up a new plan of action. Bad day to forget my kunai, she growled internally.
Lord Phantomhive's quiet words haulted her. "Even if the death of one man saves the lives of hundreds of others?"
Misao paused, her tense, tight eyes never leaving the young aristocrat's face. After a pause, he provided the explanation her silent eyes demanded. "Sir John Edgington was the owner of one of the most popular brothels in London, the Crimson Rose. It specializes in Oriental women." The earl's lips narrowed and the one exposed eye grew icy. "Virtually all of them were slaves, some sold by their poor families. Other girls were snatched up off the streets back in the East and hauled to the other side of the world. More than one of the girls in the brothel was beaten to death for resisting, so I was told. Plenty more died from drug overdoses or killed themselves."
Misao bit her lip as the earl watched her carefully. Finally, she spoke, "What else?"
"Opium," the boy aristocrat continued matter-of-factually. "Sir John Edgington had a specific suppler who created a form of opium called Black Pearl. It is four times as powerful and addictive as most opium sold on the streets, and it has the added feature of being quite deadly. Most of the girls at the brothel are addicts and they are instructed to press the drug on their clients. One way they do this is by rubbing their skin and lips with Black Pearl – contact with their customers passes the drug along and forms new addicts." A hard, humorless snort escaped his lips. "Needless to say, the Crimson Rose is rarely without customers."
Carelessly tossing a file of paper at her, the earl said, "Read about it in here if you don't believe me."
Misao didn't budge an inch, her eyes barely leaving his face. "I believe you, my lord," she said softly. After a moment, she forced her voice to question evenly, "What is the connection with the crown?"
Settling back a little in his chair, Lord Phantomhive crossed his hands thoughtfully, "The Crimson Rose is quite popular and certain members of the aristocracy frequent it." Carelessly picking up a teacup, the boy lord stated calmly. "Three weeks ago, the queen's favorite nephew was found dead in the streets, a trail of evidence leading back to the Crimson Rose."
Misao digested this for a moment, then responded tightly. "So you had Sir John Edgington killed in revenge?"
Not a muscle twitched on the young lord's face but his voice grew icier, "When it was his own hand which killed the royal and he was plotting blackmail against the royal family? I don't call that simple revenge." Setting the cup back down, Lord Phantomhive lifted his piercing blue eye to meet Misao's narrowed ones. "It is my duty as guard dog to the crown to protect it from danger. It's not an easy task nor pretty one, but I will not shrink from it."
Silence fell over the room for a long, heavy moment as Sebastian glided forward silently to gracefully proffer sweets. Misao shook her head, her stomach churning too rapidly to consider eating. A fresh cup of tea was poured for her, and she lifted it numbly to her lips.
Lord Phantomhive spoke again. "To be blunt, Ms. Bennet, I know your family is struggling financially, especially with five dowries to provide for. Your father is not the best of business men, and his estate is diminishing yearly because of how he handles his investments. That I can change, in exchange for your assistance."
"You mean you'll pay me to spy for you," Misao stated flatly.
His response surprised her. "No, not exactly." The ring was rubbed again."If I simply give you money, your father will want to know where it came from. Instead, I can arrange for his investments and business ventures to be far more profitable than he expects, and there will be no connection with Phantomhive manor. He will not suspect your hand in it."
Misao's lips closed together as her mind churned furiously behind her blue eyes. Every muscle rigid, she thought, weighing her options carefully. Refusal or negotiations would have to be conducted carefully – the young lord had plenty of power over her and she was well aware that he would likely turn it against her to get what he wanted. She was acutely cognizant that she had just walked into something gigantic and much more deeply intertwined that she suspected; Misao felt as if she was standing at the edge of a deep and forbidden forest, hoping that she couuld force her way through to the other side but painfully aware that many large, hungry things were lurking in wait for her, just itching for one false step to trip her up.
But there was a certain zest of adventure shimmering in Misao's bones as she sat perched on the edge of her seat, her eyes still fastened on the young lord's face. What he was offering was certainly much more interesting than learning how to properly serve tea or sitting through yet another deathly boring dinner party. Misao had long chafed at the restrictions placed on her by society and her gender and there were times she felt she would run mad if she had to endure the shackles another moment. Her father's training had been her sanity, and here at last was a chance to put her well-honed skills to use.
Not to mention that doing so would secure the future of her family. As much as she loved her sisters, Misao knew in her heart that Okon, Ayama, and Suzume were brainless, talentless girls with little education, even less money, and few chances of attaining the types of marriages their mother fervently hoped for. Tsubame with her lovely manners and face stood a far better chance of a smart match, but her scanty dowry was a burden dragging down her future prospects. What the young lord was offering Misao would very well save her family from their rapid decline from genteel poverty into true poverty.
Finally, Misao responded carefully. "Will you let me consider this?"
He gave a slight nod. "Yes. But make your decision quickly." Sensing that the interview was finished and wanting to go some place to mull everything over, Misao stood to her feet and inclined her head gracefully. Against protocol, the young earl stayed seated and barely gave her a nod in acknowledgment, his one exposed eye calculating and calm. Frowning slightly, Misao recognized the lack of courtesy but said nothing. Wealth and privilege covers a multitude of social sins, and it was oddly interesting to be treated with abrupt curtness when she was accustomed to the exaggerated courtesy and gallantry demanded of men by custom. It was rather refreshing in an odd way.
Sebastian more than made up for his master's gracelessness by elegantly escorting Misao back to ballroom, the merest brush of his fingertips against her clothing sending trails of electricity racing up and down her entire nervous system. Blushing, her pulse racing in her throat, and her head full to bursting with new information, Misao found herself back in the crowded ballroom where the dance was in full swing and the air filled with music and voices.
So distracted was she by what had just transpired that it took awhile for Misao to register that she was quite close to her mother, Riko's excited voice cutting through the air. "...and so attentive! We'll have a wedding in four months, if I am not very much mistaken! The darling Mr. Bingley, I couldn't ask for a better man to marry my beloved Tsubame..."
Against her better judgment, Misao snuck a peek in the direction of her mother and discovered that the lady in question was so busy babbling at a thousand words a minute that it completely escaped her that her conversation partner, a gloriously-appointed middle-aged aristocratic woman with enough feathers in her hair to stuff a pillow, was giving Riko a regally imperial look of disdain before she finally removed herself from the situation, leaving Misao's mother to carry on a one-sided conversation with a potted plant, her face falling slightly.
Feeling a rush of empathy, Misao stepped forward to give her mother someone with whom to direct her excess eloquence to, but a sudden movement caught her attention as another lady, who appeared to have consumed a little more wine than proper, staggered slightly and send a crystal wine glass flying through the air. Fearing it would shatter and harm someone, Misao surged forward and snatched it in the middle of its flight.
A large, surprisingly warm hand closed over hers the second her fingers touched the glass. Startled, Misao whipped her head around and saw to her astonishment that the hand belonged to no other than the irremediably disagreeable Mr. Darcy who was currently towering over her, his normally hard look softened a fraction into something that she could not quite read.
To Misao's annoyance, a flush of warmth crept over her, despite her displeasure at being in personal contact with the gentleman. "Mr. Darcy, I believe," she said coldly. They had not been formally introduced, but Misao wasn't exactly counting down the seconds until they were.
"Ms. Bennet," he responded and the ice in his voice was noticeable less glacial. His blue eyes, normally scorching in their cold disdain, were gazing at her and she saw something in them that flickered strangely. He was still holding her hand, and the warmth from his fingers made her pulse thump in a most unruly manner. Covering up her discomfort, Misao quickly disentangled her hand from his and stepped back, drawing herself up firmly. She hadn't forgotten his overheard insult and wasn't particularly keen on being on friendly terms.
To her surprise, Mr. Darcy said quietly, "I believe your older sister has captured the goodwill of my friend Mr. Bingley. He speaks quite highly of her."
"As well as he should," Misao responded proudly. "My sister is an excellent woman of fine character. And if you will excuse me, Mr. Darcy, I should return this glass to its rightful owner." With a swoosh of her admittedly well-worn skirts, Misao swooped off into the crowd, back straight and head held high.
Strange. I didn't realize her eyes were so striking, Aoshi Darcy thought to himself as he watched Ms. Bennet's small, lithe frame glide away. He hadn't thought much of her appearance at first glance but now that he had a second exposure, there was a certain luster to those deep blue orbs that was really quite stunning now that he had gotten time to examine them properly. And then there was the coronet of shining black hair arranged in a thick braid coiled around her head. Not to mention the quick reflexes; she had darted like a kingfisher after the glass and he had been astonished with her reactions.
A rather remarkable young woman, Aoshi thought to himself. Pity she is hampered by a family with little class or taste, particularly her mother, he sighed as Riko's shrieking laugh pierced through the noise of the room.
Wincing slightly, Aoshi turned from the sound, then frowned as a ripple of energy moved his way. He did not need to look up to know that Sebastian was approaching.
Duty called.
Ayama yawned loudly and drooped her head against Misao's shoulder. Okon was already asleep against Misao's other shoulder, and on the other side of the carriage, Tsubame was leaning against Riko, the matron fondly stroking her eldest daughter's hand and mercifully silence. The night was inching towards morning, and the family carriage was rattling across the road towards home, its passengers exhausted but happy. However, as late as it was, Misao's brain was too consumed with pondering the earl's offer to let herself give in to dozing. Her nerves felt as tightly strung as a harpsichord and a dull headache was poking the back of her skull. And then there was the curious matter of Mr. Darcy who, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, was apparently capable of acting with tolerable courtesy at times; Misao flushed at the remembrance of his warm, large palm against the back of her hand.
Trying to force the remembered sensation from her mind, Misao breathed a silent word of thanks that her mother hadn't seen the brief exchange. If Riko had spotted it, she would undoubtedly be mentally picking out flower arrangements for Misao's marriage to the abundantly wealthy gentleman as she had been doing the past several days for Tsubame. However, in the case of the eldest Bennet daughter, it seemed entirely plausible that a potential wedding was on the horizon: Mr. Bingley had been extremely attentive to Tsubame the entire evening and even a casual glance at the couple gave ample evidence to their mutual attraction and respect.
Across from Misao, Tsubame was smiling gently to herself, and Misao grinned back. She was particularly fond of her elder sister and was glad she had captured the attention of such a wealthy and kind gentleman. Once they had all had a chance to sleep, Misao had full intention of subjecting her sister to a thorough interrogation to ferret out all that Mr. Bingley had said to Tsubame while Misao had been hearing a lot more than she wanted to know in Lord Phantomhive's sitting room.
The first blush of dawn was beginning to seep inside the carriage as it clattered up the drive towards the house. Misao looked out the window with a yawn and was surprised to see one of their servants racing towards the carriage, her skirts billowing around her feet.
"Mrs. Bennet, Mrs. Bennet, ma'am!" the servant cried out loudly, grasping the edge of the open carriage window in tight-knuckled fingers. "Come quickly! There's been a terrible accident!"
So I think the Muse has deemed to visit me again. After working on this chapter, I am much more enthusiastic about this story and excited to see where my mad author ramblings lead me. Hope you all like it!