By Gaslight
Twenty-two years ago, Mary Winchester — the beloved Wife of John Winchester and adored Mother of Samuel and Deane Winchester — was cruelly lost within a fire that claimed the Winchester family's home. Since that day, a bereaved John Winchester has traveled throughout Europe, tracking the foul creature that perpetrated such a cruel trick upon his family; raising his sons to follow in his footsteps.
Armed with Samuel's inventions and Deane's uncanny ability to bring down any prey, the brothers Winchester travel through Great Britain and Europe, following clues they receive in the form of mysterious letters — and Samuel's disturbing visions.
Disclaimer: The Winchester boys, even within this incarnation, are regrettably not my creation. Likewise, the idea of the weapons they use owes more to Jules Verne than to my own devising. And while Mr. Winchester's peculiar mode of transport has not yet made an appearance, its particular execution also does not belong to me. However, I will take full and knowledgeable blame for impinging upon your senses with this entirely silly romp through a very different Victorian England.
Characters: Deane Winchester, Samuel Winchester, Penelope Harcourt, Vertiline Lucas, Winston Hillsworth, Francis Templeton, Mrs. Jennings
Pairings (Overall): Deane/OFCs, Samuel/OFC
Rating (Overall): M
Rating: T (Naughty Victorian language, but nothing truly untoward.)
Summary: Vertiline discovers several secrets within the grounds of Highchurch Manor, including the large wooly creature rampaging through the Rose Garden. Meanwhile, Samuel discovers several secrets of his own – not the least of which is the ability to contrive an explosion that even Deane Winchester would appreciate.
Feedback: I would consider you most kind if you would do so.
Miscellaneous: This lovely little homage to Romance and Adventure owes its sparkle to the ever-radiant wenchpixie.
Chapter Four: Within Which Secrets are Revealed, and a Pawn Is Removed From the Board
Dinner was undeniably the most tedious meal Vertiline had yet suffered in Mrs. Jennings' presence. Several of Uncle Winston's colleagues spent the entire soup course in a veritable outrage – some even quit the table when it became evident that Penelope was not going to appear and contritely express regret for her unwomanly behavior. Uncle Winston had tried, of course, but he seemed particularly subdued in his apologies; one who knew him well might even think he was feeling remorseful.
Nor did he fare well presiding over a half-empty table. According to Mrs. Jennings, no less than three of his guests had left immediately after Penelope's lecture – outraged, no doubt, by that peculiar accusation about Practitioners. Vertiline frowned; she should have taken the opportunity to ask her cousin what that meant before their argument. At least then she might have some idea as to what was actually being discussed at dinner, between furtive glances and thinly veiled statements.
The old widow herself was bursting with gossip. "I hear she stormed out of the room with nary an apology," Mrs. Jennings directed towards Templeton. She sighed dramatically. "That is what happens when one is raised without a woman's guidance."
Vertiline slammed her fork onto the table more forcefully than she had intended. There was a cough at Templeton's left, and Samuel Winchester's piercing eyes were suddenly focused on the old gossip. No doubt taken in by the idiocy of her hat. "That is quite the accusation, Mrs. Jennings, considering you were not in the room," he said.
"But I was," Templeton returned with a sniff. "Mrs. Harcourt did storm out of the room."
"There we shall beg to differ," Samuel replied. If she had not been kindly disposed to him before, Vertiline surely would have been so now. He was defending her cousin, just as he had earlier in the day. "Mrs. Harcourt was treated abominably by men who believe their reputations allow them to do so. I would be ashamed to treat so good a lady in such a manner." His smile was cold. "Surely one who calls herself friend would be more understanding."
Mrs. Jennings looked as though she had been slapped, and then smiled sweetly at the scientist. "You are, of course, correct, sir. It is just that we are so used to Mrs. Harcourt's tempestuous nature that we take the opportunity to commiserate amongst ourselves. It would be no different than my discussing Mr. Templeton's gambling or Miss Lucas' flirting."
"Or Mrs. Jennings' inability to go through an entire meal without gossiping," Vertiline added. She smiled ingenuously at the widow, and Templeton laughed aloud. Mrs. Jennings' mouth pursed as it had when she took her first mouthful of curry. "Come, Mrs. Jennings, we are all such dear friends that surely we accept each other's shortcomings," Vertiline added. "You know what the Bard says about friendship." Her blue eyes flickered towards Templeton.
Her suitor turned towards her with a familiar expression on his face. He only knows three of Shakespeare's sonnets; I may as well give him the opportunity to display that knowledge when possible. Samuel Winchester, however, had started in his chair. He pushed his glasses atop his nose, and leaned forward curiously. "So you are a lover of poetry, Miss Lucas?" he asked before Templeton could speak.
"I am fond of the Romantics," Vertiline said slowly, wishing she had paid more attention during Penelope's monthly poetry readings.
"I much prefer the poets of our age," Mr. Samuel replied. If he realized that Templeton's face was turning bright red while staring at him, Samuel Winchester took no notice. "Tennyson is my particular favorite, although I also greatly admire Gerard Manley Hopkins."
"As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame" Vertiline said softly. "As tumbled over rim in roundy wells stones ring." She loved the imagery in that poem, even keeping a small volume of Hopkin's poetry in her room at Fillmont.
"Like each tucked string tells, each hung bell's bow finds tongue to fling out broad its name." Samuel Winchester positively beamed at her. "There is something to be said for a truly well-crafted sonnet, Miss Lucas."
"You are quite right, sir," Templeton said, staring at Vertiline as though she were a traitor. In a way, I suppose I am. She would rather spend ten minutes discussing poetry with Mr. Samuel than an hour listening to Templeton prattle on about the subject. "I, myself, am fond of Shakespeare," her suitor added.
"He is undeniably the master of the sonnet," Mr. Samuel agreed, "But there is something to be said for the fresh perspective of this age." He smiled at Vertiline. "I wouldn't be surprised, Miss Lucas, if you did not write a sonnet or two in your lifetime."
"When I was younger," she answered slowly. Vertiline had not written a poem since she was twelve, and she had only done so because Penelope had convinced her that every lovelorn girl wrote a poem or a letter to their intended. Penelope mailed her letter, instead of placing it in the memory chest where Verd had left her poems. "I have been considering a novel," she added. Mrs. Jennings' eyes widened. That was something she had only told Penelope, but if George Eliot could become a published novelist, so would Vertiline Lucas. And I care not how scandalous that appears to the old gossip!
"Miss Lucas' head is filled with such visions that any novel sprung from her delicate fingers will be a delight to read." Templeton's hand snaked forward, as though he would cover hers sitting next to her fork on the table. Vertiline pulled her hand back slowly.
"I thought to write something similar to Frankenstein," Vertiline returned. Mrs. Jennings made a horrified sound. "A tale of brothers who haunt the night, fighting against those creatures man was never meant to see."
She could not have timed it more perfectly had she tried. Samuel Winchester had just lifted his glass of water to his lips. He somehow managed to swallow, but water dribbled down his chin. Mr. Samuel quickly reached for his napkin, but not before Mrs. Jennings smacked Vertiline on the arm. "You impertinent girl! Have you no shame?" The widow snickered. "A novel about brothers who hunt monsters," the widow added, shaking her head. "Who would believe such a thing? You've given poor Mr. Samuel a fright."
"Not so much of a fright as I could," Vertiline returned. He was watching her with a wary look in his blue-green eyes. So now he knows that Penelope and I do not keep secrets. "I could tell the truth about him, Mrs. Jennings."
"The truth?" Samuel Winchester's voice sounded querulous.
"Surely you have not forgotten how you trounced my cousin in cribbage." Vertiline leaned forward, picking up her fork. Her appetite had returned. "I've decided that if I have any chance of winning against Mrs. Jennings and Templeton, Mr. Samuel, it will only be with you as my partner."
"Partner?" His blue-green eyes looked startled, and he actually pulled on his collar.
"A full partner," Vertiline replied. "It will be a difficult challenge, Mr. Samuel. They are positively beastly when they play together on the same side."
"And Mrs. Harcourt is not likely to join us," Templeton added. His own expression was grim, as though he was looking forward to the contest that Vertiline was proposing. To prove himself to me, or to Mr. Samuel. "I overheard one of the maids say that she had taken a plate of dinner up to the garret."
"Sulking, no doubt," Mrs. Jennings observed.
Verd narrowed her eyes; Mr. Samuel's had gone just as hard, and the smile he gave Mrs. Jennings should have chilled her to the bone but Mrs. Jennings had the common sense of a gnat. Consider her choice in clothing. "I would be happy to act as your partner in Mrs. Harcourt's absence, Miss Lucas." His gaze turned towards her. "Your full partner."
Vertiline suddenly found herself blushing – reduced to a young girl by the expression in Samuel Winchester's blue-green eyes. She steeled her voice, lowering her eyes. "I would be horribly disappointed were you not to be my full partner, Mr. Samuel," she added demurely.
Samuel Winchester was clever enough to understand the message that their cribbage opponents blithely ignored; Templeton had begun discussing strategies with Mrs. Jennings. Vertiline sighed. Francis Templeton may have been an excellent match by Society's standards, but Samuel Winchester was proving to be a different type of match entirely.
The man I would choose for myself.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Cribbage was, by anyone's estimation, as much a game of chance as it was of skill. That being the case, however, it was also true that some personages are born with an overabundance of skill – such that it made up for bad luck. Samuel Winchester was one of the latter, sad to say; the death of his mother was not a particularly good omen where luck was concerned. Miss Vertiline Lucas, however, was overflowing with good luck.
Together, they made an excellent team.
Mrs. Jennings and the equally insufferable Mr. Templeton attempted to rally, but when faced with his superior intellect and Miss Lucas' shimmering fortune, the irascible duo was thwarted each time they attempted to take the game. Samuel had to admit that there was something particularly satisfying about any action which pulled a pursed-lipped expression out of the widow. As though she swallowed one of those grotesque fake flowers on her hat.
His disdain for the widow was nothing compared to the ill will that Samuel Winchester wished upon Francis Templeton. The way he treated Vertiline Lucas – a young lady so accomplished that she was able to relay her knowledge of the Winchesters' secret under the guise of a novel she wished to write – was downright obscene. If Samuel Winchester had been graced with the luck to win the good will of Vertiline Lucas, he would never treat her as anything but the intelligent young woman she was – beautiful, with an underlying foundation of steel.
Knowing the Winchesters' secret had not shaken the girl. Even Penelope Harcourt had fainted.
He smiled, remembering the expression in Miss Lucas' eyes when she wrapped her admonition of Mrs. Jennings into a good-natured response to the old widow's jab. Samuel saw no reason why Deane should not like her. He probably thought to kiss her, like she was one of the maids. Samuel suspected that Miss Lucas would not take kindly to his brother's affections.
"I believe that would put us past one hundred and twenty points, Mr. Samuel!" Miss Lucas' smile was so bright, her blue eyes themselves seemed to sparkle with it.
Templeton frowned. "For the fifth time this evening," he said sourly.
"Are you quite certain you have not played together before?" Mrs. Jennings asked. Her beady eyes looked at Samuel suspiciously. "Or did one of you cheat?"
"Not everyone raised without the benefit of a woman's guidance is a cheat, Mrs. Jennings," Samuel retorted. He could not help himself. He knew it was impolitic, a reaction unworthy of him. The old widow was simply trying to bait him. Blast! I am spending too much time with Deane.
Vertiline Lucas was nodding, the room's light iridescent against her blonde curls. "It is just as unfair to state that anyone who plays cards is a cheat." Her blue eyes focused on Mrs. Jennings' left sleeve. Samuel glimpsed the sharp edge of a card before the widow shifted her arm. She is bloody brilliant!
"Too true, Vertiline." Templeton shot Samuel a nasty glance, as though he were claiming Vertiline Lucas as a possession. "And to the victor inevitably goes the spoils." The seedy little man was grinning at her. "Would you care to accompany me on a moonlit stroll through the gardens?" Mr. Templeton asked.
Miss Lucas' color paled, and she glanced once at Samuel – who looked studiously away. "I would be honored, Templeton. The Rose Garden is particularly beautiful this time of year. There's even a replica of Stonehenge off the path to it."
"Stonehenge?" Samuel asked the question before he could stop himself.
Vertiline Lucas nodded. "Penelope and I attempted to recreate Stonehenge when we were children." Her eyes softened. "Bootsie helped us collect the rocks for it." She appeared as though she were on the verge of tears, her eyes shining, and then Miss Lucas swallowed. "I would be pleased to show you such remnants of my childhood," she added.
Templeton snorted. "I believe that the walk to the garden will suffice, Vertiline."
Miss Lucas nodded and followed Francis Templeton out of the room. The ass! Samuel was fairly seething. Mrs. Jennings was staring at him over her spectacles, lips working slowly as though she were thinking about something important. He rose abruptly to his feet. "I bid you good evening, Mrs. Jennings. My thanks for your company this evening."
He did not give the intolerable woman an opportunity to respond. Samuel bowed quickly and went through the door. She was chuckling softly to herself. Another story she will be relaying before breakfast. Samuel frowned. A monster could still be roaming the countryside around Highchurch, and a beautiful blonde-haired girl had just been taken outside by a thorough scoundrel.
The Winchesters should be on patrol.
Deane was not in their room, and his bed was undisturbed. As early as it was, Samuel was unsurprised. Were they in a town, Deane would no doubt be up carousing at the local bar – using his not inconsiderable charms on one of the serving girls. Westshire was too far for such a jaunt, which meant that his brother was somewhere on Highchurch's grounds. It was simply a matter of knowing where to look. Such as where the maids sleep.
Samuel walked down the hallway towards the kitchen, hoping that Mary would be of some assistance. He had meant to check on the woman, at any rate. Loud whoops were coming from the Billiards Room, however, and Samuel knew from personal experience that Deane was often in close proximity to alcohol; his older brother was particularly fond of whiskey – only absinthe caused him pause.
He opened the door to the room, peering inside. Those Practitioners who still remained were sprawled in chairs, lounging as they spoke animatedly amongst themselves. Mr. Jenkins gave him something of the evil eye, and called out, "Her knight in shining armor graces us with his presence!"
Lord Hillsworth raised his head from the table upon which it was resting, but said nothing. His head shook upon his neck, and he toppled once more onto the wood. Samuel shook his head. "I do not suppose any of you fine gentlemen have seen my brother this evening?" he asked loudly.
"Perhaps you should check in the servants' quarters," a man Samuel did not recognize shouted towards him.
He snorted. "Right," he muttered under his breath. "I thank you for your pains, gentlemen," Samuel said more loudly. And may your stomachs rot from the inside out as you drink.
Samuel turned on his heel and walked back outside. He had no intention of actually going to the servants' quarters in search of his brother. If Deane actually was sparking with one of the maids, he did not wish to know. Not that he had any illusions regarding his older brother's behavior, but perhaps Deane's apparent infatuation with Mrs. Harcourt would be enough for him to refrain from his normal lascivious behavior.
Sighing, Samuel began heading back towards their room. Samuel, you idiot! Miss Lucas had told him exactly how to find her, where to go to rescue her from that supercilious prig. There's even a replica of Stonehenge off the path to it. His step quickened, and he knew what he needed to do. There might be more than one monster on the grounds, and one of them was most likely walking on Miss Lucas' arm.
A quick stop in the room to pick up his night goggles – hidden in the satchel at his side – and a pellet gun armed with the sticky web bullets was all Samuel required in the way of readiness. He sincerely hoped that he caught Mr. Templeton in the act of something untoward, simply for the pleasure of firing at him. The vision of Miss Lucas protesting Mr. Templeton's unseemly advances spurred Samuel out the back door and down the only path.
Samuel pulled out his night goggles and slipped them on his head, adjusting the light so that it settled into the daylight spectrum. He walked quickly down the path, pellet gun braced in his hand as he strode near the path. The replica of Stonehenge was visible to the left, and he could see rose bushes off in the distance.
Voices drifted towards him, and Samuel recognized the soft timbre of Miss Lucas. He snuck closer, following behind them. The couple was walking side-by-side; Samuel noted with a grin that Miss Lucas had not given her improper suitor her arm, which showed an uncommon amount of sense in Samuel's estimation. She was laughing softly, although at her own joke or something Templeton said, Samuel could not tell.
A low growl rumbled to his right. Samuel stopped in his tracks. A wooly creature nearly the size of a draft horse was stalking the couple, eyes seemingly focused on Miss Lucas' shining hair. Its face was vaguely canine, with eyes as red as any werewolf, and jaws that dripped of saliva. Hissing and steam erupted from the ground wherever drops from its jaws fell. Samuel swallowed. This was no mere beast. This was a monster that looked like it came from the pits of Hell itself.
And it was stalking Vertiline Lucas – its weight shifting as though to pounce on her. "Behind you!" Samuel bellowed, rushing forward. He popped out the web pellet and pulled one of the firebombs he still had in his waistcoat pocket.
Miss Lucas whirled as the monster bounded towards her, pushing Francis Templeton out of harm's way before dropping to the ground. Templeton took one look at the creature rushing towards them, and howled – a deep shriek that sounded more like it should have come from Vertiline Lucas. If she were a normal girl.
"Get back to the house! Quickly!" Samuel slipped the firebomb into the pellet gun and aimed. Flame burst against the creature's coat as the firebomb impacted, and the stench of burning fur filled the garden.
"I won't leave you!" Vertiline cried. She did not even appear perturbed when Samuel stepped into view, night goggles on his head.
The beast had turned to look at Samuel, its eyes wild. "You must get yourself back to the house, Miss Lucas!" She did not need to know that the Winchesters had never come across such a creature before. Miss Lucas was not going to move. Samuel loaded another firebomb into the gun. "Mr. Templeton requires your assistance," he added.
Vertiline Lucas's eyes grew hard, and she nodded her head. "I will wait for you in the kitchen," she said, taking Mr. Templeton by the arm and pulling him gently to his feet. She looked over her shoulder, and called out, "Take care, sir." Not once did she even mention his name.
With a broad yell, Samuel fired another shot at the beast – it shrieked and began bounding away from him as the second patch of its skin burst into flame. He chased it, screaming curses such that his brother would have been impressed. Robbed of its quarry and burning as it ran, the beast howled to the sky. It moved so quickly that Samuel lost track of it, until even the burning fur could no longer be seen with his heat sprectrum lenses. He spent a full hour trying to find it, before turning back to meet Miss Lucas in the kitchen.
What a woman!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Vertiline paced between the table and the back door, glancing towards it furtively while she waited. It had been over an hour since she had left Samuel Winchester in the Rose Garden, chasing the Beast that she had seen in her dreams. Wharrow had taken the shrieking Templeton to his room, with a full quarter of brandy for medicinal purposes, which left Vertiline to her own devices.
Mr. Samuel was far beyond even her expectations. Penelope had not been lying, nor had her sudden obsession with Deane Winchester colored her cousin's reasoning in any manner. The Winchesters hunted monsters. A Winchester had saved her from one, and a Winchester could teach her how to save Penelope from the fate Vertiline beheld in her vision.
She wondered how she would look, brandishing that odd little gun and screaming after the creature with that spiked helmet on her head. Vertiline smiled – of course she would need to wear a man's clothes, her hair tied back into a simple braid for ease of movement.
The rattling of the door interrupted her thoughts, and Samuel Winchester stumbled into the room. Vertiline gasped – whether from the expression in his eyes when he saw her or the stumbling of her own heart within her chest, she could not tell. He was no longer carrying the strange devices he used in battle, but his legs were shaking from exhaustion.
"I've had tea brewing," she said softly, pulling a chair out from the table. "Are you not thirsty, Mr. Samuel?"
His smile was brilliant. "I would love tea, Miss Lucas." Samuel Winchester walked slowly to the chair, setting his weight down upon it with a sigh. She went to grab the teapot, but he was quick and was already pouring her tea before she could even grasp the handle.
"Do you take sugar and milk, sir? A lemon, perhaps?" Vertiline asked. "We do not normally use them ourselves for tea, but I can find some in the pantry if you wish."
"There is no need, Miss Lucas. I am fine." Samuel Winchester held his hands around the cup. He glanced around, and leaned forward with a mischievous look on his face. "Although it is, perhaps, best for you that Mr. Templeton did not hear such a statement." Mr. Samuel smiled, and added, "For surely you would be forced to endure such statements in regards to your inner sweetness being an ample substitute for sugar in your tea."
"Mr. Samuel! I am shocked!"
He lowered his eyes. "My apologies, Miss Lucas. I meant no disrespect."
"You most certainly did," Vertiline retorted. She returned his smile. "And the man has certainly earned your scorn. He is not one third the man you are."
Mr. Samuel chuckled. "You are more of a man than Francis Templeton." He looked as though he were going to ask another question, but then settled against it – leaning back in his chair with a sigh. He sipped on his tea, and then set the cup back on the table. "I thank you for the tea, Miss Lucas."
"Do not leave!" Her voice was sharper than she intended. Samuel Winchester's eyes focused on her face. "There are so many things I wish to ask you."
"About hunting?" Mr. Samuel frowned. "It was not my first choice of employment."
"Among other things," Vertiline replied. She placed her folded hands on top of the table. "Did you not go to Oxford?"
Mr. Samuel nodded. "It was at Oxford that I met your uncle, Miss Lucas. He introduced me to the world of the Practitioner."
"Practitioner?" She frowned. "That is what Penelope called the men in Uncle's study." Her eyes widened. "My uncle taught you how to make that helmet and your strange gun?" she asked. Vertiline did not even wait for his answer as she continued. "Then perhaps he will teach me how to make them as well…" Her voice trailed off.
Samuel Winchester was watching her with a queer expression on his face, as though he did not quite believe the evidence provided to him by his own senses. "This may be impertinent, Miss Lucas, but why would a woman such as yourself wish to become a Practitioner?"
"Men!" Vertiline snapped. Even Samuel Winchester believed that a woman had her place. Penelope had often railed against her position, refusing to give up the safety of mourning in order to pursue her own passion under her dead husband's name. Vertiline had sympathized, but never understood the frustration until this moment. "Is it because I am a woman?" she demanded.
"No." Samuel Winchester shook his head vehemently. "I just would not think a woman of your accomplishments would require…" He groaned. "Now I am sounding like your Mr. Templeton."
You have no idea how I wish to give him back. Vertiline shook her head. "It is to save my cousin," she said simply. Vertiline shifted in her chair. "I…" She swallowed. Samuel Winchester hunted monsters. Perhaps he would not find her insane were she to divulge the truth. "I had a dream where she was in danger," Vertiline added, lowering her eyes.
Samuel Winchester dropped his cup, tea spilling onto the table and dripping onto the floor. "Dream?" he asked.
"Yes," Vertiline nodded. "I know it sounds preposterous, Mr. Samuel." She rose to her feet, looking around the room for a washcloth.
He sighed. "Not as preposterous as you would think, Miss Lucas."
She started to wipe off the table, but Mr. Samuel took the cloth from her hand and began cleaning after himself. What kind of man are you? He gave her a stern look, and Vertiline sat back down in her chair. "Do you often come across young ladies in your travels with the Sight, Mr. Samuel?"
Samuel Winchester chuckled. "No. You are the first, to be certain." His mouth twisted, and one of his dimples was evident. "Deane will surely wish to harm me for telling you this, Miss Lucas." He sighed. "I have dreams as well. Horrible dreams. I use them to help people."
"Most of my dreams are simple things," she returned. Horrible dreams. I use them to help people. The sorrow in his voice was so great that Vertiline wished she could simply put her arms around him. She almost did, but a vision of her cousin's frowning face kept Vertiline in her chair. "My dream of Penelope was the first."
"How long have you…" Mr. Samuel's voice trailed off, and he squared his shoulders. "How often have you had this Sight?"
"Ever since I was a little girl," Vertiline replied. His hands were shaking on the table, and she did break with propriety and placed her hand upon them. "Have your dreams been so very bad?"
"You have no idea," he replied, but Mr. Samuel was smiling at her. "You do not seem to consider it a curse."
"Mary told both Penelope and I that our mothers had old blood." Vertiline swallowed. She knew that Penelope would certainly plot a revenge worse than the custodianship of Mrs. Almira Jennings for divulging this information. "That it was a gift given to help the people in our charge."
Samuel's eyes widened. "I have always thought of my gift as a curse. If I do not act on them, people die." His gaze focused on her face again, blue-green eyes suddenly piercing her. "Your cousin has the Sight?"
"My cousin has what Mary called the Touch." She frowned. "Well, had is the more appropriate term."
"The Touch?" Mr. Samuel looked genuinely interested.
"The Touch of the Spirit." Vertiline knew it sounded silly. "She could see spirits and talk to them. Spirits of nature, spirits of the fae…" She lowered her voice. "Human spirits. She used to play with a little girl named Aine in the garden." Vertiline wrapped her arms around herself.
Mr. Samuel's eyes were thoughtful. "I wonder if there is a connection in the genealogy of the region." He rose to his feet. "Perhaps my mother shares a common relative with your family, several generations removed, of course. Although that doesn't explain why my gift remained dormant, while yours and Pen – " He coughed. "Mrs. Harcourt's gifts were active."
"Perhaps it is because your mother died when you were so young," Vertiline replied. It was the logical conclusion – she could hear Penelope's voice in her head walking through the possibilities. "And while mine did as well, I was raised by my Aunt. She taught us how to use them, and the responsibilities that came with the Gifts. Penelope has all but forgotten, I'm afraid."
"You should know that the women in your family possess a singularly superior intellect!" Samuel Winchester's dimples were both on display. He started rushing towards the hall to the North wing, before turning to look at her over his shoulder. "Good night, Miss Lucas."
"Good night, Mr. Samuel," Vertiline said softly to his retreating back. She sighed. I never even asked him about preparing me to save Penelope. And I told him entirely too much about our gifts. She shivered. Perhaps I will have the opportunity to ask him after breakfast.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Observations of a Scientific Nature:
1. The adjustments I made to the pellet gun after the unfortunate altercation with Bootsie have proven successful. I was able to shoot two firebombs without the blasted mechanism jamming. This was a providential development, given the danger it helped to prevent.
2. Deane may, indeed, be correct in his assertions that the fabric I created for the waistcoat makes one sweat like I pig. I was ashamed to be sitting so close to Miss Lucas. I may need to adjust one of the chemical compounds within the weave to allow it to be more breathable. (Corrollary: It is fortunate that only I know that Deane was correct. If he were to find out that I was having second thoughts regarding the fabric, he would surely never let me hear the end of it.)
3. If I adjust the combination of saltpeter versus alchemist fire, I might be able to produce an even bigger explosion with the firebombs. Explosions so big that Deane may even appreciate them.
4. I missed the opportunity to field test the sticky pellets. Will continue to carry in utility belt should the optimum opportunity present itself. (Corollary: It is unfortunate that Francis Templeton was well-behaved. I'd have gladly fired a firebomb at him, let alone a sticky pellet.)
5. Deane is right. Again. You have no idea how much this shames me to admit, but we would certainly cover more ground on our investigations with some type of horseless carriage. I've inserted some preliminary sketches below. My first task will be to develop a metallic alloy that blends easily into the night. Metallic alloy. Horseless Carriage. Metallic. Carriage. Metallicarriage? Well, Deane would like the name, at any rate. Philistine.
Observations on the Current Hunt:
1. Much to my chagrin, we were correct in our assumption that more is occurring in Westhire than a werewolf attack. There is a beast prowling the countryside, as large as a horse, and looking like some kind of prehistoric dog. A wooly mammoth type of dog. The sketch below shows this in better detail than mere words describe.
2. Fire hurts the beast, but it is certainly resilient.
3. The beast is also quick on its feet. Had the Metallicarriage been in existence, it may have been fast enough to catch it. However, I am not. (Perhaps I should add this observation to the previous section?)
4. I think the beast produces some type of acid from its jaws. I will need to bring Mrs. Harcourt with me to the Garden tomorrow morning so that we can investigate that possibility.
Observations of a Personal Nature:
1. Deane has not yet returned, and it is well past midnight. I wonder if he actually did find the servants' quarters, which means I can expect him to stroll into the room mere minutes before dawn.
2. I am feeling untrue to the memory of Jessica Moore. When she died, killed by the same creature that killed Mother, I had vowed to do everything in my power to save her. Particularly because I did not act upon the visions of her death. And while I miss her greatly, and her memory will always be dear to me, I find my thoughts wandering to Vertiline Lucas. She is beautiful. She, like her cousin, is keenly intelligent; for all that he eschews their gender, Winston Hillsworth raised them well. And she has the Sight. My own power, if the descriptions are true…and I believe they are. She does not even consider it a curse. Gift, she said. And how she wanted to save her cousin from a vision, with the determination to follow through on it. I had never thought that I would find the one woman who may be able to understand my position (the whole position, not just certain aspects of Samuel Winchester) better than any. Even Deane does not know how the visions can hurt, what you see. But I believe that she does.
3. I must contrive some way to convince Winston Hillsworth to allow me to court his ward. Vertiline Lucas is too precious a jewel to be set into Francis Templeton's case.
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Vertiline walked down the hallway to Penelope's room with a determined gait. Her cousin was, no doubt, still in a fowl mood – it was usually Penelope who awakened her cousin for an early morning stroll whenever they were at Highchurch Manor. A good old-fashioned ramble when the sun rises. Penelope loved her rambles.
Taking a breath, Vertiline raised her hand to knock and paused. Perhaps I should simply wait to speak with her at breakfast? She swallowed. Delaying the inevitable would only cause further harm to the situation. Closing her eyes, she knocked quickly three times.
Sharp footsteps echoed across the interior room, and Penelope opened the door quickly. "Did I not tell – " Her cousin's eyes widened as they focused on Vertiline's face. "Verd!" Her cousin pulled her into the room with both hands. "I am sorry about last evening," Penelope added. "I was unavoidably detained."
"You are not," Vertiline retorted, looking at her cousin curiously. What is wrong with her? Penelope was wearing the lightest lavender dress she owned, and had taken the time to weave small flowers that matched her gown into her loosely curled hair. She looks so pretty this morning. Vertiline shook her head, adding, "I know how much you enjoy playing cribbage with Mrs. Jennings and Templeton. Only you would be so perverse as to prefer sulking in the garret to a civilized card game."
"I am certain there are far better accusations regarding my perverse nature, cousin, but that would rank highly on the list." Penelope smiled once more, and suddenly she was hugging Vertiline. "I am very sorry for not listening to you yesterday. I was out of sorts, and it was unfair to you."
Vertiline returned the hug. "I tolerate your tempestuous nature because I love you, Penelope."
"And I tolerate your fanciful view of the universe for that same reason," her cousin returned, green eyes sparkling. "We are a sad pair, you and I. Sometimes I think that we will end up two old ladies living alone together in the attic at Fillmont." Penelope looked unaccountably sad at that. "Except that you will soon be engaged to Templeton."
"Ah, Templeton." Vertiline shook her head. She took Penelope's hands into her own. "Penny, we need to discuss something that happened yesterday." She gestured towards the chairs in front of the fireplace, letting go of Penelope's hands.
"Verd, what is wrong?" Penelope's tone was soft, and her eyes took on the serious expression they usually wore. She sat down in the nearest chair. "Did Mrs. Jennings gossip about me during dinner? You know I have never cared what people say about me."
"She did gossip, and you should care," Vertiline returned, sitting on the couch across from her cousin. She looked into the fireplace. "But this happened afterwards." She swallowed. "Templeton and I were walking in the Rose Garden and…" Her voice trailed off.
Penelope jumped to her feet. "Did he do something untoward to you?" she demanded, green eyes flashing.
"No. In fact, he was a perfect gentleman during the walk." Given the number of times she had allowed Templeton to kiss her on any walk, Vertiline should have considered that an ill omen indeed. He did not even try to kiss her last night. "But we were almost attacked by a creature," Vertiline added.
"A creature?" Penelope's eyes narrowed. "What kind of creature?"
"That kind of creature." Vertiline returned. "It was the creature in my dream, Penny." She took a deep breath, waiting for the inevitable tirade that was to come.
Penelope simply sighed, and her shoulders slumped. "How did you escape?" her cousin asked.
"Mr. Samuel," Vertiline said.
"Samuel Winchester?" Penelope shook her head, consternation clearly marked upon her countenance.
"I fear your obsession with Deane Winchester has marked your senses, Penny. His younger brother is as much of a man as that rogue. More, if truth be known!" Vertiline's energetic defense of Samuel Winchester did not seem to interest her cousin. In truth, Penelope looked as guilty as her father had during dinner the night before, but that was not important. "It was Samuel Winchester who saved me! He used this strange gun that shot fire bullets at the creature," Vertiline said, lowering her head. "And it was a large beast, with a dog-shaped face and the reddest eyes I have ever seen."
Penelope turned to watch her thoughtfully at the end of Vertiline's speech. "It appears that the women in our family owe the Winchesters a debt twice over – now that we can add your name to the list of lives that have been saved due to their timely intervention."
"It does." Vertiline looked back towards the fireplace. "But there is something else."
"You were attacked by a monster, Verd. I cried the entire night Bootsie died."
"It is not that. I…" Her voice trailed off, and she looked at Penelope with down turned eyes. "I told Mr. Samuel about our gifts."
"Please tell me you are joking! What could possibly have possessed you to divulge our childish fantasies to Samuel Winchester? Now he will know – " Penelope's voice was nearly a screech, and she tumbled backwards onto the chaise lounge. "If he did not think Hillsworth women were lunatics, he certainly does now." Penelope flung an arm over her eyes.
"He believes in it, Penelope."
Penelope raised her arm, peering at her cousin with one eye. "He what?"
Before Vertiline could respond, there was another brisk knock on the door. "Come in," Penelope said wearily, but made no attempt to get the door.
"Do not be rude, cousin," Vertiline returned with a frown. She walked briskly to the door and opened it. A handsome young man was standing before the door, hand raised once more to knock. Her eyes narrowed – Deane Winchester was dressed as formally as his brother would have been so early in the morning, with a properly starched collar, and she scarcely recognized the rogue. "Mr. Winchester?" Vertiline asked, her voice raising an octave.
"Miss Lucas." His voice was low. "Your cousin is expecting me."
"Ah, yes. No doubt for more kissing experiments." Vertiline rolled her eyes. Deane Winchester simply grinned at her. What a rake! She turned towards her cousin, who was standing beside the chaise lounge. "It is Mr. Winchester, cousin. He is here to kiss you."
"Perhaps he is simply here to escort me to breakfast," Penelope replied softly.
"Although, if the offer is open, Mrs. Harcourt, I could be persuaded to conduct more kissing experiments – provided I found a woman willing to dedicate herself to such a scientific endeavor." The scoundrel simply smiled at her cousin.
"I do not doubt your dedication to such an endeavor, Mr. Winchester, but one cannot pursue Science on an empty stomach," Penelope returned calmly. She is not even getting angry with him! Her cousin smiled. "I am afraid my days of scientific experimentation within the halls of Highchurch Manor are over, lest I continue to be an embarrassment to my father." Verd would have hugged Penelope if Mr. Winchester were not in the room; the pain in her cousin's voice was palpable.
"Then I would be honored if you would simply allow me to escort you to breakfast," Mr. Winchester replied, and there was a queer look in his eye – as though he actually felt pity for Penelope's situation. There was nothing mocking in his tone.
Vertiline's eyes widened, and she decided to make the most of the presented opportunity. She coughed. "I would allow you to escort both of us to breakfast, Mr. Winchester, if you could but answer one simple question for me," she said.
Mr. Winchester's eyes never left Penelope; her cousin's shoulders moved slightly, the smallest of shrugs. "I would be doubly honored." His expression clearly said otherwise, but his hazel eyes turned towards Vertiline expectantly.
"In your employment – " Vertiline began.
"Employment?" Dean Winchester interrupted with a snort. "I am a gentleman of leisure, Miss Lucas."
"You hunt demons, Mr. Winchester. I would hardly call that a leisurely form of employment." She shot Penelope a victorious glance; Mr. Winchester was looking at her cousin as though she had grown a second head.
"You told that to your cousin?" Deane Winchester looked terribly angry until he met Penelope's eyes. What is going on between them? He shrugged. "I suppose it was inevitable. You are as close as sisters, are you not? I would not keep such a secret from Samuel." He grinned suddenly. "I just wish you had told me about the fairies when you were four, Penny. Imagine how many things I could have contrived for you to do by knowing that."
So they knew each other as children? This conversation was upturning all manner of mysteries– Vertiline could have not have planned such a thrilling discovery. "You see, cousin? There are no secrets between our families. We are old friends, are we not?" She smiled, dimples gracing her face so well than even Mr. Winchester was smiling affably back at her. "They know about our gifts. We know about Samuel's." Deane Winchester started when Vertiline said that, and then frowned.
"Samuel has a gift?" Penelope was watching Deane Winchester sharply, swaying on her feet. He nodded, and she reached a hand forward to steady herself. Vertiline was certain that she would fall, but between one second and the next, Deane Winchester was holding her steady.
"My brother has visions of people who need to be saved," Deane said softly.
"I see." Penelope smiled wanly. She swallowed, and then rallied to regain her composure. "Shall we adjourn to breakfast, Mr. Winchester?"
"We shall," he returned, watching her carefully. Vertiline felt as though she was intruding, but could not say why. Mr. Winchester was the person who interrupted her conversation with Penelope. He looked towards Vertiline. "Are you coming, Miss Lucas?"
She shook her head. "I promised Mrs. Jennings that I would meet with her before breakfast," Vertiline said, walking quickly towards the door. "I always keep my promises to meet someone," she added, but tempered the response with a smile that she flashed at her cousin. There was silence when the door closed behind her, and she leaned her ear against the wood. Vertiline might have heard breathing, but she could make out no words.
"Are you quite satisfied with your results, Deane?" Penelope asked after several seconds had passed. Her cousin's voice was muffled by the wood, but still as tart as it could be.
She is calling him by his Christian name?
Mr. Winchester's chuckle was sharp. "Very. But I believe we should continue our mutual research, Penny." Penny! The nerve of the man was astonishing.Dean Winchester was laughing. "And should I take so much amusement in the fact that your clever little cousin does not know every secret between us?" he inquired. Vertiline's ears perked up.
"You are a thorough scoundrel." Penelope was laughing. "Perhaps that is part of your not inconsiderable cha – " Penelope's voice was cut off by a short gasp. Did he just kiss her? Vertiline counted ten heartbeats before her cousin added, "I should warn you that my cousin is very protective of her secrets. Curiosity, however, does compel me to ask what you know." So that she can hold it against me, no doubt! Her cousin chuckled. "I shall make it worth your while, Deane Winchester."
"I shall hold you to that promise, Penelope Harcourt," Mr. Winchester replied with a chuckle. "Samuel found your memory box after the attack, and my maudlin little brother has been memorizing her poetry," the scoundrel added. Oh, blast it! Vertiline recoiled against the door, jiggling the knob. "What the devil?" Deane Winchester asked, footsteps coming towards the door.
Vertiline fled down the hallway as quickly as possible, waiting at the turned corner. Penelope's door opened, and her cousin said, "There is nothing here, Mr. Winchester."
Their footsteps were getting closer. Vertiline ran out of the wing, hoping that Mrs. Jennings was still in her room. She almost stopped when she heard Penelope say, "You look very handsome this morning, sir." That her cousin was acting on her fascination with Deane Winchester was a most curious development, but Vertiline Lucas had no desire to be caught in her current subterfuge – breaking into the Winchesters' room to retrieve her poetry was currently a secondary obligation. I must do so before lunch!
Even Mr. Winchester's response – "And you look very pretty this morning, Mrs. Harcourt" – did not keep Vertiline Lucas from running as expeditiously as her fashionable boots would take her.
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Samuel settled himself into the same seat he had used the night before during dinner. He was one of the first to arrive, and he hoped vainly that Vertiline Lucas would soon be joining him – without her erstwhile chaperone or the unendurable Francis Templeton. Miss Lucas entered the room almost immediately after he sat down, dressed in a peach gown, and looked around breathlessly before storming out the way that she came.
As shocking as that appeared – for Samuel had no idea why Miss Lucas should be so distressed, and he was half-tempted to find her and offer assistance – it was not the prime astonishment the morning would afford before he received his buttered toast. He spied his older brother holding the door open – dressed in his best waistcoat and trousers with a properly starched collar – while Penelope Harcourt entered the Dining Room. She was wearing a dress so fashionable it could barely be considered a mourning gown – save for the fact that it was the lightest of lavender, and she still wore a necklace of jet beads around her neck.
Samuel's eyes narrowed as they came towards him, Deane pulling out the chair across from Samuel for the widow. The smile she gave Samuel as she wished him good morning was a pleasant one, and he found himself drawn into a polite conversation about early morning rambles while the other guests arrived. Deane sat down on Samuel's right. In that prig's seat!
Vertiline Lucas entered again, arm linked with Mrs. Jennings. She attempted to steer the widow towards her cousin, but the old woman simply shook her head and sat down at the head of the table – close to where Winston Hillsworth would be sitting. Servants were scurrying in with platters, and Miss Lucas sent him an apologetic glance – which was noticed by her cousin. Brilliant green eyes sparkled as Penelope smiled softly behind her hand, but said nothing.
"Did you have a nice evening with the maids, Deane?" Samuel asked sourly.
"Samuel, that is not amusing. Do you wish me to take you outside and teach you a pugilism lesson, little brother?" Deane's eyes were flashing.
"I am aware of your dalliances with the maids, Mr. Winchester," Penelope Harcourt replied mildly. "Your reputation greatly precedes you."
"That is the burden of a great reputation," Deane answered with a sigh, "To be forever judged and maligned."
"One would consider your reputation fair warning," the widow returned, as Deane stared at her open-mouthed. "And, as you recall, I was the one who threatened to place you in the stables if you continued to interfere with the maids. I trust you enjoyed your bed last evening, sir," she added, with a pleasant smile for his older brother.
Samuel chuckled in spite of himself – there was something to be said for watching a woman get the better of his generally non-plussed older brother – although he suspected the widow's admonition would not be so gently given if Penelope Harcourt knew that Deane had returned to their room but moments after dawn. So much for not interfering with the maids.
Practitioners had begun congregating near Winston Hillsworth's place setting at the head of the table, their voices dropping to a whisper when the man walked into the dining room. His eyes focused on his daughter's back; it was, perhaps, fortunate for Mrs. Harcourt that she could not see the look on her father's face for surely any woman would have withered from it. He held his breath as Penelope Harcourt turned to face the stare.
"Good morning, Father!" The widow said brightly. She did not even flinch when their eyes met.
Winston Hillsworth coughed. "Have you nothing else to say, Penelope?"
"Of course, Father." Penelope lowered her eyes demurely, and sighed. Deane was giving her a strange look, frowning – the same look his older brother had given him when they were children, and Samuel had failed at one of their own father's appointed tasks. Mrs. Harcourt did not seem to notice Deane's dismay. "I would ask that you sit down quickly, Father. Breakfast will soon be cold, and I much prefer warm eggs," she said. Deane snorted outright, staring at Penelope Harcourt as though she were one of his new rifles.
Their host, however, looked as though he would explode, the colour rising in his face. Winston Hillsworth twitched at the noise, and then chuckled – hands held before him in a universal symbol of surrender. "You are your mother's daughter, Penelope," he said. "I should have learned never to match wits with you once you were old enough to speak." He gestured to the table with his hands. "Why are you all not eating?" he demanded, and Samuel could see where the widow had inherited the gleaming in her eyes when something was particularly amusing. "You heard my daughter. The eggs are getting cold." Lord Hillsworth shuffled towards his chair and sat down. "We still have five days left to our conference, gentleman. We need to fortify ourselves," their host added.
The Practitioners said nothing, simply staring at each other. Deane chuckled, and picked up the nearest platter – serving eggs to Penelope Harcourt. As soon as she thanked him, the other guests began serving themselves as well. The difference in mood from the night before was palpable. Somehow, Winston Hillsworth and his daughter had apologized to each other in the same fashion that had caused their breach. In public.
Winchesters would not have acted in that manner. Disagreements were private. Secrets were private. Their life was private. Penelope Harcourt learning the truth had been inevitable – her innocence was the casualty of being a victim. It was likewise inevitable that she would tell her cousin. They are practically sisters. But he had told Vertiline Lucas the secret of his visions for no other reason than simply because she listened to him, looking at him with her guileless blue eyes.
Samuel watched her as she spoke animatedly to Mrs. Jennings and her uncle, smiling and laughing at something her uncle had said. Samuel sighed, and poked the eggs on his plate. "If you do not eat, Samuel, your eggs will get cold." Deane made as though to poke him in the hand with his fork, and then shrugged. "I'll eat them if you do not wish them," his older brother added.
"She saw the Beast, and she did not flinch." Samuel could only stare at Vertiline Lucas.
"My cousin is fearless," Mrs. Harcourt interjected. "There is very little that frightens her." She sighed. "Vertiline has been that way since she was a child. She used to say that the Sight guided her footsteps." The widow's voice was low, and she was staring at her cousin. "Perhaps it did."
"Although I doubt the Sight has prepared her for your recitation of her poetry, Samuel. The fact that she buried it over a decade ago should be indicative of her dislike for the verse," Deane added.
"Deane!"
"Samuel!"
"Why can you not be silent?"
"Why can you not be silent?"
"You could both be silent," Mrs. Harcourt said, her mouth twitching, "So that I can enjoy my warm eggs in peace."
"You heard the woman, Samuel." Deane grinned. His brother always had to end the argument.
"As did you," Samuel retorted. "And yet the echo of your voice persistently lingers."
Mrs. Harcourt laughed outright, covering her mouth with her hand. His older brother was giving her an aggrieved look. "Penny," he said pleadingly. "How can you take his side?" Deane suddenly grinned at him.
"Mine was the wittier retort?" Sam returned his brother's smirk with one of his own. "And you are in an exceptionally good mood this morning. You are much wittier when you are bad-tempered, Deane." He did not imagine the look that passed between Deane and the widow. Oh, no… For those few seconds, Deane actually looked besotted. His older brother had never looked at any woman that way in front of Samuel. Penelope Harcourt was no mere dalliance. I should have known when he showed up properly attired to a meal.
The butler – Wharrow, Samuel remembered – came into the room. "Lord Hillsworth."
"Yes, Wharrow?" Lord Hillsworth looked positively jovial.
"There is a runner in the hall from the Constable, sir."
"Can it wait, Wharrow? We're in the midst of breakfast."
The butler frowned. "I will let him know, sir." Wharrow turned on his heel and began walking out of the Dining Room.
"Would you please excuse me," Penelope Harcourt said, her eyes following the butler as he walked – still frowning – out of the room. Neither Samuel nor Deane were given an opportunity to respond as the widow stood quickly and followed the butler out of the room.
Samuel immediately turned on his brother. "What are you doing with Mrs. Harcourt?" he asked with a murmur, shaking his head.
"Do not presume to lecture me, Samuel," Deane frowned as he whispered. "My relationship with Mrs. Harcourt is no one's business but our own. Do you understand?"
"If someone finds out, her reputation would be ruined!" Samuel hissed under his breath. Did I just hear that word pass from between my older brother's lips?
"And if someone finds out you have been having secret assignations with Miss Lucas, her reputation will be just as ruined," his older brother returned with the same lowered hiss.
"We met in the kitchen. We drank tea." Samuel's eyes bore into his older brother's face. "Were you and Mrs. Harcourt drinking tea last night?" He knew by the expression on Deane's face that they had been doing something far more lascivious than drinking tea. I trust you enjoyed your bed last evening, sir. His brother was playing a dangerous game with Penelope Harcourt.
"You met with Miss Lucas without a chaperone. Society does not care what you do with the young lady. I would look towards your own house before you try to clean mine." Deane's entire face closed before Samuel's eyes, but his hazel eyes flickered towards the creak of the Dining Room door. Mrs. Harcourt returned to the table, white around the eyes. "Penelope, what is the matter?" His older brother ignored Samuel's frown at the use of her first name.
"The constable's runner will not speak with anyone but Father," she returned, "But Wharrow is his cousin." She leaned forward towards them, but did not sit down, her voice barely a whisper. "There was another murder, and the victim was described by the eyewitness as being attacked by a wooly beast."
They said nothing to that, but Samuel glanced at Deane and they both stood up – following Penelope Harcourt out of the room.
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Mrs. Jennings had determined to sit as closely to Winston Hillsworth as propriety would allow during their morning repast; Vertiline suspected the widow had spent the prior day reviewing the house and grounds, which made it wholly evident that despite Uncle Winston's attachment to science, he was a wealthy man.
Vertiline would have much preferred to be sitting with her cousin, who was monopolizing the attention of both Winchesters; Deane Winchester was actually smiling, which meant that her cousin was going soft on him in her reproach. Vertiline's presence would be required simply to engender the game once more. The reproving glance that Samuel Winchester had sent her was even worse; especially considering that Templeton had remained firmly ensconced in his room. Still whimpering like a little girl, I would suspect.
The fact that he was reading her poetry still set a cold shock within her stomach. Samuel Winchester read Gerard Manley Hopkins – even the essence of youth could not forgive the poetic transgressions of Vertiline's rhymes. Babbling rhymes I filched out of Much Ado…
She did her best to maintain her spirits during the meal, laughing at Uncle Winston's jokes. There was one truism Vertiline believed, and that was her Uncle Winston's humor was directly proportional to his relationship with Penelope – and when they were not fighting, Uncle Winston was one of the most affable and amusing gentlemen Vertiline had ever known.
Vertiline prayed the good humor was not due to Mrs. Jennings' presence, although her hopes were dashed when Uncle Winston complimented the widow on her hat. Even Wharrow's disturbance during breakfast was smoothly ruffled over by a kind word from the widow, whose normal propensity for gossip had been set aside in favor of several questions regarding Uncle Winston's pursuits.
Out of the corner of her eye, Vertiline noted that Penelope had followed the butler out of the room. Wharrow had practically raised them – along with Bootsie and Mary – after Aunt Cecily passed away. There was little that he would refuse his Penny. When the Winchesters stood upon her cousin's return to the room – and Penelope curiously chose to remain standing – Vertiline turned to her uncle and said, "May I be excused, sir?"
"Will you be taking the lovely Mrs. Jennings with you when you leave, my darling girl?"
Penelope is going to hang me for introducing them. Vertiline shook her head. "I did not plan to do so, Uncle."
"Then, by all means, Verd," Uncle Winston smiled past her at the widow. "You are free to leave." He looked down the table. "I am certain your cousin is waiting for you in the grove, ready to engage in all sorts of mischief."
If mysuspicions are correct, Penelope has already found a new playmate. Two of them, in fact, and Vertiline had little time to spare before she lost them. The way all three of them looked, faces white and pinched, meant that something unpleasant had occurred – something involving that huge beast from the Garden, no doubt. If Penelope Harcourt could assist the brothers Winchester on their investigation, so could Vertiline Lucas.
The swish of her cousin's skirt flashed at the end of the hall, and their murmuring voices drifted towards her. Vertiline recognize the word "library" – Samuel! – and smiled. She knew a shortcut through one of the servants' passages off the Parlor; Penelope had not yet divulged every secret in Highchurch Manor.
Vertiline settled herself into her uncle's chair behind the desk, arms folded primly in front of her. The door opened swiftly, and Deane Winchester's hazel eyes nearly distended themselves from his face when he spied her. "Bugger!" he screeched as the force of his younger brother's stride pushed him into the room.
"Blast, Deane! Do not stop in the middle of the bloody doorway!" Samuel Winchester smacked his brother against the back of the head. "Mrs. Harcourt nearly pushed us both over, you buffoon!"
"Nearly pushed?" Penelope's indignant voice carried past the doorway as she stepped past into the room. "You are the one who slowed your pace without warning, Samuel Winchester."
"It is your cousin, Penny Hillsworth," Deane Winchester intoned, as though death had come upon him. "I am beginning to determine, Miss Lucas, that you are the bane of my existence. First you lure me to follow you to that blasted grove, and then insult the size of my feet."
"That was my cousin," Vertiline returned with an even tone. "I simply laughed at Penelope's jest."
Samuel started at her voice, and then blushed. Vertiline would not have expected that outcome from the self-assured young man who saved both herself and Templeton the night before from a rampaging creature. "Miss Lucas?" His voice cracked as he asked the question. "You do us a great honor, but we intended this to be a private discussion."
"There are no secrets between our families now, Mr. Samuel. I am here to help you in your investigations." Vertiline smoothed her skirt underneath the desk. "I can be as useful as my cousin."
"If we were conducting an investigation at a tea party," Deane Winchester muttered, sending a nasty glance towards his brother.
"Deane!" Samuel Winchester nearly bellowed his older brother's name. "Your manners!"
"I am well aware of your brother's manners, Mr. Samuel." Vertiline smiled at Samuel. "Although my cousin's influence convinced him to properly dress for breakfast." She peeked at Penelope underneath her lashes, and a smile flittered across her cousin's face. So that was at Penny's request.
"There is no use arguing with my cousin once she sets her mind on something, Mr. Winchester." Penelope shook her head, eyes focusing on Deane Winchester's maddened countenance. "It seems the logical course would be to discuss the issue at hand and see what could be done about it before more innocent people die," her cousin added. It did not surprise Vertiline that Penelope would make the misguided attempt to introduce Deane Winchester to the concept of logic.
"You are, as always, the cool voice of intellect, Mrs. Harcourt," Samuel Winchester interjected, voice throbbing. What the devil? "It would appear that we have two allies on this investigation, Deane. And I know from personal observation that Miss Lucas is plucky on the field of battle." Plucky? Sam Winchester's brilliant smile almost rectified his use of that most unfortunate term.
Deane Winchester sighed, lowering his head. He's capitulated. "What is the current state, then, Samuel?" Hazel eyes narrowed and he flashed a grin at her. "Apart from the fact that you are hoarding Miss Lucas' puerile poetry in our room."
Samuel choked. "Deane Winchester! That is enough. It is time for your pugilism lesson."
"There is no need, Mr. Winchester." Vertiline lowered her voice, matching the tone she remembered hearing Penelope use when sparking with Peter while he was alive. "I am well aware of your regard, and am flattered that a gentleman who holds Hopkins in such esteem would feel compelled to memorize my puerile sonnets."
"They are not – " Samuel Winchester began, eyes shining. Deane Winchester snorted and Samuel shook his head sharply. "In any case, we should endeavor to do as Mrs. Harcourt suggested and discuss what we've concluded."
"We know nothing of the Beast you encountered last evening," the elder Winchester commented. "That would be something we could research."
Samuel Winchester frowned. "I do remember reading once about the Beast of Gevaudan. It was a cow-sized creature that terrorized the Gevaudan region in France for three years, beginning in 1764. By all accounts, it was a wolf-like creature – and that would certainly be the case with the Creature we spied last evening. The peasants believed that it was a demon, which given the history of Westshire would not be wholly out of character. And the similarities between the descriptions and what I witnessed last evening are striking." Blue-green eyes sparkled behind his glasses.
"How could something like that travel from France to an island without assistance?" Deane Winchester asked.
Samuel Winchester snorted. "Perhaps it was summoned, Deane?" The elder Winchester sent another aggravated look in his brother's direction, scratching underneath his ear. "In any case, it bears further research," Samuel added.
"Mary used to tell stories of a beast like that," Penelope said softly, looking towards Vertiline for confirmation. Mary had discussed the wolf-beast that used to punish evil-doers when harvests were poor. "It acted as vengeance for those who could not defend themselves," her cousin added, green eyes thoughtful. "There were several books in the library, as I recall, detailing those legends. Mother used to collect them." Ostensibly so that you and I could pick up where she left off, my skeptical cousin. Penny looked towards one of the bookshelves. "It might be a clue of some sort."
"There is also the question of the eyewitness, which would require a visit to the constable," Deane Winchester added. "I suppose we could pretend to be visiting deputies from London, offering our services on the case." Samuel nodded in response to his older brother's suggestion.
"Or one of us could go with you and ask to speak with him," Vertiline proposed. "Between my cousin and I, we know most everyone in town."
"And every single secret they're trying to keep," Deane Winchester said, smiling benevolently at Penelope. Her cousin returned his smile. They are making me ill. "But I imagine we could also speak with Mr. Norman and see when the body will be on the premises for investigation," he added.
"Body?" Vertiline felt sick to her stomach.
"What kind of game do you believe we're playing at, Miss Lucas? Innocent people have died." Deane Winchester glared at her. "Perhaps you should stay here while Samuel and I perform our appointed task."
"The research sounds like a task for Mrs. Harcourt and I," Samuel added. "Perhaps you and Miss Lucas…" His voice trailed off as the thought occurred, spurred on by the absolutely disgusted expression on his older brother's face. "Or you could help Mrs. Harcourt with research," Samuel suggested suddenly.
Deane Winchester was nodding. "I suspect Lord Hillsworth has several regional maps. With those, Penny and I can ascertain where such a large creature could go to ground. She knows this countryside better than anyone would, I suspect. Given her propensity for walking the grounds on her stunted legs." Even Samuel looked dismayed at his older brother's expression when he said that, but Penelope seemed not to notice. "Which would give you ample time, little brother, to recite poetry to Miss Lucas to your heart's content," the damnable man added with a gleeful smile.
"Deane!" Samuel Winchester was blushing profusely.
"Ah, Samuel. That was too easy, but you must admit it was a masterful jest."
"Deane…" Samuel's voice trailed off as he stared at his brother.
"One must amuse one's self when facing hours of research," his older brother said softly. "The sacrifices I make for your well-being, little brother."
"It is impossible to stay angry with you, Deane." Samuel was looking at her now, eyes down turned – as though he were scared of her reaction. A man who hunted demons was frightened of her, and he had no reason to be. Vertiline Lucas felt that he was the best example of a man she had yet met, and she would dare much to help him. Including the estrangement of Francis Templeton.
"That is because you are saintly, younger brother." Deane Winchester looked so much like a little boy when he said it that Vertiline actually felt a catch in her throat. Penelope's green eyes were shining, and her cousin – uncaring of the two extra pairs of eyes watching her – placed a hand on Deane Winchester's arm. "But we don't have much time. You should both be on your way," he added.
"Shall we, Miss Lucas?" Samuel Winchester extended his hand to her, and Vertiline slipped her gloved fingers into his grasp – chair pushing back as he helped her to rise. "We have several good persons to speak with this morning." He looked back at Penelope. "And when we return, you and I need to investigate the area where the Beast first attacked, Mrs. Harcourt. I believe it's saliva is acidic."
Penelope looked as though she was going to protest the possibility of such an occurrence, but smiled wanly. "I will await your return, Mr. Samuel. If we could catalogue such a creature, imagine what a boon that would be for your occupation. We must start somewhere with that task." Vertiline almost smiled – there was the cousin she so long remembered, although she was shocked by Penelope's assertion regarding a long-term association with the Winchesters.
"I need my parasol, Mr. Samuel," Vertiline said softly, embarrassed once more by a glance that passed between Penelope and Deane Winchester. What is wrong with me? And I cannot even look at Samuel Winchester without blushing.
"It is on the way," Samuel returned, beaming brightly as they walked out the door. The door closed behind them, immediately followed by the sound of something bumping into Uncle Winston's desk. Vertiline started at the noise. Samuel Winchester simply sighed, mouth curved into a rueful twist. "Deane," he muttered, shaking his perfectly parted hair. "You are going to be the death of me."
Your brother is probably going to be the death of all of us.
A/N:
Gerard Manley Hopkins is a real poet. Unfortunately, his work was not published in a volume until 1918. However, as this is an alternate history, I have decreed that Mr. Hopkin's did, indeed, publish a book of verse prior to his death in 1889.
Samuel has unveiled more gadgetry in this installment. Heat lenses are a part of his night goggles. (And their appearance in this chapter was especially for quellfromage , who loves them so!) He is in the process of making even bigger and better firebombs. And, of course, something big and black and fast as hell is on its way.
As is no doubt obvious, Deane and Penelope's behavior is wholly unacceptable within Victorian society. (The only thing in their favor is their class – both are the children of nobles, and the upper class often flouted the rules held so dear by the middle class. Who believed the upper class were corrupted. I still suspect, however, that Lord Hillsworth would be somewhat disturbed by the relationship. So, minor class lecture over.) However, Samuel and Vertiline's tea in the kitchen would have been a mark against Verd's virtue because they were without chaperone. And in the immortal words of wenchpixie : "Why yes, Sam. I believe we did."
The Beast of Gevaudan is a historical monster that did, indeed, terrorize the Gevaudan region of France. The description Samuel gives is fairly common, and those interested in learning more can easily Google for more information; I could write a book report about the myth. The Brotherhood of the Wolf is an utterly fantastic movie based upon this legend. (This is wholly unrelated to the story, but wanted to give a shout-out to the movie anyway.)
I really need an icon of Sam with a halo. Because, you know, he's saintly.
For those Dear Readers still with me at this point, I shall simply say: Boots, suspenders, and a desk.
And, as always: Criticism is always welcome, and comments are the happy things which make this fangirl dizzy.
