According To Plan
By Seniya
Chapter Four
It had occurred to Will that victory shouldn't taste like this. Perhaps it should tempt her with the sugary flavor of exhilaration…or conceivably it could even carry the bittersweet tang of regret, but it definitely wasn't supposed to leave that dry, chalky trace in one's mouth, a flavor that she had been desperately trying to erase for the past half an hour.
Sprawled across her bed, fully clothed, as Irma had done only a short time before, Will felt…restless — tormented even. There was a wild turbulent buzz surging through her limbs, one that possessed the ability to convince her of the likely hood of very stupid actions.
Her feet dangled from the edge of the mattress, thumping an erratic, annoying tune against the wooden bed frame that only served to distract her from the sounds of muffled laughter, and clashing cutlery. The gush of hyperactivity pounded through her veins once again, and she bit her lip.
She was angry. That wasn't surprising to her, she always seemed to be angry recently, it was comforting actually…well, at least it was safer than the other option of allowing her more unpredictable emotions access to her psyche.
Usually the option for calming her distressed mind would involve her climbing out of the nearby window and running off to some unknown location where she could enjoy the solitude of her own mind. But today, even that choice seemed unappealing – due to the participation of that horrible oaf Mister Olsen.
Oh God, how she hated him! Just the measly idea of him caused her chest to tremble with indignation – the humiliation of everything, and to throw salt onto the wound, he wasn't even apologetic.
Oh, she doubted that she would ever be able to leave the house again, although that thought immediately vanished with the idea of her mother, her sisters and her butler.
She would just have to wait it out then, she decided, perhaps she could live up here until he and Cornelia had left. And after that, she would return to her hiding place every year when they chose to return to display their unusually attractive children.
Her stomach churned with the idea of the two of them reproducing. She could already picture her future nieces and nephews dancing about her knees, calling her Uncle Will, and commenting on her spinsterhood.
The pounding tune grew steadily more consistent as her thoughts rambled onwards. Either way, her future seemed inescapably bleak. The dusty taste in her mouth intensified, to overlook it she pressed her hands against her face, until she could make out the shattered patterns of stars before her eyes; concentrating only on the obnoxious melody created by Cornelia's still damp shoes.
The dinner, as far as dinners went, was a tragedy. The rice was undercooked and the meat overcooked, but at least that seemed to create some form of equilibrium in the meal. Susanna made a great show of swallowing large mouthfuls of the cooking at a time, afterwards cringing and suggesting that they all follow suit, no one was brave enough to listen to her ludicrous proposal – well, save for Dublin, who was eating so fast that it was unlikely that he was actually tasting the watery mess.
"So," chirped Susanna while the entire room stared at her rapidly greening complexion, "Mister Olsen, you've studied in England…you know I'm from England, and Cornelia was born there – God save the King and all of that!"
"You mean the Queen don't you?" Caleb muttered absently. "She's only been on the throne for the last twenty years."
"Yes, well that's what I said wasn't it?" she giggled weakly, her face was now very flushed.
"That's what I heard!" Jeffery put in, throwing his employer a very fond look over his glass of indistinguishable liquor. Caleb groaned privately, he should be knighted for his suffering.
"I say Mrs. Vandom, this chicken is exquisite!" Dublin motioned towards the piece of meat that was currently oozing off the side of his plate. "And this rice…wonderful!" he chuckled to himself prior to shoveling another forkful of the slimy muddle into his face. "Why, I don't even need to chew it!"
"Yes, Mister Dublin we scandalous widows tend to be very good hostesses," she smiled causing an odd radiance to emanate from beneath her amethyst eyes, "I do mean when we're not chasing after our departed husbands."
Seated across from Dublin, Irma snorted into her glass of water (the only thing that she had dared to put into her mouth) and ignored the look and subsequent prod that Cornelia offered her by means of admonishment
Dublin's mouth hung open in shock. Still, he managed to sputter, "I-I never meant that…"
Susanna stood at once, forcing the large man to cut his sentence short. "Do you know what I've just realized…it's very late isn't it."
"No mother, it's only just after three…" Irma mentioned, but withered in the stare that both mother and butler gave her. "I mean, yes, yes…it's very late…especially for this time of year." She corrected briskly.
"Very good suggestion Irma." Susanna clapped her hands together, "And so why don't you show Mister Dublin to one of our carriages, I'm sure Steven would gladly drive him into town!"
"What!" Irma rose to her feet with a passion, "I'm not doing that…let Cornelia do it, she never does anything!"
Cornelia made a small noise, which in Irma's opinion a squeal was very reminiscent of a stuck pig, but only glowered; Cornelia would prove that at least she could remember her manners.
"Don't let my smile fool you Irma," her mother crossed her arms across her corseted chest, a motion that silently signaled the end of this conversation. "This is not up for discussion."
The haughtiness radiating from Cornelia was stifling, as a means of combat, Irma stuck her tongue out at her sister, before catching Mister Olsen's gaze and grinning with embarrassment.
"Are you done eating, sir?" Jeffery didn't wait for an answer before yanking the fork from Dublin's hands and signaling for a stout maid to take away the plate.
"It's been a really lovely visit Countable," Susanna darted towards the doors to the parlor and threw them open, "I would invite you to stay the night, but I wouldn't have you risk your reputation, it would be so un-lady like of me."
Dublin (exceptionally shocked) was now being pulled to his feet by a combination of Jeffery and two maids. He wasn't even standing when his hat and coat were draped atop of his corpulent head.
"Thank you for the meal, Mrs. Vandom…I mean Hale, I'm sorry, I never really know what to call you." Dublin floundered pathetically.
But pity was not in Susanna's heart. "You may not call me at all!" She tilted her head with all the wounded pride that she could muster.
With remarkable strength, Jeffery (on behalf of his injured love interest) pulled the man from the room, and Irma, still sulking, was forced to follow the pair.
"Well," Susanna, now appeared incredibly exhausted, and for the first time it seemed that the age showed in her face. "Now you two love birds!" she giggled again, before retuning to her seat at the head of the table.
"Mother!" Cornelia hissed, not out of embarrassment, but because she knew that appearing modest was very engaging to the male eye.
"Now, Cornelia, let's not beat around the bush here, it's always in our best interests to let the men know what we think!"
Caleb really didn't know what to think. This woman was obviously insane, two of her daughters had proved only to be less extreme versions of her, the third an unrealistic porcelain doll. All he could think of was the poor bastard that was actually going to marry into this family.
He had only been here for two hours at least, but he had already decided that any murdering madcap would have to be down right idiotic to dictate anything to anyone in this house. At least, he sighed to himself, this mission would be a quick one; he would simply ask a few questions (for Taranee's sake) and then leave.
No harm done, and then he could of course wander into the more physical work of this case. He imagined it was peculiar that anyone (male especially) would prefer the ghastly work of following leads and retrieving bodies to spending time in a house with four women.
By the time that he emerged from his cocoon of deliberation, Cornelia and her mother had moved into a corner of the room where they conducted a conversation under a veil of secrecy. From where he was seated, in a high backed mahogany chair, he could make out the whispers of "complexion" and "sacrifice".
Obviously nothing that he should occupy his time with.
"Cornelia, your complexion is really the last thing on my mind right now." Susanna hissed; not bothering to mention how much it had pleased her to realize that her own skin had cleared up quite a bit since her initial collision with food poisoning.
"I'll get freckles!" this statement was spoken louder than the narrator had intended and Cornelia immediately looked at her fiancé when the echo sounded. He seemed to be checking his fingers…
"And that is why God invented the parasol – deliver us from evil and all of that." she shook her head in appreciation of God's supposed knowledge of women and their attraction towards any protection from the sun.
"This is ridiculous – I'm not going outside, again, in this weather!"
"Cornelia, listen to me – now this is perhaps the most important thing that I will ever say to you," Susanna's features changed to portray a gloomy sincerity, "Men, never want to be married, never, as women it is therefore our duty to lead them to the chapel!"
"I don't understand…" Cornelia gasped as her mother's hands grabbed her shoulders.
"You lie child!" the brunette murmured, all the while rocking her daughter's slim shoulders to and fro. "Create for these men what they believe is the perfect woman, you'll swim to the moon if that's what they want, as long as it gets you married…"
"But mother!"
"No but about it; after the wedding you can then reveal your true self and if you're already pregnant then he won't dare leave you!"
It occurred to Cornelia, that mother or not, she probably shouldn't be taking relationship advice from a woman who had so far been a part of four notoriously unsuccessful unions.
"Trust me darling, now doesn't a walk sound lovely?" Susanna seemed on the verge of being considered fanatical. Cornelia knew that it was probably in her best interest to play along…but wasn't a walk around the house just as "fantastic" as one outdoors?
She voiced her question, only to earn a startled gasp from her mother, "What did I tell you – it isn't the walking that concerns me, it is the outdoors that are important, few men his age want a woman who sits around sewing all day…why to marry Thomas I had to pretend that I enjoyed fishing, so just be grateful that you're not in that boat…literally, you see it capsized."
Cornelia still seemed unconvinced of the value of sunlight, again she told this to her mother. "Fine then, walk around inside, and watch as Wilhelmina insults you and Irma leads him to hell's gate!"
That did it.
"Mister Olsen," Cornelia turned away from her mother to address the man who now looked half asleep. "Mother was just suggesting that since it such a…beautiful day that we go for a walk…outside." she forced a smile, and praying that sincerity had followed the words out of her mouth.
"Oh, Mister Olsen makes you sound like an old man!" Susanna interjected before he could respond; it was probably for the best, for the word burning his tongue was a hearty 'no', "Why don't we call you Caleb, after all, you are soon to be a part of this family!"
'That's what you think,' he thought, withholding a smile.
"Certainly." He stood, and carefully, as he had planned out whilst sitting at the table, reached for the blonde's slender hand, even as Susanna cooed behind them.
It would have been far more quixotic, he knew if she hadn't stopped suddenly to demand that one of the maids fetch her bonnet, gloves and parasol – God forbid that the sun actually touch her.
There were to be no bonnets or parasols for Irma, who could only prepare wicked ways on exactly how she would get her revenge upon her mother and sister as she trudged along the foot worn path that led to the family's stables.
And Steven was no where to be found – hell why couldn't Jeffery have done this, he was the butler after all, although, Irma reflected, he was often better dressed than both her and Will…
Will was right, their mother was unendurable, and this entire thing had almost certainly been a ploy to get her out of the house, just so Cornelia could lavish her attentions on that Adonis of a man.
This was another strike against her the way that she saw it! She would never succeed in finding a husband that gorgeous, in fact the only prospect that she had now to look forward to was Martin Tubbs, and since this spring's spoilt excursion within the broom closet with that stable hand, she highly doubted that he would be considered a prospect for much longer.
So, she was doomed.
The sun danced along her neck, making her feel very heavy and sore, behind her Dublin talked about the types of grasses that he could name.
Wonderful.
Not a moment too soon, she spotted the outline of the barn against the hazy blue sky. And Steven, in the company of one of the house girl's propped against one of the peeling white walls.
What on earth?
"Steven!" Irma yelled, refusing to feign politeness for a moment longer, the girl heard her bruised tone and rushed away, leaving the young carrot topped man to bear the full blunt of Irma's fury.
The boy swaggered over to Irma's side, only to cock an overconfident grin her way. "Yes," he answered an obvious attempt at being seductive.
As if she hadn't seen him!
"You twit!" she hissed at him, knocking the grin right off of his freckled face, "I have been looking everywhere for you!" He seemed shocked at her reaction, for usually she would at the very least flirt with him, but that was before they had been caught, before she had realized a lot of things about their society…
"Well, my apologies Miss, but being a stable hand, it would make sense that you check the stables for me first –"
"Shut up!" the honey haired girl snapped. "Mother wants you to take this man into town – so do it!"
He rolled his eyes at her, but complied, trudging over to the old barn to retrieve one of the carriages, leaving a fuming Irma alone with Dublin.
"Do you know that you're a very pretty girl?" Dublin's voice shook her consciousness awake.
Momentarily, her anger, and her jealousy melted away. "Really?" she breathed, finding herself now very fond of this hefty man.
"Yes…you remind me of my own daughter," Irma's smile evaporated, her hazel eyes moved along Dublin's magnificent bulk and across his pudgy, pig-like face and she frowned.
Quite a back handed compliment wasn't it?
"Thank…you" she mumbled dryly.
"Of course…I haven't seen her in such a long time…" his aqua eyes were focused intently on the sky, as though he thought that only that wide expanse of blue could answer his questions.
"Why?" Irma had always regarded herself as being the friendliest of her mother's children, so she eagerly continued the conversation, blatantly curious about the details of the story. "Is she in Connecticut, I've heard that a lot of people are moving to Connecticut."
"No…I don't know where she is." His voice was so soft that she had to strain to hear it, and after the words crept under the walls of her psyche, she wished that she hadn't.
"I'm sorry," she darted a small hand outwards to cover his own; after the confession he, despite his considerable girth seemed completely frail – so vulnerable. "I'm certain that she's fine."
He smiled at her, a silent thanks. It was at that moment that Steven chose to interrupt them with the horrible sounds and smells of a horse drawn carriage.
"Well, I'll thank you Miss, for accompanying me here and of course for your family's hospitality," he tipped his hat to her before clamoring aboard the vehicle. It shuddered and nearly toppled with the addition of his weight, a motion (to Irma's pleasure) that caused Steven to cling to the sides of the vehicle for support.
She waved good-bye as it started off, feeling strangely glad that had obeyed her mother and left the house, for it had finally dawned on her that there were far more important things in this world than marriage.
In Will's mind, everything seemed to be moving far too slowly. She had long stopped the beating of her feet, after deciding that it took far too much energy out of her, and was worthless, since it essentially bothered no one.
She didn't know how long she had been in her room, but now, the skies outside her window did look as if they were a bit darker. Before she had heard some shouts and snippets of conversation from downstairs and as curious as she was, she had forced herself to remain on top of her floral comforter.
She had toed off the heavy shoes and was preparing herself for what would hopefully be a long dreamless slumber when fate intervened.
Will hated fate, because in her mind first of all it didn't actually exist. Fate, to her was just frivolous people trying to give a reason for all of the terrible things that happened to them on a daily basis, destiny was fundamentally the same thing. People always seemed to need reasons for everything.
And unfortunately "fate", according to her mother, was now very much in style in the social circles.
But this intrusion, Will considered being not from fate, but from the devil himself.
"Will, I need to talk to you!" Irma's voice was transparent in the once noiseless room.
From her spot on the bed, Will stared through the wiry ends of her bangs at her sister, who was comically, the wrong way up. "I'm sleeping." She replied.
"No you're not," Irma replied and sauntered loudly into the room.
"Look Irma, if you've come to remind me why God only made one Cornelia, then don't bother – I'm already well aware."
Irma stilled. "I'm sorry about before…it's just that…" her voice trailed away, and she briefly considered telling Will everything, about Steven, about Martin…it would be pleasant to have someone to talk to… well someone other than a confidant more than a thousand miles away…but Will was so…Will, she would probably just scorn her problems…it was that thought that made her change her mind, this entire thing would go off better if Will was to remain in the dark.
"That what?" her sister asked.
"That Cornelia's fiancé is so utterly dazzling!" she squealed, readily initiating the first stage of her plan. "I can't live knowing that he is in her clutches!"
"Well, then you had might as well go throw yourself off the roof right away – they are a match made in conceited heaven." Will dismissed her sister's teenaged ramblings as accustomed.
"No, I can tell that he isn't like that," she pondered, "That is why I have concocted a plan to save him!"
"Save him?" Will forced her body into a vertical position. "You make it sound as though he's about to be sent into the lion's den."
"Will," Irma pressed, "its Cornelia, there is no deliverance from her."
Will sighed, "So then what so you suggest that you do to save him from the ultimate evil?"
"We force them to cancel their engagement!" Irma was practically bouncing up and down on her toes. "And notice the word we in my sentence."
"Are you so jealous that you would go against your mother and your sister just so that that sadistic demon wouldn't get what he deserves?" Will narrowed her eyes at the memory of him, glad that at least that this time her chest didn't close up.
"I don't see why you don't like him, or why you say that you don't, because I saw the way that you were sneaking looks at him during dinner!"
"I was not – any look that I spared him was out of concern for my own protection, I promise you!" Will yelled before sputtering on, desperately willing away the now prominent blush that was staining her cheeks. "And you obviously don't see a lot of things…that's why we're here still having this discussion."
"What do you mean?" Irma's contrived euphoria died down; which was all too sad as well, since she had even begun to convince herself of her sincerity.
"I mean that this is an arranged marriage…even if you managed to make them hate each other, it wouldn't matter the wedding would still go on." Will prayed that he words would make a dent in Irma's mind, the girl was known already for being far too promiscuous, God alone knew what she would do if she decided to go about doing something this rash.
"Well…" Irma racked her brain; somehow, this must be done. "Then we could convince mother to marry him off to one of us – even marriage to you would be better than to her."
"Remember my Cornelia comment?" Will rolled off of the bed to sit on the floor.
"I'm sorry – so will you help me?" she completed the sentence with her most effective puppy dog eyes and pout, to no avail, Will's answer was a resounding no. Well, it had carried another adjective before it, but Irma felt inclined to ignore her sister's offensiveness.
Well, that wouldn't work; she needed for Will to leave – as soon as possible, "Why not?" she whined.
"Because your plan is ridiculous, and I won't even take the risk of becoming engaged to that vile excuse for a man!" she raised herself from the wooden floor, and Irma noticed that she had been replacing her shoes.
The soft brunette sighed, she supposed then she would have to tell Will the truth – if there was no other way, she braced herself for the rejection of her actual plan. For the scolding that would predictably follow.
"All right Will –" she began.
"Quickly, Jeffery there's a far better vantage point in here!" In a rare sight of blurred pastels Susanna ran into the room with her butler close behind her.
She pulled to an abrupt halt before Will's bedroom window and craned her long neck outside.
"What are you doing?" Will had to withhold a laugh; it was really a bizarre sight, she doubted that her mother had run since she had been in pig tails.
The woman ignored her, instead calling for Jeffery. "Go fetch my opera glasses – I can just barely make out the two of them near the rose bushes!"
Jeffery's obedience was immediate, in his rush to comply, he nearly bowled Irma over. "Is this about the gypsies again?" Will asked, knowing that the answer was probably far more ludicrous than the question.
"Oh yes Mother – have they given chase?" Irma put in.
"Or perhaps they have joined forces with the wolves!" Will grabbed Irma's arm in counterfeit terror.
"God save us all – and the King as well!" Irma threw her arm across her face in a manner that she felt would best convey her panic.
"Would you two be quiet?" Susanna shushed the girls. "This is no laughing matter – your sister's future depends on this!"
"Cornelia?" Irma suddenly became very serious and Will frowned heavily.
"No, your other sister!" Susanna was now in a very obvious threat of falling head first from the building.
"Other sister?" Irma's mouth fell open. "I knew it – I knew that you of all people couldn't have had all legitimate children – is she Jeffery's?"
"Sarcasm is lost on you isn't it?" Susanna withdrew her body so that she could lecture her children. "Cornelia is currently on a very romantic promenade with Caleb – it's very exciting."
"Cornelia – promenading…outside?" This information was far too much for Irma to take in at once, she collapsed onto the floor.
"Oh, enough of the dramatics!" her mother scolded. "Where is Jeffery?"
"Who's Caleb?" Will questioned. "Has Mister Olsen gone home?" Even if she had been trying to, the hope intertwined with her words could not be hidden.
"Caleb is Mister Olsen my dear – isn't that a rugged name, so mannish and harsh!" she clasped her long hands above her heart; "It's almost as good as Bernard, now Bernard is a wonderfully masculine name…" she trailed off in a daydream.
"I prefer a more exotic name, like Pierre!" Irma was apparently recovered from her astonishment on her spot sprawled across the hardwood floor.
Will's eyes moved from sister to mother before freezing midway. "What?"
"Here are the spectacles my lady!" Jeffery returned to the room waving a bottle of Brandy in one arm and the glasses in the other, he bowed ceremoniously before Susanna's feet, a result of the Brandy no doubt.
Will watched as her mother snatched the eye piece and darted back to her spot draped outside the window. "This damned tree – it's still in my way!"
The truth finally registered within Will's mind, she had been right, it was far more preposterous than she could have ever imagined. "You're spying on them?"
"Spying!" sounded her mother's affronted voice, "Of course not Will, spying is for those cannibalistic Spaniards, whereas I am merely ensuring my daughter's happiness!"
"Well could you ensure her happiness elsewhere, I'm trying to sleep."
"No, you're not!" the older woman scolded. "Oh look there they are, good girl Cornelia keep your arm around his!"
Irma had a sudden interest in this conversation, she had always been an easy target for anything passionate, even this staged, almost forced courtship. "But mother aren't you too old to be ensuring your daughter's happiness?" she wandered over to the large window, hoping to sneak a peek.
"Old?" It was hard to determine who sounded more insulted, Jeffery or Susanna.
"Yes mother, how long are you going to pretend that you're still seven and thirty?" Will followed Irma over to the window, for she too had been overcome with interest, what exactly were they doing outside?
"Goodness, Will where on earth did they teach you Arithmetic?" Irma wildly shook her head, "Mother is at least forty."
"Forty!" Susanna gasped, her mouth swung open. "Is this what I sent you to school for?"
"I've finished school!" Irma stated, and puffed up her chest as a mark of pride.
"You mean that school near finished me…by the time I had completed paying the tuition I was certain that they would have to name a library in my honor!"
Will shook her head. "Is there a reason that you are all still in my bedroom – I can't see anything!"
Susanna huffed, "I am not pretending that I'm seven and thirty, I am!"
"Oh look!" Jeffery squeaked from the corner from where he had jammed his head out of the gap. Six pairs of eyes followed his finger to spot the elusive couple, partially concealed by bushes and branches, but they were apparently arguing about something.
"This isn't going well…" Irma muttered.
"Lover's spat," her mother give no notice to the angry voices.
She couldn't dismiss it for much longer however, for at that moment Cornelia emitted a scream and struck her fiancé against his head with her parasol.
Irma winced at the contact; whereas Susanna and Jeffery gasped in observable dismay, Will however yelled to her sister, "Hit him again!"
It was very ill-fated that the pair should hear, for then both of them turned to face the source of the noise. It was now Susanna's turn to screech, which she did, in the process throwing back her body, colliding with Jeffery, who in turned caused a domino effect which caused Will and Irma to be sent flying backwards in a flurry of skirts and arms.
The four of them kicked and yelled upon the floor, in four separate attempts to stand up. Later Jeffery would compare it to a war zone, and indeed Susanna did sustain two sharp jabs to her side inflicted by Irma's foot.
"Will – remove your hand from my posterior!" the oldest woman shrieked after a good five minutes of flailing about.
"It's not my hand." replied the muffled voice from across the room.
Somewhere Jeffery was heard to giggle. A punch followed and Susanna forced herself effectively to her feet.
"This is your fault entirely!" she breathed, pointing a trembling finger at her oldest daughter.
"My fault!" Will looked up in outrage, she would have liked to stand, in order to give herself more of an advantage in the situation, but with Irma currently thrashing across her chest, that was incredibly difficult to do. And upon seeing her mother's hair scattered about her reddened face and her nostrils flared as though she were some type of race horse, Will figured she was probably safer appearing to be submissive.
"Yes, if you hadn't ruined dinner with your immoral comments, then Cornelia would have never been inspired to create an argument!" her voice seemed to fluctuate unnecessarily.
"You seem fairly confident about that fact seeing as you don't know what happened!" Will responded.
"I know enough!" she hissed, almost foaming at the mouth.
From downstairs Cornelia's voice traveled past the stairway into Will's bedroom. "Mother!" she screamed.
"You will go to apologize to Caleb and to your sister – do I make myself clear!"
"No!" Will used Irma's head as leverage to stand. "I won't…God, you're so unreasonable – you're ruining everything!" she remembered her plan of eternal isolation.
Susanna faced Will, "This is not up for discussion, I am sick of your attitude, and as long as you live here you will do what I say!"
Will moved her face, so that she wouldn't have to look at the hysterical woman salivating before her. "Mother!" Cornelia repeated herself, louder this time if that were possible.
"I'm coming darling!" and with a limping Jeffery trailing behind her she exited the room.
"Someday Irma, she will find herself in a situation that she can't blame me for." Will threw herself atop of her bed.
"I doubt that." Irma crawled to the foot of her sister's four poster, finding herself mildly out of breath. "So, are you going to apologize?"
"Of course not!"
Irma really couldn't consider herself surprised. "Why not?"
"Because I still have pride, and I would therefore rather be eaten by maggots than initiate a conversation with either of them, and let's not forget that this wasn't my fault." She covered her face with one of her pillows.
"Well, Will you were very rude," for once in her life Irma planned the words that would depart her mouth, she wasn't completely dense, and she had noticed what an opportunity this situation could offer if executed correctly. "And I think that you should go."
"I think that there is a word for people like you – oh yes, traitor!"
"No, I am just concerned about your temper Will…I think that apologizing would be a wonderful first step in managing it."
"You're not serious…and what about your temper – weren't you the one who was just harping on about how handsome Mister Olsen was, and how much you wanted him –" Will sat up to hover above her sister.
"It's different for me…" Irma trailed off. "I'm younger than you are."
"For God's sake, I'm leaving!" Will jumped off the bed and made a few short strides towards her bedroom window. With a practiced form of inelegance she climbed onto one of the branches…and fell down.
"Are you all right?" Irma called, feeling far too exhausted to see if her sister had survived the fall.
"Shut up!"Will hollered, she seemed unharmed.
Now, thought Irma, rubbing her hands together (an action that she had copied from the villain in Avril's Betrayal, one of her favored romance novels), she could well begin the second phase of her plan, she had, after all a letter to write.
Cornelia paced frantically across the parlor. Her amazingly pale skin seemed blotched, decorated with growing pink defilements. She moved as though in a trance, back and forth, until the only thing that she could concentrate on was the pounding of her heavy feet.
When she paused, she could feel the eyes of her mother and Jeffery, (both looking similarly harassed – undoubtedly from their previous spying) on her back…perfect. She sighed again, and continued walking; now wringing her gloved hands in front of her, more as a means of dramatic suspense than of actual panic.
Finally, when she decided that she could pace no more, she flung herself in a nearby chaise and sighed, it was a motion that she had copied from Irma, although, she felt that she did it far more justice.
"It was horrible." She croaked at last, using a tone of perfect wounded pride.
"What happened darling?" Susanna hustled over to her daughter's side, placing both her hands atop of the blonde's fair head; her face carried an expression of absolute unease.
"Well…we talked…for the most part," she rolled her eyes within her head as though the memory caused her a great pain, "But then his driver…from the carriage, the men brought him towards the house, and he wanted to cancel our walk – after everything that I had sacrificed to do it!"
"So…you smacked him because he wanted to check on his driver…" Susanna spoke very slowly, as though the words would make more sense that way. They didn't.
"Yes!" Cornelia looked at her mother with her eyes that seemed far too great for her angular face. 'And then he called me – selfish."
Susanna paused for a second, as though she were briefly considering what she should do. Then, in a surprise move, she smacked Cornelia across her face with a cushion.
"What!" Cornelia shrieked.
"You're what!" Susanna fumed. "I swear that you children will run my blood to water – apparently you've all started mimicking Will!"
"But he insulted me and –" Cornelia floundered, still reeling from the shock of being whacked.
"Didn't you listen to anything that I told you!" she ran her hands through her midnight colored hair. "Pretend, Cornelia, I know that you don't care about the driver – but he mustn't!"
"I'm…sorry?" Cornelia faltered; this wasn't the reaction that she had anticipated.
"Well you should be…you obviously don't understand the importance of this marriage…don't you dare do anything to ruin it again!" she released her hold on her daughter and took her place pacing.
"What should I do now?" Cornelia straightened herself in the seat. "Apologize?"
"No…not now…you should wait until tomorrow – we don't want to come across as desperate." She chewed thoughtfully on her finger.
"Are we desperate?" Cornelia questioned, she could understand this concern when associated with Will or even Irma, but surely, she would receive other proposals.
"No…" her mother responded after a long pause. "Just…impatient."
He imagined that he should be grateful that parasols weren't harder. Or at least that Cornelia's aim hadn't been better. He expected that she had been trying for his head, but she had had to be satisfied with his arm.
Instead however, he was feeling grateful that he had gotten away.
Apparently the blonde wasn't the porcelain doll that he had first suspected. She was, after a lengthy fifteen minutes interrogation revealed as being a spoilt, selfish brat – much like all the other females her age.
Well, at least she had her good looks to fall back on – for he doubted that any man would deal with her on personality alone.
In the dim light provided by the lantern, he strained his eyes to make out the bandaged features of his driver. The source of the argument.
It was asinine really, that they should fight over him checking to see if a man were still alive rather than spend more time with her discussing – what was it – fishing. He supposed that he should apologize, for the sake of his mission. Spoilt or not, this girl was an integral part of his investigation, and it would be stupid to allow his pride to jeopardize this assignment.
He ran a hand through his tousled brown hair; undoing a few knots in the process…he should probably take better care of himself, if he were expected to pass for some form of educated society member.
Beneath him, the driver stirred, he appeared to be asleep. That was good, tomorrow he could be moved to a hospital, but first he needed to regain his strength, and according to the frail young woman who lingered at the man's side, they needed for the fever to go down as well.
"Oh, I just wish that Steven hadn't taken the other carriage," she muttered to herself, and was actually very startled when Caleb joined the conversation.
"What about the first one…" he asked.
"Oh…" she blushed at the feeling of his green eyes on her, and lowered her gaze. "I-I believe that there is something wrong with one of the wheels…Jeffery pushed it rather hard – you see we were all under the impression that there were gypsies on the property."
Caleb couldn't escape the feeling that this was somehow his fault, the man lying on the floor groaned as the woman applied a soaked cloth to his forehead, and worked to fix those on his exposed feet.
"You were lucky," she said softly, "I mean, in the accident."
"Yes…" he mused, "My mother always said that I had the luck of the devil." He clenched his jaw – he was being careless now, he needed to control his words, his actions, or else he would be in trouble. "He'll be all right in here?" he returned to himself to the mindset of his character.
"Yes, I'll stay with him, or at least get my husband to…" she sighed, exhausted. "As long as the fever breaks…he'll be right as rain."
He nodded. "It's probably the heat."
"Well, when it's hot like this that usually means that the rain will come soon." She reddened at her words. "I'll go get some more water," she indicated the empty bowl. "You can stay here with him until I return…if it isn't any trouble…I mean…"
"No, no trouble." He offered her a weak smile, which she missed completely on her dash to the heavy barn door.
The weighty thud that signaled the door's closure and her departure was the last thing to be heard before an awkward silence overcame the room.
Now alone, Caleb felt...uncomfortable.
The smell of sickness…the perfume of agony, it lingered heavily over the make shift stable. It was like a heavy fog, stagnant, pungent and soon it felt as though it was clogging every one of his pores.
It reminded him, vividly in fact, of his mother. A memory that made his skin crawl.
The mare in the stall facing him stared with large, watery eyes. She tilted her long neck giving off an impression of superiority, for she apparently was unconcerned about the odor of illness. She bared her teeth after noticing his staring; mocking him, Caleb suspected.
He decided then that he hated horses.
Somewhere in the distance behind him the door thundered open. He turned, an air of gratitude replacing the nausea – for a moment.
The red hair was unmistakable – the scowl impending.
What was she doing here?
It seemed that she had the same question relating to him, except she voiced her concern.
Caleb frowned rather than answering, and returned his attention to the man at his feet. Yet, as much as he tried, he couldn't erase the sharp awareness he had developed concerning her presence.
He could feel her eyes on him for a moment, and then he heard her voice, muttering something incoherent. He released a pent up breath when the door acknowledged her touch, and his distraction prepared to leave.
The evening paused; nearby, the accursed horsed laughed as the last jagged rays of daylight bombarded the barn. Ignoring his determination to remain indifferent, he turned, only to come into an uncomfortably close proximity to the top of her crimson head.
Her scent, a strong whiff of spices, seemed to conquer the more dominant attar of infection, if only for a second. The fingers of her cologne wrapped around his neck, sending his senses reeling…right now, all he knew was her, the subtle whisper of breath that ruffled his shirt – the furrow of her brow as she stared at the ailing driver, the snippets of freckled skin that led his eyes to the alluring curve of lace that initiated her dress.
Vaguely he could remember her, or at least someone who resembled her, screaming insults at him from the depths of a pond. She was nothing like her formal sibling…
"Why is he here?" the words tumbled out of her mouth with the same irreverent tone that everything seemed to carry.
"What?" It took more than a moment for him to realize that the wistful fantasy had ended, eye-catching or not, she was still a pain in the ass.
"In a barn…" she drifted away from him, taking the damned aroma with her, "Shouldn't he be in a hospital…shouldn't a doctor be here with him?" Her voice was dry, accusing.
"You're right," he began, feeling his patience ebbing, "I would have never thought of that."
"Don't yell at me!" she snapped, folding her arms across her chest.
"I'm not yelling, just stating a fact, Wilhelmina."
She paused, evidently surprised. "How dare you call me that –!"
"It's your name isn't it?"
"That doesn't give you of all people the right to call me by that…"
"I can see this conversation will get us nowhere, so if you will just kindly excuse yourself from my company…I think that we would both benefit." He averted his eyes from her scowling face.
"Men!" she huffed, and stormed past, as she moved by him, the same smell tempted his sanity once again, and for a fleeting moment, he actually considered grabbing her arm…pulling her closer…
She was gone.
It was probably for the best.
This situation was fast becoming revolting…why was he behaving like this? The only answer his frenetic mind could provide was that he had most likely gone far too long without the company of a woman. He had never considered that as being a dilemma until now.
But obviously if he were actually entertaining thoughts of obstinate little red heads then it was.
At his feet the man shuffled and moaned.
The sunlight vanished.
The moon hovered solemnly in the velvet night sky. It was a lonesome, reproachful looking figure as it gazed, condescendingly onto the world below. It was truly no wonder why the stars stayed away.
Already anticipation whispered beguilingly against his flesh. And as he neared her crumpled form the sensation only grew stronger, more overwhelming until it threatened to cut off his air supply.
In fact, when the first shattered rays of the full moon slid across her tousled golden curls and then danced across the space to caress his knife's blade – he felt ready to burst.
The images tormenting his already shattered mind, the sounds that hindered him from ever escaping his past…they were still there, now joining with the anticipation in a skilful assault of his being. But soon, soon, he knew they would be gone – the girl before him whimpered, obviously she too had noticed the knife, her large radiant aqua eyes shimmered beneath the lake of tears that he himself had caused.
He almost pitied her…almost. He had long detached his mind from such inadequate feelings such as compassion. There was a greater good to be accomplished with her death Phobos reminded himself, even if he was to be the only who would benefit.
Perfection would be his nevertheless.
He trembled as she sobbed…as she begged for his mercy. A shot of arousal gripped his body at the noise, at the realization that he had no mercy to give. He groaned and dismissed such thoughts to the back of his already exhausted mind, into nothingness.
"Please." Again, it was only a whisper. But it was one that he had heard countless times before, and one that he would undoubtedly hear again.
He stilled then, the sea of blonde that was his hair rushed forward to cover his face. Those visions were back again…those thoughts of her, singing, dancing – dying. Around him, silence overcame the room, while outside the wind whistled, the clouds danced and the moon watched.
As soon as the visions had come, they departed, leaving Phobos, at least momentarily displaced. He whispered a prayer to himself, praying to the same unhearing God that had taken her from him, asking him for sanity.
He proceeded to walk again, concentrating on the dull sounds of his shoes against the wooden floor; it took his mind off of her at least. Soon, he repeated, forcing himself to swallow the moisture that had accumulated in his mouth. Soon.
The girl had started screaming now, the hysterical echoes of her voice only succeeded in stirring a few of the night birds in the forests behind the old house. There was no one to hear her…well there was one person, but still he would never help her.
Her eyes stared into his probing them, looking for some hint of humanity but it was useless, she could already tell, there was nothing there.
Phobos made no motion to silence her, in fact, he rather relished in her weeping. The noise reminded him of the crimson salvation that would soon be pouring from her veins, gleaming along her porcelain skin as he slashed through the paper thin flesh.
He wanted to smile at her – pretty girl, long curly golden hair – to tell her that it would be all right – blue eyes, so blue, like a perfect summer's sky – to whisper to her that death didn't hurt – rosy cheeks, perfectly pink tinged skin – that it would all be over soon.
Soon.
She screamed again, although softer this time, seeing as her voice had become hoarse from her previous activities. He tightened his fingers about the handle of the blade and stopped, hovering above her. He smiled, it was the least that he could do.
It didn't calm her; instead she increased her thrashing, tugging at the ropes that bound her to the wall of the cabin, crying when she realized that it was over.
"I'm sorry," he muttered to her, bending to run an elegant hand along her cherubic face. The blade caught his reflection and hers by what little light sacrificed by the moon. It was the last thing that she saw before the metal was thrust into her side.
Author: My apologies of course for not updating this week as I had promised. It's just that school has been riding me like a disease. Long story short, I had five tests, three essays and two Physics experiments to do in four days, and then my internet stopped working. Yes, I'm still reeling. But I swear to make it up to you, Spring Break after all. So expect more soon.
I don't know exactly how good this chapter is, I felt a little intimidated when writing it, and I wasn't really inspired, so maybe it comes across as forced…I'll apologize for that as well.
I actually wrote a lot, about 7000 words, wow, I have entire stories this long. But I refused to go another chapter still rambling on about the same day.
It's weird to me that you are comparing this to a romance novel, since I've only ever read two of them in my lifetime – I'm more of a manga/sub-titles gal myself.
I decided not to raise the rating as yet. I'm enjoying my T rating far too much. And besides there's not anything that's too disturbing here…I'll have to raise the rating eventually anyway. Hint – hint.
So are you confused? I know, don't worry; I'll tie everything together eventually. So that means that there will more on Phobos later and yes that was Dublin's daughter that he stabbed.
I'm trying to give my character's a bit of depth, I know Irma comes off as…weird, but it's all for a reason, Susan too.
Subplots are fun aren't they? I don't know why I haven't used them before. For those of you worried, Will will soon begin to behave more Will-like, so will Irma, and for Cornelia, as far a WxC fics go she is perfect. I'm just working out a few of the kinks here, so no complaining, you're in good hands, for once I actually know what I'm doing.
Review thank you - please!