Chapter Seven
Meg: I would like to thank The Mouse Avenger for catching a pretty big mistake in the previous chapter. When I originally posted the chapter, Eddie told Lyon about a nobleman threatening to sue The Daily Press for slander. As The Mouse Avenger, however, reminded me:
"...while the terms [are] often used interchangibly, "slander" [is] technically used in reference to spoken word (for example, if two people were in a heated verbal argument, & the second guy thought the first guy was insulting him or bad-mouthing him, he'd probably accuse the first guy of slander), while "libel" [is] technically used in reference to literature or the press, like if someone sued the people who wrote "The National Enquirer" for publishing an article or something else about them in their magazine that made them look bad."
As a journalism major I should know better. You may throw cream pies at me later. Thanks, MA, for letting me know so I could change "slander" to "libel."
And thanks for everyone who gives me words of advice on grammar and spelling on a regular basis, especially erosgirl and The Mouse Avenger. I may not always acknowledge it right away, but I often implement such changes when I go back and edit chapters in finished and current stories of mine.
Lydia sat in the study, alone. A book lay open on her lap, a translation of Plutarch's Lives. Although her finger was raised above the first words of a paragraph on the life of Alexander the Great, her eyes stared straight ahead, her vision blurred by looking at one place too long without focusing on any particular object. From the next room haunting chords mourning the guilty man's fate on the Day of Judgment faintly reached her ears, transporting her away from the dark sewers to a secret place in her own mind.
The study door flew open, reality coming back to the girl in a rush of color and light. "Boss wants to speak with you," Mikey said.
Lydia blinked a few times, trying to refocus her eyes. "What does he want?"
"Just come on," he said.
She rose to her feet and gently placed the book down on the sofa. She followed Mikey through the door, down the hallway and into Ratigan's office, the chorus proclaiming as she entered:
Dona eis requiem…
The rat sat on the edge of his desk, while Gerard and three of his gang sat on assorted chairs before him. Mikey seated himself in the only remaining chair, so Lydia stood halfway between Ratigan's desk and the door. A gramophone played in the corner, the source of the Latin chorus Lydia had heard from the adjoining room. "You asked for me?" she said quietly, looking at his shoes.
"Yes," he said. "I want to discuss your living situation."
Lydia's eyes shot up and gave him a questioning stare. His face showed no expression. "What would you like to discuss?" she asked cautiously.
"Tonight Gerard is taking you up to the surface. You will be living near the wharf by the East India Docks."
"Why?" she asked, striving to keep her voice steady despite the sudden sickness in her stomach. "I thought you said I could stay here until Shaun came back."
A smirk grew on Ratigan's face. "And you are now going to the docks. Where does it matter where you are going, as long as you can live off the hard work of people better than you?"
"The only reason I am down here is because you told me I would never hear from Shaun again if I did not stay," Lydia said, her voice low.
"Don't put words in my mouth," Ratigan snapped. "I believe I told you that he would never know where to find you."
"And then you opened up your home to her," Ray, one of the quintuplets, chimed in.
"Yes, I did," the professor replied with another smirk.
Lydia's hands started to shake. She clasped them tightly and stared straight ahead as the chorus sang words from the next movement:
…de poenis inferni
et de profundo lacu…
"You've lived off of my goodwill for long enough," Ratigan continued. "You are now going to help me."
"You want me to work for you?"
"Let's not fool ourselves. 'Want' is such a strong word. I don't want your cooperation. I am forced into this. You and Shaun Parker have caused me nothing but grief for the past few months, and now your little 'lettres de l'amour' are causing people to poke into my business who should not be doing so."
She cocked her head to one side. "I don't understand. Who's poking their nose into your business?"
"The Royal Navy, Mouseland Yard, and that infuriating detective Basil of Baker Street have a hold on some of your boy friend's letters," Ratigan said. "They want to track down the recipient of the letters. If they track you down here, they'll be all over this place. I will not lead them down here just because of your silly relationship with an irresponsible man."
"How could they track me?" she asked. "Don't all of the letters go to Mr. Mayhew?"
"Yes, but Mayhew is old and handicapped. It would be very difficult for him to slip police observance. You don't want to give him more work now, do you?"
"No," she said softly. "I would do anything to make life easier for him."
"You better be certain about that," Ratigan said, folding his arms." You're living with him until this all blows over."
She stood, stunned, for a few moments, refusing to believe the good news Ratigan had just given her. "Can you repeat that, please?"
"Mayhew has agreed to take you in until the suspicion behind Parker's letters is dispelled," the rat said.
"Mr. Mayhew?"
"Yes. But don't think you can continue to be as lazy as you are down here. There are certain conditions for you moving up to the surface with him. While there you will treat Mayhew as your grandfather, and you will change your name to Lydia Brandt. You better act the part of a dutiful granddaughter," Ratigan growled. "Don't give Mayhew any reason to regret taking you in."
"I will do all I can to not be a burden," Lydia said, hoping she could pay back Mayhew for past kindnesses.
"You also must act the part for the sake of Mayhew's neighbors and as well as the police. Do not mention Parker to the neighbors. If the police come concerning the letters, you will act as if Mayhew has no idea about your relationship with Parker, as if you are hiding it from him."
"That should not be too hard," Lydia said. "I had to do that with my parents."
"You had better use that skill, then," he said. "Otherwise you are completely useless to me."
The words stung, but she did not look him in the eyes or acknowledge she had heard them.
"You will act agitated and upset, especially if they press the issue," Ratigan continued. "You may eventually confess to a secret love affair with Parker, but for God's sake do it with more decorum than you did with your own parents."
"They screamed at me, and I lost my temper," she said defensively.
"Mayhew can't talk, so you will not have any excuse if you do screw it up!" Ratigan snapped.
They stopped talking, the skipping of the record on the gramophone filling the silence.
"Fix that," Ratigan said, sweeping his hand from the quintuplets on the chairs to the gramophone, addressing no one in particular.
They all glanced at each other. Finally Frank got up and went over to the machine. Ratigan turned back to Lydia.
"As further assurance that there will not be any trouble from you, one of these gentlemen before you will be with you at all times. They will report back to me on whether you are stirring up trouble and suspicion."
Lydia's face fell. She knew Ratigan's plan was too good to be true. "Which one will be there?" she asked.
"They'll go on shifts. They will be in the house at all times with you, making sure that you do as you have been told and you are not giving Mayhew any problems. They will know if you give the wrong sort of information or impression to the wrong people."
"Oh. And what if I do mess up?"
Ratigan's face was expressionless, his eyes cold and empty. "You will never see Shaun Parker again."
The first musical notes of a symphony wafted out of the speaker and into the air. It was the same movement she had heard before she was called into Ratigan's office.
Her blood curdled and drained away from her face. "You… you… wouldn't kill him?"
"I haven't decided," the criminal mastermind said, holding his chin with his right hand in a thoughtful manner. "Parker may not come back from the African bush. So the only logical person to punish for your possible ineptitude would be you."
"Don't punish Shaun for my mistakes," she pleaded. "He was sent to Africa due to my actions. Please, he's already been through so much."
"And yet you don't seem to learn from those mistakes. You keep making them over and over again."
The record sang: Lacrimosa dies illa…
"That's because the rules keep changing," she murmured.
"What was that, girl?"
"I said, 'That's because I am stupid,'" she said quietly. "But I promise I will not let you down."
"Hmph. I won't hold my breath."
…Qua resurget ex favilla…
"If you are so uncertain of my success," she began cautiously, "then why are you entrusting this task to me?"
"As I said before, I am forced to use you. Hiring someone else would cost me time and money. Besides, you need to start earning your keep."
Lydia did not move, knowing that if she did she would show Ratigan an emotion that she did not wish him to see. "Yes, sir."
"Pack your things. Gerard will escort you to Mayhew's."
"Thank you, sir," she whispered, hoping an expression of gratitude might melt the criminal mastermind's cold heart.
"Don't screw up!" he barked.
A chill washed over her as she left the room. She went down the hallway and into her small cell of a room, where she pulled out a valise from beneath the bed. It was already packed, in preparation for a flight she could only dream about. That imagined escape from the sewers and Shaun's safe return were the only thoughts that kept her sane in the madness of Ratigan's designs.
Ratigan must have turned up the gramophone, for she could hear the sweeping chords of the symphony from even this far away. She sat down on the edge of the bed, listening to the last strains of the movement:
Dona eis requiem, Amen.
Although the trip to Mayhew's lodgings was short, it was not short enough for Lydia. The chilly air, cold and pure, was a breath of life to Lydia, who had felt dormant and dead in her months in the sewers. But the breath was feeble, and she knew she would die again soon. The sewers would not be completely eradicated; Gerard, holding her arm in his vice-like grip, was the living presence of the sewers even here on the surface.
"Poor Parker," he said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "You're going to get him killed."
Lydia yanked her arm, trying to break free from his grip. "I will not!" she hissed.
He jerked her arm, slamming her body against his. "They don't last long in the African bush against the Zulus. And even if Parker manages to survive that, you won't last long under the questioning of the Yardies and Basil of Baker Street. Basil especially. He's the only one who has ever defeated the Boss, you know."
"What about Geoffrey Dagnar?" she asked.
Gerard stopped, his hand squeezing her arm. She cried out and tried to pull away once more. The lights of nearby buildings cast his face into shadow, but his eyes glittered eerily in the dark.
"How do you know about Dagnar?" he asked, his tone dangerous.
She gulped and opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
He shook her violently. "Don't lie to me!"
"I heard you all talking about him!" she cried in a hushed voice. "You, Mikey, Ray, Frank, Bob, and Lisa. You were telling Lisa about what he did to the Stratton orphans! You all said he was more dangerous than Ratigan, that-"
"Shut your mouth!" Gerard snarled as he covered her mouth with his hand. He pressed her lips together so harshly that she tasted blood from her teeth cutting the soft tissue inside her mouth. She could only moan as he hissed, "You know better than to say his name above the surface!"
She could not nod in agreement, so she tried to show that she understood by widening her eyes. He shoved her head back with the hand that gripped her mouth, and then grabbed her arm and began to pull her along at a rapid pace. She stumbled along, the valise in her other hand banging against her knees and she tried to keep up.
Several minutes later they arrived at a slimy door to a small house in a row of similar small houses. Gerard knocked on the door directly beneath a rotted wooden number three.
"Five bob says Basil shows up tomorrow, and the Boss sends Eichmann a telegram ordering for Parker's execution," Gerard whispered in her ear. She wished she could die.
The peephole opened, and an eye peered through. In one moment the hole was closed again, and the door unlocked and opened for them.
Gerard let go of her arm as the tall man with the hunched stature came into view holding a candle. He smiled gently at Lydia; she ran into his arms and embraced him, already comforted by his presence.
"Thank you, Mr. Mayhew," she whispered. "Thank you so much."
Meg: A shorter chapter, but it's moving Lydia along a path I had been trying to discover for her ever since the second chapter. The music Ratigan plays on the gramophone is supposed to be two movements from The Requiem Mass in D Minor, composed by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. The first movement described is Lacrimosa dies illa, while the second movement is Domine Jesu Christe. The Lacrimosa movement is written in ¾ time, the same as waltzes.
Consider Lydia's personal "Dance with the Devil" to be the song "Lacrymosa," Evanescence's version of the Lacrimosa movement from The Requiem Mass.