To Be a Mother - Chapter Seven
Pallid morning light flittered it's way through the shallow gaps between the curtains, signalling a new beginning to another chilling Winter's day. It turned the boy's plush cheeks from refined cream to pasty, garish white as he lay pleasantly slumped beneath the covers of the bed, slumbering tranquilly, utterly oblivious to the sun's pale stirring. Sebastian observed the child from a secure distance, poised among the shadows that cloaked the edges of the room, feeling almost apologetic for needing to wake the Earl so soon. Yet than again, being apologetic was merely a component of his character, an extension of his role as a prestigious butler. It was not a mirroring of his true - or rather fabricated - feelings.
Three days had passed since the unnameable events of Sunday, and to the demon's mild astonishment, his Master had been gradually improving. Although his nausea had not quite evanesced, and vomiting was still often a daily occurrence, his Lord had managed to surpass several meals without immediately resurfacing them and had gone so far as to exit his chambers and participate in his usual habits with the most agreeable of cautions. Sebastian had been wonderfully impressed by the boy's determination, growing more and more ravenous by the overwhelming stench of it, but did not mention it, for it would be most improper of a butler of his status to do so.
Exhaling contently, Sebastian glided over to the curtains with an ease only one such as he could possibly embody, and - grasping the satiny fabric between his implacable fingers - he unsheathed them, allowing the full dazzlement of the sun to come spilling in. His critical gaze flicked over his broad shoulder, and he was not mystified in the least to witness his little master flinch in response to the lurid light, his eyes opening in the form of a glaring squint.
"It is time to wake up, my Lord," Sebastian greeted, a smirk adorning his lithe lips.
The boy simply replied with a detesting moan, dragging himself upwards from his blankets with the finesse of the crippled elderly. Blindly, the child pawed the air for his tea, his thick-lidded eyes blinking fruitlessly as he tried exasperatedly to arouse their basic functions.
"Where's my tea, Sebastian?" His master croaked waspishly, as impatient and unruly as ever.
"Can you stomach it this morning, Young Master?" Sebastian inquired, a hint of mischief in his tone as he moved himself swiftly over to the silver trolley that he had left waiting idly by the door and began to steer it to his Lord's bedside.
Prodding his palms bitterly into his inefficient eyes, Ciel graced the butler with a gingerly reply. "For the moment, yes. However, I wouldn't advise you making preparations for breakfast just yet."
"Very well," Sebastian complied with a courteous teeter of his head, and brandished an intricately embellished teacup for his master to take, in which the boy did with the utmost eagerness. "Today's tea is a Ceylon blend. Does this satisfy you, my Lord?"
"Yes, its fine," confirmed his master heedlessly, sipping at the said tea indulgently.
"I'm glad it pleases you."
And without further ado, the protocol of the morning commenced; his Lord drinking his tea. The butler offering an ironed copy of The London Times, to which his Lord tactfully accepted. The butler dressing his Lord - today's attire a pleated, ash-coloured suit with matching shorts and glossy black heeled boots that came to just below the knee. And finally, the butler grooming his Lord to pure perfection - not a ribbon askew, not a lace loose, not a hair out of place.
However, the demon's scrupulous efforts were all but proven a waste, as in mere moments after he had completed his masterpiece of frills and etiquette, the boy's cheeks blanched to porcelain, and cupping a hand savagely over his puckered lips, the Earl dashed to the adjoined bathroom and thoroughly emptied his stomach in the toilet that resided within.
The ordeal did not press on for long, for in a matter of moments, the boy spluttered to an agonised halt, his head hovering unsteadily over the basin, his shoulders heaving with ragged ferocity, his breaths pouring into his laboured lungs in violent waves.
After a terse pause, the child recoiled from the basin with a shudder, hefting himself against the adjacent wall with a taxed sigh. Sebastian dubiously treaded over to his Lord's side and knelt down with such immense elegance that even an angel would glower in contempt. Taking in his master's perspirated face, sweat-slicked hair and grime flecked cheeks, Sebastian was forced to suppress a huff of aggrieved annoyance, feeling it most rude to release such a noise before his master. Conjuring a handkerchief, Sebastian carefully grasped his Lord's dribble-coated chin between his spidery fingers and began to dab away the dots of vomit and trickles of sweat that cloyed his master's immaculately smooth, baby-soft skin, until eventually, the boy, despite his fatigued appearance, looked as prim and pristine as he had done only seconds before.
"I think...I can stomach breakfast now," the child announced, with a shaky pant rumpling his words. He reared himself with timid uncertainty from the tiled floor, his legs wobbling slightly as though they had abruptly liquified. Finding his gravity, the boy toed his way out of the room, calling to his butler who had been neglected in his wake. "Bring it to my study!"
Standing, the butler goaded a hand lightly over his heart and stooped low. "Yes, my Lord."
XXX
Ciel felt himself completely taken in by the colossal stacks of paperwork that overwhelmed his desk like a dense, roiling ocean of parchment, warranting to sicken him more than his condition could ever have hoped. He released a flexed whine, lamenting his mournfulness in a single, woeful breath. Oh, if only this illness hadn't vexed him so savagely!
Illness was what he still freely chose to name it, for in his conscience, it had not ascended to anything further. He had not given merit to the longstanding effects of his illness, nor had he bestowed thought into any of the consequences that might arise because of it. He still did not have the conviction to believe it anymore than an illness, and he might not ever - well, at least until the child arrived and the very truth of his state was practically screaming him in the face.
Digging his elbows into the correlating mahogany of the desk and pressing his fatigued eyes into his upturned palms, the boy once again huffed, feeling most aggrieved by his predicament. His skull was throbbing as though it too had its own radiating heartbeat, each pulse emitting surges of agony upon the host. His stomach was a riling concoction of stabbing twists and aching knots, not at all a threat of nausea, but still intolerable all the same. And to add topping to a particularly ghastly day, the rivers of senseless documents that lay strewn out before him only served as a reminder of all the work he was surely going to miss as the next gruesome months traipsed by.
A tentative knock on the study door was what gave relief to Ciel's despairing thoughts. "Enter," the boy exclaimed in an earnestly regal tone, tossing up his head from his hands - although rightfully regretting doing so afterwards, for crass pain rippled along his skull in result - and poised himself so rigidly in his chair that his stomach gave a mild lurch, much to his anguish.
Who strode into the room was none other than his butler, as stately and imposing as ever, skilfully balancing a vast silver tray, overbeared by wax-sealed letters on the expansive palm of his right gloved hand. At the sight, Ciel's mood pitched further downwards into the very depths of misery, and a groan would have protruded from his lips if only he hadn't forbidden it the right to do so. He was not at all in a reasonable state to be bothered by such things, and neither did he have the time. The very prospect of him wasting such treasured hours on trifling through such pointless mail was enough to almost drive him mad with frustration.
The demon came to a courtly stop by the front of his Lord's disheveled desk and arched his mouth slightly as he prepared to address the boy, clearly about to introduce the obvious mail to the Earl. However, Ciel took the liberty of interrupting the butler, not at all possessing the patience to deal with such formalities.
"Is their anything of importance," he voiced bitterly, an angular scowl emblazoned upon his pale face.
Sebastian faltered for a moment, yet reestablished composure in a matter of seconds, suffering his Lord's exasperation with the finest of eases. He feathered out a small slip of parchment from the mountainous pile, and brandished it to his master without even the most insignificant of wavers. "Perhaps this one would be of interest to you, my Lord," the demon pondered snidely. "I believe the contents of this letter have something to do with what the Marchioness Midford and Lady Elizabeth came to speak with you about when you were interrupted by that untimely 'business call'."
Glowering at his butler with spectacular resentment, Ciel snatched the letter from Sebastian's spindly fingertips and observed the underside of it with an unsettled curiosity. The parchment was sewn together by a wax emblem of a flaxen hue - a definite indication to the Haywood Family, an aristocratic bloodline known nationally for their extravagant balls and magnificent parties. All there gatherings were impetuous, and were the envy of all that were given permission to attend, but despite this, all that were invited did go, for no person who was that privileged to be acknowledged by the Haywood family would ever dare risk causing such abomination to their social status by not going. Ciel was most assured that he did not even need to open the letter to know what was inside.
However, he still did so, for he was still clinging to some miracle that he would be proven wrong. And yet he was not.
The contents of the letter entailed a vibrant proposal of welcome to the Earl Phantomhive from the Haywood Estate, offering excitable invitation to the New Year's Eve Ball that would be occurring on the 31st of December 1889 - exactly four days away - an invitation with no room for refusal.
Granting himself the justification to voice a rather insensible whine, the boy flopped backwards in his seat, placing a hand on his marginally protruded abdomen in a fashion that could be described as ironic - which caused the boy to grimace in distaste for his actions.
The butler observed this and asked with the sincerest of calms, "Shall I inform Earl Haywood that you are unwell and will not be able to attend?"
Pressing his head heavily into the leather backrest of the chair, Ciel closed his eyes, feeling warped in a bout of weariness. However, after a moment of contemplation, Ciel gently shook his head.
"No. It is my duty to attend. I must not allow some pathetic illness to bother me. And besides, if Elizabeth came all this way just to speak with me about it, than my attendance must be important to her."
With his eye faintly shut, Ciel did not glimpse the brilliant smirk that slashed across his butler's lips. How very naive his poor little Lord posed himself to be. "Very well, of course, my Lord."
XXX
And that concludes the chapter! Thank you all for reading! Please let me know what you think of the story so far!
HeartElyse