Author's Notes: I'm sorry to break your hearts. I had been planning a Little Mermaid/Hellsing crossover for five years and went through countless story versions, but each one since the beginning involved the death of her beloved horse. It serves a story purpose, though a tragic one. One of the main reasons I no longer support A/S is I feel there's a fundamental value difference. Seras values life. Alucard doesn't. I've learned from bitter experience that relationships like that don't work in the long run.
Disclaimer: I do not own or make money off any version of Hellsing or The Little Mermaid.
Back at the lodge, Seras sat bundled up in the lobby. She was wrapped in many blankets and sat near the fire to keep warm. After returning, they had gotten her cleaned up and called on a doctor. He found that she had been scratched up by many twigs and branches and sprained an ankle, but otherwise did not seem physically harmed.
"Did she take a fall while walking along a dirt path?" he asked idly, "Into some bushes, perhaps?"
After they revealed what had happened – or at least that she and her horse had tumbled down a hill, no other details given - the doctor immediately recalled that he had noticed this, that, and the other wrong with her. That her leg was broken instead of sprained, her wrist was sprained instead of tender, she had deep gashes that simply must be remedied!That that she was clearly distressed, quite traumatized, and could very quickly go into shock. That they simply must go to great pains to make her feel as comfortable as possible, to call a maid to wait on her to put her mind at ease, and muster every amount of manhood to show the frail little girl that she had such strong men watching over her to reassure her of her safety. That they simply must have a maid sit up with her all night to see how she fairs, be sure that she does not relapse into something more serious, keep in touch with him about future checkups, and so on.
Oh, how delicate they believed women were in this era.
The Count was certainly not impressed. "When she fell down a dirt path she had a sprained ankle, but when she fell off a horse she has a broken leg? Here's a shilling for your prognosis. Now be off with you to swindle some other fool with your quackery."
The doctor was quite put out.
Seras was indeed in very poor shape, but not for the reason the doctor had suspected. A fall off a hill on a horse? She could handle that. By some miracle of God (or the writer), she was not seriously injured, and so had little reason to feel especially traumatized. She had experienced worse fears while collecting clams in the dark, shark-filled waters outside the Sea Capital.
No, Seras was miserable because she had watched her most beloved steed die, and felt responsible for his death. If she had not been riding out there in the ravine, he would not have been in harm's way or gotten killed. If he had been back in the stables at home and she had merely rented a traveling horse like Captain Bernadotte had recommended to the Count before they left home, would he still be alive...?
But then the other horse would be dead too, and she felt guilty for that.
No only that, but her beloved Count had grabbed her and yelled at her for expressing sorrow over his death. Was it really such a terrible thing to love her horse and to care that he had died? Was he really "just a worthless beast"? "Just an animal"? and she was too sensitive to realize it? Seras knew the Old Grey wasn't a person like a human or one of the merfolk, but he had been her companion almost since she came on land. He always seemed happy to see her, even if everyone said it was just because of "the goodies in her pocket."
Seras wasn't sure about that. Captain Bernadotte also gave him treats, but the Old Grey never seemed as happy to see him. He always nickered and winnied when he saw Seras, and when she held up her hand he pressed his nose into it, and brought his face near hers so she could scratch his forehead. She wanted to believe the Old Grey had liked her most, though now that seemed foolish. Even if she wasn't his favorite human, he was her favorite horse. She loved to pet him and ride him best of all. She loved to hold his head in her arms and press her cheek against his forehead. Maybe he wasn't a person, but he was hers. She had fed him, groomed him, ridden him, and cared for him, and now she would miss him. It was that simple.
And now the "Old Grey" was dead because of her. He always loved to be let out of his stall; to run, to jump, to play. Now he would never do these things again. If he was indeed an old horse like she previously thought, she could reason that he was reaching the end of his life anyway. But he wasn't. He was a young horse with at least half his life ahead of him. He could have enjoyed many more years of running, jumping, chasing, whinnying, munching carrots, drinking fresh water, grazing the grass, rolling on his back, and many other things horses loved to do. If she had been a better rider, a better human, a better mistress, he would not have been in harm's way; he still be alive.
He was dead, and it was because of her.
Seras thought these things with misery as she curled up further into her blankets.
The lodge was filled with the chatter of men and women as they came in and out. While the Count dealt with the lodgers at the front desk, sending letters back and forth between here and the castle, seeing to it that they got proper transportation for when they departed home, and so on, Captain Bernadotte came to sit near her.
Seras did not acknowledge him. She seemed lost in her own miserable thoughts.
"Ma cher, you need to drink something," he said, as he placed a metal cup in front of her.
She turned her head away.
She had not touched anything since the doctor came by, and did not intend to start now.
"Ma cher, I know you are upset over your horse, but you cannot keep punishing yourself like this."
She slapped the cup off the table, then fell back into her seat with her arms crossed.
After the Count yelled at her for getting emotional over a "worthless animal," she no longer felt disposed to obey anyone. She knew he was just going to lecture her and she didn't feel like being patronized.
Captain Bernadotte sighed and picked the cup off the floor.
"Look, I know how much that horse meant to you…" he began.
She scowled more deeply and crossed her arms more tightly. She didn't want to hear it. Yes, she was being childish. Yes, she was being immature. She was getting emotional over a "worthless beast." She should just move on, and look forward to getting a new horse.
'... But I can't,' she thought sadly as tears pierced her eyes. 'I loved that horse. I want him back. But he isn't here. He's dead, and it's because of me.'
"... but you can't blame yourself for what happened. It wasn't your fault."
Seras looked at him with surprise.
"You could not have known what was going to happen. Highwaymen have not plagued these roads for many decades.* No one could have predicted that they would be lying in wait for us; nor that one of them would try to ram us off a cliff. Honestly, what happened was a freak accident. It is not a common method of bandits against their targets."
He smiled, "And you were clever to respond to it as well as you did."
His words eased her somewhat, though she was still too engrossed with grief to realize the compliment.
She let his words mull around for a while, until finally she reached for her journal.
"But he would not have been there were it not for me."
"For you?" he snorted, "Ma cher, we were there because the Count wanted to go riding through the Lakeside. You were only going along with what your master wanted, and you were nearly killed for it. That's right, you were nearly killed too, lest you forget."
Seras was startled. She had forgotten.
"That bandit was not out to kill your horse, he was out to kill you. Not just you, but us. He wanted to rob us and steal our valuables, or maim and kill us in the attempt. Since we were fleeing on our horses, he would have thrown us off or crippled our hoses to catch us. And we would not have been in that position had your master not wanted us there on the Lakeside; had not refused to give up his valuables to the highwaymen; nor even left us to fend for ourselves after he had refused."
Seras made a wry face. She was still not in an emotional state to criticize or easily hear criticism of her master. Even though he had hurt and yelled at her, a huge part of her was lovestruck enough that she could not bear to blame him, or hear him spoken of so horribly.
"But you want to know something?" Pip smiled. "It didn't work. You saved me, and managed to survive the fall without serious injury. By all rights, we should have both been crushed under the weight of our horses while rolling down the hill. To be brutally honest, it's a miracle you survived at all, let alone walked away as unhurt as you are. That your horse died is unfortunate, but frankly the least that could have happened with a fall that like. Trust me, Seras: you got out as well as anyone could get out in your situation."
His words made sense. Suddenly Seras did not feel so guilty about her Old Grey's death, even though she still felt very pained about it.
"So cheer up," he smiled, and used his fist to rub her chin.
Seras smiled involuntarily, thought about it for a moment, then her smile ceased.
"But why did he have to be killed?"
"Oh, cher..." Pip said with deep pity. "He broke his leg. When a horse breaks his leg, it's as good as a death sentence. He can never recover properly, so the kindest thing you can do is put a bullet in his brain so he can die swiftly, and painlessly. It is a mercy kill."
Seras was surprised.
"But humans break their legs all the time. Do you kill them?"
"Oh, cher, of course not," he said gently, and he sat closer to her. "For humans, a broken leg is one thing. For horses, it's another."
"HOW?"
"Seras," he said gently, "you have to understand. Horses cannot recover from broken legs as humans can."
Pip had to explain that horses were built differently than humans; both physically and emotionally. Humans can mend broken bones quite easily, while horses have so little flesh and blood over their bones, and run the risk of infection. They're also heavy enough that they can't stand on three legs, as the weight would crush the remaining three. No matter how clean you try to keep their conditions either, stalls and outdoors were dirty. Lots of dust, dung, insects, and other problems. No matter how thorough you were, infection was always a high possibility.
Even if they could heal without the risk of infection or other complications, they also cannot lay down or relax while they wait for their bones to heal. Humans like Seras (she was flattered) could lay on their backs in a nice comfortable bed, with their leg elevated and wrapped up to it healed properly, while they waited for the bone to mend. Horses are fearful animals, he said. They always think they're being attacked or hunted - don't feel bad, it's just the way they are. They don't feel at ease unless they're able to stand, move freely, and run or defend themselves if there is a problem. Most horses even prefer to sleep standing up for this reason.
So, a horse who is forced to lay down, probably with one or more of his legs tied, unable to stand up, unable to move or run freely, is going to panic just as much as you would if you were tied and stuffed in a coffin. It's all the same to a horse. It would just cause him to stress, panick, kick and flail, and do everything in his power to stand. In doing so, he would just end up hurting himself more than if he tried to stand on three legs, which in turn would turn him more.
Seras asked many many questions over the course of his explanation. She tried to come up with some solution; some method that someone had not thought of; some flaw in the logic he had presented her with that someone never thought of before; all to no avail.
A sling to keep them propped up on their three legs without putting weight on said legs? No, horses are too heavy, and it would no doubt be too painful and uncomfortable over time.
Sleeping draughts to keep them calm while their leg heals? Few are strong enough to work on horses. They would have to pump far too much to make it work, and for several weeks? It would get too expensive too fast. Besides, sleeping draughts have powerful side effects that would not doubt kill the horse from the high dose. The horses would not be able to properly eat and drink while sleeping for so long anyway. And once it came to; what good would that do?
Tie the horse down so it can't kick and thrash around? It would still panick and struggle - in fact, he would just panic all the more and make his condition worse from stress alone.
Make a bed that was so comfortable and relaxing - surrounded by all the fresh grass, hay, oats, carrots, etc that he could want - so he can feel calm and happy to lay there? No such thing, ma cher. Horses can't enjoy just laying there surrounded by comforts as humans do. The same relaxed you get laying down in your feather bed, he gets standing up and ready to move. They might as well shut him in a coffin for all the good making him lay down would do.
Seras was desperate. There must be something they could do.
"Believe me, Seras, no one likes to shoot a good horse," he said, "Those things are valuable, you know? They cost money. And often friendship, companionship, income, and livelihood. Countless people all over history have not wanted to put down their best horses - a plow horse for the harvest, a ranch horse for driving cattle, a travel horse out in the woods or desert, a family horse that is loved by the children. Once a horse has broken a leg, there is nothing you can do, but give him a swift and painless death."
He looked at her with eye full of meaning, "Trust me, cher: you are not the first girl in history who had to put down a horse she loved.
Seras suspected, by the intensity of his gaze and words, that he once had to put down a horse he loved too.
All in all, Pip had to conclude, there was nothing that could have been done for her Old Grey. If he did not get an infection, eaten alive by insects, speed up his condition by getting stressed by his inability to move, hurt himself further by flailing around, and countless other things that could go wrong, he would lie there painfully with a leg that would never heal properly, crippled and in pain for the rest of his life.
"Besides," he said, "Your Old Grey broke not just one leg, but two. Likely more. If one broken leg is unlikely to heal, two or three is damned near impossible. And far more painful besides. How could he ever stand up? How could he ever use those legs again?"
There was no way her Old Grey could have recovered from that.
"Besides, how could we have carried him from the bottom of the ravine?" he asked.
Seras was taken aback. She hadn't thought of that.
"It was getting dark soon," he said. "The night would have brought pitch blackness, and freezing cold on top of it. Horses can see in the dark better than humans, and withstand more cold, but even that would have been too much - especially for a horse with two broken legs, forced to lie there in the dark and cold.
"And what of us?" he continued, "If we had stayed with him, we would have been stranded in the dark and cold, freezing near to death. All while your horse lay in pain beside us."
Seras' heart sank, and she looked down. She now felt very guilty for wanting to stay.
"Now, don't be like that," he said, "You didn't know. All the same, we had to move quickly. There was not time to explain, as the sun was setting fast. This is why we had to move quickly, why the Count had to put your horse out of his misery, and why we had to seek shelter as soon as possible."
Seras thought about Captain Bernadotte's words for a long time. Finally, she wrote: "Why didn't Master just tell me? I would have understood."
Captain Bernadotte didn't have a good answer. Part of him wanted to be brutally honest and say that her master was a selfish, cold-hearted bastard that really thought everything existed to serve him. That he meant every word he said about animals existing just to serve humans, and that they deserve to die when they can no longer do it. Like all the nobles in England, the Count seemed to believe everything sprang into existence the moment he looked at it, existed in that moment to give him convenience, entertainment, or pleasure, then promptly ceased to exist the moment he looked away; until the next time he looked at it or needed it again. This applied to everything, from objects, to animals, to people.
The only exceptions were those few women he deemed worthy of pursuit.
Even then, Pip thought scornfully, the Count had given up on that Lucy Westenra and Mina Harker right quick.
Captain Bernadotte suspected that the same thrill he got in pursuing a lover's heart was the same thrill he got in the hunt.
But, he could not say it out loud for a number of reasons. The biggest being that Seras was still distraught over the death of her horse, and far be it from him to say horrible things about her master to make her feel worse. Also, it just wasn't professional. Cold-hearted bastard though he was, the Count had taken Captain Bernadotte and his men on after their ship sank. He paid them rather handsomely and was a good master, all things considered. Besides which, Pip felt certain that if he said anything rude about his boss, he would somehow find out.
Tenatively, Pip said, "... People say things they don't mean when they're mad, stressed or scared." He took her hand in his. "You really put the fear of God in us with that fall. We were sure we had lost you."
His intensity touched Seras profoundly. Unfortunately for him, his passion only served to convince her all the more of how strongly her master felt about her.
To her, it seemed to make more sense. Her horse had broken no less than two legs, and there was no way he would fully recover. They could either leave him writhing in agony until infection, pain, stress, fear, or cold killed him, or quickly put him out of his misery with a single bullet. (Captain Bernadotte said the bullet entered his brain so quickly he wouldn't feel a thing; he died before he could feel a thing.) At least there was comfort in that.
What's more, they had to move quickly before nightfall. Her master had wanted to put the whole affair behind them, but he had been so stressed and scared for her safety that he could not properly express it. No doubt he had been in agony of anxiety, and felt agitated because of how close he had come to losing her; perhaps he had already believed she was dead and felt horribly grieved and enraged over his. She thought he must have been quite distraught over her to feel so agitated.
Seras felt much better about the whole thing. It was like a weight was lifted from her soul. She was still deeply saddened by the loss of her Old Grey, but she did not feel quite crushed with guilt or regret. What's more, she now understood why he needed to be shot; it was a mercy kill to put him out of his misery, not cold-blooded murder because caring for his injury was too inconvenient.
She looked up at Capain Bernadotte and tried to smile. Her eyes were no longer hardened with heavy sorrow. However, the easing of her sorrow melted her resolve like fire melting ice, and leaked fresh tears from her eyes. She finally closed them and let the tears flow.
"Oh, Seras..." Pip whispered soothingly, and he cupped the back of her head and pulled her forward so she could cry into his chest.
Not too long after, the Count received a letter from home that left him extatic. The moment he finished reading it, his entire countenance changed. He went from bitter and agitated to giddy with excitement.
"You two, get ready to leave at once."
Seras pulled her head up to look at him curiously. Her eyes were still raw and wet with tears.
"Sir?" Pip said.
"Get dressed and get ready. We are leaving at once."
"Now? Sir..." Captain Bernadotte stood and tried to reason with him. "Can't this wait a while? She has only just recovered..."
"Are you fit to travel, my dear?" the Count asked Seras.
She nodded immediately. Sad as she was, she felt her pride piqued whenever people said she was "unfit to travel." As the Count himself often said, "travel" usually involved sitting in a carriage. She felt she could handle that.
"Then get her ready and be in the carriage in half an hour," he grinned widely. "She is waiting for us."
A sense of sad understanding fell over Pip's face, and he said no more. He helped Seras stand and ordered one of the lodge women to help her dress for travel while he arranged to get their luggage packed and loaded into the carriage. Seras looked between the two men in confusion. Who was "she"? What was going on?
The carriage ride was tense and unhappy. The Count was in such a hurry that he ordered the coachman to force the horses into a rapid gallop. He sat opposite of Seras, with a giddy and eager smile. He barely looked at or addressed her. The captain sat beside her, looking full of unease and discomfort. She felt a horrible sense of doom. What was going on that made her love so extatic while her captain was so uneasy? Why did they have to go so quickly? Who was "she"? What was going on?
Since he wanted the horses to gallop so fast, they often had to stop and switch carriages since they wore the last ones out. Horses can only gallop so fast for so long, just like humans. Seras wished her master understood that, but he was indifferent to anything but his own desires. And right now, he desired to reach their destination.
From the captain, all she could gather was that they were traveling to London.
The Season had started and they were going to beat them to it by going to stay in the Count's London "town house." Seras grew to understand, at last, that most of the wealthy had two homes. Rural country estates where they lived, and most often got their money, and small urban "town houses" where they enjoyed the "social season" in large cities like London. The social season being the cold seasons; traditionally so they would not have to bear the city's stenches during the hot weather.
In recent years, Parliament passed new sanitation laws that helped clean the city and decease the rubbish and sewage that plagued it, thanks to overpopulation. They had also improved conditions for the overpopulated slums, thanks in part to the systematic problems that allowed for the antics and escape of Jack the Ripper.** Still, the city was by an large still polluted and rank, especially compared to those who lived out in the country.
Count Dracula especially lived in as deep a solitude as one could enjoy in England. He lived in a long-abandoned but recently-fixed up castle by the sea, which stood rather far from the nearest village. Vast fields and woods stood between his courtyard and the nearest human settlement, which was exactly how he liked it. Seras rather liked it too, if because it was so beautiful and charming, though she would have liked to see more people. Their one visit into town had wet her apetite for more.
Seras had often heard people talk about London, which she understood to be the most important city in England the same way the Sea King's palace was the most important city for merfolk in the sea.
Normally she would be very curious to see it; but now she just wanted to go home. After the emotional turmoil they all suffered, she just wanted to go back to their charming castle, with her warm comfortable bed, her spacious room, the familiar servants whose faces and voices she knew so well, the beautiful gardens and grounds, and the spray of the sea. She longed for the familarity and comfort of a place she grew to think of as "home" as much as she did the natural splendor.
"You feeling all right, ma cher?" the captain asked.
She nodded.
"Since when has she been your cher, Captain?" the Count asked with some annoyance.
"I meant no offense, sir," he said, "It's just a habit."
"Then let it be a habit you can unlearn," the Count said with finality.
The Captain sighed. "Mais oui."
Seras would not learn for a long time yet that 'ma cher' was a French term of endearment that, in English, pretty much means "my dear." The Count, naturally, did not like hearing another man call his little founding his dear. Seras did not understand at the time though. She thought 'ma cher' meant "little idiot," and was glad the Count told him to stop.
She sighed and looked out the window, saddened by the dismal clouds.
Seras often felt insulted when people asked if she was "fit to travel." Now she really didn't feel up to it. The carriage rattled, and she felt cramped and distressed in the dark, shaking box. Is this how horses felt when they couldn't stand or run? She was also uncomfortable on the firm, upright seat. She shifted uncomfortably for quite a while, then remembered she had a spranged ankle and an injured wrist when she couldn't find a comfortable place to settle them.
The Count had scorned people being "unfit for travel" since it involved "sitting in a carriage," but now Seras was starting to understand it was more than that. Travel boxes, from the smallest carts to the costliest carriages, were cramped, uncomfortable, and in some ways draining. There's just something about laying down in a still, plush couch or bed that cannot be duplicated laying down in a moving carriage seat. Not the least of which because she had to share her seat with the captain while her master got to have a seat all to himself!
And her master's odd behavior didn't help her peace of mind!
Captain Bernadotte had watched her shift and fidget around with some pity. When he saw her wince over her wrist and ankle, he immediately took off his coat and rolled it into a pillow for her to rest her head on, then took his leather duster, which he had taken off on entering the carriage anyway, and draped it over her like a blanket.
"Here," he said not unkindly, "rest your head on this... no, lay down like so, and prop your legs over my lap. It's best you keep your legs elevated. Your ankle will hurt less if you keep it raised. It'll heal faster too."
Only on Captain Bernadotte's insisting did Seras lay down on the seat, with her head propped on his rolled up coat and her legs draped over his lap. He smoothed her skirts and his own coat over them to protect her modesty, and only allowed himself one smile of affection as her eyes closed and her face relaxed for sleep.
His coats smelled much like him; of dust, musk, horses, and tobacco. Heavenly scents to a mermaid that loved the land. It helped lull her into the deepest and calmest sleep she had known in days (until they had to switch carriages, of course).
The Count watched them with a scornful eye, but said nothing.
After what felt like days of traveling, through pleasant lanes and country roads, they came into the great London thoroughfare, on which they traveled steadily, till in the twilight they reached the great city. The gas lamps were already lighted. Out of the carriage window, Seras saw there were streets to the right, and streets to the left, and streets crossing each other, for mile upon mile. Seras thought they would never come to the end of them.
Perhaps it was her depressed state of mind, but the city seemed to be gloomy, smoggy, and rank. Tall buildings of stone and brick surrounded every street. While they were beautifully carved and crafted, to her they seemed menacing and imposing. So many tall buildings crammed together and looming over the edge of every street, like high cliffs over thin rivers.
The air was unbearable. As they drove further into the city, Seras found she could not stand the air they breathed. It was thick, gritty, and sooty. The captain had called London "The City of Fog," but the emmisions from factories and general pollution made Seras think of it as "The City of Smog." Seras immediately started to cough as they drove in the winding streets.
They drove through street after street, turn after turn, by block of buildings after block of buildings.
They finally came to rest before a great stone house, and Captain Bernadotte again held Seras' hand as she descended from the carriage. The great town house looked as dark and Gothic as her master's castle by the sea, and the man himself. But now, in this dark city and her dark frame of mind, this was not a good thing.
Almost as soon as they got inside, her master impatiently barked orders at the servants to get the place ready for habitation. The servants, for their part, where frantic to remove the last of the white cloths draped over the tables and furniture (to protect it from dust while it waits for the nobility to use it again, Captain Bernadotte would explain later), to clear away the worst of the dust, to fling open all the doors and windows to let fresh air in. They had to explain how his sudden arrival meant they could not get proper food for the larder, gas for the lamps or fireplaces for a while yet, or even hire more hands until the next day.
While her master berated them, a single maid came over to help Seras get her bearings. She would have prefered the servants back home that she had grown so fond of, but the girl was very kind and friendly. After helping Seras get to her room (which was still very dusty), change into her sleeping clothes, and lay down in her bed, exhaustion overcame her and she fell alseep.
The next morning, the ruckus from below roused Seras from an uneasy sleep. Back at the castle, sunlight and the sound of singing birds always drew her from a pleasant sleep. Now, as she looked out the window, she saw that no sunlight or happy chirps poured in from the window. Dismal grey from the overcast clouds, thick smog that made her cough, and noise like she never heard were her morning's greetings.
Seras looked down at the street and was surprised by how crowded it was. So many horses, carts, carriages, and people running, pushing, shoving, hustling, walking, and yelling so close together along every street. Like a colony of ants all running every which way after the ant hill is disturbed.
The servants were still hustling to make the house suitable for nobles living in it, and her master was hurrying them. The day seemed to pass in a rushed blur, with her master constantly urging the servants to move and work faster. As the day wore on, he seemed more giddy and excited.
By late afternoon, he announced that they were going out in the evening, and that Seras and Captain Bernadotte were to wear their best clothes. Seras and Pip both looked at him uneasily.
Later that evening, a more finely decorated carriage than Seras had ever seen pulled up and drove them to a beautiful "town house" belonging to the noble they were to visit. Lights poured from every window, and from the high towers sounded a flourish of orchestraic music. Servants in deep colors and glittering hems lined the doorways, antechambers, and hallways through which they passed. Through a great oak door the prettiest light and gayest music emerged.
Once they entered, Seras' eyes were assailed with the most brilliant display of glittering jewels and fine titles than she had ever seen. Within the room, a ball was taking place, with the most marvelous entertainments followed one after another.
Seras was amazed. She had never seen so many humans in such deep colors, glistening silks, glittering hems. From the clothing alone, she had never seen so much silk, ribbons, or bows in all her life. The women's loose curled and upturned hair and fancy hats alone were almost as tall as the men that towered over them. The sparkle of the women's jewelry was only topped by the huge crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.
Those that were not dancing the ballroom dances that Walter taught her were standing around in idle amusement, with delicate glass drinks in their hands; laughing, chatting, and tittering all the while.
Many eyes stopped and turned toward them. Those that recognized who they were went quiet. No doubt they looked rather remarkable. Her master as tall and gloriously handsome as he ever was; with his long wavy black hair, his impeccable black suit, his overcoat slung around his shoulders like a regal cape, and his intricately knotted black cravat. Captain Bernadotte cleaned up nicely too, with his less fancy but non-the-less impressive looking white suit. Seras herself was dressed in the yellow satin ballroom dress her master had bought for this occasion.
She stared with wide eyes, amazed at what she saw.
A fat man with food stains on his expensive suit came to greet her master warmly. She was to understand later he was the host of the party.
"Ah! Count Dracula!" he said with great warmth and cheer, "Such a pleasure to have you join us this evening!"
"Believe me, good sir: the pleasure is all mine," he replied in his lovely baritone.
After all the perfunctory greetings, introductions, and pleasantries were out of the way, the Count asked, "Is she here?"
"Is she? She who...?"
His wife had to whisper something in his ear.
"Oh, no, I'm afraid not. Lady Integra has not yet appeared."
"People say she's being brought up and educated in a religious house, where she's learning every noble virtue," said the host's wife.
"And has grown into a charming young lady, too!" interjected another.
"Her education is finally complete, and her father has brought her to London for the Season," said another.
"She shall be entering society for the first time!" said another.
"Oui, into the marriage market," Pip whispered in Seras' ear.
She looked at him in confusion. He later explained that fancy debutante balls like this were meant to show off beautiful, accomplished, high-born ladies into public places, so they could attract an equally rich, high-born husband.
At last she came. Then Seras Victoria, who was very anxious to see whether she was really beautiful and gracious, was obliged to acknowledge that she had never seen a more perfect vision of beauty or poise. Her skin was a rich earthen hue, her hair was as gold as the sun, and beneath her long eye-lashes her intelligent blue eyes shone with truth and purity. She stood tall and calm, with a quiet confidence that is rare in this world.
And she was the very church girl that had found the Count on the beach!
The sea of sparkling humans hushed and parted like the Red Sea as the Count approached her.
At last, he stood before her. Lady Integra looked up at him evenly. They stared at each other for a long, awkward moment.
The people around the ballroom scarcely breathed.
At last, he sank to his knees and bowed deeply before her.
She looked quite taken aback.
Even so, the Count said in his rich, deep baritone: "My lady, I have searched far and long just for the hope of gaining even a glimpse of your aquaintence. It was you who saved my life as I lay dying on the beach, and thus it is my life that is pledged to yours. How long have I toiled just to be in your presence, and how much longer I will toil still just for a glimpse of your favor. Just agreeing to meet me here today... You could never begin to fathom how much happiness you have brought me."
As he kissed her hand, the little mermaid felt as though her heart might break.
*Highwaymen disappeared from England in the early 1800's, thanks to lit up roads, better patrols, railroads, and a more sophisticated police officer system. The last recorded case was 1831. I'm taking historical liberties here.
**Believe it or not, Jack the Ripper's killing spree actually helped improve conditions in the slums in ways that decades of activitists could not. Contrary to popular belief, the police actually did try as hard as they could to catch the serial killer, but systematic problems in the slums allowed him to strike and disappear. The media attention he got also drew attention to just how bad it was in the East End, leading to long over-due changes.
