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Chapter 14
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Santana P.O.V
12TH April. HMS Titanic, Deck B, Port side
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Pushing open the door of the cabin with such force it banged against the wall behind it, I screamed into the room,
"That infernal harpy!"
Rachel whipped round in fright, clutching a duster to her chest. Bracing herself against the mantle, she squeaked,
"Miss Santana, my heart!"
Upon seeing my expression, she added, full of concern,
"What on earth is the matter?"
Ignoring her, I stormed from room to room, checking to see if we were alone, muttering under my breath in Spanish as I slammed the doors shut in my wake.
"Are you ok?" she inquired, timidly.
Throwing myself on my knees at my vanity, I barked,
"Do I look ok to you?"
Tugging open the small drawers, I began rifling through their contents. Letting out a scream of frustration at being unable to find what I was looking for, I rammed them closed with a bang.
In an attempt to ground myself and calm my swirling thoughts, I gripped the solid edge of the vanity until my knuckles turned white, tipping my head forward and allowing myself to breathe properly.
(What did Quinn think she had seen?)
(Why the invitation?)
(I never meant for this!)
(Brittany will hate me!)
(How could I be so stupid?)
The words bounced around inside my head, repeating themselves, rising into a crescendo where I could no longer distinguish them from one another. In an attempt to drown them out, I bellowed,
"Rachel, where the hell are my God damn cigarettes?"
Lifting my head at the sound of metal upon wood, my silver cigarette case appeared at eye level.
"Ms Oakville told me to get rid of them, so I hid them in your picture box."
I smiled up at Rachel weakly,
"You're a life saver. What would I do without you? "
Taking my arm, gently, she helped me to my feet as she teased,
"You would be up for murder, no doubt. Now tell me what has you running around as if you are about to depose Satan, himself?"
Picking up the small, metal box, I spat,
"Fabray!"
In my temper, my feet carried me out on to the Tudoresque deck. The clasp of the silver case felt alien beneath my fingers as I struggled to pry it open. Removing one of the slender cylinders, I brought it to my lips as I muttered,
"She invited Britt to dinner."
I caught the brief smell of sulphur as Rachel struck a match, holding out the dancing flame before me. Cupping my hand around it, I leant forward.
Inhaling, I continued,
"Not a private dinner either. A full-blown, 'let's show how charitable we are by inviting a pauper to dine with us' type of affair"
"Oh. I see." came the soft reply.
I watched as Rachel began busying herself, pruning the dead, brown leaves from the numerous potted plants placed along the decking. Drumming my fingers against the wooden railing, I stated,
"I think she means to make sport of her."
Continuing her task, the brown-haired woman threw over her shoulder,
"Are you sure?"
Taking a long drag of the sweet tobacco, I replied, darkly,
"What other reason could she possibly have for inviting a member of steerage to a First Class Dinner?"
Turning to face me, Rachel tipped her head to one side,
"What do you propose to do? You can hardly allow a girl as sweet as Brittany to walk into that nest of vipers unprepared?" Approaching me, she added, "They will eat her alive!"
It was as if she read my mind.
Shrugging dejectedly, I murmured,
"I don't know what to do."
Rachel rubbed her hands together, crushing the brittle leaves within them. Holding out her palm over the side of the liner, we watched in silence as the remnants, caught by a gust of wind, fluttered off into the distance.
I stared out across the deep ocean; squinting at the place it met the early evening sky on the horizon.
The sound of knocking resonated through the cabin.
Excusing herself, Rachel disappeared into the room, leaving me to my tempestuous thoughts.
I yearned to tell my closest friend the truth.
To tell her I was drawn to the strange dancer, like a moth to a flame and I was powerless to stop the feelings I harboured towards her.
To tell her I feared that Quinn was somehow aware of my affections, affections that ought to be reserved for my fiancé and that she meant to use them against me.
That the younger Fabray would wait until the opportune moment to voice her suspicions of such a scandal and would have no qualms shredding Britt's and my reputations into tatters.
That I felt the motives behind the invitation was to do just that.
It is what I, myself, would do in her position.
Stubbing the cigarette on the side of the liner, imagining it was Quinn, I flicked the filter between my thumb and forefinger, watching as it tumbled, down to the waves far below, until I could no longer make it out.
"Miss Santana, Miss Fabray is here to see you."
(Speak of the Devil.)
Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to keep calm.
Any slip in my behaviour would surely reveal that which I wished to keep hidden.
Quinn was by no means stupid. She would access every mannerism and word that came from my lips.
Every conversation I had with her, I thought of like a battle.
Our words, the sound of our swords clashing, the ability to control our body language and expressions, our shields.
We would stab and slash at each other, waiting for a grimace or lack of retort to signify the appearance of a chink within our carefully constructed armour, before finally driving the tip of our blade into the others very heart with a well placed quip or scathing witticism.
With so much at stake, I could not afford to lose.
Bracing myself, I turned on my most wining smile as she stepped onto the deck, fighting the urge to cringe at her sickly sweet voice as she gushed,
"Every time I see this view I am astounded and I can see why Richard paid handsomely for it."
An unspoken "It should be mine!" hung in the air.
Keeping my expression fixed, I breezily replied,
"Quinnie, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
Casting her eyes around the promenade, she trilled,
"Does a lady need an excuse to share a beverage with her dearest friend? My Mother and your Aunt are playing bridge with some of the other ladies onboard, I thought I would keep you company. "
For a brief moment, our eyes locked.
(Liar.)
Strolling down the deck, I gestured to the small wicker chairs at the breakfast table,
"Please have a seat."
Seating myself, I continued,
"What would you like? Tea? Something stronger, perhaps?"
The Fabray's were renowned for being unable to hold their liquor. It was well known that Russell became aggressive and opinionated when under the influence and I had heard rumour, that where alcohol was concerned, Quinn was very much his daughter.
I hoped that by helping her become slightly intoxicated it would loosen her tongue a little and make it easier for me to ascertain her true motivations for the invitation and what conclusions she had drawn from seeing Brittany and I dancing together.
Lowering herself, gracefully, into the seat across from me, she replied,
"I think wine shall suffice."
"Any particular vintage?" I queried.
Beaming at me, she peeled her white lace gloves from her delicate hands,
"The best of course!"
Clicking my fingers at Rachel, who hovered at the entrance to the cabin, I demanded,
"You! Put those stumps you call legs to good use and fetch me a bottle of my father's Cava and be quick about it!"
She disappeared into the room. Quinn let out a titter at my insult,
"How on earth do you allow her man hands to handle your dresses? Do you not fear that she shall ruin them?"
Waving my hand, dismissively, I replied,
"She has her uses."
Rachel returned with a silver tray, laden with two tall crystal wine glasses and a small silver bucket containing the bottle. Placing them on the table, she went to reach for the champagne.
"Stop!" I commanded. "I shall do it myself!"
Throwing Quinn an evil smirk, I added,
"Go! I do not wish for your face to turn it sour before it hits the glass!"
Internally, I winced as I watched Rachel's throat bob at my comment.
"Yes Miss Santana." She whispered, dropping herself into a slight curtsy before returning to her position beside the door.
I would make sure to apologise later.
Quinn observed the retreating maid whilst I poured the champagne, filling her wine glass to the brim and pouring myself only half.
She gasped at the sight,
"Santana, this is a wine glass not a flute. It is too much!"
"Don't be silly," I declared, "How else do you suppose I make it through those tedious dinners?"
Crossing my fingers, I waited, as she pondered my offer, turning the glass, this way and that, inspecting the bubbly liquid.
My ruse lacked finesse and subtlety, but I was desperate and had little time.
Settling herself, she crossed one leg over the other before raising the glass to her lips and taking a huge sip. Closing her eyes, she swallowed, letting out a satisfied hum at the taste.
My Father's Cava was known to be potent and not to be trifled with.
Letting out a quiet sigh of relief, I took a tiny sip of my own.
Setting her glass down on the table, she traced her fingers up and down the stem; her hazel eyes shifting briefly to Rachel then back to me. She cleared her throat,
"Santana, I must confess, apart from your delightful company and the generous amounts of wine you provide, I do have an ulterior motive for calling upon you."
(En Garde!)
She continued to toy with her glass, never taking her eyes from me,
"I am concerned with the company that you are choosing to keep, of late."
I blinked, keeping my expression blank as my mind raced.
Since when did Quinn Fabray suddenly care for my reputation? Since the announcement of my engagement, she had spent every waking moment attempting to undermine it.
Feigning ignorance, I parried,
"What ever do you mean?"
"That dim witted girl, Brittany and her negotiable companion, Kurt!"
Arching an eyebrow, I took another small sip to hide my irritation at Quinn's insult of the dancer.
"You can not tell me you haven't noticed?"
I remained silent. Taking another gulp of her wine, she continued,
"A man in steerage does not own clothes that fine unless, he stole them, someone bought them for him or his family fell from grace. I have asked around and the Hummels, nobody has heard of them!"
Lighting a cigarette, I replied tersely,
"So what you're trying to say is, because he takes pride in his appearance, has a liking for finely tailored clothing and just so happens to own one or two pieces, he must be a whore or a villain?"
"What other explanation is there?"
Tipping the ash into the ashtray, I ventured,
"Perhaps he is new money and his ventures up and coming?"
Her eyes flittered between my face and the cigarette. There was a slight crinkle of disapproval at her brow. As quick as it appeared, it was gone.
"If that was the case, then why on earth would he choose steerage? He would prefer to travel Second Class, would he not? He strikes me as the sort of person who enjoys the finer things."
I reproached,
"I do not make it my business to ask the private details of others, Quinnie."
"Maybe you ought to?" she curtly replied.
I quipped,
"Would that not be perceived as the height of bad manners?"
The corners of her pink lips turned up slightly, peering at me over the top of her wine glass, her voice laced with treacle,
"I'm intrigued. How did you come to meet them?"
Refusing to take the bait, I batted back,
"I told you. She is a dance teacher and I wished to learn."
In frustration at being unable to pry anything from me, she snarled, viciously,
"Comes highly recommended does she?"
Smiling at myself, I danced inside, barely one glass down and she was already beginning to lose her composure. I poured her another,
"Like Kurt said, she is quite renowned, so much so, Ms Sylvester wishes to bring her under her employ!"
The small blond shifted in her seat at my admission,
"That may be the case. But did you really have to choose one of her kind?"
Curiosity got the better of me,
"What do you mean one of her kind? A music hall girl?"
Quinn let out a cackle. Leaning forward, she lowered her voice,
"I believe Miss Brittany to be a Sapphite!"
I froze, glass raised, hovering between my lips and the table, giving Quinn a sidelong glance.
Her face, flushed and twisted into a mask of wicked delight, she began to explain,
"A Sapphite is a woman who prefers the exclusive company of women!"
"I know what a Sapphite is!" I snapped.
"With your sheltered up bringing I hardly expected you to know!"
Cold fear had coursed through me at way her eyes had shone and danced as she announced the potentially life threatening revelation.
She enjoyed having that knowledge
The way she had relished saying the word that could cause someone to be incarcerated or worse, committed.
She enjoyed having that power.
I had caught a brief glimpse of it!
It sickened me to my stomach.
I traced the pattern etched into the crystal, keeping the waver from my voice,
"That is quite an accusation! What makes you think such a thing?"
She sighed, girlishly,
"Oh you know, her mannerisms, her choice of clothing."
Her eyes narrowed as her tone became suddenly harsh
"The way she held you!"
Spinning the glass in my hand, I deflected,
"That is simply her style of teaching!"
Slamming both her hands on the table, she rose slightly out of her seat as she hissed,
"Santana! Do not be so naive! She is sweet on you! The pet names, the touches, she is all too familiar with you! What on earth do you think Richard and your Aunt shall make of this?"
At the mention of my Aunt and fiancé, the hairs at the nape of my neck stood on end, I growled,
"Nothing, because you are sorely mistaken! And if you truly thought such things, then why on earth did you invite her to dine with us?"
Seating herself back down, a devious smirk played across her lips as she idly wiggled her fingers in the wake of the distorted rays of light cast by her glass,
"I think it would be rather entertaining, don't you?" I hardly imagine that she shall know how to conduct herself in polite company."
"How can you be so heartless?" I breathed.
Giggling, she teased,
"Santana, the way you're defending her anyone would think that you have feelings for her."
I nearly choked on my wine at her words. Fighting back the rising panic, I stuttered,
"N n no! Like I said, I think that you are wrong. I simply do not believe in being unnecessarily cruel!
"Santana, are you becoming soft in your old age? If I recall correctly you used to love torturing the help!"
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rachel stiffen.
Quinn watched me from beneath her light lashes, gauging my reaction as she added, playfully,
"You are more than welcome to un invite her if you feel she shall be uncomfortable in our company."
Quinn Fabray knew exactly what she was doing.
She had me trapped.
If I were to un invite Brittany, it would look like I had something to hide and confirm Quinn's suspicions, not to mention that I would be adding insult to the previous injury of shouting at the dancer and flinching from her touch, causing her to think that I was ashamed of our acquaintance, when I was anything but.
However, if I allowed her to attend, I would be opening her up to ridicule. I would be unable to protect her, openly, without running the risk of exposing us both, unless….
Taking my thoughtful silence as indecision, she cajoled,
"Come on Santana, it will be like the old days!"
The old days!
The summer I turned eleven, my Aunt, insisting that I needed to be around girls my own age and station, had invited the Fabray's to stay with us. She had assured my father that it would be best for me and that Mr Fabray would make a valuable business associate.
One particular scorching day, much to Quinn and My chagrin, we had been made attend our lessons instead of being allowed to wile away our day by the lake.
Quinn came up with a plan that, she assured me, would give us the freedom to pursue our own activities. Sticky, irritable and wanting nothing more than to plunge myself beneath the cool waters, I had listened.
It entailed slipping one of my mother's earrings into the unfortunate tutor's belongings.
Wishing to impress the seemingly sophisticated and mature girl, even though I knew it was wrong, I had followed her instruction, kicking up a fuss, saying I had noticed it was missing.
My Aunt had demanded that every member of staff's quarters and belongings be searched.
Upon finding the earring, the tutor began to protest her innocence, my Aunt paid no attention, firing her and telling her, she was to be escorted from hacienda as soon as she was packed.
As the French woman sobbed, she had nowhere else to go; my Father's eyes never left me. Eventually the woman's distress became too much. Wracked with guilt I ran to my father, tearfully confessing.
Quinn sat innocently wide-eyed, claiming it was all my idea. Both Judy and my Aunt believed that I had attempted to lead her astray. Russell passed it off as a wild spirited prank, commending me for being so resourceful in wanting to achieve my goal.
My father, on the other hand, was furious.
He sent me to my room, without lunch or dinner. Waking me in the morning, he had asked if I was hungry.
I had been ravenous.
He gave me a stern lecture, explaining the consequences of my actions, that by doing what I had done I could of caused the tutor to lose her livelihood completely, and that feeling of hunger I had, would be ten times worse for her as she would be facing it every day.
As further punishment, he forced me to endure the humiliation that Quinn and I had inflicted upon the tutor by making me admit what I had done and apologise to her in front of the whole serving staff. He then banned me from the stables for a month.
However, he did allow me to go to the lake for being brave and confessing.
He was the only one who believed I was not the instigator and told me that he thought Rachel was a much better influence and as a companion, she would do just fine.
After the incident, the Fabray's didn't stay long and needless to say they were never invited back and from then on my father choose to conduct business with Mr Fabray else where.
I had no wish to be a part of any of Quinn's nefarious plans, especially where Brittany was concerned.
Nonchalantly I took a sip of my wine,
"Don't be absurd, I think Brittany is more than capable of spending an evening in our company."
Quinn blinked at me in surprise, the smile on her lips, faltering.
(Not expecting that where we?)
(Lopez 1 – Fabray 0)
The lights on the decking flickered to life.
"It grows late," Quinn mused, knocking back the rest of her champagne, "I must get ready for dinner."
She rose to leave, pausing, she observed me, glassy eyed,
"What do you suppose she shall wear?"
I shrugged, hoping she would take it as indifference.
She grinned at me like a crocodile,
"I guess we have something to look forward to then."
I nodded in agreement,
"I guess we do."
Throwing back her head, she laughed,
"This should be fun. Thank you for the wine. "
Swaying slightly as she made her way to the door of the cabin, she called,
"I'll see you at dinner Lopez!"
Once she was gone, I downed my champagne and re lit my cigarette.
I knew what I had to do.
I had to warn Brittany.
"Rachel? What is Sue Sylvester's cabin number?"
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Brittany P.O.V
Deck B, Starboard.
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Following Jones along the brightly lit corridors, I marvelled at the difference between the narrow, sparsely decorated and packed passages Kurt, Puck and I frequented and the wide airy hallways of the Upper Class deck.
The walls were painted in eggshell and were warm to the touch. The lavish carpet, under foot, felt soft, cushioning our steps as we padded along.
The solid looking, deep brown doors were fewer and spaced further apart. From each one hung brass numbers and the ornate doorknobs shone.
"Come!" Jones chided, "It does not do to keep my Mistress waiting!"
I was surprised at the speed with which the curvaceous maid moved. Skipping to keep up, I whispered, loudly,
"What do you think she wants with me?"
"I don't know Brittany. I gave up trying to make either head or tail of her a long time ago. Personally, I think she's as mad as a bag of cats!"
Catching up with her, I replied,
"Well if I put Lord Tubbington into a bag full of cats, he would be mad too. He probably wouldn't talk to me for a week."
Her steps faltered. She seemed to contemplate my answer before giving a slight shake of her head and pressing on.
As we continued, we passed small pockets of people, in groups of twos and threes, dressed in very expensive outfits. I could not help but think how much Kurt would enjoy being here, commenting on all the clothes.
One woman with a squashed faced dog with huge, brown, runny eyes, crinkled her nose with disgust as we passed.
"Cute dog!" I quipped.
Tugging on his leash, she recoiled, flouncing down the hallway with her nose in the air.
Other passengers hushed or stopped their conversations all together as we approached, observing us with either curiosity or disdain.
Jones did not seem to notice.
I was used to being stared at, but this felt different. I felt like a fly about to be swatted.
It set me on edge.
"Jones, they are staring. I don't like it!"
"Pay no mind to them; you have every right to be here. You were invited."
Was this what it was like for Santana? Living in a goldfish bowl!
On the other hand, maybe, Santana, was the same as these people, judging me, but too polite to say.
She had recoiled from my touch once her First Class friends had appeared. I had despaired at the sight of her shrinking into herself, remaining silent, as her friends had seemed more than pleased to make our acquaintance.
I had not expected her to tell them of my companions, and I after what she had shared with me, but her coldness and withdrawal had stung, none the less.
I could not shake the feeling that she had been embarrassed and ashamed of us.
Had Kurt been right all along?
Despite Santana's previous warning of Quinn, I found the dainty blond to be welcoming and cordial.
Whilst Santana's beauty was wild, sensual and mischievous and set my heart hammering, Quinn's was one of dignity, poise and refinement.
"Jones," I ventured, "What do you know of Quinn Fabray?"
She stopped abruptly, her eyes furtively looking up and down the corridor, like a mouse expecting Lord Tubbington to appear, she whispered,
"It is not my place to say."
I was confused,
"I don't understand. You talk about your Mistress all the time."
"That's different!" She snapped.
"Why?"
She rolled her eyes in exasperation,
"Brittany, I do not have time to explain."
She tutted under breath, attempting to smooth my hair and swatting at my clothes.
"Listen carefully. When you meet my Mistress, do not speak unless spoken to. Sue has one hell of a temper."
Beginning to panic, I stuttered,
"I, I shouldn't be here!"
I turned to flee.
A strong hand gripped my collar, dragging me towards one of the doors.
"Brittany Pierce! Pull yourself together this minute!" Jones scolded. "You are more than capable of throwing yourself around a stage for all to see."
I tried not to go crossed eyed as I focused on the finger she waved in my face.
"And that's what you are going to do! You are going to go in there and you are going to think of my Mistress as nothing more than a member of the audience you are trying to impress! Is that clear?"
Seeing the stern expression on the shorter woman's face, I mumbled,
"Give me a minute."
"Hurry on. I have better things to be doing than chaperoning your sorry behind about the place."
Closing my eyes, I swallowed a huge gulp of air.
"Are you ready?"
I nodded, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth,
Taking my arm, she gave it a reassuring squeeze,
"Do as you're told and you will do just fine."
Turning the handle, she pushed the heavy door open, ushering me inside. A blast of dry heat hit me. Jones guided me into the room.
"Stay there!" She demanded, "Don't touch anything!" after a few moments, she added, "In fact, don't even move!"
She shuffled off, disappearing through a door on my left, leaving me alone.
Wringing my hands together to calm my nerves, I took in my surroundings.
I had never been inside a stately home but it was how I imagined them to be. The room was vast, bigger than any living quarters I had ever seen. It was at least ten times the size of my own.
In the far wall a fire roared, surrounded by a dark mantelpiece, decorated with pretty shells. Set atop was a small ticking clock. Above it hung a large mirror, reflecting the room back into itself, making it seem larger still.
Over in the corner stood a light brown table, littered with sheets of paper and books and flanked either side by comfortable looking armchairs.
The walls were a deep crimson, bare save for the brass light fixtures that swept towards the ceiling, that cast dim shadows into the room.. There was another door to my right, firmly closed.
The only sounds to keep me company were the crackle of the fire and the ticking of the clock.
Muffled conversation drifted towards me from the door that Jones had disappeared through. My stomach churned. Pulling at the thread of my jacket, I began to worm my toes into the green and gold pattern of the carpet. I jumped as a voice barked,
"Pierce! About time!"
Before me stood a thin woman with short blond hair set in waves, scowling, hands on her hips and feet set wide apart. The sleeves of her crisp white shirt rolled up past her elbows; her red wide bottomed trousers reminded me of clown pants. In her presence, I suddenly became aware of my shabby appearance.
Matching her gaze as she stalked towards me, I fought the urge to avert my eyes. She smirked like Lord Tubbington when he got into the cream.
"Fear and Terror. Very good. That's what I like to see!"
Behind her Jones rolled her eyes, placing a small tea set on the table before disappearing back the way she came.
Curiosity made me bold.
"How do you know who I am?"
"Miss Pierce, I make it my business to know everything about my potential employees. Information is currency. That and intimidation are all the weapons one needs. Master that and you can rule the world." She looked me up and down, adding "Something, I'm sure, you will never have any understanding of!"
"Potential employee?" I queried, "What do you want with me? I'm just a dancer!"
She scoffed,
"Is your head full of sand?"
I returned her look, blankly.
She continued,
"Do you not know who I am?"
"You're Jones' boss?" I ventured.
A look of sheer disbelief crossed her lined features.
"That and more besides. I am Sue Sylvester!"
Beckoning me to step further into the room, she demanded,
"Come here, let's have a look at you!"
My eyes darted between Sue and Jones, who hovered in the doorway, cups in hand.
Snapping her fingers at me, Sue roared,
"Come on! Chop, Chop. I haven't got all day!"
Settling the tremble in my hands, I propelled myself forward. Looming, she began to circle me. I turned to face her. Taking my shoulders in a vice like grip, she cursed,
"Stand still God damnit!"
I froze, rooted to the spot.
Circling me once more, she flicked my jacket at intervals, uming and ahhing to herself as her piercing blue eyes roved over me.
Sweat began to prickle at my back and my throat became dry. I did not know if it was nerves or from the stifling heat of the room. The tinkle of china and spoons could be heard as Jones began to pour the tea.
"Take it off!"
My eyes went wide. Madame Carmellota had warned me that the Upper Classes had strange tastes when it came to certain things. Had I unknowingly walked into one of those strange situations? I stammered,
"W,w, what?"
The tall woman sneered,
"Are you deaf as well as dumb? Your jacket, take it off!"
I looked at Jones who inclined her head in encouragement. Quickly I rid myself of the garment.
The intimidating blond turned back the sleeves of Kurt's shirt, turning my wrists this way and that, sweeping up to feel my upper arms. Then her fingers began to press firmly against my ribs and the muscles of my back
I stifled a giggle. She fixed me with a stern stare.
"What?" I rasped, "It tickles!"
Holding my squirms to a minimum, she continued to inspect me, running her hands down the out side of my thighs and my calves, muttering under her breath, 'not bad'. Satisfied, she stood up.
"Sit!" She commanded.
My legs buckled, depositing me on to a nearby lounge chair. Perching on the edge, I began to twist my jacket in my hands.
"Jones, give her some tea before she chokes on her own tongue."
Sue settled herself on one of the armchairs at the table, one leg over the other. She rested her elbows on the armrests, her left hand obscuring the bottom half of her face, never taking her eyes from me.
Jones handed me a small white cup and saucer. I thanked her. She replied with a curt nod before setting about making Sue a cup.
"Sugar Mistress?"
Sue waved her away,
"Just the tea, Jones."
Moving my jacket across my lap, I sipped on the sweet brown liquid as Jones handed a similar cup and saucer to the strange woman.
"Where's the bushy midget?"
With a shake of her head, Jones replied, softly,
"I do not know Mistress"
"What is the point of a husband if he does not do what he is told? A chimpanzee would do a much better job. Remind me again, why I can't fire him?"
"You can, Mistress, but it's called divorce."
Sue muttered, darkly, scowling into her tea.
"Stupid law! When we get to America I am going to have some serious words with members of Congress"
I was lost and it was still unclear as to why I had been brought here.
Working up the courage, I asked, timidly,
"Ms Sylvester, your room is really pretty and it's really nice of you to give me tea but I still don't know why you asked me to come."
She whipped her head in my direction. For a brief second she looked surprised to see me there, it was as if she had forgotten.
"I brought you here to ask you some questions."
I mumbled into my cup as I went to take a sip,
"I thought you knew everything?"
"Miss Pierce, I find it prudent to double check and air on the side of caution."
I returned her stare,
"Let me explain it in a way that peanut you call a brain can comprehend. I am a talent scout!"
I sat to attention, listening intently as she continued,
"I saw your display earlier. If a little mediocre, your routine intrigued me none the less." Her fingers began to sift through the papers before her. "Jones tells me you plan on the Moving Pictures. What makes you think you're good enough?"
"Well I'm here aren't I?" I challenged.
She cackled,
"You have moxy. I like it!"
Taking a sip of her tea and placing it back on the saucer, she asked
"How long would it take you to teach a troupe of lets say, "She paused, deep in thought, "30, one routine?"
I mulled it over,
"If they are professionals and its one of my own routines, not too complicated… I would say. Stagger the groups, maybe over a month."
"How would accomplish that?"
"First I would split them into groups, because smaller groups make it easier to spot if people are struggling, then when they had it down I would merge them together. Sort of like I did on the deck"
I caught the hint of a smile and I knew, somehow, I had managed to impress her.
"Miss Pierce. I was beginning to think that you were a huge waste of my time."
I flushed with pride at her odd back handed compliment.
Sharply she fired off a question,
"Your Father?"
"Daniel Pierce, Top Banana comedian." I replied.
"Mother?"
"Eloise, ballerina."
She steepled her fingers,
"No doubt, her career ended when she gave birth to you. I find motherhood gets in the way and is better suited for the weak and the brainless, so if you are intending to start a family any time soon I suggest you leave my cabin."
I shook my head fervently,
"No Ms Sylvester. The stage is all I know; when my parents passed, it became my home."
She raised her eyebrow at me.
"You're a music hall brat?"
Shifting in my seat, I nodded.
"As my pathetic excuse of a husband isn't here we shall continue this discussion tomorrow evening."
"I cant, I have plans." I replied.
Glaring at me, she exclaimed,
"What is more important than me?"
"I have been invited to dinner by Miss Fabray."
Narrowing her steely eyes, her brow furrowed,
"Quinn Fabray? Surely not?"
Tight lipped, she continued to observe me. I felt the need to explain myself so she would not think I was lying,
"She wants to hear of my travels."
"I'm sure she does. What do you plan to wear?"
Finishing my tea, I rested the saucer and the cup upon my lap. I had not put any thought as to what I might wear. Santana always looked like royalty attending a ball. Embarrassed, I mumbled,
"I have a dress."
Sue snorted,
"Rags, no doubt."
My cheeks burned as I thought about my old blue dress that I had left in the laundry that morning. It would pale in comparison to the finery I had seen Santana and Quinn wear, but at least it would be clean.
Pulling out a piece of paper, Sue dipped her pen into an ink well and began to write.
"11:30 tomorrow morning you shall be clean and presentable, wearing the dish cloth you call a dress. You shall meet my husband outside this door. If you are uncomfortable being alone with a gentleman, you are more than welcome to bring that woodland creature I have seen you frolicking about with." She looked at Jones for confirmation, "Kurt is it?"
The maid nodded.
There was a loud bang, which caused me to flinch and nearly drop my teacup, as she rammed a stamp onto the paper. Folding it, she held it out at arms length.
"Here, take this. If anyone stops you on your way back to whatever rock you inhabit, show them this. That also goes for in the morning. Don't lose it!"
Getting up, I handed my cup to Jones. Making my way to the table, I reached out for the paper. Sue snatched it back,
"Do not take this as definite employment. We have much to discuss and I am sure I will find something about you that shall disappoint me. I work with the best and I demand perfection. This, today, was just a formality."
Gingerly I took the piece of paper from her grasp. She let go reluctantly, her cold eyes boring into mine. Gently, I folded it into quarters, slipping it into my jacket pocket.
"Scarecrow, do not be late." She warned, "Call this a trial run. I want to see if you can follow simple instructions. Is that clear?"
I nodded.
"Now leave, your very presence is offending my eyes."
I threw Jones a wink before hurriedly exiting the sweltering room.
X
Once outside, I leant against the cool wall, pulling out the sacred letter.
It was all so surreal.
Unable to contain my excitement, I whooped, jumping in the air, kicking my heels together.
Up ahead a group of women scowled at me but I did not care.
I was one-step closer to my dream
If I played my cards right, and the odd woman and her husband were in the industry of the Moving Pictures as they claimed to be, I could very well find myself in my dream job.
If I gained definite employment, then I could dress properly and Santana would not be embarrassed of me
If she knew I was making money and maybe one day would be able to buy her things she was accustomed to, then maybe she would say yes when I drummed up the courage to ask her to consider joining me.
You could make it big in the Moving Pictures.
At first, I would not earn much, well not the amount she was used to living on, but enough that we would be able to get a small set of rooms until we had enough for a place of our own.
The more pictures I worked on, the more people would see my work and know who I was and the more I would earn. I imagined being able to one-day buy her pretty dresses and taking her to fine restaurants.
A firm grip on my upper arm, tugging me, gently, into one of the smaller passageways, brought me from my daydreams.
"Santana?" I gasped in surprise, "What are you doing here?"
"I need to talk to you." Her face became serious, "It's important."
Slipping her smaller hand into mine, she continued to lead me down the narrow passageway, trailing her fingers along the wall, her lips moving silently, as if speaking to herself.
Suddenly she came to an abrupt halt at a narrow white door. Bending over she obscured my view of what she was doing. I heard a slight click and the door before us sprang open.
Taking one last quick glance up and down the corridor, she ushered me inside, closing the door firmly behind her.
Overhead a single bulb illuminated the small space, either side of us were shelves full to the brim of white sheets. In one of the corners rested a mop and bucket.
"How did you find this place?"
She replied, matter a factly,
"Rachel. It makes it easier for the servants so they don't have to run up and down the decks and offending the rest of the passengers."
I bit my bottom lip, fighting back the tears.
Only a few moments ago I had been happily imagining what it would be like to have Santana by my side in California, as my equal and my lover. And now, here we were, hiding away in a linen cupboard that smelt of starch and soap flakes.
She turned to look at me,
"What are you thinking, my love?"
I sniffled,
"Don't call me that."
Cupping my cheeks in her small, soft hands, she lifted my head to meet her deep brown eyes, full of concern.
The over whelming realisation that my daydreams, were just that and she would never choose me, came crashing down around me. My vision began to blur as I lost the battle and my tears began to flow freely.
She queried, full of worry,
"Brittany, what is wrong?"
Taking hold of her wrists, I removed her hands. I wanted nothing more than to relax into her touch but I needed to know. I needed to know in order to put an end to the wretched feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Taking a step back, I created as much space between us as possible. I could not concentrate with her so close, with her big brown eyes and luscious lips that begged to be kissed.
My breath hitched. With trepidation I asked,
"Do you not wish to be seen with a member of steerage?"
Her brow pinched together and the corners of her mouth turned down as she shook her head,
"Oh no Britt, why would you think that?"
Wiping away the tears with the sleeve of my jacket, I husked,
"The way you were with me earlier," I gestured to our surroundings, "We are hiding in a closet!"
"Britt! I am trying to protect you!" She exclaimed.
"From what?" I yelled.
She began to pick at her nails,
"There are people out there that won't understand, people who mean to cause us harm!"
"Like who?" I demanded, angrily.
She chewed the inside of her cheek before she replied, calmly,
"Quinn, for one."
"I don't understand. If she is so horrible, why would she invite me to dinner?"
Santana's exquisite features became dark and brooding as she struggled with herself. Slumping back against the shelves, she sighed,
"She invited you in order to make fun of you, Brittany! She told me so herself less than half an hour ago. It's why I came to find you."
Kurt was right; they did play with people's lives. It made no sense to me, playing with people and their feelings.
"Sweetheart. Please understand. I am not ashamed of you!"
Her chocolate voice became sour, like curdled cream,
"I am ashamed of them and how they will behave towards you! I am ashamed of myself, of how I shall have to act in their company. It is something I never wished for you to witness."
Bowing her head, she added, quietly,
"I am afraid it will make you think less of me!"
"I could never think less of you." I reassured.
Snapping her head up, she implored.
"How can you say that? You have no idea of the person I become when I'm around them!"
I had no answer for her. Deep down, I just knew. Just as I knew the first time we met, that she was different, that she was special. Instead, I replied,
"Your friends seemed so nice."
Her eyes narrowed as she scoffed,
". Sam, yes! Amelie, maybe. But Quinn, most certainly not! Appearances can be deceiving! "
Huffing out a huge breathe, she began to explain.
"Do you remember what I told you about Quinn?"
I nodded.
"I meant what I said. She is not a nice person. When she gets bored, she likes to entertain herself, her favourite game being other people. And the hundreds of delicious ways she can hurt them"
Tugging at my now damp sleeve, I mumbled,
"I will not come if you don't want me to?"
"No!" She shouted out, desperately, "It will only confirm her suspicions."
"What suspicions?"
Hesitantly, she answered,
"She saw us dancing and she thinks I harbour affections towards you."
My heart stopped.
Images from my previous imaginings raced across my mind. Did Santana return my feelings? Was there a small chance that she might leave with me?
"Do you?" I asked, cautiously
I held my breath, watching her every move for some sort of confirmation.
She began to pluck nervously at her dress in the heavy, pregnant, silence. Reaching for her across the cavernous distance between us in the small room, I entwined our fingers,
"Princess?"
Looking at me shyly through her long, dark lashes, she whispered so I had to strain to hear her,
"Yes!"
She hesitantly, continued,
"I know it sounds crazy, we barely know each other but you make me feel things I never thought I could feel! Things I don't quite understand."
Taking our entwined hands, she pressed mine to the silky, warm, caramel skin above her breast, keeping it clasped there within her own.
I could feel the quick, steady, thrum of her heartbeat beneath my fingertips.
"All I know is, when I'm around you, this is what happens. My heart tries to escape from my chest to get to you. When I see you, it's like I have a thousand butterflies in my stomach, all begging for release!"
Pausing, she closed the distance between us, wrapping her fingers of her left hand round the back of my neck, bringing our foreheads to rest against one another.
"I have told you more about myself in the last few days than I have ever told anyone in my life… When I'm with you, I can be myself and you make me feel like I can do anything!"
Her words rolled over me. This close I could make out every detail upon her tanned skin.
The tiny white scar beneath her, perfectly plucked, left eyebrow. How a few wisps of hair at her right temple were a shade lighter than the rest of her raven locks. How the deep horizontal groove in her plump bottom lip aligned perfectly with the bow of her top one.
The aroma of lavender and the hint of tobacco, mingling with the smell of fresh linen, surrounded me.
All these small thing made up Santana, the girl I was in love with.
Committing it all to memory, my head buzzed with her own revelation.
"Please!" She begged, "Tell me you feel it too?"
Goosebumps appeared on my flesh as her thumb lightly grazed the skin behind my ear. Nudging her nose with mine, I breathed,
"I do!"
A small smile of relief appeared before me.
Snaking my right arm around her waist, I pulled her closer, catching her bottom lip, gently, between my own. She let out a quiet moan as I grazed it lightly with my teeth. Parting her luscious lips, she allowed her tongue to slip past them and meet mine.
I deepened our kiss, dancing our tongues together, enjoying the way she clenched my hand at her chest and her heart quickened beneath my fingertips.
Roughly, she pushed me further back into the shelves. Pressing herself against me, she slid her leg between my thighs, as far as her skirts would allow, causing me to throb.
Bearing down on her strong thigh, I let out a small whimper into her mouth as the pressure of our contact caused tingles of pleasure to shoot through me.
Breaking the kiss, we gasped for air, our chests heaving. She was so beautiful. Her eyes were huge and dark. They flittered, back and forth, searching me. Letting go of her hand at her chest, I held her in a close embrace, wanting to be as close to her as possible. I continued to keep her leg trapped, by pinching my thighs together.
She trembled in my arms.
I started trailing small butterfly kisses along her jaw line as she hurriedly began tugging at the fabric of Kurt's shirt. Pulling it free from my trousers, she quickly slid her hands beneath the material.
With her left hand, she lightly trailed the contours of my ribs whilst her right snaked round my waist, resting at the small of my back. Every feather light touch caused my skin to burn, like a furnace.
Gently I grazed my teeth at the small patch of skin just behind her left ear. Her hip bucked against my core and her nails scraped my lower back as she sighed,
"Mios Dios!"
"Did you like that Princess?" I murmured mischievously against her sweet tasting skin.
She hummed in agreement.
I continued my assault, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses, down along her neck.
"If you liked that, you will like this."
Slipping my right hand down from its nesting place at her back, I cheekily squeezed her backside. She squealed in shock and delight,
"Britt!"
I feigned innocence,
"What? I cannot help it! It is like peach! Its just there!"
I squeezed it again. She bucked, giggling.
"See! Like a peach!"
Her cheeks flushed crimson as she ventured,
"Peaches are hairy, are they not?"
"Are you saying you have a hairy arse, Miss Lopez?" I quipped.
Her eyes flew open wide in mock shock as she swatted at me playfully.
"Brittany Pierce, I most certainly do not have a hairy, as you call it, arse!"
"I would very much like to see that for myself." I boldly replied.
"Really?" She asked, bashfully.
I nodded, admitting,
"I want to kiss every part of you."
She lazily stroked patterns into my skin, contemplating my words.
"What about.." She paused, impishly "My toes?"
"Yes, definatly your toes,"
"But what if they are ugly?"
"If they are yours, they shall be perfect."
A small smirk played at the corners of her lips as she arched an eyebrow. Tipping her head coquettishly, she challenged,
"What about my armpits?"
Grinning at her, I began to pepper her face with soft kisses,
"Especially your armpits!"
"Eww!" She squealed, "That is disgusting! They will smell and be sweaty!"
Shrugging, I replied,
"What can I say? I like armpits."
Crinkling her small nose, she let out a huge laugh, showing her dimples.
That laugh and those dimples made me weak at the knees and caused my tummy to do somersaults. I placed a kiss into the crease of each one and another on the tip of her nose.
A key began to rattle in the door.
My heart leapt into my throat and she stiffened in my arms at the sound. My eyes swivelled in slow motion towards it.
What would some one say if they found us in here?
Immediately both our hands, closest to the door, flew from their previous nesting places to reach for the handle.
Mine grasped it first. Her hand over mine, we gripped it from underneath, keeping the door closed, holding on for dear life.
Somebody began to attempt to shove down the handle. Pulling each other closer, we both leaned back, using our combined weight to keep it firmly shut.
We could hear a muffled English accent from the other side as the handle continued to move ever so slightly and once more a key rattled in the key hole.
Catching Santana's expression of strain, I crossed my eyes and stuck out my tongue. She sucked in her lips and her eyes began to water as she attempted to stop her giggles.
"Stop!" She hissed.
Not to be shook from the hilarity of the situation and the thrill of being caught red handed, I stage whispered,
"Occupied!"
Sinking into me, she spluttered and shook as she struggled to contain her laughter. Just as she was about to lose control of herself, I leant down, kissing her hard, swallowing her guffaws.
We both jumped at the loud bang upon the door as some one cursed,
"Bloody thing!"
The pressure from the handle disappeared. We both exhaled a sigh of relief.
"You're crazy!" She breathed against my lips.
"I know. But you love it!" I murmured back.
Letting go of the handle, she re tucked Kurt's shirt back into my trousers. I relished her every movement, never breaking eye contact. Grinning at me, full of devilment, she teased,
"We can not have you walking around looking like that. People might think that you have been partaking in activities unbecoming a lady."
Fixing herself, she turned to me,
"How do I look?"
"Beautiful as ever."
Slipping her hand into mine, she went to leave. Suddenly she stopped, her brow furrowed in the most adorable way as she became thoughtful.
"What did Sue want with you?"
I wanted to tell Santana everything. I wanted there to be no secrets between us, but I remembered Ms Sylvester's warning. Taking the piece of paper from my pocket, I handed it to her,
"She wanted to talk about my dancing and my plans when we dock."
Unfolding it, she began to read. Suddenly she rushed forward, engulfing me in an excited, bone-crushing hug. I felt her mumble into my chest,
"Oh my God Britt, that's amazing!"
"It was just a talk." I wheezed.
Untangling herself, she waved the piece of paper for emphasis,
"Britt, this could be our golden ticket!"
'Our golden ticket?'
Had I heard her correctly?
I was about to ask when she refolded it, handing it back to me. She winced as I stuffed it back into my pocket. She suddenly became serious,
"Britt, promise me that, during this dinner, no matter what I say or do, you will not doubt how I feel about you?"
"I wont!" I assured her.
She held out her pinkie,
"Promise?"
I linked hers with mine,
"I promise!"
Squeezing my pinkie, she reached up, kissing me hard, until the air disappeared from my lungs, before cautiously opening the door and poking out her head.
I felt like the famous cat burglars I had heard of in Paris, creeping around under the safety of darkness, wondering what precious jewels I could obtain.
Nodding at me that the coast was clear, she pulled me out into the small passageway. Immediately the cool change in the air hit me. She turned to me with a strange glint in her eyes and her tone I did not recognise,
"There are things I need to do, things I need to figure out." She patted my pocket, becoming stern," What ever you do, do not lose that paper and do not be late for Ms Sylvester!"
I frowned in confusion at her change in behaviour. Why was Ms Sylvester all at once so important?
"I may not be able to see you before the dinner, but remember sweet Britt-Britt, I shall be thinking of you."
I brought her hand to my lips, kissing her knuckles. Reluctantly, she let go, motioning behind her.
"I must go this way."
I watched as she made her way down the passageway, blowing me a seductive kiss before she rounded the corner.
I stood with a goofy smile plastered across my face, reeling from the roller coaster of emotions I had experienced in such a short space of time.
Today had not gone as I had expected.
In fact, it had some how, against all odds, worked out better.
X
X
X
Faithful readers and new comers alike. Apologies it took so long to update. Moving house, birthday and what not.. How ever, I did get some fantastic new research material in a number of books given as birthday presents so I was trawling through them
Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed the new chapter. Feel free to review as I always enjoy hearing from you and what you have to say in order to improve.
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