Still marveling at the world that Toby Whithouse created; still in awe of the gift that is the incredibly complex and infuriating Hal. Still pining for more.
Anyone still reading, feel free (please, please, pretty please) to drop me a note - Like it, hate it, when is it going to end... Reviews are love, and I could use some as I enter some uncertain waters. I see views in the stats, but its nice to have some human (or supernatural) input.
Mood music is the Glee version of "No Air" by Jordin Sparks
Many thanks to Saemay and TJ4ev.
I own nothing. All mistakes are my own.
Ch 21. Ultimatum
The human body can be extraordinarily simple to read. It gives up its secrets, even to human senses, provided one is actively observant.
The girl shows the signs: her soft curves ripening into more lush proportions, increased luminosity of her skin and hair, veins standing out prominently as they flush with extra blood. He should have noticed much sooner. But Hal had been very careful to remain detached from the staff, even through the intervening years, careful to never allow his gaze to settle upon her unnecessarily - to study her. And so, it was the impossibly-fast thrum, faintly underlying her quickened heartbeat, that had first caught his attention a fortnight past. It haunted him during his waking hours; it followed him into his dreams.
It is that thrum that causes him to pause in the hallway now, to peer through the crack of the door at the maid as she busies herself with the task of making the bed. An average girl with light brown hair, eyes of the same colour set too close in a round face. She lacks the striking contrasts and the delicate, aristocratic features of his wife, but some would find her pretty enough. Hal's always had a weakness for pretty girls.
Unaware of her observer, she straightens and arches her back, stretching her head upwards and exposing her vulnerable neck; temptation beckoning.
Under normal circumstances Hal is adept at concentrating on disregarding heartbeats, but this is an unfamiliar intrusion, the interweaving echo calling to him. Like the ticking of a clock, or a metronome, once one focuses on its rhythm, the sound grows in strength, becomes hypnotic, entrancing. Hal's entire world contracts to its symphony.
He is only vaguely aware of his own heart rate increasing, of his lips parting to accommodate the pressure building in his fangs, of his mouth watering involuntarily and his stomach clenching in anticipation. This should all be cause for worry, but Hal's faculties, blanketed by the siren call, yield to primal urge. A flutter of sound tries to penetrate the haze of bloodlust, a caution tries to register, but he is too fixed. In the blink of an eye, reality scorches brighter; he is powerless to look away from the veins tracing overwhelming patterns on her neck and shoulders. Fangs dropping, he eases the door open and takes a step forward.
"Hal!"
Mundane sound rushes back with acute clarity and he blinks, his fangs retracting reflexively as reason returns. Across the room, the maid, now aware of his presence, pulls her shawl tight around herself, eyes wide with the realization of his stalking. From down the hall behind him, Sylvie accuses, "I know what you are doing Hal. You can't resist, can you?"
Ashamed, Hal swallows and squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to compose his control.
"Is there something you require, Lord Hal?" He opens his eyes to find the maid had come to him. Unwittingly, his gaze strays to her neck. So close. He can see the rush of rich blood traversing up her carotid artery. His lip trembles as his mouth waters again.
Behind him, Sylvie laughs. "Beth, I do believe Lord Hal is checking the progress of your cleaning. Later, I will find him running his fingers on the furniture. We should simply give him your rags and polishing oil and let him at it."
Hal huffs with relief, using her misunderstanding as he turns towards her. "I will not apologize for having standards." He attempts a reassuring smile.
She wears a teasing grin, but it begins to falter. "Is something amiss?"
He had been avoiding her, hiding the strain - loathed to spoil her celebratory mood at the impending visit from her friends. He'd convinced himself he could manage, but this episode confirmed that he could put the news off no longer.
"There isn't cause for alarm, but your maid must leave. Now."
"But my lord, Lady Sylvie bade me to make up the guest room for tomorrow's guests."
His answer is directed at the girl, but hardly trusting himself, he keeps his eyes locked on Sylvie. "Not the room, this house. Permanently."
Now Sylvie frowns deeply as concern dawns. She grabs his hand, urging him down the hall to the top of the stairs, placing herself between him and the maid standing at the doorway. "What is it?"
The sound of the front door banging shut provides a welcome distraction. Hal glances down the stairs, then grips his hands on his thighs tightly before confronting Sylvie's concern.
"Are you aware of her condition?"
"What condition?"
Hal huffs self-consciously before proceeding, "Sylvie, your maid is with child."
"She is?", Sylvie looks back toward the bedroom doorway. "She felt ill weeks ago, but she has said nothing to me. It didn't occur to-" She turns back to him abruptly, puzzled. "How do you know?"
Hal stares at her flatly, answering, "I can hear its heart beating."
"Oh!" Sylvie's eyes light up as she claps her hands over her cheeks, a smile blooming once more. "Well, this is wonderful news!"
Hal might have found her childlike surprise endearing, under less strenuous circumstances. She twirls towards the bedroom, but Hal reaches out to stop her, delivering the bad news. "Sylvie, as the child grows, her body produces more blood to sustain it. Half again as much as normal. Her veins will be swollen with blood and she will be an irresistible temptation." She already is.
There is a pause; her face falls with her realization. "Ohhh."
"I'm so sorry."
"I... umm..." Sylvie smoothes her skirts, clearly trying to hold back tears. Then her face clears, "But you are strong now. We've kept you clean all these years. Surely she can stay."
The maid comes down the hall to join them. "Mistress Sylvie, have I done something wrong?"
Sylvie takes her hand reassuringly, "Not at all. Only... is it true, that you are expecting?"
The girl, Beth - it would help him to think of her by name - stammers, "I... I did not want to say. Mother and I were destitute before Lord Hal saw fit to hire us. I worried of jeopardizing our positions." Her heartbeat increases with her distress and she blushes prettily; Hal busies himself with patterns in the wall across from him.
From the corner of his eye he sees Sylvie hug the girl to her, keeping her arm almost protectively around her. "There is naught to worry on. You and your mother have been loyal to us. And I consider you a friend. We simply need to look to the future. We will of course ensure that you are provided for. Am I right to assume William is the father?" She pauses, then continues when she has an assent, "We will provide for all of you. Is that not right, Hal?"
He returns his attention to Sylvie only. Despite her feelings, she's kept a clear head. Silencing money. "Of course."
"Company calls tomorrow and in any case, hiring new servants will take time. You can stay until arrangements are made for your retirement and-"
Hal interjects with slight panic, "No. No. An immediate departure-"
"Nonsense. William has just left to get our provisions in town; most of the day will pass before he is back. She cannot risk night travel in her condition, not with the roads so precarious due to the rains. And how are we to get new people so quickly? Besides, with Federico here, and Gemma of course, there will be no time for you to dwell on preoccupations." She waits on him expectantly.
Hal doesn't fail to note the stress on the werewolf's presence. He glances back and forth between the two women, uncomfortably, then relents. "Very well. However, she cannot stay overnight in this house. It would be safer for her to lock herself in the outer servants' quarters."
Beth stares at him, eyes narrowed shrewdly, dropping all deference. "Why does Syl-, Mistress Sylvie, send us there often? Something to do with the ownership paper with our names? And her instructions not to invite you in under any circumstances? Does that somehow keep us safe from... you?"
Hal takes care to keep his face smooth, to keep his deception hidden, as Sylvie looks askance at him before answering, "What Lord Hal means, it is safer for your well being. We wouldn't want you to overextend yourself nor suffer a nervous fit that might harm the babe. You know how crumpsy and demanding my husband can get during this confining weather. We are hard-pressed to find enough outlets for his restless energy. I can barely walk as it is..."
The women exchange knowing smiles. Hal had caught similar looks before, indicative of a familiarity shared beyond that of employer and servant. Beth only put on the honorifics in his presence. Red-faced, Hal pivots on his heel, grateful to escape the sudden turn in the conversation. He would have been more comfortable simply admitting he is a vampire.
Sylvie stares at her plate, food untouched. She'd had such high hopes for today, filled with purpose and anticipation. The prelude to a long awaited visit. But then he had informed her of the child. What should have been a wonderful thing had been twisted, and the joy had leached out of her. Once Hal had disappeared into their room to hide for most of the day, she had donned a reassuring smile as she took control of the situation and continued with preparations, had even joked with Beth about Hal. But she had felt brittle all day.
In retrospect, she shouldn't have been surprised to hear of a new distress; she should have made the connection. He hadn't exactly been acting odd, well no more than usual. She's accustomed to his agitation, coping habits, and nightmares waxing and waning - his cycles of unpredictability. There are trances that sometimes overtake him, but even those he shakes off fairly easy; Sylvie likes to tease Hal that he often falls asleep with his eyes open. She hadn't been overly concerned to see any of those symptoms intensify the past couple weeks. Yet...
There are times, those moments of tension between sleep and wakefulness, when she cannot be completely sure of him. Jolted awake to find Hal pinning her to the bed, his cold black eyes staring down at her, razor-sharp fangs bared, often his arousal pressed heavy against her - it is a precarious moment; danger that he might act out whatever dream sequence or emotion has caught him in its grip; danger that waking him will shatter the balance of his control. She tries not to be terrorized - often they are just that, brief moments. They might pass as he wakens fully, plying her with copious apologies, or, if it is still the middle of the night, he might roll away unaware, into deeper sleep, leaving her to soothe her frayed senses on her own. Other times she intervenes when he doesn't wake or move on his own, using inviting caresses and words to bring her Hal to her, watching the relentless hunger of the vampire shift to the manageable hunger of the man.
And then there are the truly alarming moments. She's heard of people walking in a dream state; even of a woman who regularly walked into the kitchen, prepared and ate food, then returned to her bed, all without a recollection of having done so. Hal experiences something similar. There had been a good two dozen incidents, though most innocuous such as speaking in his sleep, or walking and waking in another room. Once, he had woken her as he took her up in his arms, rocking and sobbing for many minutes, pleading for her to not die. He'd called her by another name, one of his mothers. Another time, he had seduced her sweetly, neither realizing he was still asleep until he stopped suddenly, waking, while kissing her thighs. Twice, he'd clearly been dreaming of his kills. Unresponsive to her words, laughing at her struggles; she'd been forced to use the werewolf blood on him as his fangs brushed against her skin. She'd strapped him into his chair after those two.
Nothing of that sort had occurred in years. Until last night. He had been dreaming of a woman again, one that clearly worked in a brothel. Not one of his mothers. His words had been harsh, his touch forceful. Again, her pleas and struggle incorporated themselves into the dream, but as he tried to pull up her nightgown, by chance she had knocked over the pitcher left on the side table. He'd woken, confused, all memory of the dream dashed away completely in the clamor. She had waited while catching her breath, while her racing heart slowed, as he stared with imploring eyes at her. Then she had reassured him that he had woken her only a moment before, chosen not to apprize him of the details. This would be buried, forgotten, for both their sakes.
"Would you excuse me for a moment?" Hal's question pierces her thoughts. She looks up from the dinner she had been staring at unseeing as Hal pushes away from the table. Before turning to leave, he pauses perfunctorily.
As if he truly seeks my approval. "No."
Mid-turn, he frowns at her unexpected response. "I beg your pardon?"
"No, I will not excuse you Hal. Not for a moment; not for the hour or hours that are sure to follow."
"I don't understand." His look is almost comical.
"I will suffer your visits to the attic no longer. I watch you leave, listen to your heavy tread up the extra flight, tense expectantly at the long pause, hoping you will turn back. But then, the opening and latching of the door; the unnerving silence. You come back down to me with a heavier heart than before."
"I have told you, there are things in there that help me stay in control, that help me stop."
An image of him last night comes unbidden. There had been no sign he would have stopped, not on his own. "How do they help you stop? What do you keep up there? I have met all your dark secrets with acceptance; I have dedicated my life to helping you stop. I deserve to know!"
Hal prevaricates, "This is not the real issue, is it? You are displeased because the maid must go."
"I'm not displeased, I am despondent. You are sending my only friend here away!"
"Christ woman, I'm doing it to protect her life! This is the only way!"
"Is it? You've managed, even monthly when-"
"That is different. You and the other women only need to seclude yourselves a few days. This is constant. It will only worsen."
"She can stay out there."
"And when the child arrives, what then? Does your belief in me extend that far?"
A tear she'd been trying to hold back escapes. She stands up so quickly her chair tips to the floor. She ignores it. "This leaves me no one, Hal. The others will leave with her as well."
"You have friends coming tomorrow," he says, guarded.
Sylvie's brittle reserve threatens to crumble. "A short visit and they are gone again. Then only you. Andyou abandon me every time you go up to that attic. "
"I'm sorry, I truly am." He isn't unsympathetic, which always makes it all the harder. But she also notes his wariness. He turns to leave her.
She tries not to think of last night, the crass words that her Hal would never think to use with her, the way his fingers had dug painfully into her arms as she struggled. She crosses the space between them to take his hand reassuringly, "My whole life revolves around you. Every breath I take is predicated on you. Quite literally. For years I have entrusted my very life to you. Why can you not entrust me with this?"
Hal's face becomes a hard mask.
She expects a quick rebuttal, more hedging. But finally Hal looks down, tongue in his cheek and says simply, "You write to him."
"Him? Do you mean Federico? Of course I do. And I will be talking to him on the morrow. What of it?"
He meets her eyes, telltale hollows form as he clenches his jaw. As she stares at him, his meaning dawns on her. "You think I tell him your secrets."
Hal's words are an icy lance. "You made him promises. You are my keeper for him, are you not?"
Sylvie opens her mouth, breath drawn, ready to retort, to defend herself. But the hurt, simmering all day, morphs into an immobilizing rage. Finally she lifts her right hand to slap him, hard enough that his head snaps sideways, "You really are a bastard! And it has nothing to do with the circumstances of your birth."
Overwhelmed with the urge to throttle him, instead she stalks away, rubbing at the pain in her hand from the impact on his cheek. At the hallway she turns away from the stairs; she can't face hearing him ascend those stairs up to the attic tonight. By the door, she slips off her house shoes and hastily shoves her feet into her boots. Ignoring the servants who come out of the kitchens, she grabs her thick, fur-lined pelisse, to escape the house entirely.
Outside, she takes a few steps into the rain before pausing to put on the coat and pulling up the hood protectively. On the cusp of winter, the night is heavy with the scent of woodsmoke hovering in the crisp stillness. Inside the house she is barely cognizant of it, but once outside, it is a spicy counterpoint to the fresh scent of the moisture laden air. She breathes the outdoors in deeply to calm herself, wishing somehow it could cleanse the ache in her heart.
The rains had been insistent; thick clouds obscure the moon, but she is well aware that it is half full. Her friends' visit had been postponed due to poor weather, but if they waited any longer, it would have to occur after the full moon. By then, passage would surely be blocked by snow. They still run the risk of encountering bad weather, but they understand her need to see them. Once winter truly sets in, she will be isolated for a long time.
The front door opens and she tenses, but it is only Beth, holding close a thick shawl around herself with one hand, while carrying a hooded lantern in the other. She sees William hovering behind. "Sylvie, may I have a word?"
"Of course."
Beth shakes her head slightly at William then closes the door and approaches her. "Forgive me, I know it's not my place. You have been good to me and mine, both you and Lord Hal. But... you have always seemed a mismatched pair."
Sylvie sighs, "You have no idea. But the heart dictates..." In the light of the candle, Beth looks back at the closed door with a slight smile and the hand clutching the shawl splays out over her belly.
Such a simple gesture; Sylvie tries not to be bitter. "Beth you are getting soaked. Ask your mother to finish the washing up quickly, but you get yourself to your house."
The hand at her belly tightens protectively. She purses her lips uncertainly, but broaches her true subject. "It was he who sensed the baby, wasn't it? Unnaturally, somehow. I kept it hidden for months. William didn't realize until a few weeks ago. Mother did not suspect until I told her today."
"Hal simply caught you off guard. He is very observant."
Beth presses on, "That broken pitcher was no accident was it? The vials of blood. The screams from your chamber. His odd behaviours. The look of the devil with his black eyes and those teeth. Is it true, he is a va..." She stops, crossing herself, unable to say the word. "Is he dangerous? Are we safe?"
She should be less selfish. She should confirm Beth's suspicions at last and tell her to run. But that might not help matters either. Such a precarious balance to keep. "You've seen that crosses bear him no harm, you've seen him enter a church. All you need to know is that whatever his afflictions, he is a good man. As you said, he has rewarded your years of service, given you nothing but kindness. You are safe."
"Are you safe?"
Sylvie forces a smile. "Of course."
Beth looks unconvinced. Sylvie forestalls any further argument. "Go. The cold has brought on a terrible ague; some townspeople have died of it. We want nothing to hurt your babe."
Beth gives her a measuring look before handing her the lantern. "Will you follow your own advice?"
This time she smiles warmly at her friend's concern. "I shan't be out long this time. Goodnight."
Sylvie turns away. With a heavy heart, she traverses the walkway that winds around to the left side of the house, the crunching of her boots on the gravel overpowering the sound of the rain. The outer limbs of the stone spiral come into view; she gingerly steps between them on the overgrown patches of wet grass. Unable to climb up to her favourite limb in this weather, instead she settles in a hollow at the base of the massive tree; the rough bark embraces her as an old friend. She has spent countless contemplative hours in the company of this tree; shed many tears. Tonight is no exception as old doubts, and new ones, surface.
Bloody insufferable man with his damn trunk full of secrets. No, his damn mind full of secrets. Hundreds, thousands of them. If she imagines that Hal's head contains all the seas of the world, the pieces of him she's uncovered would only fill a thimble. A part of her shies from knowing more; easier to maintain the illusion of innocence. Yet there are other forces driving her: an unquenchable curiosity; a need to know that he trusts her, loves her, enough to bare it all; a need to help him stop from killing now and long after her death. Yet whatever secrets are in that trunk, they've held absolutely during all their years together- the last foothold of his past. A challenge she feels strongly she needs to surmount in order to make a lasting impression.
Swinging the lantern around her, Sylvie assesses Hal's spiral. He had been neglectful of it as of late due to the weather. Winter would bring challenges; restriction of activities and imposed confinement invariably did. Winter had always been her least favourite season, even as a child. But if she were truthful with herself, there are moments in winter now, brought about by restlessness, that she anticipates - long dark nights of fierce passion; entwined limbs and whispered words in the firelight; the feel of him clinging to her with the need for comfort. She can't deny the amaranthine attraction, the unfathomable ardour that makes her body sing when she is near him. In winter, there are times when the hunger becomes all consuming for both of them, when she loses herself in him as much as he loses himself in her.
The exchange with Beth echoes in her head. "Are you safe?" She had tried to keep the seed of doubt from tinting her answer. But the incident last night kept intruding on her. It had had nothing to do with blood, at least not at first. Had she not succeeded in waking him, unquestionably it would have ended in that, but while his eyes had been vacant, they had been his beautiful hazel and his fangs had been absent. There had been no mistaking his intent. But surely, had he not been asleep, he would have realized he was hurting her. She has to believe that. Last night had been an aberration. Because heis strong now. Her seed of hope.
She had made promises, to protect the world from a monster, to protect him from himself. Her heart prevented her using thesure way to stop him from killing, and so she'd chosen another path. Herself. Time and time again she has kept his lust for blood, his lust for violence, in check - by using his lust for her. And she has succeeded. This incident is just one of hundreds of challenges she has had to fight through to save him.
She just can't help sometimes wondering if he is still worth fighting for.
Sylvie strikes her head against the solid mass of the tree in frustration. The seeds of doubt pushing and pulling against the seeds of hope; the good and bad interminably entwined; rationales and emotions interwoven in a labyrinthine pattern imprisoning her. Blood. Secrets. Hope. No clear path, just endless challenges...
Challenges. The word burns bright. That might be the key. Challenge him. With herself.
She'd done it before, when she had cut herself in the alley to prove he could resist. He had done the impossible before, had kept himself from hurting her when she had been handed to him chained and bloody. The times when she'd been the most vulnerable are the times he has been the most controlled. Perhaps in some ways he had grown complacent in her safety. Perhaps she needs to make herself more vulnerable.
But first she must decide if he is worth the risk.
Some time later, Sylvie fishes a handkerchief to dry her tears with cold-stiffened fingers and makes her shivery way home. However long she'd been out, the house is dark and silent. The servants had gone to safety.
While removing all her wet layers in the foyer, she spares a glance upward to where Hal must be in bed. Or doing press-ups. Or even still in the attic. Whatever his occupation, she ignores that small voice urging her to go to him, and makes for the kitchens. She walks directly to the large hearth, adding wood and stoking the banked fire, willing warmth back into her limbs. Then she crosses to the back of the room, into the larder, bringing out the package she'd stowed there earlier, a large brick of chocolate. She grabs the chopping knife to cut a small piece from one corner. Struggling with the thickness, with pursed lips she changes her grip on the knife, lifting it vertically, sharp point hovering over the block.
Thunk! Two pieces separate from the end. Thunk. Thunk. More pieces fall. With a morbid pleasure, she attacks the mass in rapid succession, heedless of the chunks flying pell-mell.
Thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk!
Breathless, she surveys the counter. The entire brick reduced to manageable pieces. Half have likely ended up as bits on the floor. Damn, waste. With a sigh, she carefully places the knife down and stoops to pick up a few large chunks of chocolate at her feet.
When Hal enters the kitchen it is to find Sylvie standing at the warming cupboard on one end of the hearth, stirring a pot with a wooden spoon. "I heard a... um... a noise."
"Did you now?" she says dryly.
He scowls surveying the scene. "Having trouble? Or simply being overzealous?"
Seconds tick by, the silence broken only by the scraping sound as she stirs. Finally, taking the warmed pot with her as she approaches him, she replies casually, "Actually, I was imagining I was staking you. It was very... satisfying." She lifts the spoon coated with melted chocolate, licking it brazenly before putting it back in to scoop more. She holds it out in offering. "Would you like some?"
Her reward is a deepening of his scowl as he looks around the room again. She'd bet anything he is having trouble deciding what to take offense at first, her words or her actions. The mess most likely will win.
"The actual staking would not have left the kitchen in such a state."
She almost smiles. Almost. "Well Hal, the other end of this spoon is unsharpened, but it would probably do the job..."
He rolls his eyes. Under his breath she hears his sardonic comment, "Women are much easier to deal with when one isnot trying not to kill them," which does bring a smile to her lips. She loves tormenting him.
Then, Hal begins, "I'm sorr-"
She thought she had worked out her anger outside, but hearing his familiar entreaty, she finds it had only settled back to a deep simmer that now bursts. She screams wordlessly and throws the spoon at him. Missing her mark, it hits his left shoulder, sending the molten contents splattering across his neck and face. His eyes widen. "Was that absolutely necessary?"
In reply she scoops more of the chocolate with her hand and throws it at him, this time catching him square in the jaw.
Hands balling into fists, he yells at her in warning, "Sylvie!"
The third glop of chocolate flies at him, though he manages to duck and grab her wrists. She drops the pot, narrowly missing his feet, unfortunately, and begins fighting to get out of his grip, pummeling his chest, screaming at him, "How can you think that lowly of me? That I would betray your confidence?"
"You are my keeper here!"
"I came to you out of love, you egotistical cock!"
He traps her hands against his chest, effectively stilling her. She's forced to look up at him as he says bitterly, "Love and betrayal are not mutually exclusive." And then, with sadness, "I've learned that lesson well."
That pull of him is almost irresistible. The heartbreak in his expression as a tear traces a path down his cheek; it's enough to drown in. Her instinct is to reach for him, comfort him, forgive him. But she must keep challenging him.
"No, no, no NO! Do not give me your eyes, Hal, nor that quiver in your chin. You will not douse my ire so easily. Not this time you bloody arse! After all I have done and sacrificed for you! I will not be satisfied with a display of woe to lull me into complacency. You must choose. Your secrets, or me!"
"It isn't that simple!"
"Yes, Hal, it is that simple! I will do my part on the morrow, and the next day, and the next. I shall play the happy hostess. But know this - Federico will be here, and he is only too happy to do what I cannot. You have at most a week. You choose."
She waits, her chest heaving, for Hal to retort. He stares at her with a piercing gaze, face impenetrable, for an interminable moment. Then, he simply opens his hands, letting her go, and leaves the kitchen, leaving Sylvie alone.
crumpsy - old British word for short tempered and irritable
By the Regency, some kitchen fireplaces had an iron "hot" cupboard built into one side of the fireplace. This cupboard would be used to keep food warm before serving, warm plates and if near enough the fire, they could also be used for slow cooking of some dishes.