Authors of popular fiction who allow their works to be fanficced are a blessing, including Meyer.
Gentle Readers, since I last posted, one of our community was lost to us while pursuing her dreams at Comic Con in San Diego. The Fandom rallied to support her family and fulfil her wishes to improve the world, particularly for sufferers of Alzheimers Disease. A fundraiser was created, to which I and many fabulous Twifanfic authors are contributing. Please head over to the blogspot site called fandom4twifang to contribute and receive the compilation. My contribution will not be an outtake from PTMT, but a celebration of friendship.
And in that light, this chapter is dedicated to the true meaning of the word 'friendship' as exemplified by so many in the Twifandom. In particular, the friendship of Cared, who is so gifted at giving, and drawing people together. You would not be reading this story if not for her.
MM, this chapter reminds me of you. I love you.
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Chapter 24 – Thy Will Be Done
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"Do not raise your voice to me, Isabella Masen!"
"Or what, Edward Masen? Or what?"
She stands in front of me, hands on her hips, high colour in her cheeks, one eye flashing anger and challenge, while the other is bruised, swollen and half closed. I am so beyond exasperation, I do not think there is a word in the English language to describe how I am feeling.
I take a step closer to my belligerent, pregnant wife.
She has drawn herself upright as a soldier, and her chin is tilted high so that she can stare into my eyes as I tower over her. She is not intimidated in the least. Has it come to this? Am I no longer the man of the family?
"Why do you question my authority, Isabella? Do you think you know better than me? Look at you! You cannot go a week altogether without requiring my protection, yet when I try to give it to you, you refuse me? Why?"
"How will you protect me, Edward, by running after Mr Black and leaving me here to await news of your fate? Will you protect me by leaving me a widow? Will you?"
"Don't be absurd, Bella. I have never heard anything so ridiculous, even from you. What makes you think I will not quickly return to you, entirely unscathed? Do you believe your vicar more potent than me?" I must admit, I am hurt by her lack of faith in me. Does she think me some young hothead, itching to challenge the fiend to a duel at dawn? We do not live in the dark ages, for heaven's sake.
"Your potency is not in question, my Lord. It is your temper I am in fear of!"
The woman has actually shouted at me about my temper. It is unbelievable. I am wordless.
Our furious standoff is interrupted by my cousin. As soon as he enters the room, his steps and his expression falter. Our anger must fill the air with its fire.
"I beg your pardon, Edward, Bella... I'll just... er... I have to...," he sputters, and spins on his heels to leave.
Bella and I return our eyes to one another's, and somehow the spell has broken. She begins to laugh first, and I cannot prevent my own snort. The sound – because I have tried valiantly to suppress it – is so comical that we are soon both holding our sides in pain.
Our argument, however, remains unresolved.
"Listen, Bella. I could probably send word to London and have Black arrested there for the damage he has inflicted upon you." I trace her bruise gently with my fingertips. "But I really do not think we can withstand the scandal. My brother is married to his unacknowledged, bastard daughter, and it truly is better for all of us if that gossip is kept out of the papers."
"I understand that, Edward, I do – but I am fearful of what you will do when you find him. Why do we not cool off for a time, and wait for Mr Black to return home? Then you can extract your revenge quietly, and with no fear of harm to yourself." She places her hands lovingly upon my arms as she says this, but the gesture does not obscure her lack of faith in me.
"Why do you fear my harm, Isabella? Do you not believe in my ability to stand up for myself? Black is older and more decrepit than I. You wound me with your lack of faith, you truly do."
She laughs a little, and I am further taken aback.
"Do not - for one moment - fear that I doubt your virility, Husband. Mr Black is no match for your strength and vigour. But my Love, he is sly where you are firm; he is cruel, where your moral strength is candid and obvious. He will employ devious means to thwart you, and your goodness will not allow you to anticipate them. He is truly black to your white, Edward, and that is what I fear. He is best left alone; he can do no harm there."
I run my hands through my hair. "Bella, your portrait of me is flattering, I think, but it does not take into account my – Bella, I have my own darkness, Sweetheart. Do not paint me in so good a light. It is not what I deserve."
She stands on tiptoe to kiss me sweetly on the lips.
"You are good. You have your faults, I am not blind to them. But you do not know Mr Black as I do, and you will have to take my word for the twisted nature of his character, and the harm it could do you. Besides, there truly is no need for all this heroism. I am almost unscathed, and so is Alice. What about your br..."
I can take no more. I hold her head in my hands and place my thumbs over her lips to silence them.
"Look in the mirror, Isabella, and tell me again that you are unscathed. This debate is over. I appreciate your concern, but trust me when I tell you it is unwarranted. Believe me when I say I will punish that man for his audacity, his cruelty and his – for daring to raise a hand to any member of my family. I am head of this family, I will deal with the matter as my conscience dictates, and you, my wife, will remain safely here with Em and Rose. If you open this mouth to speak again, let it be to speak of happier things. All right?"
Her trapped lips attempt to dance under my thumbs between a sulky pout and a genuine smile. She knows she is defeated. My body expresses its desire to celebrate my victory in my stirring cock and quickened breath. I press close against her, and she responds eagerly to my lust. I lean down to replace my thumbs with my lips, and the argument is entirely over.
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Jenks' offices are over-decorated with rich furnishings and a disturbing array of clashing landscapes on the walls.
Jacob, who I have brought with me because I trust him with my life now, feels out of place. His feet shuffle on the thick carpet, and his hat may not survive the meeting. He twists and turns it between his fingers, having refused to relinquish it to the startled boy who meant to serve him upon our arrival.
Jasper is on edge for other reasons. He drums a tattoo upon the wide desk with his fingers. His left leg jiggles up and down in a nervous trait I recognise. It must run in the family.
"I would expect to have been alerted to Mr Black's presence in Town by now," says Jenks, pondering. "Still, it is best to check. The lad I sent will not be long. Although, have you considered that he may have gone straight home to his father?"
"Is that likely?" I ask. "I did not think there was much love between them."
"I could not possibly comment my Lord, but given the circumstances, he must be in fear of you. He could not expect to be any better protected in London than in Seat. But I do have some information for you concerning his father. I have not put it in a letter because the source is not entirely reliable. "
"Go on," I say. I want to hear any and all gossip about the man, even if the truth is far off the mark. Where there is smoke, after all.
"I was looking in to the gentleman's financial situation. It seemed pertinent."
"Money is always pertinent," says Jasper.
"Indeed, Sir." Jenks nods at my brother before continuing.
"Did you know that the living in Seat belongs – on paper at least – to Sir Charles Swan?"
"No. No, I was not aware of that." I am thoughtful. I looked in to Swan's affairs when I proposed to Isabella – of course I did. I do not recall any mention of the living that accompanies the church, vicarage and grounds there.
"Yes, that information is rather well hidden, which immediately made me suspicious. I dug a little further, and I think I can shed some light on the financial relationship between the two men."
I sit forward in my chair. This is interesting.
"You see, Charles became rich and rose to prominence in court rather quickly. In time, in fact, for him to purchase Seat Manor, the living included, just when Mr Black needed it most. Seems there was some unpleasantness with his family, and Black was forced out of the ancestral home to make his own way in the world. There was a very fine living waiting for him in Dorset, but Lord Black bestowed it upon someone else. Someone young. I cannot imagine Mr Black was too pleased about it."
"No, that must have been a blow. Do you think his father discovered the bastard daughter? Forgive me, Jasper," he is scowling at me, "I meant no offence."
He sighs and turns back to Jenks. "Please continue."
"The long and the short of it is I discovered a rumour implying that Black-the-younger stole rather a lot of money from his father when he was forced out of home, and he used it to set the young Swan up."
I immediately re-interpret the Swan/Black relationship in this light, and recognise the possibility of truth in it. "If Black stole the money and set Swan up, then Charles would be absolutely beholden to the devil. Ownership of Isabella must have been part of the price he had to pay."
"But why change his mind? Why postpone their marriage until another option – you – came along? What happened to redress the balance of power?" Jasper looks troubled. He wrinkles his brow as we both contemplate the implications of this news.
We recognise the answer simultaneously. "Alice," we chorus.
"Charles found a way to get the girl, bring her home and use her as a tool of negotiation. Once he had Alice living in his home, he could easily threaten Black with exposure," I muse.
"But exposure to whom?" asks Jasper.
"The Bishop? No, his father. Black was made to leave the ancestral home, but his father has not disowned him, has he? Black is still in line to inherit his father's title and land and considerable wealth."
"Exactly," agrees Jenks. "Lord Black is well known for his holier-than-thou attitude. I imagine he would disinherit his son at the drop of a hat if half of his misdeeds were known to him."
"Speaking of Black's misdeeds," I say, "Have you discovered the nature of the house that he frequents in Covent Garden?"
Jenks looks more grave than usual – a feat indeed. "I have." He nods.
"Are you going to tell me?"
"You are not going to like this, Sir. You will not be very happy at all."
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The children are missing from the alley in which I encountered Black last time. The place is dank and smells of human waste, poverty and hardship. It is disheartening to think of innocent children playing in the dirt here, and I am glad they are gone.
Jasper and I stand well back as Jacob pounds on the door. Eventually it opens a crack, and the strong coachman pushes against it hard with shoulder and thigh. Whoever is behind it is no match for Jacob's brute strength, and he is half inside before we have moved.
By the time we have covered the few yards between us and pushed our way through the door, the struggle is over. Jacob has the arms of a burly, brutish middle-aged man tight behind his back. He looks red-faced and furious, and attempts to spit at my feet, but Jacob yanks him backwards and brings his knee up hard between the brute's legs from behind. His knee must make contact with something precious, because the man's face turns purple, and he begins to wheeze.
"Are you all right here Jacob? Do you need help to secure him?"
"No my Lord," he replies, "You go on up. I've got this one."
As his voice betrays no effort at all, I have no qualms leaving him to his job. The stairs are right beside the front door, so Jasper and I make our way quietly up them.
There are two doors on the first floor, and another flight of stairs leading up to the second. I decide that surprise is better than delicacy, and open the first door quickly.
The room inside is dark and smells strongly of stale body. There is a small bed, unmade, and an open chest, overflowing with the detritus of female life. Stained petticoats, little shoes, stockings, a grubby-looking corset – all jumbled together as though meaningless and undesired. I shut the door quietly behind me, and turn to the next one.
Jasper pushes the door open in this room, wide enough so that we can both see what, or who, is within.
This room is clearly a parlour that shares existence as a bedchamber. There are a few chairs, a scuffed and fraying rug on the floor, and two daybeds, roughly made up with blankets and pillows.
Three young girls startle as we enter. It appears as though one has been combing lice from the others' hair. They are only partially dressed, all of them in greying, full-length petticoats that leave their narrow, scarred shoulders exposed to our troubled eyes.
No girl speaks. They stare at us wide-eyed, fearful and silent. They are so young – entirely undeveloped, their bony little bodies malnourished and, honestly, not very clean. I vividly recall playing with Charlotte when she was this age, and I want to cry. Tears prick at my eyes, and my throat constricts. That Black comes here – that he is here regularly – I feel ill.
"Good afternoon," says Jasper, as though entering a room full of undressed little girls is an every-day occurrence. "We met the man downstairs. Is there anyone else at home?"
The girls shake their heads dumbly, but one of them glances towards the stairs. I decide to go and check, and tell Jasper as much. He nods at me. As I begin to climb the second staircase I hear him ask in a pleasant voice, "May I sit down?" I can hear no response.
The two rooms upstairs are furnished a little better, but are equally unclean, and entirely empty of people. The larger room clearly houses the couple who run the brothel. I poke through their belongings, looking for identification, and find plenty. There is a bookkeeper's journal, half-filled with carefully recorded transactions that I pick up and take with me.
The smaller room is much like the one directly below it, only this one has decorations on the walls. Specifically, a large wooden cross, and a likeness of Jesus gazing lovingly into the squalid space.
It makes me shudder.
Back on the first floor, Jacob has brought a suffering and restrained brothel master upstairs with him. His hands remain tight behind his back, and there appears to be a rag in his mouth. I would almost feel concern for him if it weren't for the sheer terror on the faces of the children in the room.
Almost as soon as I enter the parlour, the front door below opens and closes with a bang. Voices and laughter are heard on the stairs, and the rich and sickening smell of hot meat fills the air.
A rotund and cheerful looking woman enters, eyes down at first as she fiddles with the ribbon under her chin. The young girl behind her stops short, dropping her basket as her hands come up to her mouth. The woman senses something remiss, and looks up sharply.
"Bill!" she shrieks, "Bill! Bill!" as though the man can do anything to save her.
"Calm yourself, Madam," I snap, and she leaps back to drag the little girl in front of her. She holds her tightly, and the large, brown eyes in the pale face at the height of the woman's bosom challenge me defiantly.
Where have I seen that look before?
"What do you want? There's no money, I swear it, we keep no money in the house. Is it the girls you's wanting? You can have 'em, take 'em, all of 'em, but not this one. This one stays. She stays, I tell you!"
I think the woman's shrill tone may damage my ears. "Sit down, keep quiet and listen," I order, my tone brooking no argument.
Thankfully I have not altogether lost my authority, and both the woman and the new little girl obey me instantly.
"Jacob, I believe you can remove the gag now, but take heed, Man," I address the foul fool sweating in his seat, "You will listen and not speak until I ask you to. Understood?"
He nods slowly, and Jacob pulls the rag roughly from his maw. The man drags in air as though his breath has been constricted, though it has not.
I begin again. "My name is Lord Edward Masen, and I am your new landlord. I am, in fact, here to evict you."
At this news, the woman and two of the girls cry out, but Jasper hushes them.
"The children will remain in my care, but you and your wife will have to find alternative accommodation. And let me warn you now, if you intend to remain in London, you had better not begin another little set up like this, because if you do, you will not see the outside of a prison again. Do you understand me?"
The man nods sullenly. I can tell he would like to challenge me, but is fully aware that the odds are not in his favour.
"Good. You have half an hour to gather your belongings and say goodbye. And do not try my patience, because it is short!"
Jacob begins to untie his prisoner's hands. The woman, sensing some kind of compassion behind my gruff tone, pulls the only dressed girl to stand in front of me.
"Thank you for your kindness Sir," she says, curtseying in an odd manner. "This one comes with me, Sir. Belle comes with me. She's mine, Sir. Tell him, Belle, tell the gentleman."
Belle? Belle, with large brown eyes and long, wavy brown hair? The resemblance is sickening. I crouch down in front of the youngster and look into her eyes. I see fear, challenge, and something else. She looks torn.
"Belle? Is that your name?"
"If you please, Sir. I mean, if it pleases you. I mean... yes Sir." Her words trip over her tongue, as though she has rehearsed a play but forgotten her lines as soon as the curtain rose.
"Is this your mother, Belle?"
She looks trapped for an instant. I can see the woman's hand gripping her shoulder, hard.
"Um – nyes Sir." She was going to say no, and changed her mind. She sounds horribly unsure.
"Stay here, Belle. And you," I stand up and level my eyes at the woman. "Leave the room. You only have twenty-five minutes remaining."
I see the look of sly determination, born of panic, cross her face; I see her hand slide up Belle's neck, under her loose hair. I see the way her lips tighten as she pinches the little girl, and I see the look of pain on the girl's tiny face.
I lose my temper. My wife was right, I am not safe when I am apart from her.
I hit the woman.
I am already in shock before my open hand lands forcefully on her shoulder, knocking her backwards and slightly off balance.
I only meant to knock her away from the child, but the blow was much harder than that intent necessitated.
She is not badly injured. Her glare is probably directed at me for finding her out, rather than the punishment I inflicted.
"Get out of here, before I do something I truly regret," I hiss.
I look guiltily at my companions as she scuttles out of the room behind her husband, who has not shown the slightest bit of interest in my attack. Jasper looks a little shocked, but Jacob merely shrugs his shoulders.
"I would've done much worse to her," he mutters.
I return my attention to Belle, as Jasper urges the other three to get themselves dressed.
"Are you all right?"
She shrugs. "Yes Sir."
"Can you tell the truth, Belle?"
"Yes Sir!" She huffs indignantly.
"Then do so. Is that woman your mother?"
"No Sir." There is no hesitation now.
"Who is she to you?"
"She says she is my aunty, Sir, but she is not."
"How did you end up here, Belle?"
"Please Sir, my name isn't Belle Sir. My real name is Miriam. They took me."
"They took you?"
"Yes Sir. They took me from the Jewish quarters. I am a Jew." She speaks proudly, defiantly, as though expecting my disgust, and not caring a biscuit for it.
I like this girl.
"Do you know Mr William Black, Miriam?"
"Yes Sir." She turns her head away to the side, and spits furiously onto the carpet. Clearly a behaviour she has learned from her despicable guardians.
I smile. "I like your attitude, Miriam. I think you and I are going to be great friends. Would you like to help me ruin Mr Black?"
She regards me curiously. This brave, spirited child, clearly adept at making the best of a bad situation, calculates her chances – I can see her mind working in her expressive, beautiful eyes.
"You want to ruin Mr Black?" she asks, curiosity winning over caution.
"So, so badly," I reply.
"Me too," she says. "I want to ruin him too." And she holds her tiny hand out to mine.
I take it gently in my large one, and shake it.
Her trust in me moves me greatly. For the first time, I feel as though I could be someone's father.
A good father. One that my own would be proud of.
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A little extra background information (before the history buffs amongst you tell me off): a gentleman in line to inherit a title and land would not normally take up a profession, in the church or otherwise. However, Lord Black is a deeply religious man, and expected his son to raise up through the ranks of the church to take a leading role. He insisted upon his serving God through Ordination.
As for the arrest of the brothel owner and his wife, there is not much they could really be charged with, unless Lordward could prove that they kidnapped the children from their parents – something that did not occur to him when he made his plan. He can only evict and threaten them. Yes, he did purchase the house in order to do so – the entire row, in fact. He is a rich and powerful man.
There are at least six readers that I meant to respond to since last posting, and I am so frustrated that I did not. I tend to open a bunch of reviews at once, and respond when I have time. My computer crashed in new and interesting ways, and I was never able to recover the reviews I had open. I'm sorry. Time has been so scarce. I love hearing from you, and you say such lovely things to me.
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