Disclaimer: Well, I don't own Hellsing. If I did I probably wouldn't be writing fan fiction for it.
II.
Seras decided to take to her bedroom for the remainder of the morning.
The family had arrived home from the Duke's ball in the wee hours of the morning. Under such circumstances they all took the liberty of sleeping in well past nine-thirty, the time of morning that - according to Mrs. Victoria - all successful people should be up and about by.
By that logic, Edith's suitors must have been very successful people indeed. When the family passed the foyer for the dining room for a late breakfast, it was found that no less than five bouquets had already been delivered by nine o'clock in the morning. Four more were dropped off within the hour.
To put it lightly, Mrs. Victoria had practically cried when she saw the family names of the boys who signed the cards. Seras hadn't really minded that; there was a smug enjoyment that came with watching your younger sibling go through the same tortures you did. And poor Edith, who hadn't even gotten to see her bouquets, let alone breakfast yet, was shrieked at by their mother to write "heartfelt" thank you notes to each gentleman "right this minute!" Seras had laughed, and Edith scowled very unladylike at her sister as they passed each other on the staircase. There hadn't been any addressed to Seras, not even from Mr. Thornsbury.
Seras had been well in to an especially delicious country breakfast with her parents when one of the house maids, Nora, entered the floral-wallpapered dining room.
"Something for Miss Seras, ma'am." How strange. Usually their meal times weren't allowed to be disrupted with deliveries. The middle-aged lady was cradling something small and delicate, wrapped in white silk and fastened by an opulent mother-of-pearl brooch. Her father raised an eyebrow at the gift's ostentatiousness.
Seras' eyes widened when the maid handed her the bundle. The brooch was absolutely exquisite and unquestionably worth more than any other jewelry piece she owned. The craftsmanship was superb and had been undoubtedly labored over by some dedicated, foreign artisan in some far away land. The breakfast table was silent as she gently unclasped the brooch from the silk and unveiled what lay beneath.
The discovery was surprisingly anticlimactic. In the package lay a single trimmed red rose at the peak of bloom, its glossy red petals softer than the silk it was presented in. Seras couldn't help but smile and blush all the same.
"Is there a note or a name?" Mr. Victoria was deceptively calm as he eyed the pearl brooch with skepticism. Judging from the soft hue and lack of shine, it was real, and probably worth as much as their family's carriage.
"No, none that I can see…" Seras gently lifted the flower from its folds, delicately tracing her fingers over the petals. She couldn't help it; she was touched by the gesture. It was so traditionally romantic, Shakespearian. She smiled to herself and lifted it to her nose, enjoying its fragrance.
Just as she was about to give it to the maid to put in water, a certain sparkle from inside the rose caught her eye. Her parents watched in searching silence as she dipped her fingers into the petals and pulled out a shining ruby crystal hanging on a sterling silver chain. There was a pregnant pause before-
"Is that a necklace?"
"Seras, is there a name?"
After further investigation and interrogation of the servant who had answered the door it was found that no note had been sent with the gift, but that a well-dressed stranger with an accent and peculiar walking stick had delivered it. Seras' throat dried when she heard as much.
At that point Mrs. Victoria hadn't known what to do: gloat, swoon, cry, die? Mr. Victoria simply returned to his breakfast with a thoughtful, solemn expression only a father can possess. When she found out after she finished her thank you notes, Edith had demanded to see the necklace and then squealed in excitement. And Seras?
Well, she wasn't quite sure what to think.
For one thing, there was always a possibility that it hadn't been Count Dracul. Many Englishmen hired foreigners as domestic servants, so a stranger with an accent didn't do much to narrow the field. But then how many domestic servants had Eastern European accents and expensive walking sticks…? Seras groaned. Plenty! There had to be plenty!
And it wasn't as if he had especially enjoyed her company last night, right? From sniffing her, to making close to inappropriate comments, glowering at someone in the middle of their dance, and then not even bothering to escort her back to her family, he hadn't given her the proper civilities a lady deserved. He obviously hadn't been too concerned with making a good impression on her. However he was a foreigner, so perhaps it was just a cultural difference?
Yes, because smelling your partner before your dance was so internationally acceptable…
Seras sighed. She didn't know what to think about the whole ordeal. Yes, he could've possibly scandalized her, but to her confusion a part of her really wouldn't have minded. A smaller, more subconscious part of her wished he had. Regardless of his peculiarities, she couldn't continue to deny that she was attracted to him. With his long black, shining hair and smooth, soft lips...
Seras blushed and buried her flushed face in her hands. If she continued to think of him in such a way she'd die of embarrassment the next time they met! And Seras presumed that they would be meeting again very soon. If the Count had really taken the time to hand-deliver her flower then he was certainly interested in at least seeing her again despite the awful impression he made on her the night before.
And if she dared allow her imagination to wander, she supposed that he was interested in a little bit more, too.
Seras sat up from her bed, glancing at the opulent necklace resting on top of her jewelry box. It looked out of place on top of the simple, varnished wood box. She sighed and crossed the room to lay the crystal between her fingers. Even if the Count was strange, she'd still appreciated the thought... and his good taste in jewelry. She slipped the necklace on and turned to her mirror, smiling at the glimmer of the crystal in sunlight.
Who ever said blondes couldn't pull off red?
Seras cringed when she heard a rather loud argument from downstairs, followed by footsteps pounding up and down the hall. In one morning the Victoria household had gone from serene to overzealous. She knew her father had retired to his study not too long ago to attend to some business matters from the firm, so Seras could only assume the argument had been between her mother and Edith. She thought she heard the word "rouge" yelled once or twice.
Nevertheless, Seras decided that she had mulled over this morning's events long enough. She had several things to do, and not enough time to finish them. With her cotton sunbonnet in hand, Seras stuck her head out her bedroom door only to stop when she heard a light pair of feet pitter-patter by.
"Oh, Elizabeth!" Seras called. Elizabeth was Seras' favorite servant. Blessed with a wicked sense of humor and the ability to hold her tongue when it came to the sisters' misadventures, at the age of thirty-five, Elizabeth had earned her slot in the Victoria household.
"Yes, Miss Seras?" Of course they were still separated by rank, and their friendship would never progress outside of witty conversation and polite smiles. It was simply not allowed.
"Would you be so kind as to arrange a carriage to the library?" It was a Sunday, her father had nowhere to be, and she wanted to go to the library of all places. In this case, he would look the other way.
"Of course, Miss. I will alert the driver."
"Thank you." She said as she tied the silky ribbons of her bonnet into a neat bow. Seras had just made her way to the staircase when Edith seemingly appeared out of nowhere, curls set and elegant pastel green bonnet tied no less.
"Oh, where are you off to?" Edith asked, eyeing Seras' bonnet and bustled silvery gray gown with a sly smile. Aside fro the Count's necklace, it was a rather simple and plain outfit.
Edith reached out and tugged on the crystal playfully. "Going out to find and steal my prince away, are you?"
Seras scoffed as she teasingly pushed Edith out of the way. "I think not!" Edith followed on her heels down the mahogany staircase.
"Well, if not to track down your royal suitor," Seras rolled her eyes as she pulled on her gloves, "where are you going?"
"I'm to spend the afternoon at the library."
"Again with those dusty books?" Edith clucked her tongue and shook her head, leftover curls from the night before falling into her face. Her smile wasn't very friendly. "If you're so interested in reading, why not join the Ladies' Book Club? Honestly Seras, I would've thought you'd given u-" Edith quickly bit her tongue. Seras stared at her sister, taken aback. She hadn't had to finish her thought for it to still be a punch in the face.
The former atmosphere was shattered and replaced by a cooler, tenser one. All was silent in the reception hall except for the steady counting of the grandfather clock.
"I apologize, Seras." Edith finally said, diverting her gaze from her sister. But she didn't retract her almost admittance.
"You're forgiven." Edith was still her sister. In her heart, she hadn't meant anything by it, right?
There was another pause before:
"So, the library then?"
"Yes."
Edith shuffled her feet before finally looking at Seras again. "Well, mother forgot to bring some flowers to Father the other day at mass, so she gifted me with the oh so exciting task. Perhaps after I deliver them, I could join you?" It was Edith's way of reconciling. Seras, though still a bit stung, nodded. She really had to learn not to be so sensitive.
"Yes, I'd like that." She said as she stepped out of the front door, closing it firmly behind her.
Regardless of the opinions Edith or anyone else held, Seras had work to do.
Edith's shoulders sagged once Seras closed the front door. She should've been more sensitive to her sister's feelings – it was a touchy subject, after all. Seras was always so sensitive about it after their mother took it upon herself to discourage Seras from it when she first debuted.
Discourage was, of course, a euphemism for the barrage of insults, insinuations, guilt, and accusations Seras was made to suffer through all those years. Now that Edith was the newest and prettiest lady-of-age in the family, their mother had focused her attention less on Seras. There was finally a small opening for her to pursue it again, albeit quietly.
Edith wanted to smack her head against the wall. What a blow it must have been to be discouraged by your own sister! How terrible it must have felt! But in her defense, it wasn't Edith's fault that Seras aspired to be a policewoman, of all things.
When Seras had announced her supposed dream at the tender age of fourteen, Edith remembered Mr. Victoria only smiling and giving her his blessing in "whichever path she chose to pursue." She remembered their mother's strained laugh and declaration of how silly young ladies' imaginations were. Only it wasn't her imagination, and Seras' determination only grew stronger until she turned seventeen.
Edith should've been happy that Seras was finally pursuing her dream once again. It meant that her sister had finally found herself again. And it also meant that Edith might've well spit in her sister's face when she practically said that nothing would come of it.
Edith sighed as she slid her own gloves on.
Well… she was right. Nothing would be coming of it. A female detective? Who had ever heard of such nonsense? Besides, it was time that Seras learned to face to reality and put such petty things behind her; she hadn't found a husband in two seasons, and if she didn't find one this season she would be deemed a failure. There was no bigger disgrace for a lady, and their family could not afford anything of the kind.
However, it seemed that Seras had found something with that Wallachian noble, of all people. Come to think of it, hadn't she been wearing the crystal he supposedly gave to her?
Edith gathered the flowers to her bosom with a sharp frown, forgetting to thank Nora for holding the door open for her as she left the household. Edith herself had disregarded the necklace until after the fact, so hopefully it wasn't too noticeable. During the Season it was not in good taste to wear jewelery before evening time, yet Seras just had to go and…
How awful it was that she, the younger sister, better understood civilities than the elder.
And to wear a piece of jewelry that was just given to you by a potential suitor! It was too forward! What was Seras thinking? Edith was past the envy that had sprung with the news that her sister had been the only lady at the ball that her mysterious prince had danced with. It wouldn't even matter if Seras had managed to grab the Count as a suitor, because at this rate she was going to shame herself if she disregarded any more social graces!
Edith couldn't stop grumbling to herself all the two blocks to the church. Stupid Seras, running around and almost tarnishing their reputations. The Victorias were already Catholic! That was already one strike against them, and they didn't need any more.
St. Peter the Apostle Church wasn't beloved to most of London, but as a Catholic church no one had expected that much anyway. The fact that it incorporated gothic French architecture to its exterior and an Irish priest to its interior didn't help matters either, but for whatever reason the parish was usually left alone even when the occasional anti-Catholic riot sprang up.
The church seemed to be empty at first glance, which didn't bother Edith in the slightest. The faster she could get to Seras to apologize, the better. But then after a second look, Edith spotted her priest in one of the front most pews engaged in a very lively conversation with a very strange woman. She blanched and took a step back towards the door. Perhaps Father was having an affair with the woman and she had inadvertently walked in on a lovers' spat? Oh, how embarrassing!
But it was better to make her presence known now than later, lest she be accused of eavesdropping. That was just shameful.
But Father Anderson nor the woman he was yelling – er, debating with seemed to notice her presence. Tid-bits of their conversation, which had once been echoes, began to ring clearer with each step closer.
"-don't believe in coincidences, especially when he's involved."
"Ye heathens have always been so quick to judge and today 'tis no exception! Have ye even any evidence before ye gather torches?"
"Numbers don't lie, and autopsies never do. Facts are facts whether you choose to admit them or not, Judas Priest." Edith blinked at the insult. How rude, especially in a church of all places.
It didn't quite seem the type of conversation a member of the clergy should be engaging in. And since when had Father Anderson become so aggressive and – not to mention – frightening? Edith felt extremely uncomfortable. This conversation was most definitely not meant for her ears, and she really wished that they would notice her already. She stood a few pews back and tried to clear her throat as lady-like as possible, but to no avail.
"Ye still don't know for certain whether the man is the cause! Ye cannot damn a man because ye want to!"
"Oh, for Christ'ssake!" The tall, towheaded woman that Father Anderson was arguing with suddenly leapt from her seat, arms raised in extreme exasperation. "When a damn Count of Wallachia named Vlad, of all things, comes to London and we see such a rise in numbers what other logical reason is there? He's back, damn you!"
Edith couldn't hold back her gasp. They were talking about the Count! Had he committed a crime? Had he hurt someone? What were they talking about?
Father Anderson jumped from his seat as well. "Never use such obscenities in the place of God, ye filthy Protestant whore!" He literally bellowed as he raised his fist. Edith's breath caught in her throat. She was not about to give witness to her priest striking a woman!
"Father Anderson!" Edith squeaked, holding the flowers out in front of her in a meager attempt to create a barrier. Both people, including the startling woman in the pantsuit, jumped to face her. She cringed as she felt the remnants of their anger misdirected toward her.
However, at the realization that it was just one of his faithful parishioners, Father Anderson quickly dropped his hand and exited the finely carved pew to stand in the aisle in front of Edith.
"Ah Miss Victoria, I apologize for the display… such a bad temper, right lass?" He said, clasping his hands together. Edith couldn't help but notice how tightly he held them together. His knuckles were turning white. "What do I owe the pleasure?"
Edith locked her elbows and managed to hold the flowers out a bit further. "My mother apologizes for failing to deliver these last Thursday." She said, trying to hide the quaver from her voice. The other woman regarded her with cold, analytical eyes.
Father Anderson nodded. "O'course, I thank ye." The flowers exchanged hands, and suddenly they were standing there in silence.
"Well, I… shall see you at mass, Father." Edith said with a forced, anxious smile and a small curtsy. She turned and curtsied to the woman as well, because God only knew what she would do if Edith snubbed her. It was when Edith had turned, gotten halfway down the aisle, and was close enough to the door to believe she was free that the woman finally addressed her.
"Miss Victoria," The woman's voice was powerful and echoed in the church. Edith stopped. "Do you happen to have any relation to a Miss Seras Victoria?" Edith stiffened. How did this woman know her sister? It was clear that their previous conversation had undoubtedly been about the Count.
"Yes, she is my sister." Edith turned to face her, but didn't cross the gap between them. The woman took care of that for her. Her footsteps were heavy and masculine.
"And what is her relation to the Count?" The woman stood facing her with a fierce frown and harsh body language. Edith fidgeted.
"She-she… nothing's been made official, but he sent her jewelry this morning…" Edith said warily. The woman's eyes widened, displaying a short lapse in façade. Perhaps she shouldn't have said that.
"But…" The woman murmured to herself, lost in thought. Edith stared at her. Father Anderson suddenly appeared behind the woman, flowers still in hand.
"This is Sir Integra Fairbrooks Wingate Hellsing, Miss Victoria. She's a Protestant." He chewed on the word "protestant" like it was some sort of rubber, disgusting and oh so hard to pull out of your teeth. His face was so restrained, and his expression was lost somewhere between a smile and a grimace.
"It's nice to meet you, My Lady."
"You may address me as Sir." Edith blinked and nodded. Well, that had been to the point.
"Miss Victoria, it would do your sister well to be on her guard and reject the Count's advances for her own safety. We expect him to be involved with numerous unseemly activities."
Edith was silent.
"And I would also advise her not to allow him knowledge of her newfound enlightenment. Do not put your trust in him." Integra's voice was unwavering, totally convinced of her opinion. Edith was afraid to ask why. "And if you should find yourself in any particular situations with him that may need to involve… a third party, you may find access to myself and my organization at this address." Sir Hellsing had pulled a pencil out of one of her trouser pockets and grabbed a hymnal out of one of the pews. With blatant disregard, Sir Hellsing quickly tore the forward out of it, and Edith didn't miss that faint smirk that appeared when a flicker – ahem, tremor - of irritation spread across Father Anderson's face.
"'tis not to scare you. 'tis better to be safe than sorry." Father Anderson cut in, effectively ruining the dramatic silence that had dominated after Sir Hellsing's speech and spectacle.
Sir Hellsing elegantly sneered (Edith hadn't known such was possible) in response. The tension was practically crackling between them, and Edith decided that it was probably a good time to take her leave. So she took a step back, quickly said her goodbyes, and hustled out of the church only to hear their argument return full-throttle as she opened the ornate church doors.
"Do you dare still doubt me, you blasphemous-"
Edith was only too thankful to have torn herself from the conversation when she had.
But Edith couldn't decide whether to forget what had happened, or to commit it to memory. She wasn't yet sure which action would come back to bite her.
She hurried down the long stone staircase, feeling the gargoyles' stare on her back and Sir Hellsing's note weighing heavy in her hand.
The library seemed to have gotten dustier in her absence. But then it wasn't as if Seras had any part in its maintenance, so it really wasn't her place to stay; but she had come here so often during the winter months, how could she not?
Seras waved to the friendly librarian as she padded across the oiled wood floors, heading straight toward her favorite old reading nook in the left back corner. Her eyes lit up when she saw the practical lacquered table with its comfortable cushioned chairs and cracked reading lamp peeking from behind tall bookcases and a wooden cart of uncategorized literature.
Since the beginning of the Season this year Seras had had virtually no leisure time, and thus no time for library excursions. Mornings were usually spent riding down Rotten Row* with Edith and her too-well-off friends, afternoons were put aside for calling on friends and important acquaintances, and after dinner hours were of course reserved for the few ton events the Victorias were invited to. There had been an increase of invitations ever since Edith's debut at Court, surprise surprise, and the family had been busy ever since.
Well, it hadn't exactly been much of a surprise, but you were supposed to act like it was.
Seras took several minutes to comb over the dusty aisles for the books she had last been working over before settling down at her table, turning on the cracked reading lamp with a cheerful click. She was going to apply to the Metropolitan Police and she was going to pass their exam with flying colors if it was the last thing she did. She would have to pass with a near perfect score if the Academy was going to even remotely take her seriously as a candidate. Now, if only Alexander Bain had worded his text without creating a new term ever other line…
It was back.
Her body sensed it before her mind. Suddenly her pulse had picked up, she was sitting ramrod straight, and could not move. Perhaps if she stayed still, her body reasoned, then perhaps it would go away. Perhaps it would forget and move on. But her mind knew better. Her mind understood that the game had only just begun.
Slowly, Seras turned in her chair and looked up, her face caressed by shadow.
"What a surprise, Miss Victoria." The Count had arrived, and he sounded everything but surprised.