Disclaimer: Don't own Hellsing and never will, but that's cool cause I'm chill.
(I should stick to stories and not rap)
V.
Things were beginning to look up for Seras.
After the rather embarrassing and rumor-worthy episode at Mr. Thornsbury's tea, Seras had finally been forced to address her illness as something not to be ignored and was sentenced to bed rest for a week. The physician her father called for had diagnosed her with anemia, which didn't make much sense to Seras.
Anemia was, by definition, a decrease in the number of red blood cells or less than the normal amount of hemoglobin in the blood. It was caused by a wide variety of medical jargon: blood loss, vitamin deficiency, genetic abnormalities. After speaking with Mrs. Victoria about Seras' diet, her physician had determined the cause to be a vitamin deficiency whose effects had been magnified by stress (apparently she was "too anxious,") a lack of sufficient oxygen (it was the corset!) and heat exhaustion (because 70 degrees was apparently too hot.) All of these factors had culminated and severely weakened her to the point where her body was unable to cope.
"Could blood loss also account for anemia?" Edith had inquired as she, her mother, and the doctor diligently sat at Seras' bedside the night of her swoon.
There was a beat, and then an affirmative.
"Seras hasn't loss any blood, Doctor." Mrs. Victoria had explained, writing off her daughter's rather odd question as mere curiosity. Edith was silent for the remainder of the exam- not as if anyone had noticed, anyway.
Seras was assigned a prescription, put on a week of bed rest, and a required daily fluid intake – and you know what? She was feeling better! By the third day Seras had felt like she had gone right back to normal, and by the fifth she was getting a bit stir crazy. Thankfully Edith was at her side in the mornings before she and their mother left for the afternoons and had faithfully come back to sit with her in the evening to make fun of the stuffy people she had been forced to entertain.
It felt like old times as they gossiped about the handsome young men who had begun to follow Edith like love struck puppies and their jealous sweethearts, carefully sidestepping around any mention of the Count. They laughed at the overworked jokes in the print, and gobbled up Dickens' latest story installments. Nora brought up dinner on a tray for both of them, and they ate in Seras' bedroom like children.
It was a nice little reprieve from the inevitable, the matter that was still lurking in the back of their minds. The matter whose unopened letters to Seras remained on the stairwell, and whose flowers had been delivered to the sitting room instead of Seras' bedroom. Flowers could after all cause allergies, and what kind of sister would Edith be if she worsened Seras' condition?
But you can't stop the inevitable. No one can.
It was on the morning of the sixth day that Seras was finally allowed out of her chambers and back in to household life, albeit slowly. She practically jumped down the stairs on her way to breakfast still dressed in her sleeping gown, much to her mother's distaste but her doctor's approval, and almost slipped on the stack of letters. They scattered all over the brightly polished floor of the foyer.
"Oh bother!" Seras bent to pick them up, but frowned when she realized they were all addressed to her. Now, that was funny. She really wasn't that popular… at all. In fact, aside from Edith, she didn't have many female friends.
The letters were addressed to her in a heavy, elegant hand which had seemed to labor over her name in dark ink. There was no return address, but there was a red wax seal on the back of each envelope. Seras couldn't help the goofy grin. Without an address, she knew exactly who had sent her these letters. His dark yet beautiful penmanship matched him, after all.
Oh, wow. Just when had she gotten so corny?
He had written her every day since she had fallen ill at Mr. Thornsbury's party! Her heart fluttered as she struggled to tear the seal of the first letter she scooped up, all but forgetting that the rest of the family was waiting on her to breakfast.
Approaching footsteps on worn hardwood alert her that yes, it was probably a good time to set the letters aside for now. God only knew what her family would do if they realized that she was receiving letters from, gasp, a suitor. Well, they probably would've been fine with letters from a suitor. After the Thornsbury tea pseudo-scandal, it was only a problem if they were from the Count.
Sera startled when she heard soft footsteps behind her and quickly placed them behind one of the Ming vases in the foyer. She didn't exactly want to share whatever the Count had written with her family, whose matriarch interpreted every look as a "lovers' longing" and every sigh as "a hint of what was to come." Mothers.
But after the family had disbanded after breakfast, Edith to Rotten Row,* her father to his law office, her mother to the florist and she to her room, Seras found that her so-called love letters wouldn't have been so scandalous after all. Well, they were still relatively scandalous; after all, what respectable lady received five letters from one suitor the mere week after he received permission to court her? They had only known each other for three weeks as well… wasn't there some sort of time period they had to go through before they courted?
Oh, well. She had begun to enjoy her time with the Count enough to cease caring about such petty things… though, perhaps it was in both their best interests that she not tarnish her reputation in any way. No respectable gentleman like the Count would ever been seen with a lady in disgrace.
Seras frowned as she closed her chamber door behind her, letters in hand. She didn't want something as silly as societal opinion to get in the way of what was becoming a blossoming relationship. Seras had actually begun to like the Count. Certainly he was eccentric and peculiar, but he was also chivalrous, generous, beautiful, and charismatic. He had a certain blunt wit and cynical sense of humor that she appreciated. Such was very much present in his letters:
April 4, 1845
Police Girl,
It is to my understanding that you have fallen ill, a fact that serves as a scant surprise. I lament that you will become a shut-in for an indeterminable period of time.
Seras was glad she was the one to be opening his letters. Neither Edith nor her mother would have been able to appreciate such, ahem, wit…
His other letters were just about as lengthy and sentimental as the first, though his most recent letter, which had been dated just the day prior, threatened at him paying a visit to the Victoria household if he did not receive word from her or her family at some point. Seras had smiled like a loon when she read that bit, and stuck it in the necklace drawer of her jewelry case for safekeeping. She knew that it was the closest thing she'd get to a love letter from him.
It was that day that she took the time to finally respond, and it was on the sixth day that she was pronounced well and recovered enough to go out and about for short periods of time – and by "go out," she was able to mill about other parts of the household for as long as she wished. It was on the seventh day, just another Sunday, that Seras put her reclaimed freedom to use.
The grandfather clock in the drawing room had just begun to chime half-after seven when there was a brisk knock at the front door. The Victoria family sat together in the drawing room listening to Mr. Victoria read from Revelations as the women caught up on their sewing.
The sisters were unglamorously seated on the floor surrounded by spare needles and thread near the window. It wasn't the tidiest predicament, but it was a cozy and well-worn tradition that Seras particularly enjoyed. Their mother seemed to agree with the sentiment, and for that short time she did not nag her daughters to retain their posture or practice their conversation skills.
The day had been unusually frigid for April, and a smoldering fire crackled in the background. The shadows had lengthened, and the setting sun cast a warm glow through the sparkling windows. Edith and Seras sat in companionable silence, enjoying their father' narration of the prophets, and simply relaxed. And then there was that knock, Mr. Victoria stopped reading, and the moment was gone.
As Nora went to answer the call with a "Please, do come in," Mrs. Victoria literally leapt in to action from her perch on the faded settee next to her husband, accidentally kicking a basket of yarn and sending the spools everywhere. Mr. Victoria sighed and bookmarked his page before gently setting the Bible down on the dark oak side table next to him.
"My dear, there is hardly a need for such fuss when we do not even know for certain whether or not we have company."
Mr. Victoria bit back a sigh. Recently he found a reason to sigh too often in his line of work, and refused to have that carry over to his homelife. Edith bit her lip and quietly stood to help her mother collect the spools.
"Well, one knows it's better to be safe than sorry, especially when one is in as sorry as our own, and 'tis-" Mrs. Victoria had begun to say something about preparedness as she bent over to right of the toppled basket, but her breath caught in her throat when she looked. She heard Edith whisper something under her breath from beside her, but chose to ignore such behavior for now; they'd speak of such a lapse later.
The Count had decided to pay their little family a visit. He stood in the entryway to the drawing room with Nora at his side, her small frail frame making his all the larger in comparison. He hadn't even taken his maroon duster off, and still held a wolf-headed cane in his hand. He didn't seem to be planning on staying for long.
"What a wel-welcome surprise, My Lord!" Mrs. Victoria found herself stuttering, and admonished herself for it in her thoughts. She, of all people, stuttering?
But another side of her, a more realist side, did not chastise her for it. How fair would it be to do so? It was so strange to observe the tall, broad shouldered man in her doorway; she wondered how he had fit through it at all. The Count was undeniably beautiful, a creature more likely to be found in an exotic castle in a fable than her drab, outdated drawing room. Oh, she knew she should've gotten the purple-floral patterned wallpaper instead of the orange! She should've changed the curtains when she had the chance on Thursday morning!
She could only hope that her bad decisions wouldn't deter him from Seras.
"My Lord, it is a honor to receive you." Mr. Victoria stood from his seat, prompting Seras to do the same. Edith stood beside her mother, clutching an armful of yarn almost protectively to her chest.
"My Lord, may I be of assistance?" Nora asked demurely from behind him, unable to enter the room.
The Count smiled with ill-concealed amusement (and was that malice?) as he shook Mr. Victoria's hand, blatantly ignoring Nora and Mrs. Victoria, before offering him and then Seras a baleful grin. "It's a beautiful night." He stepped further in to the room, which had seemed to shrink in his domineering presence.
"Oh yes! The sunset is especially lovely!" Seras piped up, ignoring the discreet jab of the elbow in the stomach from Edith.
Seras gave her sister a skeptical look from the corner of her eye before turning back to the Count. Not the "he's dangerous!" nonsense again! Ever since the Count had taken her and her mother home from the Sunday last, Edith had been acting rather strange… and religious.
She'd practically forced Seras to wear a drab silver crucifix and complained when she took it off for less than a minute, and then nailed a crucifix in every room of the home. No one had complained because no one would complain about piousness, but Seras was certain everyone found Edith's resurgence into the faith as strange as she did.
Edith had also become rather jumpy and paranoid, and Seras was almost sure she had been having trouble sleeping if the dark purple and brown bags under her eyes were anything to go. Not to mention that she had tea with that strange Sir Hellsing again, and any mere whisper of the Count put Edith in a foul mood.
"Especially lovely, indeed. Though perhaps not as lovely as the ladies I'm graced to be speaking with." The Count turned his gaze on her, smiling wickedly. Seras couldn't help the bashful smile and sudden flush of color over her cheeks. He looked back to Mr. Victoria again, smile persistent.
"Oh, my Lord!" Mrs. Victoria laughed flirtatiously to Edith's disgust.
"I have rudely interrupted your evening to selfishly ask for the favor of Miss Seras' company on an evening stroll about your neighborhood…" The Count began once Mrs. Victoria had calmed herself. "…with the proper accompaniment, of course." He added upon catching Mr. Victoria's questioning gaze.
"Of course." Mr. Victoria repeated in emphasis. The Count's smile flickered slightly.
Seras, seeing her chance, decided that now was the best time to get her word in on the matter.
"I would be delighted to make your acquaintance, My Lord… if you don't mind being seen with such a plain lady to-night." Seras' eyes darted to her rather dated, a bit faded dress that she wore for her own comfort on private nights where none but her own family would see her. It was for that reason that her mother allowed her to do so. At the present time her hair wasn't anything remarkable either, and she bore no jewels or anything remotely expensive.
All in all, Seras wouldn't have been surprised if the Count did decided to call on her another time. He, dressed in the usual fine silk and perfectly tailored ensemble, certainly deserved better. And for God's sake, was that a pendant of pure onyx clipped to his necktie?
Yes, yes it was. Seras suddenly felt acutely more self-conscious.
"No, not at all." His smile, as cheeky as it was malicious, was directed at her. Embarrassment and indignation flowed through her; well, maybe now she didn't want to go with him anyway!
"Wonderful! I'm in need of a bit of exercise myself, why don't I play chaperone!" Mrs. Victoria announced as she practically threw her yarn on to the settee in her excitement, disregarding the wicker basket Edith had laid next to her.
Well, now Seras didn't have a choice in deciding whether or not she would go with him.
"I would hate for the Count to see be seen with someone beneath one of his status." Seras sniffed, still stung by the Count's snub. The room was quiet for a moment. There was muffled, unladylike snort from Edith's direction. Mr. and Mrs. Victoria stared at their daughter, flabbergasted, before turning to gauge the Count's reaction.
But the Count didn't offer much insight to such a matter. If one had been watching closely, it would be seen that for a short moment he'd been caught just as off guard as the Victorias had been before recovering to an unsettling fit of chuckles.
"I wouldn't worry, Police Girl. I believe we've been seen enough for such an issue to take minor precedence."
She started. Why had he seen the need to call her that name in front of her family? In front of her mother? And to word such a statement so suggestively, as if their gallivanting around the streets of London was a regular occurrence!
"I-I will need a shawl!" Seras squaked, making her escape from what was bound to become an either awkward or confrontational conversation. As she spirited past him, she caught the glint of white from an upturned lip, the crease of an eyebrow. He enjoyed her torment.
But she was only happy that he had found something about someone as odd and strange as she to enjoy.
There was a murmur of conversation in the drawing room as she withdrew her mauve shawl from a hidden closet under the staircase, sighing when she draped it over her shoulders. It was such a depressing, plain color and perfectly matched her mousy dress of depressing, faded green. It was an ensemble that matched her situation, a plain Jane next to a magnificent man.
To picture her walking at his side, pale and boring, an example of whom he chose to associate with… Seras was embarrassed for him.
And embarrassment, it seemed, had no intention of leaving her.
"It is a beautiful night." The Count repeated himself as he joined her in the foyer, his steps soundless and swift. Her mother trudged in right after him, eyeing Seras warily, just daring her to mess this up.
"It is indeed." Seras agreed demurely, pulling the shawl closer to her as she stepped out the front door once her mother was ready. The Count had never taken off his outer-wear to begin with.
They started down the sidewalk side by side with Mrs. Victoria a respectable distance behind them, just out of earshot but not out of sight. Their pace was slow and leisurely and matched the melancholy atmosphere of the Sunday twilight. The shops' windows were dark and empty, and the streetlamps were just beginning to be lit. It was hardly a time to be walking around with a suitor.
The Count seemed to realize this as well. "I'm sorry to say that you will not find me available to be dragged about during the daylight hours, Police Girl." He said rather snidely, as if all she found him good for were bragging privileges.
"Oh no, that's alright!" Seras ignored the insinuation. She didn't think of him as some exotic accessory. "I'm happy to be with you, my Lord, whenever the time's convenient! I am certain one as important as you has little time for leisure." She would take whatever he was willing to offer.
The Count didn't say anything in response, and they continued on in companionable silence for a time.
"Porphyria." The Count broke the silence as they turned a corner, maneuvering to assure that he stood closest to the street and Seras was spared.*
"I bed your pardon, my Lord?" What was that supposed to mean? Was it a Romanian pick up line or something?
"I suffer from Porphyria, Police Girl." He said rather gruffly, as if he hated admitting a weakness. "It is a skin condition that causes me great distress if I expose myself to the sun for too long a time."
Seras blinked. "You joined us in the yard at Mr. Thornsbury's tea…"
The Count mumbled something under his breath that Seras didn't catch before taking her hand to place it on his arm. She gasped at his forwardness and the fact that he had yet to let go of her hand – probably because he knew she would remove it once he detached his grip. "Why do you think I only sent you letters, Miss Victoria, and never visited in person? I needed time for my own body to recuperate." He returned, no amusement found in his voice.
Seras bit her lip and looked down at her rather scuffed boots. She seemed to be the worst person he could've been with tonight, what with the mess she looked and the inadvertent accusations she had thrown his way.
"I'm sorry, my Lord. You are a terribly resilient person to bear such a burden; you are truly a strong man." She meant it sincerely, genuinely, and it seemed to register with the Count. His features softened ever-so-slightly, and he removed his hand to pat her little gloved one.
"You are too naïve, Police Girl." He reinstated his grip on her hand and pulled it in closer to his forearm, effectively pulling her a little closer as well. Not as if she minded, however. The walked so close to each other, the fabric of his jacket brushing against the material of her shawl with every step. Seras hoped he couldn't hear her heartbeat like she could, frantically pulsing in her ear.
They walked like that for a while, conversation not seemingly terribly important in the whitewashed light of the rising full moon. Every once in a while one of them would comment on something, whether it be on a little shop passed or a passing thought, but they otherwise allowed the silence to take its course.
That was something Seras liked about the Count. He found no need for petty small talk, to speak merely for the sake of speaking. It was a welcome change from the usual arrangement of irrelevant conversations she was expected to have with almost everyone she met. It was wonderful to find someone who wasn't afraid of the quiet.
A quiet that was all too quickly disturbed.
A metal door attached to the shop they'd just passed, squeaky from years' worth of rust, suddenly crashed open (and practically in to Seras' back.) The Count reacted – grabbing her around the waist and pulling her protectively against his chest while raising his walking stick in the other to address whatever unsavory creature was getting a head start in the early night. Seras stiffened at the contact, watching with wide eyes as the possibly assailant moved to reveal himself from behind the door. She cursed herself for not taking a different route; while this way hadn't had a bad reputation, it certainly hadn't had an outstanding one either. And now the Count could get in to trouble on her behalf!
It would've been more romantic if the Count hadn't been so scary in that moment, his cool breath brushing over her hair in a silent hiss, muscles tense and ready to act. He was ready to attack, ready to bare his teeth and sink them in to whoever the poor, wretched criminal was.
"Pip? Pip Bernadotte! What in heaven's name are you doing in that wretched place?" Mrs. Victoria's call seemed to confuse the Count, who lowered his cane but didn't release his rather inappropriate, though protective, hold on Seras.
Mrs. Victoria saw him first, stumbling out of an unaffiliated rusty door on the edge of an alley, but once he came in to their view Seras breathed a sigh of relief. The Frenchman was clad in dark peasant clothing that was more fit for the armed forces than polite society, and was that a gun in the pocket of his ragged olive green jacket? Judging from the Count's strengthened hold on her, she assumed so.
Pip blinked and threw his long chestnut briad over his shoulder, first jumping around to face Mrs. Victora, and then Seras, and then back again. The Count wasn't assumed.
"What the hell did you think you were doing?" He snarled, his voice frightening and accusatory. Pip flinched and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, wisely casting his eyes down – only to lay sight on Seras.
"Why, it's Seras Victoria! Why are you out here in the dark, Cher?" Pip grinned at her, choosing to ignore the Count for the time being. "And Mrs. Victoria, mon chou, how happy I am to zee you!" He turned to address the older woman, who wore a looked crossed with surprise, agitation, and fondness.
Seras forced her way out of the Count's arms as Pip addressed her mother, offering him a shy smile when she heard him practically hiss under his breath. He seemed to be quite moody tonight, and while she suspected she bore a share of the blame for his unhappiness, Seras wasn't about to let him keep her from seeing her dear friend! She hadn't seen him for several weeks!
"Pip! Oh, Pip, what in heaven's name gives you the right to frighten us so!" Seras laughed as the young man rushed to her at her call, grabbing her waist to spin her around in the air as if they were long-lost lovers. He smelled like cigarette smoke and cotton. Seras didn't turn to see the Count's reaction to their reunification; she didn't have to to know that he was probably less than pleased.
"Ma chérie, the sight of you is like water to a man dying of thirst! How good it is to see you!" Pip cheered once he set her down, taking her thin forearms in his large, calloused hands. Seras didn't comment on the fact that he was skirting around her question.
Pip was Seras' senior by several years, but a long time ago he had lived down the block from the Victoria household with his mercantile parents. Seras and Pip officially met in Sunday school; nether had wanted to be there, so a common bond was formed and utilized in times of classroom filibustering and blatant disregard for the forced memorization of prayers. The fact that the two lived so close only heightened a bond of camaraderie to full-blown blood-brotherhood that persisted through childhood and adolescence.
It was only after Pip graduated from Oxford and promptly disappeared off the face of the earth that they began to drift a part. Sera had always suspected – er, known- that there was more to their friendship on Pip's part, but as a childhood friend he was granted a pardon from the irritating game of civilities young men and women played with each other.
"What have you been doing all this time?" Seras whispered conspiratorially with a raised brow. Pip only smiled in response, but it didn't reach his eyes. They told a second story that Seras longed to know for his sake. Pip had never been one to internalize before.
"What I have had to do, mon ange." It was less than she had hoped for, but more than she knew she would've gotten had she been anyone else. She worried for him.
A loud, over exaggerated cough broke the moment. The two friends jumped together, Seras' tinkling laugh harmonizing with Pip's deeper one. There was a tap-tap-tapping on the sidewalk, the unmistakable glint of a well-polished shoe.
The Count was certainly a frightening man. Seras' smile fell for a split second as her eyes drifted over his sunglasses, afraid of what she would have found had they not been hidden.
"I apologize, I have forgotten myself!" Seras broke away from Pi's embrace, standing in between the two men. The Count glowered at her, arms crossed, foot still tapping with obviously implied impatience. He seemed to get bigger in such a threatening posture, and he did nothing to make himself any less intimidating to her or Pip. She laughed, trying to lighten the sudden tension, but it came out as strained and awkward. Her mother did nothing to alleviate the situation.
"My Lord, may I introduce my childhood friend, Mr. Pip Bernadotte? And Pip, might I introduce the honorable Count Dracul the Fifth of Wallachia?" Seras said, gesturing from the Count to Pip and then from Pip to the Count. Pip bowed politely before extending his hand to the Count, who merely looked at it and sneered in disdain. Seras blanched.
Pip frowned and drew back his hand. There was silence for a long moment.
"Well, Pip, you will have to pay us a visit to catch up!" Mrs. Victoria had apparently decided to finally take initiative and joined the conversation, laying her hand gently on Pip's arm. Pip's face broke out in another half-hearted smile.
"Certainly!" He laughed, before glancing around them. "It is late. I apologize, I must go." His leave was as curt as his goodbye, offering Seras a light handshake and another (though rather forced) bow to the Count before crossing the road. Seras watched him blend in to the shadows of the street, which was uncomfortably empty.
"It seems we are out rather late as well." She began uncertainly, unsure of what the Count's opinion on the matter was. Unfortunately for her, he didn't seem bothered in the least.
"Indeed." His voice was still strained, and he seemed to still be mulling over their run-in with Pip. That didn't stop him from regaining hold of her hand once they began to walk again, not letting it leave his arm until they finally returned to the household an hour later.
{A/N}
Notes:
- Rotten Row is a well maintained horse track along the south side of Hyde Park in London, and was the place for all fashionable upper class ladies and gentleman to be seen.
- It's an old custom that the man walk near to the street than the woman so that in case a carriage would pass and splash hay or mud or God only knew what else on the passerby, the woman would be spared. Good old chivalry for you
Thank you all for reading and reviewing! I promise that once I find time I'll respond to everyone!
In the mean time, please tell me what you think!
Until next time,
Della