Disclaimer: We've been over this before: I don't own Hellsing. Geez.
VI.
Seras flipped the invitation in her hands a second time, still marveling at the rich, thick quality of the stationary. It was the type of stationary that sat next to oversized pearls and precious gems in upscale boutiques, a type of hand-crafted artisan paper that Seras always liked to look at when her mother went to purchase the new ring or brooch. It didn't surprise her that the Count owned pads of paper that'd probably cost more than several of her best evening gowns combined.
The Count had delivered the invitation when he saw Seras and her mother back to their home after their little evening excursion the Sunday previous, just after he had made his goodbyes and was about to step out the door. He pulled it from an inner pocket of his dark great coat as if he'd almost forgotten (and maybe he had,) and placed it in Seras' hands with another one of his conniving, smug little smiles. Then he left without a word.
Mrs. Victoria had practically torn it out of Seras' hands afterward.
"Oh! Oh my goodness, the Count has invited us to a dinner party!" Mrs. Victoria was so excited Seras thought her mother was literally going to cry.
"Has he now?" Mr. Victoria still wasn't a very big fan of the Count. Something about him just didn't sit right with him, not as though he could ever say so.
The Count had never done him or his family any wrong, even if he was overly forward with his daughter. But such behavior could be easily brushed off by the rest of society as a mere cultural difference – because the Count was simply so used to his own country's code of etiquette, such a breach could easily be forgiven. Not to mention that he was also a Count. Being royalty always helped in such matters. Yes, there was always the Count's status to consider.
Edith coincidentally entered the foyer just after the Count left, and took a moment to observe the situation before speaking.
"What does it read?" A good question. Mrs. Victoria took it upon herself to wave it in everyone's face so they too could bask in its glory. Seras blinked when it was her turn, before gently tugging it out of her mother's gloved claws to get a better look.
"Lord Dracul the Fifth of Wallachia requests the pleasure of Mr. and Mrs. Victoria and their daughters at dinner on Saturday, the nineteenth of April, at seven o'clock in the evening. R.S.V.P."
"Such an elegant hand, such perfect manners!" Mrs. Victoria gushed, wasting no time to grab it back from Seras once again. After that, there were no objections to the nightly walks the Count began to request of Seras.
They were harmless enough. The Count always arrived at the Victoria household at twilight and never much earlier due to his affliction of porphyria, and escorted Seras on a stroll around the neighborhood with one of the housemaids trailing a respectful distance behind.
Their conversations ranged from politics to Greek folklore to petty gossip, and Seras felt that underneath the rugged exterior she had found a common soul. By the fourth week they didn't even exchange the proper greeting of curtsies and civil games; they didn't need them. Seras thought it exhilarating.
There were no off-limit topics, no wrong answers, and no fears of making a social blunder because neither of them couldn't have given a shit. Seras found it so liberating, found it so beautiful, to speak to someone outside her family and close friend group without constraint. She even brought him in to her otherwise secret world of police dreams and dramas.
"How adventurous, Police Girl. You really stole them? At that age?" The Count was unsurprisingly pleased with the fact that she'd had a childhood habit of reading confidential files from her father's desk when he was in the Force.
"I wouldn't call it stealing, you know." She pouted as they turned a corner. "I prefer to recall it as a mere extended reading practice. I never neglected to return them." The Count laughed.
"But as a ten year-old child, at midnight?" His grin was wide. "It seems you cannot cease to surprise me." He patted the hand she'd looped through his arm. Usually such forward actions were reserved for betrothed couples, but what Seras' parents didn't know couldn't hurt them.
"But why such fascination with crime instead of dolls, hmm? You were not a normal child – you are not a normal girl. Are you, perhaps, as ill in the mind as I?" He guided them a bit closer toward the closing shops, away from the road where a carriage passed by. Seras noticed a spray of mud catch the bottom hem of his great coat.
"I needn't remind you that I am a lady and not a girl once more, have I?" Seras sighed, shaking her head with a feigned scowl.
The Count laughed again, loud and throaty. It made her feel so unbelievably accomplished when she was able to make him laugh. "Of course not, Police Girl, of course not. But you've yet to answer my question."
Seras bit her lip, and counted the cracks in the pavement as they made their way. Aside from the occasional carriage and the Victorias' favorite maid Nora trailing behind them, they had a good bit of privacy.
"Well, I suppose… I suppose it makes the most sense to me. My father, of course, made a lasting impression on my choice, but the philosophy of crime and punishment is right in of itself." She paused. That was one reason, but wasn't the whole truth. "I-I, I've always been jealous that the officers are able to do something."
"Oh?"
"I-" Seras sucked a shaky breath. She'd never actually told anyone this before, not even Pip. Hopefully the Count hadn't been hoping to court a member of the Cult of Domesticity.* "I would ardently despair if I were to be just another wife whose main purpose in life was to breed children and host garden parties. Such an occupation is noble in its own way, to be certain, but when I'm faced with the prospect I feel so, so trapped."
"I feel as though there is so much more I could do, but all of that is not allowed. Medicine, law, writing, teaching – no man would ever allow such a soft and silly woman like me to practice them, would he?" Her smile was thin. "The Force was my best option, what with the connections of my father and the years of secret study I've dedicated to it. But I am fortunate, I suppose, in that I've always found the Force to be more interesting than law or writing." She didn't dare look up at the Count. She didn't think she'd be able to face disapproval from him.
He spoke after a long moment. "Did you ever truly intend to marry, Police Girl?"
Seras jerked her head up in surprise at the amused, almost pleased tone of his voice. His smile, sinister to her at one time but now strangely soft, made her heart skip a beat.
"O-of course!" She persisted. "I could do both." The Count merely patted her hand, and they continued on their way.
But their walks could never last for long. After a brief lapse, her illness had returned with less of an intensity but enough of one to make her weak and dizzy by the time they'd returned. Not that she'd ever tell the Count that, though – the last time she admitted as much he cut their walking distance by half, effectively cutting their time together short. Seras wasn't about to have that happen again.
They always took the same streets at the same red and orange hours, her hand never straying from the crook of his arm. He seemed to get irritated if it did, and the Count was no fun when he was irritated. But regardless of how much time they spent together, that was about all she knew about him. His name, where he hailed from, his cynical opinion on tid-bits here and there…
There was never any substance, never anything to go off of. No birth date, no family, no visible friends, not too many hobbies. She didn't even know what business he did as a Count. But every time she would try to ask, he'd somehow sidestep around it and end up getting a bit too much information out of her instead.
Eventually he had to return her home, and then she would go straight to bed, where she would hope to dream of him – but usually ended up with terrible nightmares instead. Over the weeks the nightmares morphed to night terrors complete with red eyes, gleaming fangs, snarling jaws, and some dark, dark creature stalking her… watching her… all the time…
She woke in the dead of night to blood curdling screams, screams that paralyzed her.
It was only when they finally ceased did she realize that they were her own.
Seras, Edith, and Mr. Victoria sat in the drawing room, waiting for their mother to finish… whatever it was that needed done before they left for the dinner party. Seras sat on the settee, back ramrod straight, wringing her hands nervously with Edith sitting almost despondently next to her. Mr. Victoria was at the writing desk, thoroughly involved with a novel. The ticking of the grandfather clock and the muffled commands of Mrs. Victoria were the only things to be heard.
"I do wish she'd hurry." Seras said after a while, looking at the setting sun through the windowpane. It was already five and twenty minutes after six o'clock, and they were expected at seven! Edith glanced at her from the corner of her eye.
"Really? I'm quite well staying put right here." Her voice wasn't mean-spirited or condescending or… anything, really. It was melancholy. It made Seras feel unsettled.
"Oh, come off it." Seras said half-heartedly, not in the mood to reprimand her sister for her bad attitude. It had become all too common as of late, and she had decided that she was going to be happy to-night regardless if Edith liked it or not.
Edith only looked away and didn't bother to respond.
A few long moments later Mrs. Victoria made her entrance, carrying with her the strong scent of perfume and mothballs, which made Seras start considering that it was early May.
"Why is everyone simply lazing about?" Mrs. Victoria scolded them, wagging her finger around is if it were a loaded gun. Mr. Victoria turned to her, an eyebrow raised in silent question, and Edith only stood to leave the drawing room for the foyer.
"Have you made arrangements, my dear?" Mr. Victoria marked his place in his novel and swiftly set it in the hidden drawer before shutting it with a snap. Mrs. Victoria laughed rather dryly, as if he had made some inside joke, before turning to Seras.
"Are you to tell me that you believe such an outfit is… presentable?" Seras stared, mouth agape. What, had her mother expected her to wear a ball gown? Her simple and subtlety beautiful gossamer evening dress would suit her just fine, and Seras thought that the sweetheart neckline even made it borderline suggestive.
"Of course!" Seras didn't bother to hide the fact that she was offended. Her mother only rolled her eyes.
"And I suppose it is your silly quirks that piques the Count's interest, is it not?" Mrs. Victoria sighed with a disapproving shake of her head in a tone of voice that was better suited for addressing a petulant child than a well-read young lady.
Seras didn't have anything to say to that.
"Off we go then!" Mrs. Victoria flipped her shawl around her shoulders like one of those French women. "Come come, off we go!" Mrs. Victoria cheered as she returned to shuffling her family into their newly-washed coach, choosing to ignore Nora's pleas of setting a return time and Seras' request of a short toilet break before they set off.
Thankfully for Seras, the Count's London home in the Nottinghill* district wasn't terribly far from their Kensington* address. It was a fact that, in Seras' opinion, terribly distressed Mrs. Victoria far more than it should have. But they managed to arrive without being attacked by paupers who wanted to sell their gold chains for opium money, so all was well.
The Count's townhome was made of hand-cut cobblestone and was framed by imposing arched white windows. It took up the space of two regular townhomes, and looked utterly out of place in a neighborhood of starving artists and odd-job journalists. The windows glowed comfortingly in the fading light of the sun. The shadows seemed to be darker here, but that was probably because no one had come to light the lamp posts yet. Seras swore she heard her mother mumble something about "those lazy painters" under her breath.
Seras stumbled out of the coach just in time to see the Count throw open his front door with open arms, a wide grin spread across his face.
"Welcome, welcome to my home!" He bellowed, stepping down the elegantly long front staircase with his arms still outstretched. Had it been anyone else, the theatrics would've been way too dramatic for Seras… but since it was him, she laughed. He seemed to hear her and looked her way, teeth flashing and obnoxiously red duster dancing in a sudden gust of wind.
"We're honored to be here, My Lord." Mr. Victoria chose to ignore the excitement of the Count and gave a short, stiff bow. Mrs. Victoria curtsied daintily, and Edith copied her (albeit begrudgingly.) Seras glanced at her family as they prostrated, and then back up at the Count with a mischievous smile.
He matched her smile with a wicked grin, but did not speak.
"Will you stand out here until the storm begins? Really now, have the English no sense?" The Count floated down the last set of stairs to join the Victorias as they straightened. "Do you absurd Englishmen enjoy dancing in the rain, I wonder?" He grabbed Seras' arms to pull her a bit too forcefully toward the staircase, the same smile from before present. She ignored the fact that he had yet to greet the rest of her family – surely he'd do so in a moment, once they'd had theirs.
"Dancing in the rain? Why no, I'd rather not." Seras protested, wiggling her arm in his vice grip. He was holding a bit too tightly, and it was starting to hurt. She tried to keep smiling, but every time she tried to nudge her bicep free his grip would only tighten. But no one had noticed that – oh no, her mother was too busy basking in the splendor of the Count's home, her father absorbed in the clouds and the prospects of a thunder storm, and Edith…
Actually, Edith had noticed. Even though she was last in their little parade, from what Seras could tell by means of (what she hoped were) covert backward glances, Edith was watching them intently. She wasn't pleased, either. Seras forced herself away when a frown threatened to tug at her lips. She would allow no unhappiness tonight.
The Count pulled her, almost flaunted her, by the standing butler who looked anything rather than amused. She gasped when she stepped into the foyer – if you could even call it that. Everything was so grand, so obviously labored over for many years. The floor underneath them was made of shining white marble, the ornate French paneled walls sloping to an elegant cathedral ceiling complete with a glimmering, worth-a-fortune chandelier. Large, brightly colored oil paintings of lively duck hunts, tea parties, and smiling ladies eclectically lined the walls. Seras personally thought that the panels were decoration enough.
"I take it that you approve?" The Count hadn't released his hold in the slightest even though there was no need for it anymore. Seras squirmed a bit again, but her smile wasn't false even as she practically had to throw her bonnet and shawl to the unhappy butler before the Count dragged her across the entryway.
"Oh, your home is the most lovely I have ever seen!" Seras sighed dreamily as he guided them in to a spacious mahogany paneled hallway lined with slightly more serious oil paintings. Elegant Redcoats stared after her as they made their way to one of the middle doors, and Seras momentarily wondered if he had forgotten the rest of the his guests.
The Count laughed dryly. "Police Girl, this place is little more than a rat's nest lined with tinsel." He paused before he opened the door, his hand on the knob. Seras could hear muffled laughter and conversation from inside and automatically turned to the door.
"One day, Police Girl, I will be able to show you something of true beauty." His voice was low and laced with double meaning. Seras' eyes snapped to him, only to find that the Count had gotten close.
Too close.
Their chests almost brushed, and Seras could even faintly see the outline of his eyes though his darkened lenses. They seemed to be large and full of passion, framed with thick lashes, but unfortunately still hidden from sight. She could feel his breath caress her forehead when she craned her head to look him in the eye, for she barely made it up his shoulders in height. For a moment, they were on a different plane, one that consisted only of them.
But then footsteps and voices sounded at the end of the hallway – most likely her family finally catching up with them.
Seras broke gaze first and quietly took a step back, finally getting out of his hold. He had actually managed to wrinkle the sleeve of her evening dress. She looked to her family, and then to the Count. There was still a thin margin of time left.
"I would enjoy as much." Seras whispered as she carefully avoided his heavy gaze, which by speaking had instantaneously regained. She missed the odd, calculating smile that appeared for a moment and disappeared almost as soon as it came. Instead she saw the Count let go of the doorknob and smile graciously at her family.
"Now that my maid staff has bored you with the cloak room, I'd suggest it be time to join the rest of the party." Count laughed with that same gracious smile.
The Count swiftly opened the door with a little bow and held it in such a way until all had entered the room, the picture of a considerate gentleman. Immediately upon entering, she wished that he hadn't.
They entered some sort of cheery sitting room stuffed with expensive French sofas and oriental artwork, a gorgeous golden piano-forte played upon by a slender lady, and crowded to the brim with people who outclassed the Victorias by miles. Seras suddenly felt naked in last year's fashions; should she have pinned her curls tighter? Should she have worn a darker color in a different style? The lilac braided in to her hair became little more than wild weeds in comparison to the bejeweled combs that littered the other ladies' hair. As they stood in the doorway, Seras found her and her family the newest objects of scrutiny.
There were several young ladies Seras recognized from the ton; all of which just around her age and, in Seras' opinion, were better dressed, better looking, and undoubtedly gossiping about her and Edith. A cold, sick feeling twisted in the pit of her stomach. Had the Count invited these other ladies here, or had they come with their families? She instinctively touched the mother-of-pearl brooch she had indulged in wearing that evening, her favorite gift from the Count. While it was possible that she wasn't the only lady he was courting? Up until this moment she thought she had been.
As silly as she knew it was, Seras couldn't help but feel the sting of betrayal.
The Count made his way through the Victoria throng to be visible and able to address the room. "And now the last of our friends have finally arrived!" He announced with another boisterous laugh that was chorused by everyone else present, prompting a few awkward chuckles from Mr. and Mrs. Victoria. Seras forced a smile, and didn't look at Edith. She was either going to be her charming self or an absolute grouch, and Seras couldn't bear to see the later any longer.
The little lady playing on the piano-forte had stopped when the Count began speaking, plunging the room in a momentary silence.
"I have been assured dinner will be served 'quite soon.' So let's make ourselves comfortable, shall we?" The Count laughed again and everyone laughed with him. He turned and made toward the huddled mass of stiff black suits and gold watches surrounding the brandy table like a watering hole. Mr. Victoria followed suit.
Seras awkwardly stood by the door as her mother warbled off toward a set of better-dressed ladies, only to have her arm taken in to the familiar crook of Edith's. Seras looked to her sister in surprise, but Edith had her eyes on the group of young ladies with a beautiful, easygoing smile spread on her face. Seras blinked and followed her sister's gaze, trying to relax her features and give off the confidence that had seemed to flee from her as soon as the Count let her out of his grasp.
Of course that harpy Caroline Binsworth was there, along with three of her overdressed and all too pretty friends. They sat together in a tightly-knit cluster near the piano-forte, delicate French tea cups elegantly balanced on their laps and a tray of dutifully untouched sweetmeats on the table stand next to them. Their dresses were of the utmost spring fashion, Seras realized with a start, and they had made no excuses when it came to their jewelry. And even though they were well aware of the approaching Victoria sisters, they made no attempt in making room for them in their circle, and only offered snide smiles hidden behind feather fans and graceful gloved hands.
"Caroline Binsworth, how good it is to see you!" Edith addressed the one she knew best once they'd finally reached the group. They stood on the outside of the little circle, looking down on the girls who had barely bothered to look up at them.
"Edith, it's wonderful to see you. Where have you been all this time?" Caroline asked with a thin-lipped smile, her cheeks stretching painfully over her skeleton features. At Caroline's address, Seras noticed that the other three girls had finally found them worth their interest.
"Here and there, you do know how the Season goes." Edith said with that practiced, easy charm. Caroline nodded in response, and her smile stayed in place as she moved from Edith to Seras.
"And how do you do, Seras?" She asked in one those irritatingly polite voices that read that speaking to you was the last thing she wanted to do. But unlike with Edith, Seras could see a well-hidden dislike, malice even. "Are you acquainted with these ladies?" But at least she hadn't forgotten her manners.
"I am quite well, thank you. I hope you are the same! And yes, I have met them. How do you do, Miss Georgiana, Miss Alice, Miss Charlotte?" Well, she'd just have to be better than Caroline was, wouldn't she? Seras put a little extra effort in to her smile, making sure her dimples showed and her eyes sparkled a little, as if she was actually interested in what Caroline had to say. Her strategy seemed to work a bit, too – Caroline actually seemed to be a bit put out by Seras' display of kindness.
The other girls said their hello's with as few words as civilities dictated, and Seras wondered if they expected the sisters to stand outside their circle the entire time.
"How lovely your outfits are, dears." Edith cooed sweetly, laying a hand on the silky quarter sleeve of Caroline's peach evening gown. Seras retained her picture-worthy smile even when Georgiana and Alice started whispering and giggling while throwing what they thought were covert glances in the Victoria sisters' direction.
Seras sincerely wondered why the Count had invited girls like them. He had told her many times that he despised shallow, boring, judgmental people (even though he'd apparently stopped caring for their opinions long ago.)
"Why thank you Edith. And you look as stunning as ever." Caroline's voice wasn't as welcoming as it had been before she had to return Edith's compliment. Since no attempt to make room on either of the couches the ladies sat on was made, and no one had suggested they pull up a chair from another part of the room, Seras assumed that they were expected to end their conversation soon or just stand there and listen to their "betters" like they "were expected to."
"Yes, they are quite lovely tonight, indeed." Their strained attempt at conversation abruptly stopped, and Seras practically jumped around at the voice.
The smile melted from Edith's face. Seras', on the other hand, brightened. The Count was here, thank God! And then she realized what he had said, and an emotion in the pit of her stomach fouled her mood.
There was a rushed chorus of hellos and curtsies, which he of course waved away with an elegant flick of the wrist. He was wearing what was probably a priceless onyx thumb ring tonight.
"Why My Lord, you certainly are a charmer tonight!" Caroline gushed rather forwardly, leaning in her seat toward the nobleman. Seras' smile was quickly becoming hard to maintain when she saw the smile that the Count gave Caroline. He shouldn't have been smiling at all!
"Only to those who deserve it, Miss." Seras' jaw almost dropped. He should've been insulting them, he shouldn't have been flirting with them! What was going on? What was going on? What was going on?
It was suddenly painful to be involved in the same conversation. Seras couldn't help it; she was hopelessly jealous and wanted his words to be directed toward her, not Caroline, not Alice, not Georgiana. God, he hated those types of girls! Why was he showing them any sort of attention? She was his Police Girl, wasn't she?
"That is why I came to express how beautiful Miss Seras looks this evening." Seras' jaw actually did drop this time, along with the other girls'. Well, that had been forward to the point of almost being unacceptable. There was a short silence during which the Count didn't even try to fill or apologize for – his smug little smile told the story well enough.
"Also, dinner is served. Please join us in the dining room." He smile only brightened when Seras and Edith couldn't even give a response, and all the other ladies looked dumbly at him and passed the sisters without a word.
Seras bit her lip and looked to Edith as the other guests left the room, leaving them alone for a brief moment.
"Edith-" Seras began.
"Do you see what I see now, Seras?" Edith asked with a small voice, a tired voice. Her smile was sad, but at least she was smiling. "Well, perhaps not all of what I see. But perhaps a little of the wool before your eyes has been pulled away." Seras didn't know what to say to that, just like she hadn't known what to say to the Count.
"Come, we'll miss dinner if we dawdle too long, hmm?" Edith grabbed Seras' arm, pulling after the other guests who had by now been long in the dining room.
The Count's sitting room was just as elegant as his drawing room, complete with rich, heavy oriental curtains, Persian rugs, and a crackling fire. The sun had set hours ago, and the night had an unusual chill to it - probably from a passing storm, the Count had said. Like before the men sat together in huddled masses around the brandy. The older women gossiped on thick goose-down chairs around the imported Italian mantelpiece and under the watchful eye of a portrait of their very host, or at least someone who resembled him a great deal.
"It is a portrait of Count Dracul the First… commonly known as Vlad." the Count had explained with little embellishment and a coy smile. Seras had, of course, been the one to ask about it. She had been sitting with her mother and the older ladies because she just hadn't been able to take any more hint-filled questions and accusing glares from Caroline and her cronies. Apparently (and unfortunately) they were all big fans of the Count. Edith, the only lady that hadn't been complemented by the Count, was saved Caroline's wrath and was able to sit with her group.
Seras hadn't minded… not really, anyway…
"Your great grandfather then, my Lord?" She asked, biting her lip when she realized that yes, they were not in private and no, it wasn't acceptable to ask such prying questions to those who outclassed you. But the Count only smiled as he casually leaned against the cream marble mantle and gave the portrait a thoughtful glance.
"Something along those lines, I suppose." So that was a yes then… right? He and the Count in the picture were so similar! They could've been mistaken for brothers, twins even, had it not been for the ancient fur and armor draped over the pictured man. Seras looked from the portrait to the Count, and back to the portrait again. They were too similar, aand the current Count had that awful smile on his face again. They shared that smile, she realized with a start.
"Excuse me, My Lord." It was Edith. What a surprise! Seras blinked. The Count's smile faded slightly.
"Yes?" Well, at least he was responding to her. The Count reached for the glass of brilliantly red wine he'd set on the mantle earlier and gave it a thoughtful swish before taking a sip. For whatever reason, Edith lost whatever color she had a moment before and was suddenly paler than a ghost.
"Might you be so kind as to direct me to the powder room?" She asked after a moment, her voice quieter than before. The Count smiled unkindly.
"Ah yes, it seems to me that you are in need of a touch of powder." Seras gasped and opened her mouth to rebuke his rude comment only for him to wave her off. Seras glowered. How dare he!
"How can-"
"Yes, I am indeed, so if you'd be so kind…" Edith cut off Seras so quickly Seras didn't know what to make of it. Why was Edith avoiding the confrontation? The Count only laughed, causing the older women to laugh even though they didn't understand just what was so funny about the situation.
"The powder room, as you English so delicately refer to it, is the last on the left." His response was prompt, all too curt and too straightforward for Edith to feel comfortable. But after a stiff thank you managed without making eye contact, Edith turned on her heel and tried to leave the room with as much grace she could muster. It was hard to be graceful when you were shaking so bad you were afraid you would fall over.
After she left the drawing room, the Count pulled a high-backed leather chair to the fire and joined the group of ladies.
"Police Girl, I assume your all too inquisitive mind wonders why so many generations of my heritage share the same namesake?" While the older ladies gaped at such an informal greeting, Mrs. Victoria looked downright excited by the fact that her daughter was such a favorite.
For the moment, Edith was forgotten.
She moved swiftly and silently as Sir Integra had taught her, her skirts in one hand and her boots in the other. The heels were too heavy, Sir Integra had explained, and would give her away too easily. Apparently the beast had exceptional hearing, like that of a bat's.
Edith shuddered at the thought before she reached the too-tall last door on the right and gently pulled it open, revealing a relatively used library lined with deep oak bookcases and matching glossy furniture. It was all tied together with a massive self-portrait of the Count watching her every move from over the fireplace at the other end of the library.
Edith tiptoed into the garish room, carefully avoiding the gawking head of the stuffed cheetah rug, and set her shoes next to it with a grimace. She had never been a fan of big game, nor any sort of hunting for that matter.
On her most recent visit with Sir Integra, Edith had told her of the dinner invitation, and Sir Integra had seen a chance. Over the past several weeks, Sir Integra had made it clear that the Count was not a good person – not even a person, actually. He was a literal monster who had taken an uncomfortable liking to her sweet sister, of all people, but just what type of monster he was hadn't been specified.
And that was why she was here tonight.
Sir Integra and her retainer, Walter, apparently had a hunch about what the Count really was.
"A demon fit only for the ninth ring of hell." Sir Integra occasionally spit out when he came up in conversation. Okay, so their hunch was a bit more in-depth than that, but that was beside the point.. It was up to her to use this opportunity to gather clues to report back to the Hellsing manor so Sir Integra and Walter would know just exactly what they were dealing with! So they could help and protect Seras from that awful thing!
"What does he want my sister for?" It wasn't the first time she'd brought up the question and wouldn't be the last, either.
Sir Integra sighed, her exhale layered with more irritation than concern. "As I've told you countless times before, nothing can be taken as entirely certain. However," Sir Integra folded her hands on the long, varnished tabletop decorated by unfinished paperwork and applications. Edith perked up – there usually wasn't a "however."
"However, she is alive."
It was so blunt Edith wasn't able to take it in all the way.
"E-excuse me, Sir?" Seriously, what?
"This is not the first time the Count has been in England, Miss Victoria, but it is the first time he has been under this pseudonym. He was most acquainted with my grandfather, who in his journals wrote that after the Count took a certain liking to lady she was found dead in her bed not soon after."
"And so because Seras has not yet been killed…?" It was hard for her to keep the hysteria out of her voice.
"Your sister's predicament is quite different." Sir Hellsing broke her off, no doubt sensing the oncoming flood. "My grandfather recorded only one other instance of the Count taking enough interest in a lady to court her, but in your sister's circumstance it seems he has not resorted to seduction."
"Or, he's not had the opportunity to do so." Edith remarked under her breath, thinking back to their meeting in the library some time ago. Sir Hellsing raised an eyebrow, but didn't press further. She watched the young girl for a moment, waiting for her to say something, and only picked up her fountain pen once more when she proved mute. Their meetings always took place during her paperwork catch-up hour, the only hour she could afford to give to the girl.
"He fancies her." Sir Hellsing had just finished signing "Wingates" on a document when Edith piped up again.
"Pardon?"
"The Count. He… he actually fancies her… and why he attempts no seduction, even when they are alone so often… I believe he does not wish to ruin her. Could it be that he cares for her? " Edith laughed a little, more at herself and the irony in the absolute mess of a situation. Sir Integra could only stare at the crumbling girl before her before forcing herself to deftly push her paperwork off the document of a certain nobleman's house plan - a house plan she may or may not have illegally obtained through bribery.
"And Nora, she invites him in every day, My God, and I can no longer-"
Sir Hellsing spoke quickly to cut the girl off. "Now, to begin with…"
Sir Hellsing's words and warnings still rang clear in Edith's mind.
"You will need to gain access to the first floor library, a motion that I believe shouldn't prove terribly difficult." Edith glanced over the towering bookcases of leather bound texts with a certain degree of relief. If this wasn't a library, she didn't know what else could possibly account for one. She stole another glance at the cheetah rug.
Well, maybe a trophy room.
"There is a secret door, entrance, loose floorboard, wall panel, something that will lead you to a hidden staircase that leads to a basement. You are to thoroughly examine it and report back." Sir Hellsing had told her ever so matter-of-factly. "Our conclusion on his identity rests on the information found in the basement – information you will bring back to us."
Edith tucked a stray dark brown lock behind her ear as she scanned over the room for any obvious panels or cellar doors, and frowned. The room was large and would take much of the time she didn't have to look over. And why was she, the inexperienced, worried sister, doing the most dangerous work of all? She trudged to the fireplace and stuck her head in to look up the chimney.
While Sir Hellsing sat warm and safe in her pretty little estate, she was lurking around in the literal nest of a monster with no time to spare! Edith pulled back from the fireplace with a huff, hoping she hadn't gotten any soot on her pretty baby blue evening gown. She adored the piece! She looked up to glare at the Count's portrait. Why couldn't he have just stayed away from England? No one except for Seras wanted him here anyway.
Grr….rrrr….
Edith immediately stiffened, her pupils dilated and her body going to a fight-or-flight response. Oh… oh god no.. it couldn't be…
Bark! Bark bark bark!
She gripped the cool stone of the mantle, too petrified to look behind her at what she knew was there and hoping on to the pitiful, childish hope that maybe if she ignored it, it'd go away. There was another growl, and she instinctively knew it wasn't going anywhere. However, it was best that she should be.
Edith forced herself to first, let go of the mantle. Then to slowly turn around, one foot forward at a time… good…. And, dear God. It was the stuff of her deepest, realest nightmares. And that growl… she remembered hearing it outside her window some nights, as if it had been trying to keep her up all night in fear…
A hellhound stood before her. Edith had never seen one before to be able to correctly identify it against another hound, but it was unmistakable. Deep, dark black fur that covered a muscular, wolven frame that came above her waist. It boasted oversized claws, quivering fangs and crimson red eyes. It cocked its head to the side, and several disgusting other eyes opened along the rest of its body.
Edith gasped and took a step back, the back of her heading rubbing against the stone of the mantle. Better make that several crimson red eyes.
How could she ever have been so foolish as to think that the Count didn't have some second line of defense? She was in the literal lair of the beast, how could she have thought it would've been so easy? How could Sir Hellsing ever have thought it would've been so easy?
The dog stood in front of her, salivating like a rabid beast leering at its easy prey. And maybe she was his prey. Maybe hellhounds ate mortals for supper; perhaps they tasted quite nice.
Edith hoped to God that wasn't the case, and clutched at the silver crucifix hidden in her bosom for comfort. She managed to pull it out from her blouse and brought it to her lips – and then a funny thing happened.
The hellhound growled, but took a step back.
Edith started, the crucifix still at her lips. The hound glowered back up at her, but didn't show any new signs of aggression or hostility. Slightly empowered, Edith took another step forward. The Hound took one back. Another step forward, another step back.
Eventually the dog wasn't even salivating anymore. It closed a few of its gruesome extra eyes, and even had the indecency to look a bit bored of their game. Edith looked from the hellhound, who sat on the cheetah rug with a certain degree of ownership, to the door. She had to leave while there was still a chance!
Edith gave her crucifix one last kiss for good luck and made a mad dash to the door, inwardly thanking God when she felt the cool brass knob under her fingers, and then the hard oak door against her back. And then she couldn't stop running. All Edith knew was that she had to get out of that house. Oh, God, was it following her? She didn't dare look back! She threw herself down that damn long hallway, almost crying when she heard wisps of the party still going on in the sitting room, crying at the unfairness of it all. She had stood of the precipice of death while they enjoyed after-dinner drinks not even a few hundred feet away…
Was it following her?
Was it following her?
Would it get her?
Edith burst out of the hall and into the brightly lit foyer, pushing past surprised servants and the nonplussed butler, and finally out the thick oak door and down that awful staircase to the cold pavement below. The cobblestone was ice on the soles of her feet, but she didn't stop until she was hidden in the shadows of the alley in between the Count's townhome and his neighbors, hugging her arms protectively around herself. The air was muggy and smelled like stale beer and urine. She remembered she had forgotten her boots in the Count's library and consciously shifted her weight on the cold stone under her feet, but thanked God that at least now she was safe. She resolved to stay outside, no matter how uncomfortable she became.
She was safe from that monster, that terrible demon… and she hadn't even found anything to show for it. Edith's shoulders sagged. Oh, god, now what would Sir Hellsing do? Would she still help Seras anyway? Edith sighed and let go of the street light, looking around rather ashamedly. Couldn't she do anything right?
And then, she realized with a flush of sheer panic and shame, that she had left her family in that accursed home with the hellhound! Her breath reverted in to quick hitches. Oh, oh how could she have just run by without telling them? Just how great of a coward was she?
But, she heard no screaming. Perhaps there was still time to-
A light tap on her shoulder.
She stiffened and turned, a glare planted firmly on her pretty, fair face. Edith wasn't in the mood tonight. She had had just about enough, and she still couldn't get that hellhound out of her mind…
A rather handsome but haggard youth stood not much older than her stood in front of her, a slight grin on his face. She raised a skeptical eyebrow at his apparel – a muddied farmer's outfit half in shreds? She took a hesitant step back, a step away. The youth didn't seem to be phased.
"Didn't want ya, did he? Didn't need ya after all?" The youth asked, crudely jerking his thumb in the direction of the Count's town house. His harsh, uncultured accent matched his apparel. Edith opened her mouth to respond, to tell him that no, she was expected back inside in a moment, but the youth beat her to it. It didn't occur to her to ask how he knew she had been with the Count at all, or how he'd appeared in to the dead-end alley with her.
"Why else would ya be out here? Better this way. Easier this way." He was asking himself more than he was asking her. "I s'pose it'd be time then. Hungry anyway, y'know." The youth was still talking to himself, and Edith began to slowly back toward the stoop… only for her forearm to be caught in an iron grip.
The youth took a step forward, the moonlight illuminating his disgusting, unnatural copper eyes and the gleam of his...fangs.
Fangs!
A vampire! She was face to face with a vampire, of all things! Edith took a frantic step back, crying out when she stepped on a piece of broken glass and effectively lost her footing. Oh, just her luck! Sharp bits of glass bit in to her legs and backside, opening little cuts that blotched her grown red. But that was the absolute least of her worries.
"Don't scream, miss, or I'll kill all those in the fancy house." Edith gaped at him, close mouthed and just barely biting back a scream. God, her family was in there! She couldn't unleash this thing on them! She couldn't sick a monster on them; that was what she had been trying to avoid this entire time!
The thing, the vampire, didn't waste time in taking advantage of the situation and her pause, and with an ear-to-ear grin stepped on her skirts as she tried to get up and pulled her up by the wrist hard enough to break it. Edith's breaths came quickly once again, and though she was desperately trying to put up a fight she was easily overpowered and pinned against the cold stone wall. Her eyes widened.
"Please. Please no." She whimpered, trying to keep quiet for fear of what he'd consider a "scream." But of course the fresh-faced vampire ignored her pleas and freed one of his hands to roughly jerk her head to the side, revealing her elegant swan neck. She flinched when he gave her silver crucifix a playful flick before ripping it like a thread between nimble fingers.
"I appreciate your choice in jewelry, Miss, but it's a bit out of style." He leaned back a bit, a disarming smile on his lips. Edith felt the sting of betrayal, though in the back of her mind she knew she had no one to blame.
"Don't worry Miss, I won't be long, no… I swear not to take too much o'er time." His breath was cold on her ear and his lips ghosted south, landing on the nape of her neck. Something sharp teasingly scraped the skin over her jugular before-
Pain.
Sudden. Intense. Excruciating. All-enveloping.
And in that time, she realized that he wouldn't kill anyone inside. He knew of the Count. He wouldn't dare. How foolish, how gullible she was – but in hindsight, she had proven to herself that she wasn't a coward. Had there been an actual threat to those inside, she would have prevented it.
She supposed she could be happy with that little comfort.
Finally, Edith screamed.
Seras noticed the Count and her father both frown at the same time, the former on an entirely different level of severity than the later. With the sudden cease in conversation, it was clear that everyone had heard the scream. There was a pause, and then:
"What in the world?"
Seras grew worried. "Where is Edith…?"
Another pause.
"My God…"
"Goddamn him!" the Count shouted, turning with such haste that he spilled the wine from his glass on to the bosom of one of Caroline's friends who had been standing a bit too close to be polite. She screamed in embarrassment and her group gathered flocked to her, but the Count easily pushed past them with a look so terrible no one dared say a word to admonish him. The Count threw the door open with a violent bang against the wall and ran down the hall, Mr. Victoria and the other men struggling to keep up with him.
"Edith! Edith!" Seras followed on the heels of the men, biting her lip when she heard her father's call, as he hoped Edith would pop out of one of the other rooms. He sounded so desperate, so fearful.
The Count led them through the dining room, through a door way, and in to the kitchen where groups of obviously concerned servants milled about, one group clamoring around the side door to the alley in an anxious heap and the other surrounding a large servant woman sitting on an overturned metal basin who looked about ready to go into a swoon. The Count, the men, and Seras clustered in to the tight place but didn't garner too much attention, much to the Count's annoyance.
"What has happened here? Stop your blubbering!" The Count rose his voice only slightly, but the sheer power and force behind his tone was enough to gain the total attention of the kitchen staff. The swooning woman cried out as she pushed herself off the basin, leaning on the shoulder of one of the pastry chefs.
"My Lord, I was nearest the door when there was the most awful bloodcurdling scream and looked out to see a person in the arms of the other…" She paused, as if unsure of what to say next.
"Good God," one of the men hissed. Mr. Victoria and Seras were silent.
"The hell do you mean by that?" The Count snapped, unamused with the woman's roundabout words.
"Oh no, I do not believe it was that thank Heavens!" The woman should her head back and forth as if trying to erase the thought out of her mind. "Oh no, no, it did not seem to be such. But when I looked behind to call for help and looked back, they-they had disappeared!" The woman seemed to have been put in to a state by their ghostly departure. The Count frowned and leaned against the wall, rubbing his temples. After a moment, he turned back to the men and Seras.
"Gentlemen, please form a rescue party and search the streets. They shan't have been able to go far. One man must take the ladies home, while Mr. Victoria and I will leave for the inspector." The Count was strangely composed for the amount of emotion shown only a few moments ago.
"The inspectors, at this time of night?" One of the men spat. It was true, it was already half-past one in the morning. Seras bristled at the implied accusation toward the Force… but knew that it wasn't without its faults.
"That is why Mr. Victoria and I will be fetching them." The Count snapped back as he pushed his way through the group to leave the kitchen. It was true – as foreign royalty, there would be no one who would dare refuse him, and as a former high-ranking member of the Force Mr. Victoria would be able to pull more than a few strings. Seras reached out and grabbed his sleeve as he brushed by her, stopping him abruptly. It would have been sweet, how acutely he had noticed, had it been under different circumstances.
"I will not leave." She wouldn't. He couldn't make her, and even if he forced her in to a carriage she'd only walk back after it dropped her off.
"Seras Victoria." Her father warned, no room for argument in his tone.
"I never asked you to." The Count effectively shut up both her and her father. "Please busy yourself in the drawing room." The Count's tone was curt as he pulled her father away and out of the kitchen, neatly flanked by the rest of the men. Seras left soon after, and made her way to the sitting room where she found an empty armchair. The rest of the ladies had been taken to their carriages, and the men had gone out into the night. Her father didn't say another word to her.
She sank in to the cool, sleek leather arm chair, staring into the fire. For a while, she couldn't think. She wasn't sure how long she had just been like that, but she knew it was long enough that everyone had gone and a servant had walked in to change the log. Seras refused to think that… that Edith could've been so violated… while she had just been sitting here…
Oh, God…
Her fingers clenched around the armrests, and the answer came to her so quickly she almost had whiplash. Just what the hell was she doing, sitting here like some useless doll? Didn't she want to be a policewoman? Didn't she have more pride than this? This moping certainly wasn't going to help Edith at all!
Seras stood with a shaky resolve, promptly left the sitting room, and made for the front entrance. There were few servants around, and the ones she did happen to see only gave her looks of varying degrees of sympathy and pity. Seras forced herself to ignore them. To acknowledge their feelings, their emotions, would only make it harder for her to separate herself from her own and look at the scenario with a clear and rational mind.
The front was brightly lit, but the alley was suitably dark. There was a dim light in the very back, no doubt from the kitchen door. Seras slowly stepped in, looking around with wide eyes. Broken ale bottles… piles of rotting trash… broken glass…she jumped when a small animal scurried over the toes of her boots. And, not to mention, rats.
This was where Edith had been assaulted. Seras felt her resolve crumbling, fast.
How horrible it must've been… how absolutely terrified she must had been…
"Oh, Lord God, please," Seras choked out, shaking her folded hands at the sky in a desperate plea for help. "God, oh God, please find her, please oh please…" Seras' words were forced out in between wet sobs and hiccups, her throat raw and her body shaking with fading adrenaline. She slowly felt the growing fog leech the heat from her body, her fingers as numb as her mind.
"Our Father… Who art in Heaven… Hallowed be thy name…Thy-Thy kingdom come…" Seras whispered, wringing her cold, damp hands together again and again. But she couldn't finish the prayer. She blindly stumbled in the dark and leaned against one of the cold stone walls of the alley.
"Edith…. Edith…" Seras' voice was raw and cracked, and her knees started to shake. She slowly lowered her hands, her arms listlessly falling to her aide. She felt cold and empty, emotionally drained but still aware that she couldn't check out no matter how much of a comfort that would be.
A large gloved hand gripped her shoulder, offering a small bit of solace. Seras looked over her shoulder at her sympathizer, and wasn't terribly surprised when she saw it was the Count even though he had supposedly left with the others.
"Why are you here?" Seras whispered as her teeth started to chatter. She hugged her arms to her body, the cold of the night finally starting to set in. She stiffened for a moment when the hand on her shoulder tailed down to her arm and drew her to him, much closer than they should have been. But it was dark and late at night, and there was no one in sight. They were completely alone - it was safe.
"Had I come later, would I have had to search for two missing sisters?" His voice was dark and nostalgic as if it came from a forgotten dream – comforting. His question could have been made out to be some sick joke, but it wasn't meant to be taken that way. He was serious, Seras could tell. His grip on her was unyielding, as if he believed she too would disappear, and his voice was as solemn as she had ever heard it. He pulled her even closer, now bringing her side against his broad chest.
She felt her resolve crumble at the comforting contact, of the comfort he seemed to offer her. This night… this entire ordeal was too much for her to handle. She felt totally helpless and totally frustrated, scared and utterly terrified. The Count began to run his hand up and down the length of her arm in soothing strokes.
Then the dams broke loose. The tears fell quickly, hot and unforgiving. Her shoulders began to shake, but he didn't stop his comfort.
Seras turned and latched on to the Count like a lifeline, throwing her arms around his waist and laying her cheek against the soft maroon silk of his shirtvest. He smelled like smoke and iron. Her entire body was shaking, and she couldn't tell if it was from stress or the cold, and it seemed that the only thing she had control over was her ability to keep herself from breaking out in sobs. She had already taken too much of a liberty with him, and refused to ruin his shirt vest with her disgusting snot and tears.
She sniffled after a moment, still shaking, and braved a glance up at the Count. She gasped when she met his dark eyeglasses, his face displaying a sort of thoughtful expression, as if considering something. Seras looked down, ashamed of her actions, but not sorry for them. She regretfully began to loosen her hold on him, when suddenly his strong arms wrapped tightly around her and lured her in against his chest once again.
Seras took in another shaky breathe and then finally, a sob. And then the tears came once again.
They stayed like that for some time with the heavy black cloak the Count wore wrapped around them, never speaking, trying to maintain the silence that held together their fragile, intimate embrace. They only let go to walk around to the front of the Count's townhome when horses and calls were sounded, alerting them that the search party had returned.
No one gave any mind that Seras and the Count had been alone together all that time, and greeted them together. There were bigger things to worry about. The anxious group kept vigil in the Count's sitting room until the inspectors came to report in the wee hours of the morning.
Edith had not been spotted, had not been found, and had not left a trace.
Edith was absolutely nowhere to be found.
{A/N}
Notes:
- The Cult of Domesticity, aka the Cult of True Womanhood, was the common belief that the woman's place was in the home raising children and attending to her household. If she wasn't a true woman and didn't want kids or wanted to, gasp, work, she was probably crazy or something and you should get her checked out. Seriously.
It's pretty upscale now, but back in the nineteenth century when it was first established Nottinghill was known as the home of artists and writers and not necessarily noblemen, as compared to the fashionable, upper-middle to upper class district of Kensington.
Ahehehe… absence makes the heart grow fonder?
I still need to respond to some reviews! In response to Mattieu's question, the Count resembles Alucard more than "Vlad," although you could picture the man in the painting that the Count was showing Seras as Vlad. :)
Also, I've gotten several question regarding the rule to inviting a vampire into the home, and while I've looked in to whether or not the vampire has to be invited in by the owner or anyone in the household, I still haven't found a clear answer. Folklore tends to differ a lot, I guess. If anyone has a link they'd like to point me toward, that'd be great!
Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think, I love hearing your opinons!
As always, I'll see you next time!
Della