Disclaimer: I'm starting to run out of witty things to put for this, but I just wanted to let everyone know that I don't own Hellsing.
That was kind of witty in a way, right?
IX.
By the time the news had gotten to Integra, the street had been cleared and blocked off, and the windows of the household had been boarded from the outside. It was about five o'clock in the afternoon, and they were blessed by cheerful sunshine.
Neighbors within a three-mile radius were told to evacuate a mere twenty-five minutes after the accident was reported and the Force had made their presence known. Integra would've preferred it to be on a larger scale, but since it was (thankfully) an isolated incident she decided not to press the issue. They had more important things to deal with.
The block-off hadn't served to help London's already less than superior traffic, and it took far too long for Integra and Walter to reach the site. She let herself out of the coach a block away, and had been practically flagged down by the men in uniform when she came into view. She tried not to feel a bit satisfied; even though they had taken two hours to ask for Hellsing's assistance, they were learning. These incidents had become more and more frequent in the past few months, but the Force had been irritatingly slow to accept her organization's role in such cases.
But today several investigators ran forward to meet her, Walter, and the rough group of mercenaries she'd hired to replace her old force after a mission gone awry. This wasn't just any case, after all. This wasn't just some questionable death of a prostitute that could've easily been swept under the rug, or the "accidental" death of some friendless beggar. Had Integra had any other choice she would've liked to give a call to that Judas priest down the road since they were technically his parishoners, but she knew that in the end he would do more harm than good. Besides, he already had his hands full with several of the less publicized cases.
Hellsing and the Vatican had recently reached an unlikely, fragile truce in the face of a growing enemy. It seemed that in England there was a new case every week followed by a new body popping up in every dead-end alley. War did create unlikely bedfellows and all that nonsense, but even with their combined efforts the situation was strained at best and they continually failed to get to the root of the problem.
"My Lady," One of the less-informed agents greeted her when she reached the impromptu headquarters located in the townhome opposite the Victorias'. Sir Integra indifferently regarded the expensive couches and rugs stained by mud and cigarette buds. Whomever lived here would have a bone to pick with the Force afterward.
"Sir Hellsing." Walter quickly corrected them for her. The agent blinked, but nodded in apology all the same.
"What of the situation, gentlemen?" Integra strode in to the large bay window that looked into the street with the grace of a courtesan and the control of a seasoned solider. She watched the Geese begin to hastily assemble the last of their weapons and talk last-minute strategy with their second-in-command. Her eyes narrowed. Their leader, Pip, Bernadotte, had-
"Around nine o'clock this morning, a rather nosy milkman stumbled upon the nest of those… things. While the man only spotted one before retreating, we believe there to at least be two to three more within the vicinity. We believe these-"
"Ghouls." Sir Integra interrupted him flatly.
"-ghouls," The commanding officer continued with a frown, "to be the former members of the Victoria family. The man reported spotting dried blood on the stairwell, but saw no sign of foul play aside from such." He grimaced. "The front door was unlocked."
Sir Integra didn't turn from the window. She refrained from heaving a sigh, and forced the oncoming rush of emotion down her throat. She had already been debriefed on the situation and she understood the severity of it, but that didn't make it any less awful or infuriating. The Victorias had been good people, honest people, and certainly hadn't deserved such a fate.
How the hell could this have happened? Under her watch?
She'd been slipping recently. Well, truth be told Edith's disappearance hadn't come to Sir Hellsing as a total surprise, but this… this had come as a cold shock, especially with Seras' relationship with the Count. She calmly pulled a cigar from the inner pocket of her waistcoat, disregarding the curious stares directed at her that reflected in the window.
Sir Integra's eyes narrowed slightly. "Three ghouls, was it? Four in total?" She asked stiffly.
"Yes, Sir."
Sir Integra turned and exchanged a pointed, knowing glance with Walter. Four ghouls could include Mr. Victoria, his wife, and two of their servants – every respectable family had more than one. Edith was already gone, but perhaps there was still hope for the eldest. Perhaps Seras hadn't returned home from her journey, and perhaps she had not yet been tainted.
There was still time, Sir Hellsing realized, but not very much left. She already had a suspect and motive, but there was still much that had to be discovered and revealed before she could make her move. By God, they'd have to hurry – she could only assume that this was just his preamble.
"Gentlemen, while I appreciate your efforts," She finally turned to face them, the Victoria household peering in at them from the background, "this matter is now officially under Hellsing's jurisdiction. Any information, reports, witnesses, or any other resource regarding this matter should be directed to my organization, and my organization alone." Sir Hellsing leaned slightly to the right for Walter to light her cigar for her. "Media relations will be handled and monitored by my associate, Walter, and should be cared for with the utmost delicacy."
That didn't seem to sit quite well with one of the lead officers. He made a face, wedged in between his buddies on a gilded sofa, and pushed them to stand up. He was on the latter half of middle-age, tall, stout, and weathered. Perhaps he had worked with Mr. Victoria on the Force, Sir Hellsing mused cynically.
"What, you think we're all a bunch of pillocks*? That we don't know the extremity of the situation, the magnitude of it, goddammit!?" The officer's face was turning red, and his voice was growing more and more strained with each syllable. One of the other officers rested a hand on the man's shoulder, but he angrily shrugged it off.
"Of course I don't believe such a thing." Sir Hellsing bit back, tapping a bit of ash off her cigar. The man watched it fall to the carpet below and scowled. "And because we both understand the gravity of this case in more ways than one, we both understand it to be best that my organization handle this." She was quick to speak that time, quick to cut him off before he could start again. Emotions were dangerous in these sort of situations – he should've known better.
Behind her, there was a sudden blast and then war cries and the sounds of heavy shooting.
"Believe me, sir, I intend on destroying root of this evil." She watched the man's face pacify slightly before turning to gaze out the window once more. She watched the Geese run through the front entrance and into the home. "It is my inheritance, after all."
There was another blast, a bright pillar of yellow fire seen through the windows on the first floor, and of course more gunfire.
"He has only verified his guilt."
It was during the daylight hours that Pip found himself actually able to relax in the Count's cathedral of a home.
Their first day began with a polite wake-up call from one of the maid staff who brought an apology from Renfield – apparently he was indisposed and regretted his inability to attend to them as was proper. Pip waved it off easy enough for he found the butler to be almost as creepy as his master, and joined Seras and Nora in the Red Room for a country house breakfast* of fresh bread, fish, devilled kidneys, pickled thrush, tea, coffee, and apple and strawberry fools. They were served by that same maid again, who with each appearance had begun to make Pip as nervous as the Count did.
Just as he had warned them the night before, the Count did not join them then nor when they played cards in the billiards room; found a good hundred-year-old book of Saxon mythology and religion in the library; tried to get into the odd, winding tower in the middle of the estate; recessed in the Red Room for a light lunch; nor when they took to the stables, borrowed some lighthearted ponies, and took to the grounds.
But hey, Pip wasn't complaining. He didn't like the Count to begin with, and he had forgotten just how much he'd missed spending time with Seras. There was a small, childish part of him that wanted her all to himself. Whenever he was around, the Count seemed to possess an uncanny ability to draw Seras in like a moth to a flame. Pip found it a rather irritating ability.
They were allowing their ponies to graze at the back of the estate at the moment, for aside from a few statues of ancient Greeks misplaced here and there, a stone bench or two, and a quiet white marble fountain, the Count's garden was sorely lacking. Pip tied his pony's reigns to a nearby statue and turned his back on the mansion to walk to the edge of the hill.
Even from this height, there was still not a soul in sight. Moorland, desolate and sepia, stretched out as far as the eye could see. Pip was torn between feeling an ominous sense of doom and a childish sense of marvel at their absolute isolation in the wilderness.
"It is a beautiful sight." Dry hunks of grass cracked underneath her feet as Seras approached him, and Pip smiled when he could see her next to him out of the corner of his eye.
"I agree." Pip assented, fully turning to look at her.
Seras was smiling brightly at him, her golden hair framing her fair face like an angelic halo. Her smile was genuine, happy, and all-trusting, and her eyes held a warmth in them that took away all the anxiety that had been bubbling up inside him. The warm light of the late afternoon gave her a rosy, ethereal glow that simply took his breath away.
It was moments like these that Pip could only stop and keep himself from staring, and wondering just how he had gotten so lucky to know such a creature. She was a fairy, perhaps, or maybe an angel. Whatever she was, she was far too good to be a human like the rest of them.
Pip smiled back and grinned when he maneuvered backwards to pick a wildflower from a thicket of gorse at their feet. He made an elaborate hand gesture and bowed at the waist, presenting the flower to Seras at arm's length.
"For you, My Lady." His head was bowed and he had the most ridiculous, serious expression on his face. Seras bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud and ruining the moment.
"I thank thee greatly, Good Sir." She said with a rigid voice of formality before giving a stiff curtsy and delicately taking the flower from Pip's fingertips.
"A ha!" Pip suddenly exclaimed, leaping up from the bow with as much pomp and circumstance as a pirate.
"Good God, what is it?" Seras asked, jumping back a full pace into the bracken with a feigned expression of surprise.
"Now Lady Seras, you have fallen right into my trap – you have inadvertently agreed to marry me! Your fortune shall be mine, and no one shall can you!" Pip gave a wicked cackle, and Seras gasped melodramatically. The scene was a familiar one retracted from their many, many, many childhood games of Pirates and Princesses.
"Not if I have anything to-" Seras began her theatrics only to be cut off.
"What's this about marriage?" The Count was standing behind them, arms crossed, and eyes narrowed (if they had been able to actually see them behind his glasses.) He looked anything but happy. In fact, he looked absolutely angry. His face was stony, and his lips were drawn back into a tight grimace. His posture was tall, domineering, and it seemed as if suddenly all the twilight shadows had been drawn to him.
Seras could only stare, and wonder why he took such offense to such a silly little comment. A silly little comment in a silly little game, no less! It in turn made her feel rather indignant; she could marry anyone she very well wanted to, and that was her choice! But that was beside the point. He really didn't have to get so worked up over something so little.
Pip was staring as well, but for other reasons. Just how the hell had the Count reached them so quickly? Where had he even come from? The ground was covered in sun-dried grass, heath, and bracken that crunched and crackled underfoot. There was no way he could have just snuck up on them like that, but he had! Just how long had he been standing there anyway, and couldn't this guy take a joke? He had been doing a little bit more than joking himself last night, as Pip recalled.
The monster's head turned toward him – that was what Pip had suddenly resolved to think of him as, anyway – and he tried not to flinch. He resisted the urge to lay his hand in his jacket, over the hidden pocket that hid his revolver. That would be too obvious, and would give away the fact that he was armed. The Count regarded him for a long, tense moment before turning to Seras who, unsurprisingly, had the unabashed gall to look irritated.
"We were playing Pirates and Princesses!" She exclaimed, fisting her hands at her sides and glaring at him with a childish sort of anger. The Count didn't respond. Pip wondered what that meant. He mused that she was probably the only person who could get away with talking back to the Count.
"It was just a game, it should not bother you so!" Seras tried again, only seeming to get more irritated.
Pip wondered if that was a good idea, and tried to discreetly motion to her to stop that right now, explain herself, and apologize to the possibly homicidal maniac with an obsessive crush. But of course she didn't get it, let alone catch on to what he was doing. Seras barely spared him an annoyed, confused glance before turning her attention back to the Count again.
Like a moth to a flame.
"Princesses and Pirates?" The Count sneered, but made no move. Pip felt an oncoming headache. He had been getting a lot of those recently.
"Yes!" Seras quipped, looking to Pip for some sort of sign of agreement. Pip eyed her before quickly nodding.
"It's a childhood pastime." She explained further. But the Count remained silent for a good moment or two, yet again making Pip feel threatened on what was supposed to be some sort of relaxing holiday in the country.
"Very well." The Count finally assented before turning on his heel and making toward his castle on foot, padding silently over the grass. Pip and Seras exchanged glances before retrieving their ponies and following the Count toward the back of the mansion.
It wasn't even the end of their first day, and Pip knew that their holiday wouldn't end well.
"Anything, Walter?" Integra's voice was its usual calm, quite a feat for their current predicament.
"Not at the moment, Sir." Walter called from one of the bedrooms down the Hall.
There were more soldiers downstairs that served more as a stand-by safety precaution than anything else. She sat at the writing desk in Mr. Victoria's study, fiddling with one of the locked drawers. He had a very nice study, filled to the ceiling with expensive leather-bound texts and the tasteful knick-knack here and there. It wasn't as nice as the study at the Hellsing Manor, but it was respectable nonetheless.
The four ghouls had been annihilated swiftly and without causality on Hellsing's part, and before they turned to ash had matched the profiles of Mr. Victoria, Mrs. Victoria, their maid Elizabeth, and one of the scullery maids from the kitchen. All four ghouls were found in different parts of the home, but by analyzing the placing of a majority of the blood splatters and gore it was assumed the victims had been attacked in the master bedroom, at the top of the main stairwell, and in the kitchen.
That was the part that Sir Integra didn't like. What vampire in their right mind would so haphazardly waste so much blood? Not many. Certainly it wasn't unusual to find traces of blood in similar crime scenes, but not to this extent. The carpet had been saturated with it, and had crunched under Sir Integra's feet. She grimaced at the thought; it still disgusted her.
It was a shame that this home had been so desecrated. It was otherwise a very beautiful home in a wonderful neighborhood on a lovely street - making it all the more suspicious. If the assailant had been just another vampire or one of those strange little freaks Anderson had been dealing with lately, they shouldn't have bothered to go through with all the trouble and planning this job had probably entailed.
They would've first had to watch the house for several days before finding the time when all members of the household were in – a feat that hadn't been achieved, Integra noted – before proceeding, found a discrete way to enter the home without drawing attention, and finishing the attack with the least amount of noise as possible to ward off suspicion.
That would, of course, bring up the question of why a vampire hungry for blood would even bother with discretion. And that question was valid. In her experience, Integra had never encountered a starving vampire that cared about such trivial things as attention. But in the Victoria case, discretion had been so perfectly utilized that no one had discovered the crime until three days after the fact.
Integra supposed they had been lucky that no one else had been hurt, and she supposed she should've appreciated the fact that that milkman who'd discovered them had the wits to secure the door before he ran off to the Force. God only knew what could've happened had the ghouls been let loose into the streets of civilized and high-society London.
But there was one member of the family that hadn't been accounted for.
It seems that Seras hadn't returned from her journey, a fact that both gave Sir Hellsing pause and a great relief. It was much too coincidental that Seras had just happened to miss the strategic visit of a vampire, a vampire had seemed to come to kill rather than to feed. Why else would there have been wasted blood, after all?
But just where had Seras ran off to, who had she gone to see, and when was she supposed to be returning?
No one had the answers. Because the Victorias had been paying close attention to Edith's disappearance, their presence had been largely missing from the social scene, and there was little to no gossip on Seras' whereabouts. Not as if Integra would've actually regarded gossip as truth, but sometimes rumors lead to a story with just enough substance to move forward.
The neighbors hadn't known, and neither had any of the Victoria family's friends or acquaintances. Sir Integra recognized the signs all too easily, and found a growing sense of urgency spurring her actions.
If her theory was correct and the Count had somehow staged Edith's disappearance, the deaths of the Victoria family, and managed to lure Seras to a nondescript location on his terms, Sir Integra had to find Seras as quickly as possible and take her as far away from the Count as she could. But if she was correct, doing such a thing would prove astronomically difficult. The Count remembered her family quite well, and she highly doubted he was going to allow himself to be beaten once again.
She stopped picking the lock and looked down. God, her hands were shaking. Her hands never shook. Sir Integra forced herself to take a deep breathe, a calming breath, and tried to vanquish the more consuming thoughts to the back of her mind.
Why hadn't she taken Edith more seriously?
Why hadn't she forced Anderson to take her and Edith more seriously?
Why had she allowed this to go on for so long?
They swirled in her mind in unforgiving, mocking whispers. It was all she could do to ignore them for now. Her guilt would help serve her penance later on, anyway. She had work to do.
The lock to the top right-side drawer in the writing desk was finally opened with a last-ditch jab by a clothes pin she had found in a pincushion in the sitting room. Sir Hellsing nodded to herself. Good, good, just what she had been looking for.
A stack of opened letters bound in wide, worn ribbon sat on top of an endless pile of folders and papers. Sir Integra untied the ribbon and started to shift through the letters, taking time to read the return address of each one before until she came to one with a rather suspicious address. The handwriting was beautiful, thick, and decorated with the richest of black inks. Sir Integra pulled the letter out and nodded again to herself after reading it over several times, before standing from the desk and leaving the library. She inadvertently wondered just what would become of the Victoria home when Seras took it over… if Seras took it over.
"Walter." Sir Integra found him in Seras' bedroom, sitting on the bed of all things and reading through his own pile of letters. The odd look on his face, one she had never seen before, struck her for a moment before he came back to.
"Yes, Sir?" Walter set down the letter he had been holding on the bed next to him. Sir Integra observed him for a moment before inclining her head to the window, where the Wild Geese could still be seen milling about on the street below as they waited for orders.
"Rally the Geese and arrange my affairs. We shall leave for the West Country within the hour." Time was not on their side anymore if what she suspected was true.
"Of course, Sir." Walter stood from the bed at once and made his way out of the bedroom, past Sir Integra and down the hall, not once looking back. Sir Integra watched him go and then glanced at the letters, wondering why Walter had found them to be so interesting.
The clock struck five.
Sir Hellsing shook her head and stepped out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her. There wasn't any more time for wondering. Not anymore.
The second day of their stay went better than the first. Pip and Seras repeated their schedule from the previous day, complete with that one creepy little maid instead of Renfield, but minus a temper tantrum thrown by the Count. That certainly hadn't been pleasant to deal with over dinner, to say the least. Conversation had been strained, what with Seras trying to make small talk while the Count made use of his sarcastic humor at Pip's expense. Seras had, of course, defended Pip and the Count, of course, hadn't appreciated that bit very much.
But to Pip's surprise, the Count seemed content to suffer in silence as opposed to throwing his guest out into the moors. Well, he might've done that had it not been guaranteed that Seras wouldn't have allowed it, but that was beside the point. There were no after-dinner drinks or chats, and the Count excused himself to go back to his work (whatever that was.) Pip could've sworn that he had caught a glimpse of Renfield heading up the staircase to the third floor, but perhaps that was only his imagination. This castle seemed to do a number on people, after all.
On the morning of the third day it was Renfield - in all his apathetic glory - who served as their host, and it was Renfield who assured them that Nora had taken ill over the night and had to rest. She was just so ill that she simply couldn't be disturbed so no, Seras, no check-ins were necessary.
"Oh." Seras tried her best not to look too worried when Renfield came to fetch her for breakfast. Something had changed about the butler since the last time she had seen him… something was off. It made her nervous, anxious even, so she subconsciously tried to stay on his good side.
What was off about him though, she couldn't quite pick out. Renfield was still the same, terrifyingly cool man she remembered him to be. His outfit was as impeccable as per the usual, and his manners were perfectly cordial and refined. There was nothing wrong with him. Perhaps there was something wrong with her…?
Yes, Seras mused pessimistically, perhaps there was something wrong with her. Ever since she had arrived at the Count's castle she just hadn't been able to shake the most horrible feeling of dread and paranoia. It felt like the paintings they walked by followed her with their eyes, watching her every movement, and that she was constantly being appraised and judged by unseen eyes. She hadn't been able to sleep very well recently, so that might've had something to do with it.
Besides, she should be enjoying such a wonderful opportunity. What with the Count being so absorbed by his work, Pip and Seras effectively had an entire mansion at their disposal. They should've been having a blast! And they had been having a blast, until the Count showed his jealous side again on the first night of their stay.
Seras had felt irritated enough to disagree with him right then and there and then purposefully spend all her time with Pip, but that would've put Pip in an even worse place with the Count… and Pip wasn't exactly beloved already. No, it had been better to simply go along with the Count and keep a small but present distance from Pip, if only for the duration for their stay. Sometimes some things just weren't worth the fight.
Renfield lead her into the Red Room where Pip sat waiting for her, sipping steaming coffee from a delicate porcelain cup like a true French gentleman.
"Good morning, Pip!" Seras exclaimed as soon she walked into the room, waving at him as if they hadn't seen each other in ages.
"Good morning, mignonette!" Pip laughed, happy to see her in such good spirits again. He had been afraid that the dreariness of this place was getting to her as well.
"I assume you had pleasant dreams?" Seras took a seat opposite him. They sat in the middle of the long, ten-seat dining table – the supposedly informal dining room of the manor.
"Of course, for you are always in my dreams, ma cher." Pip grinned cheekily as several maids and Renfield entered the room and began placing dishes of swordfish, venison, fresh breads with fresh cream butter, raspberry and blueberry tarts, Darjeeling tea, and coffee on the table.
"Well, you do know what they say, Pip." Seras returned his grin for one of her own as she buttered a breakfast roll. "'Only in your dreams,' no?"
"Oh my dear Seras, you wound me!" Pip laughed as Renfield refilled his cup with hot coffee, not a single drop marring the saucer.
"All's fair in love and war!" Seras quipped back.
"Are you anything without your clichés?" Pip mock-deadpanned as he reached for the swordfish dish. Seras slapped his hand and instead handed it to him. There was way too much food for two people.
"Certainly you jest?" Seras asked, batting her eyes innocently. Pip rolled his.
They finished breakfast rather quickly, and decided to spend the day riding and exploring the surrounding moors further. Pip was just happy to get out and away from the Count and his gloomy gray manor for once. They spent the morning simply wandering about on horseback, enjoying the landscape, and retreated back to the mansion for a light picnic of lunch-sandwiches and cakes before venturing out again.
While he was glad to have become more familiar with the landscape, their outing drove home the point of just how truly alone they were. They'd probably ridden for several miles in the same direction, following the road, and did not once encounter any other form of human life. Pip found it extremely disheartening, and really wished they had brought their own carriage with them instead of using the Count's services. Pip gritted his teeth as they rode home, hating the helplessness that inadvertently sprang up in his heart. If the Count decided to do anything to Seras, he would be her first and last line of defense.
And although Pip could hold his own, this would be on the Count's terms. The man – Pip preferred monster – had a clear advantage in knowing the landscape and that Seras was one of the most naïve girls in the world. He was going to have to shatter that bubble, Pip realized, he was going to have to warn her.
They returned with just enough time to prepare for dinner, the sun still above the horizon. Pip grabbed Seras' arm and pulled her inside one of the many drawing rooms of the manor, away from prying eyes and open ears.
"Pip! What is it?" Seras complained as he dragged her inside the room before softly shutting the door behind him. The room's color scheme was composed of surprisingly soothing shades of cream and gray-blue that struck Pip as far too innocent and sweet to be used in the Count's mansion.
When he didn't answer right away, Seras took a seat on a velour-padded loveseat and crossed her arms. "I need to dress for dinner, you know. I'm still in my riding habit, and my hair is certainly in a dreadful state." She reminded him, just in case he couldn't see the obvious.
Pip slowly turned to her, his face serious. Seras frowned, instantly feeling uneasy. Pip wasn't a serious man by nature. Whatever this was about wasn't good.
"Seras…" Pip began, taking a step forward as if to launch in to some lecture before cutting himself short. God, just how was he supposed to address this without terrifying her, but making sure she was scared enough to be weary? Seras wasn't exactly inclined to the less than… seemly ways of men. Pip was pretty sure holding hands without gloves was still a pretty big deal for her.
"Seras, you understand that the Count holds a certain degree of… fondness for you, correct?" Okay, that wasn't off to a bad start. Not too shabby.
"Yes…" Seras eyed him warily.
"And you understand that the Count-" Pip cut himself off again, "The Count is a man." Obviously.
"He is indeed." Seras replied evenly, regarding him with a rather confused expression. Yes, the Count was a man and yes, he was rather fond of her. What point was Pip trying to get across?
Pip stared at Seras for a long moment before shaking his head. This was proving to be a bit harder than he had intended it be.
"Seras, sometimes men act rashly and carelessly when they allow certain emotions and feelings to get the better of them. On some occasions, these feelings involve women, and on some occasions these women can be hurt by these men in more ways than one. Because in this manor we are so alone, so isolated from others," Pip paused for a moment, "I implore you to be aware of yourself and your surroundings, lest the Count's intentions be not pure of heart." There. It was said.
Seras gave him a good, long look before blinking. And then blushing. Her cheeks became bright red, and her eyes widened. "O-oh, I don't believe… but then, one never knows for certain… does-does he really… would he really…?" Seras stammered, wringing her hands together. Pip couldn't help but smile at her flabbergasted expression. '
"One can never be too careful, ma cher." Pip offered a hand to help her stand up. Seras gave him a concerned look.
"You don't believe he'd attempt to… to take advantage of me, do you? I wouldn't believe his motives to be so… so…"
"I know not what he thinks, but then neither do you. I simply offer a warning because I care for you, and do not want to see your heart broken." He really, really didn't. It was break his own.
"Thank you, dear Pip. I know not what I'd do without you." Seras forced a small smile.
Pip could still see the distress, the sudden uncertainty still lingering in her eyes, but decided not to press. He was happy she was heeding his warnings; it would make it all the harder for the Count, lest he had any plans. Pip didn't like to think about it, but he was almost certain that the Count did. It would be too out of character for him not to.
"And I know not what I'd do without you, Seras." Pip gratefully returned her smile.
They parted at the staircase to prepare for the evening meal, and met each other at it again about an hour later. The time read seven and forty, and Renfield soon approached them to bring them to the Red Room. Apparently the Count was already waiting on them and had somehow gotten past them, though neither Pip nor Seras knew of a different staircase. Well, there was probably a secret one tucked away somewhere.
Dinner was just as stiff and boring and formal as it had been the past two nights. The food served was decadent and delicious, but the more social aspect of the meal had been strained at best. The Count was apparently above small talk (and food, for he never touched anything other than his wine) and Pip had absolutely nothing he wanted to discuss with the man. Even Seras, the one that had been before trying to maintain some sort of cheeriness at the table, found it hard to socialize tonight.
The words she had shared with Pip weighed heavy on her mind. What did she really mean to the Count? Did he see her as a person, or just another woman to bed? Was that his intent, and if so, was she in danger? Would the Count force himself on her, or would he simply seduce her and try to make her putty in his hands?
Seras was really starting to regret her hasty decision. Good lord, what was she doing, thinking of staying at a man's estate in the middle of no where? This wasn't a good situation to be in. Her chaperone was sick in bed, plagued by some indeterminable illness, and Pip and the Count weren't exactly getting along. The Count had begun to be grow more hostile and possessive as she spent more time with Pip, and Seras could barely stand it anymore. She had come here to relax and forget, but instead she was stressed and upset.
When the small group left the Red Room for the drawing room for those accursed after-dinner drinks, Seras feigned a stomach cramp and made for the powder room with acting that would make her mother proud. The Count had given her an odd look, but pointed it out for her nonetheless. Pip had already turned a corner down a different hall, and didn't see where she went.
Seras followed the Count's directions and finally found the powder room, but didn't step inside. Instead, she was drawn to two large open doors at the end of this particular hall that lead to a large, concrete balcony bathed in moonlight. She made her way to the balcony hesitantly, suddenly overcome with the feeling that she was sneaking around in places she had no business in, and closed the doors softly behind her.
She had a few minutes to herself before the Count would begin to worry and come after her. Their scarcity made them all the more precious. Seras quietly stepped out onto the balcony, her pale lilac gown painted silver in the moonlight, and made her way to the railed edge. The balcony was very spacious, large enough to host a moderate party, but utterly desolate. There were no furniture or flowers in sight.
The balcony was stationed on the second-floor, and being that the estate was located on the top of a hill, had a beautiful view of the bleak and all-encompassing moorland. Even though she was certain she could see for miles, there was no light or other signs of life in sight. It was just as Pip said. Aside from each other, they were completely alone.
Seras shuddered involuntarily. All the more reason why she shouldn't have put herself in this situation. But at the time she had been so distressed, so emotional, and so tired that she had let her feelings and wants get the better of her good judgment. Seras hadn't allowed herself to think the proposal through; she had accepted it much too quickly, and so had her parents. Not that she could blame them, though. They had enough on their plate as it was.
Her thoughts drifted from her problems with the Count to her problems with her family. How were her parents doing, she wondered? Was there any new information on Edith? Had they gotten the letter she had penned and put in the post the night of their arrival? Seras stifled a sigh. She had been rather selfish to pack up her bags and leave as quickly as she had.
"Police Girl."
Seras' eyes widened and she gulped. Oh, great, the person she had subconsciously been trying to avoid decided to hunt her down. Wonderful. Wait, just how long had she been out here anyway?
"M-my Lord!" She exclaimed as she quickly turned on her heel, skirts fluttering. She sucked in a breath upon realizing how close he was – only a few feet away. Seras hadn't even heard him open the door to the balcony, let alone his footsteps.
To her relief, the Count didn't seem to be angry or irritated with her impromptu exploration. His features were decidedly neutral, but he was bathed in the shadow outside the moonlight. Seras took a slight step back to lean against the high railing, resting her hands in her lap.
"Be careful, Police Girl." He commented, nodding at her seat. "It wouldn't do for you to die so early in the night."
Seras laughed despite herself. She rather enjoyed his dark sense of humor. "I shall try. I apologize for keeping you, My Lord. I needed to clear my head." She admitted, shivering as a cool wing blew over them. The Count didn't make a move to approach her.
"Of what?" He asked after a moment. Seras blinked.
"Pardon, My Lord?"
"What thoughts did you need to rid yourself of, Police Girl?" The Count asked this time, taking a step forward into the moonlight. Seras stared at him, entranced. There was a sort of dark, ethereal beauty to him that reminded her of a storybook demon or villain. Tall, dark, enchanting, but undoubtedly maleficent. But then she shook her head, remembering just why she had come out here in the first place.
"Actually, My Lord…. I wanted to ask you a question." She paused. "A serious question." She added.
The Count cocked his head to the side in apparent acceptance of the question, his features betraying not a hint of emotion. Seras wasn't sure if that was a good or bad sign, but took the hint and decided to ask him anyway.
"My Lord, forgive me for being so forward… but what am I to you?" It came out as an uncertain whisper, fit for a scary question with an even scarier answer. "What is it that you want from me?" But she simply had to know. She just had to.
Seras clasped her hands together and buried them in her lap, staring at them all the while. She was unable to meet his gaze, unwilling to examine the expression on his face lest she be able to read his emotions and heighten her shame. But such was not necessary. The Count laughed. He actually laughed.
She felt her cheeks burn in shame and humiliation, her eyes starting to prickle with hot tears. He was laughing at her? This wasn't funny! This wasn't funny at all! She looked up, biting her lip, only to see that he had gotten even closer to her. Seras wished he wasn't so beautiful, it made this so much harder.
"Oh Police Girl… can't you see?" The Count purred with a dark chuckle, gently taking her chin in his hand and tilting her face to look up into his. His other hand slowly found its place under her arm and possessively at her waist.
"I simply want you." He breathed, his lips pulled into a wicked smile as he suddenly descended on her. His lips were warm and surprisingly soft on her own, but utterly demanding in their conquest. His hand gracefully traced the side of her face before burying itself into her soft, light blonde hair.
Had it been under different circumstances in a different place at a different time, Seras might've actually enjoyed the kiss. But it only came as a complete shock and - after his confession – evidence of the truth behind Pip's words.
Seras shrieked under his assault and wasted no time in abruptly pushing him off her once the shock wore off, her cheeks bright red and tears welling in her eyes. Well, that certainly confirmed her previous misgivings.
How could he? So all this time he had been putting up a front to get to her, to use her for her body? How could he ever try to use her like that? How could he ever even think of her like that! She wasn't some prostitute, she was a respectable lady! The betrayal was fresh and cut deeper than she had thought it would. She had thought so much better of him, she would've never expected such a thing to come from him!
"I am not your whore!" Seras spat with such vehemence the Count had the nerve to look unhappy. How dare he have the nerve to look upset!
She furthered her point by giving him a loud, crackling slap on the cheek. He took it without flinching, and seemed to be shocked by her actions. Well, fine.
Seras wasted no time in running away from the Count and the balcony, rushing down the slippery halls with their awful paintings and creepy knick-knacks. How hadn't she realized it before? Oh, what a fool she'd been! She had to get out of here! She had to get home that night!
The clock struck ten.
Her feet lead her to the main hall, where she bumped into Pip exiting the drawing room just as she turned the corner into the garishly decorated entrance hall.
"Seras!" Pip yelled, practically being pushed over by the force she ran into him with. He glared at her and opened his mouth to make some witty comment about running like a girl, when he saw her face.
Tears were streaming down her cheeks, her hairs was disheveled, her lips were swollen, and he had never seen the look of utter betrayal and hopelessness on her face before. Her usually bright, baby blue eyes bored into his before she latched on to him, sobbing into his chest.
"Oh, oh Pip!" She managed to sputter in between sobs, clutching him like a baby blanket. "Y-you were right! You were right about him!" Seras cried and cried, practically inconsolable.
Pip stared down at her, his body tense and his mind slightly unsure of how to deal with this situation.
"What did he do, Seras?" He'd kill the bastard himself.
"Nothing!" She shrieked into his shirt. "Nothing at all! You were just right!" She sobbed. "You were right…"
Pip relaxed slightly. She had really cared for the Count, hadn't she? He tried not to sigh, and instead ran one hand through her hair and wrapped the other around her waist. "There there, ma cher, there there…" He whispered.
"I would like to go home, Pip." She whispered after her cries had died down to a muffled whimper. He nodded, still combing his fingers through her bangs like he had when they were younger.
"Of course, of course. We shall begin to pack to-"
Pip was interrupted by a loud, incessant banging on the large front door. Pip frowned and looked down to share an equally confused glance with Seras. Visitors, at this hour?
Renfield suddenly came out of nowhere, brushing by them to throw open the door with a dramatic flair. In front of him stood a disgruntled farm youth with eyes hidden by the rim of a wide straw hat. His clothes were roughly torn and scratched, and he kept on bouncing his weight from foot to foot. He was anxious, nervous.
"We need help, we need help now!" The youth cried out in shaky breaths, jabbing his finger at the darkness behind him. "Papa and I made a wrong turn, ended up on your drive, got attacked by wolves in that little grove at the bottom of the hill! They killed our horse, overturned our cart, Papa's under it!" His words were frantic and jumbled, but even so the fear was evident in them. "I scared them away but they may come back! Please, please you must hurry!" The youth was yelling desperately now, and even went so far as to reach inside and grab Renfield's arm.
The butler simply regarded the youth with the same detached, unreadable expression he regarded everything else with, and calmly unlatched the boy's hand from his arm. Renfield looked from the boy to Pip in silent question.
Pip met the butler's eerie, black gaze and then looked to Seras, who merely nodded in approval. Pip let go of her and ran to stand at the butler's side, resting a reassuring hand on the youth's shoulder.
"Don't worry monsieur, we shall help your Papa." Pip tried to smile at him. The youth returned his own version of a tired, scared smile. Renfield nodded and pulled out a pocket watch to quickly check the time before looking over his shoulder at Seras.
"This shall not take long, Lady Seras. Please return to your chambers to rest." Renfield addressed her before shuffling the other two men out the door, shutting it loudly behind them. Seras stared at the door for a moment, still trying to absorb just what had happened in the last few hundred seconds. Since when did Renfield do his own dirty work?
Once two other horses were drawn out of the stable for Renfield and Pip, the youth broke out into a frantic gallop and lead them down the hill into the copse of tree Seras and Pip had passed through earlier to arrive at the mansion. It chilled him to think that there were wolves lurking in these woods, and that had their fortunes been different perhaps it would've been Seras and himself running up to the mansion to beg for help.
Suddenly, the farm youth in front of Pip and Renfield stopped. Pip frowned, and looked around. Although it was dark, there was a full moon that still gave them a bit of light to help guide their way. But even with that light, Pip could not see a cart or horse or trapped man anywhere in sight. His heart sank to the bottom of his stomach. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.
Pip turned to glance at Renfield, who was pointing a revolver at the sky.
"Stop, what are you do-" He was too late, and the blast rang out, startling his ride. The horse neighed in fright and stood on his hindquarters, flinging Pip off in the process before the steed back toward the mansion. Then, almost as soon as he'd hit the ground flat on his face, another shot rang out and he felt a horrible, searing pain in his hamstring.
The damn butler had shot him in the leg!
"What the hell?" Pip yelled in anger, struggling to pull himself into a more dignified position.
"Quite an excellent performance, Xavier." Renfield proceeded to ignore the man he had just shot to address the farm youth with just as much excitement as he had ever shown. The youth yanked his hat off with a scowl, guiding his horse to loom over Pip. Even from his position on the ground, Pip could see the burning amber eyes glaring down at him in the dark.
"That's Master to you, Fledging." Xavier snapped at Renfield, still scowling as he looked over Pip with a shake of his head.
"Shall I finish it then?" Renfield asked indifferently, lowering his gun in the general direction of Pip's head. Pip stiffened when he heard the audible click of metal. But Xavier shook his head.
"No, we have already crossed the line far too greatly. It's best to allow that thing to bear the brunt of the guilt; we already hold too much." Xavier shook his head, looking down to regard Pip once again. "Not a very dignified death I'm afraid, but I suspect our King didn't hold you in very high regard anyway, Frenchman. He would've gotten to you eventually had we not." The vampire explained, guiding his horse to stand next to Renfield's.
Then without another word, the pair turned and rode back up the hill, leaving a trail of dust in their wake. Pip coughed, curled up in fetal position and clutching at his leg. He had certainly been shot before, but they must have used some sort of special bullet. Never had getting shot hurt so badly.
Never mind, he had to stop the bleeding quickly, and make his way back up to the house to warn Seras! He didn't know who this Xavier fellow was or how he and Renfield were affiliated, but he could only imagine what the Count would do not that Seras was alone! She didn't even know how to use a gun, why had he never shown her-
Grrrr….
Pip froze, his eyes widening. Oh, shit.
He craned his neck over his shoulder to look in to the black woods behind him, only to be met with ten malicious, blood red eyes.
{A/N}
Notes:
- Pillocks: idiots
- While most popular during the late nineteenth century up until the second World War, a country house breakfast was made to be of "honest," plain English food that sprang from your own garden or estate. It was made to be grand enough to sustain a well-to-do man's day of hunting, riding, and shooting, making lunch a mere picnic and dinner a larger and more sophisticated, French event.
Haha yeah, I've been slacking on getting these up. Sorry about that! We'll see if I can get these up a little quicker.
Until next time!
Della