Devil May Care, Part 2/?
Author: Nefret24
Disclaimers and notes, see part 1.
Author's Note: I know I said it was Marguerite-centric but I couldn't help myself. That and I need to ground my plot somewhere. She'll be back in the next installment, promise. I haven't seen the Elixir yet- grr- so if my characterization of Jesse is all off, that's why. Working with what I have, folks. I'm also sorry if this is somewhat lacking in fun- that comes with the next installment, at which I am hard at work already. M meets R lots of fun. BTW, reviews do significantly speed up the writing process **grins**
Thank you, thank you, thank you to all who've posted advice and reviewed! You are wonderful, you are saintly, and I am utterly grateful.
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"You've never been poor. You don't know what ambition is." ~ An Ideal Husband, Oscar Wilde
"Money, money, money! I think about money morning, noon and night! I dare say it's mercenary of me, but there it is!" ~ The Secret Adversary, Agatha Christie
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One week later– The Roxton Townhouse, London
Lady Beatrice Roxton was sitting at her writing table in the East Parlor when her son walked in.
"Good morning, Mother," he said, helping himself to some biscuits sitting on a nearby table.
"It's the afternoon, John," she replied without looking up from her writings.
"Thought it was a bit too early for callers," he said, giving one of the biscuits a quizzical stare before popping it into his mouth.
"You know, dearest, if you didn't keep the hours you do"
"I would be apprised of these things, yes, yes, I know. Who was it?" he said, with a sigh, dropping down onto the couch.
"Lady Farcourt."
"Ah, one of the old teetotalers. What the devil did she want at such an hour?"
"Language, John," she replied automatically. She had tried all his life to correct John's colloquialisms and especially his use of vulgar language but her heart wasn't in it anymore. It was practically a reflex anyhow, by this point. She took off her half glasses and laid them beside her pen and turned to face her son.
"You know the woman really is quite senile. She thought that she had had tea here yesterday and left behind a string of pearls."
"She sounds potty to me. Why should she leave a string of pearls behind?" John remarked, rolling his eyes. How he hated his mother's friends. They hadn't a brain between them.
"It's not only that- she never had tea here yesterday. She hasn't come over for tea in a week! It's all very odd."
"Hmfph," Roxton replied through a mouth full of biscuits.
"John- swallow before you speak. Oh yes, and not only that, but it seems she's absolutely furious with that silly nephew of hers"
"Not Wainwright again?"
"Yes. It seems that that young idiot Nigel withdrew his entire monthly allowance the other day only to lose it all- he knows not where. Took him the whole week to finally confess that he'd misplaced it, and begged the poor woman for more money."
"It runs in the family," Roxton said with a smirk.
"Oh stop," Lady Roxton replied, lightly swatting him on the arm. But even she was forced to smile. It was not a family known for its intellectual capacity. "Apparently he wants to buy one of those motorcars that keep roaring through the streets."
"What would he do with a motorcar? Probably run some poor chap over."
"Well, I certainly can't see why he should want one. They're terribly expensive and Lady Farcourt will simply not spend the extra money, especially when he can't hold onto what he's given."
"Sensible. But you know, Mother, those motorcars aren't such a bad idea. I was thinking about getting one myself-"
"Oh no, you don't, John Roxton! I will not have you speeding around the countryside in one of those confounded contraptions!"
"Language, Mother," he said with a grin. He stood up and brushed off the biscuit crumbs from his trousers. "Well, I'm off," he said, after planting a kiss on his mother's cheek.
"Be sure and come home early tonight, dear," she called out as she turned back to her writing. "The party's tonight, you know."
Roxton stopped dead in his tracks, his hand gripping the doorknob fiercely. "I thought it wasn't until next Tuesday!"
"It is next Tuesday, John," she replied wearily.
"Fine," he replied grumpily and left the room. He hated his mother's parties but with both his father and older brother dead, the title of the Roxtons must be upheld and he'd need to put in an appearance. He would give anything to turn back the clock to the old days, when he never had to attend the stupid things and didn't have to deal with his mother's friends and their insinuations that he carry on the Roxton line. Dealing with debutantes wasn't his style.
Okay, well, once in a while, he could deal with a little bit of female companionship, he thought, smirking. The pretty ones were at least amusing for a little while. But it always ended the same way– whether they wanted his money or considered him their soulmate– they bored him and he had shown them the door. Or he had done his damnedest to get them to throw him out. He supposed that he ought to feel guilty at treating them in such a manner but he never did.
And now another damn party. How he hated London! At least in Avebury, he could spend his days outside hunting fowl or fox. In the blasted city all he could do to amuse himself was drink and where was the adventure in that? He almost missed the war. It made life more exciting, more purposeful than discussing the weather with vapid, acquiescent females. He never knew what to bloody say to them anyhow. It's not like he could talk about anything he cared about- hunting or politics or hunting. Oh well. He'd come for a few minutes and sneak away before his mother could haul him in
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George Challenger's Apartments, London, the Same Day
Jesse Challenger watched as her nephew paced the sitting room. She had tried several times over to make him sit still already, and even more times telling him to extract his fingers from his mouth so that she could understand him.
"Chewing off your fingernails is not going to help, you know," she pointed out for what seemed like the tenth time.
He paused mid-bite and dropped his hand to his side. "When will he be coming up?" he asked, before pacing again.
"Soon. You know how he is. He won't come up until he's ready," she said with a sigh. That was her husband- stubborn as a mule and just as much a workhorse.
"But, I say, it's been almost an hour," her nephew whined.
"St. John, please. Sit down before you fall down and just wait him out," she said sternly, fixing him a glare.
He lowered himself gingerly into an armchair and after folding his arms, affixed such an expression on his face as to convey a child with the sulks. His frown had pulled back his lips from those overly long front teeth of his and his hair fell over his brow in such a way that Jesse was almost moved to pity him. Only almost.
"You know it's been worse ever since he found Maplewhite. He's convinced that that place, that plateau, actually exists! Dinosaurs, can you believe it?" she laughed, and shook her head, her blond coif glinting in the afternoon sunlight that filled the room. "And if he isn't down there calculating, he's up here sulking," she said pointedly.
"It may not be as absurd as you suppose, old thing."
"Well, I think that where ever Maplewhite was, even if it isn't on any map we know of, there certainly wasn't dinosaurs there."
"But that's just your opinion, my dear," said George Challenger, entering the room, and adjusting his shirt cuffs, which had been rolled up for working. He gave her a peck on the cheek and then added, "But I have scientific proof that says otherwise." She winced at his patronizing tone and shifted on the sofa as he sat down next to her.
"The photographs, d'ya mean?" St. John said eagerly. At this comment, Challenger deigned to notice his existence and Jesse muffled a snort of derision. As if photographs couldn't be tampered with, her look conveyed.
"Yes. St. John, how have you been?"
"As well as can be expected, sir."
Challenger, not being acquainted with his nephew's situation in life, mostly because he had better things to concentrate on, glossed over his statement. "Taken an interest in my studies, have you?" he pressed, eager as always to discuss his findings with an open ear.
"Oh yes, though I know that they are widely disputed-"
At this, Challenger harumphed.
"-especially by your colleague Dr. Summerlee"
"That old hack! He doesn't know the first thing about true scientific methodology!" Challenger began, warming up for a rant against his recent chief rival, but Jesse sent him a warning glare, as well as a restraining hand on his arm. She was inclined to agree with her husband's rival, but she said nothing, more in favor of keeping the peace than on having her say, very unlike her husband's temperament.
St. John, visibly more nervous, babbled on, as was his habit. "I think you should mount an expedition there," he ended finally.
"An expedition. This is what I have been saying all along!" Challenger exclaimed triumphantly. He turned to Jesse, "You know, he really is quite- you know, St. John, you really are quite a bright individual," he said, rambling now and patting St. John on the knee in such a hearty manner that it made his nephew cringe.
Jesse made a face. If it wasn't for her husband's blinding scientific zeal, he would realize that St. John was very far from bright. She cleared her throat and decided to lend some logic to the conversation. "Except for the fact that you haven't the funding."
"It's true," Challenger replied sulkily and sunk back into his chair. "If they could only see the potential of such a voyage! Narrow-minded fools, all of them! Especially Summerlee!" he added darkly.
"Well, Uncle, what about if you could get the money? If this thingummy–"
"Plateau," Challenger interjected harshly.
"Right- this whatchamacallit really exists, wouldn't it end up, you know, paying for itself anyway? Not to mention and then some, what?"
"It's not about the money, boy! This is most likely one of the greatest discoveries in the history of mankind! There is no monetary value large enough to encompass that."
"Erm, yes. Exactly!" St. John exclaimed, not sure what he was agreeing with but hoping it would further ingratiate him with his uncle.
Befuddled with his nephew's logic, of which there was none, Challenger gave up and with a muttered oath, announced his intention to return to his lab for further study.
As he left, Jesse turned on her nephew. "What do you think you are doing, encouraging him? To what purpose?"
"Dear aunt, imagine this: if somehow he received the appropriate funding and found the place, think of the rewards it could return! Uncle George would be famous and you would be rich!"
"And conversely, so would you. Yes, I understand now." She eyed her nephew suspiciously. They came from a highly decorated noble family but unfortunately, the only thing that remained noble was their name. The family estate had dwindled down until there was almost nothing left. St. John as heir, was to receive practically nothing and had been frustrated all his life by moving in a social circle that acknowledged his birth but not his current quasi-poverty. To make matters worse, he was intent on marrying a member of the working class! Some girl from a tea-shop! She had never met her, but odds were, the girl was as silly as he was. And that meant that she most likely supposed he still had money to burn.
"Well, how do you propose on getting your riches, then? No one will fund him. He's already petitioned the Zoological Society and been rejected three times. I, more than anyone, realize that he is devoted to scientific discovery but this is too much! Dinosaurs and mythic lands," she said disdainfully. "It is never something small, like a cure for the sniffles. It is always a panacea," she said wearily.
St. John's face was vacant. Jesse mentally reminded herself that big words did tend to confuse the lad.
He seemed to shrug his confusion off and continued on his train of thought. "I think we ought to try private means. I'm going to a dinner party tonight at the Roxtons, you know. I mean to ask Lord Roxton if he'll consider lending some of his considerable fortune to science. Good idea, eh?" St. John asked confidently.
"Wipe your chin," Jesse replied, which was indeed, a bit damp from the spittle that had been created by his last statement. "It's so nice to see you care so much about your uncle that you would have this all planned out," she said sarcastically. The sarcasm was lost on St. John, of course, and he just nodded his head enthusiastically. "And why should he give you the money?"
"Why not? What better use has he for it?"
"If I were as rich as Lord Roxton, I'm sure I could find use for it." And I sure as hell wouldn't listen to a simple-minded idiot like St. John, she added silently. The lad had a decent idea, though; she ought to mention to George in the future.
"Well, I must at least try. Mabel is still pressing for nuptials in June."
"Not without my consent, she won't," said Jesse forcefully. "You have neither the means nor the sense to get married."
"Aw, Aunt Jesse" he whined.
"St. John," she raised her finger warningly. She would not tolerate a temper tantrum. It was bad enough when George didn't get his way.
"But listen here, old thing, dear aunt, would you consent, if uncle got the money?" he asked tenatively.
"If the funding became available, you could marry the tea girl, the cook or the bloody maid!" she said, rising, not sure she could reign in her temper for much longer. With St. John, it was always a matter of patience and hers had worn thin. "But only, if the funding becameavailable." With that she left him alone in the room, satisfied that the money would never find its way into St. John's hands.
TBC