Devil May Care Part 13/13
Author: Nefret24
Disclaimers and notes see parts 1 - 12.
A/N: Great apologies to the writers of the pilot- I have taken the liberty of borrowing some snippets of dialogue from "The Journey Begins" as well as adding considerably to them. I have seen only one version of the pilot- unfortunately missing the scenes in Challenger's parlor. This I make up from spoilers and my own twisted psyche, so forgive me if it's not up to similar standards of excellence.
This is it, the last part to a very loooong piece of fiction. So review if you liked it, review if you hated it, review just to say you've been reading it all along. :P
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"The more things change, the more they are the same." ~ Alphonse Karr
"Now is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But perhaps it is the end of the beginning." ~Anonymous
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George Challenger's Apartments
Jesse sat perfectly still in the parlor just outside of the foyer and watched her husband through the doorway. She couldn't really study him, as he was moving too fast, this way one minute, the other way the next, one time with a green tie and the next moment tieless but with a red vest. She stifled a chuckle and pretended to be enthralled in the evening newspaper when he barged into the parlor.
"Have you seen where I put that blasted tie?" he bellowed, taking long strides across the room, overturning pillows as he went.
"I believe you had it on the last time you whipped through here when you were looking for your vest," she replied, ill-concealed mirth in her voice.
"Dash it all, woman, this is important!" he growled.
"George, come here." Her husband scowled but complied, returning to the couch where she was sitting. She rose and looked him up and down severely.
"First of all, you are taking off that horrid vest- I don't know what possessed you to buy that thing. Why didn't you wear the tweed? At least that has all its matching parts."
"I can't find the trousers," he mumbled, scratching his beard.
"Oh, George, you really are hopeless. Henry!" she called out from over her shoulder, while staring fondly up at her husband.
The butler soon appeared at the doorway. "Madam?"
"See if you can locate the Professor's tweed suit. And his red tie."
"Very good, madam."
"There, you see?" She waited for a reply but her husband gave none. He was mumbling under his breath. At first she wasn't sure- it could have been curses at Henry. George never did like him though Jesse had to drill it into him that she could not run a household herself. He seemed to put up with the cook well enough, but then it was a well known fact that she was no great artist in the kitchen.
"George, I can't understand a word of what you're saying."
"Er- ahem," he cleared his throat abruptly. "Oh, forgive me, I was rehearsing. For tonight."
"I'm sure your oration will be sufficiently inflammatory. Don't get carried away- I don't want to have to hear about you causing half of the Society to have heart failure," she jested playfully, tucking some of her husband's errant red curls behind his ears. He never did schedule that haircut he had promised.
"Hmm?" he questioned obliquely, paying little attention.
"Oh, never mind, George. Go upstairs- Henry's probably found your suit by now," she finished wearily, sitting back down and taking up her paper again.
"Oh, yes, right," he continued in the same abstracted tone, and shortly left to dress.
Jesse looked at the doorway, watching him as he mounted the stairs, his hands making faint gestures as his lips moved soundlessly. She quickly turned away and focused on her hands, folded in her lap. He could act like such a child sometimes. She suddenly felt very old, as if most of her life had just passed by in the merest of seconds. George had remarked over dinner about how all his studies had led up to this defining moment, his greatest discovery, the findings that would change all of scientific fact forever. Was this what her life had led up to? Locating the trousers of the man who was to redefine the universe?
She shook herself. It seemed that was all she could do these past couple days, was indulge in wistful contemplation of changing the way her life had always worked. It had taken her a long time to understand her husband drive, his visions of the future, his stubborn genius that refused to take a backseat to anything or anyone. He wouldn't change and neither would she; they were past their prime. She only hoped that when he left her this time, it would not be for long.
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The Ritz Hotel
Marguerite stood in front of the full length mirror in her suite, doing a last minute survey of her attire before departing for the Zoological club. She had gone shopping the day before, purchasing two new dresses complete with accessories. She was wearing the first of the two, a long purple frock with a dipping neckline that ended in a large floral burst nested right between her breasts. It suits me, she thought complacently, and lowered the large hat onto her head. It was extravagant, with large purple plumes and a dainty black lace veil. Just the thing for a young heiress with money to burn to wear when breaking into a men's society club. And certainly not on first glance the face of a murderess.
With a last disapproving glance in the mirror, she turned and approached the dresser, collecting items into her purse. After a few moments of careful consideration, she grimaced and put the silver pistol in as well. Couldn't hurt to be too safe. Xian's men were nowhere to be seen and Karl's assassin could have arrived by now.
Turning to the bed, she double-checked to make sure the drapes were closed before kneeling at its base. Reaching up underneath the mattress, she found the small hole she had wrought and her fingers searched for the nearest spring. She slowly pulled her hand back, revealing a very small cloth packet. She unwrapped it and still sitting on the floor, contemplated the small tile in her hand. The ouroborus. How such a tiny, worthless scrap could have so much value she didn't know. She turned it over and over in her hand, the other one unconsciously reaching for her locket at her throat.
It wasn't fair, dammit! I shouldn't have to go half way across the world to find out my own name! She felt a tear slide down her cheek and angrily rubbed it away. Like a name would matter. It wouldn't change who she was, it wouldn't alter what she had done in the course of a colorful lifetime, it wouldn't bring Tom back from the dead.
She unclasped the locket and wrapping it up with the ouroborus, she tucked them both back into her hiding spot. Rising, she smoothed out her skirt and lowered the veil, all prepared for her evening out.
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The Zoological Society Club Rooms
Ned Malone had just found himself settled with a nice stiff drink when he discovered he was sitting in someone else's seat. The older gentleman sitting across from him gave him a slight nod but suddenly a hand appeared on his shoulder, staying his movement.
"Don't trouble yourself, there's plenty to be had," a voice followed with a puff of smoke.
"Thanks," he said in reply and craned his neck around to see Lord John Roxton take another seat next to his. "Oh, Lord Roxton, I'm sorry- I didn't realize"
Roxton waved his hand to indicate the trifling favor. "Already forgotten, Mr. Malone," he said, with another puff at his cigarette.
"You remember me!" the young journalist said in surprise.
"Of course, it isn't everyday you get interviewed by a member of the press concerning your own mother's missing jewelry."
"I heard they're back now they were returned."
"Oh yes," Roxton hissed, biting down hard on the end of his cigarette. "Everything's back to normal."
"Well, I'm ready to hear about what Professor Challenger has to say tonight," Malone said eagerly, hoping to get some comments from the other fellows in the room.
"I heard he wants an expedition of all the bloody things," said the man across from Malone.
"I heard he got money," Roxton said casually, puffing away. "Old widow."
The other man harrumphed and began to expostulate on how it couldn't possibly be so.
"But I heard the same," Malone chimed in.
"Absolute tommyrot! Challenger would never in a million years get someone to fund his wild ideas! Balderdash, what?"
"Still babbling on about my colleague?" another older gentleman asked, as he approached the three. He smiled at them genially. "Come on, then. He's about to start- don't want to miss it."
"Why, Professor Summerlee, I had no idea you valued what Challenger had to say so much," the other older gentleman scoffed.
"Not at all. I want to hear everything so I can say, with absolute scientific certainty, that it is all a fairy tale. Will you join me, Lord Roxton?"
"Professor," he said with a nod, and rising, he began to follow after Summerlee. "Coming, Malone? Wouldn't want the press to not get the whole story."
"Save me a seat, will you? I want to talk with some of the other guys around here, a personal profile on the Professor," he said, with a gesture at their third companion, who seemed very intent upon finishing his drink before he moved any further.
"Very well. Lead on then," Roxton said with a nod at Summerlee and they both left the room.
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"Once again, I am shocked," Challenger said at the end of a long lecture on the prehistoric era. He surveyed the room carefully, looking in the eyes of all the older, more influential members who had seats on the floor of the hall.
"Night after night, I listen to my esteemed" esteemed my eye, he thought, "colleagues pass judgement upon the purpose of certain animals on this earth."
Now it's time to see if St. John really did have some working brain cells. "Because our Dr. Summerlee has not seen a prehistoric animal, he assumes that they do not, can not exist. If he had never been to North America, I'm sure that he would hold that the world is flat!"
The laughter that followed this remark, not to mention the disapproving look on Summerlee's face was well worth the effort. But would it work? He spoke with passion, unheedful of the itch at the back of his neck where the tweed rose up as he made sweeping gestures with his hands, indicating again the grandness of his prey. "I speak here of creatures," he said reverently, "that could hunt down and devour present day predators as if they were lambs."
Summerlee, the blighter, finally spoke up. "You can hardly expect a room of topflight scholars" HAH! "to support your demented" the bloody twit! "fantasies" close-minded fool!
Clenching his teeth in anger, Challenger turned behind him to the presentation board and flipped it over solemnly, refusing to answer Summerlee's goading remarks, preferring to let the plates speak for him. "Still. I feel compelled to share my findings with you" and before he knew it his temper got the better of him and he added, "ungrateful swine that you prove to be."
The room shifted as he illuminated the plates and the murmurs grew loud into a cacophony of expostulations.
"Gentlemen, behold! Proof of my contentions!" he boomed proudly as a pterodactyl appeared on the screen at his side.
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The West End
Marguerite was almost there when she saw him, dressed in black and leaning nonchalantly up against the corner of a building. He turned slightly, his hat tilted on an angle obscuring his face in the dark. He wasn't from Xian- he wore a continental suit and she had caught the faintest glimmer of pale, blond hair underneath the hat as he had turned. No, he was very likely Karl's man. But then again, Xian was known to hire people
Well, one thing's for sure, she thought determinedly. I know these streets better than he does and in a brazen turn, she walked right past him down the alley. She was halfway through when she heard his footfalls ever so light on the pavement and thought she caught out of the corner of her eye something bright flicker to the ground. Cigarette, perhaps?
She moved quickly, thundering out her footsteps on the cobblestones, her heels clattering nicely to her stalker. All the better to find me with
She turned again and this time, in the middle of the alleyway stopped. The light steps behind her followed suit and she quickly moved on, straight past a fire escape, clacking madly. That would confuse him for a minute and that was all the time she'd need. She rounded another corner, this time quietly and made her way around until she quietly crept out from a sidestreet right behind him.
"Do I know you?"
He turned, surprised, a gun in his hand.
"No," he said simply through tight lips. Oh poor baby, have I hurt your feelings? Definitely German. And don't they take disappointment so hard
"But you know me." Yes, do tell. Are you attacking the Baroness or Miss Krux?
"Does it matter?" Insolent prig. So much for getting any information. Marguerite's hand slowly slipped down to her purse and unclasped the catch.
"Just wondering if it's business or personal."
"To the Field Marshall, very personal." Oh, right, as if Karl wasn't a thorn in his side every moment of his horrid little life. But anything for the honor, eh, mein herr? "To me, only business." As if it would be anything else, you evil looking man. It's a wonder your own mother could love a face like that.
"Good, then we can negotiate." Just put away the gun, let me leave and I won't bite, promise. Her hand reached into her purse and felt the gun underneath her fingertips. She hooked her index finger around the trigger and gripped it in anticipation.
"Sadly, that would be bad business." What you think you're witty now, she thought nastily, as she extracted the gun from her bag still concealing it with the purse.
He cocked his gun.
"Oh, I see."
And she fired.
As he slunk to the ground, she stood over him, her face a mask of indifference. "Pity." Not really. She watched him die at her feet without remorse, alone and damp with the chill of the alley. This is the way it always was and always would be nameless or no
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The Zoological Society
Roxton sat back in his chair watching as the two professors hurled insults and challenges at one another, the one asserting one of the boldest theories he had ever heard, and the other deriding it with the same exuberant passion.
Summerlee was furiously rattling off names and dates of cases including fraudulent photographs and with a glance over his young friend's shoulder, saw the reporter furiously scribbling notes. Taking another puff of his cigarette, he smiled to himself. That Malone certainly was a vivid writer- he almost chuckled as he had read the man's shorthand of Professor Challenger's wild expression- his red hair "symbolic of his choler." Oh, the poor naïve boy, couldn't he see this was just the way those two worked?
The rivalry had existed even before he had joined the society. He remembered when his father would talk about the heated debates those two had roused within the common rooms over what was supposed to be a genial glass of port. Roxton had always been careful not to take sides it was only too unfortunate that the war had chosen for him. Yet another reason it was all so important that he support Challenger tonight, even in the face of his colleague.
Roxton was knocked out of his reverie when he heard Challenger, George Challenger, agree with Summerlee! What was that he said?
"Precisely, sir, precisely!" Roxton eyed the speaker carefully and raised an eyebrow. Challenger looked like a panther ready to spring on its prey. I wonder what he has up his sleeve
"That is why I propose several of you good gentlemen accompany me to help me put my claims to the test."
And the traps were sprung. That clever old fox. With a wry smile he watched as Challenger deliberately goaded his fellow society member.
"What about you, Dr. Summerlee? Do you have the courage of your convictions?"
The older gentleman sat rigid in his seat, clutching his pipe. He seemed quite agitated by this blatant provocation. Some members around him seemed to be egging him on and he looked from side to side like a trapped animal. Very good, Professor Challenger, thought Roxton.
"Very well, I'll do it," the good doctor said resolutely to the cheers of other members of the club.
Well, if he's looking for volunteers, then I'm his man. Who cares if he could be miscalculating. If those photographs are real, then it's either what he says it is or one hell of a big bird. Either way, a suitable trophy for any hunter's collection.
He saw the journalist fidgeting in his seat as if he were struggling up the courage to speak. Mr. Malone, I'll buy you some time to find your voice and declare my intentions. Whether he takes me to hell and back again, I'll journey with him to this lost world and we shall see what we shall see.
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Marguerite easily got in the back doors, the attendant sleeping soundly in his chair. She brushed by him without a sound and then proceeded to peek into the rooms on each side of the hall. One of them should be red
Ah. She found it, the second door on the right. Entering and closing the door softly behind her, she found the room unoccupied except for a waiter who was busy retrieving half-empty glasses from various surfaces around the room. She had almost made it to the opposite door when he turned around and noticed her, gasping aloud.
"What are you doing here! There's no women allowed in this club! How ever did you get in here? This is not suitable, not suitable at all!"
"Then no one has to know," she said, lowering her voice seductively and inclining her head towards him as he approached her.
"Madam, I say madam, this is very, erm, ahem, inappropriate for a club of this nature," the man replied stiffly.
Oh damn. He approached her and took her forearm delicately, keeping his distance from her and not looking her in the eye. "I must ask you to leave the premise immediately."
Not bloody likely, she thought and grabbed a hideous looking ashtray from a nearby table and swung it upwards, catching the man on the side of the head. The effect was almost instantaneous; he slunk to the floor and was out like a light, making almost no sound whatsoever.
"Sweet dreams, Jeeves," she said haughtily and proceeded on her way. She walked down a long hallway, with doors at either end. One she knew, led to the front doors of the club and the other the lecture hall, her destination of choice.
She stopped at the closed doors, listening intently. They seemed to be bickering about something.
" Come, come, gentlemen! This is science's chance to be daring! Surely that is enough to merit such an expenditure- not nearly so trivial as stocking the wine cellars of this establishment!" a loud voice boomed with authority. That must be Challenger.
"You're mad, absolutely mad if you think the Society will spend one shilling in the funding of this deranged wild goosechase you have cooked up for us this evening!" scoffed another voice as Marguerite ever so quietly eased both of the doors open, to no notice of any of the members of the club.
Amidst the murmurs following this statement, she spoke in a calm, detached voice: "I will provide the funding."
She held her lips in check as she grinned inwardly at the very gratifying sight of seeing all the high-ranking members of the Zoological Society turn completely around in their chairs to look with surprise at her. Mostly old men with nothing better to do, she thought, taking in her audience as she swaggered up the aisle.
Damn it all. Roxton. Here. I should have known. Well, I'll show him just how little he holds with me, she thought resolutely, refusing to look in his direction. He hadn't even turned around but she'd know the back of his head anywhere, just as she had his voice that fateful night in her flat.
She stopped her progress right at the end of his row of seats, right next to the journalist, who gazed up at her with befuddlement. Paying him no heed, she looked straight into Challenger's questioning eyes and holding them in her steady gaze, she continued, "My name is Marguerite Krux. I will furnish you with whatever funds and resources you require for the mission."
Challenger's mouth slowly dropped open in surprise.
"Surely you cannot mean that, madam. You cannot possibly have the funds enough to cover such --" an older man expostulated but she silenced him quickly, practiced at being underestimated by Victorian gentlemen.
"My resources are not limited. The funds shall be placed in a bond by tomorrow afternoon. I expect, Professor, to be hearing from you then. Good evening, gentlemen," she finished impudently, and turned on her heels to walk out the door.
"It is done," Challenger said in a low voice, his eyes racing about the room with the quickness of his thoughts. "You will get your proof- in six months time, I guarantee it."
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George Challenger's Apartments, Three Weeks Later
Jesse Challenger was forced to set her book aside in order to receive the last remaining guest in her husband's party. All of the members of the expedition were gathered in the south parlor save their patron, the mysterious woman whose wealth was making it all possible. Jesse didn't know how to prepare herself for what she would see on the other side of the door. St. John, potty as he is, had described her as an old widow and yet George had implied that she was in fact quite young, and had identified herself as Miss Krux.
She stepped out into the foyer just in time to see a woman with long, dark curly hair hand over her hat towards Henry. The woman turned and her face held no expression. Curious, Jesse thought, both the look and the eyes. Very changeful, I would guess.
"Welcome. You must be Miss Krux. The others have arrived- no doubt you are wanting to see that everything is prepared for their journey tomorrow."
"No doubt, Mrs. Challenger," she said matter-of-factly, still unsmiling. What a cold sort of person, thought Jesse as she led the way towards the drawing room. "But I wonder perhaps, if they are ready for me."
Not knowing how to respond politely to this conceited remark, Jesse merely stood at the door and held it open for her guest. "Good evening, Miss Krux."
"Good evening, Mrs. Challenger," she replied before sweeping past her into the room. The gentlemen stood as she entered, Summerlee with the alacrity that bespeaks a true gentleman, Malone stumbling to set his glass down first, and Challenger and his companion more slow to rise.
Roxton. Of all the bloody tricks of fate. Of course she had seen him at the meeting all those weeks ago but she had had no advance knowledge that he was going on the expedition. She had kept communication with her fellow expedition members to a bare minimum, only breaking the silence to sort out financial matters and major planning issues, like ship tickets and the like. Challenger had of course, told her of the presence of another member to the group besides himself, Summerlee and the reporter. A big game hunter, he had said. She had expected another older man, some bearded aristocrat who smoked too much and would tell long war stories sprinkled with anecdotes about how close to death he had come in some glorified fox hunt abroad.
But then again, Challenger had always been stingy with details in his excitement to get his way. Until she had entered the room, she had had no idea that Dr. Summerlee was so old- she had thought he was only Challenger's age. Certainly not older. If she had known that, she would have never suggested that St. John propose the provocation in the first place; eyeing his arthritic lurch to his feet, she doubted how long he would last in the Amazonian jungles.
But Roxton! What a time for comeuppance for past faults! Why in the blazes did he have to come?
Well, I'll be damned if he's going to see how he's rattled me, she thought resolutely, smiling slightly and nodding deferentially to Summerlee.
"Why Miss Krux! We were beginning to give you up for lost!" Summerlee said warmly, coming forward and kissing her hand gallantly. "I don't know if you caught my name, but I'm"
"Dr. Summerlee. I have heard of you," she said and realized belatedly that she was smiling at the old man. He really was a bit of a sweetheart- it had been ages since a proper gentleman had kissed her hand.
"If it's from Challenger, I'm sure he's painted quite a picture of me. I assure you that I am much more agreeable in person."
"I believe you." She sat down on one end of the sofa and absently arranged her red skirts as she looked about the room. More dead things hung on his walls than in Roxton's library. What was it with men and their nasty specimens?
"Quite unique décor you have, Professor," she remarked in a lofty tone, and began rattling off the genus and species of the animals on the walls.
"Impressive, Miss Krux. Really, I had no idea you were so knowledgeable in the sciences!" Challenger exclaimed when she had finished, handing her a glass of sherry.
"Oh, well, I've come across a few beasts in my time," she said casually, looking at Roxton, whose knuckles became a shade whiter as they held his glass of whiskey.
"Erm, quite. Miss Krux, since Arthur has taken upon himself to begin introductions, I might as well continue with it. This is Lord John Richard Roxton," Challenger indicated the man with a wave of his hand. Roxton merely nodded and lifted his glass in an acknowledgement. "He's-"
"Lord Roxton's reputation is well known," she said quietly, in a tone that was neither generous nor overtly vicious. Roxton's cold stare in return to her remark was sufficient indication that he understood her subtle barb.
"And lastly, Edward Malone, he's a reporter"
"For the International Herald Tribune, yes I know," she nodded and shook Malone's extended hand.
"Oh, so you have met already?" Challenger asked curiously.
Ned was self consciously clearing his throat when Marguerite replied for the both of them. "I was interviewed once for a piece in the Society pages. Miss Vandergelt's wedding. Are you acquainted with the Vandergelts?" she asked Challenger in a horribly innocent voice.
Of course he wouldn't be acquainted with the Vandergelts. The only one of them who could ever have had contact with such a family was Roxton, and he, despiser of debutantes, or so he said, probably wouldn't be caught dead in such a frivolous fanfare as that wedding was. She, in truth, had been there- and had walked away with a considerable amount of wealth that she had not arrived with. So terribly convenient, with everyone half drunk and barely knowing anyone else who was there.
"Oh, yes, that's right," Malone stammered, underneath Marguerite's well meaning glare that seemed to echo her earlier threat of a libel suit if he brought up the affair of the Roxton jewels.
Challenger looked at Malone with his brows drawn in, as if he were somehow calculating how his estimation of the lad should be affected by this new piece of information. From Marguerite's view, it seemed that it detracted from whatever previous status he enjoyed.
"But I hadn't thought that you'd be qualified for an expedition such as this," Marguerite continued, grilling Malone. She asked him dozens of impertinent questions, everything from where he was during the war to the logistics of the air balloon that he claimed to know how to operate.
During all this Challenger and Summerlee shot each other meaningful looks and blatantly listened to the conversation, Marguerite's comments becoming more and more catty as Malone began to lose his temper and speak in loud tones.
Roxton sat and stared at the tableau before him, immovable. That bloody woman again! Just looking at her made his blood boil with rage. The bitch who had made a mockery of him and his mother, who had had the nerve to waltz into his men's club and generously provide funding for the hopeless expedition that was his ticket away from her and all of London's nonsense Would she never leave him be? It was bad enough that he saw her every time he closed his eyes, that those eyes of hers were bored into his soul and that even now, when he hated her so much, he still couldn't believe how stunning beautiful she looked, clad in red satin and nastily slinging insults at Malone.
"Madam, I believe you've questioned him enough. I've approved him for the mission and I'm sure you'll agree," Challenger said with a chuckle, "that he is properly capable of everything that needs to be done. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about," he continued patronizingly, patting her on the shoulder. "We men will go forth and return with stories that will make your heart swell with delight in an investment well-made."
"Really? Well, you can save your stories for your wife, Professor, because I'm going with you," she said matter-of-factly.
"Madam, you cannot be serious! Into the middle of the jungle? What would your family say!" Summerlee exclaimed in horror.
"Oh, I'm quite serious. If you paid any attention to the travel plans, you'll notice everything is booked for five. And in answer to your question, Doctor, I haven't the faintest idea what my family would say, considering I have none," she said flatly, rising and walking over to the sidebar to refill her drink.
"What about your qualifications for the trip? What possible use could you have to us?" Malone interjected mockingly.
"More than you, I'm certain. I am proficient in several languages, some living, some dead, as well as more than a novice's study of geology," she said casually, as she filled her drink and turned again to face them. She left the drink on the bar and gently lifted an antique musket off the wall above it. She sized up Malone in its sights and noticed Roxton stiffen out of the side of her eye. "I can handle myself as well firearms. Don't you agree, Lord Roxton?"
"More of the latter than the former," he replied with a smirk.
Chuckling, she replaced the musket and took up her drink. "Well, boys, then I guess this is an ultimatum. If you can't stand to have a woman in your boys' club of an expedition, a woman, who has financed the entirety of this little mission, mind you! - then I suggest you sleep in tomorrow. Because I will be on the docks, ready to go, with you or without you."
All four men were astonished at her harsh tones and forceful orders. Finally Challenger broke the silence. "I suppose you leave us no choice."
"Don't look so gloomy, Challenger. You might be surprised what I can offer."
At this, Challenger and Summerlee politely excused themselves to a corner of the room and began yet another argument concerning the dating of prehistoric eras, while Malone acted as referee, asking questions just as their voices began to rise harshly.
Roxton saw this as a convenient time to confront the stubborn and conceited Miss Krux. "So you've invited yourself along."
"It was my expedition to begin with," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. "It still is."
"And I see you won't let anyone forget it. But how would they react if they knew where the money was coming from- Farcourt's necklace, Wainwright's pocket money"
"I had nothing to do with that," she replied coldly.
"Oh, I'm sure you didn't. Just as you had nothing to do with my mother's jewels."
"Still rankling over that?" she said, curling her lip to bare her teeth. "I heard a child did it."
"Don't try to play your games with me- I know you were the governess who came to the house," he hissed.
"Really, Lord Roxton, where ever do you get such absurd notions?" she said in a sweet tone, batting her eyelashes innocently.
"Why don't you tell me the real reason you're doing this? What's in it for you?"
"The joy in my heart of knowing I had a part in the advancement of the sciences," she intoned theatrically, pitching her voice so the others could hear, before moving away from him.
"We are about to impart upon something historic, I think," Malone agreed, nodding at Marguerite.
"Some words of wisdom, perhaps, before we set off into the great unknown?" Marguerite suggested.
Summerlee began to say something but was quickly cut off by Challenger, who had flung his head back and hooked his fingers underneath his lapels, in preparation for what, no doubt, was a prepared speech.
"This journey will mark the start of a new era. No part of life will be untouched by what we shall discover in this lost plateau, everything, not just zoology-- history, geology, physics"
"I think we get the idea, George," said Roxton, realizing just how long this could take. He respected the man unlike any other, but god, was he longwinded!
"How about a toast then?" Summerlee suggested.
"To the Challenger Expedition," Roxton said, raising his glass and pointedly looking at Marguerite, whose mouth was half open in rebuttal.
Pursing her lips, she paused for a moment before she raised her glass as well. "To the Challenger Expedition."
"The Challenger Expedition!" the others chimed in and their glasses tinkled with light contact.
Roxton took a sip of his whiskey and looked at the motley crew. The green reporter, so hungry for a story that he was heading into something that was more than he could handle just to prove he was worth it. The stubborn old man whose pride in his work led him to uphold an assertion even with the threat of so dangerous and difficult a journey. The visionary to whom he was indebted, whose grand ideas were inspiring and lofty, even if they did seem all too unreal. And the mysterious woman that remained out of his grasp, dangerous, beautiful and cold.
"May it be the adventure of a lifetime."
FIN.
Please r/r.