On Account of That Demmed Elusive

On Account of That Demmed Elusive

By Bria

Within the Record Books

Catherine froze. She stared at Anthony Dewhurst for nearly a solid minute before she mastered herself enough to breathe out, "Are you suggesting I'm related to Lady Blakeney?"

Before Lord Tony could answer the obvious answer, Cayliegh and Tobias came briskly upto them, drinks in hand.

"Goodness, Catherine, what are you doing up so soon? You look white as a ghost," Cayliegh said sympathetically, still acting her part to perfection.

"Here, take this drink," Tobias suggested holding the wine glass out to her. Catherine gratefully took it with a muttered "thank you".

"Here's a drink for you as well, my lord," Cayliegh offered a glass to Lord Tony, who appeared lost in thought.

He shook his head slightly, coming out of his reverie. "Oh, thank you, m'lady," he spoke quietly. Then, as the clock struck one, he seemed to stiffen. "Sink me, I must be going! 'Tis quite late, and I still must make the long drive back to the manor after going about the lenghty task of wishing Sir Percy, the Prince of Wales, and mine generous host a good-night."

"Well then, wish us good-night first, and do tell me your name," Cayliegh smiled.

Lord Tony bowed to Cayliegh and answered, "Lord Anthony Dewhurst, at your service milady...but perhaps another time. Good-night to you and your dance partner, here." He shook Tobias's hand and then turned to Catherine. A look almost of sadness crept into his sea green eyes. "And of course good-night to you, Lady Yorkshire," he concluded, taking her hand.

"Fare thee well, Lord Dewhurst. Perhaps we shall meet again." Catherine tried not to sound as melancholy as she felt at his leaving.

"Oddss life, msdear...of course we shall meet again."

He nodded to them all once more, then turned on his heel and strode across the ballroom. He was soon out of sight. Catherine couldn't help but wonder when she would see him again.

"Forgive us, Tobias, but we, too, must depart." It was Cayliegh who had spoken.

Catherine turned to face her friend and Tobias.

"It has been a most lovely evening, and your company was quite enjoyable," Cayliegh continued.

Catherine couldn't help but wonder why they were leaving an hour before their scheduled time, but she didn't question Cayliegh's motives. Both the young women were to stay at Cayliegh's mansion tonight, and surely they'd be up all night talking.

Catherine went through the empty cermony required when saying farewell almost mechanically, then turned and began walking slowly away to where Lord Grenville was entertaining guests. A few seconds later she heard Cayliegh's light trod behind her.

--next morning around ten o'clock--

"This may take quite a while," Cayliegh scolded. "I'm willing to devote the time."

"That's because it's your family. The town's records of immigration are quite formidably large, and probably aren't that accurate."

"It's worth a try, especially since I know my grandfather's given name." Catherine's voice was firm, and absolutely determined. Cayliegh knew there was no stopping her friend when she got that hell-bent look in her eye.

But that didn't keep Cayliegh from trying. "Catherine, St. Just is a common Frenchname."

"Lord Tony seemed to think it was possible."

"Oh not him again!" Cayliegh admonished impatiently, "That's all I hear about from you."

"As if you can stop singing the praises of Tobias," Catherine smirked, then clutched at the seat as their coach hit a particularly vicious bump in the road. Then all fell silent as the coach bumped and jostled it's way down to the old building where the records were kept.

When they arrived, it had begun to drizzle a light mist outside, which was typical English weather. Straightening her tailored overcoat, (set into style by Marguerite Blakeney) Catherine stepped down the echoing hallway that doubled as a foyer area. As she moved down the long hall she could hear Cayliegh grumbling behind her. Catherine smiled, "She's probably dying to know almost as much as I am." Then as Catherine reached the edge of the poorly lit hallway, she gasped as she found herself in a huge and ornate library.

The room was two stories high, and decorated in the Romanesque style with vaulting ceilings of carved, aged oak. The ceiling itself was dome-shaped and covered with a beautiful painted mural. The first story was separated from the second by a wrap-around boardwalk that circled the entire room. As Catherine moved further out and looked back, she saw that the wall up to the door frame was a bookshelf, completely packed with various forms of literature.

The dim lantern lighting lent an enchanted feel to the place, and the two girls lost themselves amoment in the pure magic of their surroundings.

Suddenly a man's voice called out to them. His voice sounded far away. This was probably because he spoke fairly softly and was at least one hundred twenty feet away. "How may I help you ladies?" he asked in a thick, Irish brogue. The sound reverberated hauntingly.

Catherine inadvertently started. "Oh, we were looking for the immigration records," she called, still breathless with wonder.

"That'll be on the second floor, just take the wooden staircase on your left." The two young women turned to face the staircase. Cayliegh moved toward it and Catherine turned to follow. "Wait a minute!" the man called after them, "You'll need a lantern up there, despite the fact the windows are open." As he turned to fetch a lantern, Catherine noticed for the first time the windows that were on the second floor, and almost as tall as the entire story. There were four of these amazing windows, evenly spaced with deep indigo velvet curtains. This drew Catherine's attention back to the mural, and she wondered what the painting was depicting.

At this point the man returned with a the promised lighted lantern. It was by that light that Catherine saw his face for the first time. He appeared to be about five and fifty, with long, silver hair bound back in a ponytail, and flashing, pale blue eyes. He was fairly tall, though not nearly so much as was Percy Blakeney, the tallest man Catherine knew. The stranger appeared quite athletic and well-built, and he carried himself in an upright posture which complimented his build. His dress was simple, but irreproachable. Catherine took an immediate liking to him.

"Thank you, sir." Catherine took the lantern he offered to her. "May I ask you a question or two about this library?"

"Most certainly."

"What is the mural on the ceiling?"

"Those represent the nine muses, milady," he replied nonchalantly, as if added words were not necessary to promote the painting's splendor. And, indeed, he was right.

"It's beautiful. Are there anything besides archives and records here?"

"Actually, yes. Though only such archives and records are mentioned, those only make up the second floor. The first floor is a collection of classic literature from around the world."

"Ohhh," Catherine heard Cayliegh breathe behind her. They both loved a good book, and this place had literally thousands of books, and undoubtedly many rare ones.

"Thank you so much, sir," Catherine fairly sighed, then made as if to turn around, then paused. "How are the records classified?"

"They are in alphabetical order according to last name, and the A's start at that large panel, there," he gestured to the dividing panel.

"Thank you again, sir. Oh, and--this is my last question, I promise--what is your name?"

He raised a silver eyebrow mischievously, "What does that have to do with the record books?"

"Nothing, I was just curious since it would be must easier to call you by name," Catherine ventured more carefully.

He chuckled softly, for this place of great thoughts, great works, and of great beauty seemed to command the reverence of a lowered voice. "My name is O'Seanehan, Milo O'Seanehan."

"I'm most happy to meet you, Monsieur O'Seanehan," Catherine dipped her head delicately, finding that a trace of her French accent, that always showed up when she was emotional, had surfaced. This place did inspire much emotion and awe in her. "My name is Catherine Yorkshire, and this is Cayliegh Aaron." Cayliegh also nodded her greeting.

"Well, Miss Yorkshire, Miss Aaron, feel free to call down to me if you need anything." With that Milo O'Seanehan turned and walked back to the far end of the room, where a book lay open on an old and worn armchair.

Cayliegh and Catherine then climbed the stair and began their search for the book containing names beginning with 'S'. That was easy enough, since there were two voluminous albums containing 'S' names. Cayliegh sighed emphatically, "All right, well St. Just will most likely be in the second tome they have here, so let's start in that one."

Cayliegh groaned with the weight of the album, which was inconveniently placed on the bottom shelf. Catherine helped her friend hoist it up and prop the book up against the railing encircling the boardwalk. "Very well, I guess I'll start in the middle," Catherine thought aloud, taking a firmer hold on the album's cover. Flipping it open, she began her search.

The minutes ticked slowly by. Cayliegh fidgeted with the edge of her shawl absently.

Finally she got too bored to stand it any longer. "Cathy-dear, since you're so deeply involved there, I believe I'll do a little research on my own family."

Catherine grinned, "Caught up in the genealogy craze, Miss Cay?" she taunted playfully, never taking her eyes off the task at hand.

Cayliegh grimaced irritably, "La no, but somehow watching you bury your nose in a dusty old tome is just not my idea of quality entertainment."

Catherine laughed lightly, "Touchi...go ahead, then, I won't provoke you."

So Cayliegh went off and left Catherine to her 'studies'. The passing of fifteen minutes found Catherine eagerly running her finger down the list of St. Just's. Suddenly she stopped and pulled the record book closer, thus examining it more carefully. Then a little gasp of delight escaped her lips...she found her grandfather's line. He was the second-born of three children, the eldest having died at birth, the youngest having married and stayed in France. Catherine felt her heart rate quicken. Almost feverishly she scanned down the youngest sister's line...and there it was. "Marguerite St. Just, born 1767 in Paris." Catherine's heart then decided to leap into her throat. "It's true...Lord Tony was right...Marguerite's my cousin..."

"Zounds!...Cayliegh..." Catherine whispered quietly, then frantically, "Oh Lud! Cayliegh! Cayliegh!" Catherine supported the tome on her hip and skittered toward Cayliegh, who was nearly on the other side of the room. Cayliegh also had a rather large book supported on the railing, and appeared equally occupied until Catherine came up to her. "Oh Cayliegh!" Catherine breathed, obviously quite enthused.

"It's true, then," Cayliegh smiled. It had not been a question.

"Indeed 'tis so!" By this time Catherine had regained her composure and was simply smiling to indulge her feelings of excitement. "It is always a treat to make a discovery," she added whimsically.

"Well, I must say, I've become rather curious about the dead meself, and am now searching for my father's side of the family."

"Begad, you really are involved in this...by all means, Cayliegh, have fun, good Lud, wehave all day, eh-what?" Catherine prattled merrily.

"H'm," Cayliegh grinned at her friend's silliness, "quite so."

For the next few moments silence reigned as Cayliegh continued to flip through her tome, and Catherine wondered what to do in the light of her discovery. Her practical nature had returned, and by now she couldn't help but wonder, "Now that I've made the connexion, what shall I do about it? Lady Blakeney doesn't know me personally, nor do I know her. Perhaps I could bring it up again in casual conversation with Sir Percy..." Such was the inner plotting of a young woman who was a born plotter. Catherine came up with the ideas, Cayliegh refined them into something feasible. Catherine was about to question Cayliegh for her opinion on that same plotting, when the latter did something remarkable.

Cayliegh swore. This was more than enough to get her friend's attention.

"Sink me! What did you just say?" Catherine admonished. In reply, Cayliegh merely gestured to a single line within the sea of words, arranged like soldiers in their ranks. Catherine gasped femininely, raising her hand to her bosom. "Heaven...is it the same line?"

"Look for yourself."

An Invitation

"Percival Blakeney, born 1764." Catherine read aloud, utterly dumbfounded.

"He is my cousin, Catherine," Cayliegh whispered incredulously.

"That is unbelievable! Your cousin is married to my cousin!"

"What were the chances...and that we would be best friends. BeGAD!" Cayliegh whispered, swearing for the second time that day.

"Quite so...an interesting twist of Fate. Look, why don't we discuss this over lunch at my house? The morning is waning, and we will be expected home soon."

"Yes, yes, we shouldn't keep Lord Yorkshire and his lady waiting." Cayliegh agreed, turning to shelve the record book. Catherine walked briskly back to the self where she had found the book in hand, and returned it to it's rightful place.

Cayliegh was waiting for her at the stairs.

The girls rushed down and made for the door. Then, remembering her manners, Catherine turned and called out to Milo Seanehan, "Thank you, sir!"

A muffled, "Anytime, m'ladies," was heard echoing across the domed library in a soft brogue.

Their carriage was waiting outside, and the two young women traveled the next quarter of an hour in silence. As the carriage came upon the cultivated gardens of the Yorkshire mansion, Cayliegh broke the silence. "I should love to contact them, and tell them what we've found; I'm sure they'd be interested."

"Hm, I believe so, but how do you propose we tell them without looking like silly little children? They don't really know us--"

"Sir Percy knows us, you may recall."

"--ah yes, that is the truth of it, but Lady Blakeney has never heard of us."