Title: The Midnight Show

Chapter II: You Can't Always Get What You Want

Rating: PG-13

"Yes, tell your father that you were stealing spirits from your late mother's cabinet."

Hannah Nichols knew that her statement had been bold, probably too bold, and as she watched his sun kissed complexion pale beneath his black fringe and then blush with anger she knew her statement hand been much too bold.

She didn't know why she had said that. Maybe it was because he had dragged mud along the floors that she had spent the better part of the day shining until her thighs burned and her fingernails had begun to bleed. Maybe it was because Miss Knight had been riding her back all day, wanting to see her wrinkled reflection in every brass ornament and window that had adorned the east wing. Maybe it was a myriad of reasons and honestly, Hannah didn't know what had caused her sudden outburst, but she ultimately regretted it as she sat back on her heels.

Deep hazel-eyes stared down at her but Hannah had no way of telling whether her remark had any effect on her employer as he didn't make any attempt make the slightest sound. Besides his sudden change in paleness, he hadn't made a motion toward or away from her. He wasn't even glaring, he was simply staring, probably gauging what he was to do with her.

He was taller than his father, she could see that now and his black rain coat hung to his denim clad calves. But their height wasn't the only trait he and his father didn't have in common, it appeared that the oldest Cambias also did not carry the signature Cambias pale hair or their blue-eyes. Unlike his mates, his black hair had been cut unfashionably short, only grown long enough for his fringe to sweep his brow. It was easy to see that he'd taken after his mother in almost every aspect.

Hannah suddenly found she could no longer hear the storm that had been raging outside or any other sound in the entrance hall, just the beat of her own heart that seemed too almost to deafen her. She wondered if he could hear it too and that's why he hadn't said a word.

"What's taking so damn long, Cambias?" called a fellow Englishman's voice from the railing of the stairs and just like that Hannah had the power to look away.

She dropped to her hands again, making herself appear busy scrubbing the stubborn grout from the floor. She could still feel the young Mister Cambias's standing there, his heavy presence almost suffocating to her. He seemed to be almost ignoring his friends, simply rolling the decanter over in his hands, the forgotten skeleton-key hanging freely from his neck, shining against the worn leather thong it hung from and the black polo-shirt he wore. Hannah almost prayed for him to go away and she only dared look up again when the click of his boots on the marble stairway echoed through the entire entrance hall.

Confident that he had disappeared, Hannah threw her soiled rag into the bucket pail and sat back on her heels. She felt fatigued now almost to the point of weak which was quite odd for her.

Hannah had finished the floors and was dropping her bucket of water in the big basin outside the laundry room when Mellie Knight stopped her. Mellie was a thin woman with an eggshell complexion, little white hair and small robin's egg blue-eyes that seemed to catch every little mistake her new maid could make despite their size. Hannah swore that Mellie could sense a water spot on a glass pane from two rooms over and the doors shut.

So as Mellie approached her with narrowed eyes and one thin hand gripping her nonexistent hip, Hannah prepared herself for the worst. She almost opened with, "What have I did this time to anger the Great Cleaning Gods, Miss Knight," but chose better of it.

"Good afternoon, Misses Knight," she greeted, forcing a smile to bend her lips.

"For who?" the older woman asked, decades of smoking evident in her husky voice. "Not for me it sure isn't. Do y'know what your friend, Madeline did? She's done up and quit. Just walked out during afternoon tea."

Hannah forced her face to hold it's indifferent expression but a smile was dying to cross her lips. Madeline Tuff had been Hannah's best and only friend since she'd arrived in America to work for the Cambias's three-months ago and she'd been threatening to leave for at least a month and Hannah knew as soon as she had saved enough money she would do just that and today must've been that day.

An unexpected excitement suddenly filled Hannah and more than usual she couldn't wait for the day to end. Madeline would probably still be packing when she got to the small cabin that they called home for dinner and they could talk and say good-byes before she had to leave.

Madeline was getting out of this hell hole and despite her jealousy, Hannah was very excited for her best mate.

"Well, that's a real shame Miss Knight," she finally answered, ringing out the dish rag she was holding.

"A real shame indeed," she agreed, digging in her apron pocket for a spare cigarette. She took her time lighting it and dropping the small matchbox back into her apron as she took the first drag and her sharp blue-eyes focused on the far tree line of the Cambias's estate. She had taken three before turning back to Hannah.

"Well, you better go down to the kitchen's and let Rana cook you something to eat," she ordered, using the hand she held the cigarette in to direct her.

"That's okay, Misses Knight. I'm not very hungry and I can wait until I get off work-"

False sympathy left the older maid's hard blue-eyes as she sandwiched the cigarette between her thin lips, "I'm sorry sweetheart but with Madeline gone, I'm gonna have to keep you for the night shift as well."

Hannah bit hard into her bottom-lip, "But I wanted to see Maddy before she-"

"Yes, well she'll most likely be gone when you get home tonight. Now, take a break and go eat something quick before I change my mind and make you dust the library instead."

Leaving her rag on the side of the basin and her bucket standing right side down to rinse, Hannah turned to walk toward the kitchens even though the small appetite she'd worked-up was gone, when Mellie stopped her once again.

"One more thing, Hannah. I need you to go up to Alexander Junior's room and fetch him and his pals for dinner."

Hannah felt her stomach drop to her feet and she quickly turned around to object. "But-"

"Yeah, I know that was Maddie's station but it's yours now, so take care of it would you?" she ordered, stubbing out her cigarette as she went back into the laundry room.

Hannah covered her face with her hands and resisted the urge to scream into them.

Alex laid quietly on his bed, his hands behind his head as he stared at the same ceiling he'd stared at his entire life. He turned his head and looked at the crystal decanter that sat on his night stand. The amber liquid inside mockingly sparkled at him under the light of his Tiffany lamp teasing him to take a sip. He turned away from it again returning to his examination of his ceiling.

Not much usually unnerved Alex. True, he had been born with his father's short temper and what a foul one it was but going through life as a Cambias he had rarely not gotten what he wanted when he wanted it and outside of his parents certainly no one was allowed to speak to him that way.

So it unnerved Alex that he didn't regret not throwing the little Tea-bag out the door on her arse with no hope of a reference. True, he had never been a name dropper with his friends or a tyrant to his nannies like some of the people he knew but Alex still felt that he should've done something. At least have given her a warning never to open her bloody gob again.

But he hadn't. He hadn't done anything. Nothing at all. It was as if her words had been paralyzing.

"God, why did she have to bring up Mum?"

Like an answer, there was a soft knock on the door. Unsure if he was actually hearing anything, Alex sat up on his elbows but made no noise.

Again, the soft knock came from the other side of his bedroom door. Clearing his throat, he scrambled across his bed grabbing the decanter and carefully placing it in his night stand trading it for a red leather bound book.

"Come in," he called, trying to look casual as he sat in the window seat.

Alex didn't listen for his door to open or the sound of soft soled trainers moving across the floor. His undivided attention was on the book he held in his lap, and hoping that his father wouldn't ask about its plot.

"Dinner or Supper will be served in five minutes, sir. Do you wish to alert your company or would you rather I do it?"

She had barely gotten out the second word when Alex had spun around to face her. She was standing a few feet inside the threshold, her hands clasped behind her back. Her dark eyes weren't looking at him, not even in his general direction and though her jaw was clenched her chin looked in danger of wobbling at any moment. Whoever this maid was, she was a shadow of the girl he had met two hours ago.

"You again?" was all he managed to say as he let his feet fall to the floor and rose from the settee.

"Sorry, sir?" she asked, feigning stupid and still unwilling to look at him.

"You're the maid from before," he accused, rubbing the spine of his book and he took a purposeful step closer.

Her dark eyes didn't move but Alex watched her slightly chew on her already plump lip. "I don't know what you mean, sir."

"You know exactly what I mean," he said, stepping into her line of vision. Now standing, she was shorter than he'd expected and he found himself once again looking down at her. "So the question remains, what am I supposed to do about that?"

"I suppose you're going to tell your father then," she answered.

"Actually," Alex began but his words were suddenly cut short by the whistle and cat call that came from his open doorway.

He had no need to break away from the gaze he shared with the maid to recognize the voices as they moved into his room.

"Well, what do we have here boys," came the long English drawl of his close friend, Thomas Chadwick.

Alex had always regarded Thomas as somewhat of a threat though their friendship went back as far as primary school. Thomas had always reminded Alex of a subspecies that nature had forgotten as if he were some sort of shark-snake hybrid. He was short and lithe but quick and cold blooded as them both. And at the moment as he lazily circled them, getting his flat-blue eyes full of the young maid, Alex had never been more reminded of his predatory like side.

"Please, tell me you haven't fallen for that old cliche', Alexander," he finished, crossing his thin arms over his slim chest.

"What are you talking about now?" asked, Maxwell who was currently throwing his doughy-frame onto Alex's bed.

Like a viper Thomas turned around, "Don't tell me that your father hasn't taken the maid from behind once or twice, Hebert."

"Taken the maid from behind?"

Alex could hear the innocence in the Louisiana twang of Maxwell Hebert and knew the exact direction that his British mate was going.

"What our dear friend, Thomas here, is so eloquently referring to, is our Fathers' not so private sexual deviant behavior and what this poor little girl has been trying to tell us for the last five minutes, is that dinner's ready. So if you assholes actually want to eat tonight I suggest you get to the dining hall before my brother eats all of the carrot cake."

For just a moment no one moved an inch and Alex felt a certain anger beginning to stir in his gut, but slowly Conner rose from his place on the settee and grabbed Thomas by the arm, half-escorting half-dragging him to the door as his shaggy blonde head silently motioned for Maxwell to follow.

With the sound of their footsteps echoing back at him, Alex felt comfortable facing her once again. He'd expected to find her crying after the language and accusations his friend had thrown at her but her eyes were dry as desert sand during a drought and her face was a mask of ice. Even her posture didn't betray her, but despite her attempts Alex could plainly see the deep blush that had crawled into her fair cheeks making her eyes look like ebony.

"Look, what Thomas said . . . He was just being . . . " Alex found he didn't have the right words, or really know how to apologize. It was just plain awkward for him.

"We're not serving carrot cake this evening," she said, her voice tight, clipped, and taking him off guard.

"Well, that's too bad," he answered, quickly leaving the room under the excuse that she could turn down the bed in peace but Alex had a nagging feeling that his sudden exit was more for his own benefit.