"My God, if you weren't an hour or so away from death, I'd tell you to lay off the wine and cheese!" Arthur huffed, hauling the unconscious Francis through the streets of London.
After much thought and consideration, he had decided that he couldn't very well leave Francis Bonnefoy, of all people, dead on the outskirts of Whitechapel. The absolute scandal that would cause! No instead, Arthur had decided that lugging him back to his own humble manor would be best. He could die peacefully in his own bed. That was really the best Arthur could do for the man. Francis was going to die. Unfortunate as it was, Arthur had drained him far past the point his body could recover.
Luckily for Francis, Arthur knew exactly where his stately home was located. It wasn't that far from his own home, honestly. They could have been friendly neighbors if Arthur was the type to socialize. Ah well, if's and should's were nothing but mere thoughts now. Nothing to be done.
After what seemed like all night, Arthur finally heaved him up the steps. He wanted nothing more than to drop him at the door and be done with this whole fiasco. However, Arthur was a gentleman. He would see Francis inside and into bed, resting comfortably as he could. Then it would be his servants' turn to take care of what would happen next.
Arthur rang the doorbell and a few moments later, a butler answered. Despite the late hour, he was still dressed in his tails and gloves. The butler bowed low.
"I am sorry, but Monsieur Bonnefoy is resting at this time. Please do call upon him tomorrow, he will be delighted to see you." The butler rambled off. Firstly, Arthur didn't know Francis from Adam. How would he be delighted to see him? Secondly, the butler lied somewhat convincingly. Francis clearly didn't want whoever might call upon him to know that he was out at this time of night. Arthur cleared his throat and shifted Francis on his side a little, to draw attention to him.
"Good evening, I am afraid I have caught you in your lie. Your master has fallen ill this evening." Arthur replied casually, glancing at Francis.
It took the butler a moment to process the scene in front of him. He gasped, "Monsieur Bonnefoy! What happened?!" He asked, alarmed. He went to his other side, helping Arthur support him. The extra weight lifted off of Arthur and he felt like he could breathe again. They moved inside the foyer of the large house and when it became clear that Francis would not be supplying an answer, the butler looked to Arthur. He smiled nervously.
"Ah well, yes. I found Fran- uh- Mr. Bonnefoy in some distress not far from here. I am merely being a Good Samaritan and decided to help the poor fellow home. Let's get him up to bed where he can rest. Lead the way, sir." Arthur said. The butler immediately started leading them up the stairs.
"Distress? Are you a doctor, sir?"
"Yes."
Arthur cringed a bit at his lie. Well, perhaps that is unfair to say. He had studied medicine once upon a time. Once upon a long time.
"That is to say, I very quickly examined him before arriving here." He hesitated. "Stress, I believe. Too much of it, yes. A touch of hysteria perhaps. A good night's rest and a spot of tea and he will be right as the London rain again." Another, rather bold, lie.
The butler, however, was wholly convinced. He relaxed visibly and sighed. "A relief, good sir. Yes, poor Monsieur has been under a great deal of stress as of late. It is no wonder he should come down with hysteria. Tomorrow he will rest all day! I will not let him spare a single thought on Ripp- his stress." He smiled, trying to cover up his slip up. Arthur nearly smiled back but thought better of it. The butler seemed like he was a good, devoted man.
Shame he would be unemployed come morning.
Once Francis was upstairs, settled in his bed, there was an awkward silence. Arthur stood there, unsure of what to do. He had only meant to see Francis to his bed, and then leave. But now that he had stupidly said he was a doctor, what to do? Should he stay? Go? What would be considered proper etiquette? Not to have drained him dry in the place, idiot. Arthur thought to himself. A long few moments passed, the only sound was that of Francis' swallow, raspy breathing. A small amount of tension was building and Arthur could stand it no longer. He cleared his throat. However, he was unable to get out a single word before the butler spoke first.
"Please stay. I will make up the spare room for you. Monsieur Bonnefoy might need you during the night. Besides, I know he will want to thank you himself for the generosity and kindness you have shown. Please wait here, I will be right back!" He said quickly, rushing out of the room before Arthur could protest.
Well then. Now he was in an even bigger pickle.
He hadn't planned on staying the full night. Perhaps maybe until it was clear Francis was on death's door. Stress was just too great on his heart, God rest his soul, Arthur would say. Then he would quickly sweep away, leaving them to mourn an untimely loss. Now, he had no other option. He couldn't stay. It would be unseemly. He would have to sneak away before the butler returned. There was no force on this earth that could possibly make him stay and play nursemaid to a man he had accidentally killed. He looked at Francis sympathetically.
"Terribly sorry about this mix up," Arthur cringed. "I truly am. From now on, I will restrain myself when I believe I have found the Ripper." He sighed. A lousy apology, he knew that well. This situation was all over the place. "Francis Bonnefoy, may God receive your soul in peace tonight. G-goodbye." Arthur turned before he would allow himself to get choked up. What a mess. He rushed out the door, eager to put it behind him.
Lost in terrible thoughts about his deed, he turned a couple of corners until he became lost in the manor. Could this night get any worse? If the butler were to find him, what would he do? How would he lie himself out of this situation?
"Stop, Arthur. This is madness. Take a moment, relax and get your bearings. This house is not that much larger than your own. You can find your way out." He said out loud to himself. He took a deep breath and turned around to backtrack.
He froze mid-step.
"Hiya, mister!" A little boy called to him, coming down the hall, dragging another boy by the hand.
Quite apparently, the picture of the boys in Francis' precious locket had been a recent one. Just like the locket, the boys approaching him did not look a day over the age of five years old. Baby faced and wide eyed with innocence. Both were blond haired, just like their father, only slightly darker tones of yellow, one with an unruly cowlick, the other with a single curl popping out of his head. They were both dressed in matching white night frocks, with red ribbons laced through the top. The one being dragged Arthur's direction was clutching a stuffed bear nervously.
Not knowing exactly what he should do, Arthur greeted the children kindly, "Hello, lads. A bit late to be up out of bed, isn't?" He asked.
"Heard the doorbell ring, woke us up."
Arthur grimaced, "Ah yes. That was my fault, I sincerely apologize for waking you up. Run along, back to bed. I was just-"
"Talking to yourself? Papa does that a lot too. Says it helps get his thoughts out the right way." The boy who greeted him was a talker it seemed. He took a deep breath, "Who are you? Never seen you afore. Are you one of Papa's friends? Are you helping him when he leaves at night? I keep telling Papa he needs some help. He shouldn't go out there alone, it's not safe for him."
Arthur was impressed, what a wise young man. "My name is Arthur. Your father and I actually just met this evening. What are your names?" He asked pleasantly.
"I'm Alfred. This is Matthew, he's my twin. He's shy. Papa says I shouldn't talk for him, that he should find his own voice but he gets super scared around strangers, so I'm brave for him."
"That is certainly caring of you to do. You must be a great big brother-"
"Mattie's the older twin." Alfred interrupted. Matthew nodded behind him in affirmation of this fact. Arthur couldn't help but chuckle. He was sure that he could get their whole life story if he let Alfred keep going. Unfortunately, time was of the essence."
"I see, well he is lucky to have a brother like you." He patted their heads. "I'm afraid I must take my leave now. Back to bed with you. Sweet dreams and such." He went to nudge them down the hall.
"Is Papa sick?" Alfred asked. Arthur froze again.
"What makes you ask that?"
"We heard Mr. Toris, the butler talking outside of our room. He said Papa was brought home tonight and he looked really sick. Very pale, not sure what that means, but I know it's not good. Toris seems really upset, about it. I've only heard him sound like that a few times afore."
Intuitive young man as well.
Arthur weighed his options. He had been lying since arriving at the Bonnefoy manor. He could very well tell the boys the same thing he had told the butler. Or… he could tell them the truth about what happened. That their father was attacked by an idiotic vampire who stupidly drained him to the point of death. He hummed, frowning. In the end, it seemed only fair that someone in the house knew the truth about Francis's demise. He took a deep breath and crouched down to be on their eye level. Placing one hand on a shoulder each, he looked at them sympathetically.
"Lads, listen. What I'm going to tell you may be hard to understand. Please believe me when I say, it was an honest mistake. Your father is, indeed, very ill this evening. I don't bel- No, I know for a fact, that he is unfortunately not going-"
"Is… is Papa going to leave us… like Maman… ?" Whispered Matthew so softly that Arthur almost missed it.
It was a simple question. That much was true. And the answer was a resounding yes. Francis was going to die, just like their mother had just years before. But something in the way Matthew asked, the very sad, lonely look in his eye pierced Arthur's soul like a stake to the heart. He sputtered and fumbled to find the words that would break the little one's heart but Alfred shook his head.
"No way! Mattie, listen. Papa said when Maman died that he would always be there for us. Always. How did he do that? You 'memeber?" He asked his brother. Matthew sniffed and nodded.
"He-he promised us…"
"Right! He did! And when Papa makes a promise, he keeps it! All the time! He's been sick afore and he's been fine! He will be fine this time. He's not going anywhere, Matt. Papa wouldn't break his promise." Alfred said, with so much conviction, Arthur was stunned. Dazed even.
When Matthew dried his tears with his sleeve and nodded solemnly, Arthur knew exactly what needed to be done.
He was not going to leave these two boys orphaned.
"Seems I misspoke, yes, your father is very ill but come tomorrow evening, I think he will be feeling much better. Excuse me, I will go tend to him now. Run along, back to bed. Or should I tell your poor Papa that his twins are out running the halls this late at night?" Arthur said, standing up. He smiled kindly as the two boys shook their heads rapidly.
"No! No, don't tell him we were outta bed! We are going back to bed now!" Alfred grabbed Matthew's hand and took off back down the hallway. Arthur chuckled and then backtracked his way back to Francis' room.
He slipped in and closed the door with a quiet snap. Wordlessly, he went over the bed, drawing a chair near. Francis did not look good. He was barely breathing, paler than porcelain and cold to the touch. It wouldn't be long.
Arthur pulled his own sleeve up and made a deep slit across his wrist. As the blood began to fall from it, he placed it on Francis' lips. The man's eyes flew open, a trance-like glazed look in his eye, and he drank as if he was a man who had been found in the desert. Arthur sighed.
"This is not the path I would have chosen for you. But, you can thank your boys for giving you a second chance." Arthur said, letting Francis drink his fill of blood before collapsing back down on the bed. Arthur tenderly wiped his mouth clean and pulled the blanket up around his shoulders.
"M-merci…" He whispered very faintly.
Arthur laughed darkly, staring out the window, healing his wrist in a second.
"I wouldn't thank me until your transition is complete. And even then, we will have work to do. As our interests seem to align so nicely, you, my young sire, are going to help me catch Jack the Ripper."