Chapter Four: Rumour Has It
There are four rumours in England about the new Duke of Nightsphere, Lord Marceline Abadeer.
Rumour 1: She must not really be a woman.
(After all, what kind of woman did not like dresses?)
Her maids certainly do not seem to think so as they keep laying out dresses for her to wear when she has explicitly ordered them not to. Her maids are either blatantly ignoring her orders or, someone is attempting a jest at her time and expense.
Marceline stares at the black dress that has been laid out before her tonight and sighs. It is a beautiful dress, it is completely black with black lace at the cuffs and a high neckline. The sleeves puff out and the skirt does not billow in excess clouds of fabric. Instead, it hangs soberly from a severe angular waistline.
She is headed this evening to an engagement at the residence of the Duke of Marlborough and, although she hates events like this, she abhors the fact that her maids insist on laying out such dreadful apparel perhaps even more.
She rings the bell, and a young maid leaps to attention from the corner and walks briskly to the center of the room. The maid is all question marks and fear on her countenance. The girl obviously knows she is in trouble then.
"Girl." She addresses rather harshly. "Pray tell, what is your name?"
'M-mmm-Mary, your Ladyship."
Marceline sighs. Such a common name. "Mary. Right."
Rumour 2: She has a terrible temper.
(Which means that she definitely must not be a woman, when has a woman ever had such a temper? Are they not always sweet and docile?)
" Well Mary." Marceline saysagain, with less anger in her tone. She is going to exercise patience now. There is no reason to put off the maid. "If you could please walk to the divan." She emphasizes each word and tries her best to speak sweetly, " I am feeling rather desperate at the moment, and I will not be able to attend tonight's gathering until this need is addressed."
Mary's face blushes all of a sudden. She was probably so embarrassed by her error. She glances at the chaise and then back to Marceline. Her gaze goes to and fro, as if though she is caught between a rock and a hard place. She gasps at Marceline's expression of placid patience but takes no step in the proper direction.
"Mary." Marceline urges again. Has the maid gone daft? "Please direct yourself to the divan."
The maid walks towards the divan again. Marceline follows behind.
Do not terrorize your staff. Do not terrorize your staff. Marceline repeats to herself over and over again. This is probably just a mistake. No need to terrorize the staff.
Mary stops just shy of her mark, takes a deep breath, and turns around to face her mistress. The young girl's face somehow was even more red than before. She surely could not be that embarrassed.
"I don't think it would be proper for me to take a step further milady." Mary says this while averting her gaze, she keeps her eyes firmly on the ground.
Marceline tilts her head in confusion. What in the world did propriety have to do with showing the maid the damn error of a dress on the divan?
Then it struck her. Mary's sudden red face, her hesitation to head toward the cushions and, the odd protest of propriety.
Right. For a moment she had forgotten all about that rumour.
"Tell me Mary." She begins calmly. "Why do you think I am asking you to the divan?"
Mary gulps.
"T-to...rid yourself of...of y-your need...milady?"
Rumour Three: She debauches an innocent woman, or seduces an easily duped gentleman every evening.
(Obviously, someone left her chambers one evening either extremely pleased, or extremely disappointed.)
It is certainly time to correct a grievous misunderstanding.
"Exactly Mary!" Marceline exclaims as slides her long legs until she is standing right in front of Mary. She takes the girls chin in her hands and tilts her face up to face her. "Tis' a desperate need I have for you to address and I have it exclusively for you..."
It is time to correct a grievous misunderstanding...and have fun at the expense of the bumbling idiots that believe it.
Mary stares at her mistress with wide eyes. Her cheeks, which are already blushing, grow more intensely inflamed at Marceline's small minestration. She shuts her eyes and tilts her face upwards. Her fists are clenched at her sides.
Marceline raises an eyebrow and with her finger on Mary's chin, she directs Mary's face towards the dress on the cushions.
"What lies on the divan Mary?" Marceline asks playfully.
"A dress, mam." She says demurely.
"And what have I told the staff repeatedly about my wardrobe?"
Mary's eyebrows raise in realization. She scrambles to take the dress out of the way.
Marceline stands behind as the startled Mary rushes to remove the dress. Marceline smirks, and lightly shoves the bent Mary onto the cushions. Mary tips and in seconds, she is sprawled before Marceline. Her maids cap askew and a few curls spilling out.
Marceline sits next to Mary as she works to right herself. Mary sits up to stand but, before she can, Marceline is calmly tucking a curl away from her face.
Mary sits frozen, face white in shock.
"I have standards Mary." Marceline drawls. "And right now, what I ardently need is for a staff that meets the quality of my standards. A staff that does not follow the simplest of my instructions, does not meet the quality of my standards, and therefore does not meet my needs."
She offers Mary her hand, the maid takes it and pulls herself on her feet to stand, the black dress in her arms completely ruffled in the tumble she took to the cushions.
"Beware that you do not make this same mistake again."
Mary reddens again, but this time in shame and embarrassment.
"I am so sorry my Lady."
Rumour Four: She was not truly the rightful Lord.
Marceline sighs. "I am your Lord, Mary. There are no ladies here."
Mary bows her head in acquiescence, curtsies and walks away.
Marceline calls for her secretary, Simon. Simon walks in and Marceline instructs him to tell the butlers to ready her attire.
Simon bows and says with sureness in his tone: "Yes, my Lord."
AN/: Neither "Adventure Time" nor, "Masterpiece Theatre" are owned by me. I simply use their characters and names as an exercise of writing and creativity. Also, please note that this story is not historically accurate, though an attempt to accurately portray history is certainly made. No offense is intended with any of the interpretations of the people discussed in this piece. I am neither British, nor French, so all language foibles and other je ne sais quoi are unintended. All feedback is appreciated and welcomed.