A/N: Hello, everyone! A bountiful harvest to all those who followed and/or favourited: ButlerGirlAnime, Hrosanna, Aletta Wolff, BlueJae3, AnaxshiNearXIAni-Nyu, Eala Bhan, Haruka Chouko, and wonderful Alyria022011! I swear every alert in my inbox gives me life, and just all-around a mix of happy jitters.
By the way, guys, even if you don't speak English, feel free to share your thoughts! I speak Spanish, English, and French (and I'll try my damnedest to understand anything else you throw my way)! Spanish is actually my mother-tongue. Lil' bit of trivia for ya.
Disclaimer: I, ABitterRabbit do not own Kuroshitsuji nor any of its characters, they all belong to the wonderful Yana Toboso! Except for my OCs and original plot.
As always, read and review if you feel it's merited! As surely as Sebastian craves souls, I crave feedback. It puts a skip in my step and a smile on my face!
Chapter II: That Rabbit, Jumps the Fence
"Some goodbyes are not ends, but releases." - Beau Taplin
The Caulfield school bell rang clearly through the air as both boys and young men finished their studies for the day. Most of them were eager to take to the streets in search of mischief or other means of fun, all except for young Hugh Anslow.
Monday had not been kind to the boy.
The proof? Flushed welts that decorated his palms, ones he eyed bitterly as he sat on a wooden bench near the entrance. He'd never been one for any serious mischief, knowing how gravely Miss Crowley dealt with bad behaviour, but prayer seemed meaningless to him. No one listened anyway.
His mouth twisted in disgust at the taste of iron in his mouth. He'd bitten down on his cheek harder than he'd thought. It had been the only means he had to keep tears at bay.
The old bat was stronger than she looked.
Swallowing the lukewarm blood, he released a shaky breath. He was fine. Crowley's cane was nothing compared to his mother's discipline. He was used to it too. Mother's touch had been reserved for scolding, which usually ended physically, and shaking hands in the morning. Then even those pitiable encounters were gone with the arrival of her affliction—about four months after Benjamin was born.
December's chill and dustings of snow distracted him, and the boy felt the burn of his skin ease in the crisp weather.
His shoulders remained tense, however, as the tightly wound knot in his chest threatened to burst at any moment.
There were still a few boys nearby, though they were far too preoccupied with their conversations to pay him any mind. Even so, Hughey couldn't forget how it felt to have the class' beady stares on his back while he was struck and forced to stand in the corner wearing the dunce's hat. It made his small hands curl into fists. The subsequent pain only fuelled the resentment that simmered under his sweet face.
"Gibfaced crone", he grumbled.
"I thought we got along quite well, personally."
He pitched backwards with a startled yelp. His maid stood before him, hands clasped behind her with an expectant look.
He clutched his chest, "You scared me!"
"Ah, sorry", Mary tried to look sheepish, "...though I doubt you'd die from such a small scare, Master Hugh."
The Anslow boy huffed at her, knowing she wasn't entirely apologetic. Though his mood softened when he noticed how frazzled she was. Wisps of dark hair had escaped her plain bonnet, and the cold had dusted her nose with a soft red. Her mouth carried a slight curl at the edges; though one could never be sure if it was the ghost of a smile or a frown.
While the boy eyed her curiously, waves of panic rattled through her bones. Large eyes skimmed through pedestrians. The demon wasn't there yet, but he grew closer every minute. She needed to whisk Hugh out of there as quickly as possible. Preferably, before she had to lay eyes on it.
Hughey's abrupt yelp interrupted her acute mental distress.
She crouched to inspect his hands, which he'd pressed against the bench when he moved to retort. Only for the child to remember his current predicament. After a full minute of examining her charge for injuries, she released him.
He focused on the scuffs that littered his shoes.
"What happened?" Her tone was even, but she was anything but pleased. A prickle that made him wither laced her soft voice. They sat together in silence; the snow settling on their clothes little by little.
"Did you walk all the way here, Mary?" The boy asked, hoping to distract her.
"Master Hugh."
Brown eyes refused to even glance her way.
He'd been punished before, but it was the first time his pain had been put on display like that. The back of his eyes stung, though more from humiliation than pain. No, he wouldn't cry. If his father learned of the trouble he'd caused his first day back...He didn't want to go through such shame twice in one day. His features grew even gloomier.
"..."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her stand. When something cold and slightly damp touched his hand, the boy chanced a peek. The ink-haired girl had filled her handkerchief with clean snow, using it to soothe the welts the caning had left behind.
Her fingers struggled not to quake. Mary could sense the storm headed their way, and yet she couldn't act too hastily, nor allow the human child to become anxious. No matter how terrified she was. He'd had quite enough of that for one day.
She trained her gaze on his hands, and for all the world did her best look completely at ease.
After icing his hands a bit more, and asking if he'd been hurt anywhere else, she stood with a sigh.
"So little time since the funeral...", her eyebrows furrowed, "Now this."
Her charge's small shoulders tensed, bracing for the reprimand that was sure to come.
"What kind of adult hurts a child like this?" Mary's mouth was tight, almost in a scowl. "Was she dropped on her head as a baby?" She continued to mutter quietly, slender hands brushing against her charge's head and shoulders.
"You're not…angry?"
Her eyes resembled newly minted sixpence, "Oh, I'm livid."
It was hard to tell if Mary was in a foul mood when she smiled so tenderly. Though rarely did she grin so widely or genuinely for that matter.
She shook the snow from her handkerchief and tied it around his left hand. "Now, before I go pick my teeth with her bones, would you be so kind as to tell me what happened?"
The boy couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled up his throat. He felt lighter like the pressure in his chest had been released. Once he'd managed to stifle his giggles, he glanced down at his make-shift bandage, playing with the knot.
"Miss Crowley caught me drawing. She tried to take my journal but I wouldn't let her." He cleared his throat and continued, "She said I was a disrespectful brat...so I called her a snaggle-toothed witch...which probably wasn't the best idea during morning prayer."
A pause. Mary bit her tongue, she really shouldn't have been so proud of the kid's snark. That was her fault.
"What were you drawing?"
Another pause.
The late Lucille Anslow had been adamant about raising proper children. Affection would only spoil them; such was the widespread belief of society. Then she grew ill and she refused to leave her bedroom. Benjamin, the last of her children, was handed off to a hired wet nurse and young Mary's care in as little as three days after his birth.
Dark eyes roved her face. He could still feel the warmth fleeing from the fingers she'd held and the shoulders she'd grasped. Despite her fretting over him at the moment, whenever she had to come in contact with them, she turned skittish. As though she feared the snap of teeth. The Anslow's maid handled them like one would a wounded badger.
Their early days together hadn't been like that. She was quiet, but patient and gave the best hugs, or at least that was what Tillie claimed. Even if the maid got as red as a tomato when she gave them. Did she like the children less and less each day, the boy wondered, or had she only been pretending to care for them from the start? Hughey clenched his wrapped fist with a pang of dread. Or is it just me? Does she not like me anymore? No, it couldn't be.
Since they'd found the bod—mother, since they'd found his mother, Mary was back to her old self.
...Was it only out of pity?
He debated for a moment in showing her the cause of his welts. She blinked back at him expectantly. With a quiet exhale, Hughey pulled his journal out from his coat. The nerves he felt were overwhelming. He handed her a crumpled piece of paper and held his breath.
It was a child's work, no doubt, but she was amazed at what stared back at her from the worn page.
It was Mary; the way the child saw her. The black of her hair, the small of her stature, and dare she say a rather accurate depiction of her typical unruffled expression. How little he knew her...truly knew her. For one, she was never as calm as she appeared.
The warmth that had bloomed in her chest withered, and she was left fighting a hollowness in the pit of her stomach.
She smiled nonetheless, "May I keep it?"
The lad thought it over, and replied, "If you don't tell Father about Miss Crowley."
"Hm, that's not a bad offer...But" Pale eyes peek at him impishly, "you did call me a crone."
His face was flushed, "I wasn't—I didn't—!" The middle-class boy couldn't have been more flustered, thinking she'd taken the words personally. It was hard not to be fond of such a silly boy.
"I know, Hughey. I'm only teasing." She pressed a finger to her lips, "Not a syllable."
The boy blinked. The lack of 'Master Hugh' gave him a warm fuzzy feeling.
All joy must come to an end, however, and a needle-like prick to the back of the neck snuffed the twinkle in her eyes.
Sweet mercy, they're close. Too close. She twisted the umbrella in her hands with a subtle twitch of her nose. The hairs on the back of the maid's neck stood on end. They were leaving immediately.
"Shall we head back? I'll call a hansom."
Her charge, clearly confused by the sudden change in atmosphere, failed to react in turn. Spooked, she took his hand in hers and pulled him off the bench. His fingers curled around her grip without a second thought.
Mary's pulse raced as she led the boy to a hansom cab, gripping his small hand firmly with clammy fingers. She helped him up, nearly chucking the lad inside and rushed to close the door—their hands still joined.
Unaware of his maid's nervous breakdown, Hughey could only think of the comfort hand-holding brought. If he closed his eyes, would he picture his mother...Or would he still see his maid?
The child silently hoped his maid would never let go.
Her eyes rivalled dinner plates. They were going to make it!
"Good afternoon, Miss", a man's face popped into her line of sight.
"Hell's bells."
Her eyes shot open like dinner plates.
WHEN DID HE GET THERE?
In the poor girl's defence, it was a knee-jerk reaction.
. . .
"My lord would like a moment of your t—" Sebastian never got to finish his sentence.
The slip of a girl looked him straight in the eye, uttered a single strained 'nope' and shut the door—nearly taking his nose off in the process. She might have if not for his inhuman reflexes.
Though briefly, she'd caught the butler off guard.
Needless to say, the demon's ego took a small hit. Sebastian was after all, quite proud of his effect on the fairer sex. Besides, he hadn't done anything remotely threatening to earn such a reaction either. And yet by the look on her face, one would think she'd been eye to eye with a rabid bear.
Carmine eyes watched the hansom pull away. In the moment, he'd been too caught off guard by her reaction to notice anything else. His eyes narrowed slightly in thought. There was something...off about the girl. If asked, he wouldn't be able to name it, though she was without a doubt no reaper. That much was obvious from the eyes.
Still, the answer seemed to be just out of reach. As though perched on the tip of his tongue.
He hummed.
In any case, her behaviour was undoubtedly suspicious.
The earl neared the raven-haired man already in a foul mood from what had so far been a fruitless trip to London.
"Where is she?" Ciel demanded.
The Yard was being either as inept as usual or purely stubborn. Thus, what little information they'd found was that the maid that worked at the victim's home had been the first to find the body. Randall had taken her in for questioning, but they'd come to the conclusion that she was no suspect.
"I'm afraid she slipped away, my lord."
The contractor raised an eyebrow at him. It wasn't like the demon to be so easily avoided. Did she know something? He glared and pushed past his man-servant.
"We'll simply have to pay her a visit", he looked over his shoulder, "You memorized the address Abberline gave you, didn't you?"
And so, a certain maid was treated to another quaint little heart-attack when she answered the door only to find the demon and one very sour-faced boy.
She'd been doing the dishes while the brownie swept the floor with a bit of straw when Knotweed had abruptly dived into an empty pail with a panicked squeal. Now she had half a mind to tell him to make some room.
Her hand twitched, but she was able to restrain herself from once again slamming the door. While she hyperventilated internally, the demon bared his teeth in what anyone else would have seen as a pleasant smile.
Mary, for one, did not appreciate the improved view of his maw. No, sir.
"Good afternoon, how may I help you, gentlemen?" Behold, the grace of an English maid.
"Hello, Miss Hargrove." Ciel lifted his hat for the sake of politeness, "We'd like to ask you a few questions about your late mistress, Lucille Anslow." One blue eye observed her face coolly for any negative reaction. None came. In fact, he had a distinct impression that she wasn't paying him any mind. Is it Sebastian? The lack of swooning quickly proved that notion wrong.
"My apologies, Sir..." She trailed off.
"Earl of Phantomhive."
"Oh, forgive me, your lordship, " she bowed her head politely, "but I'm afraid I've already told the Yard all I know. I doubt I can offer much help...Sir Anslow is currently occupied, but I do believe he will be available in the evening if you'd like to speak with him on the matter." The maid tilted her head, "You are with the police, yes?"
"Are you the only servant?"
The girl blinked at his dismissal. Rude little fellow, isn't he?
"Yes, your lordship. There was another, Louise Powell, but as you know she had to resign when she married. That was three years ago." There was also the fact that the house sprite abhorred the poor woman, and had been dead-set on driving her out, but that was beside the point.
Please, oh please leave, Mary bit the inside of her cheek. She wanted nothing to do with this case or this brooding child and his cur.
"Nevertheless, I'd like to ask you some questions. Please come with me."
"With the utmost respect, Earl Phantomhive, please understand. I cannot simply leave my duties nor the children unattended." Slight hands gestured modestly at the townhouse.
Sebastian stepped forward and she instinctively leaned away. Her leg twitched beneath her skirts. She ignored it and kept herself rooted to her spot. If given the chance, Mary would run away from the man as fast as her legs could carry her. But she couldn't—not if she wanted to keep her facade going.
"If I may be so bold, Miss, I'm sure your master will not object to your efforts in aiding the capture of his wife's killer."
Knotweed could handle baby Benjamin by himself for a little while. He certainly wouldn't object if it meant the thing standing at the threshold would leave.
She nodded, "Well...I suppose I might be able to spare a few minutes, Mr…?"
"Michaelis. Sebastian Michaelis." He gave a polite bow.
Ah, so the slimy bastard had a name.
. . .
The maid stared blankly at the kitchen sink still wearing her duster coat. Had she just accompanied a Hell-dweller and his one-eyed morsel to a pub?
Mary is convinced that she's currently experiencing the most disorienting day of her life. Here she sits at the King's Bear with an untouched pint of beer and some roasted lamb haunches before her. She's no saintshe's made mistakes, bad onesbut this is far too cruel for her highly-strung nerves. Apparently, they took one look at her and decided the best way to soften her up was to give her a much-needed break and a meal—which made sense in theory.
Except now she's having lunch with Old Nick stuffed inside a trench-coat and a young earl doing detective work.
The question isn't is she hungry? But can she get it down? Unlikely.
"So you're telling me she had been ill well before the incident?" Ciel crosses his arms in thought.
"Yes. She had delusions and suffered from quite a bit of pain. She rarely left her room."
"Hm. And you found the body?"
"I did."
"Did you know of anyone that might want to harm her? Any animosities?"
Silver eyes glance down at her lap, "No." Yes. "There was a man she saw without Mr Anslow's knowledge, I believe her illness was the result, but it ended and from what I know he left for France. Other than that, no, your lordship." She had.
More times than she could count.
But it hadn't been her.
Even if she feels more satisfaction than she wants to admit at the fact that she was the indirect cause.
She'd been extremely cautious in giving the two any reason to be suspicious of her. If they thought her no different from any other unobtrusive working-class girl then she would be pleased. Immensely.
Still, her mind continued to race.
Why were they so interested in interrogating—that was no friendly chat—a measly maid?
Mary's face paled.
Do they know something? About me? No, that wasn't likely. She barely left the house unless it had to do with work, and spent her Sunday afternoon in the attic. Furthermore, no one knew her real name, and with the sheer amount of Marys in London alone, why would she be anything remotely special? She chewed her bottom lip.
Then her eyes narrowed.
Or rather...Were they the ones behind the string of murders? She'd been the one to find Lucille's body, and she'd known the windows were locked, despite what she'd told Mr Anslow. Had this been some kind of threat? They knew where she was most of her time and the boy's schedule…Were they trying to wear her down? Would they try to use the children as leverage against her? Or perhaps they were planning to frame her for the murders?
The maid-of-all-work's nerves frayed a tad more with each new thought.
Did she leave that night as previously planned? Or would she stay and try to stand her ground? On one hand, distancing herself was always an advantage and she was well aware that only a fool would take on a beast like that...Especially someone as weak as her.
What pit of Hell he had crawled his way out of, she did not know. More importantly, she did not want to know. Well, perhaps there was an inkling of curiosity, but she knew better than to give in to it. Especially after all the messes her itch for novelty had gotten her into.
The simple memory of the musk that dragged behind the towering man was enough to send a stab of raw terror through her. Smoke with a sickly sweet undertone—like the smell of burning flesh.
Her small body shook harder than before. Tea sloshed about in the pretty teacup the girl placed on the tray.
No, quiet life in a faceless sea was her only choice. It was safe.
But if she were to leave, how could she know they wouldn't take one of the Anslow's to lure her back? Or worse. She shook her head, no, for an earl to get caught up in something like that wouldn't fare well for his reputation. They also had no way to know for sure if she wouldn't up and ditch the child and lose track of her.
The servants' bell put an end to her mental machinations. She grabbed the tray and went to take Mr Anslow his tea, grateful for the lull of chores.
. . .
On the third day after they'd laid Mrs Anslow to rest, the creature who had sought refuge in their home finally departed.
Silver eyes gazed upon the face of each child, tracing their soft features as though she could engrave them in her mind. She would not see them again. The girl could feel a weight growing within her ribs, squeezing the air from her lungs at a creeping pace.
It was dark in the nursery, for daylight had yet to break through the black of early morning.
And only because it was so dark, did she allow herself to shed a pitiful amount of tears. No sound escaped her lips, save for one faint sniffle.
Benjamin's small body rose and fell with each breath. The maid held his tiny hand one last time.
"Goodbye, little Ben," she nuzzled his cheek. "Be good."
Moving away from the crib, she approached the girl's bed.
"Goodbye, Tillie." The soon-to-be-runaway tucked the toy-rabbit into the middle-child's arms. "Keep up your reading and arithmetic lessons, won't you?" She brushed her fingers against the blonde's cheek and pulled away.
Finally, she came to stand beside the eldest of her charges.
"Goodbye, Hughey. Try to stay out of trouble…" She whispered and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. "Or at least be clever enough to get yourself out of it afterwards." The corner of her lips curled into a muted smile.
She placed a small crystal vase on the nightstand that cradled the purple hyacinth the Tillie had picked.
The clock struck 2 o'clock somewhere down the hall. It was time for her to go.
Clutching her Gladstone, she crept down the stairs. The girl stashed an apple in her pocket and placed her modest chatelaine on the dinner table where Mr Anslow would find it—keys and all—along with a letter detailing why she'd left.
"You're really leaving, aren't you, bairn?" the brownie's raspy voice asked quietly. With no one else awake Knotweed had no need for his invisibility. His beady little eyes gazed up at her from the table-top; tiny arms crossed over his patchwork shirt.
She nodded.
"What'll they do if they catch ye? Them...things."
She bristled, "I'd rather not say."
Turning to gaze at the house she had all but haunted for the past four years, one last time, she sighed. She would miss the quiet comfort of its tiny attic. She would miss the children, and the way such innocence made her feel comforted. Despite its capacity to hurt her as well. Her eyes fell to the floor, suddenly unable to look at what she was leaving behind. At what she was abandoning.
Pale eyes glared at her feet, nails digging into the flesh of her hands.
Just like her.
With a shaky sigh, her shoulders slumped forward in defeat. Then she straightened up and shook her head with steely resolve.
No, she'd leached off their naïveté for long enough. She was far too great a hazard to these humans now. Even more so than she'd already been when she'd dared to step foot in their home.
"Thank you for allowing me to stay as long as I did, Knotweed." The larger creature smiled bittersweetly at him, "I know it must have been very stressful, having something like me around."
A huff.
"You weren't lazy. That was all it was."
"Of course."
Gently brushing her fingers against the wall, she turned her back to him. It was high time she got out of this country.
'Mary Hargrove' was left behind in the Anslow home, and the girl took to the streets.
From a distance, a swallow-tail coat fluttered in the breeze.
...
The predator stalks the prey.
A/N: Girlie seems to be rather anxious to scurry away, hm?
And now *drum rolls on desk* REVIEWS.
James Birdsong: Thank you!
InsideOutWithin2468: (; A ;) Thank you so much for that, really, I needed that. To be completely honest, I was afraid people would lose all interest if I re-wrote ARiaRN. Still, nervous actually. But I went ahead and did it anyway, so this is me thanking you for the vote of confidence:)
Aleta Wolff: Eu nao falo portugues, mas eu realmente queria responder à sua crítica. Minha fic anterior estava bem, mas eu realmente espero que você goste da nova versão! Obrigado Aleta! :3
Please forgive the wonky translation! (TwT)
Majopi: Hello! *waves* Yes, I am back! :D