Chapter XXIV: Rules and Regulations

The London Household. 6:10 pm

Rena followed the bustling housekeeper down the narrow hall. Reinette, she held close, taking pains to ensure the vampire would not be bruised upon waking. Like a bird in her palm, one whose neck could be snapped or shielded. She would watch over, feed, and protect her. If times changed and Lucian asked her to murder her in cold blood, she would do that as well. Like or dislike had nothing to do with it. Not when everything was a task.

Ahead of her, Mrs. Fulligan began to climb a set of narrow stairs, speaking to her in English. Mildly out of breath, the kind of voice that would take no nonsense from anyone but a superior. Like Rena with her charge, Mrs. Fulligan had a task, and she took to it with a level-headedness that belied her status as a mortal in a lycan household. She spoke of house-rules, den-rules, dinner-bells. It did not seem to matter whether they stood in the upper reaches of a British household or the lower levels of the den. At the top of the stairs, Mrs. Fulligan unlocked a wooden door and ushered their small party into a hallway, dark as the one downstairs, a door at either end. Left with a choice, Rena looked from one to the other, but said nothing, assuming the housekeeper would continue to lead as she had been doing. She made no mention of Reinette's condition, but the housekeeper seemed to take it in stride.

"If you will wait a moment, miss," Mrs. Fulligan said, holding a wrinkled hand up before walking down the hall and unlocking the right door. She passed through and shut it very quickly behind her, cutting off the last rays of sun. Even had she been slow, the door was too far back for it to do her charge any harm.

Left behind, Rena waited, listening through walls, hearing rustling rather than footsteps, fabric being drawn and a match being lit. Without the heavy footsteps of Mrs. Fulligan, she could pinpoint the lighter ones of Sabine crawling up the stairs, following them. She could smell dust. Damp. The muggy wool wrapped around Reinette's shoulders. Since leaving the ship, the vampire had not stirred, her limbs hanging loose from her frame. Lucian had said she would be awake by tomorrow afternoon. She would not speculate over why he had drugged her nor why she lay in his bed when they disembarked. She would do her task and ask no questions.

Through the wall, Mrs. Fulligan called for them to come. "It is alright, dear," she said. Dear. As if she were a maid in the governor's household. Rather than turn the handle herself, Rena persistently waited where she was, watching the handle turn, making certain it was the rays of a candle rather than the sun that fell on the floor. Only then, holding Reinette closer, did she proceed through the door, padding into what seemed a large drawing room, velvet-lined drapes covering a line of three windows from floor to ceiling. The fireplace was cold. Dust on everything. Books, tables, chairs, the abandoned piano-forte by the farthest window. Squinting, she could see an overturned brandy-glass lying on its cover, the blood from the vessel having been poured and long-since hardened over the instrument's keys; as if both keys and glass had been sitting there for a decade, alone in silence. Mrs. Fulligan was waiting ahead, holding a handkerchief to her mouth, the candle in her other hand. Coughing, she beckoned with the handkerchief, leading them through the silent room, their footsteps muffled by the remnants of a thick carpet burrowed by mice.

"This way…" The housekeeper pushed against a set of panelled doors at the room's end, the dust continuing through two more rooms of abandoned elegance. Their destination was a narrow door tucked at the end of a hallway, its plain lack of panelling unexpected after the French-inspired elegance of before. Removing a large iron key from the ring at her belt, Mrs. Fulligan turned the key in the lock and pushed. When the plain door did not open, she pushed again, using her hips this time. On the second attempt, the door swung open, its rusty hinges emitting a large creak that did little to alleviate any concerns about what Lucian had meant by the "east wing." He may as well have said "the forgotten hole in the back-end of nowhere." In spite of this, she had no concerns. She did not care why this place was deserted. She would not ask why a vampire prisoner was housed in the upper household rather than the exiles' quarter. She would not venture a guess over what separated Reinette from other prisoners. Everything was a task, and it was her mandate not to have opinions.

She stepped into the room, looking around. Large with a high-ceiling, it had not been used for as long as that brandy-glass had been sitting on the pianoforte. No footprints in the dust, but rather, shallow dents in the floor, a single, wretched scrape along the wall as if someone had dragged their claw back and forth upon the same line. What little furniture there was passed easily for firewood: a smashed chair and cabinet sitting bereft of company. A bed-frame lacking sheets, blankets, pillows, and even a mattress. The only window, directly across from them, had been boarded up, and the room's two adjoining doors were in banged-up shape. Most of their panelling had been taken off, the sharpness of nails occasionally poking through. One door was half-open, leading to a toilette in need of cleaning. The other was closed, seeming to be a closet or another room. She did not put Reinette down. As far as she could see, the only thing positive about this room was the amount of space at their disposal.

A space into which Sabine's voice promptly intruded.

"This room is not satisfactory," Sabine said in German. She sounded very aloof, her formality taking over now that they had left the stables. She had followed them silently into the room, observing its contents with vast disapproval on her face, if not in her tone of voice.

"No, it is not," Mrs. Fulligan agreed in English, keeping to the letter of Lucian's instructions. Little, including German language, seemed to faze this housekeeper of lycans. She turned around, holding the candle down, shedding light on the girl's face. "…but it is the best we can do under such short notice, miss. We were not told to expect one of…" Wary of sleeping ears, she struggled for a moment, searching for the polite term for vampire. "…her kind, but we are happy to serve the master in any way he wishes. Mr. Kerr has indicated the east wing, and until he tells me otherwise, this is the only available room that is boarded." She seemed to have an inane sense of timing. "…now it is twenty past six, miss. You must be hungry. As soon as we are done here, I will personally prepare an early dinner for you, as well as your evening bath before bed. Miss Sabine, is it?"

Rather than take the bait, Sabine walked forward and bluntly pointed at the bed-frame, ignoring the woman's unsubtle attempt at drawing her into an introduction. "How can she sleep on that?"

"A fresh mattress and clean sheets will be sent within the hour, miss, but I am sorry, the rest must wait until the morning shift." A dogged, protective tone had entered Mrs. Fulligan's voice. "My boys have had enough to deal with in the past twenty-four hours. They've done their duties, and now it is their turn to sleep as much as anyone else."

Stubborn, Sabine was sticking to her German like a Kantian child plastered to a wall of ideals. "I do not like it," she said. Out of sheer principle, she did not seem to like Mrs. Fulligan either.

"Well that is all very well, young miss…" With a troubled look on her face, Mrs. Fulligan bustled forward and put the candle on the floor. "…but until Mr. Kerr says otherwise, my hands are tied." She folded her hands in front of her as she spoke, resuming her directions to Rena. "Now the lady's bags will be brought up, but I suggest you leave them packed, miss, until the morning when we can clean."

Quietly, Rena murmured her only question, moving to the bed and laying Reinette down upon the bed-frame. It was the first time she had spoken in fourteen hours, her habit of silence seeming to fit with this forgotten wing of the house. Mrs. Fulligan had not heard her. She walked around the room, looking from the floor and ceiling, getting a feel for the place. "Blood?" she said again.

Behind her, Mrs. Fulligan answered…"Oh yes, dear, but we are very strict about rationing." Without further ado, she proceeded to explain, giving the impression of reading from some massive, black-bound rulebook she perpetually kept in her head. The word 'dear' was not in it… "As a guest in the upper quarter, you will be fed twice daily, three times if you are sickly, and once if you are in the habit of hoarding. There are two warning bells prior to meals. The first giving you a ten-minute warning, the second, a two-minute warning. If you are late, you may go hungry." It sounded like an orphanage. Mrs. Fulligan flipped an imaginary page in her head, moving onto the newest rules, most of which she herself had written. "Although Mr. Kerr has not expressed his wishes on this matter, for the first night, I expect you to dine with him and his guests in the main hall. You must dress and act appropriately as pertaining to good and proper British society." She stressed this point, and then added her disclaimer. "After that, you may sup where you wish as long as you regulate yourself to appropriate times. Should you choose to sup in the den, your rationing is first and foremost subject to den-rules." Of which, apparently, she washed her hands. She held out the room's iron key for Rena. "Until further notice, this key is your responsibility. I expect you to keep it on you at all times."

Turning around, Rena took the key, pocketing it in her dress. She would rather starve than appear in front of a new den dressed as a nursemaid. "I will need my bags…and a guard for tonight," she said, indicating the door. "…while I am in the hall."

Mrs Fulligan nodded. "Of course you will, dear. I will ask Thomas to assign guard-duty as soon as he comes upstairs. Your rooms are through the adjoining door…" Like a hostess, she walked to the shut door, which looked like a closet, and opened it, peering through only to wrinkle her nose. Whatever was in there smelled like a dead animal. Holding her handkerchief close to her face, Mrs. Fulligan quickly closed the door, continuing on her tour without missing her stride. "…and your bags will be brought up soon enough by one of my other boys. I would suggest both you and your charge remain in this room until we have a chance to clean the adjoining one." She touched the handkerchief to her nose again…and then flapped it furiously through the air as if to clear away the dust.

"Now the master may already have spoken to you on this matter…" She was frowning more severely now that she had seen the state of that other room, but she continued reading from the rule-book. "…but when you require a rest from your duties, miss, in future, I would ask him to arrange a permanent relief guard for certain days of the week. Has he spoken to you about your schedule?"

Rena shrugged. "No."

The furrow of Mrs. Fulligan's forehead grew troubled. "Well, you must have enquired about your wages, dear. All members of staff are allowed a personal stipend as well as a…" Her voice almost trailed off at Rena's expression. "…a day off." She looked confused to the point of flustered. "Has he not spoken to you about this?"

Rena shook her head.

Immediately, Mrs. Fulligan took the path of a lioness gnashing her teeth over the misuse of one of her cubs. "Oh I have told him…" She shook the handkerchief again. "…this is the upstairs quarter, and even if the master has no wish to address such matters, schedules must be set. Rooms must be cleaned." Whether it was because of the nursemaid's dress, the dead animal or the inanimate nature of Rena's answer, she seemed to take his oversight personally. "I mean, it is none of my business, miss, but we are a working household…" She seemed to want to wring something with the handkerchief now. "Now we will get to the bottom of this. It is not the first time he has forgotten such things, but…" She folded her hands tightly. "…but in the next week, I would ask him to stipulate your wages, schedule, and relief-guard." The secret rulebook of Mrs. Fulligan had clearly been dropped. "But do not ask him during the daytime, dear, or you will be asking for it." Now, she was just reading the handwritten-notes scrawled on the rulebook's margins. "…and you must keep at him. All members of staff are granted a day off and your present situation should be no different." She rapped the handkerchief against the side of her dress and folded it out of sight.

Rena touched her collar, still troubled by the itchy material. She was intrigued by the candour of Mrs. Fulligan. She had not had a day off for two centuries. "How long until I can return?" she asked. The prospect of dining in a hall did not sit well with her. She removed the ring-puzzle from her pocket and left it on the table. Sabine was watching her as she did, smelling of hunger. In her youth, she had been just like that one. She had hungered after gatherings. She had fretted over her hair, her dresses, allowing herself to be coddled with gifts.

Again, Mrs. Fulligan looked uncomfortable, pursing her lips together. "Dinner is planned for seven, miss…" This was a subject she seemed to take no relish in approaching. "…but I would suggest that you wait until you hear the bell. It will be late tonight."

Rena shrugged. As long as she had time to get out of this dress.

Sabine did not shrug. "Why?" she asked. Her question was a demand.

Immediately, Mrs. Fulligan's lips became a little tighter. The woman took a breath, and then continued as if Sabine had not spoken. "In the morning, I will inform the day-shift that your charge may require extra blood rations, miss. I do not ask questions and I will not tell you how to do your job, but you must take care that she knows to stay in her room. The drapes are thick, but I would not chance it if I were her." She sniffed. "Now once the master is settled, I will seek further instruction from him regarding her place in the household." She seemed to be already steeling herself for that conversation, the iron tone of her secret rule-book having returned to her speech mannerisms. "For the first week, I will have Thomas bring your meals to this wing, but once you are acquainted with the layout of the house, I will expect you to collect them yourself. Any untouched meals must be brought straight back to the kitchen, and I caution you, miss, we will not be heating them a second time."

Rena did not argue. That rule seemed to be extra personal. The result of a long, drawn-out battle between Mrs. Fulligan and the werewolves of London. Just talking about it seemed to draw fire into the woman's eye.

"I want to know why the bell is late," Sabine demanded in German. On the other side of the room, she was now peering into Reinette's face, clearly searching for some sign of dust-induced illness to accuse Mrs. Fulligan with attempted murder. She had not changed her tone of voice, and she did not do the polite thing of addressing Mrs. Fulligan by name.

Mrs. Fulligan frowned. "The bell is late because it is late," she said. Picking up the candle, she softened her tone. "Now if you follow me, miss, I will have you settled in the west wing. We have been expecting you for quite some time, so your rooms have been prepared down to the smallest detail…"

Sabine did not move.

Looking mildly irked, Mrs. Fulligan eyed the stubborn child…and then the door. Rena continued to walk the room, waiting for one of them to give in, examining the claw-mark on the wallpaper. By her nature, she might have thought Sabine would win this battle…but by the smell, Mrs. Fulligan was the ticket to wager on.

She was right.

"You are a persistent child," Mrs. Fulligan said finally. Very directly. "…but do not think you will be spoiled in this household, young miss. Now I will expect you to be a good girl and follow me to your rooms." Without another word, Mrs. Fulligan walked to the door and left.

Smelling greatly irked, Sabine looked at Rena for support. Rena neither smiled nor said anything…but she walked to the door. Following her lead, Sabine stood beside her and together, they watched and listened as the bustling housekeeper passed through the first set of doors, grumbling under her breath. So quiet they might not have heard had they been less attuned to such things. "Late dinner, late bells…" Mrs. Fulligan was in a right dither. A slue of soft, grumbling words caught on their ears."The bell is late because it is late…" She opened the door. "…and it is none of my business if his lady cannot keep time without using her thighs to declare the hour." The door shut.

Immediately at the mention of thighs, Sabine looked up at Rena, but Rena said nothing. She had no opinion on that matter either. Whether by spying or word-of-mouth, Sabine would eventually learn about Lucian's habits. The girl blinked…and then smelling of extreme curiosity, she hastened after Mrs. Fulligan. Glad to be alone finally, Rena watched the child go, and then closing the door behind her, she leaned against its frame. Reinette would sleep until tomorrow afternoon…and the dinner bell would not ring for at least another hour. Reaching her hand into her pocket, she pulled out a small, folded-paper package and walked to the corner. She could not stop the words passing through her mind. She kneeled on the ground and unwrapped the package, revealing a small piece of glass, a blunt razor and a vial of snow-white powder. Powder to take away the pain…and the memories.

Mrs. Fulligan had said one of her boys would bring her bags up.

One of her boys.

A/N: Chapter 24 and 25 were originally one chapter, but they were broken up for the sake of giving Rena her own chapter. (All author notes have been moved over to chapter 25.)