Notes that pertain to this chapter:

Cockney: The accent that the cabby (hired-carriage driver) uses in his speech is called cockney. It is historically specific to the east end of London. It is pretty much the opposite of Yorkshire; while Yorkshire is associated heavily with the country, cockney is almost completely exclusive to the city. However, the speakers of both accents would have been looked down upon by England's upper-class Brits as being lesser-educated and of lower social class. There is a long tradition in England of making snap judgments of people based on their particular regional accents. As George Bernard Shaw, an English emigrant and playwright, once put it; "It is impossible for an Englishman to open his mouth without making some other Englishman hate or despise him."

Cockney depends heavily on the glottal stop, the dropping of the t's and h's, and the accenting of pretty much everything. It is very interesting to listen to if you've never heard it before, and even more interesting to try to write. XD

Croup: A respiratory illness most commonly characterized by excessive coughing. In the time period of this story, it was common in children between six months and six years of age, and was usually not terribly serious. As a self-limiting disease, it often wore itself out within a few days. However, things could become serious if something went wrong with the body's natural healing process, so it was still a legitimate cause of concern.

This chapter may make some of you stare at the screen in utter confusion. I apologize in advance for any ocular strain that this may cause! XD

The sound of horses' shod hooves striking against the cobblestone roads rang out brightly through the evening air as the hired carriage progressed forward, piece by piece. Lydia thought that it was interesting that she could still distinguish the particular gait of her carriage's horse, despite all the noise around her. Camden Street was busy even at this after-dinner hour, flocks of people moving to and fro upon the sidewalks and across the streets, weaving in and out of each other, trading space as though it were a commodity. And a commodity it surely was, in a city as large as London. Lydia had left the shabby curtains open, and she stared through the windowpane blearily, her head nodding every so often. A whirl of faces passed her by- some which she did not know, many which she did. This was her home neighborhood. Just a few more blocks to the corner, and her father would be waiting for her there.

There was a commotion up front very suddenly, and the carriage jerked to a halt. A loud voice was yelling out something, and the cabby-man was calling out a reply in an indignant tone. Lydia moved toward the door, planning to peep her head out at the situation, when it opened without warning and a body heaved itself into the carriage without so much as a by-your-leave. Lydia was nearly bowled over as the figure of Mrs. Farcett, wife of the local leather goods merchant, appeared jarringly within her little compartment-world. The woman towered over her for a moment, then took a seat and made herself as hard as a rock in it. A moment later, the small space was further invaded by the large body of the cabby-man, his face puffing and bewildered.

"I tell you, I tell you, I need a cab this instant!"

"I saiy here, liddy, do control yersel'! Can' ye see tha' I'm alrea'y drivin' a passingger a' t' momen'?" the cabby boomed out, wiping a hand over his balding head and looking around for his passenger as if wondering where she had gone. Lydia had pushed herself back into the other corner of the carriage to ensure that she would not be fallen upon by either of the bigger figures. "Now dis here li'le liddy wos here firs'- 'as been all t' way back from t' coun'rysiede, bliss 'er endurin' saoul- an' I in'ind t' bring 'er t' her desi'na'shun! I's t' rules o' t' '-rade, ma'm. What kin' o' drivin' man 'ood I be if'n I were t' '-urn an 'onest liddy ou' shor' jus' so's I cou' 'ake 'nother un' in! Shore!"

"My situation is an emergency, I insist! I must get to the southeast-side clinic!" the red-headed woman returned with equal volume, seeming quite uncowed by the chagrin of the blustering East-ender. She pressed herself into the seat as if he were going to try to tear her out of it, although Lydia certainly presumed him better than that. Mrs. Farcett was not a big woman, but she could make herself big in her dealings with folks who did not see eye-to-eye with her. It was for this reason that her children were kept in line and her husband was generally comfortable with leaving her to mind the store. However, it was also this quality which had made her known around the neighborhood for taking liberties with people- such as throwing herself into an unknown carriage which had already been hired out. Seeing that the cabby was at an absolute loss for what to do, and hearing the rush of the impeded traffic stalling and dodging around them, Lydia ventured timidly, "Mrs. Farcett….?"

The woman's sharp green eyes jumped right away to meet her own. "Lydia? Lydia, by my word! I didn't recognize you, child! What a world! You'd never believe what's been happening to me today, you simply-"

"It's all right." The brown-haired girl assured the cabby, who showed every sign of (justifiably) interrupting the intruder's torrent of words. "I know her, sir. You can carry on- it's just a few more blocks to where I need to be, and we're going the same way, sir. Just let me out at the corner by O'Hare's store, and we'll be rum."

The man seemed relieved, and paused to pull his jacket tighter around his chest. "If'n ye saiy 'tis so, li'l liddy, I shore ain' one t' coun'er ye. Bu' I needs a ha' fare from dis uvver liddy a'fore I goes."

Mrs. Farcett started, and fumbled around in her pocket. "Lydia, would you mind?" she whispered in a strained voice. "I only have enough with me to pay the clinic. There wasn't more in the house."

"Of course." The young girl replied, reaching into her own pocket and hoping she had enough. She held out shillings which would pay for exactly half of the older woman's fare- but before she could explain that she had no more, the side of the carriage was struck firmly by an irritated fist, and a reedy voice called, "What, now? Move this damned contraption! There's people a-waiting to get by!" The cabby grunted, seized the coins up in his thick fingers, and heaved himself outside, bursting out into the coming night just as vibrantly as he had burst into the sheltered compartment of the carriage. Clutching her gloved hand to her side, Lydia was able to sit up again. There was an exchange of men's voices outside, several heavy thumps which rattled the passengers, and then the carriage began to move once more. The young girl silently thanked the Lord that they had not been hit, given that they had made such a sudden and awkward stop. She had barely looked up again when Mrs. Farcett once more began her deluge of words.

"….been having such an awful time. Viola's baby, you know what's barely eight months old, I agreed to watch him for two days whilst she takes leisure to visit her brother…."

I wonder what Mother would have thought of all this, Lydia pondered, nodding sympathetically at Mrs. Farcett as the weary carriage trundled along the road. Hired carriages. Working-class dresses. The servant's entrance in the back. The kitchen. Visiting the manor as an unequal stranger. Hiding from the 'guests.' A place like….like Camden Street. People practically flinging themselves on top of me when I'm just trying to get home. Giving back the ring.

"And here I am, coming down sick to my bones, but I didn't worry too much at first, for after all, Henry is a very easy baby, but then-"

She would have been horrified if she could have lived to see me now. Lydia concluded, staring out the window at the makeshift shops set up along the sidewalks, the modestly-clothed women and men hurrying along on after-work errands. She honestly was not surprised at this little misadventure of the day, for it was the sort of thing which might happen to anyone in Camden Town. Lydia had grown used to the press of humanity and the general chaos of this area of London over the past five years. Here, no one got out of her way as she approached, gave in to her will based on her last name, or respected her until she had earned it. Here, folks were generally disposed to think of themselves as equal. The majority of the population of this borough were too well-off to need to hire themselves out as servants, but not affluent enough to hire servants themselves. They lived together, closely packed and yet fiercely individual. The air was filled with human kindness and monetary practicality. It was Camden Town. It was its people.

Perfectly horrified. Lydia declared to herself, smoothing out her wrinkled lady's glove. And yet I-

"Croup! Croup, as I live and breathe! So then I said to myself-"

"Croup, ma'm? Henry?" Lydia interrupted, gazing intently at Mrs. Farcett, her full attention captured at last. The woman nodded intensely.

"Just started showing signs about two hours ago. Coughing and crying up a storm, poor thing. I kept watch to make sure, and then I said to myself, Jane, it's time to get help from the clinic. I know that some mothers prefer to wait it out a day or so, but I've seen women wait too long and lose their little 'uns. And Henry isn't even mine- what would I tell Viola? So I grabbed what I could and I'm on my way now, although I tell you, I feel like the death's come about me! Hopefully I can get a good dram for us both, and quick! My oldest daughter and her friend are minding Henry whilst I'm away."

Lydia stared into Mrs. Farcett's haggard face and red-rimmed eyes, and decided that she really wasn't quite the loud-mouthed nuisance that other women made her out to be. Her affinity to her duty was as strong as an ox, even though at the present time, she really did look quite ill. Lydia turned to the window; her corner was fast approaching. Not wanting to delay the woman on her way to the clinic, the younger girl leaned forward and directed; "Listen, ma'm- I've given the cabby all I have just now in money, but don't fret. When it's time for you to ride back home, you just tell him that you'll get the other half of the fare to him through Thoms Weatherstaff. He's got a very good reputation among the other cabbies, you'll see. That ought to do for him just fine. And when you do get home, if the baby's still trouble, send Eliza or someone over to knock on our door. My father and I will both be there."

The red-haired woman nodded, her strained face attempting to stretch into a smile. She gave an almighty cough and hid her mouth within her shawl, reaching out to squeeze Lydia's hand across the aisle. "Thank goodness it was you inside this box!" she declared with vigor. The next moment, the carriage had halted and Lydia was bidding her farewell and stepping out. She drew herself up to the driver's seat and thanked the man for his trouble.

"Ye'ar' shore 'nough a game liddy, I do saiy!" he responded with cheer, and then the driving whip was cracked and the horses were on their way toward the southeast-side clinic. Lydia took a breath as she watched them trot away, glad to be out once again in the fresh Spring air. What a day this had been! She peeled her boots off the curb and crossed the street to stand in front of O'Hare's, peering about the sidewalk with eager eyes. As she moved to look the other way, a friendly hand clapped her on the back, and she turned into the embrace of her father. He squeezed her, then held her out at arm's length and peered into her face, both hands on her shoulders.

"Has the day been all right?" the taller man inquired concernedly, brushing a strand of brownish-red hair back under his bowler hat. "You look at bit….frazzled."

"Ah. Well…." Lydia brought a hand up to her braids to check if they were slanted. The pair began to walk down the street to avoid stalling the shoppers behind them. "That's because just now…."

Fred Aberlaine frowned as Lydia related the story of Mrs. Farcett barging into her carriage. "She oughtn't to have done it so wantonly, even if it was an emergency." He declared, glancing about before leading the way across the street. "She could have gotten into trouble. Suppose you had been a less tolerant person- a person of means."

"Yes, but when has common sense ever stopped Mrs. Farcett from behaving wantonly before?" Lydia sighed. "I don't believe she's bad. She just has a one-track mind that's not attuned to complex thought. When she develops a goal, she doesn't let anything get in her way."

"You handled it well, at any rate. I'm just glad the carriage wasn't struck by passing traffic." The kind-faced man glanced back into the shadowed eyes of his daughter. The bridge of his nose crinkled in concern. "And speaking of people of means….how did today's visit go?"

Lydia bit her lip, which was quite sore from being bitten repeatedly in nervousness during her escapades of the day. "It went well enough at first, I suppose….but then….well….it kind of derailed. Certain people weren't exactly pleased with the way things were progressing, and decided to take it upon themselves to throw it off track."

"The demon?"

Lydia's surprised eyes jumped up to meet her father's knowing ones. "How did you figure that?"

"I met that demon on a few occasions when your mother was still alive, remember? I know what he's like." The red-haired man lowered his voice as the pair of them crossed another street. They were leaving the shopping district of Camden Town behind, climbing gradually into the slopes of the borough which held houses and sprawling rental rooms. "I know it's been a good many years since then, but demons don't change like humans do."

"You're right on that count. He hasn't changed at all." Lydia aligned herself with her father's steps, glancing up into his face as her own face reddened. "He pulled off my glove in order to stop me from finishing my conversation with my brother, the devious thing."

Fred Aberlaine looked momentarily shocked. "Your glove?" he demanded loudly, seizing her right hand and examining it as several passerby turned to stare. He remembered himself, and whispered, "He didn't tear your bandages, did he?"

"No, he didn't touch those." Lydia shook her head, disgruntled. "But poor Ciel! He sort of…panicked, I think. Probably because of the traumatic memories. He took one look at the bandages and started stammering, and then he practically ran out of the room. And I had been getting along all right with him before that! We were talking….but it wasn't just that, father. He's changed so much that I think you would hardly recognize him. He's not affectionate like he used to be."

"Maybe he's just nervous in front of you. After all, you've changed as well." Aberlaine theorized sensibly. Lydia nodded, but deep down, she did not truly think that Ciel's frozen attitude was the result of mere nervousness. If she was to believe what Sebastian had told her, he had been this way for quite awhile.

"So what did you do after that? And what about the ring?"

The brown-haired girl glanced up from her small reverie. "The ring….well, I tried to give it back to Ciel, like I told you I would. But everything fell into distraction after the glove incident. After Ciel left, I went out the window and took refuge under my peach tree in the garden, where Sebastian found me. He had the ring at that point. He tried to persuade me to take it back, but I refused. I'll bet he still has it. He wouldn't give it over to Ciel without an explicit order."

"I see," intoned her father, nodding deeply. "So he still wanted that, did he?"

"Yes." Lydia whispered, rubbing her clear blue eye once again. "The contract. I think-" she looked up suddenly, her face clouding over. "I think he's in a lot of pain, father."

The man sighed, a dark, rumbling sound from within his chest. "Did he try to touch you again?"

"Yes. I let him."

"You know I don't approve of that."

"Just on my arm and my neck, daddy. There's nothing improper about that."

"But he's a demon. You could be in danger."

"I am his master. He cannot hurt me. Even if he could, he wouldn't want to- not now that I am becoming this." Lydia declared, tapping her chest lightly. Fred Aberlaine smiled.

"You know I don't completely understand all this business about your soul." He told her, shrugging his shoulders freely in the twilight air. "I've seen that power, even though I can't describe it. I never expected anything like this for my daughter. I've always known you were special, but…."

"All parents think that their children are special." Lydia laughed, brushing her braids (they were slanted,) out of her face. "And I'm not really special in regards to this, father. I am aware. That's all."

"You are special." He assured her, shading his eyes as the rooftop of their home came into view. "But not just because you're a magna shalom, Lydia. I'm very proud of the way you've handled yourself these past few weeks." He gave her a gentle, fatherly glance. "So I assume you're going back to that manor, come hell or high water?"

"Yes," she replied, briefly wondering whether he had intended the question as a pun. He seemed to have no idea that he'd said something funny, however, so she plowed ahead. "Not tomorrow, though. It's Sunday. We'll be attending Church in the morning, and it would kill me to fit that long, bumpy carriage ride to and from the manor in afterward. On Tuesday my classes will be cancelled, so I'll go back then. Hopefully I'll be able to think of a plan to make things right beforehand."

"I'm sure you will. Ciel is your brother, after all. You two have a bond. I'm not sure about that demon, though. I don't like that creature." Aberlaine frowned as they ducked under the leaves of a hanging willow tree on the walk to their front stoop.

Lydia nodded knowingly, digging the key out of her hidden pocket. "But he and I have a bond as well," she murmured, not turning around to see her father huff in displeasure as they finally made it into their home. The red-haired man's mood seemed to lighten as he set his satchel down and stretched out in his own space, no longer borrowing it on the public sidewalks outside. Lydia inclined her nose toward the kitchen as the smell of chicken wafted past her.

"Aaaaah, that's right. I stopped by Mel's Eatery on my way back from the library today and bought some chicken for us. It's already cooked- been heating on the range while I've been out fetching you. Come have a piece, and we can pretend that I cooked it!" Aberlaine called, disappearing into the kitchen. Lydia snorted, shaking her head. The day would never come that saw her father cooking food successfully. Her childhood had been riddled with incidents of burned meat, cooking gloves caught on fire, soot explosions from the fireplace, and many, many cold dinners. Still, she had survived and had learned to cook herself, much to her father's great delight. She wondered how he was going to get by on the days when she was down at the manor from now on, and felt a little bit guilty. She hurried into the kitchen after him, lest he drop the chicken into the fireplace while trying to take it from the pan.

/

Sebastian was cleaning the kitchen with a sodden cloth, enveloped in the dim light streaming through the evening-lit windows, when he felt the pull of his master's will against his own. The manor was quiet, the other servants done with their chores for the day and leisurely preparing themselves for the arrival of sleep. Ciel was upstairs, summoning him through the contract. Normally the boy tended to just ring a bell or send word through one of the other servants when he required his butler. Sebastian did not sense any danger surrounding the young heir, and yet, for him to be calling for his demon in this manner…. The black-haired figure hunched down over the counter, dark locks falling in his eyes as he bent his head, staring frozenly at his red-eyed reflection in the shining countertop. He had hoped to be able to sleep as well tonight, at long last….

But he was going to be punished. He knew that he was going to be punished. Not just for today, but for yesterday and for that night in the study as well. Ciel's ire had been rapidly amassing over the past week, and now he was about to send every inch of it cutting into his demon. Claws curled out of his fingertips, and fangs swung low from his thin upper lip as Sebastian braced himself against the counter, making no move to answer the summons. More than any physical torture, what he abhorred the most was this forced acknowledgement of the boy's power over him- that with a single thought, Ciel could send the heaviness of dread coursing through his veins like molten lead. It would be no good to try to placate his young master, any more than it would be to try to intimidate him. That didn't mean that he wouldn't try though, Sebastian knew. He would try anything to get out of what he knew was coming….but his options were terribly limited. As the second, harsher summons resounded through his head, the demon glanced at the road outside in a kind of desperate fury. Why couldn't she have stayed? What more could he have done? He wanted her to be there so badly that he could practically see her sitting at the table in front of him once again- almost, but not quite. For the eternal curse of his kind was not to be circumvented through illusion or hallucination. That would have been too easy an escape.

The third summons ripped at the embedded needles in his skin, binding him and pulling him inextricably toward his master. He had no choice, no more power to resist. As the demon obediently prepared to appear at Ciel's side, he gripped the back of her chair hard, picturing tanned skin with his hands upon it, blue eyes and quiet light. Come back, he willed her, and then vanished from the room, smoke on an intangible wind.