VII

Cut Down

Gilroy had called on Rathbone the first day of warmer weather. Spring had arrived, and so had the invitations. The soiree, which Rathbone had been planning since his return to England, was still in preparation, but the event was better off being announced sooner than later. Edinburge was a long way for most to travel, and accomidations in the country would need to be given time to be arranged by those who would attend the Jubilee Ball.

Rathbone adjusted the blue cravat beneath his chin, frowning at his reflection as he struggled to straighten it. Hearing the clopping of hooves outside the window, he knew that Gilroy had finally arrived. A night at the Opera with old friends promised some means of distraction to rest his mind of all things else. But his frusteration was heightened… not by the cravat, but by his hair.

With a pocket comb, he pushed it back…only to have it spike out again. It seemed the more fursterated he got the worse it looked. Finally he resorted to dunking his head into the basin and combed it back with macassre oil. It had a foreign scent, but not an unpleasant one… he would simply need to watch himself and make certain his hair would not touch anything, else it be ruined.

A gentle knock sounded upon his door.

"Lord Gilroy has arrived, sir." The maid announced through the door.

"A moment." He called through the door and reached for his evening coat. Brushing it off and smoothing it out, he lifted the pocketwatch from the dressing table, and the dragon key beside it. Both were tucked safely into his waistcoat before he stepped out into the hall.

"Sir?" The maid called from behind.

"What Agatha."

"We've some strange goings on here, sir. I've just took inventory and nothing is missing… except some… personal affects of the household staff."

Rathbone was haulted by curiosity. "Whatever is missing?"

Agatha's cheeks flushed, "Well, sir… underthings." Her eyes darted left, then right before she whispered with utmost secrecy not to be overheard, "Knickers. Sir, we thought it very odd indeed…"

Intrigued and surprised, his brows raised high. "Have Miles investigate then."

"Very good, sir!" She squeaked and curtsied and then hobbled on her way.

Down the thickly carpetted stairs he went, catching the faint murmer of voices in the parlor.

"Well, that's what I told him."

"Did you?"

"Yes, I said, 'now look here Clancy!' I said that,"

"Yes, you …said that already."

"Well, as I said, I said, 'not look here Clancy! You can't just parade around in a striped, purple suit with your wrists rolling about, quoting Oscar Wilde and think no one will think nothing of it.' And do you know what he said?"

"No, what?"

"He said, 'by Jove, Gilroy, what on Earth do you think I am? Imbecillic? I know exactly what I look like, and I always look how I wish to appear!'"

"Unbelievable!"

"Yes, quite queer."

"Quite."

"Ah! Nelson," Gilroy rose from his chair, cigar in hand, "I say – that is a fine cravat."

Harold rose from his chair next, overlooking the cravat Gilroy pointed to, "A bit uneven, but it could do."

Rathbone scoffed, "At least I have one."

Harold cotninued an indifference attitude, "I simply haven't put mine on yet."

Gilroy chuckled, "He flicked an amber onto it and burned a hole right through on the way here."

Harold shot a glare to Gilroy, "Can't you ever hold your tongue?"

Rathbone pulled his watch from his waistcoat and sighed, "We're running short on time. You can borrow one of mine then…"

"Thank you. I'll put it on on the way."

Gilroy snickered as Rathbone stepped out of the parlour and back up the stairs. When he was certain Rathbone was out of hearing, he turned to Harold and whispered, "Well, lets see how long that oil he's caked in his hair will hold up!"

"I bet you a shiling he makes it through the intermission."

"Done!"

After Rathbone fetched Harold the cravat and the three crawled into Gilroy's coach, Gilroy set to his rambling once again.

"Good Lord. Nelson, do you still only have those things washed by those… Chinese?"

Rathbone forced as much a laugh as he could, "You make it sound like a crime."

"Well it should be."

Harold looked up from his task of pinning the borrowed cravat, "Why so, Gilroy?"

"Because it reeks of their soaps. I much prefer English soaps. You know! Nelson, you should really find yourself a wife. Someone who knows her silks and soaps, and certainly someone who can tame that ridiculous hair of yours."

Harold's stony face cracked a small grin as he smoothed down his tie and looked to Rathbone, who was oddly silent. "Nelson, are you listening?"

"I heard you both." He sighed, adjusting the fit of his top hat. "I would much prefer if you both stayed clear out of my business. I'm in no mood for it tonight."

"Why ever not?" Gilroy asked with befuddlement.

Impatiently, Rathbone rolled his eyes, "Because, Gilroy, if I ever suddenly have the desire for matramony I'll do my own hunting."

"Hunting," Harold chuckled and looked to Gilroy, "He makes it sound like a task!"

"Or a game." Gilroy noted thoughtfully. "Nelson, in all seriousness. My wife's speaking of nothing else, and she is hoping to bring along some of her own cousins to your Jubilee Ball. I know you are wary of things, but as a friend I felt inclined to warn you."

Harold snorted, "Gilroy, we know the only reason why you're telling him is because you know nothing of secrecy."

"True. But that is beside the point… In all the years I've known you," He said to Rathbone, "Not once have I heard you speak of your thoughts or time of the fairer sex."

Rathbone shook his head, "Gilroy, that may be because the fact of the matter is there is nothing worth telling. I find it a boring subject."

"What?" He blinked, "I'm not comprehending. What's not interesting about a bound waist and a bustle?"

Harold thought on it a moment as well, piping in his thoughts, "Yes, now that you mention it. Nelson, what's so bad? Are you…" He gasped, "You're not in the same barrel as Clancy and Oscar Wilde are you?"

Gilroy's eyes widened as he looked from Harold to Rathbone, jaw unhinged.

Rathbone was appauled, scoffing as obviously as he possibly could, "That would be the first thing for you to think of, Harold. No, I simply find … English women boring. They're dull and docile without a single natural thing about them. Each one is the same mold as the next… common. If you both must know, I've known my fair share of women to know what I'm talking about."

"So then…" Gilroy's eyes narrowed, looking skyward to the ceiling of the carriage, "If I'm to, lets say, inform my wife of what sorts of… what would I say?"

Silently, Rathbone pursed his lips, glaring to his friend who seated across from him. After a long beat, he finally spoke. "You say nothing. It's my concern, if I choose to be so concerned about it."

"What about your legacy? Who will take on your title? You're the soul surviving member of the Rathbone line!"

"I know that!"

Harold yawned, "Perhaps he has stayed in China for too long…"

"Nonsense," Gilroy spat at Harold, "Everyone knows Chinese women are delicate blossoms who cater to a man at every need, whensoever. No, that sounds far too boring for our friend here. He obviously wants a… dare I say it? Vixen!"

The carriage finally came to a slow stop as Harold gave into a hard laugh. Rathbone offered a mocking smile to Gilroy, "Congradulations Gilroy. You've stooped to a level of conversation all on your own, which I do not want any part in. Now if you will care to drop the subject until the end of tonights performance?"

Gilroy crossed his heart and stepped from the carriage as the door was opened. Harold and Rathbone followed suit, stepping into the London Opera House.

The lights slowly rose and the theatre exploded into a long applause. Finally the audience stood from their seats, taking an intermission of twenty minutes.

A pale light flooded from behind as the heavy drapes were pulled back. A valet stepped forward, extending a small envelope to Rathbone as he stood from his seat. Tipping the boy, he turned the card over, finding no inscription.

"From someone interesting I hope?" Gilroy asked with a wide jesting grin.

Rathbone lifted a brow as he turned his back to his friends to open it in privacy. A small card slid out from the envelope, and he read the inscription with puzzlement.

'A special delivery waits for you at the gate.'

"I'll not be long." Rathbone said absently, tucking the card and envelope into his coat pocket. His cloak and hat were plucked from his seat before he dashed out with hastey steps.

"How rude." Gilroy said.

"You or he?" Harold countered, "You know, it's his message… his business. You really should lay off him."

Tying the cloak around his neck and placing his hat over his oiled hair, Rathbone stepped out into the crisp cold night. The damp streets glimmered below the gaslight, blinking as the passers by and carriages scrambled oderlessly about. He stayed besides the building, stalking along the wall as he looked sharply about. Wu Chow, he expected would arrive any moment. Setting his eyes across the street, he squinted his gaze in an attempt to focus on the faces there. Suddenly Wu Chow's voice broke out beside him, bringing him to jump and turn.

"I've always enjoyed the opera."

Lurking in the shadows, a lit cigar pinned between his fingers, the Chinaman grinned again at having startled him.

"There were so many things you could get away with while everyone's eyes were on the stage."

Unamused, Rathbone collected himself, lips pursed to the side. "You have a lot of nerve coming here at a time like this!" He hissed, stepping into the shadow of the wall as well, "What do you want?"

"I've come to give you the bill." Wu Chow pinned the cigar between his large teetch and reached into his coat pocket. A large fold of paper was then handed to Rathbone, who quickly tucked it into his pocket without a single glance. "The fireworks arrived yesterday. We've conjured blue fireworks this year, which should provide a useful distraction. I doubt anyone in London has seen blue sparks before."

"Yes, that's all very well indeed. Now can you go?"

But Wu Chow did not move. Instead he exhaled, the smoke clouding out from the shadow as he eyed Rathbone with caution. "You had all the time in the world. Why did you let the girl live?"

Frowning, he replied, "Is it really so important to murder a woman? The girl has no power."

"She saw your face."

"And knows not who I am."

"So you say." Wu Chow shrugged, "The old man is dead. I suppose that's all that matters."

The tone in his voice brought Rathbone to eye him carefully as he stepped from the shadow, "I didn't exactly stay long enough to see his last breath."

"You should have. I hear a last breath by poison is the most rewarding when it is your own brew." Wu Chow turned, pretending to be mildly surprised by Rathbone's confusion. "I'm sorry. I thought I told you I'd poisoned the blade when I handed it to you. My apologies if I forgot to say so."

Rathbone stared at him, his mouth hanging open as Wu Chow bowed respectfully and turned to walk away…grinning ear to ear. Wu Chow vanished into the crowded streets on the other side of the cobblestone drive, leaving Rathbone in a state of quiet shock.

His footing swayed as his back hit the wall of the opera house. His eyes lowered to the filth upon the ground as he absorbed the new knowledge. Feeling absolutely numb, he tightly sealed his lips. A man stepped from the opera house and rang a bell loudly.

"Intermission over! Intermission over!" He announced, drawing in the finely dressed crowd back inside. Rathbone hypnotically stepped in sync with the crowd. The walk had been a daze, and he soon found himself back in the box with his two friends… and two new faces.

"This is Lady Francis of Serpentine and this is Miss Raphael of -… Are you leaving again? You can't leave, you just…" Gilroy started, watching Rathbone turn back to the hall and vanish around the drape. He turned to the baffled women, "Well, I never."

Harold bowed his head to the ladies, "Perhaps he's ill. I'll see him home if it's so. Please enjoy the opera!" He urged before vanishing around the drape and closing it behind him.

Rathbone leaned heavily against the wall, his hat in hand and his forehead to his leaning arm.

"Are you sure I can't get you anything sir?" The valet asked.

Suddenly Rathbone turned and barked at him, "No! Leave me be, damn it all!"

Harold frowned as the valet scurried off in a huff. Stepping beside his friend, he rocked on his heels, hands clasped behind his back. "Something the matter, Nelson?"

Straightening up, Rathbone reached into his pocket and pulled his handkerchief free, "No… I'm just not feeling very well."

Harold stepped before him and blinked hard. "Heavens, you do look white as a ghost. Shall I see you take a cab? I can ask Gilroy's man to drive you home… the opera is a long one, he would be back by the time-…"

"No, no, Harold. I'll find my own cab, but thank you. You go… enjoy the opera for me then. I've seen it before. I just need rest."

"Right… right…" Sighing, Harold extended his hand to him and shook it, "See you again soon then I hope. Safe journey."

"You as well. My apologies to the ladies and to Gilroy."

Nodding, Harold turned and entered the box once more.