It was later that night. Marisa was dressing, silent as her husband spoke. Rain fell outside, drumming like the sound of an approaching army, painting her window. It was what she heard most, even as she listened to her husband.
"Did you enjoy the speech?" Edward asked, loosening his tie. He seemed nervous, unsure. His fox, Gabriele, inched closer to the monkey, nearly demanding his comfort, his reassurance.
The monkey did not like demands.
"Very much, Senator Coulter," Marisa smiled, kissing him on his dry cheek. The monkey took Gabriele in his long, thin arms, stroking her fur and cooing, the distasteful expression barely visible on his face.
"Now, let's not be presumptuous," Edward laughed, embarrassed.
"There's no question in it," Marisa reassured him. She rose from her seat on the bed, going to the closet and searching for her dressing gown.
The rain continued to drum.
Thump-thump.
It was as though it was calling her, telling her to leave, run through London disheveled and free.
"You've had that sort of freedom before," the monkey reminded her.
Marisa sighed and continued to search through her closet.
"I saw you speaking to Asriel Belacqua," Edward called, tentative.
The monkey tensed, his fur bristling. Gabriele, not seeming to notice, moved towards him and placed a light paw on his back.
"Did you?" Marisa's voice shook a little.
"During the speech, yes."
Marisa had hoped she had not been seen.
"Oh, darling, he does drone on. I couldn't get him to quiet."
"Does he?" Edward's voice brightened a little. Gabriele ensnared her paw in the monkey's fur. Immediately, instinctively, he fought to get free before seeming to remember his task, his place and allow himself to be touched.
"And he's such a dull man!" Marisa lied, the words flowing from her lips with impossible ease.
The monkey smirked.
"Is that so? I admit, I only spoke to him a little at the party a few nights ago."
"Oh, yes. It was impolite, speaking so during a political speech, of all things. I admit, his thoughts on the democratic structure of the ice bears are interesting but he is so terribly dogmatic."
Marisa and the monkey smiled twin smiles as she pulled on her dressing gown. She moved over to the bed and sat down next to Edward.
"That is good to know," Edward mused.
"You weren't worried, were you, darling?" Marisa simpered, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"N-No," Edward stammered.
"You needn't. Not ever, do you understand?"
"I love you." There was a weakness to his tone, a nervousness.
"I love you," she lied, making her voice sweet and light. The monkey stroked Gabriele's fur, grimacing slightly.
Edward reached for Marisa and she cringed as his fingers brushed her skin. She rarely liked to be touched.
It so often felt like invasion.
She tensed, wanting to let herself recoil.
"It's the price we pay," the monkey whispered.
She let her mind drift far away.
When she awoke, the room was filled with light. The rain had stopped in the night, leaving only traces of wet on the buildings. Her bed was empty. Marisa sighed, a smile drifting over her face.
"We're alone," she whispered to the monkey.
She heard footsteps from the other end of the room and saw Ana, drawing the curtains as her Jack Russell daemon worked beside her, dutiful, hardworking yet with a look of being far away.
The windows showed her London, twisting spires and cobbled streets, zeppelins drifting above and hansom cabs driving below.
Marisa gave a little, delighted laugh, feeling like a child for a moment. The monkey smiled too, for once without a trace of mocking.
"Shall I fetch your dressing gown, madam?" Ana asked, spinning round from her place at the windows.
"Yes, yes," Marisa purred.
Ana rose and pulled the robe onto Marisa's shoulders. Marisa yanked it away from her, not wanting to be touched by the girl.
Ana moved away, dutiful.
"Shall I run you a bath, madam?" she offered, her terrier staring with dead, dutiful eyes at the monkey.
"Not just now, I think, Ana."
"Mr. Edward is away at a meeting, madam and says he will not be back until this evening, to take you to see Kralefsky. He has instructed the staff to fix you breakfast whenever you choose."
Ah, yes, Kralefsky. The famed illusionist, the mind reader, the man who London would not stop speaking about. Everybody who was anyone in London would see him that night but Marisa had no real excitement about it.
She had no interest in illusions.
"Thank you, Ana. You may go now," Marisa dismissed, the monkey pushing the terrier from the room.
"A whole day to ourselves," the monkey marvelled, climbing on the window ledge to better see the city.
"A day without duty!"
"A day of freedom!"
She scooped the monkey up in her arms and they twirled around in a childish dance, laughing, before returning to themselves. The innocent moment was over as quickly as it began.
It was Marisa's belief that love, pretty delusion that it was, never helped anyone. It tore them down, made them weak.
Twenty-four years before, Bridget Callahan, scullery maid to the Lord Raphael, nineteen and pretty, caught the eye of Jack Shaw, his second footman. No Lord considered it proper to allow his servants to engage in any kind of romance. But Bridget did not break his eye contact as she should have. She held it.
If Bridget had been cleverer, she would have returned to her scrubbing and pushed the feelings away. She would have known her place, known her duty and what it took to survive, even though it wasn't right. But then, if Bridget were cleverer, there would be no story.
Bridget and Jack, in their cloud of naivete and so-called love, would sneak to see each other in their rare free hours, talking in the remote parts of the grounds where nobody would spy them, hoping not be seen by the housekeeper. Bridget would tiptoe in the night, praying not be heard as she wandered to Jack's room, her cocker spaniel daemon trailing behind her and begging her to go back.
They whispered silly, meaningless nonsense in each other's ears about escape. He would find a well paying job, support her, marry her.
Dreams mean nothing if they only spoken on, never fought for.
When Bridget became with child, she tried at first to conceal it. She would pull at the front of her uniform, attempting to loosen it. She would run from her duties to be sick, making the other maids raise their eyebrows and giggle.
Everyone has a secret, buried joy in watching a rival, even an insignificant one, go down and all the maids were opponents in some small wat. They waited for the housekeeper to notice Bridget's condition and were glad it was not them.
It did not take too long. The housekeeper had sharp eyes and soon enough, she noticed Bridget's sicknesses and the roundness of her belly.
She was immediately dismissed.
Nobody even asked who the father was. He could stay without question. If it had been known, he would have probably been given nothing more than a stern warning.
Jack, lovesick young man that he was, took a pound of his month's wages and married Bridget at a registry office. He did not wear his ring to work.
Most of Jack's wages went to Bridget, finding her a play to stay, however modest or seedy. Bridget, however, grew thin and frail, unnourished. It seemed the child within her was sapping her strength.
She gave birth in a boardinghouse, without proper medical care, without a midwife, with only an inexperienced landlady beside her. Jack Shaw returned on his free day to find himself a father but no longer a husband.
Bridget had, in her last moments, named her daughter Marisa. It seemed she was born for destruction.