(It gets pretty nsfw in this chapter. Just a warning.)
Heavy gray fog hung thick over the dreary city of London. Sitting in the damp cottage, Rachel found herself bothered by a cough. She wrapped her shawl tighter around her to keep the chill away. The excitement had faded, and she was left with nothing but apprehension and fear. She leaned her head against the cold glass of the window and looked outside. She watched the dull, uniform buildings pass. She counted the passersby in their dim rags shuffling to and fro. The fog clung heavy to them and weighed them down. What an awful place… Rachel thought to herself as she looked away. How Vincent could bear to spend so much time in London, she would never know. When the cottage finally came to a stop, her heart stopped as well. She couldn't bring herself to move. Maybe she should just tell the boy to take her home. Getting this far, it should be more than enough for her. But when she looked out of the window and saw the building, all rational judgment started to leave her. The sign, painted purple, drew her attention immediately. Undertaker. She didn't need the signal from Edgar, who called out in his cockney accent. She would go. She couldn't help herself.
Rachel stepped out of the carriage and was immediately disgusted by the goo that slid down the gutter. She hiked up her dress and hurriedly skipped to the door.
"Thank you, Edgar!" She called over her shoulder. "Please deliver that letter and come right back!"
"Yes ma'am!" Edgar called. The carriage pulled away and Rachel was left alone. She pressed herself against the door, terrified. She had never been out alone a day in her life, and certainly not in London. She quickly slipped through the door.
The room was dark. She could hardly see anything. Clutching her alibi in her hand, her heart sank. Just what had she been thinking? She had let herself grow drunk on those silly book fantasies. And now she had wandered straight into danger, like a moth flying into the passionate embrace of a flame. She kept her other hand wrapped tightly around the doorknob. As her eyes adjusted, she was surprised by the decrepit state of the room. Cobwebs peppered the corners, the urns, and chairs and the curios. A thick coat of dust lay on the tables and the coffins that lay strewn throughout the room. The air of death paralyzed her lungs. This would surely be her final resting place. A sudden peal of laughter rang out and broke the deathly silence.
"My, my, I certainly wasn't expecting you, m'lady, ihihihihihi…." Undertaker seemed to materialize out of the darkness. "Did you come all this way by yourself?" He glided over to her and rested his cold hand on her cheek. "When did Lady Phantomhive become so daring?" Rachel's gaze fell to his feet.
"I… I wanted to speak to you…" She said quietly. "You… Left before I could talk to you." She slowly brought her gaze up face his. She tossed the old nightgown to the side and gingerly brought her hand up to rest on his. She drew in a sharp breath, but could not summon any more words.
"Is what you have to tell me so important that you'd risk your pretty little soul to come all the way out here? To tell me you don't want a dress anymore?" The laughter was gone from his voice, but his smile remained. "I've fixed up plenty of women who knew these streets better than you…" Rachel's lips trembled as she tried to find the right words to say.
"I-I couldn't help myself, Undertaker." She exclaimed suddenly. "Forget the dress for a moment. It was just an excuse to come see you. I've… I've tried so hard. Truly, I have. But surely you must have felt it, too." A look of surprise flickered across the Undertaker's face, and for the first time, Rachel saw the corners of his lips fall. "Please…" She said quietly. "I…." She took a step closer to him and placed her hands on his cheeks. Her fingertips lightly ran over his smooth skin and his cryptic scar. "Even if the heavens forbid it, I cannot find the strength to stay away from you any longer…" The Undertaker did not speak for a length of time. He did not move, only watched Rachel as she struggled to keep her breathing under control. Finally, once the silence had fully consumed the room once again, he spoke.
"Oh, my…." He purred. "My dear, you truly are ill…" Rachel felt her apprehension growing. Surely she couldn't have imagined everything. Surely this visit wasn't due to some sick delusion. She found herself silently begging the mortician not to turn her away. And instead, he leaned in closer, until she could feel his breath against her skin. "That illness must have muddled your brain…" He murmured. Rachel jumped. The mortician had snaked his arm around her waist. In an instant her body was against his. Her breath left her in gasps, but for the first time in months, she wasn't thinking about the amount of air in her lungs. He sighed, and she felt her whole body grow hot. "Humans are such weak creatures… But then again, who am I to judge…" He mused in a husky voice.
"Do… Do you mean…" Rachel whispered softly. She was unsure if her words had even reached him. She pulled away slightly and pushed his bangs back so that she could see his face fully. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. This man, with his chartreuse eyes, seemed to belong to another world. There was something inhuman in his beauty, something celestial in the tender glow of his gaze. "Well, then," Undertaker said, the chuckle in his voice returning. "If you really want to do this, why don't we get on with it?" Rachel's breathing stopped. She didn't know what she had been expecting when she walked through the door of the mortuary, but it certainly wasn't this. His was such a casual agreement, as if they were simply sitting down to tea. She expected more discussion, more persuasion. Some sort of acknowledgment that what they were about to do was wrong. But he still wore that dotty grin and spoke in that reassuring tone as though no sin was being born right here between them. He turned and gently guided her to the back of the shop. "With such gloom out and about, I guess shouldn't be surprised... But such a request from Lady Phantomhive, of all people…" He opened the door to a pitch black hallway and motioned for her to enter with a wide grin on his face. Rachel stared at him for a moment before complying. He entered right behind her and she quickly stepped back and grabbed his arm for guidance. Her eyes were not as accustomed to the dark as his were.
Rachel found herself in a simple bedroom, sparse in both furniture and decoration. There was a simple bed against the wall dressed in alabaster linens with a nightstand next to it. On against the opposite wall was a dark oak dresser and a door from which a coat hung. None of the furniture matched, and Rachel assumed the mortician must have simply picked each piece up here and there. It certainly wasn't like the brilliant rooms described in the novel, and this certainly wasn't like the whimsical scene that played out before the noblewomen and her gardener shared their first wild night of passion. But, it certainly wasn't anything Rachel was used to, either. Undertaker walked to the bed and dusted it off a bit.
"I can't remember the last time I've been in here, ihihihi…" He sat down on the bed and waved Rachel over. Rachel went to join him, after a moment of hesitation. She slowly lowered herself onto the bed and stared blankly at the dresser, her hands in her lap. "What is it, dear?" Undertaker cooed, leaning in close to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Is the excitement gone?"
"It's…" Rachel tried to pick her words carefully. "Not what I had imagined…." Undertaker chuckled.
"Ihihihi…. But of course! I'm only a humble undertaker, after all. I've no need for any gaudy festooning." He lowered his voice. "Are you disappointed, dear?"
"No," Rachel replied airily. "No." She repeated and turned back to look at him. A few locks of his hair had fallen back in place. She quickly brushed them back again. "Don't… Don't you have anything else to say? Isn't this- isn't this wrong?" Undertaker took hold of her hand and gently kissed it. Lightning seemed to bloom from where his lips touched, and it traveled down her arm, electrifying her entire body.
"Oh, course it is," Undertaker responded flatly. "You're a filthy harlot, Lady Phantomhive. So depraved…" He twirled a lock of her hair in his fingers as he leaned in closer. His pale lips lightly brushed against hers. "But, I'm glad you've chosen me. I'm afraid I'll never understand why, ihihihi… You're a strange one, Lady Phantomhive. But, even so I'll do my best to satisfy you…" Rachel's breath caught in her throat. To insult her, and then say such a thing… It was he who was strange, not her. "I must warn you, though, I'm no physician. And I haven't entertained a woman in ages. But, I'm happy you've come to me instead of some other bloke." He closed the remaining distance between them and placed a kiss on her cheek. His lips lingered there as his fingers found their way to her collar. Finding no buttons, they roamed to the back, where they skillfully undid every button they met. All the while he peppered her cheek with kisses. His lips traced her jawline before finding their way to hers. When he kissed her then, Rachel felt sure she would not live to return home. She felt herself bloom for him, and was certain she would wilt in his arms as well. Once the buttons were all undone, Rachel quickly tried to slip out of the gown, forgetting everything that had just transpired with the new feeling of excitement that washed over her. As she attempted to squirm out of her confinements, she not once removed her lips from his. She couldn't fully remove the dress with such little movement, and so let it hang off of her hips until she could bring herself to pull away. Undertaker chuckled into the kiss. He ran his tongue over her bottom lip and nipped at it until she finally granted him entrance. Rachel could not recall a time she was kissed, or had kissed, so passionately. Eventually Undertaker pulled away to catch his breath. "For someone who was so just talking about how wrong this was, you sure are eager…" He commented. Rachel didn't reply, but took the opportunity to pull away and remove her camisole. She stood up and shimmied out of her dress, petticoats, and bloomers. She slipped her chemise over her head. She struggled with fidgety fingers with her corset and garter belt and stumbled as she slipped out of her stockings. Undertaker held a hand in front of his mouth to suppress his laughter as he watched her. She tossed each garment aside quickly and clumsily, before she regained her ability to think clearly. Now completely nude, she turned to look at him, her cheeks a bright shade of pink. "My…" Undertaker chuckled. "What a lovely woman you are. The Earl certainly has picked a beautiful wife." Rachel's heart stopped at the mention of Vincent. This was a truly horrible thing she was doing. But the realization of her depravity was arousing. "Well, I suppose I should remove a few layers, too…." Undertaker untied his scarf and placed his jewelry on the nightstand. She watched him as he began to unbutton his coat. Biting her lip, she wished he would just hurry up, but the mortician moved as slowly and casually as if he was simply hanging up his coat after a long day at work.
He kept his cassock and slacks on, and Rachel wondered if it were an invitation for her to rip them off herself. He rose and wrapped his arms around her. Regardless of the clothing, the feeling of her bare skin against him erased every thought that lingered in her mind. She looked down at where his arms coiled around her waist and noticed she was still wearing her gloves. She quickly discarded those as well. Undertaker kissed her cheek. With the barrier of cloth now removed, his lips traveled down went to her bare neck. He lightly nipped the tender skin between each kiss. Rachel tilted her head back and tried not to moan. She couldn't think of anything else other than how badly she wanted him. "Please, Undertaker" She whispered breathily. "Take me…"
He led her back to the bed. Laying on there, with him next to her, Rachel felt that horrible ache in her lower stomach return. She kissed him eagerly, as though he were the medicine that could cure her. She ran her hand down his chest, but when it reached his groin he pulled it away. Undertaker ended the kiss and chuckled. "A little excited, are we? Don't worry, I still have a bit of skill left. We won't need that…" Rachel didn't know how to reply, she only stared at him. What did he mean? The mortician let go of her hand and she let it hang in the air, unsure if she should attempt it again. Undertaker adjusted himself so that he was hovering over her. He gave her a light peck on the lips and ran his hand down her stomach slowly to her womanhood. Rachel gasped when she felt his fingers against her and wrapped her arms around his neck. A wave a pleasure washed over her. It was a feeling that had been lost to her for many years. Undertaker smiled and watched her reaction, chuckling.
"It's been a while, hasn't it m'lady? I'm afraid I can't keep this up though. You see, I don't want to hurt you." The pleasure waned as he removed his hand. He held it up to her and wriggled his fingers. His long black nails and white fingers glistened with dew. Rachel nodded. So caught up with her lust, she had forgotten sensible fear. He slid his body down, kissing her porcelain skin as he went. Electricity ran through her as she felt his soft hair run over her skin. His hand was replaced with something else. Rachel gasped and grabbed a handful of his hair. This man was truly shameless, his actions left her aghast. Just who was the true harlot here? His tongue ran over her skin and she felt herself overcome with a level of pleasure she had never felt before. She tilted her head back in ecstasy, gasps escaping from her lips.
"Uh, uhn..." She moaned, her lips unable to form his entire title. She tugged at a fistful of his hair, as the man continued to ravage her. She soon found herself reaching her peak. Her hips buckled underneath him. She felt herself losing control of her body and voice. As she began to regain conscious, free from the fog of ecstasy, her moans became whimpers. She lay completely still, trying to catch her breath. Undertaker crawled back up to her, all the while leaving a trail of kisses along her body. When he had finally reached her, he placed a kiss on her cheek with an exaggerated "mwah" and chuckled.
"Oh…" Was all Rachel could bring herself to say.
"Did that help, Lady Phantomhive?" Undertaker asked, rolling over onto his back and licking his lips. "You know, I happened to notice you didn't suffer a single attack." Rachel's eyes widened, and she looked over at him. "You were breathing pretty hard, but that didn't seem to bother you, ihihihihi…." He rolled back over and pulled her close to him. He ran his hand lightly down her cheek. As he watched her, his eyes gradually softened with sadness. "Such a sweet woman…" He murmured. He pressed his forehead against hers. "I'll take care of you, and your dear family…"
She wished that she could lay there with him for only a moment more, but there was the sound of knocking coming from the foyer. Rachel jumped out of the bed and quickly ran to grab her clothing. Undertaker lazily rose from the bed and sauntered out of the room. Rachel could hear the sound of Edgar's voice and her blood ran cold. She quickly started yanking on anything that she could, not caring if it looked correct or not as long as it covered her. She could hear the Undertaker asking the boy to wait. She was trying to pull her stockings up underneath her bloomers when he returned. His laughter rang out like a bell.
"As amusing as ever, m'lady. Ihihi…" He snatched her petticoats off of the ground. "It's such a shame you noblewomen never learned to dress yourselves. Just what would you do if you left out there all alone? You're like a bunch of newborn moggies. Here, let me help you…" Rachel couldn't recall a time she was able to get dressed so quickly. The Undertaker was more skilled than even her maids, and far more gentle by comparison. Taking her arm, he guided her back out into the front room where Edgar was waiting. This wasn't the goodbye she had wanted, but she had forgotten that she asked the boy to come right back. The young brunette looked shyly down at the ground. His arms were behind his back. She could tell quite easily that this place frightened him. She couldn't force him to stay here any longer than was absolutely necessary. She turned to Undertaker.
"Vincent is away on an important business matter. He won't return for several days." She said, struggling to keep her voice level.
"I see. Well, have him write me or give me a call when he gets back, won't you?"
"Yes… Goodbye, Undertaker…."
"So long, dear." The mortician slid over to his desk and collapsed into the chair behind it. From there he waved warmly until Rachel and Edgar had left the mortuary.
In the carriage Rachel was still swimming in bliss. She couldn't pull her mind out of its haze long enough to consider what would be awaiting her when she returned. She didn't think of how she would need to speak to the coachman to keep him from whipping the boy for taking the carriage without permission, and then beg him to forget the whole ordeal. She didn't think that she would end up bribing three boys instead of two. And she didn't prepare for the assault awaiting her when she stepped into the manor, from not only Abigail, but a mob of servants who threw at her a barrage of questions. She didn't take into consideration the long, exhausting lecture Abigail would deliver about her going out without prior notice to visit friends. She certainly didn't think it would continue into the evening. But, the one event Rachel had anticipated came to fruition, and for that she was eternally grateful.
"Maude is coming over tomorrow afternoon, Lady Phantomhive," Abigail announced after she was through with her seething lecture. "Why she couldn't tell you this when you were right there having tea with her I do not know, but she will be here, nonetheless."
"Thank you, Abigail. And I truly am sorry," Rachel leaned over and laid her hand on the woman's shoulder. "Please find it in your heart to forgive me." Abigail sighed.
"I guess I have no choice, Milady. I will go fetch your tea."
"Please bring Ciel with you when you return."
"Yes Milady."
Rachel spent the last precious hours of day in her rocking chair by the window overlooking the garden. Her dear child was curled in her lap, looking at the illustrations in the book as she read to him. In his chubby hand he held a biscuit, and crumbs littered his cheeks and shirt. Rachel laughed at the mess and turned the page of the book. The air seemed so clear, and the garden so beautiful. She was more at peace than she ever had been before that warm spring evening.