Please read Disclaimer in Chapter One.
Title: Elementary, My Dear Hiei (C2: Keeping Up Appearances)
Author: JaganshiKenshin
Genre: General, Mystery
Rating: K+/PG-13 (for anime-style fight scenes/language)
Summary: Who are these two mysterious strangers and what do they want?
A/N: Any character sketches can be viewed on my blogspot.
Idiot Beloved takes place shortly after the Dark Tournament; Firebird Sweet directly follows that timeline. This tale occurs after both Sidekick and Are You Loathsome Tonight.
The Tarukane manor has fascinated me since its first appearance, and I've often wondered what became of it. Here, we find out.
Elementary, My Dear Hiei (C2: Keeping Up Appearances)
by
Kenshin
"They mustn't discover our secrets!"
It was still raining cats and dogs when the Puffington's mysterious guests arrived.
They mustn't discover our secrets! thought Pudge, wringing her hands. But after all, propriety insists we let them in. If only we can keep up appearances!
The door creaked open; a flash of lightning lit the great stone-flagged hall, throwing two silhouettes into stark relief.
Huddled with the rest of the family at the far end of the hall, Pudge half-hoped that the butler, Thrustlewood, would refuse them admission. But he dutifully ushered the pair inside.
The family's brief occupancy had revealed the painful truth: they were not used to such fripperies. Pudge always felt the urge to answer the door herself.
Well, we shall have to make the best of things. Bidding the strangers a nervous 'Good evening,' Pudge steeled herself.
They were young men, certainly far younger than herself or Dumpy, but older than the children. Monsiuer Delamont was tallish, and once he had allowed Thrustlewood to take his trench coat and trilby hat, he shook out a mane of extravagant russet hair that had managed to stay dry in spite of the weather.
Pudge wondered who this M. Delamont was, and what he did for a living. He seemed quite cool and self-possesed, with fine fair skin and glittering emerald eyes that first made an inventory of the hall, then settled upon her.
Whereupon Pudge glanced at Mope and began matchmaking.
But Monsieur Hero-what sort of personage was this? Shorter in stature than his companion, M. Hero was un-nerving indeed with that intense crimson gaze, so direct it bordered on discourtesy.
M. Hero's head was bare, as though he scorned any concession to the weather, though judging by the state of his unruly black hair, he should have at least taken an umbrella. In a black leather jacket, black jeans and black sweater, he presented a figure almost like a mobster.
Pudge had heard of the Yakuza, the Japanese version of American gangsters, and wondered uneasily whether this French gentleman might belong to that group. But then her head got muddled with Americans, French, and Japanese what-nots, and she gave up trying to pigeonhole him, because both strangers spoke a mix of French and English and Japanese at will.
In a somewhat breathy contralto voice, and a thick accent that came and went, M. Delamont introduced himself simply as a botanist. To M. Hero he gave no introduction other than his name, which, to Pudge's surprise, was pronounced closer to Air-oh than Hee-row. No doubt a Frenchified version of the word.
Monseiur Hero's deep languid voice made him sound indifferent, even bored-when he spoke at all, which was seldom.
Thrustlewood-the sole remaining servant-was sent to make things presentable in the dining room. The family and callers waited in the drawing room.
Seizing the delay as an opportunity to dress for the occasion, Pudge excused herself. She dashed to the foot of the great stairwell, but there her courage failed her.
The yawning black cavern of the second-floor landing loomed and threatened, and she would have to go it alone. It was all too much. Still, there was an electric torch on a nearby table. Gripping this like a weapon, Pudge hurried up the forbidding stairs to change into dinner clothes befitting a hostess of this grand manor.
0-0-0-0-0
With hair and face done as best she could by candle-light, Pudge stepped out of the master bathroom, still clutching the torch. Yes, it was wonderful to have such a surplus of bathrooms, but what good were they without light to see?
Oh, it probably just wanted a single phone call to set things right again. But to whom? And with the lines down?
They didn't really know how to be rich. There ought to be a school for teaching that sort of thing, really there ought.
Still it gave Pudge a nice warm feeling to be able to offer two mysterous foreigners shelter from the storm, even if that shelter did not at the moment include electrical service.
Hurriedly squeezing herself into a heavy satin gown, Pudge set down the torch and fumbled with the velvet jewel case.
Although the appearance of the strangers had put her off at first, Pudge decided that she was glad for the intrusion, for none of them seemed to have anything to do now.
Smarm would of course find that quite normal, but as for Pudge, rather than changing for dinner she should have preferred bustling about with hot soup and offering towels to her rain-soaked guests.
And with the staff gone, she might have to do just that.
She quailed, one eye on the window. That sound just then. Was it a rumble of thunder of the groaning of a ghost?
The jewel case refused to open to her shaking hands.
If the maidservants were still here, one of them would open it for her. And helped her to dress.
Pudge took a calming breath. Why had such well-trained servants left the premises? Were the family really such backwater clods that the servants were offended?
Face it, she thought, it was much worse than just that.
Funny how things worked. Having a staff meant no marketing nor cooking for the lady of the house. Such a luxurious life she'd always envied on the telly, but now she missed those simple tasks. It was Dumpy won the Sweeps, but Pudge had charge of the family finances, and that had not changed.
Maybe she could get back to some cooking...
Oh, but here we are in the middle of nowhere! How to even get to a store?
At least the Japanese drove on the correct side of the road! Poor Dumpy. When he'd been driving the lorry he'd known what to do with himself. And never complained, the lamb. Puts food on the table after all, he was fond of saying.
Pudge managed to pry open the velvet jewel case at last, but even as her fingers closed on empty air, she gave a wan smile. The Tredmonton Tiara was no longer there, of course. Vanished, along with the staff. Reaching for it had been pure force of habit, for she had worn it every night since their arrival. At least, until-
Worrisome though the accursed tiara's absence might be, it was the least of their troubles.
Lightning cast a temporary brilliance into the room. Thunder rather than unearthly groans shook the walls.
She could put on a cocktail ring for the occasion, but rings didn't really suit her stubby fingers, and when Dumpy dear suggested a bigger, flashier wedding ring, she'd insisted on keeping her original, modest one.
Guests, she reminded herself. The first of many, it was to be hoped. She would find out what the strangers wanted. And then, she told herself firmly, the family would settle into this house and everything would go back to normal. Maybe she would even grow a lovely rose garden.
Hastily selecting a ring, Pudge once again took up the torch and descended the lightless stairs, praying with each step that she would not feel the icy hands of a ghost round her neck.
-30-
(To be continued: A rose sometimes goes by another name)