Hello, all! Here is the newest chapter. I have been diligently working on the following chapters, but I have not yet obtained a satisfactory resolution for these characters. I will try to be quick with the rest of the story, but I also want Rossignol and Georgia to have the narrative they deserve.
Warning! This chapter may be unsuitable for some as I describe a murder. It is not too graphic but proceed with caution if you are sensitive to those sorts of things. The next chapter will be a bit more intense, but I think you will like the way it plays out when I post it.
Last note (I promise!) I am backtracking with editing and have been using Grammarly to help. If you notice anything, please let me know!
The sound of dress shoes briskly the stone ground filled Wallace Street in the heart of South Hampton's wealthy district. A soft drizzle of rain made the journey from the carriage to her destination cold and frustrating. Lady Adler, however, was a goal oriented and determined woman, she would be hindered by nothing. She boasted few friends and many terrified enemies, but that worked best for her: she got what she wanted through fear and intimidation. She also maintained her power by gathering intelligence, a delightful endeavor that proved well worth its risks.
Prying secrets about people and then selling them was an art, and took the skills that a common woman lacked. But why risk her position in the gentry to ruin the lives of others? Her only friend, Lord Worthington had the answer: it was fun. People did terrible things to protect themselves and their reputations. It was all too easy for Lady Adler.
When she reached the door of Lord Worthington's city home she rang for a servant to let her in. An elderly man admitted her, taking her coat and umbrella to dry. He said nothing to her, she almost wished he had just so she could strike him. But for a lady of her elevated position, doing the physical aspect of her chosen occupation was completely unworthy of her, Besides, she took more satisfaction out of making people hurt each other.
Once past the servant the sound of Lady Adler's short, quick steps filled the air as they beat down on the wooden staircase she was ascending. She reached the second floor and followed the curve of the railing down the hall and up another flight of stairs. From her spot at the top she heard muffled crying. She snorted and with her gloved hand, opened the door that hid the person weeping.
"You don't waste time, Lord Worthington, noted" Lady Adler as she shut the door behind her. Before her was a bloodied woman tied to an ottoman. Tears streamed down her face and for a moment her eyes pleaded for help, but when she realized Lady Adler was the intruders, the hope in her eyes died, she would not be rescued.
In his hand, Lord Worthington held a strong leather belt. "Unlike you," he retorted. "Your deal with the devil didn't work out too well, did it? She's in England now, and very much alive."
"Well," she started, "I have another plan in motion right now. Bernardo may have failed, but Victor won't."
Lady Adler removed her gloves and tucked them into the pocket of her dress. She then took a seat at the other end of the room and watched Lord Worthington take the belt and wack it hard across the weeping girl's bruised rear. Welts formed on the girl's flesh and her legs trembled and quaked. Lady Alder tutted and inquired whether Lord Worthington ever worried about getting blood on the rug. He then explained that urine was what troubled him the most. The rug currently in use was the fourth rug purchased in a year. But, he conceded, they made transporting bodies easier.
"This is so barbaric and messy!" Complained Lady Adler as she moved away from the scene.
"I don't have a doctor to do it for me and poison is so feminine," spat Lord Worthington as he struck the girl once more. "Why don't you kill her? You owe me for the Frenchman, Lady Adler. I'm insulted by that, the French are so weak, their brains are addled by the excessive wine consumption. He cried entirely too much, not like Mara here. She's calmed herself finally."
"What did she do?" inquired Lady Adler. She approach Lord Worthington and took the belt from him and fastened it around Mara's neck. The girl was docile, made submissive from the relentless beatings. Her eyes were hollowed, wherever she was, it wasn't in the room with her torturers and soon-to-be murders.
"Warned a man who owed me money that I was coming to collect. He fled to America. A waste of a human! Bastard left his poor sister behind, but I'll send her to him. Well, her head anyway."
Lady Adler's curiosity was satisfied. She tightened the belt and marveled at Mara's vain attempt to stay alive. Adler laughed as her victim went from red to purple. When the girl's restraint slackened, Lady Adler released her grip on the belt.
"Well, I must return, I have company and a gift being delivered today. I will bring it by tomorrow," informed Lady Adler. She pulled her gloves from her pocket and placed them delicately on her small hands. Her journey home, despite the freezing rain, was filled will with pulsating adrenaline and eagerness to continue her destructive path. She had guests waiting for her and her guest of honor was on her way. Lady Adler preferred the tactful approach of waiting on others, she felt it gave her the advantage. Having the advantage was key to her continued success.
Rossignol's lungs burned in rebellion. He could endure far more hardships than the common man; a normal man would have scrambled to pneumonia by now. For once, Rossignol thanked his father. The haggard, miserable ship that brought his weary body to England was docked for the week. The crew and passengers beheld him with frightened curiosity. If not for Signora Pausini's fine cloak, his mask would have given him even more unwanted attention. His money and ability to speak so many languages didn't hurt his efforts, they proved to be his best assets. But that was behind him; his fellow travelers were likely enjoying a hot meal and warm bed whilst he trudged on in the sludgy snow with only a small sack to get him to his destination.
Although he finally overcame his well-placed fear of exposing his presence before others. he still preferred to be cautious around people. It took but one soul to go into a panic over his appearance and all would be ruined. Would England be like Switzerland and Germany? Or would it be like Italy and admire his talents? Either way, he needed to find the Talbot house and find Georgia.
He passed through the dock and entered into the bay of Southampton. Few people were about in the freezing rain which made his passage less cumbersome with fewer obstacles and a smaller chance of being observed. He passed several alleyways where several folk had gathered but seldom spoke, and several unsavory buildings before coming upon streets that were cleaner. Following St. Alexander Street, Rossignol came upon Wallace Street bisecting St. Alexander. Taking a left, he traveled Wallace Street, going north until he spied an inn Georgia had mentioned in a previous letter.
At only a few blocks away, Rossignol knew he could reach the inn in a matter of minutes thanks to his long legs, but he delayed when the door to one of the houses along his path opened up to two men carrying a rolled up rug out into the rain. Realizing that the men were struggling, Rossignol offered to help. Both men regarded him with disturbed curiosity.
"Who's you?" asked the man closest to Rossignol. His basic accent declared him to be a simple and uneducated man, but his torn clothing offered an even greater insight to his lowly position. He hefted one end of the rug over his shoulder and faced the street while his partner lifted the other end onto his own shoulder.
"I am Monsieur Rossignol and I am—"
"Miss Daniels' beau?" He cast a glance over to his partner before turning back to Rossignol. He dropped his voice and beckoned Rossignol closer. "Stay away from this house, Sir. Get your girl and get out of England."
Was this a threat? "Why?"
The man sighed, but pulled the rug and his partner and carefully descended the steps of the house to the street. "There be bad people in these parts. You don' wanna know what's in the rug. You's a fine gentleman from we've heard. Take your girl away 'fore it's too late."
He was right to be worried about Georgia. The pounding of his heart became merciless. Without remaining to learn more from the men, Rossignol sprinted down the street. As he ran, his hood flew back, exposing his raven hair. The rain soaked his hair quickly and made his mask uncomfortable, but he kept it on. He reached the inn in a short time and threw open its door. The patrons in the homely lobby stopped what they were doing. All eyes fell on him.
"Miss Daniels. . . where is she?Does anyone know? Tell me!" He barked. Desperation was taking over, he felt himself growing wild and feral.
"She left this morning," informed a middle aged man from behind the counter to the right of the lobby. His eyes were wide at the sight of Rossignol. "She said you might come. . . but you should find her first, Sir."
That was all that he needed to know. These people were frightened of someone, but they hoped their nightmare would soon end. Rossignol was aggravated that he was completely clueless as to Georgia's whereabouts, but his divine tracking ability would prove to be indispensable. He tightened his bag around him and burst from the inn with a tornado-like fury and fear. Wherever Georgia was, he would find her.
Back into the rain once more, he continued north at an inhuman speed. As he ran he pulled his mask free, even if he was spied, no one could catch him. In the distance, however, as the townhomes faded behind him, he saw a wagon carrying a woman he knew all too well. If he could have flown, he would have, and to some, it certainly would have seemed like he could, in fact, fly.
Shivering in the freezing rain was terrified Nettie. Frantically, she waved him down. She let out a horrified gasp when she saw his face. Managing to control her shock at seeing his face, Nettie became hysterical about Georgia.
"She's missing! She went to relieve herself— such a silly girl! She chooses the worst of times," Nettie cried.
Rossignol jumped into the wagon with Nettie. "Take me to her last known location. Do it now, Nettie!"