A/N:
For the character of Vivianna Grey I combined character traits of Sherlock Holmes, Irene Adler (taken mostly from the way the character was excellently portrayed by Rachel McAdams in the 2009 Sherlock Holmes film), and finally Marie Doro - a stage and film actress of the silent film era who was intelligent, an expert on Shakespeare and Elizabethan poetry, and possessed a penetrating humor and a sometimes acid wit.
Consequently, Vivianna is a highly intelligent, highly observant, and very complicated character.
UPDATE: This chap was updated February 26th, 2019.
Favors
Chapter 5
"Doctor" Vivianna Grey
The Second Day of the Fourth Month, the Month of Rain, 1837
The Tailors' District
Mid-morning
…
…
A lone rail car drove along the thoroughfare, the occasional spark flashing off the wheels as it followed the four tracks throughout the district. Few of the citizens took note of the vehicle though, even when a solitary rat made the poor decision to explore the streets of Dunwall at that particular time, nearly getting sliced in two.
The overhead loudspeaker emitted a pealing, mechanical signal drawing the attention of all within range of the sound.
"Attention Dunwall citizens," the speaker began, followed by an all too familiar announcement.
"The Lady Emily Kaldwin was abducted over two months past at the moment of her mother's terrible murder. Anyone with information leading to the location or return of the daughter of our beloved, late Empress is required to speak to the City Watch at once."
Another signal echoed.
"The Lighthouse on Kingsparrow Island nears completion," the speaker announced. "All privately owned and commercial ships are asked to file strict charters during this time. City officials continue to remind the citizens of Dunwall that supply routes to complete the Lighthouse need to remain unhindered from morning until midnight, daily. The Lord Regent personally thanks you for your cooperation during this stressful time."
A third signal followed.
"Citizens and visitors of our fair city, the unidentified murderer known simply as the Beast of Whitecliff has struck again. The City Watch has now advised the start of curfews on a District by District basis. Contact your local branch of the City Watch to see if your District will begin these proceedings. That is all."
As the final clang sounded the end of the mid-morning announcements, the rail car pulled onto a small turn station and then parked off the main railway near Ranker's Steel Products on Myrstein Lane. Freshly polished, the black vehicle was smaller than that used by the military, but sleeker in design. On the back panel, just below the rear view port was a stylized symbol of a wolfhound's head in white, illustrating that the car's owner was allied with, and consequentially subordinate to, the affluent House Carmine.
The left door opened and out stepped a large, wide-shouldered, brutal-looking man, clean-shaven with dark hair, and even darker eyes. He was dressed in the sky blue uniform of the Estate Officers - those private members of the Watch assigned to protect specific important persons of the city. He surveyed the area quickly, one hand on the grip of his pistol, the other on the pommel of his sheathed sword. There were only a handful of people visible, none of which seemed to be paying the rare vehicle any mind. Satisfied there was no threat to his ward, he turned back to the iron and steel vehicle.
"The area seems clear, milady, and safe enough," he said, his voice deep and smooth, with a tone hinting at a sharper mind that his thuggish appearance belied.
He opened the right-side door revealing a family crest of a golden bittern against a grey field. He leaned forward, offering assistance to the remaining occupant. A white-gloved hand reached up and gripped his.
"Thank you, my dear Thave," the young woman said, her voice clear, as she stepped gingerly out of the rail car. She glanced briefly about the area, before focusing her attention on Bleetmore Way lying before her.
At five-foot-eight, Vivianna Grey was an attractive woman in her mid-to-late twenties, and her mixed Gristian and Serkonan heritage gave her smooth skin a light tawny-beige tone. Her full lips, penetrating light brown eyes, and alluring features marked her as quite the beauty. Her short dark red hair was, as always, fixed in some fashionable style further enhancing her appearance. Her movements were sure and precise, suggesting an athletic build, yet she still had the poise and grace of one quite comfortable in a woman's body.
Currently, she was attired in cream-colored linen trousers with dark brown leather boots that came up to her mid-calf. Her dark grey frock coat had fitted sleeves and short tails, and its velvet collar was wide and deep to show off the embroidered purple and black waistcoat adorned with brass buttons. A matching purple and black cravat contrasted nicely with her cream-colored linen shirt, the former of which was transfixed by a yellow citrine on white gold cravat pin displaying a bittern in flight.
"No sword today, milady?" her sentinel asked.
"Unfortunately no," she said and sighed. "Papa doesn't approve when I have it upon my hip in public. While I may defy the constraints of society from time to time, I don't wish to test the boundaries with him so much, especially at the moment."
She turned to Thave who had an eyebrow cocked.
"Oh," she replied with a scowl. "You were being sardonic. How droll."
He eyed her attire with a slightly disapproving stare. "As milady wishes."
"Come now," she said spinning to fully face him. She placed her gloved hands on her hips and smiled. "I like the way this feels; much improved over some dress or tightly fitted velvet pantsuit better designed for sitting primly and properly. More freedom of movement as well."
She shifted her weight to one hip, then to the other.
"Besides," she said with a wink. "You have to admit I do fill this out rather nicely."
He just smirked and shook his head.
"Now then, to the matter at hand," she faced the road again and clicked her tongue. "James, James. What dismal hole have you hidden your nest in this time? Tsk tsk." She called back over her shoulder. "Your assessment? Any foreknowledge of the area?"
"Well, milady," the large man took a step forward. "When I ran in, ah, other circles, this place was controlled by the Hatters. We never could take it from them." He looked about. "But now, no sign of them. Graffiti. Markers. Nothing. Actually, I haven't noticed markers of any kind. Unclaimed territory I'd say."
She focused on the surrounding area. As she did so, the tip of the thumb on her left hand began swirling against her index and middle fingers.
Thave knew what she was doing. She was 'processing' every bit of data the area had to offer, taking it all in. Every house, every rock, every crack, everything on a level he could hardly fathom. A stray noise, discolored stone, or odd smell that would mean nothing to him could open entire worlds of information for her.
"Bleetmore always was an odd sort, though," he continued on, offering as much information as he could. "A dark place, where people would just vanish away occasionally."
"Vanish away?"
"Yes, milady. Though strange enough, after the plague started and the Hatters lost their power in southern Dunwall, Bleetmore became less intense. More a lonely little road where the desperate went to be left alone."
"Ugh," Vivianna grimaced, rankling at the thought. "It does sound like the perfect little place for James to continue his chosen vocation. Dreary and thankless." She studied the area for a moment more and then turned back to the rail car. "But I'm intrigued. Be a dear and hand me my doctor's bag."
He did as she bid.
She began rummaging around in the heavy black leather bag. ""I'll be back shortly. I wish for you to stay with the vehicle."
"I'm sorry? Now hold a moment, milady," he said, alarm in his voice. "Your father doesn't pay me to just watch a rail car. The Hatters may not control it anymore, but Bleetmore didn't get the nickname Bleedmore for nothing. The rails don't run that way, so I think I should accompany you on foot at least.
"Bleedmore?" she repeated with a slight chuckle. "Oh my, how gauche." She smirked wryly. "No. There's no reason to suspect I will 'vanish away' as others have. I do believe that little problem has solved itself for us."
"Oh? How do you figure that? If you don't mind me asking."
"Set your gaze over my left shoulder, if you will, dear Thave, and tell me what you see."
Her coachman looked past her, noting the large drinking establishment.
"The Sodden Morleyman Pub. What about it?"
"I said my left shoulder, you prat," she grumbled as she sorted through the various items in her bag, apparently seeking something at the very bottom.
"Ah, right," Thave replied with a nod, and shifted his gaze. There were a few boarding homes – nothing of interest there – and on the corner was… "A mortician?"
The squat yellow and grey building was closed and the windows boarded up. Attached to the front door was a notice from the City Barrister; the property had been seized in the name of the Lord Regent.
"Here it is!" Vivianna exclaimed triumphantly as she withdrew an item from her bag. It was a large blade with jagged teeth running its length, some nine inches long including the ivory handle at the end: a bonesaw.
"Note if you will, my dear Thave, the mortician's empty place of business," she said as she faced the grim edifice. "Last Rest Hall, E. V. Proprietor. A place I have heard of before."
"Yes?"
She smiled. "E. V.? Edwin Vasari? A quiet and unassuming gentleman who gained, through the publications of some of those dreadful rags that deign to call themselves newspapers, the ludicrous title of The Smiling Butcher."
"The man that robbed those graves, cut up the bodies, and sold the parts to the Academy of Natural Philosophy over a year ago?"
"The same. He was arrested for the illegal sales of cadavers. However, the proceedings fell apart due to the magistrate's lack of sufficient evidence tying Mr. Vasari to any grave robbing whatsoever. There were even some investigators who, during a rather enlightened bit of conjecture, proposed that Mr. Vasari was actually robbing the bodies from his own clientele - switching out the corpses before actual burial."
Thave looked at her. "I'm assuming that wasn't the case."
"No, it was not. The Watch unearthed nearly all of the bodies which Mr. Vasari prepared, upsetting several people, including some rather prominent members of society. A good amount of reprimands were then handed out to our poor City Watchmen and apologies made, but Edwin Vasari's reputation was ruined nonetheless. His business failed, and his property was seized, forcing him to flee Gristol entirely."
"Where'd he get the corpses then? I mean, it was a known fact he sold them, right?"
She cocked an eyebrow.
"According to our poor mortician with the besmirched name, he never actually stole a cadaver."
"Ratshit," Thave said with a sneer, then remembered with whom he was speaking. "I mean, that can't be true, can it? The Academy probably reported him."
"I'm afraid not. That august institution has quite the plethora of young men willing to commit all manner of atrocities in the name of science. They need bodies for their experiments." She leaned close to him with a rather foreboding look upon her face. "The fresher the better."
The Estate Officer shirked back in repulsion.
"Let us put forth our own suppositions, dear Thave," she said as she glanced back toward the confiscated property. "Let us suppose that our dear mortician in fact was telling the truth when he said he never stole a cadaver. Let us suppose he never robbed a grave. Yet, as you pointed out he still managed to obtain fresh corpses for his Academic customers."
She looked about the area where a few people were going about their daily affairs.
"Yet, he still managed to obtain fresh corpses," she repeated. "From someplace the Watch didn't go. From someplace the Hatters controlled and the average citizen avoided."
Thave glanced down Bleetmore Way.
"You mean-?"
"Hah! I think you have hit upon it then, my dear Thave," she said, her eyes twinkling. "Our good mortician was the Smiling Butcher after all. And Bleetmore was the butcher's pen. He stole the innocents away from this very sidestreet, slaughtered them, and traded them away for coin."
She held the bonesaw over to him. The letters E. V. were engraved in it, the font matching that of the sign above the establishment's front door.
"Observe. Papa purchased it for me at auction. When the dread Edwin Vasari had to sell his belongings to pay the barristers." She examined it clinically. "I'd stupidly assumed the rumors and conjecture were just false ramblings. The utterances of fools and the paranoid. But now..."
"So, what?" he asked. "You can glean something from the bonesaw? Find out where he is and bring him to justice, right?"
"I'm sorry?" She looked over, reading the sincerity on his face and she chuckled again. "Oh by the Void, no. Sometimes you are too genuine for your own good."
She turned it over in her hand.
"No, this item may have just increased in value. If only these jagged teeth could talk, the tales they would tell. There are several, hm, collectors shall we say, that deal with obscure items of the macabre. The Brimsleys are one such odd couple. That strange girl, Naria was her name I believe. Gerald Sutton from the Olkhein Docks; now there was a frightful man."
"You're just going to make a profit off of it? Instead of helping to bring the man in?"
Vivianna ceased her inspection of the item and narrowed her eyes.
"There will only be a profit if I sell the item, which I may not. Regardless, there is no profit in chasing after spirits long departed; I learned that after nearly a year of trying to do so for others. Edwin Vasari is gone, Thave, I know not where. Tyvia I had heard, but that is conjecture."
She handed him the bonesaw.
"Place that inside the cab and keep watch until I get back." She raised her hand as he began to balk. "I have my nickel-plated knuckleduster pistol and my special dagger. The former is in my bag, and the latter," she patted an area on her right boot, "is tucked away within easy reach. I am quite well armed, I assure you."
The coachman knew better than to argue with her further. "As milady wishes."
A forced grin twisted her lips, then she nodded once at him, grabbed up her bag and began walking down Bleetmore Way.
Erin sat next to Etiennette on the courtesan's perch, a copy of this morning's Gentlemen's Chronicle open in her lap. Both Ademar and young Otto listened as the Morlish girl slowly read aloud from the newspaper.
"With the last of the contraband carted away, the Merry Boyz, as Culver Muryn's gang was called, are looking at serious charges laid against them by local magistrates, including grievous intent, smuggling, and perhaps even murder."
"Alongside these ruffians, the pirate band captained by none other than Markessa the Golden, sometimes called Markessa of the Twain-Hatchets, have also been in-" she pointed to a word.
Ademar glanced over her shoulder.
"Incarcerated," the young warrior said. "Like arrested."
"Ah thanks," she said with a shy grin as she tucked a stray lock of red hair behind her ear. "Knew what it meant. Jus' dinna know how it be spelt is all."
She went back to the paper.
"…have also been incarcerated. Lieutenant Rolline of the Wrenhaven River Patrol made the arrests two days ago in the early morning hours."
"The Watch Officer said he had received information-"
A new voice interrupted the young girl.
"The Watch Officer said he had received information of an imperative nature from one Emma Withers, a local woman who owned a stand near the Schauke Dockyards."
The four comrades glanced in surprise as the newcomer quoted the passage from memory. The woman strode up to them, confidence in her step.
"And allow me a guess," she continued on, "the reward mentioned two paragraphs later for both the pirates and the Merry Boyz was given to that old woman, correct? As stated in the article of the Chronicle, it's rather ambiguous. I'm assuming she was James' newest client, yes?"
No one said anything for a moment, too stunned by Vivianna's sudden appearance.
Lady Grey gave a quiet laugh, "James didn't forewarn you of my arrival, did he?" She scoffed. "How like him."
She looked around at the assemblage.
"Well then, how are we all?" She glanced to Otto first. "You've grown a good bit since I last laid eyes on you. It's been, what, three months and already an inch taller?"
"Yes, mum," the boy uttered quietly. "I'm fine, thank ya, mum."
"Hm, good." She then looked at the two girls sitting next to each other. "Etiennette, Erin," she said coolly. "You both seem fine." It was more of a statement than a query.
Finally, she turned her gaze to the tall ex-Overseer.
"And darling Ademar," she said, her eyes lighting up. "You appear quite well, as always. Can you possibly get any more delicious?" She ran her fingers across his arm and onto his chest.
"I am quite well, yes," he said, returning her smile. "And is it now Doctor Grey? Have the academics come to their senses?"
She laughed then, a happy, lilting sound before fixing her gaze upon the young warrior once again.
"You always did hope for the best in all situations." She squeezed his arm. "Even if they let me into their little male-dominated club, it would be a few years before I would receive a degree, let alone a license."
She released him and reached into the inner breast pocket of her frock coat.
"Here," she said as she handed him a calling card. "I am just a consultant for now."
He examined it carefully. "Ms. Vivianna Grey," he read aloud. "Consultant for those suffering. From grievous injury to slight discomfort. All welcome. 124 Gehrmoor Boulevard."
He looked up at her in surprise. "This isn't close to your home."
"Yes, you are correct," she said after a slight hesitation. "I didn't want it near papa since he has important dealings of his own. It wouldn't be best for… appearances."
He nodded. "I understand."
"It is in the same District though. And it is all mine, I assure you. The staff, the equipment, the entirety of the facilities." She nodded. "I've earned it myself. On my own merits. Nothing borrowed, or owed upon."
"And you can do this without harassment?"
She smiled again. "Nowhere does it say 'doctor' or mention anything concerning the medical fields. I offer consultations only. Advice. Nothing more, though I'm told my knowledge far surpasses that of most legitimate doctors. Still, there is nothing illegal about it." She harrumphed. "Not even that new City Barrister, Timsh, can find fault with me."
Ademar nodded in satisfaction, then turned the conversation to other matters.
"Your physical training? How fares it? Are you keeping up with your sword practice?"
"Indeed. Papa was not particularly thrilled by the concept, but Captain Khirov is an excellent teacher." She bowed her head. "As masterful an instructor as you said. I have learned much."
"Good."
A mischievous look flashed across her face for a moment.
"You know, darling Ademar, I would love it if you and I could spar one day. What do you say?"
Ademar looked pleased.
"Yes, I would enjoy that very much I think. I would like to see your skills for myself."
"And I would love to experience your skills as well," she said, eyes twinkling. "Then, when we're done sparring, perhaps we could test out our sword skills as well."
Ademar blinked then shook his head.
"You never change, do you?" he said with a grin.
"I see no reason to," she admitted then looked down at the doorway marked by the symbol of a triangle set within a larger inverted triangle. "But, I suppose our good James is awaiting me within. May as well get this over with. Escort a lady in?"
"It would be my pleasure," he said, and offered his arm which she took. The two descended the short stairway and entered the shop of the Undertakers.
After they were gone, there was a pause of silence until…
"Erin? Erin, the paper?"
"Huh? Wot?" The Morley girl turned to her friend.
"The paper," Etiennette said. "You seemed to have shredded it."
Erin looked down and noticed that she had indeed twisted the newspaper beyond its breaking point.
"Er, sorry 'bout that." She offered the remnants to the courtesan who merely shook her head.
"Are you alright?"
The young girl crossed her arms with a scowl upon her face. She stared at the door through which Vivianna and Ademar had just passed.
"That saucy prim be eyein' up me lad like 'e was a slab. Best be keepin' 'er grubbers to 'erself, I'ma thinkin'."
The courtesan tilted her head as she looked at her companion.
"Your lad? I didn't think you were with Ademar."
The short girl huffed.
"'e's not promised ta me an' all that, but still, I don' 'preciate someone pokin' they fingers in me puddin' afore I ken have a taste of it meself, is all I'm sayin'."
Although she disliked acknowledging weakness of any kind, Vivianna was nervous. No, not nervous. Members of House Grey did not get nervous. Apprehensive would be a better word. It had, after all, been more than a season since her split with James and his seemingly unending, fruitless quest and she wasn't sure what type of reception she'd receive.
To assuage her uneasy thoughts, she studied the refurbished shop through which Ademar escorted her. The interior was very dry but a bevy of smells lingered in the air and visual clues presented themselves. She mentally categorized each in turn, processing all the information, weighing likelihoods, making quick assumptions, casting some aside and furthering others. After a moment, she came to a favored conclusion.
"Oh, an old bookbinder's shop?" she put forth. "Dear Albert must have been ecstatic when James and he first moved in."
Ademar raised an eyebrow. "You've been here before?"
"No, darling Ademar," she chuckled. "It was merely a guess."
Off to the side were bolts of cloth laid across some tables. Cases of tinned food sat back by a far corner. Mechanical parts, some even for the new Sokolov technologies, were stacked in crates along a vacant wall. Other odds and ends occupied the room as well, each of which she noted in turn, gauging the reasons for their presence.
They approached a long counter with two chairs before it where they would no doubt interview their perspective clients. A ledger sat closed with pen and a stoppered vial of ink nearby. The spine of the ledger was perfectly perpendicular with the edge of the desk. Dear Albert and his little habits, she thought to herself.
Ademar finally brought her to a closed door behind the counter. Beyond she could hear the murmurings of familiar voices and her apprehension increased.
She turned to the young man and in a low tone, so as not to reveal herself to the occupants beyond the door, said, "Thank you, darling. I shall take it from here."
He released her arm, bowed to her briefly, then turned on his heel and headed back out of the shop.
Once alone, she straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath to steady herself, and rapped upon the door.
"Yes? Please come in," she heard Albert say.
She opened the door and entered. Within was a large office dominated by a teak desk set near the far wall. Besides the door through which she just passed two more exited the room, one on the left side, and one directly behind the desk. A freestanding coat tree stood to the right of the desk, a naval jacket hung over it, as well as an officer's blade in its sheath. Near the front of the room was a small trolley with a bottle of fine whiskey set upon it. A large, comfortable chair sat behind the desk and two equally well-made ones were positioned directly in front.
Within one of the two guest chairs sat the impressive figure of Albert Tuddleston, his attire as impeccable as ever. His eyes lit up with joy as he saw her.
"My Lady Grey!" he announced in excitement, standing and moving towards her, a wide smile on his lips. As he neared, he reached out and took her hand in both of his. "So wonderful to see you. So wonderful, indeed! It's been too long. Far, far too long."
"It has. Most assuredly." He evoked a very genuine grin from her; she considered him as a beloved uncle and had missed his company these past few months. "You appear to be keeping yourself quite well. I daresay this life agrees with you."
His smile broadened.
"Oh, I would be lying if I said I didn't draw some small satisfaction from our efforts," he agreed. "Though, I must confess, the sometimes physical exertions interfere with my personal research. A scribe at home perusing dusty tomes by candlelight is my preferred lot in life."
"Yes," she returned and kept her focus on Albert, purposefully ignoring the room's other occupant for the moment. "Speaking of your books, do you have a new word for me? To further our game? I believe we are still even as of last count."
The jolly man laughed.
"Oh, right to it, eh, right to it?" He nodded as he released her hand, and held up a finger. "I think I have one for you then. Yes, found it in an old text."
She chuckled. Albert was one of the few people with whom she could speak as an equal. His intelligence and proclivity to devour data made him a worthy mental sparring partner. As such, the two had struck upon an idea a while back wherein they would test each others' knowledge of obscure words, to determine who was better read. Currently the game was tied at four all. Now probably wasn't the ideal time to continue their little contest, but it would delay her having to address the source of her apprehension.
"Very well. Let's have it, then."
The heavyset man had a twinkle eye as spoke the word.
"Ablegate."
She hesitated.
"Hm, that is a word I haven't heard of," she paused dramatically for a moment, then continued on, "…at least for a good deal of time."
"Ah, you know it?" Tuddleston seemed disappointed.
"Yes, I'm afraid so, my dear Albert. Ablegate, at least in the sense I know it, is an older term for an emissary or ambassador from the Abbey of the Everyman. Usually sent to consult members of Parliament." She smirked. "I believe the practice is no longer in effect though. Too many of our aristocracy were worried of having their practices deemed impure."
"Indeed they were," Tuddleston said with a nod. "And your word for me?"
She smiled as her eyes narrowed. "Mine was also found in an old tome. One papa had acquired. The word is 'pais'. Do you know its meaning?"
"Pais, yes! Though only through the good fortune of having recently come across a set of Gristian lawbooks from a half-century ago. In some of the larger towns that have far too many crimes and not enough barristers or magistrates, the pais is the general collective from which the people of Gristol would draw members for a small jury."
"You are correct," she said, pleased that he knew the word. "It is always fun to banter with you. It takes away much from the dredges and commonality of daily life."
"Indeed," he agreed. "That aside, how are you? You look well. As lovely as ever." He turned to the third occupant in the room who had remained silent during this time. "She does look lovely, doesn't she, James?"
She followed his gaze to look upon the man who was leaning against the front of the desk with his arms crossed. Despite her attempt to remain impassionate, she drank in the sight of him.
He hadn't changed: an inch shy of six feet, with broad shoulders and dark brown hair which he always kept neatly parted. He was clean-shaven today as well, precise and tidy, not a blemish along that strong jawline or the slight dimple set in the middle of his chin. His dark green eyes regarded her coolly and his handsome yet stern features were set in a neutral look making him as damnably hard to read as ever.
The corner of her mouth wanted to twist into an approving smile as she looked upon him, but she fought the urge and returned his stare, glancing about his form. Dark brown breeches, worn yet comfortable. Dark leather boots, polished and pliable, good for movement with reduced noise. His black shirt was-
Wait, black?
She took note of the slight bulge near the back of the tricep on his left arm. Allowing herself a grin, she placed her doctor's bag on top of the trolley.
"My darling Mr. Dartley, wherever have you dragged me to now?" she began as she rummaged through her bag. "This new abode, while quaint, doesn't seem up to your usual standards. Though I am sure sweet Albert had some fun delving through whatever newly bound manuscripts were found lying about when you first moved in. I also noticed the contraband stored in the shop as well, no doubt taken from the Merry Boyz in accordance with your little agreement with Rolline. You'll sell that lot off to Faulhaber as usual I assume. One has to pay their way somehow, I suppose."
The two men exchanged a quick glance with each other, but said nothing.
"I must admit a certain degree of surprise at receiving your missive," she continued on. "I thought- Well, honestly, I didn't know what to think as you gave no reason in your message." She paused long enough while going through her bag to glance back to him. "I am surprised you'd send for me to treat your wound. It doesn't sound like you."
"Who said I was wounded?" was his smooth reply.
She smirked.
"Your attire speaks volumes considering you favor shirts of turquoise or white. And your otherwise uniform physique has undergone a slight change of nonconformity." She indicated the nearly imperceptible bulge on his arm. "Black may not be your preferred color, but it does hide, very nicely, any signs of blood slipping through from a rather poorly dressed wound."
His eyes narrowed, but there was a slight hint of amusement in them. Even after all this time, she could surprise him with her observational skills.
"Albert, do you have an audiograph recorder? I failed to bring mine and I like to keep records of my visits."
"Ah, yes, yes," he said. "Back in the supply room, I believe."
"Would you be a dear and fetch it for me?"
"Without delay, my lady," he said and quickly exited through the rear door.
After he had gone, a sly look crossed her face as her eyes centered on James.
"Take off your shirt, if you will," she said as she slowly approached him.
"I'll just roll up my sleeve, thank you," he replied. "The cut isn't that high up."
She let out a disappointed sigh.
"You never used to be so shy," she remarked and then winked as she closed the distance. "It wouldn't be the first time I would see you less than fully attired." He stood up straight and tensed as she finally reached him.
She laid her hands on his chest, pressing them against him and slowly moved them up his form. Reaching his shoulders, she leaned forward and gently encircled his neck with her arms. She noted the hint of his cologne – a mixture of lavender, amber, and sandalwood. Her eyes half-closed as she took in that familiar masculine scent; it was one of her favorites and brought a flood of memories from happier days.
"I've missed you and the timing of your summons was most fortuitous," she murmured, fixing her gaze upon him again.
"Oh?"
She brushed her parted lips against the left side of his neck. "Yes."
"How so?"
"Because Herschel Carmine's favorite son, Richard, is going to be throwing one of his galas again. Nothing overly fancy, mind you, just 'a hundred or so of his closest friends'." She pulled back and scoffed. "The only reason that foul congregation of vapors has any friends is because his father is so prominent in House Carmine."
"Second in power only behind Addison Carmine, Herschel's brother, correct?" he inquired.
Her eyes widened in surprise. "Look who's been keeping up on the political circuit. I'm quite proud of you, James." She leaned in again, her lips brushing along the right side of his neck this time.
"I don't see what that has to do with the timing of my note, though."
"Mm?" She pulled back once more. "Oh because I've been invited to this gathering. You know how papa loves to 'have me out there'."
"Yes, I remember," he replied tersely.
"And since House Carmine sponsors papa's businesses and overseas ventures, I mean they are our patron House after all, papa wishes me to attend." She sighed lightly and looked away. "I suppose Richard has shown some interest in me. He's been attempting to court me, unsuccessfully of course."
"Of course."
"Ugh, what a dreary thought." She shivered a moment, then focused on him again. "However, if I were to attend with say, a decorated Naval officer, well that would throw his plans into turmoil."
"Whose plans? Your father's or Richard's?"
"Either?" she grinned. "Both? Does it matter? It would silence a few waggling tongues, and more importantly, it would be fun. Especially if you attended." She tilted forward a third time, her teeth delicately gliding across the dimple in his chin. She moved to bite him when he spoke.
"Maybe you can invite Eric again instead," he said dryly.
She paused and her eyes narrowed. She pulled away, her upper lip twitching as it curled in a snarl.
"That. Happened. Once." Anger flashed across her face. "It was nothing like what you suggest, and you know it. You and Albert were investigating that chandler's problems at the time. What was his name? Bernstiel, I believe? Besides, Eric and I have been friends forever. We all have, dear James, as you seem to have so readily forgotten."
Tuddleston returned, the audiograph player in hand. Upon seeing them together, however, he paused in the doorway.
"Oh my," he hesitated, though there was a trace of a smile within his voice. "Am I interrupting anything? I will gladly retire to another room if I am doing so."
"Don't bother," Vivianna said with a grimace as she released James and stepped away. "As is oft the situation, nothing worthy of note happens when this fatuous person is involved." She indicated James with a dismissive nod, then proceeded to take the audiograph player from Albert and set it on the trolley.
She went back to her bag and withdrew a handful of blank audiographs. Placing one of the cards into the machine's slot, she flicked the Record button.
"Vivianna Grey, consultation. The second day of the Month of Rain. 1837." She paused long enough to withdraw a pocketwatch from her waistcoat pocket. "Time is 10:51 in the morning."
"This isn't why I called you," James interrupted her.
"The subject appears to be a great blithering lummox," she continued on, purposely ignoring his words. "Cause of concern stems from a wound that appears at first supposition to have been received in the Tricep brachii region of his left arm, though as the subject is too much of a dullard to have followed simple instructions to either remove his shirt or roll up his sleeve, my examination is hampered. Most likely it was received while assisting another some two days ago at the Schauke Dockyards."
She turned to Tuddleston.
"Any deep wound should be consulted immediately. Infection could set in, making a simple situation most dire. I would think of all people to have a brain inside their head, it would be you, Albert. You have influence enough over him to get him to act."
"I, well, I-" Tuddleson blustered as he sought an appropriate answer.
"Don't turn your wrath to Mr. Tuddleston because you're angry with me," James said, moving to the trolley and flicking the audiograph player off. "I told you, I didn't call you here for me. The cut is fine at the moment. Sore, but on the mend."
"Then why in the Void did you send for me at all?" she growled in annoyance. "You obviously want nothing more to do with me on a personal level, and if you don't wish a consultation then I don't see why-"
"I do want a consultation, just not for me." Seeing her queried look, he moved to the door on the side of the office, knocked once and opened it quickly. "Rollo, bring her this way."
The short criminal came through the doorway, guiding a young girl with delicate, pretty features and long black hair. The girl appeared worried and held tightly onto Rollo's arm.
"It's alright, lass, s'alright," he spoke quietly, trying to reassure her. "The lady's just gonna give ya a quick exam is all. A once over as it were."
"What in the Void is this nonsense?" Vivianna asked.
"Jus' a friend of mine," Rollo said sternly. "We found her on our latest caper, not that it matters. She hadn't eaten right and we fixed her up as best we could." He paused, then caught the taller woman's gaze with his own. "Be nice to her," he threatened. "She's gone through enough as it is."
The lady blinked and looked to James, unable to comprehend.
"Rollo is correct," James explained. "When we removed the Merry Boyz two days ago from the Schauke Dockyards, he came across her chained to a wall. We've fed her and she's had a chance to rest. I'd thought about taking her to Ma Nettles' place, but first I wanted to make sure she wasn't infectious." He paused a moment. "With the plague or anything else."
"Two days?" The lady was incredulous. "It's quite obvious she doesn't have the Rat Plague. In fact," she glanced over at the girl, "she doesn't seem to be presenting with any maladies at all. Maybe a bit underfed as you said, but I still don't see why you needed me to trek all the way-"
Vivianna paused, then tilted her head as she turned back to the navy man.
"Oh, Mr. Dartley, quite well-played," a dark scowl twisted her lips. "Very responsible. Very heroic. Aren't you the clever little cock-robin? Very well, I shall engage in your play and fulfill the role you have set for me." She leaned forward with a sinister grin. "Quite succinctly, I assure you."
"What?" Tuddleston asked, not quite following some underlying meaning. "What role? What is she talking about?"
"Quiet please, Mr. Tuddleston," the leader of the Undertakers said, as he crossed his arms again. "Let her work."
"The role is that of villain, dear Albert," the woman replied. "A role I seem to have been cast into with neither intent nor consent."
She turned to the girl.
"Can you write?"
"Mum? I mean, my lady?" the girl was surprised at having been addressed. "Yes, my lady, I know my characters. My mother taught them to me."
Vivianna nodded once, reached into her bag and withdrew a writing slate and small piece of chalk.
"Write your name for me there. Neatly as you can."
The girl nodded, took the offered items and wrote something. After a moment she handed them back. Vivianna looked at the two words on the slate.
"Adrienne Deschamps," she read aloud, then looked at the girl. Her gaze drifted to the girl's hair. "Makes sense," she muttered, then placed the slate and chalk back in her bag. "Take off your frock."
The girl blinked in surprise. "Pardon me?"
"I assume you have no problem hearing," she said with a dismissive air. "I said remove your frock. You do have some undergarments on at least, correct?"
"I, uh, yes, my lady," she said quietly.
"Here now, wot's this?" Rollo interjected with a curl of his lip. "Whattaya tryin' ta do ta the poor lass?" He turned to James for support.
"Is this necessary?" the navy man asked.
"It is for what you want," Vivianna replied coldly, catching his gaze. "You do want me to be thorough, don't you? Isn't that your intent?"
"Let her proceed," he relented.
Rollo sneered then, but turned to the girl. "Sorry lass, sorry. Best ta do it fer now." He looked back at James. "But I'll be havin' words with ya later, bucko. That ya can count on."
The girl nodded and slowly undid the threads on the side of the worn frock. Her cheeks took on a pink hue of embarrassment as she slid the drab dress off and stood only in a white shift.
Nonplussed, Vivianna ejected the audiograph from the player.
"Do you need an audio copy?" she asked James.
"That won't be necessary."
"Very well, then. I won't waste my time." She removed her gloves, placed them on the trolley and indicated an open space near the main entrance. "Come here, girl," she said, her tone indignant.
Adrienne went without question.
Vivianna walked slowly around her, eyes narrowed. The tip of the thumb on her left hand began swirling against her index and middle fingers as she concentrated, processing everything the girl's appearance offered her. As she passed behind the girl, she leaned forward, sniffing her hair.
"Hint of rose petals and orchid, distilled. Laced with oil."
She circled around front again and paused. She moved very close to the girl, examining the edges of her eyes, then eased back a bit before brushing her fingertips against the girl's cheek. She rubbed her fingers together and sniffed again.
"Luster is of good quality as is the cream. Hint of cranberries. Hm, expensive."
"Wot's she-?" Rollo started but James held his finger up to silence him.
Vivianna began circling again, like a shark studying her prey. Her gaze constantly danced over the girl's form as the fingers of her left hand continued to swirl. After making another full pass around, she abruptly stopped behind her and then moved forward again. She reached down and grabbed firmly on the girl's rear.
Adrienne yelped for a moment, but silenced herself almost immediately.
"Here now!" Rollo began and started towards them only to be grasped by the sea man.
"Not the first time, mm?" Vivianna mewled into the girl's ear. "You've been inspected before, isn't that right?"
She released her hold, then grasped the girl about the shoulders, and felt down her arms. She spun the girl to face her and moved her hands about her subject's waist, hips, and upper thighs. Stepping away, Vivianna crossed her arms then scoffed.
"Let's have it then. Your curtsy. I want to see it."
The girl nodded awkwardly, then curtsied in a mechanical motion.
"Sufficient, but it's not been in much use of late due to your new occupation, has it?"
The younger girl blinked in surprise as the woman went back to the trolley, retrieved a rag from her bag and wiped her hands.
"H-how?"
"The subject, Adrienne Deschamps, appears to be a young woman of twenty or twenty-one. She is in good health considering recent events. I put forth the supposition that she comes from a larger family, and that her family maintains a small herd of cattle, or perhaps sheep, though I would wager on the former. Her mother has some education, a teacher perhaps."
"The subject has, in the last year or two, found employment within the city as a maid to a well-off family, but due to unforeseen circumstances, has had to leave that service and has recently found work as a courtesan in a brothel. On the north side of the Wrenhaven I'd say."
She finally paused and looked defiantly at the girl.
"Is my supposition wrong in any regard?"
The girl stood there shaking her head in the negative. "But, it's magic then? She's a witch?"
"Hah!" Rollo interjected. "Ya can say that again."
"No," James said, relaxing his stance. "No magic involved, just the sharpest mind I've ever seen." He looked at Vivianna. "She is clean then?"
The lady cocked an eyebrow. "I'd have to examine her more thoroughly to see if she was free of any infection, but of the kind you're worried about? Yes, she is fine."
He looked at the young girl then back to Vivianna.
"Could you elaborate more?"
The woman sighed then pinched the bridge of her nose.
"The girl's name, Deschamps. It is an older common surname from middle Gristol. It means 'from the fields'. Basically a farmer. The girl, despite her smaller frame, has good muscle growth in her thighs, and upper arms. She is used to a hard day's labor in the fields."
She smiled.
"Then of course, her first name. Adrienne. From her mother no doubt. It matches perfectly with that raven black patch of hair on her head. Her mother was well read I would say as I don't imagine a farmer affording a tutor for one of his children." She grabbed up the slate and turned it so the others could see it. "Look at this fine style. Not just any farmer's wife taught this girl to write."
"It's true," Adrienne stated meekly. "She was a teacher."
"The girl is healthy, but I doubt the eldest. She'd have more backbone. She's used to being helpful and obedient. And she is quite pretty. I daresay her mother taught her to curtsy properly and convinced her to work as a maid, or a young governess in the big city."
"To Lord Candrege," the girl added with a nod.
"And there we have it," Vivianna laughed in triumph. "Lord Candrege passed away without heir nearly ten months ago. His estate was put up for auction. I should know; papa and I attended." She turned to the younger girl. "Your contract was sold off then I would say. To any who would take it."
With this, the girl nodded and grabbed herself about the waist as a look of shame overtook her features.
"I suspect one of the madams picked it up for only a handful of coins. The oil in her hair is a common scent they use. I prefer Jasmine picked at midnight myself; I find the scent to be very calming. It also explains why you didn't seem surprised as I tested your form. One of the madams had 'inspected' you before."
"As for knowing she has taken up with one of the northern brothels, the rouge and mascara she still wears are of superior quality, not as prone to smearing or wearing off. The rouge smelled of cranberries, to enhance the color no doubt. Only a handful of establishments can afford that for their girls. I would put forth Lady Echkart, or Lucretia Dent." She looked back to the girl. "Use a better quality soap to remove it properly."
"I will, my lady." Adrienne nodded. "And it was Madame Dent I worked for. Until she traded me to Mr. Murlyn for use of his smuggling connections. That was the deal the men had said. A new girl every month or two."
Albert looked surprised at this new information.
"Every month or two? But, I say, we found no others. What became of them?"
Lady Grey looked at him.
"What do you think became of young girls in the hands of brutes such as those?"
"It, this cannot be." He turned to James. "In our city?"
"It's good we found her when we did, it seems," the navy man said, then turned his attention to Vivianna. "Thank you."
She nodded once. "If that is all, then I will take my leave. You owe me nothing for the consultation. Consider it… a favor."
He smirked dryly as she began packing her bag.
Rollo picked up the girl's frock and said, "C'mon then, lass. It's over. Ya can go back ta the other room now. Then we'll see about getting' ya someplace even better ta stay."
Adrienne smiled at him and followed the short man from the room.
After she was finished with her bag, Lady Grey looked back at James.
"So now your collection is complete. First your little blonde courtesan, then that redheaded Morley girl, now this raven-haired child. I can see it now. James Dartley's Home for Wayward Girls." She gestured with her hands as if revealing an invisible sign hanging above them. "With a special wing for 'those of dubious character', so that little Rollo would have a place as well."
"I have a question, if I may," Tuddleston said. "There was no infection, was there? You were testing her character, to see if she were a plant, a spy?"
James grimaced. "One can never be too careful. There are enemies everywhere."
Vivianna growled in frustration. "And that is precisely why I left," she said, her tone scornful. "This delusion of yours that we are somehow at war with the entirety of the underworld of the city. We are not."
She stepped forward, pointing a finger at him. "You weren't the only one to have lost Connie that day. We all lost her. Albert, myself. Outsider's Eyes, even Eric was a friend of hers. But you don't see that, do you? It's only your own misery that you consider and reflect upon. Continually. Obsessively." Her eyes narrowed in indignation. "And William, poor William, her betrothed. He misses her as badly as anyone. I've visited him recently, can you admit the same?"
The naval man remained quiet.
"I thought not. He misses you as well. You remind him of her and he would gladly see you. Converse with you. Share memories. This is the man our dear Connie loved enough to share her life with, and do you give him even a moment of consideration? No, you hide away in some dismal scab of the city. Plotting your little plots, trading favors of dubious merit with people you don't even know, and planning to overthrow corruption. You seek this elusive thread that will somehow lead you to your needed revenge and validate this ruinous path you have set yourself upon."
She paused and took a deep breath. When she spoke again, her voice was much calmer.
"We all lost something that day. Someone." Her eyes softened as anger gave way to regret. She searched his face and in a quiet, almost humble tone said, "Some of us lost even more."
James furrowed his brow and made as if to speak but seemed to rethink his decision.
"Despite that, all you need do is ask and I come running to you." She sighed and picked up her bag. "I guess I always shall."
James and Albert were silent as she headed towards the front exit and stopped in the doorway.
"Be safe. Until you have need of me again," she called over her shoulder.
Then she walked through the door and was gone.