Sebastian paced around the large kitchen of the Midford country estate with ease. He swiftly snatched spices off of their shelves and deposited them like soldiers in straight lines on the counter near the large stove. An oversized cauldron sputtered on the gas burners of the stove, and Sebastian absently smiled at it while rolling up his sleeves. He turned to the man huddling in front of him and stepped closer.

"We have almost finished. I require you to apply all your strength this time…"

"I'm too tired t' deal wi' this. Please, Mister Sebastian, no more!"

"Just once more, sir."

"I'm just too tired! I can't-"

"Of course you can," Sebastian stated simply with another smile. The gentlemen faced each other and began their task. After a few moments, a sharp crack resounded in the room. The other man jerked back and tripped over a neat stack of freshly cleaned pans, sprawling onto the ground. Tossing their work into the bubbling cauldron, Sebastian then immediately moved to help the man to his feet.

"I do apologize if you have sustained any very lamentable injuries during this activity."

"A touch foolhardy, if you ask me…"

"Indeed. But the Devonshire recipe that Lady Atherton requested calls for six blue crabs. This kitchen does not possess either a mallet, fork, or any other practical utensil with which to crack the shell and separate the legs. The joints are quite tough, and I thank you for helping me dismember them all."

"Seems like a foolhardy way t' do things, but alrigh- gah! How'd you get all them blue crab's innards into the stewpot so quickly?!"

"As the butler of the Atherton family, it goes without saying that I must work quickly and efficiently. Mister Bellamy, wasn't it?"

"Yes sir, Bellamy's me name. Just Bellamy."

The short man staring up at the butler in open fascination could have been anywhere between 17 and 30 years old, his age remarkably well hidden. A pair of cracked old wire spectacles sat on his crooked nose. Sebastian had looked directly at Bellamy when meeting him that morning and met the weary and wizened gaze of an old man. But, his mousy brown hair held no grey and curled neatly behind his ears. Bellamy's pronunciation occasionally indicated an early life of hardship among the working class – perhaps he once lived within earshot of the bells of St. Mary-le-Bow in London –, but his tone was soft as a wind whistling through Midford at night. But beneath his rumpled shirt and tie an observer could see the faint outline of muscles.

"Again, my thanks to you, Bellamy, for helping me with the soup."

"Tell me, sir, is my lady goin' t' let me off now that she's got you?"

"Of course not. I am merely head butler of the Atherton household. The Marchioness of Midford still requires your most satisfactory service."

Bellamy roughly rubbed his right shoulder, and then hopped onto an unused counter to watch with fascination as Sebastian flung an array of tantalizing ingredients and deliciously aromatic spices into the cauldron. Melted butter bubbled as Sebastian stirred, bits celery and onion softening immediately and floating to the surface. He poured frothy milk into and moved to prepare the Melba toast. It would be an understatement to say that the scent of the simmering soup filling the kitchen was heavenly.

"Um…gentlemen? Where is Nanny Kitty?" A feeble trembling voice made Bellamy and Sebastian whirl around and come face to face with Edward Atherton, Elizabeth's beloved but sickly son.

"Good afternoon, Master Edward. Shouldn't you be resting?" Though his smile seemed a tad weak, Edward waved at Sebastian cheerily.

"Good afternoon Sebastian. Nanny Kitty left me. I want to know where she's gone…"

"Ah Kitty probably took a break, sir." Bellamy jumped to attention and bowed at Edward, who chuckled a little. Then the boy started coughing, shoulders beginning to shake violently, and instantly Sebastian was at his side with a handkerchief. Eventually the fit quieted, and Edward shook his head miserably, though not a single silky length of his dark blonde hair slid out of place.

"She is coming back, right?"

"Of course!" Both men answered, a little taken aback. At that moment, in burst a fury of red tangles. If one had attempted to tame and brush aside those knots and twists of red, they would have caught a glimpse of the milky white face of Kitty Connolly, perpetually flustered nurse and nanny of the Atherton household. She stumbled on her own two feet and nearly tumbled head-first into the vat of bubbling soup. Deftly, Sebastian swooped to Kitty's side and gracefully lifted her back onto her feet, ultimately saving Kitty from the embarrassment of having her skirts fly up and rescuing the soup from ruination.

If her hair were not in rats, the company in the kitchen could have seen the vivid blood-red blush that suffused Kitty's face as she nestled into Sebastian's firm grasp. Edward laughed, and spontaneously burst into another coughing fit that an anxious Bellamy attempted to calm. Kitty stuttered and struggled the push her masses of red tangles aside as she stepped back and rushed towards Edward.

"Oh Master Edward, here, here is your favorite handkerchief. It always makes you feel better. Please take it!"

She gave her ward his favorite freshly-pressed blue handkerchief and patted his back while his fit continued. Edward quieted down again and pushed away the cloth. Kitty stood up and nervously fidgeted with her rumpled apron. She fought to brush her hair out of her face and stammered when she spoke to Sebastian.

"T-thank you M-Mister Seb-b-bastian! I'm a-awful so clumsy, an' m-much obliged t-to you." Sebastian suppressed a sigh and resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Honestly, Kitty, your lack of natural poise reminds of-…" Sebastian realized the direction of his thoughts and fell silent. Kitty's face fell and she threw him a concerned look from behind her hair.

"L-like who, M-Mister Sebastian? Y-you thinking o-of y-your b-bonny sweetheart?" Sebastian recovered his manners and gave her an impersonal smile.

"No, Miss Connelly. Merely an old associate of mine." Mey-Rin, he thought to himself, annoyance warring with fondness at her memory. And her skill with dual pistols. It seemed to him that signing on with Lady Atherton had wrested the cap off of his memories. Absorbed in the growing flood of recollection he faced, Sebastian paid no heed to the glowing smile of reassurance on Nanny Kitty's face.

Kitty hustled Edward out of the kitchen with murmurs of apologies to the young lord and an apologetic glance at Sebastian and Bellamy. The black butler removed the pot from the stove and expertly transferred it to the elaborate silver tureen nearby. Bellamy hummed and looked out the tiny window.

"Bless Master Edward's soul, he's such a polite mite- I mean gentleman! I'm going t' cook him something real sweet for him on his birthday." Sebastian did roll his eyes this time while Bellamy danced around the kitchen. Today he appeared to be his rash, optimistic 17-year-old self. Perhaps tomorrow he would be his more intrusive, silent 30-yeaar-old persona. One could only hope. Sebastian paced proudly out of the kitchen carrying the tureen in one steady hand, and balancing a tray in the other.

He walked out onto a patio that overlooked the rose gardens. The airy breeze ruffled Lady Elizabeth's curls and blew two radical strands of hair into the Marchioness of Midford's face. She glared at them, as though they would desist and retreat in the face of her displeasure. The other women on the patio peered at Sebastian from under the wide brimmed sunhats as his long legs took him to the head of the table, draped with a pristine white lace cloth.

"What do you have for us at this luncheon today, Sebastian?" He bowed respectfully.

"My lady, if I may." Lady Elizabeth waited a moment for the chatter of her companions to die down, and then nodded her assent.

"Today the staff and I at Midford have prepared…" He paused as the guests leaned in. With a grand flourish, Sebastian unveiled the tureen and listened to the quiet hums and murmurs of approval.

"Devonshire crab soup, the breezy tang reminiscent of the quaint seaside of Brighton in East Sussex. For the entrée, delicate cucumber sandwiches will be brought out, followed by citrus ice to offset the heat of this afternoon." The butler served the women seated at the table and bowed again to Lady Elizabeth, who held her hand out imperiously.

"Please see to it that the gardeners have pruned the rose bushes for our afternoon constitutional."

"Very good, my lady." Sebastian returned leisurely to the kitchens of the Midford country estate. He inhaled calmly, flipping his hair behind his ear and savoring the silent kitchen. Finally! One delightful moment of solitude. The butler could not hope for peace, firstly because of his devilishness and secondly…Not after Ciel. Sebastian rolled his and allowed himself a tiny smirk. Really, I am becoming so maudlin.

Then, Sebastian braced himself and swung out the single window crudely cut into the bricks of the kitchen. Without breaking a sweat, he climbed a tree to the rooftops of the manor and glided gracefully across the tiles. Soundlessly, the devil flew down a gutter pipe and dove through a tiny opening in of the manicured hedges of the gardens. None but Lady Atherton heard the most miniscule little rustle of leaves as the unnatural butler positioned himself and waited, motionless, awaiting the conversation to start. The supremely efficient devil had already seen to the pruning of the rose bushes beforehand. Unknown to the Marchioness of Midford, Lady Atherton had dismissed the gardening staff for the day.

A stiff voice broke the pleasant silence first, one Sebastian recognized as belonging to the old steel-haired matron Lady Marsbury.

"Do allow me to say, Lady Atherton, that you have acquired an excellent staff." The rather scandalous and ill-mannered young Lady Spell tittered and jumped in with her own inapt commentary.

"Let us hope your second husband will allow you to replace his own household with yours, or I daresay calling on you won't be near so pleasant."

Sebastian chuckled a little at the ensuing flurry of questions directed at his mistress. Though the Marchioness of Midford was the only woman he could not detect through the shrubbery, he knew that she would barely conceal her murderous glare towards Lady Spell. The chatter sounded quite banal and not very intriguing in the least, but Sebastian remained, unmoving and oblivious to the heat of the sun on his black wool uniform.

As the ladies pursued one particular vein of chatter, he was hyper-aware of his mistress' silent, impatient tapping on the rim of her glass with her finger. Sebastian watched as she daintily tasted the Devonshire recipe, knowing instinctively that a corner of her mouth twitched upward in reluctant approval. With a stern frown, the puzzled devil forced himself to focus on his mistress' guests.

"I was quite surprised to hear tell that the Duke of Grimsbury is entertaining this season."

"In London?!"

"Ah, I was quite astonished as well!"

"Oh yes, I'm terribly surprised." The sarcasm in Lady Atherton's agreement was close enough to the surface for her mother the Marchioness to send a suspicious glare in her direction. Nevertheless, Sebastian found himself impressed by the serene blankness of his mistress' countenance, devoid of any hint that her comment was anything but sincere and polite. Her bland half-smile made her appear merely pretty, but her hair glowed with the intense attention of the sun as it shone on her.

He was distracted again, and Sebastian frowned again.

"I was pleased to have received an invite to His Grace's estate in London at the beginning of the season." Lady Spell fanned herself delicately. Neither Lady Atherton nor the Marchioness of Midford directly engaged the young woman. Rather, the Marchioness turned to her daughter with curiosity in her usually unyielding gaze.

"Accepting an invitation to His Grace the Duke of Grimsbury's estate would be a practical and pleasant event at which you could make a proper reintroduction into society." Sebastian managed to keep himself from rolling his eyes.

"I have already accepted an invitation, madam, and for the very same dinner party to which Lady Spell is alluding." Lady Atherton responded to her mother's barely concealed instruction coolly.

"Oh, we shall have to start corresponding after we leave our respective estates, Lady Atherton. I should like to know the outcome of this dinner party." A fresh-faced young woman close to Lady Spell turned the tide of the conversation expertly.

At a small snap of Lady Elizabeth's fingers, Sebastian appeared in the doorway of the veranda to clear away the dishes. He would have hours to see to the proper cleaning of the table setting, and perhaps polish the grand staircase, before the party ended and his mistress called on him again.

Dusk neared its end as the moon ascended into the sky and the bustle of visitors and servants slowed to nothing. Just as he applied the last coat of Guardsmen's Wood Polish to the bottom rungs of the stairs, his ears pricked at the sound of a high silver bell. He rose and flew to his mistress' boudoir, where Anne played quietly with her dolls beside her mother.

"I have managed to avoid a month of the season, Sebastian. But, no longer. My mother believes it is high time I returned to London and reentered society, preferably before the middle of March. I had already made preliminary arrangements, but you must oversee the remainder of the packing if we are to leave in two days' time."

"Of course madam."

"I expect to entertain one private visitor immediately upon my return."

"At least one, my lady, without a doubt."

"Exceptional. Thank you, Sebastian. On a different matter, I should very much appreciate coffee tomorrow morning whilst I interview governesses for Anne. Perhaps a simple sweet Danish pastry as well, since I must also miss breakfast with my mother to meet with the Spaniard arriving tomorrow. We have some… trade in Spain to attend to before moving any farther forward."

"But we are moving forward regardless. Is that correct madam?" She studied a small paper in her hand with an angry frown.

"Yes. The gathering this afternoon was splendid. I hope you now know their voices and faces well, Sebastian." Anne made an exploding sound nearby and momentarily distracted Lady Elizabeth.

"Nurse Nightingale! We have more soldiers to-"

"I have memorized what I needed to, my lady." She abruptly refocused on her butler with a frown. Anne continued to play, oblivious to the scheme unfolding a foot away. Lady Elizabeth tossed a grainy tin-type photograph onto the coffee table and pointed a sharply manicured nail at the face.

"I've another undertaking for you this evening, Sebastian. This man here holds the reigns of the paltry few Atherton interests in Shanghai. Ivan Filipovic."

"A Serbian, my lady?"

"Quite. I have reason to believe he is selling off our family stocks without permission and pocketing the proceeds. I have received complaints from the widows of the workers he has supervised, claiming they never received compensation. After closer inspection of his records, I learned that he utilizes some…unacceptable connections in dealing with these allegations. My genteel attempts to further examine and modify his operating style have not been successful. Any representatives I send in my stead fail to report back to me. Perhaps you could find more effective and less hazardous methods of investigation and confrontation?"

"Very good, madam. I will see to it. Should Mister Filipovic prove uncooperative, what recourse am I to pursue?"

Elizabeth looked mildly uncomfortable for a split second, as though she didn't quite believe she had to spell it out for her butler in front of her little girl.

"Kill him, of course." Sebastian straightened to his full height, determined not to let Lady Atherton see how completely she had shocked him.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I would prefer to leave as few unsavory, revenge-bent loose ends in my wake as possible."

"...Ah, you would have me-"

"Must I repeat myself a second time? Or was I incorrect about the nature of your contract with Ciel?"

Yes. The devil was so tempted to reply honestly. His mistress had hit her mark expertly, although she was still unaware of the fact. He chose a different response.

"That is most certainly among my skill set, my lady. If you will allow me, is this interaction about the standards of the Atherton Company or revenge?" Elizabeth considered the question for a moment before offering a subtle shrug with her answer.

"Why not both? I have no intention of yielding either ambition for the sake of the other. You have your instructions, Sebastian."

"Of course, Madam." He exited the room and strode down the hall quickly, eagerly tearing his clean gloves off with his sharp teeth. There would be no use in getting blood on such a costly pair of gloves. No reputable butler of the Atherton family would stain any aspect of his uniform.

Ivan Filipovic stepped out of an opium den into the crisp Shanghai night, a self-satisfied smile marring his features. A bedraggled beggar approached him, and Filipovic shoved the poor man away with a vicious sneer. He pocketed four hundred pounds he'd been clutching in his fist and strutted down the empty narrow streets towards his sumptuous home, twirling his cane. A cat hissed and he paused briefly.

"Mister Filipovic, how nice to make your acquaintance…" He started and whirled around to face a shadow; he strained to see eyes, or any aspect of this dark person's face. All he could see was a grim grin.

"Ay! I don't care what you are selling or doing. I'm not interested." The shadow slithered into step beside him. He dared a sideways glance and Filipovic still only saw the menacing smile.

"I think you will be interested, Mister Filipovic. I am on official business from England, inquiring into the well-being of Atherton Company's workers and profit margins."

"None of your damned business, Englishman!" The lilt of Britain was a dead giveaway for the Serb, and he relaxed for a short moment. But relief faded as the shadow appeared to grow before his eyes, and melted into his path, preventing Filipovic from stepping past him.

"Oh it is my business, sir. I would also like to know what you have sold for four-hundred pounds just now…"

He sneered and burst through the shadow all at once, clutching his ill-gotten gains tightly and running in the direction of his home. The shadow pursued him with a fearful speed, and the breath caught in Filipovic's throat. He glanced back and could still only stare in horror at the widening smile of the shadow.

"You tell that meddling woman to keep her nose out of our business."

"I am sure Lady Atherton would be intrigued to hear about your business. She still owns it, I presume?"

"Go away!"

"What have you sold, Mister Filipovic?" The horrifying whisper sent spasms down the man's spine. He dug into his pocket for the money and hurled it into the empty street.

"Pomôžte mi!" He cried out for help in his native tongue. He turned to continue his run but stopped in cold terror as the shadow enveloped him, bringing him to the cobbled ground. He whined and hugged himself as the shadow drew near and peeled back its licked lips to speak.

"Tell me, how much tasteless enjoyment do you get by selling off the pension of a widow and her children? Perhaps you have a deeper secret hoarded in the recesses of your mind?"

"I-I'll…I'll t-tell you anything!" Quietly removing neatly folded sheaths of paper from the breast pocket of Filipovic's fine suit, the devilish shadow terrified him with another horrid grin. The man started shaking uncontrollably as the shadow watched him with amusement.

"No need. Your accounts and records have told me all I wished to know. I merely needed the list of associates you keep on your person at all times. Mister Filipovic, I commend you for your service to Atherton Company. At this time, Lady Elizabeth Atherton, Dowager Marchioness of Clare, has decided to terminate your employment..."

Two guards leaving the luxurious compound of Ivan Filipovic heard an unearthly scream of terror. The burly guards rushed around the corner and saw their master Filipovic lying huddled on the dirty cobbles of the street. The burlier guard turned him over and felt for a pulse. Then he turned to his comrade.

"God help us. Master Filipovic is dead!"

"There's not a soul around to have killed him." Both guards looked and saw nothing, not even a corner hidden from the bright moonlight.

"This is no murder. Look at his face. Clearly he died of fright."