By Friday next, Phantomhive manor is prepared to perfection.
Not to my standards, mind you, which most would say are already over the top. No, to the ridiculously stringent and exacting standards of that fierce martinet, the Lady Francis Midford.
It would be no exaggeration to say the servants and I have slaved for this. It is particularly hard on Maylene, Finny and Bard, since, normally, they accomplish nothing more than eating up my young lord's provender, taking up space and blundering about randomly destroying whatever I have managed to accomplish. But this situation is different and they know it. I often have good reason to belittle their collective intelligence but even they have the wit to realise their jobs as well as the young master's future happiness—which oddly enough, seems to actually distress them even more than the prospect of losing their ridiculously comfortable positions here—are hanging in the balance. Hence they are working with a will rarely seen under this roof.
Maylene has taken off her ridiculous glasses. Finny is acting as her eyes where needed. She is watching that Finny's strength is carefully controlled. Bard,for once, has laid down his idiotic flamethrower and explosives, left the kitchen to me and has picked up a bucket, brush and cleaning rags to go do something actually useful for a change, and I have thrown off the restriction regarding magic which my lord imposed upon me after I conjured up a new manor house and a sumptuous supper for him on our first night together.
I want to make certain, you see, that when the Lady Francis finds fault with us, it will be for the right reasons.
Very early in the morning a carriage is sent round for Lau and a judicious selection of his more discreet 'girls'—as well as some of his best erm, product, shall we say. Ostensibly the purpose behind this involving of the shady Chinese and his stable of 'talented' women is to help celebrate my young lord's upcoming nuptials—in your time you will call it a 'bachelor' or 'stag party' but I'm sure you realise there is more behind my machinations than a simple 'whoopee you're getting married' party.
Things have been carefully staged: the front door has been left unbolted and slightly open. A selection of empty bottles from my young lord's newest hobby—he'd been stashing them beneath his bed inside the box concealing his collection of erotic picture books and penny-dreadfuls—and some old under things of Maylene's we were about to tear into bandages were strewn on the circular drive in front of the front door.
We are awaiting the Midford's arrival. At Lady Midford's insistence they normally arrive quite a bit earlier than expected, So Lau and the servants have been carefully collected and arranged in the smoking room off the dining room and coached as to what they should be doing since right after breakfast.
Of course I have a few tricks of my own planned as well and the servants have not been let in on everything. Lau had been given quite a lot of money and some secret instructions regarding smoking up the room and bringing some choice edibles with him spiked with various intoxicants and hallucinogens for his girls and the servants to 'enjoy'.
And I am beginning to enjoy myself; it's been a long while since I've hosted an orgy.
"What is the meaning of this!" rings out in the foyer at half eleven-proof we were not wrong to begin our plans at the crack of dawn.
At the sound of her voice I exit the smoking room at top speed to fetch my lord. He'd been deliberately allowed to remain abed with a generous selection of alcohol at his elbow. Staging his participation in an orgy is one thing, allowing him to actually participate in one at his age quite another. Remember that protecting him is a large part of my contract, after all.
As I pick him up I am pleased for once to see that he has been playing his part to perfection, helping himself to yet another bottle of brandy and fallen back to sleep while still in his nightshirt and –oh dear—not much else.
Excellent.
Back down (straight through the walls to save time) to the choking atmosphere of the smoking room, just as our visitors cross the dining room and open the door on us. I have just had time enough to pose my young lord and make a few last-minute adjustments to the tableau as Miss Elizabeth bursts into the room howling "Found them mother!" only to be stunned for once into blessed silence.
Of course it will not last. You would think after seeing so many adults barely clothed and lounging about so casually in a room thick with opium smoke she'd run screaming from the premises, but no. There's no end to this girl's ability to deceive herself. Of all things to latch onto she decides to comment on the atmosphere.
"What's that funny smell?" she asks, wrinkling up her nose and pointedly (and very carefully) staring into my eyes and nowhere else. She is particularly careful not to look at Ciel, who is passed out behind me on a settee in just his haphazardly buttoned nightshirt, his legs splayed out in a truly delightful manner, one knee hooked over the arm. Only the brandy bottle between his legs preserving what little is left of his decorum.
The Lady Francis, marching up behind her daughter, is of course made of sterner stuff. "Elizabeth," she bites off, "what have I repeatedly told you about throwing yourself about like this? A lady does not fling herself through closed doors, especially in other peoples' houses! Now march upstairs this minute and unpack. Your brother has already taken your trunk up to your usual room since no servants were available to do it. Unpack and stay there until I tell you otherwise."
"But Mother, what is wrong with my darling Ciel? He looks ill and I—"
"Elizabeth Ethel Cordelia Midford!"
The girl freezes and blanches, eyes big as cricket balls. Well. At least there is someone somewhere on this pathetic planet whom the stubborn girl actually listens to. "Yes, mother," she says meekly and then scuttles off.
"Now. Exactly what manner of debauchery is this?!" the Marchioness says in a dangerously soft, controlled voice.
"Only the very best, my lady," I answer her from my spot on the floor, "for only the very best of everything will do for my lord the earl of Phantomhive." I say, rolling off a startled, beet red Maylene, who has only just this moment (thanks to the incredibly thick opium smoke in the room) realised she and I were lying together, both quite naked —it hadn't been her doing, of course— as were most of the other people in the room. That is to say they are in various advanced stages of undress, Lau included. He has on a kimono, full stop. It is only draped over his shoulders, however so it hardly counts as clothing. No obi or sash with it and no fundoshi or anything remotely like it. Just 100% genuine unadulterated Lau as far as the eye dare see. Furthermore, he is making no effort to keep the garment closed in front, and that is all he is wearing other than an opium pipe and an absurdly proud smile.
Well I did tell him 'come as you are'.
Yes yes, an evil trick. Of course an evil trick! Exactly what did you people expect from a demon? Church hymns and a prayer circle?
Maylene shrieks and wriggles out from under me, stopping just a long enough to stare wistfully at the masculine glories she is abandoning in her scramble to reclaim propriety—I predict she will never forgive herself.I am anything but shy by nature; I let her look. She takes it hard, poor girl. Ah but she does want me in the worst way-which, co-incidentally, is precisely the way I had been planning on taking her if I'd had time and could manage to get away with it. Sadly however, Lady Francis came early and I, not at all.
There is simply no justice in the world.
At any rate, Maylene makes good her escape, stumbling over to the grand piano, ripping away the protective tapestry draped over it, upsetting a candelabrum, a flower vase full of fresh white roses and a vast collection of photographs and bric-a-brac, and in the process showering her naked flesh with broken crystal, water, thorny cut flowers and picture frames. Not that she cares particlarly. She is clearly intent on only one goal and that is getting her voluptuous body back under wraps and then trying to edge her way out of the room as discreetly as possible while simultaneously trying to capture the blood slowly dripping down her upper lip before it stains the priceless, pastel Aubusson carpet.
Once under the inhibition-banishing influence of the opium smoke and Lau's spiked'breakfast treats', Bard and Finny are an unforeseen serendipitous bonus: they were currently rutting loudly and uninhibitedly on the leather chesterfield—thank Asmodeus it was dark leather! Otherwise I can't think how I should ever have cleaned it up—completely oblivious to their surroundings let alone their audience. And noisy! I couldn't have asked for better if I'd handed them a script. I suppose I really should visit the servant's quarters more often. Look at what I have beenmissing!
Personally, I have yet to move, other than to casually prop my head up with the heel of one hand, the better to observe the Marchioness' reactions to it all. Also, I want to give her ample time to appreciate the brand new tattoo I have just that morning conjured up across my bum just for her viewing pleasure. "Honey Hole" it says. One word for each cheek.
Well, she saw it but hadn't taken it as big as I'd hoped, so I roll up onto my hip to give her a look at the other side. She pinks up a bit at that, but she does not lose sight of her goal. Honestly. What a woman! I can clearly see which side of the family Ciel gets it from.
"You there, butler. I want this nonsense cleared up, THAT (she points to Lau) removed, and YOU (pointing to me) back in your uniform by the time I come back down these stairs. Do I make myself clear?"
Lau saunters up to her, his robe flapping around his long white legs.
"Now now, my Lady," he croons soothingly "this will not do. We have only just got started here! You are the visitor, the visitor who has decided to show up earlier than announced which is really quite rude, would you not agree?
"In view of that, shouldn't it be you who falls in with our ways? So, my dear, why not relax, have yourself a pipe and join us, eh? I have a spare." He smiles broadly after blowing a huge puff of the stuff right into her face, and then produces an extra pipe from I shudder to guess where and attempts to hand it to her. She, however, is 'not buying'.
"I'll just bet that fiery personality of yours would translate beautifully into fiery passion if only you'd let it,hm?" and then he dares to run a fingertip along the Lady's jaw, tipping her chin up and smiling at her as fetchingly as he knows how. For once Lau's total ignorance plays in his favour: if he knew what sort of fierce creature he was fingering, he'd never have risked that finger for fear of having it bitten clean off.
Good old Lau. A pain in the arse generally, but at times like this, he's a true brick. Zero chance of any of this behaviour of his actually working, but at least he's tried. And who knows, as she stands there in the doorway inhaling the fumes, perhaps something might have possibly changed within her. Certainly she is uncharacteristically silent for a few moments, studying at that inscrutable face before her, but fortunately my master chooses this precise moment to vomit most impressively all over himself and the little settee he is slumped in.
If there had been a vomiting award for distance or trajectory he would surely have taken home the prize. As it is all he does is bring his aunt back to her senses.
"Take your hand off me sir. I neither know you nor care to. Slither back to whatever subterranean realm you crawled out from and never darken my family's door again!" The woman thunders impressively. Lau casts an eye my way for a hint as to which way to go and I signal he ought to follow her direction. "And you, you ludicrous excuse for a butler: take that bottle away from my nephew immediately and get his clothes back on him. And back on you as well, you utterly indecent creature! NOW!" The woman takes a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabs at her forehead, upper lip and neck with it, then using it as a makeshift fan. "Thank God Alexis and Edward remained in the foyer as I asked them to. Completely and utterly disgraceful!"
Perhaps her mouth was saying 'disgraceful', but Lady Francis' lingering eyes and moistening features are telling me another story all together. I begin to wonder just what the evening might hold for us all.
Behind me Finny and Bard manage to fall clean off the Chesterfield. The Marchioness' entrance doesn't even slow them down one iota. Lady Francis barely spares them a withering glance before turning on her heel and exiting the room. My my. Are we going to have to bugger sheep on the dining room table during supper in order to put this woman off?
.
.
Supper is a truly dismal affair, even without my lord's epic hangover. With it, he manages to make of all our lives just that much more are made even more delightfully chaotic by my insisting on Maylene and Finny serving in the dining room, with predictable results. Each time the maid lays eyes on either Lady Francis or myself she changes colours like a giant squid, turning either white or red or both in rapid succession and drops what she is carrying, or for variety, tosses it into the air—she does the latter no less than three times with truly spectacular results.
I attempt to give her direction on her abysmal serving technique but I might as well be talking to a post. Nearly every time she reacts badly she manages to slop something scalding over either Lady Francis or Ciel or both, and once she manages to get Edward in the eye with a flying pickled gherkin which sends him howling out of the room screaming he's been blinded. It is difficult not to cackle with glee.
Needless to say by the end of the meal tensions are such I am expecting the spontaneous combustions to begin at any minute. And when the Marquis and his wife both find broken glass in their tiramisu, dinner is officially given up on and everybody stalks off to their respective bedrooms in filthy moods.
This early abdication of the ground floor suits me because I have agreat deal to do to get ready for the masque we will be hostingSaturday night.
