Part 7: Coagulation
You are my ambrosia, existing to be the ultima materia that glorifies me. Transport me to the empyreal infinite, for your existence is my exaltation.
After days of preparation, weeks of planning, the town house was ready to host the most talked of event of the season. Ladies flounced out of carriages, pools of taffeta and glittering by the light of whimsical lanterns. Gentlemen relinquished hats, coats and canes to Bardroy who kept such finery safely in the front parlour. Ladies stopped to admire the displays of foxglove and freesia, crimson dahlia and the richest roses. As I announced each guest they stifled gasps at the crystal tinkering overhead, garlands wove with hollyhock and iris, servers with champagne at every turn. The pianist played soft dulcet tunes as the women fluttered their fans, making their engagements for the dances that evening. Men shook hands, taking to the spirits in haste and approving of the Earl's hospitality and fine sensibilities.
People trickled into the town house for close to an hour, and no Reaper was in sight. I checked my watch: a quarter past nine. The young master was due to make his entrance to begin the event. I craned my neck past the threshold of the ball room as I heard knocking from the top of the stair, the sound of polished heels descending.
Shoes of the softest white leather buckled with garnet cabochon, silk sweeping over delicate ankles and still-boyish calves, stockings meeting trousers tight over his thighs. A shock of crimson velvet, a jacket buttoned low and with wide lapels, waist coat of the finest brocade, ruffled cravat and lace peeking from wrist cuffs. Buttons gleamed gold, silk chords draped from the shoulder to display his most noble rank. On his chest was pinned the icy white of a rosebud against the field of red. He paused on the top stair to beckon his fiancée forward. The light danced on his profiled face, cheeks without blemish, hair slicked back behind ears dotted with ruby.
Each regal curve and line, each flattering angle, every movement suggested poise and majesty. As he watched Elizabeth turn the corner, I allowed myself that one moment to stare from my position in the foyer.
He was beautiful.
The lady took his arm on the left, holding out her skirt as they descended. She was matched to his loveliness, but not to the quiet potency of presence.
The young master locked me in his gaze and nodded. I turned to the entrance where guests were congregated in small groups. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?" The crowd was plunged into silence and I felt a shimmer of unconscious apprehension flicker over them. It must have been my disposition, an unmoving black spot amongst all that gleaming opulence. I smiled. "I present to you your host and hostess of this festive occasion, the Earl of Phantomhive and his esteemed fiancée, Lady Elizabeth Midford."
I stepped to the side just as the pair moved forward through a threshold hung with garland. The guests drew an audible "ahh!" and erupted in applause. Ciel switched on his most perfect smile to complete his ensemble and bowed, then gestured his lady forward. Layers of silk and organza billowed about her as she curtsied, all crisp white yet trimmed in burgundy. Jewels glinted vermilion against the pearl sheen of her bodice, thick gold embroidery on every inch. Diamonds were sprinkled about her neck, her bare wrists, and gold curls swept over pale shoulders.
It was as an image from a picture book, a pair of dolls in their small fineries. The guests looked upon this scene as idyllic youth, the last vestige of true courtly love. They saw such a wise match as a triumph of good society. How wonderful, that these two were primed for each other! How splendid, that such a nobleman has this occasion for a worthy cause! How dazzling, that he should arrange this in her honour! How suburb, that he should meet her status with such success! The triumph of Ciel Phantomhive and Elizabeth Midford was just as much society's triumph.
I slipped into the room unnoticed and from the corner I watched as they proceeded into the ball room, Ciel shaking hands with his esteemed guests. Elizabeth curtsied every few steps as she offered her praise and gratitude. Of course people had compliments for her in kind. People insisted she had hair spun of gold and a mind to match. Every movement appeared effortless: how she glided, positioned her wrists, held her chin. All the while she held to the Earl's left arm and he occasionally stole a glance to see her unfaltering smile. I watched his placid contentment, for I saw in him the feeling that he had finally, finally done something right by her.
They reached the dais on the far side of the expansive room. My young master raised his hands and the guests quieted for him to speak. "Thank you, and welcome to this esteemed occasion, the likes of which have not been held in the house of Phantomhive since the days of my predecessor. None of this could have been possible without the support of all of you and your generous donations. We gather to celebrate charity, a virtue we endeavour to uphold for its own sake. We carry the responsibility to give in turn to the society that has given us such nobility."
There was much applause, and I knew the real purpose of charity was for the elite to bolster and justify their lofty positions. My master knew it, and would not for a moment fool himself in believing that the words he spoke can from a sentiment of true altruism. It was what his polite company wished to hear.
"It is because of our combined efforts that this charity has met its goal. Plans for the new hospital wing will be enacted six months ahead of its original schedule." More applause. "I could not possibly take the entire credit for this achievement." Ciel gestured to his lovely fiancée beside him. "My Lady Elizabeth is the true inspiration of this event, for it is her virtue that guides my actions in this enterprise. I am grateful for her encouragement and support." The audience gave greater cheer at this statement. "So I dedicate the success of this event to Lady Elizabeth Ethel Cordelia Midford, soon to be Countess Elizabeth Phantomhive." A delighted roar erupted in the space, gentlemen proclaiming, "Here here!" "Good man!" and women beside themselves as they hid joyful tears behind their fans.
He gave the musicians behind him the signal to start the opening waltz. The music overtook cheering and the crowd parted for the couple to begin the dance. I overheard a pair of young ladies murmur, "The Earl Phantomhive is actually initiating this ball as a proper gentleman?" This must have been a surprise even to Elizabeth, for a moment her confidence faltered as she gawked at her betrothed who guided her to the centre of the room, turning her to place his right hand on her waist.
From the side he spotted Joanne standing tall and lovely, the other guests about him none the wiser. He winked above his fan. The next moment Ciel took his first confident step to the music and a measure in Elizabeth's smile broke over her face once more, filled with even greater wonder. Ciel Phantomhive was waltzing, and quite well, point in fact. This was sure to bolster his reputation. Was he known to always turn down a dance? This single act dispelled any notion that the Earl was inept in social situations, despite any hushed talk of purported less-than-wholesome underground activity; he could indeed display himself as a gentleman of the highest calibre.
Elizabeth's skirts billowed, organza fluttering at every turn, the most charming flush on her cheeks. She beheld her cousin as some unknown creature, perhaps pondering, "He is so unlike the Ciel I have known these past years." There was no brooding countenance, just an easy confidence. The crowd watched on, their delight to see their ideal of love realised, the thing dreams are made of.
Other couple soon joined in, champagne glasses set on tables and soon the room was filled with a riot of hues as skirts streamed and heels clicked. I watched smiling faces, heard the laughter and indeed, the whole thing had gone off without a hitch.
I thought to a few short hours prior, where Ciel seemed rather unexcited over the entire event. That was until he saw Joanne step out of his room looking more radiant than ever. With tears threatening to spill over his powdered cheeks he whispered to my master, "There is nothing I could ever give you to repay for this."
"You have, Joanne." Even Ciel's quickest declarations were weighted with unspoken meaning. He pulled Joanne into the guest room and the door shut behind them. It was a relief that Elizabeth was preoccupied with her own preening rituals, Prince Soma lounging downstairs and the servants too busy in the kitchen.
Joanne stood next to the Indian Prince who decided to wear a sherwani of rich brocade, all violet paisley and lotus, which was a brilliant contrast to the gold finery that dripped from him. He saw this as a courtly event and it was his most formal attire. He received many side glances, but truth of it was, for all the mother of pearl and sapphire embellishing every edge, even the slippers on his feet, he was the most richly adorned individual of the party.
After the shock of foreign royalty having been invited by Phantomhive, many attendants then turned their attention to that quiet and unassuming lady in that most dazzling Paris green. What a unique choice for the season! The ladies commented, to which Joanne nodded his thanks.
At some point between dances Prince Soma noticed a familiar face in the crowd. "Ah! Jacobsen!" As I was bringing out more champagne I heard the Indian's loud pitch across the room, and a young man turned his head in response. He had an approachable, simple grace to him: sandy hair, a rather round face and warm eyes, and looked to be the sort to give a proper handshake.
Joanne backed away into the side parlour where the dessert buffet was located. I reasoned there had to be at least one guest in that room in need of refreshment. Slipping past the crowd, I found Joanne standing in the corner of the room facing the wall and fanning himself.
"Champagne, my lady?" He jumped as he heard my voice. I handed him a crystal flute filled near to the brim. He took it and gulped in a most un-ladylike manner. "Do mind yourself. You attract more attention when you are flustered."
"What am I to do?" Joanne was crumbling into another one of his panicked states, and I remembered how my young master could smooth his unease with no effort.
"Please wait here a moment." I found Ciel in a far corner, speaking to Chlaus who he had not seen in an age. His uncle, to what relation none of us understood, but simply assumed him as "uncle," had come to London all the way from Prague just for the event.
Chlaus greeted me and helped himself to a flute of champagne from my tray. After formalities I murmured to my young master, "There is a lady by the buffet who is an acquaintance of yours but too nervous to ask you for a dance."
"Who is it?"
"You know."
"Do I? Sebastian, can't you see I'm busy?"
"Now, nephew, don't pass up the attentions of a lady on account of me." Chlaus patted Ciel on the shoulder. "You enchanted everyone with that first dance. There's no doubt there is more than one woman here too shy to dance with the Earl."
"I doubt that." Nonetheless the young man promised to finish their conversation later. I sunk to the wall and Ciel continued his way to the side parlour assuming I was in tow. It was amusing to watch him enter the parlour occupied only by Joanne and think to himself, "I see no lady... oh. Oh." Then proceed to turn around and scold me and come to find I was standing nowhere near him.
It was only a moment later heads turned to see Ciel guiding a lady onto the dance floor, and it was all rather striking indeed because this unknown woman in such a smart shade of green had a few inches on the Earl but he would insist on leading her through the next song.
Joanne had plans to leave the town house the next morning. There was no guarantee if he and Ciel would see each other ever again. Such was the way of it, for Joanne had his own life and obligations to attend to. This was but a fleeting dream for him. As far as my master was concerned, there was no telling what the next day could hold. This had all been a reprieve for him, a much needed one, but easy days would never be plentiful for my master.
He spun into a Viennese waltz to hide his unwavering amusement at their present situation. Ciel held to Joanne almost too close and grasped his hand with subtle intimacy. When he danced with Elizabeth, he had been a perfect gentleman. When dancing with Joanne, there was unmistakable familiarity. A few noticed the Earl dancing and inquired, "I wonder who that lady is, do you know?"
"No, but she seems to know the Earl well enough."
"I wonder if Lady Elizabeth knows who she is."
I watched the young master whisper something close, and Joanne giggled and clutched at his arm. They were amusing themselves with this display. Elizabeth noticed the two and she attempted to hide her look of disapproval behind a fan. It was only a dance, and of course Ciel would look at his friend in such a familiar manner. Men and women never look at each other that way, it would be most unbecoming.
Of course everyone else around them was seeing the Earl dancing with a lady, which was not necessarily out of the ordinary. What was inordinate about the situation was that Ciel looked to be enjoying himself.
Prince Soma called out to Ciel as the two whirled by. Surely the young Mr. Jacobsen who had been standing by the Prince, his former colleague at Weston, had locked eyes with that mystery woman and felt her familiar in some uncanny way.
After the dance was when Prince Soma and Mr. Jacobsen approached Ciel and Joanne. I overheard introductions being made and Mr. Jacobsen took Joanne's hand. "You must think I'm mad for stating this, so forgive me if I startle, my lady, but..." he paused in response to Joanne laughing behind his fan. "Dear miss, why are you giggling at me?"
He snapped the fan closed and presented a most perfect curtsy. When he rose he felt Ciel's hand on his back and stood up even straighter. "Because the pleasure is all mine, Richard."
The former Weston prefect covered his mouth in shock and my young master replied, "Now, keep your wits, lest I remove you. Here, have some refreshment." Prince Soma just laughed, mumbling half-Bengali over the hilarity of the entire situation. Ciel snapped his fingers and there I was with more champagne, and he made it a point to hand a flute to Mr. Jacobsen from my tray. "To friends, old and new, and the trust built between them."
They toasted, and that was that.
There was a good hour of dancing before the string quartet stood up, bowed, and left for an intermission. Ciel excused himself from a conversation with some elder gentleman and stood on the dais once more. I was going to tend to the buffet but reasoned it could wait, since the attention of the guests was focused on him.
Agni walked beside me. "What is happening?"
"The master and his lady have prepared a performance for the evening."
"So he has improved his skills with the violin in the two years since we first met him?"
My young master proclaimed, "If I would have your attention, please." Elizabeth appeared from the crowd with Ciel's violin. "Perhaps it is a little out of the ordinary for a host to give performance at his own function, but as you well know, I've never been one for ordinary." The audience chuckled. "The piece my betrothed and I wish to play for you... she chose the composition because it spoke to her the feeling of love, the full breadth of it."
He took the offering of the instrument and bow and the lady sat at the piano. A strange, expectant silence filled the room, and for a moment it looked as if Ciel had lost his words. He surveyed the crowd as if searching. His gaze met with mine, as I stood to the side.
He smiled. There was a sort of distant gratitude but I could not place its reason.
"The full breadth of love... I feel I have spent these past few months discovering what that means." He was staring right at me. "This song explains it in a way that I won't try to give words to. And so with that... I dedicate this song to..." he turned to Elizabeth. Her dress spilled over the bench, and she looked to be sitting amongst clouds, an angel with a gold halo. He closed his eye, and mumbled, "You shall have me, body and soul."
The pentacle burned underneath my glove. The audience cooed in adoration, for they thought the earl spoke of the Lady Elizabeth.
What a complete, absolute lie.
Elizabeth announced to the audience, "This evening's selection is a contemporary piece, by the composer Antonin Dvorak. It is titled, 'Romance,' and I hope you find it aptly named."
She opened her sheet music and took a deep breath. All waited with rapt attention.
'Sebastian.' It was such a whisper I had not heard in weeks.
The lady at the piano dabbed a quiet, sombre lyric. Ciel tucked the violin underneath his chin and glanced at me once more. He had my full attention.
'Stay right where you are. Hear this. I command that this reaches you.'
The chords of the overture swelled, and then dipped to solemn beauty once more. Elizabeth plucked these series of notes that spun the hesitation so tight it created perfect entrance for a mournful note to split the air before anyone registered that Ciel had slid his bow over the belly of the violin.
The articulated vibrato was a beauteous lament and he stood straight, projecting the full weight of this introduction to his... heart break. Notes escalated and plateaued around the chords of the piano then tumbled to splendid sorrow. His brow furrowed as he concentrated his yearning into the violin that spoke sweet words for him.
Each trill tore through me, each bridge of notes another plea, another command, another urgent request. 'Do you hear it? Do you feel it?' Yes, his symphony conjured such imagery: an order in the darkness, the skin of his back lit by candlelight.
Low keys wept his shame, his loneliness, and a moment later high ones sang of his victories. They spun about each other, his fingers storming along the strings until a listener could not determine where the melancholy pitched to sanguine. Elizabeth began the refrain once more, stressed this time to build before Ciel plunged into frantic notes and swept into gentle passages that hung like crystal. A memory crept in, how I gripped his sides, paired with the sweet kisses on his neck.
His violin built up the tempo to arc then dive, again, and again. The slow dripping of candle wax. There was a gamut escalating, swelling and intensifying. Elizabeth pounded the chords as Ciel bent into his instrument. His hair no longer was slick and neat, but fell over his face. As his scale finally collapsed Elizabeth dashed into angry staccato notes. Stomping down the hall, spilled wine in the cellar. The measure slowed, shrinking down to its initial lament.
'Here it is, Sebastian, my full confession.'
From the violin poured a full spectrum, a repetition spinning around, quivering, how his thighs would quiver under me. His violin wailed the rondo in high octave then hesitated with frustrating tension. I stifled a groan. There it hung and I held my breath. Before anyone was ready it plummeted like so many white roses, one by one, his tears on my pillow.
The second time the choral melody was played with embellishment, the vibrato fuller. His moaning kisses, hips thrusting, and his eyes a story of pain and courage. Elizabeth's role became a diminished support in response to Ciel's dramatic performance, how his stance had widened, how his entire body moved with the force of that bow. She was ever present, but could never muster the same severity to match his.
The melody tumbled to such a painful desperation. Agni stood next to me, hands trembling at his face as the tears flowed uninhibited. I looked around to see that he was not the only one overcome. Joanne wept into his gloved hands and Mr. Jacobsen who stood near offered him a handkerchief. Soma could not control his blubbering.
The opus penetrated some place within that I might have forgotten. A solemn truth, that there is no conscious living thing, including myself, that ever wanted to be alone, wretched for a place in the wide expanse of existence.
Just when Elizabeth pelted deep, foreboding notes, Ciel made entrance into the song once more to propel it into a hopeful inflection. The cadence sped, driving his bow with dense fervency and it was a pensive hopefulness, fond remembrance, the indecision that was driving him to desperation. Finally, the conclusion settled into one resounding answer that trilled above the twinkling piano, the very essence that had changed everything about him yet changed nothing at all.
The final note drifted from the tip of his bow and for a brief time all souls quaked from the motionlessness. He had spun us through the narrative of his heart and I was the only one who could translate it in full.
I counted four seconds of silence.
Then an eruption. People wailed, whistled, clapped over their heads. Ladies sobbed their bravos, men nodded with stern approval over a breath taking performance as if the earl were their own son. For that one moment, Phantomhive was society's child, raised in beautiful virtue.
The lies men tell themselves.
Because if only they had known it was all for me, that I was the source of all that feeling within him. It was the one truth he had expressed the entire evening, and it was not of words. There were no words for the tightening in my throat, how I felt my chest collapse but I could not identify what caused me this... ache.
It was an ache beyond hunger or frenzy. My heart pounded as if to fill some insatiable void. I looked up at him standing on the dais in exultation, overlooking these people in their finery, their gentle decorum lost for that moment. He turned to me once more, fearless and unapologetic and I would not want him any other way.
That realisation caused my world to blur, my world filled with his visage that suddenly looked... puzzled, like he had happened upon a scene that just had no place in reality. Rightfully so, because my reality was shattering, the flimsy accoutrements of myself cracking, by all the levels of Hell what was this?
Agni turned to me, still sniffling but mostly composed. "Sebastian, is something the matter?"
My face was hot and something slid down my cheek as if the emptiness was actually a substance that could fill me to the point of seething out of my control. Ciel had bested me, despite all my efforts. 'Well played, young master.'
"Agni," my voice sounded rather thick, "Can I trust you to oversee the remainder of this evening's events?"
"Why? Are you leaving?"
"No... I must see to a personal matter."
I was out the ballroom before he could question me further.