~~ Lydia ~~ A Vampire Tale

Subject: ~*~ Lydia ~*~ A Vampire Tale Thu Feb 11, 2010 9:22 pm

Chapter One: Rumors

It would not be long before my mother would be coming to my door. She expected that I would be ready and eager to go downstairs where the coach was waiting for us. Another night, another party. Would it ever end? I supposed that it would. Either I would wait it out and continue to refuse suitor after suitor until I was little more than an old maid, or I would give in and marry. Settle down and become a wife and mother like a good girl. Then it would be my turn to host the never-ending dinners and parties. At least if I became a spinster they might finally allow me to go to Vassar. By then, though, I would probably be too old to be considered for an education.

I released a quiet sigh and looked at the mirror I was seated before. My maid, Bess, was arranging the unruly mass of auburn that was my hair. Delicate curls framed my face and she had somehow managed to smooth the wavy locks into a presentable bun that she began to adorn with a jeweled comb.

Bess caught my eye in the mirror and smiled. I felt her soft fingertips brush my cheek in a soothing motion and I caught her hand in mine. It was so comforting, the feel of her soft hand. I pressed my cheek against her palm for a moment, letting my eyes close. Why couldn't I just stay here, losing myself in one of my books or talking late into the night with my maid. Bess was so much more than just a maid. She was my dearest friend these days. She seemed to understand my reluctance to give myself up to the world of matrimony and motherhood.

The sharp rap of knuckles against my door brought me back to the moment and I felt a rush of warmth touch my cheek as I quickly released the hand I held and straightened up on the low bench. “Bess, my shoes, please.” I said in an effort to appease my mother who stood, ramrod straight in the doorway, appraising my appearance carefully. I couldn't help it, I sighed again, this time in resignation. I stood as she stepped into the room and turned up the gaslight near the door.

Bess hurried back to me with a satin slipper in each hand, a pale green that matched the velvet on the emerald evening gown I wore and knelt down to help me on with them. I slipped my stockinged feet into the slippers and then stood, as I had been endlessly drilled, my head up, my shoulders slightly back, my eyes demurely down as the hard stare of my mother registered every flaw.

“Elizabeth, I expected better.” She said with a sneer for the servant who had carefully bobbed a curtsy and backed away. “Turn around Lydia.” She said to me, her lips pursed in annoyance. It wouldn't do any good to argue, so I simply turned around. A moment later, I could feel the buttons at the back of the gown coming undone. “How do you ever expect to attract a good husband if you don't even pretend to try, Lydia. The cook could wear your corset laced this loosely.” She tsked, motioning for Bess to come help her. “Let your breath out, girl.” She demanded and I obliged, taking a deep breath and fully releasing it, then braced myself. The corset drew in tighter, and then tighter still, taking whatever breath I had left. I could swear I felt Bess's foot pressing into my back as she pulled the laces and secured them. I was still trying to adjust my breathing while the buttons were refastened and my mother's hands smoothed and plucked at the fabric. She glanced at my hair and clucked in disapproval, but then we both heard my father's cheerful bellow from the bottom of the stairs, calling us down.

“Hmph. I guess it will have to do. Elizabeth, get her gloves and fan. Hurry up girl, we're already going to be late. I don't need you dawdling like my daughter.” She nearly snatched the accessories from the hands of my maid and laid hold of my arm, steering me from the room with impatience. I saw her glance again at my hair and I felt a blush of embarrassment creep along my neck and cheeks. She had never been pleased that her daughter was not gifted with the straight, fine blond hair she herself had. Instead I had been cursed with the coarse auburn curls of my father. On him, they were distinguished of course, especially now, streaked with gray, but for a woman of our social standing to have red-hair...

She took it as a personal affront, thinking that it made me look Irish. She had even once made me submit to a barber who had promised he could change my hair to a neat black. That was better than red, she had thought. The horrible smelling stuff he had put on my head made me think my hair was going to fall out instead of change color. I hadn't lost it, though it had turned my hair a strange shade of almost purplish black.

I really tended to look back on that moment with some triumph. I rather liked my hair the way it was, and I couldn't understand why my mother wanted to change it. She was even more mortified by the new color than the previous and actually had all my hair cut off. I had cried when she'd done that. And my father had been furious. It was the only time I could remember him actually striking my mother. He had come home while we were in the parlor. I was still crying and my mother was scolding me, telling me to hush. He had taken one look at me, turned to my mother and slapped her full in the face. He took her from the room then, and from that day on, my mother had said nothing more about the color of my hair. It didn't mean she was ever satisfied with it.

As we reached the top of the staircase, she reached up and adjusted the comb painfully. I winced, but then I smiled, seeing my father pacing at the bottom of the stairs. It looked like he was about to bellow again when he turned, but then seeing us descending a wide grin broke across his ruddy features. “Well, there you are. Come along, my beauties. Fredrick is already in the carriage. Marie, leave the girl alone, she looks lovely.” He said to his wife as she adjusted the sash at my waist.

I didn't normally mind her ministrations, but tonight she seemed a little more critical than she had before. I wondered what it portended but then forgot it as I pulled on my gloves and took my wrap from Bess, who had followed us down. She also handed me a small beaded purse into which I slipped the fan. My dance card would fit inside as well and I could leave it with my father or mother while I danced. And dance I would. I knew no matter how I tried to keep it empty, my card would end up full, thanks mostly to my mother. She was determined that I would marry by the end of this year.

It was the year eighteen ninety-one, and I had just turned nineteen years old. She herself had married at seventeen and she was beginning to become desperate. My brother Frederick was twenty-three, but of course, he would marry when he was ready.

I really couldn't resent him for that, it wasn't like our mother wasn't always trying to bring society girls into his line of sight. But with him, she was more subtle. Too, he never lacked for ladies to choose from. He was heir to the Astley fortune, and he was handsome by anyone's standards. Money only made him more attractive to those of our set. Bess pressed my hand lightly as she gave me my purse and then I was out the door and being helped into the carriage. The ride to the Smith's was not far, only about a block away, but we certainly couldn't arrive on foot. What would our friends say?

* * * * * * * * * *

The music and conversation was spilling from the opened french doors and the windows of the Smith's townhouse. I could hear laughter and talking from the garden as well. We were fashionably late, but of course, my mother had planned it that way. I knew that it was simply to make our entrance more noticeable. Frederick took my gloved hand to help me from the carriage after my mother and father were already moving toward the entrance of the house.
“You do look lovely, Lydia. Don't mind mother.” He said reassuringly and I smiled up at him. He looked so like our father had when he was young, though he our mother's blond hair and aquiline nose. His blue eyes twinkled as merrily as our father's.
“Thank you, Frederick.” I said, giving his hand a press with my fingers. “You are dashing as ever, I am sure every eye will be on you tonight.” He laughed at my compliment and led me up the wide steps of the house and into the glowing lights. As we entered, a maid took my wrap and his coat and we continued into the drawing room that had been converted into a ballroom for dancing. There we caught up with our parents who were just being welcomed by the host and hostess of the party. Mr. and Mrs. Aaron Smith were close friends of our family. Mr. Smith worked for a bank that did business with my father's law firm and Mrs. Smith served on several committees with my mother. They were two of the biggest gossips on the Upper East Side. Of course, they both smiled and greeted Frederick and I warmly. I know they were both hoping that one of their daughters might catch the eye of my brother.
They had two. One was a year older than me, and rather plain to look at, while the other was a year younger than me, and had the beauty of her mother. Sarah, the elder, was a good friend, though somewhat morose. She often bemoaned the lack of her beauty and low prospects for a husband. I couldn't really sympathize with her. I would have traded my appearance to her for anything. Her sister on the other hand, Eliza, was the constant center of attention. And if she wasn't, she made herself be. A broken heel on a slipper became a sprained ankle. And her dancing partner just had to hold her about the waist to help her to a chair where everyone might fawn over her. I didn't understand her, and I didn't really try. I was never fond of drama or theatrics. Frederick never seemed very impressed with her either. But she had spotted him as soon as we entered the room and I excused myself from his arm with a grin as she sauntered toward him.
The dancing had not yet started, but the music playing was lovely and I pretended to be engaged with each person who stopped to talk with me. My mother's eagle-eye followed me around the room, noting to whom I spoke and even those I was avoiding. There was one man in particular that I was trying to dodge at every turn. Brandon Kingston. His father was my father's partner. He was rich. Very rich. It was his father's capital that had started the law firm of Kingston, Brent, & Astley.
It wasn't that he wasn't handsome. I suppose any woman would have said that he was. He was tall and athletic. I knew that he played golf and tennis. I knew that he had a new coach. I knew that he spent his days at the firm and the evenings at every fashionable party. He had rich brown hair and blue eyes. He cut a fine figure in his suit. The eye of every young woman turned either to him or my brother. They were the two most eligible bachelors on this side of the city. Brandon could be charming, when he wanted to be, which was often. But I knew more about him than the public often got to see. They knew he liked to drink champagne. I knew he also liked whiskey. They knew he spent his afternoons at the gentlemen's club. I knew that he spent other afternoons on the lower west side being entertained by women who would never be welcomed by any home of propriety.
Of course, I didn't see these things for myself. I couldn't very well go about following some man by myself. But Bess could move about much easier than I could. When my mother had first put forth the idea that I should be so lucky as to marry Master Kingston, my stomach had plunged with dread. I sent Bess to inquire after his character more carefully. Her reporting had done nothing to assuage my misgivings.
But I could not avoid him for long. My mother cornered me and presented him to me. “Lydia, I am sure you remember Master Kingston. He is without a partner for a few dances and I thought you might like to place him on your dance card, my dear.” I thought it unlikely that he could be without a partner, but the gleam in my mother's eye told me that this had been artfully arranged.
I bobbed slightly in acknowledgment of the greeting and produced the dance card that the Smith's had given me. “I believe I have a few dances open.” I said as calmly as I could. “If you would like to choose one.” Though I emphasized the word one, it didn't seem to register with either Brandon or my mother. Brandon merely took my card and penciled his name under four different dances, two of which turned out to be waltzes. Then he took my gloved hand and brought the back to his lips.
“I look forward to dancing with you, Miss Astley.” He said with a smile, though it almost seemed a smirk in my eyes. Then he was gone and my mother was guiding me to other gentlemen, introducing me to people I had known for years and filling out the remainder of my card. There were to be ten dances, and it seemed I would not be able to sit a single one out.
Most of them went by quickly. Some of the young men were even nice to speak with, particularly the friends of my brother. Two were rather shy, and one of them was concentrating so hard on the steps of the dance that he didn't say a word through the whole song. I think he was counting under his breath and I had a hard time refraining from giggling at him.
The four dances chosen by Brandon were at the end of the evening. He had chosen them all in a row, and I gathered there was some purpose in that. I was slightly flushed from dancing and had taken a small break to drink a little punch and put something into my stomach, but I had only had a sip and a bite of some sweet pastry before my mother descended on me.
“The next dance will be starting soon. Look at you, so pale.” She reached up and pinched my cheeks to draw more color to the surface. She pinched so hard that it brought tears to my eyes and I might have cried out if I had not been struggling to swallow the pastry. “There,” she said with some contentment. “Rosy cheeks and shining eyes. Now, go, dance and..” I didn't catch the last of what she said for I had already turned away, almost running right into the barreled chest of Brandon, who stood near.
I didn't have time to say a word before the music started and, my cheeks still smarting, he had whirled me into the center of the floor. His left hand held my right rather tightly, and his right hand rested almost possessively at my waist. I was becoming very uncomfortable. I knew something was going on, but I couldn't figure out what at the moment.
“You look beautiful this evening, Lydia.” Brandon said as he spun me about the floor. I looked up at him and saw that his eyes were very serious, but oddly animated, I quickly lowered my gaze and replied, just loud enough for him to hear. “Thank you, Brandon.” We didn't speak after the short exchange, just danced. I caught sight once of my mother, she was leaning close to another woman and speaking excitedly. I couldn't see the other woman's face. As we made another pass, I saw the woman look up. It was Mrs. Kingston. Mrs. Smith sat on her opposite side and they were now all three in congress, watching us as we danced. I began to tremble inside, the sense of foreboding growing stronger. I saw my brother dancing with Sarah Smith, the plain girl smiling almost radiantly at him. He was looking at her with something I'd never seen before on his face.
He seemed almost exhilarated. I was surprised out of my own misgivings as Brandon led me through the steps. My brother and Miss Smith? I had never considered that Frederick would ever even look at her. But he looked so happy while he was dancing with her that I actually laughed out loud. Quickly and quietly the sound escaped, and Brandon must have thought it was due to my having a wonderful time dancing with him.
He drew me slightly closer to him, which I tried to resist, my expression lapsing back into my carefully polite mask. “Are you enjoying yourself, Lydia?” He asked, leaning closer to my ear.
“Of course, Brandon. You are a wonderful dancer.” I returned, hoping he would read nothing more into my words.
“I had hoped you might be more talkative this evening, but perhaps I should supply our conversation?” He asked, something obviously on his mind.
“I apologize if I am not verbose.” I said with a faint smile. “Your conversation is of course welcome.”
He lost no time. “I have a bit of gossip to divulge.” He said in a conspiratorial whisper. “Actually,” he continued, looking at me with a sly edge to his smile, “it is about you.”
“About me!” I ejaculated, surprise and indignation vying for my most prominent emotion.
“Oh it is nothing sensational.” He said, reassuringly. “Except maybe to me.” He said with a chuckle. The dance ended at that moment and we paused in our conversation to applaud the quartet providing the music. The musicians struck up the next song and we resumed dancing.
I could feel the fire of embarrassment in my cheeks, as his hand closed about my waist again. I cleared my throat and forced the question. “What is it that you have heard, pray tell.” I could feel that my jaw was tight, and I tried to relax it.
“Well, I have heard from quite a reliable source that you would not object if I came to call on you with some regularity. In fact, it was even implied that you might think us to be a good match, if it were not disagreeable to me.” He was laughing now, though not outwardly, I could hear it in his tone. Perhaps he thought my blush was modesty and the tremble in my hand was being so close to the object of my fondest affections. I knew them both for what they were. Ire. I was absolutely furious. And I knew exactly through whom those words had reached him. The trio of fat hens were sitting there, smug and secure that their families would all too soon be connected by more than business and polite society.
I could feel the danger I was in. My freedom, my independence were in dire jeopardy. Suddenly, something inside me snapped. My eyes flashed up to meet his angrily. He seemed genuinely surprised by what he saw in my face. From laughing confidence, he descended to confusion.
“Your “reliable source” I suppose was your mother? Am I correct?” I asked in a hushed, clipped tone. He didn't need to reply and I didn't give him the opportunity. “And I'm sure that she heard it on good authority from Mrs. Smith who got it directly from the mother of the woman you so eagerly gossip over?” My voice was steadily rising, and I could see the dancers closest to us looking at us. By the time I had finished, we were standing still in the sea of moving bodies and I was struggling to keep my voice level. The last thing I wanted was a scene, for which I would truly become gossip fodder. My head and heart warred for the briefest moment but my cool head won and I took the hand of my astonished partner and placed it back upon my waist and his other hand grasped mine. We began to dance again as we both recovered our composure. As our last dance together started, I began to feel more calm, and managed to speak to him in a more civil tone. I do not know what he was thinking while we had danced silently, but he had seemed to sense that any word from him would only eradicate our fragile truce.
“I apologize for disrupting our dance, Brandon, but you must understand that your informant was sorely mistaken in thinking that I had ever given such an indication, and the ideas you put forth have taken me entirely by surprise.” I said in an attempt to soothe any ruffled feelings that may have resulted from my outburst. “I do hope that you will refrain from listening to rumor.” I added, injecting a bit of humor that I did not feel into my voice.
It seemed to have the desired effect, as he brightened considerably and danced with renewed vigor. “I am sorry for speaking so frankly, Lydia. But you must understand, that such rumor had touched on a subject that I have been considering with regard to you for some time. You cannot deny that a marriage between our families would be desirable on both sides?”
I took a breath, as deeply as restriction would allow, and smiled at him a bit sadly. “No, I cannot deny that it would be of benefit to both of our families.” I was saved from having to say more however, by the end of the dance, and with it, the ability for Brandon to remain so close. Whatever he had to say, he would then have to say in front of my parents, to whom I was quickly returning. He did not pursue me, though, and I reached my father's side as he was assisting my mother to her feet, and drawing her away from the two gossips she conspired with. I gave a courteous nod to each of the ladies, thanking them when they complimented my appearance and my dancing and then followed my parents toward the entrance where we could gather our belongings. Other families were also preparing to depart and the Smith's had convened near the door where they could send off their guests.
There was nothing I wanted more than for the night to be over and we could not seem to get to the carriage fast enough to suit me. But finally we were ensconced and returning to our own home. Frederick had decided to accompany some friends to a later party, and so that left me alone in the coach with my parents. I was not listening to my mother chattering on. I had leaned back against the cushioned seat and was rubbing at my temples where I could feel the beginnings of a headache.
“Lydia, answer me.” I heard that, and looked up.
“Excuse me, mother, what did you say?” I asked, confused.
My mother huffed a little. “I said, that you looked in high color when you and Brandon stopped dancing in the middle of that waltz. What were you talking about?” She asked, the high tone in her voice betraying her eagerness to hear if her plan had worked.
I looked at her, then at my father. He gave a small shrug, to say he had no idea what she was going on about. I turned my eye back to my waiting mother and sighed softly. “Master Kingston was somehow under the impression that I desired his company more often and that we might make a good match.” I said this in such a dull voice that my father stifled a chuckle behind a cough, and my mother's face pinched.
“And what did you respond? I hope you were gracious and accepting, Lydia.” There was a note of warning in her voice.
“We're here, ladies, why don't we continue this inside?” My father interrupted. I was grateful for the momentary reprieve and followed them inside where Fionna, our head maid, was waiting to take our things. We retired to the parlor to continue the discussion that I knew there was no getting out of. I still had that strange tightness in my stomach. It seemed to me that I was on the brink of something and I still couldn't see what it was. I felt the stir of it again as I moved toward the low fire to warm my fingertips. My parents seated themselves on the sofa, my mother right on the edge, my father settling back and propping up his feet while he reached for his pipe. Mother wrinkled her nose at him, she thought it a smelly habit, but he always said he would not be denied a pipe in his own house and he lit his match with a flourish.
I smiled at him, watching the smoke wreath around his face, the aromatic scent wafting through the room.
“Well?” came the sharp demand. My father rolled his eyes and then winked at me.
Knowing he was on my side gave me the courage I needed. “I told him that whoever told him that I would be agreeable to such notions was a liar. I did say that I was not unaware of the benefits to both of our families through such a union, but made no further mention of it.”
I watched her start at the word liar. I thought for a moment she would rise and strike me, but she remained seated, her face becoming red, and then nearly purple. Slowly then, she stood up. I don't think I had ever seen her so serious before. I had never noticed that beyond being conniving and ambitious, she was also determined and implacable.
“You listen to me, Lydia Astley. Brandon Kingston is a fine, upstanding man with a good family, a strong background, and a healthy fortune besides. There are richer men in this city, but I chose to give you a man who would be both a good provider and one that even you could not object looking at every day for the rest of your life. You are a stubborn, boring, ugly little ingrate and I will not allow you to ruin what I have built for you. You will marry Brandon Kingston.”
Each word pierced through me. I had never had any illusion that my mother loved me, but I had no idea that she held such a loathing in her heart for me. I was nothing more than another stepping stone to status for her. I could feel tears prickling my eyes but I lifted my chin. “No, mother. I will not. I will not marry Brandon Kingston, or anyone else you choose.”
I was not aware that my mother had that much strength in her plump arm. The force of her slap knocked me against the mantle. My father stood up and strode over to her, grabbing her arm before she could strike me again. “That's enough, Mary. Lydia, apologize for your insolence to your mother and go to bed.”
“I will not apologize for being insolent so long as she mandates who I marry!” I cried, tears now streaming down my cheeks. I fled for the door as my mother struggled against my father's hands and I could hear her screaming after me as I ran up the stairs.
“You will marry him you ungrateful little hussy or I'll put you in the street, so help me God, I will!”
I could barely hear her by the time I reached my room and slammed the door behind me. I collapsed against it, sobbing uncontrollably.

Subject: Chapter Two: Unraveling Fri Feb 12, 2010 7:47 pm

Chapter Two: Unraveling

I didn't realize that Bess was with me until I felt her arms surrounding my trembling, sobbing body as I sat on the floor in a heap of satin, velvet and tears. The gentleness of her embrace only added to my sudden hysteria and I clung to her in desperation for some form of affectionate contact. I could feel her fingers pulling the comb and pins from my hair, then smoothing the locks as she crooned soothing words in my ear. She stroked and hushed me as tenderly as one would calm a crying babe and I slowly began to calm, my rough sobs quieting into small hiccups as the flow of tears ebbed and finally subsided.
She was rocking me, having pulled me onto her narrow lap and I could feel her lips upon my hair, pressing tiny kisses against my tresses between her hushed words. “There Miss, it's alright. Bess is here Miss, all will be well.” I shuddered as I pressed my face against her shoulder. The stiff muslin fabric of her uniform felt softer than silk to my cheek and I could feel her draw me closer in her arms. The sound of my weeping had not left silence in its wake. Beyond my door I could hear voices.
My parents were arguing. No, fighting. I could hear my mother's shrill shrieking and my father's bass rumbling in reply. Their voices were loud, but I couldn't make sense of anything they were saying, the words were muffled by several closed doors between us. The volume was growing, reaching a peak and I buried my damp face against Bess's cool neck, hiding from the crescendo of anger that I had inspired. There was a sudden crash of shattering glass and I felt Bess jump at the same time I did. I heard something I had never heard before. My father shouted a curse. The name he called his wife was clearly audible and I couldn't help it. I began to cry once more. This time I was silent, as Bess rocked and held me, both of us listening to the confrontation beyond the sanctuary of my room. There was a sharp cracking sound and a high feminine cry. A door opened and crashed shut down the hall and I cringed into my comforter's arms. I heard the pounding of heavy steps passing my door and then trailing away down the stairs and after a moment, a slam from another door. My father's office I thought. The pattering of a servant's feet on the carpet; my mother screaming to be left alone; and then, silence.
I didn't know that I was holding my breath until I inhaled raggedly and felt like I couldn't get enough air into my lungs. I straightened out of Bess's arms, trying to drag in another breath and began to panic when the air wouldn't come fast enough. She could see my distress and she spun me away from her quickly and began to unfasten the buttons at the back of my gown. Her nimble fingers were quick and sure as they found the tie of my corset and released it, pulling at the laces until they were hanging loose. I gulped in the air, leaning back against my dearest friend as a I caught my lost breath.
Bess brushed the curls off my forehead, with a gentle caress and said quietly in the darkness. “Come, miss, let's get you into your night gown and into bed. You'll be more comfortable.” I only nodded dumbly and let her pull me to my feet. I was utterly exhausted. I felt drained of any spark of life as I stumbled toward my dressing table. My lovely gown was hanging off of me and my corset was slipping off, I lost a shoe to the rug but finally made it to the small bench where this horrible night had begun. My maid bent to retrieve my other shoe and stockings and disappeared into my wardrobe momentarily. I felt a sudden start of anxiety as she vanished from view, but was calmed as she reappeared with my night gown.
I moved like a docile animal as she undressed me, lifting an arm, turning my head. She maneuvered me down to my undergarment with hardly any assistance from my unresisting body. She didn't scold me however, as she often did when I fussed with her. It had to be nearly two o'clock in the morning, but she didn't show any sign of weariness. Her eyes were infinitely compassionate as she turned me toward the mirror above the table and lifted my brush to smooth the tangles from my hair.
The familiar sensation of the bristles moving through the auburn strands began to relax me, and eventually I closed my eyes as I felt Bess's fingers following the path of the brush. A soft sigh escaped my lips, I could feel my whole body relaxing as her fingertips massaged my scalp and then down my neck and shoulders. Thoughts began to flit through my head that had no business there. It was not the first time that Bess had soothed me with such a massage, particularly after a long night of dancing and every time I began to feel a ball of heat gathering inside me, my stomach rolled with butterflies. I had wondered what it would feel like to have her hands move lower upon my body, my back and breasts, my belly. I forced the thoughts from my head as a wave of crimson washed over my cheeks. I was glad for the dark that she could not see the shameful ideas that had to be plain on my face.
Then suddenly, upon my bared shoulder I felt a warm, feathery press. Was it her lips? I drew in a quick breath, the air hissing between my teeth as I tensed. The kiss, if kiss it was, raised goosebumps along my arms, and an indescribable emotion raced through my heart.
But just as quickly, her touch evaporated and she had drawn away from me. “Forgive me, miss.” She said in an abashed voice and I could hear the rustle of her skirt as she rose and was turning for the door.
“Bess! No, don't leave me.” I cried, desperate that she not desert me. Unbidden, tears sprang into my eyes and I held out my arms to her. “Please, Bess, I need you.” I begged. She seemed confused, torn, as she glanced at the door and back to me, half-clothed and agonized. But she returned to me and to my surprise knelt down before me and rested her head upon my knee, avoiding my gaze.
“I beg you to forgive me, miss. But I should not stay. I should leave this house, indeed should have left it long ago. I have feelings for you, miss, that a woman ought not to have for her employer, or any other woman for that matter. I have cared for you for years and when you were so broken, for me to take such advantage was inexcusable. Please, miss, dismiss me and I will shame you no longer.” I could hear her voice break with a choked sob and now it seemed to be my turn to comfort her.
I tenderly lifted her head with my fingertips and looked into her green eyes for a long moment. “You have been of greater comfort to me tonight than you could ever know, Bess.” I whispered, taking her face between my hands and drawing her carefully toward mine. “I would dismiss you from service if I could, but I could never dismiss you from my heart, my dear Bess.” I drew in a soft breath, taking courage from the surprise my words had flared in her eyes, and leaning forward, pressed my lips fully against hers.
We both seemed to stiffen for a minute, tensed for rejection, repulsion, for the wrongness of this moment to stop us. But it never came. At the same time our bodies seemed to melt together. She rose to her knees and I sank to mine from the bench. My hands released her face and wound about her shoulders, her arms found my waist and pulled me in against the contours of her body. But our lips did not divorce. Her mouth was full and soft, the warmth of it invited me, and my own lips yielded to her, parting slightly as hers did. A faint moan escaped my throat as I felt the tip of her tongue touch mine. My hands wound into the bun at the back of her head, pulling the bonnet and pins from her hair, tangling my fingers in her chestnut tresses as her hands trailed from my waist to my back. I could feel her short fingernails pressing against the small of my back, beneath the thin cotton chemise.
Fire seemed to race through my veins at that small touch of my skin on hers. My back arched and I broke from the passion of our kiss with a gasp, my head tossing back. “God forgive me.” I heard her whisper before the balmy touch of her mouth was upon my throat and her hands were sliding up my back, pulling the filmy garment covering my body with them. My arms lifted of their own volition this time and I pulled the cotton over my head, letting it fall where it wished as her kisses continued.
Bess had seen me thus many times, she had helped to bathe and dress me for more than five years. But I had never truly seen her, and more than anything in that moment I wanted to feel her skin against mine. “Please, Bess.” I said shakily. “I want to see you, too.” I admitted, my breath coming quickly. I saw a flush of crimson stain her face in the moonlight as she drew back from me, but her hands went to the tie of her apron. “Let me.” I said, stilling her hand. She bowed her head slightly and turned away from me.
She untucked her legs from under her and removed her shoes and stockings while I untied her apron and began to unbutton the stiff, high necked uniform down her back. Her skin was such a creamy white beneath the black fabric that I gasped in pleasure. So smooth and delicate, she could have been made of malleable porcelain. I pushed the gown off her shoulders and felt her tremble at my touch. I unfastened her corset and removed it as well, then drew her under gown over her head, exposing her as completely as I was. I could not resist the siren call of her alabaster skin, the swan curve of her neck and I leaned against her back, wrapping my arms tightly between the flare of hip and breast at her waist. My lips pressed again and again to her shoulder, her neck. Such a scent was upon her skin. It was not the expensive perfume that was lavished upon the girls of society. It was clean and honest, soap and a trace of sweat. My cheek pressed against hers as my chin rested upon her shoulder.
She turned her head and I could see a fire in her eyes that must have mirrored my own. Our lips married once more, as though they simply could not be kept apart. My fingertips slid along her side then, tracing the curve of her breast and then resting lightly against her chest. I wanted to feel the beat of her heart and I could, my palm pressed against the valley of her heavy breasts and I could feel the fast beating of a caged bird's wings, keeping rhythm with my own pulse. She turned then, and pulled me against her fully before drawing away and whispering to me. “You should be abed, miss.”
Her voice was breathless and I could see she was trying to give me an opening to retreat if I wished, before we sank any further into this debauchery.
“Then you shall come with me, my Bess.” I whispered in return, catching her hand in mine and rising fluidly to my feet, drawing her with me and leading her to the curtained couch where we could pass the night, discovering each other.

* * * * * * * * * *

The streaming light of the sun woke me long after Bess had already left my bed. Those hours with her were the sweetest of my life and it was not merely the pleasure we had found in each others' bodies that made me stretch under my covers with a sigh of contentment and burrow under the down coverlet with a sleepy smile. We had also talked. We had talked about so many things.
It was Bess who had suggested the solution to this current quandary with my parents and we had sat up until dawn was creeping around my window whispering our plans. She had left me then, quickly dressing and tidying my room before helping me on with my night gown and drawing the curtains around my bed.
It was her hand that had drawn the curtain back to let in the light and she was smiling serenely down at me. “Come on, miss. It's after noon and your father is still in his study. He hasn't stirred since last night and I think it might be best if you patched this whole thing up as quickly as you can.”
I groaned tiredly but tossed the covers off and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. “Bess, I told you to call me Lydia. I do not feel right with you calling me “miss” when we're alone.” I tried to catch her hand but she drew away from me. I thought perhaps she was rejecting me, after all that had transpired last night and I felt a sting at my heart. Then she laughed, seeing my wounded expression, and the delight in her eyes reassured me as quickly as her words.
“Alone or not, there are always ears and eyes upon this room during the day, miss.” She said in a conspiratorial whisper. “There will be time enough to speak freely, if all goes well.” There was warmth in her gaze and I felt my heart fill with affection for this sweet, wonderful woman.
“You are right, as usual, Bess.” I admitted, and then let her help me dress. I could not ignore now how her hands lingered on me, or the pleasure she seemed to take in running her fingers through my hair. These touches, seemingly so innocent, now spoke volumes between us that no one else could decipher.
By the time I was presentable, it was nearly one o'clock and my stomach was protesting the lack of both breakfast and luncheon, but I had to settle this matter of my marrying Brandon. I could not stand this conflict and violence in the house, especially on my account, and so it was up to me to end it.
I gave Bess's hand a final squeeze before I left my room, gathering boldness from the quiet confidence in her eyes and tone as she wished me luck. I glanced toward my mother's room and saw that the door was still closed. I wanted to speak with my father before her, so I was pleased she had not yet come out. I stepped carefully down the stairs and headed for my father's study. That door, too, was closed and I almost turned around and ran back up the stairs. But it wouldn't do for me to be a coward now, not after causing such a row the night previous. I steeled myself, taking a deep breath, then rapped lightly on the door. I waited, almost hoping he wouldn't answer, but then I heard movement within, the creaking a chair. Then his voice, gruff and still angry called, “Come.”
I slowly turned the knob and pushed the door open, then stepped into my father's study. The only times I could ever remember being in there was when I was being called in for some punishment or other and it felt strange to be walking in by invitation rather than order, of my own volition walking to what felt like my utter doom.
“Good morning, father.” I said in my most dulcet tone. I folded my hands before me and waited, eyes demurely lowered, for him to speak first.
“Hmph.” He grunted. “A fine mess, Lydia, a fine mess.” Was all he said. Then he held out his arm and I rushed to him, throwing my arms around him as I fell to my knees beside his chair. I felt his hand hovering for a moment, then descend to pet my hair, like he used to when I was small.
“I'm so sorry father! I really am.” I exclaimed, then looked up at him. His eyes didn't hold their normal twinkle and his answering smile was only half-hearted. He looked like he hadn't slept. A shadow of beard had appeared on his cheeks and chin and his clothes and hair were rumpled. I noticed a half empty glass of an amber liquor sitting on the table beside his chair and could smell brandy in the close air, mingling with the acrid scent of a harshly smoked pipe. “I promise I will amend things with mother, I...” The words were rushing out, but even so I stuttered over what I had come to say. “I...I've decided I will marry Master Kingston if he proposes.” I was looking down, afraid of his expression. I felt his hand pause in mid-stroke, then resume as he answered me.
“This is quite a change from last night, Lydia. Your mother will no doubt be pleased, but I have to admit I am a little disappointed that you have backed down so readily. It was not pleasant dealing with her last night I will say, but I am not particularly fond of Brandon, and if you don't want to marry him, I will not see you forced.” His voice was wary and I could tell that he wanted an explanation.
I glanced up at him, and his sad smile nearly broke my heart. But it could not stop the impish smile that found my lips before I said. “Well, it is not a total capitulation, father. It is conditional.”
That seemed to pique his interest and he chuckled. “Ah, there is my Lydia. Always more than meets the eye, no doubt you have conditions. Let's hear them and see if they are reasonable.”
“Two conditions, actually.” I said, then continued. “First when I remove to a new home, I wish to take Bess with me, as my personal maid. I require a friendly face and sympathetic ear in a house full of strangers.”
“That is almost too reasonable.” He replied with a nod. “Go on.”
“The second is that I wish to take a six week excursion to Europe. I will need a trousseau, and I think it would do me good to see the fashions and sights of Paris and London before I marry.” Then I added. “A wife should be learned in the world, should she not? If these requests are met, I will marry whoever mother wishes, be he Brandon Kingston or some butcher on the lower west side.”
My father's laughter rang out as he heard these last words. “Oh, a butcher from the lower west side, eh? Yes, I can just see you now, little Lydia, in a bloody apron, wrapping meat packages with six hungry mouths hanging about your skirts. Ha!” I couldn't help but laugh with him. It was rather silly to picture myself in such a scene, but my point was well made and I was right that humor was the best way to win my father to my side. “Yes, I can see that your conditionals are well thought out, and I see only one hurdle to the second, and that is a chaperone. I will not send my only daughter off to a strange country by herself. But I'm sure you've thought of that as well?” He asked with a grin.
“Of course, father. I will surely take my maid, but if you prefer to have a gentleman to keep our female fragility from trouble, I think Frederick might be enjoined to accompany us.” I smiled at him brightly, only batting my eyes a little.
“Alright, alright.” He laughed, patting my head like a little dog. “I will speak with Frederick about it. But now, you need to tell your mother. You'll have to go to her, I'm afraid. She was rather violent last night and I have no wish to see her until this matter is resolved. I do not like having to take my hand to her, but I had little choice and I don't think she will be coming out of her room anytime soon. Perhaps if you go make amends with her, she'll come back to her senses.”
“Yes, father.” I said gently, and started to rise. When I was on my feet, he took my hand, detaining me.
“There is only one thing I truly regret about this whole marriage business.” He said in a serious tone.
I looked down at him from where I stood, a questioning look on my face.
“You've grown up and it means you must leave. I will not see your smiling face every morning and evening.”
“Oh, papa.” I cried, using that affectionate term I had used as a child and leaned down to hug him tightly. I kissed the top of his balding head, then slipped out his study and headed for the stairs, and the humiliating apology that must ensue.

Subject: Chapter Three: Crossing the Pond Sat Feb 13, 2010 3:24 pm

Chapter Three: Crossing the Pond

I had never been on a ship, let alone one so large as the City of New York. The immensity was a little overwhelming when we had first boarded, but I was soon glad for the space when I glimpsed the hoards of people that would be traveling aboard. Not that I mingled with any of them except those that were in the first class cabins. Frederick proved to be a gallant chaperone and rarely let me out of his sight during that five day voyage.
That's not to say that he hovered over me like some brooding hen. He had crossed the Atlantic several times for purposes of business, and once, for pleasure like myself. The charms of the ocean held little surprise for him so he often left me on the promenade deck to watch the swells and marine fauna while he played at whist or bridge, or read the files he had brought along to work on while we were abroad.
Bess was the one to hover, and she fussed over me a good deal, ensuring that I had a parasol over me to shield my pale skin from the rays of the sun when it made an appearance through the clouds that seemed to precede us. If it were not for her gentle coaxing, I might never have been pried away from the rails of the ship at all.
I was fascinated by the ocean. It's vastness spread out all around us and at times I felt that perhaps we were no more than a cork floating on a lake. The way the sunlight lit the crests of the massive swells that rolled around us dazzled my eyes.
I had never noticed that the city had a smell until we left it. The odor of the people and animals, fish on the wharves, the smoke of wood and coal fires, the fog of the factories. All of them had been in the background of my whole existence. But when we had steamed out of the harbor and out of sight of land it struck me that there was nothing but the fresh, briny perfume of the sea in the brisk breezes.
I drank in the air like a thirsting man would guzzle offered water. I first saw the dolphins that chased us and swam before us when we were leaving the harbor and their antics never tired my amusement. I was even more delighted on the third day of our voyage when I caught a glimpse of a geyser of water pluming into the air only a short distance from the ship. A great humpback whale was swimming parallel to us for a good distance. Even Frederick was moved by that spectacle to put aside his cards and stand at the rail in awe like so many of us were.
The days seemed to fly past us, and only one of the five brought inclement weather that forced me inside. Of course, it was not truly a chore to be sequestered in the opulent cabin I shared with Bess. The nights passed almost as quickly for the two of us as the days did for me. The servant's cot went unslept in, though I had a moment of enjoyment every morning in tumbling into it and tossing the covers about. I didn't really care what anyone thought about an unmussed cot, but Bess was cautious still and would risk no hint of impropriety to my reputation, even among servants and strangers. I could not argue with her when she was being so rational, though I did my best to spoil her while we were out of the eagle eye of my mother.
The day we finally arrived on the quays of Liverpool dawned cool and, from what I gathered from other passengers, unusually bright for the time of year. I had heard so much of London fog and the mists that constantly obscured this homeland of my father that I almost wondered if we had come to the wrong place. Frederick laughed at my absurdity and assured me that it was not always rainy and smoggy in England. He called me a naive little nun and kissed the tip of my nose before he went to see what time we would be disembarking.
I was suddenly becoming anxious. I had always wanted to see the world, and now I was on the very doorstep of an alien country, though not so very far removed from the customs and language of my own, and I could feel a tremble beginning in my hands. To still them, I gripped Bess's hand tightly in my left hand and tightened my right about the parasol that shaded me from the morning sun. I glanced at her once and she gave me a tight lipped smile. It seemed she was almost as nervous as I was.
I hadn't considered that she had never been to another country either. I took in a deep breath of the bracing air and then smiled at her and squeezed her hand. “We'll be alright, Bess.” I whispered to her. “Frederick will take good care of us.”
Moments later, Frederick returned, threading through the milling passengers with his usual casual air and easy smile. He waved at us as he approached and then laughed as he looked down at me when he finally reached us. “You look like a frightened little mouse, Lydia!” He chided with a chuckle. “No worries, everything is settled. Our luggage will be delivered to the hotel and we can all depart in another hour or so. Let's have some tea while we wait, hmm?”
I was relieved to be back in his presence as he steered me toward the lounge and motioned to a waiter. “Come, Bess, have a seat as well.” Frederick said suddenly, startling us both. I gave my brother a curious glance and he grinned at me.
“Don't arch your brow so, Lydia. It gives you such an unattractive air.” He said in such a perfect imitation of our mother than I grinned, and tried to stifle a giggle behind my hand. “Now that's much better. Ah, here we are.” He turned his attention to the return of the waiter with our tea and I exchanged a bewildered look with Bess. She looked rather uncomfortable sitting beside me at the table, across from my brother, but remained silent and took a polite sip from her cup before letting it sit. I didn't know quite what to make of my brother's sudden attention to Bess, so I let it slide for the time being as he explained where we were to go to get off the ship and that many cabs would be waiting for the passengers. One would be reserved for us by one of the captain's men to take us to the station. Then it would be on to London and the hotel and if I was not too tired by all this travel, he would like to escort me to the theater the next evening. “Of course, you will wish to see some of the city tomorrow, and do a bit of shopping I am sure. And I am certain our dear Bess will need something more becoming if she is to join us, yes?”
I nearly dropped the cup as it was traveling from my lips to the saucer, where it made a loud chink against the china, very nearly chipping the porcelain. I swallowed hard. What was Frederick up to? I looked up at him and met an amused look in his eyes. But also a vague discernment and it was beginning to occur to me that perhaps I had not been so discreet in my attention to my maid as I had thought. I felt color blooming in my cheeks as he stared at me. His eyes shifted to Bess for a moment, who had a look of nothing short of mortification on her face, then returned to me.
“Oh come now, ladies. Did you think I would not know?”
I gasped audibly, the color draining from my face as quickly as it had appeared. I could think of nothing to say. Did he know that we were more than close friends? Did he realize we were lovers? My mind was reeling. I had no idea what was going on behind that smug look of satisfaction that now settled on Frederick's face.
“Lydia, my dear,” He said quietly, his voice dropping to a gentle level as he grasped my gloved fingers and gave them a press. “I am not a fool. And I am not cruel. Do you think I do not know what you are doing here? Did you expect that I would swallow your marriage to that obnoxious boor, Kingston? I know you better, Lydia. And I think I can guess at the attachment that keeps our dear Bess at your side.” His eyes swept over to her momentarily before returning to me. “So, dear cousin Elizabeth, I'll welcome you to our nice little family and leave the two of you to settle the details between you.” He finished as he stood, giving us both a conspiratorial wink and then hailing one of his whist partners to make an appointment to meet up in London.
I was dumbfounded. Could I trust this turn of events? Frederick understood me much like my father, though he was a more modern thinker. He loved me and I could easily see his sincerity in trying to make me happy before I more or less condemned myself to a life sentence. Hastily, I forced my brain to wake up, ordered my thoughts into coherence as I lifted the tea to take a steadying sip. I managed to lower the delicate vessel without noise and drew a slow breath before I looked up at Bess. Her face wore a range of emotions, and it seemed she couldn't quite figure out which one would come to the fore. I had made a decision, and now voiced it, before I could lose the nerve. I might lose her forever at this moment, but I fervently prayed I would not.
“Bess, this is a choice you must make. You may stay upon this ship and return to New York, and your post in my father's house. I will hire a maid in London to see to my needs. And we will sever our ties. Frederick may think that he knows what is between us, but if you go, he will believe he was wrong, and will, I am sure, think he has offended us both and never speak of any of this again. Or, you can come ashore with me, at my side. We shall say you are my cousin, and you will sit with me, eat with me, go to the theater with me, and share my rooms. If you stay, Frederick will know that he is right, but I do not believe he would condemn either of us for our happiness. If you stay, you stay as my equal, as close as a sister and closer. If you go...” I couldn't say it again. I choked on the words and looked hard into her eyes, leaning toward her. I could feel the intensity between us, and though some small part of my brain hoped no one else would notice it, the rest of my mind was focused on the joy and pain winding around my heart as I waited for her to say something. Anything. I could see fear in her eyes, and witnessed the trembling of her hand. But she remained utterly silent.
“Bess...” I whispered her name, the name of my angel, the simple word suffused with every tenderness in my being. “Bess, do you love me?” I asked as quietly as the flutter of a butterfly's wing.
“Yes.” She replied just as softly.
“Then stay.” There was no mistaking the longing that saturated my plea. The whole world seemed to have disappeared from around us. It was only the two of us in that moment, twined in uncertainty.
“I will stay.” Those three words sent my heart soaring. I felt a weight loosen from about my lungs and I inhaled a shaky breath. It seemed that a hour had passed while we were wrestling with this decision, but it had only been moments, and a quick glance reassured us both that no one had taken any notice of our exchange. We both sat back in our chairs and reached for our cups at the same time. Nervous laughter escaped us both, and then suddenly took flight, her alto trill a melodic accompaniment to my soprano gaiety.
“Well, then,” I said, as my laughter ebbed, though my smile remained. “I suppose I shall have to look into finding a lady's maid in London to serve two travelers. And as soon as we reach London, we are going to have to have you outfitted. I have heard there are some very fine ready-made dress shops.” Bess suddenly looked uncomfortable again and I reached for her hand.
“Miss, I am not sure you...” She started.
“Hush.” I said with a short laugh. “You do not know what fun it will be for me to spoil you. I will not hear any objections from you. And no more 'miss'. You will call me Lydia, and I will call you Elizabeth and that is that.” I said with an air of finality, lifting my nose in the air haughtily, though I grinned at the last moment, ruining any sternness I might have affected.
“Oh I see, is that how it is to be?” She asked, piqued, but with laughter in her voice.
“Yes.” I said with a firm dip of my chin and then jumped, at a blast from the ship's whistle, signaling that passengers could begin disembarking.
Frederick picked that moment to return to us and glanced from Bess to myself, then grinned in a very self-satisfied way to see us both smiling. “Well then, shall we ladies?” He asked, extending an arm to each of us as we rose from our table.
I placed my hand at the crook of his elbow and rested my parasol upon my shoulder. Bess laid her hand gingerly on his left arm, glancing between me and my brother with trepidation. He patted her hand and laughed. “There now, not so difficult is it?”
Bess smiled a bit sheepishly and blushed to the roots of her hair. I couldn't help but chuckle quietly.
“Frederick, you are absolutely incorrigible.” I said fondly as he guided us up to the boat deck.
He replied with a roguish grin.“On the contrary, I am decidedly reformable. I simply have yet to meet the woman who can persuade me.”

Subject: Chapter Four: Electric London Sat Feb 13, 2010 3:29 pm

Chapter Four: Electric London
I brushed my lips against the sloping curve of Bess's shoulder, nestling closer into the warmth of her skin against mine beneath the luxurious covers. I hadn't opened my eyes yet. I was still relishing the memory of the previous day, savoring the sweetness of the previous night.
Frederick was unbelievable. He had spun stories around us as though our dear Bess truly were a close cousin. He should have tried his hand at theater, I had no doubts he would have been a convincing actor on the stage. Bess and I had a harder time of it, though I think no one doubted our hastily concocted ruse. My brother tended to make friends no matter where he went, and easily struck up conversations on the train from Liverpool to London, and then in the dining room of the Savoy.
Early in the evening I excused myself and Bess, with the complaint of a headache and travel fatigue. My brother was so enveloped in charming a lovely woman at the next table, that he hardly noted our departure, except to turn and fully join the object of his attention. Thankfully, he had arranged for a new maid when we first arrived and she was waiting for us when we returned to our room.
I had watched with growing amusement as Bess had to submit to the rituals I took for granted. The undressing, the hair brushing, the turning down of covers. Things Bess had done for me a thousand times, she now had the pleasure of experiencing for herself. I caught her twinkling eyes as the young girl ran a brush through her hair, smoothing the sepia waves. I could see the movement relax her, as I burrowed under the covers of the massive bed, drawing them close about me. Not long after, she joined me, though turned her back as though to go to sleep. I tiredly waved the girl out, stifling a yawn as I reminded her to bank the fire in the sitting room.
“Yes, Miss.” The maid had replied, turning off the novel electric lamps before closing the door behind her. I lay in the darkness for a moment, listening to the breath of my lover, hearing the muted step of the servant and then the outer door closing. Then my evening had truly begun.
I still felt the warmth of a blush burning my cheeks as I reminisced, waiting for Bess to wake. On an wicked impulse, my fingers slipped from her waist to caress her inner thigh. She stirred, and I grinned. I stroked higher, pulling myself up onto one elbow and leaning over the sleeping form of my one desire. I could tell she was waking as my lips brushed against her nipple. It hardened under the warmth of my breath and I heard her inhale like a reverse sigh, a sound of arousal I came to expect from her. I lifted my gaze, but her eyes were still closed. My teeth grazed her sensitive flesh as my fingers sought her warmth. I teased her awake, bringing her close to the brink of release, and then distracting. I finally took pity upon her writhing body and moaning cries. She shuddered in my arms afterward, nestling into me as I had so often clung to her.
I couldn't help but feel some pride. It seemed I was beginning to learn new things about myself. She did not always have to initiate our love making. I could as well. She responded as fully under my hands and lips as I did under hers. It was a powerful feeling. I was becoming more confident as a lover, as I gained more experience. I wondered if she had ever had another lover, that she seemed to know what she was doing from the first and as I stroked her hair I asked her.
Her fair skin turned a dusky red and I could feel the heat of her cheek against my breast. She did not look up at me as she answered. “Another lover, no. I could not call her a lover.”
This did nothing to alleviate my curiosity. “Tell me, Bess. Please, don't keep this from me.” I urged, my voice gentle.
“When I was a girl, I was taken into service by a family as a kitchen maid. The family's cook made me her servant in many ways.” She felt silent and I tenderly traced her cheek with the backs of my fingers, seeing sadness in her eyes.
“It was not a happy time in my life, and I do not much care to speak of it.” She said, pulling away from me and sitting up to reach for her shift. I rose and rested my hand against her shoulder, hating the way she was turned away from me.
“I'm sorry, Bess. I won't speak of it again. Please don't be angry with me.” I said contritely.
She turned to look at me and a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. “Forgive me, my love. It is natural that you should be curious. I cannot be angry with you for that.”
I sighed and turned away then to pull on my night gown, knowing it was well past the breakfast hour and as much as I would like to just stay in my bed all day, it simply would not do. “I suppose I should ring for that maid.” I said in resignation, then looked at Bess with such a sad look that she couldn't help but laugh at me.
“Oh, allow me.” She said grandly, putting on great airs as she strode across the room toward the door.

* * * * * * * * * *

The rest of that day passed in much of a blur. We broke our fast on toast and tea as the maid was preparing our clothing and combing our hair. Frederick was waiting for us at luncheon a short time later and had arranged for a carriage to take us about the city and the more fashionable shopping districts. We made plans to meet at the hotel restaurant for supper before we made our excursion to the theater.
London was more amazing than I had thought it would be. Our hotel was on the Strand, and so was very close to just about everything. The Savoy theater was next to the hotel and like the hotel, it was apparently entirely lit by electricity. I could hardly wait for darkness to fall again that I might see this modern marvel. I took great delight in riding in the elevators of the hotel, amazed at the ingenuity. Our own home was still lit by gas lamps, though mother was constantly pestering father about having our house outfitted with electricity, like the Kingston's.
The shopping was delightful and exhausting. We stopped in a few ready-made shops to pick up a few things for Bess, then visited a few dressmakers. My trousseau was well underway, and a new evening gown, suitable for Paris, would be ready for Bess before we departed for France in a few days. Money has a wonderful way of making the impossible possible.
Bess and I had tea at a quaint little cafe a few blocks from the hotel and then took a stroll through Trafalgar Square as the sun was sinking low on the horizon. It had been a perfect day, spent in the company of my closest friend with nothing to do but indulge our whims. We were passing the time in discussing the people around us, noting a fashionable lady with a small yipping dog who kept trying to wiggle away from her and chase the pigeons. Bess purchased a bit of bird seed to feed the cooing flock and I laughed at her when the feathered fiends started swooping down around her to gorge on the scattered seed.
The light was dimming and so I lowered my parasol and prepared to close it, thinking I would no longer need it for the afternoon when a sudden breeze caught the light fabric and snatched it from my hands. I gave a small shriek of surprise and then laughed as I tripped after it. The faint wind carried it further out of my reach and landed against the leg of a gentleman seated on a bench, reading a newspaper.
Long, thin fingers bent the obscuring paper down, revealing a gaunt, severe face and hard eyes that glanced down at the offending object.
“I am so sorry, sir. The wind plucked it right from my hands and I could not catch it. I hope I have not disturbed you.” I said as graciously as I could, my breath coming quickly from my exertion as I reached to retrieve my parasol. Before I could, however, it was no longer against the man's leg. He was holding it out to me, neatly folded. How had he done that so quickly?
“Think nothing of it, young lady.” The man replied smoothly. I couldn't quite place his accent. It sounded almost English, but it had a strange lilt to it. I thanked him and turned to go back to Bess and her crowd of pigeons, when I happened to glance at his eyes. The irises were black, truly black, and the whites were very white. It was startling to look at him and it caught me off guard when he smiled under my scrutiny.
“You are American, are you not?” He asked suddenly. I blinked, slightly dazed and then focused on the question he had asked.
“Yes, I am.” I said simply.
“You should visit the theaters while you are here. They are some of the finest in the world.” He said, as though he were a concierge clerk. The notion was slightly ridiculous, he was immaculately dressed and impeccably groomed, decidedly aristocratic.
“Thank you, I certainly plan to.” I replied, thoroughly confused, then turned and hurried back to Bess who was laughing and flinging birdseed away from her to try to get the birds to go away. I could still feel the eyes of the strange man on my back, but I shook off the unease and helped Bess extricate herself from the flock so we could return to the hotel and meet Frederick for supper.

* * * * * * * * * *

The lights were dazzling. I had never seen anything quite like it. Every one was an incandescent miracle to behold, twinkling like fairy lights all around us as we made our way to our box seat at the Savoy theater. I had been to the theater more times than I could count in New York, but there is something exotic about seeing a play or opera in another country.
Other than the title of the opera, I could not tell you much about it. We had tickets to see “The Gondoliers”. But I spent so much time staring at my surroundings that I saw little of the play itself. I did not feel so bad when I noticed that Bess was as awestruck as I was. Of course, she had never been to the theater before at all, so it was not surprising. I often gave her an encouraging smile, catching her eye in the dark atmosphere. The opera glasses came in quite handy, not for seeing the production itself, but the patrons of the arts. I suppose the opera was a comedy, I often heard titters of laughter and saw the smiles of the observers. There were a few men, and one ancient looking old woman who had fallen asleep in the dark. In one of the boxes, across the theater, a man was making passionate love with his companion. I gripped Bess's fingers and gave them a small squeeze, indicating she should look in the same direction. A wry smile twisted the corners of her mouth as she caught sight of the couple kissing in the dark. Absolutely indecent, in such a public place, I couldn't help but think.
That was when I noticed the man in the box beside the necking couple. It was him, the man from Trafalgar Square. He was dressed in a finely tailored suit, just as most of the gentlemen in the audience. I noticed a silver topped cane resting beside him. To his right, there sat one of the most lovely women I'd ever seen. Her blond hair was sleekly coiffed, her gown expensively cut. A strand of costly jewels circled her neck, a blood red stone depending from the center to rest at the hollow of her throat. Her eyes were fixed upon the stage, and I paused for a moment, trying to figure out what it was that seemed odd about her. Then I realized she wasn't blinking. As proper as she seemed, I thought to find her hands resting in her lap, clutching a fan, or toying with her own glasses. But I could see that it was not the case.
I watched, transfixed, as the man lifted one of the woman's slender arms and discarded her glove. My brows drew down as I squinted, trying to see better what he was doing, willing the glasses to magnify this intriguing scene. I saw his thumb brush against her wrist, like he was caressing her pulse point, and then he lifted her wrist to his lips. It was as though he were kissing her. But his lips lingered so long it could not have been. For several moments, his head remained bowed over her wrist and I could suddenly see the movement of his adam's apple. What was this? My mind couldn't quite grasp what I was seeing. And then he looked up.
Not just up, but directly and unmistakably, at me. His eyes locked upon mine and held them. His mouth lifted from his companion's skin and his lips seemed to shine red. The woman's hand dropped to her side as he released it, and I could see a faint line of dark fluid trickle along her lily white skin, down her fingers. Blood. She was bleeding. He was... Oh God, no, he could not have been. Could he? He was drinking her blood?
I was horrified, but could not look away. He was still staring at me. But it had to be a trick of the light and distance, perhaps he was just looking in this direction. Even as the thought crossed my mind, he smiled at me. Fear slithered down my spine and coiled around my stomach like a constricting snake. His teeth were very white, straight and perfect, the canines slightly longer than the others, just a bit sharper. I had to be imagining it. Then he motioned toward the stage. Involuntarily, I glanced at the stage where the happy actors were obliviously continuing their entertainment of the masses, then looked back to the box.
He was gone.
The woman was still there, still staring, unblinking. Except now, she was not breathing either. No, I had to be wrong about it. My mind was playing tricks on me. Maybe I had fallen asleep and dreamed about the man being there. I put away the opera glasses and determined to concentrate on the play, forcing my mind to swallow the idea that I had had a strange waking dream brought on by fatigue from the travel and shopping. That was it. It had to be.
The alternative was too strange and terrifying to consider.

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~*~ Lydia ~*~ A Vampire Tale

~~ Lydia ~~ A Vampire Tale