Chapter One
Taking a page from del_kaidin, here's chapter one of an original fic I'm working on. Opinions, concrit, general crit, and all other forms of feedback are welcome and appreciated. I'll screen comments, so feel free to be as brutal as you want.
September 10, 1888
St. James’s Church
My dear friend-
It is with deepest regrets and strongest sentiments that I must urge you to forgo your London tour.
Perhaps news of my Fair City’s current fervor has already reached you. If it has, I am assured that you of all individuals will understand and heed my warning, but there is more, which you could not have known prior to this communication's arrival. I fear there has been another slaying not but two evenings ago. This now brings the count to four innocents. I pray that this shall be the last, as I have prayed for each of the proceeding. The reports from the Yard are, of course, most optimistic. They claim that they are closer than ever to catching the Madman behind these inhuman (you will pardon the expression, I am sure) acts. Yet I cannot but fear that they are mistaken and are as befuddled as ever. Further, I fear I am not the only one to be struck by such melancholy. Not but this very morning, whilst making my daily turn around the Square, was I accosted by no less than three old crones, each offering (for a price, of course) some sort of poultice or amulet, all protective in nature.
Laugh if you must, for I understand that such practices are perhaps considered common in your native Dacian lands, but here! Here! St. James’s Square! Sir, I need not tell you, that if such unseeming sensibilities have reached their tentacles this far into the heart of Our Queen’s throne, the rest of the city is wreathing in unrest. They jump at shadows and beat at the winds. For one of your kind to venture into their midst would be no less than a death sentence.
Again, I must beg you, my brother in all but blood and birth, keep still until this malady passes. Then I shall welcome you with open arms. Until then, may this find and keep you in the safety of your home.
-Your Obedient Servant
M.
Letter Returned to Sender, unopened, several weeks later.
Lightning twinkled through the sheer curtains of the train’s window, echoing across the dark car in flashes of faint blue and white. His host lay spent beside him, her dark hair masking her pale face. Long legs lay entwined with crumpled sheets, entangled with him. He watched the storm's glow dance along her body and duel with the shadows among the darkness. Still she slumbered. A hand fluttered down, fingertips joining the dance of light and shadow snaking across her skin. With a soft sigh, she turned toward his touch, tucking her head against his arm in the process. She was not perfect, but she would do. His hand moved up from her hip to brush her hair from her face, revealing the smooth column of her neck. A smirk touched his lips as he lowered his head and began to feed, dark hair falling in a curtain around the pair.
Later, once he was sure his host would remember nothing more than having a drink too many before dinner, he slipped from the compartment and moved silently down the aisle, his footing sure and smooth even as the train was battered by the storm. He had intended to write to his companion in London far earlier, but his dinner plans had taken longer to arrange than he expected. With each stop bringing the train closer to its final destination, more and more whispers were reaching his ears of the most disagreeable sort. Now that the train’s arrival in Calais and his subsequent sailing the Channel only a few hours away, the rumors that had filled the dining car came rushing back to him: murmurs of devil-worshipping, murders, and witchcraft, each centered in London. He could feel the faint pricking of anxiety in the back of his mind and sought to free himself of the sensation. It bothered him that he had not heard from his companion before leaving his native lands, yet surely, if the mood of London posed any real threat, he would have already received warning. Pausing at the door to his compartment, he turned to stare out into the murky darkness. Still, he was unable to shake the sense of foreboding that had been his sole companion in his journey. Reaching out, he placed a hand on the cool glass of the window, anchoring himself against the storm he feared was yet to come. Green eyes watched the water flowed passed the tips of his fingers.
~~*~~*~~
The rain continued to pour down in thick, heavy drops, just as it had all day. The light reflected in the window rippled as the tiny rivers of water rushed down the panes. One finger traced a rivulet as it meandered downward, joining and separating others as it went. Brown eyes stared past the tiny rivers. She studied the darkness, her mind filling in the churchyard her eyes could not see.
It was hard to believe that a city that seemed so full of life and energy could be brought to a standstill by mere darkness and water. Now, at night, with the city stilled and silent and the fire glowing warm and safe behind her, she could close her eyes and imagine that she was back home in Willian and that her mother, brother, and grandfather were in the next rooms, already deeply asleep. She shook her head resolutely, shoving any feelings of longing firmly aside. Idly tapping a folded note against her lower lip, she considered her predicament. Ironic, really. Until the post had arrived that morning, she had wanted nothing more than to return home, yet now that the possibility of being ordered home early had arisen, she found herself desperately clinging to the time she had left, however short it may be. Still, she found she could not quite bring herself to be surprised with the tone of her mother’s latest correspondence. It had been hard enough to convince the woman to allow her only daughter a relatively unchaperoned visit to begin with. In the end, only her elder cousin’s offer to allow the girl use of his rooms in the rectory where she would be under his watchful eye had persuaded her mother. Mark had argued most convincingly that it was in Mrs. Farnon’s own best interest that her daughter be schooled in the ways of London in advance of her official entrance into Society with the start of the next Season.
Never, in all her eighteen years of life, had she doubted that she had anything but a loyal comrade in the older man. Now, however, the seed had been planted. She couldn’t quite understand it, but something in her cousin had changed, literally overnight. When he had joined her for breakfast, his eyes had not held the youthful spark she was so accustom to. The air of playful mischief she so loved had been replaced with a sense of wariness. He presented the image of a man defeated; yet she could find no explanation for his sudden transformation. He had cut off all her attempts to draw him into conversation, no matter how innocent, and had left immediately after his meal was finished to attend to some unnamed “business” that he insisted would only bore a young woman such as herself. Of course, he had also insisted that she remain within the walls of the church until he returned. How he could presume such forced inactivity would be any less boring than accompanying her favorite cousin was beyond her understanding.
“Elizabeth.” The familiar voice sounding over her shoulder pulled her from her thoughts and she turned to face her cousin.
“Mark. I didn’t hear you come in. When did you get back?” She eyed his damp hair and rumpled great coat, already knowing his answer.
“Only just,” he answered with a dismissive wave. “The better question is what are you doing up at this hour?”
Quite unused to her actions being called into question by Mark, she grasped about for a suitable answer for several moments before stammering out a reply. “I…I had lost track of time…What is the hour?” As the hallway clock downstairs finished chiming the four o’clock hour, Mark merely quirked an eyebrow at his cousin, instantly making her feel utterly foolish. “Oh. Right.” Abandoning her charade of innocence, Elizabeth silently offered Mark the neatly folded note from her mother. She watched as he accepted, unfolded, and read the source of her insomnia. As he gently folded it back, fingers carefully smoothing the paper’s edges, she waited for his teasing reproach that she would allow herself to lose sleep over so silly an affair as her excitable mother’s irrational fear. It never came.
“I agree.”
“I’m sorry? You agree?” Confusion settled into Elizabeth’s brow and she stared at her cousin, waiting for some clarifcation.
“I agree with your mother. Eliza, I realize that a young lady such as yourself has much more important matters to concern herself with that the state of affairs in so large a city.” Mark took a deep breath before continuing and chose to ignore his young cousin’s disdainful sniff, “But I’m afraid that it may soon be beyond my powers to grant you the safety in your stay that I promised Aunt Merna. London is…London is not Willian.”
“I am well aware of what London both is and is not, thank you. What I fail to understand is why you appear to have only just realized this yourself. Surely, you must have considered the differences between your home and mine before agreeing to take me in?”
Mark shot his cousin a half-hearted glare before answering. “Yes, I considered. Elizabeth, things change. When I first agreed that I would watch over you during your stay, I fully believed that I was capable of fufilling my duties as gaurdian. Since your arrival, that has changed.”
“Why?” Elizabeth asked, her lips pursing and one delicate eyebrow arching upward.
September 10, 1888
St. James’s Church
My dear friend-
It is with deepest regrets and strongest sentiments that I must urge you to forgo your London tour.
Perhaps news of my Fair City’s current fervor has already reached you. If it has, I am assured that you of all individuals will understand and heed my warning, but there is more, which you could not have known prior to this communication's arrival. I fear there has been another slaying not but two evenings ago. This now brings the count to four innocents. I pray that this shall be the last, as I have prayed for each of the proceeding. The reports from the Yard are, of course, most optimistic. They claim that they are closer than ever to catching the Madman behind these inhuman (you will pardon the expression, I am sure) acts. Yet I cannot but fear that they are mistaken and are as befuddled as ever. Further, I fear I am not the only one to be struck by such melancholy. Not but this very morning, whilst making my daily turn around the Square, was I accosted by no less than three old crones, each offering (for a price, of course) some sort of poultice or amulet, all protective in nature.
Laugh if you must, for I understand that such practices are perhaps considered common in your native Dacian lands, but here! Here! St. James’s Square! Sir, I need not tell you, that if such unseeming sensibilities have reached their tentacles this far into the heart of Our Queen’s throne, the rest of the city is wreathing in unrest. They jump at shadows and beat at the winds. For one of your kind to venture into their midst would be no less than a death sentence.
Again, I must beg you, my brother in all but blood and birth, keep still until this malady passes. Then I shall welcome you with open arms. Until then, may this find and keep you in the safety of your home.
-Your Obedient Servant
M.
Letter Returned to Sender, unopened, several weeks later.
Lightning twinkled through the sheer curtains of the train’s window, echoing across the dark car in flashes of faint blue and white. His host lay spent beside him, her dark hair masking her pale face. Long legs lay entwined with crumpled sheets, entangled with him. He watched the storm's glow dance along her body and duel with the shadows among the darkness. Still she slumbered. A hand fluttered down, fingertips joining the dance of light and shadow snaking across her skin. With a soft sigh, she turned toward his touch, tucking her head against his arm in the process. She was not perfect, but she would do. His hand moved up from her hip to brush her hair from her face, revealing the smooth column of her neck. A smirk touched his lips as he lowered his head and began to feed, dark hair falling in a curtain around the pair.
Later, once he was sure his host would remember nothing more than having a drink too many before dinner, he slipped from the compartment and moved silently down the aisle, his footing sure and smooth even as the train was battered by the storm. He had intended to write to his companion in London far earlier, but his dinner plans had taken longer to arrange than he expected. With each stop bringing the train closer to its final destination, more and more whispers were reaching his ears of the most disagreeable sort. Now that the train’s arrival in Calais and his subsequent sailing the Channel only a few hours away, the rumors that had filled the dining car came rushing back to him: murmurs of devil-worshipping, murders, and witchcraft, each centered in London. He could feel the faint pricking of anxiety in the back of his mind and sought to free himself of the sensation. It bothered him that he had not heard from his companion before leaving his native lands, yet surely, if the mood of London posed any real threat, he would have already received warning. Pausing at the door to his compartment, he turned to stare out into the murky darkness. Still, he was unable to shake the sense of foreboding that had been his sole companion in his journey. Reaching out, he placed a hand on the cool glass of the window, anchoring himself against the storm he feared was yet to come. Green eyes watched the water flowed passed the tips of his fingers.
~~*~~*~~
The rain continued to pour down in thick, heavy drops, just as it had all day. The light reflected in the window rippled as the tiny rivers of water rushed down the panes. One finger traced a rivulet as it meandered downward, joining and separating others as it went. Brown eyes stared past the tiny rivers. She studied the darkness, her mind filling in the churchyard her eyes could not see.
It was hard to believe that a city that seemed so full of life and energy could be brought to a standstill by mere darkness and water. Now, at night, with the city stilled and silent and the fire glowing warm and safe behind her, she could close her eyes and imagine that she was back home in Willian and that her mother, brother, and grandfather were in the next rooms, already deeply asleep. She shook her head resolutely, shoving any feelings of longing firmly aside. Idly tapping a folded note against her lower lip, she considered her predicament. Ironic, really. Until the post had arrived that morning, she had wanted nothing more than to return home, yet now that the possibility of being ordered home early had arisen, she found herself desperately clinging to the time she had left, however short it may be. Still, she found she could not quite bring herself to be surprised with the tone of her mother’s latest correspondence. It had been hard enough to convince the woman to allow her only daughter a relatively unchaperoned visit to begin with. In the end, only her elder cousin’s offer to allow the girl use of his rooms in the rectory where she would be under his watchful eye had persuaded her mother. Mark had argued most convincingly that it was in Mrs. Farnon’s own best interest that her daughter be schooled in the ways of London in advance of her official entrance into Society with the start of the next Season.
Never, in all her eighteen years of life, had she doubted that she had anything but a loyal comrade in the older man. Now, however, the seed had been planted. She couldn’t quite understand it, but something in her cousin had changed, literally overnight. When he had joined her for breakfast, his eyes had not held the youthful spark she was so accustom to. The air of playful mischief she so loved had been replaced with a sense of wariness. He presented the image of a man defeated; yet she could find no explanation for his sudden transformation. He had cut off all her attempts to draw him into conversation, no matter how innocent, and had left immediately after his meal was finished to attend to some unnamed “business” that he insisted would only bore a young woman such as herself. Of course, he had also insisted that she remain within the walls of the church until he returned. How he could presume such forced inactivity would be any less boring than accompanying her favorite cousin was beyond her understanding.
“Elizabeth.” The familiar voice sounding over her shoulder pulled her from her thoughts and she turned to face her cousin.
“Mark. I didn’t hear you come in. When did you get back?” She eyed his damp hair and rumpled great coat, already knowing his answer.
“Only just,” he answered with a dismissive wave. “The better question is what are you doing up at this hour?”
Quite unused to her actions being called into question by Mark, she grasped about for a suitable answer for several moments before stammering out a reply. “I…I had lost track of time…What is the hour?” As the hallway clock downstairs finished chiming the four o’clock hour, Mark merely quirked an eyebrow at his cousin, instantly making her feel utterly foolish. “Oh. Right.” Abandoning her charade of innocence, Elizabeth silently offered Mark the neatly folded note from her mother. She watched as he accepted, unfolded, and read the source of her insomnia. As he gently folded it back, fingers carefully smoothing the paper’s edges, she waited for his teasing reproach that she would allow herself to lose sleep over so silly an affair as her excitable mother’s irrational fear. It never came.
“I agree.”
“I’m sorry? You agree?” Confusion settled into Elizabeth’s brow and she stared at her cousin, waiting for some clarifcation.
“I agree with your mother. Eliza, I realize that a young lady such as yourself has much more important matters to concern herself with that the state of affairs in so large a city.” Mark took a deep breath before continuing and chose to ignore his young cousin’s disdainful sniff, “But I’m afraid that it may soon be beyond my powers to grant you the safety in your stay that I promised Aunt Merna. London is…London is not Willian.”
“I am well aware of what London both is and is not, thank you. What I fail to understand is why you appear to have only just realized this yourself. Surely, you must have considered the differences between your home and mine before agreeing to take me in?”
Mark shot his cousin a half-hearted glare before answering. “Yes, I considered. Elizabeth, things change. When I first agreed that I would watch over you during your stay, I fully believed that I was capable of fufilling my duties as gaurdian. Since your arrival, that has changed.”
“Why?” Elizabeth asked, her lips pursing and one delicate eyebrow arching upward.