Primeval fic: Bathed By Blood (2/16)
Title: Bathed By Blood (2/16)
Author: knitekat
Word Count: ~2575 (of a total of ~47955)
Characters: James Lester, Tom Ryan and a cast of RPs, OCs and OHs.
Pairing: James Lester/Tom Ryan
Rating: 18
Disclaimer: Primeval belongs to Impossible Pictures. Certainly not me. Writing for fun and will replace.
A/N 1: Part of my AU Bloodverse series. Continues from Part 1 and continues in Part 3.
A/N 2: Contains details of historical fact, several individuals in the fic are based on real historical people.
A/N 3: Thanks go to Fred for the beta. Cheers, m'dear.
Warnings: Dark!fic, bloodplay, blood and gore in general (graphic descriptions), angst, hurt/comfort.
I paused at the entrance to my study and took a moment to examine the man who waited for me within its refined confines. The man perusing the bookshelves that lined the walls looked more like a middle-aged bank manager or a solicitor than any policeman I had ever seen. Slightly taller than myself, portly and balding, although what remained of his dark brown hair was still untouched by grey. Nothing whatsoever stood out about him and that set my instincts on edge. “My apologies for my lateness.”
The man swung around to face me and I quickly noted his thick moustache and bushy sideburns. All in all, easily forgettable. However, I observed his hazel eyes, eyes that flickered and catalogued and saw. I quickly dismissed any thoughts that he was a fool. I would not underestimate the danger such a man as he might hold, yet I did so hope he would not prove to be a problem. Problems had to be solved and when those problems included a policeman, the solution usually created more problems than it solved.
“Hinspector Frederick Habberline hof Scotland Yard hat your service, Sir James.”
I sat down in a rich leather chair behind my mahogany desk and indicated to the inspector that he could sit down. I nodded with satisfaction when he carefully produced a handkerchief and placed it on the leather to protect it before he sat. I steepled my hands and rested my chin on them as I regarded my visitor and I am not ashamed to admit I was curious as to why a Scotland Yard Police Inspector would have come to see me.
I knew how most people in government saw me, a political lightweight overseeing what they believed to be a minor department as I waited to inherit my father's estate and his seat in the Lords. The subterfuge amused me and I enjoyed pretending to be my own son. It was a necessary pretence, of course, as I had held this position in government for the Council and the British Empire for more than one human lifetime. But this Inspector Abberline knew none of that, so why was he here? “And what can I do for you, Inspector?”
Abberline shifted somewhat uncomfortably under my gaze. “I have been hinstructed to request your haid in a most delicate matter, Sir James. Lord Henry Matthews himself has taken an hinterest in the case, sir, and has hinstructed Sir Charles to ask for your hexpertise, Sir James.”
I quirked an eyebrow, when the Home Secretary made requests like that, it meant only one thing. Something had occurred that came under my remit, secret to all but the highest echelons of government. Something those in the know at the Home Office considered of potential supernatural origin which they wanted stopped, one way or another. They also wanted a mundane explanation for the public and quickly, before London exploded in a mass of hysteria. The Empire did not believe in the supernatural, after all, I had spent many years ensuring that they did not.
Abberline continued, “You have heard about the recent murder in Whitechapel, Sir James?”
I paused before recalling several rather sensational articles in the papers. “I believe I saw something about it in several of the newspapers, Inspector, so I know a little of the matter. Pray continue.”
“A local...” Abberline paused, obviously trying to think of a suitable word to describe the victim to an aristocrat such as myself.
I could think of only one class of victim he would pause over in my company and helpfully supplied the word he was so tastefully avoiding using in my presence. “Prostitute?” My lips twitched at Abberline's shocked expression at my use of the word.
“Yes, sir.” Abberline quickly regained his poise. If he ever found out the truth about vampires that would cause a problem - if he had clear evidence, he would more likely keep a clear head rather than deny what his senses told him. I dragged my attention back to now as he continued. “The body of one Mary Hann Nichols was discovered at habout 3-40 in the morning of the 31st of Haugust in Buck's Row.”
“By?” I injected. If I was to solve this case for the Home Office I would have need of all the facts, no matter how trivial they appeared to be at first glance.
Abberline reached into his pocket and produced a notebook. He licked his index finger and flicked through the pages. “Charles Cross, a carman working for Pickfords in City Road, and a Robert Paul, a carman working in Spitalfield.” When I nodded and indicated for him to continue, he added. “Murders are not an huncommon hoccurrence in the Heast Hend, sir, but this one.” He shook his head and I had to wonder at what sort of murder could ruffle the composure of a seasoned policeman. “It was savage, sir. But what brings me to you is that when Dr Llewellyn. That is Dr Rees Ralph Llewellyn, sir. When he hexamined the victim, he reported that there was but a glass of wine and a half of blood in the gutter.”
“I do not understand how this would be of interest to Lord Henry or to myself, Inspector Abberline.” I just hoped he would get to the point, although I had my own suspicions about what he would impart.
“Well, sir. Dr Llewellyn says he is certain she had been killed there, but there should have been more blood. The bastard.” Abberline stopped before adding, “Pardon my language, sir. But he had severed her throat to the bone and ripped open her belly.” He repeated, quieter, “Should have been more blood.”
I cursed silently. I knew exactly why Lord Henry had passed the case to me. He suspected that a vampire was involved. Bloody hell. If the Council didn't get Stoker's informant first, I would happily string him up by his ballocks and flay the hide off him.
Abberline continued and I was grateful to hear from his voice that he did not believe the rumours. “It is that book, Sir James. The one by Stoker. It has been published in some of the papers, sir. It has got people worked up habout these blood-drinking fiends and now...” he trailed off.
“And now you have a body lacking in blood you are afraid someone will cry it is this...?” I let my own sentence trail off, after all I did not want to appear to know too much about vampires.
“Vampire, sir. They are called vampires. One of the lads at the station has been reading it, I am sorry to say, sir. A man neither dead or halive, but... both. The book calls them the hundead. It requires the blood of the living to keep itself hactive, sir.”
So, it was not only one of the lads reading that damnable book. Not that I said that, instead I sighed and nodded as if in understanding. Flaying wasn't good enough for the culprit. “I see. You think someone will cry this... vampire and we will have a witch hunt on our hands?”
“Precisely, Sir James.” Abberline shuffled somewhat uncomfortably, which did not surprise me, no 'rational' man likes to talk of the supernatural. Another point in favour of Abberline, if he did not believe I should be able to knock him from the scent. He seemed a decent enough fellow and I did prefer not having to permanently deal with a policeman - too many questions usually followed when their fellow officers noticed. His next words dragged my mind back to business. “I am at a loss as to why Lord Henry requested your haid, Sir James?”
I smiled. “The Home Office does not appreciate hysteria or witch hunts, Inspector. My department’s public role is minor, so much so I imagine you are wondering why you were sent to me?” I did not wait for Abberline's response before I continued, “The Empire stretches across the world, my dear Abberline, and includes several superstitious backwaters. The government felt it prudent to set up a department, mine, to provide a rational explanation to what appears at first glance to be supernatural.” I sighed. “But, of course, this can not be announced to the public. It would hardly do Great Britain's or the Empire's reputation good to be thought of as superstitious and given to witch hunts, not in this day-and-age.”
Abberline nodded. “I see, Sir James.”
Good man. No unnecessary questions. I waited for a suitable pause before I spoke. “If you could provide my department with the full police report, inspector, that would be a start. By tomorrow morning.” I nodded as if coming to a conclusion. “Yes. That would be excellent.”
“Sir James?”
“I want my people to examine them, personally. They might find details you have missed.” I raised a hand before the Inspector could protest. “No disrespect intended, Inspector, but your men are not trained to spot hoaxes of this nature.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Good. Make sure everything is included. Every scrap of information, no matter how unimportant it may seem, for within it might be the hint that would lead us to this murderer.” I stood. “Now, if there is nothing else, I have pressing matters I must attend to.”
“Of course, Sir James. Scotland Yard happreciates your help. Good day, sir.”
I nodded and summoned Becker to see the inspector out. I poured myself a small brandy as I waited for Becker to return. He announced his presence by clearing his throat. “Do you require anything else, Sir James?”
I turned and smiled at Becker. He, as his family before him, was proving to be excellent retainer; which reminded me. “William, how are you parents?”
“They are fine, sir. Mother wrote to ask me to thank you for the cottage, sir.”
I waved my hand in dismissal of his thanks. “Sally served me well for many years, William, she and your father earned that cottage.”
“Thank you kindly, sir.”
I smiled and graciously accepted the Beckers' gratitude, after all, a cottage was a small price to pay for their loyalty, especially as I had appreciated Sally's and Samuel's aid in acclimatising Ryan to his new life.
My mind turned back to the matter at hand. “Becker, I need you to send Matthew to buy the newspapers and, indeed, the scandal sheets for me. Anything that mentions this business in Whitechapel. Provide Ned and Henry with sufficient funds and send them to the usual public houses, I want them to listen and return with any news on the subject.”
“For Scotland Yard, sir?” Becker queried.
“For the Home Office, Becker. I expect Ryan and I will be busy for the next several nights.”
“Of course, sir. I will check your special wine supply, sir.”
I smiled, that sounded an excellent idea. “I believe I will require a glass for breakfast. Have we any of that fine 18-year old left?”
“I believe we do, sir.” Becker nodded to me as he left me to peruse my letters, returning quickly with a glass filled with the finest liquid, blood-red of course, from my special cellar. I took my time savouring its sweet smell before I dipped the tip of my tongue into it. The taste was divine, exploding on my taste buds. I wanted to drain the glass dry but restrained myself, I desired to savour it. Every single sweet drop.
“You are enjoying that.” Ryan's voice came from behind me as his fingers began to rub my shoulders.
I moaned softly at the feel of his fingers before I held the glass out for him to take. I smiled at the contented sigh as he sipped from my glass. “How was your practice?”
“I managed slightly longer, sire.”
Ryan replied in a way that had me looking at him closely, my eyebrow quirking as I noticed the slight red burns on his face. “Ryan?”
“Hattie has already had words with me, sire.”
“And smothered you in her ointment,” I noted quietly as I tried to gauge how hurt he was.
“Yes, sire.” He decided to change the subject and I allowed him too, for now at least. “But this vintage is excellent.”
I smiled as I decided he was only singed. Maybe this lesson would teach him not to push his limits in his quest to be out in the sunlight before he was ready. On a more practical note I quizzed him about the blood he was tasting. “It is. What is it?”
Ryan sighed softly before he took another sip. I knew he was washing it around his mouth as he sought out its unique flavour. “Is it that 18-year-old we sampled last night?”
“Excellent.” I leaned back and pulled him down for a kiss, my tongue seeking entrance before I drew his into my mouth and sucked on it. I barely managed to refrain from the temptation to sink my teeth in deep and swallow his intoxicating blood. I required a clear head for this business in Whitechapel, besides which, tonight would be soon enough to introduce Ryan to the pleasures of pain. I pulled back from his mouth and smiled at the look of need in his eyes. Oh yes, tonight would be soon enough. The anticipation would build in Ryan and he would be eager to learn what I could teach him. I ran my fingers through his hair, feeling him lean into my hand. “Break your fast with me, Ryan.” I rang the silver bell once he was seated and perused my letters as I waited for breakfast.
“Anything of interest, sire?”
“A letter from Christiana.” I passed it over to him. “She is enjoying Paris.”
Ryan snorted. “She is enjoying the Parisians.”
I smiled but did not respond as Becker arrived with our breakfast. I began to eat with relish and I noticed Ryan enjoyed it just as much. Once we were replete, I rang the bell again. “Please pass my compliments to Hattie for an excellent meal, Becker.”
“Especially the black pudding.”
“Of course, sir.” Becker replied. “Will you be requiring the carriage today, sir?”
I sighed softly as I considered my plans for the day. “I believe it prudent to have it ready, Becker.”
“Very good, Sir James.”
Once Becker had left us, Ryan quirked an eyebrow at me. “What did Scotland Yard want, my sire?”
I sighed. “A savage murder has occurred in Whitechapel. There is talk of the supernatural.”
“Stoker.”
I nodded in agreement. “His book has not helped.” I sighed again, “I will be out this morning at my club. Sir Charles will be there, I am certain of it, and I can find out about this Inspector Abberline.” I smiled at Ryan. “I want you to continue your studies, Ryan. I have a feeling I will be needing your help in this matter.”
“I will be most diligent, my sire.”
Author: knitekat
Word Count: ~2575 (of a total of ~47955)
Characters: James Lester, Tom Ryan and a cast of RPs, OCs and OHs.
Pairing: James Lester/Tom Ryan
Rating: 18
Disclaimer: Primeval belongs to Impossible Pictures. Certainly not me. Writing for fun and will replace.
A/N 1: Part of my AU Bloodverse series. Continues from Part 1 and continues in Part 3.
A/N 2: Contains details of historical fact, several individuals in the fic are based on real historical people.
A/N 3: Thanks go to Fred for the beta. Cheers, m'dear.
Warnings: Dark!fic, bloodplay, blood and gore in general (graphic descriptions), angst, hurt/comfort.
I paused at the entrance to my study and took a moment to examine the man who waited for me within its refined confines. The man perusing the bookshelves that lined the walls looked more like a middle-aged bank manager or a solicitor than any policeman I had ever seen. Slightly taller than myself, portly and balding, although what remained of his dark brown hair was still untouched by grey. Nothing whatsoever stood out about him and that set my instincts on edge. “My apologies for my lateness.”
The man swung around to face me and I quickly noted his thick moustache and bushy sideburns. All in all, easily forgettable. However, I observed his hazel eyes, eyes that flickered and catalogued and saw. I quickly dismissed any thoughts that he was a fool. I would not underestimate the danger such a man as he might hold, yet I did so hope he would not prove to be a problem. Problems had to be solved and when those problems included a policeman, the solution usually created more problems than it solved.
“Hinspector Frederick Habberline hof Scotland Yard hat your service, Sir James.”
I sat down in a rich leather chair behind my mahogany desk and indicated to the inspector that he could sit down. I nodded with satisfaction when he carefully produced a handkerchief and placed it on the leather to protect it before he sat. I steepled my hands and rested my chin on them as I regarded my visitor and I am not ashamed to admit I was curious as to why a Scotland Yard Police Inspector would have come to see me.
I knew how most people in government saw me, a political lightweight overseeing what they believed to be a minor department as I waited to inherit my father's estate and his seat in the Lords. The subterfuge amused me and I enjoyed pretending to be my own son. It was a necessary pretence, of course, as I had held this position in government for the Council and the British Empire for more than one human lifetime. But this Inspector Abberline knew none of that, so why was he here? “And what can I do for you, Inspector?”
Abberline shifted somewhat uncomfortably under my gaze. “I have been hinstructed to request your haid in a most delicate matter, Sir James. Lord Henry Matthews himself has taken an hinterest in the case, sir, and has hinstructed Sir Charles to ask for your hexpertise, Sir James.”
I quirked an eyebrow, when the Home Secretary made requests like that, it meant only one thing. Something had occurred that came under my remit, secret to all but the highest echelons of government. Something those in the know at the Home Office considered of potential supernatural origin which they wanted stopped, one way or another. They also wanted a mundane explanation for the public and quickly, before London exploded in a mass of hysteria. The Empire did not believe in the supernatural, after all, I had spent many years ensuring that they did not.
Abberline continued, “You have heard about the recent murder in Whitechapel, Sir James?”
I paused before recalling several rather sensational articles in the papers. “I believe I saw something about it in several of the newspapers, Inspector, so I know a little of the matter. Pray continue.”
“A local...” Abberline paused, obviously trying to think of a suitable word to describe the victim to an aristocrat such as myself.
I could think of only one class of victim he would pause over in my company and helpfully supplied the word he was so tastefully avoiding using in my presence. “Prostitute?” My lips twitched at Abberline's shocked expression at my use of the word.
“Yes, sir.” Abberline quickly regained his poise. If he ever found out the truth about vampires that would cause a problem - if he had clear evidence, he would more likely keep a clear head rather than deny what his senses told him. I dragged my attention back to now as he continued. “The body of one Mary Hann Nichols was discovered at habout 3-40 in the morning of the 31st of Haugust in Buck's Row.”
“By?” I injected. If I was to solve this case for the Home Office I would have need of all the facts, no matter how trivial they appeared to be at first glance.
Abberline reached into his pocket and produced a notebook. He licked his index finger and flicked through the pages. “Charles Cross, a carman working for Pickfords in City Road, and a Robert Paul, a carman working in Spitalfield.” When I nodded and indicated for him to continue, he added. “Murders are not an huncommon hoccurrence in the Heast Hend, sir, but this one.” He shook his head and I had to wonder at what sort of murder could ruffle the composure of a seasoned policeman. “It was savage, sir. But what brings me to you is that when Dr Llewellyn. That is Dr Rees Ralph Llewellyn, sir. When he hexamined the victim, he reported that there was but a glass of wine and a half of blood in the gutter.”
“I do not understand how this would be of interest to Lord Henry or to myself, Inspector Abberline.” I just hoped he would get to the point, although I had my own suspicions about what he would impart.
“Well, sir. Dr Llewellyn says he is certain she had been killed there, but there should have been more blood. The bastard.” Abberline stopped before adding, “Pardon my language, sir. But he had severed her throat to the bone and ripped open her belly.” He repeated, quieter, “Should have been more blood.”
I cursed silently. I knew exactly why Lord Henry had passed the case to me. He suspected that a vampire was involved. Bloody hell. If the Council didn't get Stoker's informant first, I would happily string him up by his ballocks and flay the hide off him.
Abberline continued and I was grateful to hear from his voice that he did not believe the rumours. “It is that book, Sir James. The one by Stoker. It has been published in some of the papers, sir. It has got people worked up habout these blood-drinking fiends and now...” he trailed off.
“And now you have a body lacking in blood you are afraid someone will cry it is this...?” I let my own sentence trail off, after all I did not want to appear to know too much about vampires.
“Vampire, sir. They are called vampires. One of the lads at the station has been reading it, I am sorry to say, sir. A man neither dead or halive, but... both. The book calls them the hundead. It requires the blood of the living to keep itself hactive, sir.”
So, it was not only one of the lads reading that damnable book. Not that I said that, instead I sighed and nodded as if in understanding. Flaying wasn't good enough for the culprit. “I see. You think someone will cry this... vampire and we will have a witch hunt on our hands?”
“Precisely, Sir James.” Abberline shuffled somewhat uncomfortably, which did not surprise me, no 'rational' man likes to talk of the supernatural. Another point in favour of Abberline, if he did not believe I should be able to knock him from the scent. He seemed a decent enough fellow and I did prefer not having to permanently deal with a policeman - too many questions usually followed when their fellow officers noticed. His next words dragged my mind back to business. “I am at a loss as to why Lord Henry requested your haid, Sir James?”
I smiled. “The Home Office does not appreciate hysteria or witch hunts, Inspector. My department’s public role is minor, so much so I imagine you are wondering why you were sent to me?” I did not wait for Abberline's response before I continued, “The Empire stretches across the world, my dear Abberline, and includes several superstitious backwaters. The government felt it prudent to set up a department, mine, to provide a rational explanation to what appears at first glance to be supernatural.” I sighed. “But, of course, this can not be announced to the public. It would hardly do Great Britain's or the Empire's reputation good to be thought of as superstitious and given to witch hunts, not in this day-and-age.”
Abberline nodded. “I see, Sir James.”
Good man. No unnecessary questions. I waited for a suitable pause before I spoke. “If you could provide my department with the full police report, inspector, that would be a start. By tomorrow morning.” I nodded as if coming to a conclusion. “Yes. That would be excellent.”
“Sir James?”
“I want my people to examine them, personally. They might find details you have missed.” I raised a hand before the Inspector could protest. “No disrespect intended, Inspector, but your men are not trained to spot hoaxes of this nature.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Good. Make sure everything is included. Every scrap of information, no matter how unimportant it may seem, for within it might be the hint that would lead us to this murderer.” I stood. “Now, if there is nothing else, I have pressing matters I must attend to.”
“Of course, Sir James. Scotland Yard happreciates your help. Good day, sir.”
I nodded and summoned Becker to see the inspector out. I poured myself a small brandy as I waited for Becker to return. He announced his presence by clearing his throat. “Do you require anything else, Sir James?”
I turned and smiled at Becker. He, as his family before him, was proving to be excellent retainer; which reminded me. “William, how are you parents?”
“They are fine, sir. Mother wrote to ask me to thank you for the cottage, sir.”
I waved my hand in dismissal of his thanks. “Sally served me well for many years, William, she and your father earned that cottage.”
“Thank you kindly, sir.”
I smiled and graciously accepted the Beckers' gratitude, after all, a cottage was a small price to pay for their loyalty, especially as I had appreciated Sally's and Samuel's aid in acclimatising Ryan to his new life.
My mind turned back to the matter at hand. “Becker, I need you to send Matthew to buy the newspapers and, indeed, the scandal sheets for me. Anything that mentions this business in Whitechapel. Provide Ned and Henry with sufficient funds and send them to the usual public houses, I want them to listen and return with any news on the subject.”
“For Scotland Yard, sir?” Becker queried.
“For the Home Office, Becker. I expect Ryan and I will be busy for the next several nights.”
“Of course, sir. I will check your special wine supply, sir.”
I smiled, that sounded an excellent idea. “I believe I will require a glass for breakfast. Have we any of that fine 18-year old left?”
“I believe we do, sir.” Becker nodded to me as he left me to peruse my letters, returning quickly with a glass filled with the finest liquid, blood-red of course, from my special cellar. I took my time savouring its sweet smell before I dipped the tip of my tongue into it. The taste was divine, exploding on my taste buds. I wanted to drain the glass dry but restrained myself, I desired to savour it. Every single sweet drop.
“You are enjoying that.” Ryan's voice came from behind me as his fingers began to rub my shoulders.
I moaned softly at the feel of his fingers before I held the glass out for him to take. I smiled at the contented sigh as he sipped from my glass. “How was your practice?”
“I managed slightly longer, sire.”
Ryan replied in a way that had me looking at him closely, my eyebrow quirking as I noticed the slight red burns on his face. “Ryan?”
“Hattie has already had words with me, sire.”
“And smothered you in her ointment,” I noted quietly as I tried to gauge how hurt he was.
“Yes, sire.” He decided to change the subject and I allowed him too, for now at least. “But this vintage is excellent.”
I smiled as I decided he was only singed. Maybe this lesson would teach him not to push his limits in his quest to be out in the sunlight before he was ready. On a more practical note I quizzed him about the blood he was tasting. “It is. What is it?”
Ryan sighed softly before he took another sip. I knew he was washing it around his mouth as he sought out its unique flavour. “Is it that 18-year-old we sampled last night?”
“Excellent.” I leaned back and pulled him down for a kiss, my tongue seeking entrance before I drew his into my mouth and sucked on it. I barely managed to refrain from the temptation to sink my teeth in deep and swallow his intoxicating blood. I required a clear head for this business in Whitechapel, besides which, tonight would be soon enough to introduce Ryan to the pleasures of pain. I pulled back from his mouth and smiled at the look of need in his eyes. Oh yes, tonight would be soon enough. The anticipation would build in Ryan and he would be eager to learn what I could teach him. I ran my fingers through his hair, feeling him lean into my hand. “Break your fast with me, Ryan.” I rang the silver bell once he was seated and perused my letters as I waited for breakfast.
“Anything of interest, sire?”
“A letter from Christiana.” I passed it over to him. “She is enjoying Paris.”
Ryan snorted. “She is enjoying the Parisians.”
I smiled but did not respond as Becker arrived with our breakfast. I began to eat with relish and I noticed Ryan enjoyed it just as much. Once we were replete, I rang the bell again. “Please pass my compliments to Hattie for an excellent meal, Becker.”
“Especially the black pudding.”
“Of course, sir.” Becker replied. “Will you be requiring the carriage today, sir?”
I sighed softly as I considered my plans for the day. “I believe it prudent to have it ready, Becker.”
“Very good, Sir James.”
Once Becker had left us, Ryan quirked an eyebrow at me. “What did Scotland Yard want, my sire?”
I sighed. “A savage murder has occurred in Whitechapel. There is talk of the supernatural.”
“Stoker.”
I nodded in agreement. “His book has not helped.” I sighed again, “I will be out this morning at my club. Sir Charles will be there, I am certain of it, and I can find out about this Inspector Abberline.” I smiled at Ryan. “I want you to continue your studies, Ryan. I have a feeling I will be needing your help in this matter.”
“I will be most diligent, my sire.”