Cain Christmas fic, 3/3
So the ff100 people still haven't got back to me, but I am going to post this anyway. It's been long enough for anyone still reading it, after all. Attempts to explain my long absence over here.
Title: The Answer.
Fandom: Count Cain.
Characters: Cain, Merry, Riff, Oscar, a couple of OCs.
Prompt: 080 - Why?
Word Count: 1,171.
Rating: PG (for violent themes and brief language)
Summary: Cain is in over his head as Merry and Riff’s plan concludes and all is revealed.
Author's Notes/Disclaimer: Count Cain and all associated characters, settings, etc., belong to Yuki Kaori-sensei. The only profit I make from this work of fiction is my own satisfaction and, possibly, the enjoyment of others. Part three of three - it WILL NOT make sense unless you've read part one (“The Idea” for prompt ‘Christmas’) and part two (“The Plan” for prompt ‘Children’).
Cain was more than experienced with firearms; even as he pulled the trigger of his pistol, he steadied his arm in preparation for the recoil. Thus he was completely taken aback when the gun not only did not recoil, but did not fire at all. His shock caused him to hesitate just long enough for the figure in tattered clothing to knock the useless gun from his hand and force him back against the wall, the knife at his throat.
Even in such a dangerous situation, with confusion slowing his reflexes, Cain was proud he could keep a mostly level head. He smiled into the face of his subjugator. “Ah, Lady Rochford. You are indeed right-handed.”
The eyes of the woman before him widened; she chanced a quick look over her shoulder, spotting the hat that her sudden movements had dislodged from her head, before turning back to him with a sneer. “Earl Hargreaves. So you are as astute as your reputation suggests.”
He bowed his head slightly. She moved the knife correspondingly, though curiously away from, rather than towards his throat. Is she trying not to hurt me? he wondered. Odd behavior from an assailant. “Astute enough to realize you have not been working alone,” he replied, as a dark figure stepped through the door he had lately crashed through. “Madame Girard, however, is left-handed.”
The widow stopped in front of him, standing next to the woman whom she had claimed to be little more than an adversary. “You are correct, Comte. You realized I wrote the note?”
“Naturally, madame,” Cain answered, quite calmly for the situation, he believed. “The smudges on the paper could not have been caused by someone writing with their right hand. And I noticed when I held your hand in my sitting room that you had ink on the side of your left glove as though you had written something recently. I dare to guess that Henri is somewhere safe and unable to be located?”
“Of course. I would never allow him to be harmed.”
“Not even for the sake of ransom and extortion?” Cain’s mouth twisted into something more bitter than a smirk. “That was the eventual plan, yes? Convince Lord Rochford, once he returns from his holiday, that Henri - his illegitimate son, or so you would claim - could only be saved by giving his kidnappers vast sums of money? And a bit extra, certainly, to keep the scandal of his presumed paternity quiet.”
“And why would I enter into such a scheme?” Lady Rochford whispered, knife still hovering over his throat. “It would do me little good if Adèle were to take so much money from my husband.”
Cain clucked his tongue knowingly. “Forgive me, my lady, but your marital difficulties with his lordship are, frankly, common knowledge. A humiliation like the revelation of a bastard would give you grounds for a separation, and even if the scandal was not exposed, you and Madame Girard - with whom you are apparently on a first-name basis - could disappear with a tidy amount. After all, madame, you said yourself that you and Henri had to leave the Rochford residence next week; you cannot have been looking forward to the loss of the Rochford funds.”
Lady Rochford and Madame Girard exchanged a look. “You seem to have it all solved quite nicely, Lord Earl.”
“Yes,” Cain murmured, shifting his gaze from one to the other. “The only thing I cannot understand is how you managed to unload my gun without my noticing.”
“I’m afraid I am to blame for that, milord,” came a new voice.
Cain’s head jerked up; he hardly noticed that Lady Rochford had pulled her knife away from his throat. “Riff?” He felt an odd, cold sensation grip his heart as he recognized his butler walking down the alleyway. It was quickly replaced by the familiar burn of anger as his sister ran out from behind Riff and smiled at him. “What are you doing? I told you to wait for me at the carriage!”
“But the mystery is over, Brother!” Merry said brightly, rushing into his arms for a hug. Riff too looked pleased, and the two ladies both wore expressions of satisfaction and amusement. “Congratulations!” she squealed.
He hugged her back, once more bewildered. “Is anyone going to explain this to me?” he asked. Merry laughed and began.
~-~-~-~-
“You tried to shoot the actress?” Oscar howled with laughter. It was late in the evening on Christmas Day; the family had departed (at last), leaving only Cain, Merry, her persistent suitor, and the usual servants in the house. Oscar had finally pestered Cain into telling him the story of Merry’s present, and Cain was still regretting it.
“I didn’t know she was an actress,” Cain said for the fourth time, “and she had a knife on me!”
“But you said you knew the first one, this ‘Madame Girard’.”
Cain sighed, annoyed at being forced to repeat himself yet again. “Her name is Adèle Fournier. I met her briefly a few months back, looking into the murder of a fellow actress - that was why she had to wear the veil all of the time. ‘Lady Rochford’ is Blanche Allan, another actress. The real Lord and Lady Rochford were, of course, not involved.”
“But their marriage is the talk of London,” Oscar pointed out. “Or at least their troubles are.”
“And I did help Lord Rochford find his sister last summer. That was why Merry and Riff picked them for this subterfuge.”
“I prefer to think of it as a play,” Merry said, glancing up from the book Cain had given her with a cheeky grin.
“A play that could have resulted in a closer shave than I like,” Cain muttered, rubbing his neck. He was still slightly resentful that he had not seen through the deception, even though (as Merry had cheerfully reminded him) he had solved the mystery itself, which was the whole point.
“Miss Allan was told not to harm you, sir, but I could not very well allow you to shoot her either,” Riff said, appearing out of seemingly nowhere as usual and handing his master a glass of brandy.
“What are you reading, darling Merriweather?” Oscar asked, moving away from Cain to try to read over her shoulder. Merry angled the book so he couldn’t see, and he attempted to persuade her into reading aloud. Cain turned back to his butler, letting the familiar sounds of their squabbling fade into the background.
“You quite scared me there for a moment, Riff,” he commented, sipping at the brandy and looking at the fire broodingly.
“I do apologize, sir.” Riff tilted his head, a smile teasing the corners of his lips. “But you cannot say you did not enjoy the mystery.”
Cain did glance at him then, smirking. “You know me too well. You both do. But, Riff?”
“Lord Cain?”
“The next time Merry wants to get me a present, something less complicated will do.”
“I will let her know, sir.”
END
My Little Damn Table.
Title: The Answer.
Fandom: Count Cain.
Characters: Cain, Merry, Riff, Oscar, a couple of OCs.
Prompt: 080 - Why?
Word Count: 1,171.
Rating: PG (for violent themes and brief language)
Summary: Cain is in over his head as Merry and Riff’s plan concludes and all is revealed.
Author's Notes/Disclaimer: Count Cain and all associated characters, settings, etc., belong to Yuki Kaori-sensei. The only profit I make from this work of fiction is my own satisfaction and, possibly, the enjoyment of others. Part three of three - it WILL NOT make sense unless you've read part one (“The Idea” for prompt ‘Christmas’) and part two (“The Plan” for prompt ‘Children’).
Cain was more than experienced with firearms; even as he pulled the trigger of his pistol, he steadied his arm in preparation for the recoil. Thus he was completely taken aback when the gun not only did not recoil, but did not fire at all. His shock caused him to hesitate just long enough for the figure in tattered clothing to knock the useless gun from his hand and force him back against the wall, the knife at his throat.
Even in such a dangerous situation, with confusion slowing his reflexes, Cain was proud he could keep a mostly level head. He smiled into the face of his subjugator. “Ah, Lady Rochford. You are indeed right-handed.”
The eyes of the woman before him widened; she chanced a quick look over her shoulder, spotting the hat that her sudden movements had dislodged from her head, before turning back to him with a sneer. “Earl Hargreaves. So you are as astute as your reputation suggests.”
He bowed his head slightly. She moved the knife correspondingly, though curiously away from, rather than towards his throat. Is she trying not to hurt me? he wondered. Odd behavior from an assailant. “Astute enough to realize you have not been working alone,” he replied, as a dark figure stepped through the door he had lately crashed through. “Madame Girard, however, is left-handed.”
The widow stopped in front of him, standing next to the woman whom she had claimed to be little more than an adversary. “You are correct, Comte. You realized I wrote the note?”
“Naturally, madame,” Cain answered, quite calmly for the situation, he believed. “The smudges on the paper could not have been caused by someone writing with their right hand. And I noticed when I held your hand in my sitting room that you had ink on the side of your left glove as though you had written something recently. I dare to guess that Henri is somewhere safe and unable to be located?”
“Of course. I would never allow him to be harmed.”
“Not even for the sake of ransom and extortion?” Cain’s mouth twisted into something more bitter than a smirk. “That was the eventual plan, yes? Convince Lord Rochford, once he returns from his holiday, that Henri - his illegitimate son, or so you would claim - could only be saved by giving his kidnappers vast sums of money? And a bit extra, certainly, to keep the scandal of his presumed paternity quiet.”
“And why would I enter into such a scheme?” Lady Rochford whispered, knife still hovering over his throat. “It would do me little good if Adèle were to take so much money from my husband.”
Cain clucked his tongue knowingly. “Forgive me, my lady, but your marital difficulties with his lordship are, frankly, common knowledge. A humiliation like the revelation of a bastard would give you grounds for a separation, and even if the scandal was not exposed, you and Madame Girard - with whom you are apparently on a first-name basis - could disappear with a tidy amount. After all, madame, you said yourself that you and Henri had to leave the Rochford residence next week; you cannot have been looking forward to the loss of the Rochford funds.”
Lady Rochford and Madame Girard exchanged a look. “You seem to have it all solved quite nicely, Lord Earl.”
“Yes,” Cain murmured, shifting his gaze from one to the other. “The only thing I cannot understand is how you managed to unload my gun without my noticing.”
“I’m afraid I am to blame for that, milord,” came a new voice.
Cain’s head jerked up; he hardly noticed that Lady Rochford had pulled her knife away from his throat. “Riff?” He felt an odd, cold sensation grip his heart as he recognized his butler walking down the alleyway. It was quickly replaced by the familiar burn of anger as his sister ran out from behind Riff and smiled at him. “What are you doing? I told you to wait for me at the carriage!”
“But the mystery is over, Brother!” Merry said brightly, rushing into his arms for a hug. Riff too looked pleased, and the two ladies both wore expressions of satisfaction and amusement. “Congratulations!” she squealed.
He hugged her back, once more bewildered. “Is anyone going to explain this to me?” he asked. Merry laughed and began.
~-~-~-~-
“You tried to shoot the actress?” Oscar howled with laughter. It was late in the evening on Christmas Day; the family had departed (at last), leaving only Cain, Merry, her persistent suitor, and the usual servants in the house. Oscar had finally pestered Cain into telling him the story of Merry’s present, and Cain was still regretting it.
“I didn’t know she was an actress,” Cain said for the fourth time, “and she had a knife on me!”
“But you said you knew the first one, this ‘Madame Girard’.”
Cain sighed, annoyed at being forced to repeat himself yet again. “Her name is Adèle Fournier. I met her briefly a few months back, looking into the murder of a fellow actress - that was why she had to wear the veil all of the time. ‘Lady Rochford’ is Blanche Allan, another actress. The real Lord and Lady Rochford were, of course, not involved.”
“But their marriage is the talk of London,” Oscar pointed out. “Or at least their troubles are.”
“And I did help Lord Rochford find his sister last summer. That was why Merry and Riff picked them for this subterfuge.”
“I prefer to think of it as a play,” Merry said, glancing up from the book Cain had given her with a cheeky grin.
“A play that could have resulted in a closer shave than I like,” Cain muttered, rubbing his neck. He was still slightly resentful that he had not seen through the deception, even though (as Merry had cheerfully reminded him) he had solved the mystery itself, which was the whole point.
“Miss Allan was told not to harm you, sir, but I could not very well allow you to shoot her either,” Riff said, appearing out of seemingly nowhere as usual and handing his master a glass of brandy.
“What are you reading, darling Merriweather?” Oscar asked, moving away from Cain to try to read over her shoulder. Merry angled the book so he couldn’t see, and he attempted to persuade her into reading aloud. Cain turned back to his butler, letting the familiar sounds of their squabbling fade into the background.
“You quite scared me there for a moment, Riff,” he commented, sipping at the brandy and looking at the fire broodingly.
“I do apologize, sir.” Riff tilted his head, a smile teasing the corners of his lips. “But you cannot say you did not enjoy the mystery.”
Cain did glance at him then, smirking. “You know me too well. You both do. But, Riff?”
“Lord Cain?”
“The next time Merry wants to get me a present, something less complicated will do.”
“I will let her know, sir.”
END
My Little Damn Table.