Meckett ch. 6
Chapter six be here mateys. And we get to see Mercer and Beckett actually have a tiff - not their usual bickering but an actual row. *gasp!shock*
Title: Deliver Me 6/?
Pairing: Meckett
Rating: R
Summary: Beckett owns a strange house, one that isn't quite right. Mercer is hired to be his clerk and strange things ensue.
Note: Age: Beckett is in his mid twenties and Mercer in his mid thirties.
Part I Part IV
Part II Part V
Part III
"M'lord." Mercer glided into Beckett's study the next morning, an unreadable expression on his face.
"Yes?" Beckett kept his eyes carefully on the paper.
"Do you know if anyone went through my desk?" He could feel the older man's eyes piercing into him and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
"Not that I know of." Eyes still on the paper.
"M'lord." Mercer was suddenly closer and Beckett didn't remember hearing him move. The clerk's voice was soft, quiet, unassuming and Beckett could feel his heart pounding and wondered that Mercer didn't comment on the loud noises that seemed to be surrounding them. "You went through my desk last night. May I ask why?"
"I did no such thing." His tongue wasn't working, his throat wasn't working, and the tightness was back though this time it felt different, his face felt hot and he didn't know why.
"You did," Mercer's voice was a whisper and he could feel the older man's breath ghosting along his temple. "What were you looking for?"
"I didn't do it."
"Only you could have. The other servants are smart enough to know better."
Beckett scowled and finally looked up, making sure his eyes met Mercer's.
"You were researching my family." He bit out.
"Why shouldn't I?"
"You simply had to ask instead of sneaking about like-"
"Had to ask?" A twisted smile. "And what? Get more 'I don't know' and convoluted answers?"
"Who did you talk to for the interview?"
The smile turned to a smirk.
"Your sister."
"How did you…"
"We had tea."
"But you said-"
"Later."
"What did you do to her?" Beckett stood and he could hear his voice getting louder.
"Nothing. I slipped her something that would make it, well, easier to get the truth." Beckett raised his hand and swung it forward but Mercer caught his wrist and shook his head. "You'll have to be faster m'lord."
"Let go of me."
"Not yet. You want to know why I did it? I normally don't resort to measures such as that, especially with a lady, and normally I am fine with my masters keeping secrets - it's their right after all. But when the secret threatens my life," his grip tightened and Beckett found himself wincing much to his embarrassment. "I will have answers." Mercer pushed Beckett away while releasing his hand, landing the smaller man back in his chair. "Good day m'lord and good luck."
"Mercer wait." The man was already at the door. "Where are you going?" Mercer turned back around, his expression blank.
"You read all my letters."
"Merc- wait -" But he was gone.
"He didn't take anything." Illyria said as she lingered in the doorway to Beckett's study. The young master was seated in his chair and staring determinedly at the papers before him, clutching them so hard his thumb tore a hole. "Should I have his room and desk emptied?" She continued, keeping her own eyes steady and forward.
"No," Beckett found his voice harsh and winced. "No," he amended, tone softer, "give him a week."
"Very good m'lord."
Beckett watched her with a frown before turning back to his work. The paper blurred before his eyes as he stared at it hard. The same line ran before his eyes over and over again, making itself a mantra of legal dogma.
A minute passed, then two, then three and he couldn't focus on the document. The legal position of the East India Company in Singapore gave in to the worrying of his conscious as it replayed the conversation over again. The rational part of his mind assured him he was in the right, that Mercer would be home soon. A servant had no business keeping secrets of great import from his master. A servant had no right to manhandle his master's sister - even if it was with good intent. And the intent itself, though good, had a selfish aspect. Some aid! Beckett jerked himself up to a standing position and crossed the room to look out the window.
The first layer of snow blanketed the ground, reflecting the sun till Beckett was squinting. But Mercer's intent had been selfish, he had wanted to quickly end the Follett affair so he could visit his family. Why he would do such a thing Beckett couldn't comprehend - it didn't seem as if he owed his mother anything and surely Beckett's own problem far surpassed that of Mercer and his family.
With a rough sigh he turned and strode from the room, past Mercer's office with the careful intent of not looking, and on down the hall. He wound his way through the house, unsure of where he was going. Each hall became more and more like a maze as he up went stairs then down then back up. Pictures blended together, landscapes became portraits and portraits became landscapes. Each footstep became a spiritual journey in which there was no end, no answer, no God.
His mind was gracing every subject it possibly could, trying to avoid the one that lingered at the edge of the conscious and unconscious - the milky blue horizon of reality.
Night found Beckett curled in the center of a bed in one of the many rooms as the light steadily turned from gold to grey. He stared forward desperate to sleep yet afraid of it, so he trapped himself in thoughts of the summer when he was young. Trapped himself in memories of swimming, of sleeping in grassy fields, of hearing Jane's stories of ogres and fairies, of beauty and the beast, war and peace - of worlds that would never exist.
Anne was out in the yard with a bale of laundry and clothespins in her mouth. As the fabric fluttered about in the early morning breeze she caught a glimpse of a man slowly walking down the road towards them. Moving down the yard so the breeches and chemises were no longer blocking her view she squinted into the glaring sunlight, trying to get a better view of the stranger. At her side stood a solemn child of seven who clutched her apron in one hand and a small wooden horse in the other.
"Mamma, mamma - Jimmy said I was a baby!" The boy said for the fifth time as he tugged at the fabric.
"Hush Will, go inside," she bit out around the pins.
"But Mamma!"
"Now!" The boy pouted but did as he was told, shoving out a bottom lip as he trudged into the small house.
The man was getting closer and appeared to have no traveling bags with him. As he approached Anne noted something familiar about the gate and the confident stride the man possessed. At the edge of the opposite side of the yard he looked up to meet her face, a slight smile on his face.
"Hallo Anne, sorry I'm late."
The clothespins were dropped to the ground as she rushed forward, arms open in greeting.
"Joseph! Oh Joseph you're home!" She quickly slipped out the gate and gave her brother a tight hug. "You must come inside, have a drink. John will be home tonight and will be delighted to see you. Oh everyone will be delighted to see you! It's been so long." She stopped after she turned back around from closing the gate, Mercer's face still held the small smile but it seemed to be breaking.
"She's dead." He said, voice rough.
"Yes."
"She."
"Yes."
"How?"
"We don't know." Anne came forward and took her brother's arm, gently leading him inside. Her voice had dropped low even though the house was empty except for Will who was pouting in the kitchen. "The doctors said it was a cancer, I think it was grief. It ate her up."
"Something certainly ate her up."
"How are you Joseph?" They were sitting at the table, the end closest to the fire. Mercer was seated at the edge of his chair, unsure if he should relax or not, unsure of how long he was welcome.
"Fine. You?"
"Well, well enough. John is doing fine, the debt has eased up and McDonald has started to leave us alone."
"I'm glad to hear it."
"Well the shop cost so much - and McDonald owns all the land," she stopped herself mid-sentence with a nervous laugh. "But you already know this. Tell me, how is your lord?"
"Beckett? Oh spoiled and vain as most lords are prone to be. A pretty paycheck though."
"Is that why you stay? He does treat you correctly."
"He treats me as is expected for one of a lower rank."
"Which means…"
"He treats me well Anne. I'm fine, he's fine, everything is fine."
Anne sat back with an unconvinced look on her face but merely changed to subject to the weather and the price of food and clothes.
Beckett rolled over in his bed, a gentle draught brushing against his skin, bringing in a flurry of snowflakes with it. His eyes opened slowly as his body became aware of the suddenly chilly room. Pushing himself up with one arm he stared forward, eyes bleary with sleep. The white, gauzy drapes fluttered softly and seemed to dance in the pale moonlight. Behind them a window was open. With a sigh Beckett heaved himself up and stumbled over to the window, leaning with his forehead resting on the pane, he stared down to the swirling snow and the grounds below. Another breeze drifted in making him shiver in his nightshirt. After a moment he pulled back and firmly shut the window.
He took a step back, eyes still locked on the snow and the grounds, watching it till it blurred before him. A sigh escaped his lips and he closed his eyes, suddenly he felt a hand rest on his shoulder and his body seemed to freeze.
---TBC---
Part VII
Title: Deliver Me 6/?
Pairing: Meckett
Rating: R
Summary: Beckett owns a strange house, one that isn't quite right. Mercer is hired to be his clerk and strange things ensue.
Note: Age: Beckett is in his mid twenties and Mercer in his mid thirties.
Part I Part IV
Part II Part V
Part III
"M'lord." Mercer glided into Beckett's study the next morning, an unreadable expression on his face.
"Yes?" Beckett kept his eyes carefully on the paper.
"Do you know if anyone went through my desk?" He could feel the older man's eyes piercing into him and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
"Not that I know of." Eyes still on the paper.
"M'lord." Mercer was suddenly closer and Beckett didn't remember hearing him move. The clerk's voice was soft, quiet, unassuming and Beckett could feel his heart pounding and wondered that Mercer didn't comment on the loud noises that seemed to be surrounding them. "You went through my desk last night. May I ask why?"
"I did no such thing." His tongue wasn't working, his throat wasn't working, and the tightness was back though this time it felt different, his face felt hot and he didn't know why.
"You did," Mercer's voice was a whisper and he could feel the older man's breath ghosting along his temple. "What were you looking for?"
"I didn't do it."
"Only you could have. The other servants are smart enough to know better."
Beckett scowled and finally looked up, making sure his eyes met Mercer's.
"You were researching my family." He bit out.
"Why shouldn't I?"
"You simply had to ask instead of sneaking about like-"
"Had to ask?" A twisted smile. "And what? Get more 'I don't know' and convoluted answers?"
"Who did you talk to for the interview?"
The smile turned to a smirk.
"Your sister."
"How did you…"
"We had tea."
"But you said-"
"Later."
"What did you do to her?" Beckett stood and he could hear his voice getting louder.
"Nothing. I slipped her something that would make it, well, easier to get the truth." Beckett raised his hand and swung it forward but Mercer caught his wrist and shook his head. "You'll have to be faster m'lord."
"Let go of me."
"Not yet. You want to know why I did it? I normally don't resort to measures such as that, especially with a lady, and normally I am fine with my masters keeping secrets - it's their right after all. But when the secret threatens my life," his grip tightened and Beckett found himself wincing much to his embarrassment. "I will have answers." Mercer pushed Beckett away while releasing his hand, landing the smaller man back in his chair. "Good day m'lord and good luck."
"Mercer wait." The man was already at the door. "Where are you going?" Mercer turned back around, his expression blank.
"You read all my letters."
"Merc- wait -" But he was gone.
"He didn't take anything." Illyria said as she lingered in the doorway to Beckett's study. The young master was seated in his chair and staring determinedly at the papers before him, clutching them so hard his thumb tore a hole. "Should I have his room and desk emptied?" She continued, keeping her own eyes steady and forward.
"No," Beckett found his voice harsh and winced. "No," he amended, tone softer, "give him a week."
"Very good m'lord."
Beckett watched her with a frown before turning back to his work. The paper blurred before his eyes as he stared at it hard. The same line ran before his eyes over and over again, making itself a mantra of legal dogma.
A minute passed, then two, then three and he couldn't focus on the document. The legal position of the East India Company in Singapore gave in to the worrying of his conscious as it replayed the conversation over again. The rational part of his mind assured him he was in the right, that Mercer would be home soon. A servant had no business keeping secrets of great import from his master. A servant had no right to manhandle his master's sister - even if it was with good intent. And the intent itself, though good, had a selfish aspect. Some aid! Beckett jerked himself up to a standing position and crossed the room to look out the window.
The first layer of snow blanketed the ground, reflecting the sun till Beckett was squinting. But Mercer's intent had been selfish, he had wanted to quickly end the Follett affair so he could visit his family. Why he would do such a thing Beckett couldn't comprehend - it didn't seem as if he owed his mother anything and surely Beckett's own problem far surpassed that of Mercer and his family.
With a rough sigh he turned and strode from the room, past Mercer's office with the careful intent of not looking, and on down the hall. He wound his way through the house, unsure of where he was going. Each hall became more and more like a maze as he up went stairs then down then back up. Pictures blended together, landscapes became portraits and portraits became landscapes. Each footstep became a spiritual journey in which there was no end, no answer, no God.
His mind was gracing every subject it possibly could, trying to avoid the one that lingered at the edge of the conscious and unconscious - the milky blue horizon of reality.
Night found Beckett curled in the center of a bed in one of the many rooms as the light steadily turned from gold to grey. He stared forward desperate to sleep yet afraid of it, so he trapped himself in thoughts of the summer when he was young. Trapped himself in memories of swimming, of sleeping in grassy fields, of hearing Jane's stories of ogres and fairies, of beauty and the beast, war and peace - of worlds that would never exist.
Anne was out in the yard with a bale of laundry and clothespins in her mouth. As the fabric fluttered about in the early morning breeze she caught a glimpse of a man slowly walking down the road towards them. Moving down the yard so the breeches and chemises were no longer blocking her view she squinted into the glaring sunlight, trying to get a better view of the stranger. At her side stood a solemn child of seven who clutched her apron in one hand and a small wooden horse in the other.
"Mamma, mamma - Jimmy said I was a baby!" The boy said for the fifth time as he tugged at the fabric.
"Hush Will, go inside," she bit out around the pins.
"But Mamma!"
"Now!" The boy pouted but did as he was told, shoving out a bottom lip as he trudged into the small house.
The man was getting closer and appeared to have no traveling bags with him. As he approached Anne noted something familiar about the gate and the confident stride the man possessed. At the edge of the opposite side of the yard he looked up to meet her face, a slight smile on his face.
"Hallo Anne, sorry I'm late."
The clothespins were dropped to the ground as she rushed forward, arms open in greeting.
"Joseph! Oh Joseph you're home!" She quickly slipped out the gate and gave her brother a tight hug. "You must come inside, have a drink. John will be home tonight and will be delighted to see you. Oh everyone will be delighted to see you! It's been so long." She stopped after she turned back around from closing the gate, Mercer's face still held the small smile but it seemed to be breaking.
"She's dead." He said, voice rough.
"Yes."
"She."
"Yes."
"How?"
"We don't know." Anne came forward and took her brother's arm, gently leading him inside. Her voice had dropped low even though the house was empty except for Will who was pouting in the kitchen. "The doctors said it was a cancer, I think it was grief. It ate her up."
"Something certainly ate her up."
"How are you Joseph?" They were sitting at the table, the end closest to the fire. Mercer was seated at the edge of his chair, unsure if he should relax or not, unsure of how long he was welcome.
"Fine. You?"
"Well, well enough. John is doing fine, the debt has eased up and McDonald has started to leave us alone."
"I'm glad to hear it."
"Well the shop cost so much - and McDonald owns all the land," she stopped herself mid-sentence with a nervous laugh. "But you already know this. Tell me, how is your lord?"
"Beckett? Oh spoiled and vain as most lords are prone to be. A pretty paycheck though."
"Is that why you stay? He does treat you correctly."
"He treats me as is expected for one of a lower rank."
"Which means…"
"He treats me well Anne. I'm fine, he's fine, everything is fine."
Anne sat back with an unconvinced look on her face but merely changed to subject to the weather and the price of food and clothes.
Beckett rolled over in his bed, a gentle draught brushing against his skin, bringing in a flurry of snowflakes with it. His eyes opened slowly as his body became aware of the suddenly chilly room. Pushing himself up with one arm he stared forward, eyes bleary with sleep. The white, gauzy drapes fluttered softly and seemed to dance in the pale moonlight. Behind them a window was open. With a sigh Beckett heaved himself up and stumbled over to the window, leaning with his forehead resting on the pane, he stared down to the swirling snow and the grounds below. Another breeze drifted in making him shiver in his nightshirt. After a moment he pulled back and firmly shut the window.
He took a step back, eyes still locked on the snow and the grounds, watching it till it blurred before him. A sigh escaped his lips and he closed his eyes, suddenly he felt a hand rest on his shoulder and his body seemed to freeze.
---TBC---
Part VII