Original: "Trafalgar & Boone, The Tale of the Ghost Club," Part 2
Geez, finally got the bare minimum amount of words I'm comfortable posting at once. It was a trial today. ::wipes sweat from brow:: Just one of those days, I guess. Fridays are always a bit of a trial for writing. But a new installment!
AO3
Desmond Tindall climbed the steps of Lady Boone’s townhouse, tapped the knocker, and smoothed down the front of his suit jacket as he awaited a response. His normally tidy brown hair was mussed from repeated rakings, and he was wearing the same suit he’d put on the morning before. His beard felt like an untidy mess, but he hadn’t the time to stop home and address the situation. He straightened his shoulders when he heard footsteps on the foyer floor and was smiling when the door opened.
“Miss Trafalgar. Pleasant to see you again.”
“And you, Master Tindall. Lady Boone is still upstairs. I’ll tell her you’ve arrived.”
“Very much obliged.”
She let him inside and he went into the parlor to wait. Dorothy and her new “housemaid” had yet to reveal what happened to Beatrice Sek, the house’s former keeper, and he refused to press. Their expressions the first time he’d asked after her had revealed volumes that their lips refused to speak. He knew Dorothy would have told him if she was dead, so he was willing to wait until they found a way to reveal the reason for her absence. Trafalgar was mystery enough for the time being; he’d heard rumors of the woman for the past few years, knew her to be a rival from Dorothy’s diatribes whenever they crossed paths. She had been a ghost, a villainess from a dime novel, and when she was in her cups Dorothy would often describe how she would one day best the cursed Trafalgar of Abyssinia.
And now, by some quirk of fate, the same Miss Trafalgar was serving as Lady Boone’s maidservant in the eyes of the world at large. In truth he knew they were equals, but how that had come to be was even more mysterious than Beatrice’s sudden disappearance. As intriguing as it would be to get the answers to his questions, he respected their privacy enough to hold his tongue.
“Professor Tindall,” Dorothy said, announcing her arrival. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Lady Boone. Dazzling as ever.”
She glared at him, though the effect was slightly ruined by the curve at the corners of her mouth. “Never trust a word coming from the mouth of a suitor.” She presented her cheek to him, and he noted it was still lined from the bedclothes as he kissed it. She frowned at his clothing, straightening the lapel of his coat and brushing her hands over the shoulders. “Goodness. You look a wreck.”
“Thank you kindly, Dorothy.” He sighed and touched his temple. “I’m afraid my visit this morning is more than simply keeping up appearances. I have need of your professional services.”
Dorothy pursed her lips and spun away from him, gliding toward the wet bar. “By professional services, you must intend to hire me as a governess. Or perhaps a librarian? I know, you’ve purchased an alehouse and need someone behind the bar to rustle up customers.”
“You know full well what I’m referring to, you damnable woman,” he said with a smile. “A situation has arisen and I fear those attempting to resolve it are hardly equipped to the task. In the past you’ve done very well with the unique and bizarre, and this certainly ranks amongst the most baffling situations to which I’ve ever been witness.”
Dorothy poured them both a small drink, and he noticed a third glass set out. She saw him noticing it and said, “If this is indeed a professional matter, I will ask Trafalgar to join us.”
“Of course.”
He expected her to leave to fetch the new partner, but as soon as the agreement passed his lips the parlor door opened and she swept inside. He smiled and shook his head as Trafalgar poured her own drink. Dorothy took a seat in her favorite wingback chair, and Trafalgar stood behind it to her right. A small divan was set up facing her chair, so Des took a seat in the center and cradled his snifter with both hands as he tried to figure out where to begin.
“What do you know of the Ghost Club?”
“It only allows men, so I know absolutely nothing of what occurs behind its closed doors.”
Des glared at her. “What do you know of it?”
“Founded in 1862, its members investigate alleged mediums, parapsychological phenomenon, and seek evidence of the afterlife. They debunk frauds and confirm true paranormal or psychical activity. They validate those who truly have the sight, blessed few though they are, and ensure no one throws away hard-earned money to con artists. They do marvelous work.”
He nodded. “Indeed we do. Unfortunately someone doesn’t share your admiration of our actions. In the past week, three of our members have been killed in varying obscene situations.” He grimaced and looked at his glass as if he’d just remembered he still held it. He took a quick drink and then grunted. “One man was found stuffed into a milk canister. Another was bound in a straitjacket and wrapped in chains closed with a padlock. His body was found on the shores of the Thames.”
“Ah,” Dorothy said. “I myself experienced something quite similar. Fortunately I was bound by ropes instead of chains.”
“You do lead an interesting life, Lady Boone.”
“It’s no wonder you’ve wasted so many years chasing after my hand.”
Des grinned and shifted on the divan. “The men are frightened, Dorothy. Terrified that they will be next. This madman seems to know much about us, enough to come after us in our homes and spirit us away without being seen. Anyone within the club runs the risk of being too well known, risks already being in the killer’s sights, and they fear any attempt to draw him out will be discovered in its nascent stages. That leaves us with the option of going to someone outside the group, yet who we can trust.”
“So you came to a female.”
He smiled and showed his palms. “We are at your mercy, Dorothy. The Ghost Club would be in your debt.”
She smiled, but then her expression changed as a thought occurred to her. “Could they communicate with a soul not yet departed?”
“How do you mean?”
Trafalgar said, “A comatose patient. One who lives but is unresponsive.”
“If there is a spark of life in the body, then the spirit also remains. It shouldn’t be a problem.”
Dorothy said, “We will help your club. In return, I would like their help in speaking to someone.”
“Seems a fair enough trade. If no one else at the club is willing to help you, I myself will do it.”
“So gallant.”
Des raised an eyebrow. “But of course. If a woman cannot count on her future husband for help, then what good is he?”
#
Desmond Tindall was a professor of Egyptology at Oxford. His path and Dorothy Boone’s had first crossed on an expedition during the Great War. She had uncovered an unmarked tomb in the Valley of the Kings which was overflowing with items both mundane and spectacular. She declared most of its contents safe for transport to various museums around the world, but there were a handful of items that she couldn’t quite get a fix on. Beatrice tested them with her magic and the results were still ambiguous, so she was forced to find an expert she trusted enough not to steal the items if they did turn out to be valuable or powerful. Des was recommended to her, and she made an appointment to examine the dubious items in his classroom.
They soon discovered they possessed kindred spirits, though he lacked the funds and wanderlust necessary to actually travel the world to go on expeditions. He was fascinated by her multiple devotions and accepted her invitation to visit her library. They had dinner before adjourning to the shelves, and once they were alone he attempted to steal a kiss. It was such a hurried and unconvincing display that Dorothy felt little remorse in turning him down, and he immediately apologized for taking advantage of the situation.
“There’s no need to apologize,” she told him, taking note of each conflicting emotion as it passed over his delicate features. He was a tidy man, his fingernails filed directly to the quick, every hair in place. While not damning in and of themselves, the traits of a fastidious man who looked so contrite for attempting to steal a kiss sealed the conclusion in her mind. “I only wonder why a man of your persuasion would even attempt it.”
He looked at her, his sapphire eyes wide with terror before he understood she was not judging him. His shoulders sagged and he moved toward the shelf.
“Ah, Lady Boone. Life would be much easier if I could simply kiss you and have it done with.”
“You believe I could be wooed so easily?” She smiled. “I would require a bit more of a performance, my dear Des. And if you recoil at the thought of touching these lips...” She delicately touched the corner of her mouth and left the rest of the thought unspoken.
Des put the pieces together well enough and blushed crimson clear to his hairline. “Quite.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Des. After all, I am the one lacking in this situation.”
He smiled bashfully and touched the collar of his shirt. “My colleagues were speechless when I told them we intended to dine this evening. Imagine, Professor Tindall, on a date with a woman! Rumors of my proclivities have been rampant, as I’m sure you can guess.”
Dorothy started to commiserate before she realized she could do more. “Do you know how often I have been turned aside from a vital planning session simply because it was taking place in a club that didn’t allow access to unescorted females? My mother told me I was fortunate to be growing up in a time of suffrage, but the men of the world seem slow to accept the message. Continuing the ruse that we are enamored with one another would open doors for me and shut a few mouths for you. I would be willing to play along in exchange for your companionship, or if I am barred entirely I can send you as an envoy.”
She saw the hope in his eyes, but still he shook his head. “I could not do that to you. If another man were to express an interest, if you did not seem available to his advances...”
“Did you see my majordomo when she let you in? The beautiful young Asian woman in the suit.”
“Yes, ah... Beatrice, wasn’t it?”
“Mm. She tends to my household, but she is also very attentive to my needs. If your courtship were to dissuade other men from vying for my love... well. You would be doing both of us a favor.”
He looked toward the door and then raised his eyebrows. “Oh! I see.”
“Fair warning, however. I am not a woman who is easily wooed. If you wish for my hand in marriage, you have a long and drawn-out fight ahead of yourself. And the engagement itself?” She pursed her lips and widened her eyes at the thought. “Well, that alone could last years.”
Des was smiling broadly now. He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Milady, I believe I am up to the challenge of winning your stubborn heart.”
Dorothy laughed and playfully tapped her fingers against his cheek.
Thus began the long courtship of Lady Dorothy Boone and Professor Desmond Tindall, a romance that was still going strong after nearly four years. On rare occasions he spent the evening at the townhouse to give the impression of illicit premarital liaisons, and they made sure they were seen about town on a regular basis. Dinners, attending the theatre, or simply strolling through town with arms linked. Whispers about Desmond ceased, and Dorothy soon began receiving invitations to once-restricted inner circles as “the soon-to-be Mrs. Desmond Tindall.” The rancor she felt at the title was eased by the fact she was accepted on her own merits and soon made certain the other members were aware of what she could contribute to their researches. Eventually she began receiving missives as Lady Boone.
She decided that being engaged to a man might have its benefits, once the unnecessary physical aspect was eliminated.
AO3
Desmond Tindall climbed the steps of Lady Boone’s townhouse, tapped the knocker, and smoothed down the front of his suit jacket as he awaited a response. His normally tidy brown hair was mussed from repeated rakings, and he was wearing the same suit he’d put on the morning before. His beard felt like an untidy mess, but he hadn’t the time to stop home and address the situation. He straightened his shoulders when he heard footsteps on the foyer floor and was smiling when the door opened.
“Miss Trafalgar. Pleasant to see you again.”
“And you, Master Tindall. Lady Boone is still upstairs. I’ll tell her you’ve arrived.”
“Very much obliged.”
She let him inside and he went into the parlor to wait. Dorothy and her new “housemaid” had yet to reveal what happened to Beatrice Sek, the house’s former keeper, and he refused to press. Their expressions the first time he’d asked after her had revealed volumes that their lips refused to speak. He knew Dorothy would have told him if she was dead, so he was willing to wait until they found a way to reveal the reason for her absence. Trafalgar was mystery enough for the time being; he’d heard rumors of the woman for the past few years, knew her to be a rival from Dorothy’s diatribes whenever they crossed paths. She had been a ghost, a villainess from a dime novel, and when she was in her cups Dorothy would often describe how she would one day best the cursed Trafalgar of Abyssinia.
And now, by some quirk of fate, the same Miss Trafalgar was serving as Lady Boone’s maidservant in the eyes of the world at large. In truth he knew they were equals, but how that had come to be was even more mysterious than Beatrice’s sudden disappearance. As intriguing as it would be to get the answers to his questions, he respected their privacy enough to hold his tongue.
“Professor Tindall,” Dorothy said, announcing her arrival. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Lady Boone. Dazzling as ever.”
She glared at him, though the effect was slightly ruined by the curve at the corners of her mouth. “Never trust a word coming from the mouth of a suitor.” She presented her cheek to him, and he noted it was still lined from the bedclothes as he kissed it. She frowned at his clothing, straightening the lapel of his coat and brushing her hands over the shoulders. “Goodness. You look a wreck.”
“Thank you kindly, Dorothy.” He sighed and touched his temple. “I’m afraid my visit this morning is more than simply keeping up appearances. I have need of your professional services.”
Dorothy pursed her lips and spun away from him, gliding toward the wet bar. “By professional services, you must intend to hire me as a governess. Or perhaps a librarian? I know, you’ve purchased an alehouse and need someone behind the bar to rustle up customers.”
“You know full well what I’m referring to, you damnable woman,” he said with a smile. “A situation has arisen and I fear those attempting to resolve it are hardly equipped to the task. In the past you’ve done very well with the unique and bizarre, and this certainly ranks amongst the most baffling situations to which I’ve ever been witness.”
Dorothy poured them both a small drink, and he noticed a third glass set out. She saw him noticing it and said, “If this is indeed a professional matter, I will ask Trafalgar to join us.”
“Of course.”
He expected her to leave to fetch the new partner, but as soon as the agreement passed his lips the parlor door opened and she swept inside. He smiled and shook his head as Trafalgar poured her own drink. Dorothy took a seat in her favorite wingback chair, and Trafalgar stood behind it to her right. A small divan was set up facing her chair, so Des took a seat in the center and cradled his snifter with both hands as he tried to figure out where to begin.
“What do you know of the Ghost Club?”
“It only allows men, so I know absolutely nothing of what occurs behind its closed doors.”
Des glared at her. “What do you know of it?”
“Founded in 1862, its members investigate alleged mediums, parapsychological phenomenon, and seek evidence of the afterlife. They debunk frauds and confirm true paranormal or psychical activity. They validate those who truly have the sight, blessed few though they are, and ensure no one throws away hard-earned money to con artists. They do marvelous work.”
He nodded. “Indeed we do. Unfortunately someone doesn’t share your admiration of our actions. In the past week, three of our members have been killed in varying obscene situations.” He grimaced and looked at his glass as if he’d just remembered he still held it. He took a quick drink and then grunted. “One man was found stuffed into a milk canister. Another was bound in a straitjacket and wrapped in chains closed with a padlock. His body was found on the shores of the Thames.”
“Ah,” Dorothy said. “I myself experienced something quite similar. Fortunately I was bound by ropes instead of chains.”
“You do lead an interesting life, Lady Boone.”
“It’s no wonder you’ve wasted so many years chasing after my hand.”
Des grinned and shifted on the divan. “The men are frightened, Dorothy. Terrified that they will be next. This madman seems to know much about us, enough to come after us in our homes and spirit us away without being seen. Anyone within the club runs the risk of being too well known, risks already being in the killer’s sights, and they fear any attempt to draw him out will be discovered in its nascent stages. That leaves us with the option of going to someone outside the group, yet who we can trust.”
“So you came to a female.”
He smiled and showed his palms. “We are at your mercy, Dorothy. The Ghost Club would be in your debt.”
She smiled, but then her expression changed as a thought occurred to her. “Could they communicate with a soul not yet departed?”
“How do you mean?”
Trafalgar said, “A comatose patient. One who lives but is unresponsive.”
“If there is a spark of life in the body, then the spirit also remains. It shouldn’t be a problem.”
Dorothy said, “We will help your club. In return, I would like their help in speaking to someone.”
“Seems a fair enough trade. If no one else at the club is willing to help you, I myself will do it.”
“So gallant.”
Des raised an eyebrow. “But of course. If a woman cannot count on her future husband for help, then what good is he?”
#
Desmond Tindall was a professor of Egyptology at Oxford. His path and Dorothy Boone’s had first crossed on an expedition during the Great War. She had uncovered an unmarked tomb in the Valley of the Kings which was overflowing with items both mundane and spectacular. She declared most of its contents safe for transport to various museums around the world, but there were a handful of items that she couldn’t quite get a fix on. Beatrice tested them with her magic and the results were still ambiguous, so she was forced to find an expert she trusted enough not to steal the items if they did turn out to be valuable or powerful. Des was recommended to her, and she made an appointment to examine the dubious items in his classroom.
They soon discovered they possessed kindred spirits, though he lacked the funds and wanderlust necessary to actually travel the world to go on expeditions. He was fascinated by her multiple devotions and accepted her invitation to visit her library. They had dinner before adjourning to the shelves, and once they were alone he attempted to steal a kiss. It was such a hurried and unconvincing display that Dorothy felt little remorse in turning him down, and he immediately apologized for taking advantage of the situation.
“There’s no need to apologize,” she told him, taking note of each conflicting emotion as it passed over his delicate features. He was a tidy man, his fingernails filed directly to the quick, every hair in place. While not damning in and of themselves, the traits of a fastidious man who looked so contrite for attempting to steal a kiss sealed the conclusion in her mind. “I only wonder why a man of your persuasion would even attempt it.”
He looked at her, his sapphire eyes wide with terror before he understood she was not judging him. His shoulders sagged and he moved toward the shelf.
“Ah, Lady Boone. Life would be much easier if I could simply kiss you and have it done with.”
“You believe I could be wooed so easily?” She smiled. “I would require a bit more of a performance, my dear Des. And if you recoil at the thought of touching these lips...” She delicately touched the corner of her mouth and left the rest of the thought unspoken.
Des put the pieces together well enough and blushed crimson clear to his hairline. “Quite.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Des. After all, I am the one lacking in this situation.”
He smiled bashfully and touched the collar of his shirt. “My colleagues were speechless when I told them we intended to dine this evening. Imagine, Professor Tindall, on a date with a woman! Rumors of my proclivities have been rampant, as I’m sure you can guess.”
Dorothy started to commiserate before she realized she could do more. “Do you know how often I have been turned aside from a vital planning session simply because it was taking place in a club that didn’t allow access to unescorted females? My mother told me I was fortunate to be growing up in a time of suffrage, but the men of the world seem slow to accept the message. Continuing the ruse that we are enamored with one another would open doors for me and shut a few mouths for you. I would be willing to play along in exchange for your companionship, or if I am barred entirely I can send you as an envoy.”
She saw the hope in his eyes, but still he shook his head. “I could not do that to you. If another man were to express an interest, if you did not seem available to his advances...”
“Did you see my majordomo when she let you in? The beautiful young Asian woman in the suit.”
“Yes, ah... Beatrice, wasn’t it?”
“Mm. She tends to my household, but she is also very attentive to my needs. If your courtship were to dissuade other men from vying for my love... well. You would be doing both of us a favor.”
He looked toward the door and then raised his eyebrows. “Oh! I see.”
“Fair warning, however. I am not a woman who is easily wooed. If you wish for my hand in marriage, you have a long and drawn-out fight ahead of yourself. And the engagement itself?” She pursed her lips and widened her eyes at the thought. “Well, that alone could last years.”
Des was smiling broadly now. He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Milady, I believe I am up to the challenge of winning your stubborn heart.”
Dorothy laughed and playfully tapped her fingers against his cheek.
Thus began the long courtship of Lady Dorothy Boone and Professor Desmond Tindall, a romance that was still going strong after nearly four years. On rare occasions he spent the evening at the townhouse to give the impression of illicit premarital liaisons, and they made sure they were seen about town on a regular basis. Dinners, attending the theatre, or simply strolling through town with arms linked. Whispers about Desmond ceased, and Dorothy soon began receiving invitations to once-restricted inner circles as “the soon-to-be Mrs. Desmond Tindall.” The rancor she felt at the title was eased by the fact she was accepted on her own merits and soon made certain the other members were aware of what she could contribute to their researches. Eventually she began receiving missives as Lady Boone.
She decided that being engaged to a man might have its benefits, once the unnecessary physical aspect was eliminated.