Chapter 11
Previously: Obsidian: Crystal Heart – Chapter 10
This is not what Mariam expected. Not in any aspect she could have thought of. That Mr Silver (who does he think he’s fooling with that obvious fake name?) wouldn’t show up alone she somewhat expected, that it would be the baroness makes sense, but why are the two other men along?
Mr Harker appears the only socially-astute person in the group. She questions whether he really only recently joined the household, the others couldn’t possibly have made it without that kind of guidance for months. But what is Mr Lancaster’s deal? He’s quiet but there’s definitely more behind those deep eyes of his. Not socially secure but intelligent, she thinks. The hidden mastermind of the group, maybe?
Because much as she wants to root for the baroness who is starting to make herself a name as an absolute scandal and not caring one bit, seeing the woman up close, well, she can believe the not caring part, but how much of that is sheer lack of social finesse, she’s not sure. Then again, here she is with a veritable gang of men around her and not a single one of them is her husband. Respect where respect is due, Mariam can respect a woman who marries an easy or useful guy and dumps him at the bar while enjoying herself with her preferred acquaintances.
Especially because it’s not exactly difficult to see that the baroness is giving the social one eyes, holding the heir’s hand under the table, and giving the shy one the occasional unsure look, too. Little harem she got there. Now what to do with that information?
Is this good or bad for Mariam’s prospects of an easy marriage? If the heir actually has his eyes on the baroness, then she might not have to be very close with her husband, just quiet about his affair. She could deal with that. She’d not mind that. If she’s lucky, he won’t even sleep much with her.
That she’ll have to sell her womb is equally as obvious. There’s no reason why the baroness would need to have declared Mr Silver heir if there weren’t problems with producing an heir otherwise. Then again, looking at the woman’s build and the fact that everybody suspects her mother died in childbirth, and no, not after a hidden marriage no matter that nobody can prove it, that just might actually speak to the woman’s intelligence. Mariam isn’t going to judge any woman who can manage to cheat around having to be pregnant.
Sure, Mariam was brought up Catholic thanks to her mother’s line, but really, that upbringing has, if anything, made her more inclined to cheer for a woman who can get away with a harem and no big belly. And from everything she’s seeing, that’s a godless household anyway. That suits her just fine. While she likes terrorising any local priest she can make her confessions to, chances for her being accepted into a household are better if she doesn’t have to manoeuvre religion.
Mr Silver didn’t even react to the hints she dropped about how she might differ from his Anglican beliefs. The man has no concept of that being a problem, if he noticed at all. Good. Just why does he keep glancing outside? In her research about the barony, and him, she didn’t find anything about his background. He’s an enigma, and with his complexion and accent, she wonders if he may originally be German. Would she mind a German? Does it matter? Probably not.
And after a while, he seems to, at last, focus on her. Was he testing how she would react? She really can’t tell, but now that he is focusing on her, she has to change her assessment. It’s not just Mr Harker who has some social capabilities. He’s not practised, but he’s observant. So no, he doesn’t appear to be just the muscle of the group, and she has to admit, that is a nice smile. It’s a genuine one. Now that he’s paying attention, he seems to actually be interested in her, not the selling she’s been doing. That’s unusual.
Goodness, she might actually be enjoying herself now that he’s talking. He and Mr Harker play nicely off of each other, and Mariam starts to wonder if those two would be fun to verbally spar with if that boring chaperone of hers wasn’t around. She’d like to talk more frankly with this assortment of characters. She suspects she would be a good addition to what has to be some form of con job.
A con job that has held down a barony for a few months now. This just might be worth it. That baroness could need the backup on how to be a noble, if not a proper one, because why ruin the fun, and the heir seems to be perfectly fine to talk to. Certainly less obviously only interested in her title than the last suitor she had. At least this time, she picked him herself.
Ugh, she wishes she could take her notebook out. There is so much data she’s compiling here, and she wants to be able to analyse it better. Make an overview. Compare different points against each other. Make some good plans and contingency plans based on about three different ways of organising the data she has so far. But she’s still presenting her ability to be the perfect noble lady, and that certainly means not showing off her brains too much. Men don’t like that anyway.
Just, uh, if all three of those are after the baroness, she really has no idea what she’s supposed to show off exactly.
~
Oh? John must have thought of something. He’s still stroking Darcy’s hand under the tablecloth, but she can tell that he’s actually engaging with that Miss Powlett now, and part of her wants to pout so very hard about it, but then she also thinks that well, he is so very lovely when he smiles. He doesn’t talk as much as Quincy does, but he’s still good with words. Better than her, of course, and she doesn’t really mind it. If anything, she’s kind of comfortable just commenting occasionally while John and Quincy are doing all this social stuff.
This social stuff that is about her John marrying somebody else. And again she wants to pout, but she also tells her drac that that’s really mean. They’ve been over this how many times? This is how John and her can have a puppy of their own, and it’s not as if John will stop being her secret husband. After all, they didn’t even tell Gregory where they went, she’s not seen him… uh, at least all of yesterday and today?
All her drac does is scoff, it’s not even really leaning, she only has the very faintest sense of him probably being somewhere, although she can’t tell anymore where and really, why would she care?
So no, she tries to focus on this silly luncheon out among people. Maybe that’s it, more even than having to evaluate this Miss Powlett. She has to sit out here with human eyes on her. That’s actually one thing she likes about Miss Powlett, she smells different, in the weirdest way a bit like John, so maybe there’s more to her.
And because Darcy can’t shake that curiosity, she keeps sniffing, though she tries to hide it at least a little bit with her napkin. But just when she inhales strongly, somebody opens the door to the cafe, and with the cold air comes a scent she can’t ignore.
Her eyes bolt up and to the outside, right onto a short, black-haired woman who is perfectly docile on an older man’s arm.
Darcy is just about to kick John and Quincy under the table to get their attention, but Quincy must have caught her thoughts, he’s looking, too, and he’s much better than her at this ‘interpreting the world by sight rather than smell’-thing.
~
For bloody hell’s sake! The Divine is teasing him again! Great, now he needs to somehow be quick about getting himself and Darcy outside and on the trail of that obvious selkie, it might be the only chance they have to catch a clue, all while preferably not fucking over John’s chances with Miss Powlett.
He shouldn’t have underestimated his darling. Clearly, he’s just as aware, and that without Quincy’s mindreading cheat. Aware and more confident in his powers since the thing they pulled in the village. That’s definitely a slightly dazed look on Miss Powlett and her chaperone as John makes Darcy’s dessert disappear and tells Arthur to do the same for Quincy’s, before he, without missing a beat, jokes about how the baroness and her artist in residence better get going for their constitutional after they ate so fast.
Easily enough catching that clue, Quincy puts on his best sigh that yes, he won’t fit into his wardrobe if he doesn’t see to it, and he knows that the baroness is ever so diligent about her walks.
Well, he’ll be damned, Darcy underscores it by bringing up some medical recommendation from her personal physician (as if he doesn’t know that she had to bite her tongue on not saying ‘her papa’.) She trusts that Miss Powlett’s chaperone is up to the task while she excuses herself from the table, it was lovely making the acquaintance, and she hopes to see more of the young lady in the future.
Now, Quincy wonders how much that was a perfect lie, but they can do a full debrief on the marriage situation in the household after they figure out what’s going on with the forced marriage out there.
It’s absolutely impossible to get anywhere unnoticed with Darcy as she is. And there he thought being as tall as he is and red-haired was bad, but no, being tiny and red-haired doesn’t make Cycy any less of the immediate centre of attention, although that likely is more due to the way she walks and the obvious noble outfit. He can’t really find it in himself to reprimand her, it’s been such a transformation since that first time he saw her at his old theatre.
Yes, she’s standing out, but it’s because she walks with unthinking confidence, with a purpose, with her drac letting its claws click on the road with every trampled step and his heart sings from it. Partially because he loves seeing her spitting in the grey world’s face like that and partially because he knows it’s his (and John’s, of course,) accomplishment.
He knows about the mask and he’s whittled away at it for weeks now. (Thank the dreamscape for so much extra time.) It’s just about only a shroud on her face, and she more often than not forgets to put it on lately. Unless she’s around Arthur, she’s still so very worried that she’ll scare him away, that he’ll side with Gregory against her. And Quincy will get to that likely nonsense in time. First, he needs to get her in love with John, then he can get her in secure friendship with their shy one. Their shy one, who is now suddenly sitting alone with the future married couple, and oh yes, they were doing the socially acceptable version of flirting and Quincy hates not getting to see it.
Still, focus on the task right here. The impossible task with how Cycy is stomping ahead. They’re supposed to trail a person inconspicuously here. Well, John’s not the only one who learned some whistling tricks, not as if he didn’t go on hunting dates in Whitby with Darcy, too. Somebody had to help her overcome the trauma she still clearly had from the last time she went with her mother and bloody Cobb terrorised her about it.
So he keeps an eye open for a good alley before clicking his tongue in their ‘hide’ pattern. She reacts without hesitation, he has to agree with John, she’s a terribly easy-to-train puppy for them and he shouldn’t be so gleeful about it, but John’s right, it’s downright adorable. Ducking after her, he walks until there’s a convenient shadow, clicks his tongue again, and walks out the alley with his trusty oversized puppy. Now her trampling is just the usual lack of coordination on any puppy that’s too big for its own paws.
As a bonus, she can easily sniff after the selkie while they stroll much slower, no more need for him to try to manage to catch a mental glimpse of the piece of wet fur ahead of them. Not that strolling through Hartlepool is much of a treat. That this is an industrial harbour town is painfully obvious to Quincy. It’s ugly and bleak and he doesn’t even have all the bad associations with it that their hunk clearly has.
Yes, yes, he was naughty and started snooping telepathically when he noticed just how distracted John was. What was he supposed to do? Clearly, his darling wasn’t telling them something and Quincy had to carry the conversation single-handedly. Not his fault that he’s now tempted to stroll down Whitby Street so he can scoff at all the places in John’s stead. But if he does that and Cycy gets wind of why they are there, he’s terribly worried she’ll decide to be a rude puppy and do dog things to the buildings. Ew.
So no, after the selkie they keep, up and down and what-not through these streets, ugh, seriously, what is up with that?
Starting to be annoyed, Quincy walks up a bit closer when those two up there stop for a bit. He gets close enough to see them and, wait, that’s a doctor’s bag in the man’s hand. Is he making housecalls? That looks like he’s making house calls, or actually, no, that’s not a residential house, that’s a pharmacy. Okay, time to fake an ailment, he supposes, and tells Darcy to stay. Big bad dog like her can wait out here.
Timing it so that he only partially overlaps with the man in the pharmacy, he still overhears what seems to be a supply run. The man’s selling the pharmacy something, restocking them, Quincy thinks. Good that he has no shame, so while he can still hear the pharmacist sort things behind the counter, he strolls up and asks for a pack of condoms with the dirtiest grin but also the money already flashed.
After he endures the reproachful look for doing that in bright daylight and so loudly, Quincy takes a good look at the little bottles still standing behind the counter while the pharmacist has his back turned. Does he dare? Oh please, he held off a village! Of course he dares!
If the pharmacist hears it, he’ll just tell him he didn’t and that’s that. This is for an important investigation. A little bit of sticky fingers and deep pockets isn’t too far. So, while making sure to take a few steps and play the coin over the top of the counter to muffle any sound of clinking, Quincy reaches over and swipes one of the bottles.
Anybody notice? Doesn’t seem so when the pharmacist hands him the little cardboard box, takes his money and is clearly glad to be rid of him. But just to be sure, Quincy hands Darcy the bottle and tells her to stick it into a dress-pocket in the next alley. If the pharmacist notices and runs after him, he can truthfully show off empty pockets, feigning to just be a deviant, not a thief.
Now then, where did the doctor and the selkie walk off to?
More visits at various little shops and pharmacies, one visit to a club Quincy doesn’t dare to sneak into without preparation because that looks exclusive, late lunch at a restaurant, some time in the library (reading international newspapers apparently), and then, finally, when it’s bloody basically time for dinner, to a house with a doctor’s office in the main floor. This must be the base!
While he takes a stroll around the area, (on, by now, sore feet,) Darcy uses the falling dark to turn rat and get into the building. This investigation is going well, he thinks. There’s no way Cycy won’t figure out more details like this. Even if she doesn’t find anything, there ought to be some gossipy rodents somewhere in that place she can talk to.
The thought makes him chuckle. He’s cheering for rodent infestations these days. Him. Really, a few weeks ago, you couldn’t have made him touch a rat if you paid him. Like any sane person, he thought they were filthy and aggressive and generally just gross. Now, he’s had a rat cuddled up on his chest and all he did was sleepily hum to her and put kisses on that impossibly tiny snout of hers. Now he’s played ball with a rat, trying hard not to drop her when John threw her at him from laughing too hard at Cycy making the most high pitched giggly squeaky sounds from enjoying herself.
So yes, these days he still wouldn’t touch a street rat unless you force him to, but he’s happy for Cycy to have a chat with them. Actually, while she’s doing that… It’s evening, he’s been walking all day long and used his powers, time for a reward and dinner. It’s a harbour town, there ought to be some nice and easy sailors here somewhere.
~
Arthur doesn’t have any objections to eating Quincy’s desert- not like Quincy ordered more than an extra-small slice of cake, either- but why?
Despite his own social awkwardness, he thinks the day’s gone well so far. The train ride was fun, and Darcy even came with him to explore the train on their way in. But now, Darcy’s clearly noticed something, and Quincy and John know what it is, but Arthur has no idea. So he does his very best not to be eaten alive by curiosity while Darcy and Quincy leave, and he remains with John and Miss Powlett and her chaperone. At least the chaperone is also a quiet woman and doesn’t talk much, so he doesn’t feel like the third wheel, sitting there while John and Miss Powlett make conversation.
They’re both good at making conversation. Yes, Arthur’s a little surprised to find that out about John.
It’s not that John isn’t plenty smart, Arthur’s had many opportunities to see that in action. It’s just that he’s usually gruff and prefers not to waste more words than he needs to. But clearly, if he has to, he can carry several hours’ worth of conversation just fine.
Arthur isn’t sure what he thinks of Miss Powlett. Well, aside from finding her intimidating, because she clearly knows how to do the social noble thing, and is comfortable with it, natural with it. She never gets stuck or awkward in talking, never hesitates- she makes it look easy.
But it’s all the polite sort of things, so Arthur can’t tell whether she’s genuinely nice and well-meaning, or whether this is just a front. What is she thinking behind the words? He really can’t tell.
The food is nice and no one is fighting or making him feel awkward or out of place or resented. But Hartlepool has kind of a very… utilitarian and grey atmosphere, and he doesn’t know how much of the social interaction is genuine and how much is a show.
He’s glad enough when they say their good-byes and he and John make their way back to the train station. Once he’s sure they’re well out of earshot, he asks: “So, why did Darcy and Quincy leave?”
~
Lowering his own voice to a whisper but not leaning in because that would give them right away, John explains in as few suspicious words as possible: “A selkie walked past the cafe.”
~
Arthur does his best to not look too startled, either. “Oh! That’s… kind of weird? But we are at the coast… They should be alright, right? This is a way busier place than that village…”
~
“On a guy’s arm. The redheads ran after to check what’s up with that. The selkie might be one of those sold.” John sticks his hands into his pockets before he ends up balling them too aggressively into fists. He’s glad that the dhampirs are on it, there ought to be very little the knight and minstrel duo can’t find out between them.
~
Arthur pulls a face, but only nods- for one, he’s sure he and John agree on how disgusting and upsetting the whole thing is, for another, the middle of the street is really not the place to discuss it. “Are we waiting for them to come back?”
Hartlepool isn’t that big, and he can see the train station down the street.
~
“Might know the city, but it’s still easier to find each other when at least one team is at base. Let’s go back.”
Talking about Hartlepool with Miss Powlett did bring back some not entirely awful things he knows about the city.
That little fish stall at the harbour that his mother would send him down to so early in the morning that his father wouldn’t even notice he was out. (The memory of his mother, even for the second it takes him before he punches it back into oblivion, still fucking hurts.)
The sounds of the ships pulling up to the docks. The first time he saw one of the old sailing ships still in use and knew he would get in trouble for staying out too long, but also knowing that he had to copy it into his dreamscape (he still loves sailing it.)
There’s even a bustle to the larger town that he kind of misses in Whitby, but no, he’s ready to leave his past behind a second time.
~
Arthur had gotten the impression, when they were walking around, that John might know the town- he never hesitated on where to go, or anything. He just led them to the train station a different way that they came.
“Um… you know this place?” he dares ask.
~