Chapter 25
Previously: Obsidian: Crystal Heart – Chapter 24
Good, the train is on time. Mariam will be on the minute for brunch. Nothing strange for noble ladies to visit each other for brunch. Well, tea would have been more proper, but that’s too late in the day. Gives that household too much time to prepare, and how is she to spot the cracks and strategic tidbits like that? No, she needs more to work with, and inviting herself over should set these strange people ablaze. She will have the upper hand despite walking into the lion’s den.
Or so she thought, until she realises that these utter brutes did not send a carriage, no, that’s again the full quartet picking her up.
On horseback with two extra horses. The outrage!
Well, the outrage on her chaperone’s face. Mariam has more trouble not to chuckle, and is just glad to see it’s a lady’s saddle on both those horses. She’s more than happy to use all her weapons, but that does not include flashing her ankles this publicly. No, she’ll wait with such tactics until she has plausible deniability for it.
Clearly, the baroness is ahead of her there. She’s not in a lady’s saddle, and the only reason no ankles are showing is because she has on one of these modern riding skirts that are really trousers. Mariam tries her utmost not to combust with jealousy. No, instead she takes this as a reason to get into a good mood. If that is her “mother-in-law” to be, she rather doubts she’ll have fights with her.
Not that it isn’t clear to her that the baroness anticipates fights over Mr Silver. That woman needs some training. Well, one more reason to be in a jubilant mood, because training in being just a little bit less obvious in the parts of the scandal that could be ruinous is something Mariam can and would happily provide.
All for the right terms on a definitely written-out agreement, of course.
She is not stupid. Far from it. She is well aware how precarious her situation is. Her words against the baroness’ is sure to ruin her, so she needs to ensure that anything promised is at least honourably binding. Preferably legally binding. And yes, she’s well aware that it is rude to not trust a nobleman’s word, but she has no room for honour, she needs facts.
Also, she rather doubts that any truly noble honour is involved in this entire household. While nobody can prove the baroness is a swindler, (clearly, one of these men is an extraordinary forger,) everybody is talking about that, yes, she looks like the late Lady Lucy Westenra, but she certainly has none of her supposed mother’s refinement. It’s exactly the kind of rumours that make this the perfect household to blackmail and manipulate into taking her on. They’ve made it this long, so it isn’t suicidal to fall in with them, but they are not perfect, far from it. So there is a need she can fill.
One that will keep the questions down and give her leverage. Yes, perfect. If she can just get enough material to lay out her case. Fetching her on horseback being evidence number one.
The utterly suspicious lack of grooms and other apparent servants being evidence number two.
And from there she has to strain even her orderly brain to keep track off all the data she is getting off these people!
Now then. Mariam dares to take a short respite by luxuriating over her tea. All she has to do is get rid of her chaperone, and then she might be tempted to find a black board to truly lay this web of little and not so little faux-pas out for the assembled con team.
If she just could figure out why Mr. Harker keeps smirking at her, and why Mr. Silver has the most disconcerting habit of somehow, she can’t figure out how, switch orientation seemingly from one second to the other. She could have sworn she kept her eyes on him, but then he is,suddenly, definitely looking in a different direction from a moment before. Is she nervous enough to blink too long? She’s not sure, but then again, this is a rather successful con, so chances are that no, she’s not the only one in the room with an unfair advantage that should never be spoken of aloud in polite company, lest somebody questions her own right to hold any title.
~
Honey, honey, honey. You are naughty! Quincy has to say, he really likes this bitch. Now that’s a woman after his own heart, and not in the smitten way, nah uh, in the bestie-bitches material way.
Alright, she deserves an assist, so he taps Darcy’s growling drac on the nose and tells her what to do. She can do that. She so wants to be good for him even when she has to kick herself for it, but well, Quincy has some rather strong suspicions that Darcy has no need at all to be jealous of how much this walking advertisement for voluptuousness is going to steal John. No, Quincy rather thinks that, if anything, it’s not John whom she might find interesting.
So he keeps a close mental ear and eye on Ms Powlett’s reaction when the Lady Rossmore asks if she might not want to stay a bit longer, and if that is a problem for her chaperone, she would be delighted to take over that duty. Hah, yes, she was hoping to ask for that herself. Honey, we are a step ahead of you. And no, he doesn’t mind one bit that she has long noticed that he keeps grinning at her. Disconcerting her a little bit is part of this fun dance.
Luckily they can get the interlude done with quickly, the chaperone doesn’t even insist on getting escorted, just on them calling her a cab. Unsurprising, really.
But once that human-shaped bump in the dance floor is finally out of the way, Quincy takes an immense amount of satisfaction in lounging out, crossing his legs, and purring at the star of this little play: “Now then, honey, bravo so far on the performance.”
He claps a few times until John elbows him, (no appreciation for dramatic tension, typical,) but then he bows and opens his hand towards her with a flourish. “The stage is all yours. Make your offer, make your bargain, I’m dying to hear what battle plan you’ve concocted.”
~
Oh, that one definitely is the social player of this troupe. Yes, she rather thinks that’s the correct term for it. Including one player who vanished the moment they were at the castle. The quiet one. Probably moving in the walls, spying on them for extra information from angles the others couldn’t have.
Oh well, that is not a bad strategy, and certainly an important player, but clearly the one she has to impress is actually Mr Harker, he’s been coordinating the others. Or maybe he is just the front for the man she is trying to lure into an agreement here. In either case, a little bit of flair wouldn’t hurt, so she fixes her hair and asks if there is a blackboard to be had in the house. She has rather the list of data points to lay out for them.
Good, Mr Harker is laughing at that request, and actually gets up. She might be in luck. Now if only she could have taken notes, but still, he is rolling in a black board. (With how fast that was, where did he get it from?) Anyway. Performance. Yes, she can do that.
She… uh, gets interrupted four points in? Apparently it would be mean to exclude Arthur, that would be Mr Lancaster, from this. It’s a learning opportunity. Well, yes, that it certainly is, but that that’s the baroness reaction, including both Mr Silver and Mr Harker just laughing after her and sharing a grin cements one thing in. This could be a very easy deal for her. Clearly that tiny set of bouncy tits keeps the men of the household occupied. Fine by Mariam!
So where was she? Right, the way Mr Silver doesn’t know how to react at all to any mentions of her being raised Catholic and what that might mean in the future.
It would seem it won’t be a problem that she didn’t make notes. Clearly, Mr Lancaster is the one in this con-troupe who is in charge of that. Which is where she starts with her exposition on the skills she has observed the different players to bring in. And then handily goes right on for each of them how she could support them and teach them how to dance even more around those gossip mongers and tabloid sniffers. All for the low price of keeping her from being a spinster under her parents’ grumbling visages. Now, any questions, sugars?
~
It’s not what a baroness should say, really not, but not as if they haven’t been giggling about all of Mariam’s thoughts that Quincy told them in the dreamscape John kept pulling them into, so Darcy lets her drac finally snap after having been sitting on it since forever now!
“Do you mind doing paperwork?”
Yes, she has ulterior motives, of course she does. John hates paperwork, and if Mariam is all champing at the bit for being baroness, then she fucking can. Darcy is fed up with it. She gets exactly nothing from having to run this place. She doesn’t mind the tenant rounds. Those are fine, but sitting in that silly study for so long is just mean.
And the way John is giving her a side-glance, she can tell that he gets it even though he also is chuckling and poking her slightly. What? Mariam totally is on to them! Darcy is no good at lying. That’s words. Those are silly. She doesn’t wanna. Okay, maybe her drac doesn’t wanna. Same thing, really. And hey, she behaved, she asked about the paperwork, not if she will have to fight her for not stealing her John. Yes, she’s pouting, sue her.
~
Arthur thinks he should be more worried about this. Darcy came to fetch him in the library with the declaration of: “Mariam is making a list of everything we did wrong. You always think we do lots of stuff wrong. You take notes. I don’t wanna.”
That would be concerning, except Quincy is all smirking and clearly having a lot of fun, and John doesn’t seem very tense, either, and Darcy seems to have had enough of being proper and baroness-like.
So, if they’re all relaxed about being caught out for the non-nobles they are, he can’t bring himself to feel actual concern. Together, they can find ways to handle whatever Miss Powlett might throw their way.
Not that she seems particularly upset by their con job, as she calls it. Which, fair enough, and also… now that they’re not playing the social manners game, Arthur finds himself liking her a lot more. She’s smart and direct and competent. A lot less intimidating than when they were pretending with all those social games, and he happens to agree with her that she’s just the resource they need.
Which she seems willing to be.
~
“Bravo, beautiful second part of the performance. So, we are a bunch of lacklustre nobles, pray tell, why go through all the trouble of pointing it out? What do you need, honey?” Yes, Quincy’s at the point of pretty much just resting his chin on Darcy’s head for lounging and grinning privileges… and fine, maybe the weirdest bit of territorial display. He’ll admit to it. Must be that furry thing on the inside.
One thing’s for sure, Mariam is trying to sell, they are willing to buy, but what’s the fine print? He smells a fine print and he could cackle with delight at hunting for it!
“Tell me why we are in the market for your, by all gossip accounts, sullied goods?” Yes, he’s poking, he’s aware, he has to crack that crafty decorum on her, after all.
Oh, he likes her, she knows how to bite back! That was a quick snap on her suspecting that, if anything, she’s the least sullied good in the room. Ah yes, Darcy and John… and him, (but since when is that news?) being obvious. Yes, they are!
~
Arthur has no idea where it comes from, maybe because he feels so surprisingly un-worried and un-scared with the others around him, but it pops into his head and it’s too good not to say, so he points out: “Pretty sure that’s me.” He pauses. “Depending on what we’re talking about.” If they’re talking innuendo things or criminal/general reputation things.
~
Oh fuck it, that was a good one, so John lets himself roar into laughter and punches Arthur’s arm. “Since when are you making jokes like that?” But after that, he smacks Quincy over the head. “And if you make one more even quip about a woman as goods, I’m cutting you off. She’s a person with her own fears and wants. A smart, resourceful, and courageous one at that. If I have to marry, I’d prefer somebody who pulls something like this on us. Just saying. I don’t want a fucking wifey. Gross.”
Turning to Mariam, he sighs. “Yes, I said that so you can hear it, but I also mean it. We’re not really a con, the paperwork holds and Darcy really is a Westenra by blood, but that doesn’t mean we can’t use the help with all the things you pointed out. Also, and I know this is bad business, but the thought of marriage as business turns my stomach, I, for one, would be happy if we could help each other. Your position is shit. To put that bluntly.”
~
Darcy has to smack her drac again, but her John is being so sweet and such a good man, so she makes herself smile. “I hate all the mean gossip always. And you must know it. Well, I can’t promise it’s going to get any better, but at least you don’t have to deal with it on your own?”
That’s the closest she can get herself to offer her hospitality, to share, she doesn’t wanna! But that’s mean. And it’s not Mariam’s fault, and Mariam tried so hard to convince them and show them that she’d be good for them, and she would be, and Darcy just needs to focus on the thought of having puppies and maybe another smart person for Arthur to like.
When did the thought of John having a wife to love him properly fall out of her brain? Well, duh, during the wedding two nights ago, obviously, she promised John. So there, she’ll love him properly, and well, if John and Quincy can share, then she guesses it’s only fair if she and Mariam share.
~
These people really strain her. If she wasn’t so much better trained, and no, she doesn’t just mean the etiquette, she also means life’s shool of hard lessons, Mariam would want to chuckle at them. Or maybe dare to hope, because paperwork that holds up and a potential husband who reprimands another man for objectifying her even that little bit?
This is too good to be true, so it likely isn’t true.
Still, she has no choice. Even less with the chaperone having left. If she walks out of here without an engagement contract, she’s more than done for this time. A broken-off engagement is ruin enough, but an unsupervised stay in this household? Hah, she might just as well stay the afternoon at that Lord Godalming’s place if she needed any more rumours of broken virtue!
So she thanks Mr Silver for the sentiment, but answers the Lady Rossmore that gossip is the companion of any accomplished woman, she doesn’t fear it. But if this is an offer to start negotiations for an engagement, written please, then yes, she is willing to sit down at the table. It is rather abundantly clear that they are all playing the same game and have made selections based on more than the usual pedigree haggling.
~
Yes, Arthur decides, he provisionally likes Miss Powlett now that she’s showing more of her real self. An astute real self that likely didn’t miss that he grinned too obviously pleased at John finding his comment funny, but he’s not the one in the front lines, of any sort, so he just moves on to get ready to take the notes on the negotiations that seem imminent.
~
And here Quincy thought he’d be moral support for the contract haggling. Why the hell is this fun?! But it is.
That bitch is fierce. And if John has a type, then it’s headstrong women. Oh, don’t he pretend that grin didn’t give him away! Darling, on to you, so on to you, and on to your definitely just looking down at the contract, not, for a second, getting stuck on that ample bosom that we are haggling for you to stick your face and maybe other things inbetween.
He means, please, what woman wouldn’t appreciate that hunk in her bloomers? Well, Quincy rather hopes she’s not a complete molly or this is going to get very, very awkward eventually. But he’s not going to put her on the spot. He can read signs, and thoughts, but she’s here, at the very least getting herself a beard, and well, even if it’s not romantic heaven, there are clearly things both sides are getting out of it, so no, Quincy doesn’t worry. How could he? He’s kind of the poster child for realising that some convictions about his own sexuality needed a slight overhaul thanks to his fallen angel.
That being said, he sure as hell wouldn’t haggle this contract out if he was the intended. Not in a thousand years does he want to get anywhere near those lumps of fat on Mariam’s chest, ew. There will absolutely and definitely not be any foursomes, nope, no thank you very much!
Anyway, back to the haggling, and he shouldn’t be internally laughing so hard that the part they get hopelessly stuck on is the number of children that John and Darcy are trying to push up and Mariam is steadfastly trying to push down. Why is he even surprised that the old puppy parents want a litter and Mariam is far more sensible and would prefer only one, or a maximum of two for heir reliability reasons. Yes, he thinks he’ll get along just fine with her.
~
“Couldn’t you always adopt more?” Arthur offers in an attempt to be helpful and get them past this negotiation stalemate. Why Darcy and John want more children, or any children, he’s still not sure, but to each their own, he supposes. He’s on the side of Quincy’s wrinkled nose, but thankfully, he’s not the subject of any of this.
~
That all-but-sulked “It’s not the same,” from her intended has Mariam roll her eyes and relent. Not on the use of her womb, not going to happen. She knows she can’t get around selling her fertility, it’s that ability of hers that gets her the spot in this household, she’s sure, but she can at least be the voice of reason, scandalous reason, so she offers:
“Be sensible, like any other noble man, you can always have a league of bastards. Just be a little bit discreet with picking blonde women, and we can pretend they are ours if you utterly insist.”
Although, maybe that is worse. She didn’t think the expression “fire of jealousy” could be so literal. She could swear the baroness’ eyes just sparked red at hearing that. Clearly, jealousy is something to manoeuvre here, well, all the better for her. But apparently nothing anybody reprimands the lady for, no, in fact, there is some scheme going on here. Mr Harker looks far too pleased at that reaction and Mr Silver far too offended and is immediately saying that he has no interest at all in sleeping around.
That is a very unscandalous statement from a man not good at being discreet about living in sin. Now if she could just figure out if he’s living in sin with the baroness, or the baroness and the baroness’ pet molly, too?
But at least that spark of jealousy seems to have reminded the baroness that less children will mean less sleeping around, so finally they can agree on two and move on from there. Not that there is much else that they need long negotiation on. Mariam is, if anything, positively surprised at how many of the standard clauses of women’s enslavement, sorry, a good British marriage agreement she means, this household appears to find an affront and just outright strike through. And that was on the contract template Mariam was willing to offer.
This… this might really be working out well for her. This might actually be, now, she doesn’t dare say enjoyable, but liveable.
Maybe even comfortably liveable, because oh dear God, she clearly doesn’t need to even think twice about her aberration being a problem. Once her contract is signed, with a very commendably earnest expression on her now-fiancé, a downright adorable pout on the baroness, and a questionable grin on Mr Harker as witnesses, it is lunch time already. This took a while.
There still are no servants to be seen anywhere, and no, not in the way servants are meant to be invisible, they clearly simply don’t exist. There is no need for them.
Mariam needs to keep all her training together not to squeak with her startle. This castle is haunted!
In a very predictable and useful way, but still, things just appearing in front of her are not something she expected.
No wonder these people needed somebody who is as desperate as her. They are irredeemable! Well, in the eyes of normal society. She will deal. She will use the opportunity. After she settles her heart rate back down. Oh, that was a startle she didn’t need, and she suspects it won’t be the last. Not with how obviously matter-of-fact this haunting is being taken as by the others.
Nevertheless, she is glad for Mr Lancaster’s curiosity. He still is unable to hold any polite conversation, but he’s eminently capable of asking a hundred question on details on what she laid out earlier in their shortcomings, and eager for correction and support. Well, table manners is a good first topic, to not comment on the baroness’ and her pet molly’s table fight over food preferences.
Although, this might well be important information. The lady spoke of children as litters, has the speech patterns and some mannerisms of a dog, and clearly the love of meat of one, too. There also are the rumours of duelling and even more unladylike feats. Combined with the castle magic… Maybe the lady is a werewolf?
And still no sign of her husband. Curious. Very curious indeed.