Chapter 86
Previously: The Rose of Whitby – Chapter 85
Give him a white horse! Good, at least that the stable in this postcard of a sea-side town has. Quincy probably doesn’t even want to know what their main export is, some kind of gross, slimy thing coming out of the ocean. What did he ever do to deserve this backwater place?!
That doesn’t mean he can’t strike a fetching pose. Of course he can! He’s young, and tall, and tragically too pretty for this century. Also, he’s riding up to his fate to a castle past a cemetery and a crumbling abbey. At least that has a nice flair.
Uh… so does the estate, actually. Maybe he was being too harsh? This isn’t one of those boring red brick boxes of a mansion with too much whitewash on the facade. It’s December and he can smell roses. Roses at a castle that just might do for a production of Beauty and the Beast, or maybe Sleeping Beauty. There’s towers and battlements and okay, fine! Fine, he admits to himself that he likes it, but only to himself.
He’s still huffing and giving himself the internal narration of the indignity that is his life when he spots movement in the bushes that line the driveway. Now, he has had only so many hours of riding lessons, and nobody point out that he had them because of his mother, but he knows that he shouldn’t leave it up to the horse to deal with this.
Better slow down, especially because that’s not just movement, he can hear barking and he thinks laughter when he listens and pushes down the scarf he had wrapped all the way up to beneath the brim of his hat (it’s cold and wet and he has his flawless skin to protect, obviously). Is that a puppy?
Stopping the horse completely before it decides this is a great way to end his life by rearing and throwing him off to an undignified death, Quincy keeps an eye on the bundle of fur bursting from the bushes. Good, his horse doesn’t seem too worried. It would be trained for this, wouldn’t it? Just, there’s more movement in the bushes, and that sounds larger, what is going on here? Did he stumble into a hunting party?
~~~~
Arthur holds on to his saddle, but laughs anyway- Hannibal has decided that today, they’re practising how to stay seated in more advanced conditions. Meaning, he’s decided to be a prancing, side-ways stepping, uncooperative shit. Arthur can tell by the way he keeps an ear tipped back towards him and turns his head for the occasional mischievous glance that he’s still watching out for him, that he doesn’t mean any harm.
Hence, he only laughs, and does his best to keep his knees and heels down and his behind glued to the saddle. Still, he’s holding on to the saddle to make sure rather than worry about the reins- also he doesn’t want to yank at Hannibal’s mouth by accident.
John and Darcy have the puppies out, and they’re all making a wavering course across the lawn (well, maybe more a meadow, given the length of the grass and the unseasonal flowers that dot it here and there) when Arthur tilts his head. Is that? Yes, he hears the crunching of hooves on the gravel of the drive.
He exchanges a confused look with John, their levity fading, because… they’re not expecting any visitors, and unexpected visitors are rarely good news. Arthur rises in his stirrups to see better across the bushes by the drive.
Someone is cantering up on an unfamiliar horse. He can tell because the horse is white, and the person on it is much too slender for Art and too tall for Dr Seward. Sensing the shift in mood, Hannibal is cooperative when Arthur nudges him into a trot towards the drive, John jogging along behind them.
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Puppy herding is hard but fun! Darcy suspects this to be just like with any other children, so she’ll happily take it as practice for being good for John. Although, with a wolf laugh, she thinks that human puppies surely won’t be as nimble on their paws, after all, they only have two of them.
They are nearly all the way to the front of the castle, ready to put those little paws on the gravel and turn around to do the full circle when her ears pick up the sounds of a rider and turn backwards as she barks at her kids to stop. They do, with one or more reminders. She doesn’t want them to get underfoot.
Humans are mean. Some won’t stop their horses at all. She knows that, some of her very own puppies are here because they were hit by horses and coaches and nobody would stop for them. She has to protect them!
Circling to the front to interpose herself, she does a quick count… one is missing… no no no, Frimble! He’s deaf. He must not have noticed her call and kept going. Where is he? She can’t see him on this side of the bushes! Oh no, she will not have him get hurt so she barks at the rest of the puppies, howls to get John over to her, then dashes towards the rider, breaks through the bushes in one leap, ready to protect her puppy!
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Arthur’s still a good two dozen yards back when he sees the potential catastrophe unfolding: The brown and white shape of one of the puppies bouncing out across the driveway in its cute puppy way. The rider pulling his horse to a stop, thankfully.
On the other side of the bushes, Darcy’s tail vanishing in the greenery, the drive invisible to her from her lower position.
The nervous swish of the horse’s tail at the rustling, the rider turning to look that way, too. Arthur knows he’s not a great judge of anything riding related yet, but he doesn’t think the rider looks too practised sitting on the horse, either.
And then, as Darcy streaks out onto the drive, the horse shying, ears back and eyes wide-rimmed at the wolf rushing towards it.
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Is that a bloody wolf?! (That’s the not crude part of his thought.) Down, down, fuck, his horse is definitely shying! Quincy can’t die like this! Not without an audience to weep over his far-too-pretty corpse! No, he refuses, and fights to stay in the saddle, he’s been taught how, come on, remember and use that bloody sense of balance you pride yourself in! Loosen the reins, lean forward, don’t pull, don’t pull! If he’s supposed to talk calmly to the horse or yell at the wolf, though, he can’t figure out, and is a bit too preoccupied with not falling off anyway.
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Fuck! Arthur’s first instinct is to rush in on Hannibal, but… no, no, bad idea, scared horse, real horse, he has no idea how that would react to something unfamiliar like a nightmare- a predator. So he throws his reins down and kicks out of the stirrups, slides down, waves at Hannibal to stay back. He jogs up, scoots through the scratchy branches of the bushes, his hands out, starts talking in a soothing voice and does his best to interpose himself between the horse and Darcy. “It’s okay, we’re good here, D… Lady, back away a little, it’s okay, the puppy is safe…” The puppy, thankfully, has the sense to toddle around to hide behind Darcy from any flailing hooves.
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Leaning down to grab the puppy by the scruff of the neck and carry it to safety, Darcy is about to turn around, she has no fight with the horse, after all, then she realises who the rider is and definitely vanishes into the bushes before her drac lets the territorial growl move to the surface and startles the poor horse even more.
How does he dare come here? This is her household! Isn’t it bad enough that Gregory forgot all about them all day yesterday, probably because he was stuck underneath that one? Yes, she wants to growl and she’ll make it very clear indeed that she is the lady of this house. She has just the dress to make that clear if she has to play human for it! Her castle, she’s the cursed princess of this place, she’ll be the evil queen, too!
After handing Frimble to John, she stomps even more than she normally does to get back inside. Arthur and John can deal with the intruder.
~~~~
Okay, what the fuck? Now John’s standing here with a puppy in his arms, a dozen more milling around his feet and Arthur trying to help some guy to not fall off his horse while Darcy seems pissed off about something. He can tell when he’s fucking missing something, so he better go give Arthur backup, just in case that guy is dangerous.
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The horse is still snorting and backing up into the hedge on the other side, but Arthur manages to snag one dangling side of the reins. He holds it loosely, just enough to make sure the animal can’t just run off, keeps talking to it until it stills, though its tail is still swishing in an agitated way, getting tangled in the branches. He looks up and blinks- now from close up, he recognizes the rider amid the folds of his shawl, and by a few wisps of red hair peeking out from under his hat. “Uh… Quincy?” What is he doing here?
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“In the flesh, all attempts to murder me notwithstanding!” Quincy huffs back and gets off that hell beast as fast as he can now that it will finally stand still. Ugh! Brushing his clothes down and putting his hair back in order, he tries to compose himself before anybody can notice that he got spooked about as badly as his horse.
Oh hello there. Looking at that image of masculinity striding over with the smaller, furry culprit in hand does wonders for his composure. Somebody please tell him that blond hottie comes with the ‘need to seduce the entire castle’-deal. Building himself back up to his full height, he smooths his voice out, too, and tries his prettiest smile. “I’m here on my patron’s behalf, so that he does not remain away from his beloved wife despite his…” he’s glad he’s an actor so he can deliver the next words without cringing, “ardent interest in my career. After he needed some persuasion to return earlier, I thought it prudent to make the choice easier on him. Far be it from me to be a topic of contention.”
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That… makes no sense, Arthur thinks. There’s no acting for Quincy to do in Whitby, so clearly, he’s missing something. With a mental sigh, he resigns himself to being the socially oblivious one once more, and instead coaxes the horse into allowing him to pet its muzzle.
Of course, Hannibal takes that as his cue to push through the hedge as well and stroll up, looking curious. The horse promptly snorts again, nostrils quivering, and Arthur finds himself reduced to making shooing motions at Hannibal, since he doesn’t want to let go of the reins. Hannibal stops where he is, at least, and instead eyes Quincy in interest.
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Sending his long sigh melodically up three tones, Quincy takes the reins of his horse so that Arthur can look after his own. That one would do nicely for a production, which is annoying. There he thought he’d get to steal the show with his white one.
Not that he cares much about the horses really, he can tell a death glare from a socially-smart guy when he sees one. So much for his chances with that one. Groundskeeper? Kennel master, maybe? That would explain the dogs… although, it wouldn’t explain the look. Hm, why is it upsetting that one so much that he’s here? He tries again, introduces himself and sticks a hand out towards the blond who gives it one long look, flinches back and immediately tries to play over it with a grunt.
Oh? Uncomfortable? Socially smart and observant and homophobic. Lovely… which would explain why he’s upset. Cobb must not be his idea of preferable employer. Fine, not his problem, Quincy refuses to play nice with narrow-minded men, no matter how good-looking they are, so he turns right back to Arthur and asks where the lady of the house is. He wouldn’t want to be impolite, so he should present himself.
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Arthur only just catches John not taking Quincy’s offered hand as he collects Hannibal and shoulders him back away from the horse a few steps. And, uh, well, okay, that introduction doesn’t seem to have gone well, and that… doesn’t seem like John? That’s pretty rude, and John isn’t usually rude. Is he? No, he handled all the arrangements for the official wedding and their trip to London, he’s better at dealing with strangers than Arthur is, usually.
Yes, he’s definitely missing something there. He’s busy shoving Hannibal’s nose away from his pocket with the treats (he doesn’t fancy cleaning that mess from the bit, again, thank you,) when Quincy turns back to him, so he’s literally off balance when he answers: “Uh… inside?”
He nods at the castle, since that’s where he saw Darcy disappear last, but he has no idea which exact room she would’ve gone to. …Maybe he should know that? “Do you want to come to the stables with me to see to the horses and I’ll show you in?” he offers in an attempt to be a bit less awkward. Though probably he should’ve offered to call a groom or something. Not that they have any.
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With a cocked eyebrow, Quincy accepts, then smiles again. Groom was not what he had taken Arthur for, but then again, it would explain the shyness. It also gives him another idea. If the ‘noble’ husband is towing the groom around (for likely obvious reasons), and the groom hangs around Blondie… Is Blondie the lady’s counterpart?
That could explain the look. That one’s already making horrible assumptions about him giving Cobb a disease and the lady catching it from there. Well thank you, asshole! Part of him wants to go slap that one now. He is not a disease ridden whore… not that he might not die that way, but that’s a whole different topic. So yes, just to get away from that glare he follows Arthur, thanks him, too.
~~~~
Since that spot in the bushes is already a bit trampled-looking by now, Arthur doesn’t bother heading up to the door and onto the path leading along the side of the house, and instead angles right through those bushes and across the meadow towards the stables. The fey horses, as always, have little interest in anything going on, and John is herding the puppies along that path by the house they’re not taking.
As they cross the grass, Arthur once more notices the wildflowers blooming in it under the grey December sky. But there really isn’t anything he can do to make their castle less obviously weird. And at least Quincy isn’t a noble, so the damage he can do to their reputation ought to be minimal.
He shows Quincy where he can put his horse into an empty stall (already made up with straw and water and food thanks to the house magic), and spends a few minutes seeing to Hannibal- a quick rub down, and a treat once the bridle is off, and some scratches behind the ears. Quincy is clearly not a horse person, because he doesn’t brush down the horse or pick out its feet, and Arthur makes a mental note to come back out and look after it once he’s shown Quincy inside and has a moment. For now, he leaves Hannibal to curl up in his own straw for a nap, and leads Quincy back to the castle and in through the kitchen door, since it’s the closest.
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Of course, of bloody course, he’s being brought in through the back, servant’s entry and all that. Not that there are a lot of servants he can see, and that isn’t a good sign for how much money he can expect out of his patron, either. Great, this situation is only dissolving worse and worse.
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Arthur’s not sure where to take Quincy from here… maybe to one of the downstairs salons, while he goes look to where Darcy has gotten to? Yes, that sounds okay. And then, as he crosses the kitchen, he only just stops as he catches movement on the floor before he steps on… Gregory. Arthur blinks down at him and his cat grin. “Oh. Hi.”
Seeing Arthur stop, Quincy looks over his shoulder and huffs loudly. “Oh no, you don’t get to play welcoming committee for me until you assure me you had the needed happy reunion with your wife. Or better yet, bring me to her… Okay, fine, a place I can freshen up at first. And get out of that ridiculous cat form, I am not talking to you like this.”
Now Arthur is blinking over his shoulder at Quincy- why is he so concerned with Gregory’s and Darcy’s marriage? Well, he supposes it’s nice that he looks out for them? And if there have been any reunions, it was before he saw Darcy for breakfast, because he hasn’t seen Gregory since his own breakfast. But Gregory does turn human, and tells Quincy how happy he is to see him, and that he can absolutely show him a place to freshen up.
“Uh, I’ll go see where Darcy is,” Arthur offers, happy enough to leave the socialising to Gregory.
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That turns out to be Darcy’s room, where she’s still sitting at her vanity, grumbling and growling at the mirror fusses with make-up.
“Um…” Arthur says, hovers in her doorway. She might’ve said “Come in!” but it didn’t sound happy. He doesn’t know what to make of her mood. “…Anything I can help with?” he offers finally.
“Yes!” It’s another snarl and then she gestures at him to help her with her hairdo, says she can’t get it right, it’s supposed to be taller and she’s so much shorter than Quincy as is!
So he goes and holds her hair up and pins it as directed over poufy bits of what looks like hair she’s brushed out previously, while he debates with himself on whether he should ask what’s wrong. Because something clearly is, and it has to do with Quincy- it seems she doesn’t like him? He’s missing something, and probably it’s something that’s obvious to everyone but him, and that means he’ll look really stupid if he asks…
In the end, he doesn’t ask. Maybe if he watches the situation, it’ll become clear to him, too. Or maybe it’s none of his business, anyway.
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Once that blasted hair is finally behaving, Darcy glares at the mirror and makes sure the collar on her evil queen dress sticks up as aggressively as possible. If she has to defend her territory in human form, she wants the best approximation of a fluffed-up ruff she can. She has to gather up the monstrosity that is the crinoline under all the layers of skirt she’s wearing with both hands, but then she feels ready to face the intruder and growl him off.
She knows exactly where he must be, definitely next to Gregory, because she knows Gregory would have gone right to him. Blasted pretty men he always runs to and he’s… not even really hers and that doesn’t feel so important anymore, but he is her husband and she has a household to protect and he will not ruin them all with his mindless obliviousness of the danger of exposing them to scandal!
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Arthur follows after Darcy as she marches? flounces? off down the corridor- where to, he isn’t sure. It’s mostly bedrooms here on the first floor.
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She has half a mind to barge into the room, even on danger of walking in on things she doesn’t want to see. It’s her castle, her territory, she should show him… only that she’s apparently too slow. Gregory is on the move, and that means so is that blasted intruder, and right in her direction, too. Fine, other approach then! Getting herself into the closest salon, she tries to look as imperious as she possibly can and tells Arthur to get them in here.
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It must be Darcy’s sense of where Gregory is that she’s using to figure out where they are. Which means Gregory ought to know where she is, too, but Arthur does as she asked and heads further along the corridor until he meets Gregory and Quincy. Quincy is wearing a different suit than the one he arrived in, and Arthur supposes that’s what he meant by “freshening up”. Also, he notices again how really pretty Quincy is. It’s even more obvious in the light of day and without the lion make up. Arthur greets them and gestures them to follow him back to the salon where Darcy is waiting.
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Darcy can hear the footsteps and her drac is pacing along with them, ready to pounce, ready to make sure that the intruder knows that any misstep will be his last. She is not above defending her turf and her household with dire measures. He better respect her, fear her, show the discretion she has given up on hoping to get from Gregory. Her chin is held high, she’s ready to growl as best she can with human words when he comes through the door.
She’s already taken breath when she closes her mouth again, too startled to really know what to do because… Uh, yes… Yes, this is a copy of the outfit from the famous 1877 production. Now she’s blushing because he’s cooing at her and complimenting her taste and off talking about how he thinks that is one of the better theatre adaptations of a fairy tale… and… and maybe she wants to talk fairy tales with him now and his scent is in her nostrils again and how could she really be angry with him? It’s not his fault that he smells so very, very nice. Oh, and yes, she knows her makeup isn’t quite right and oh, he could fix it for her… Yes, please?
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Arthur decides he really doesn’t get social things. At the theatre, he thought Quincy was nice and Darcy didn’t mind him. But now it looked like she really didn’t like him, except now they’re talking and suddenly… she does like him? This is way too confusing for him, he decides. But at least there’s no fighting, so… That’s good?
Gregory’s grinning, that’s for sure at least, eyes fixed on them as Quincy helps Darcy with the skirt as she’s leading him out of the room and down the corridor and laughing at a comment he made. With barely another look at Arthur, he follows them, and Arthur finds himself alone in the salon. Well, okay then, he decides- there’s a horse that needs some attention, and it looks like he’s no longer needed here.
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Finally, John managed to settle the last puppy in. He gets it, he’d be moping about, too, if he was them. Darcy should be here, this is a two-parent task, but then, he gets her reaction just as much. Gross. Just fucking gross. What the fuck was Gregory thinking… Pff, right, as if that arse ever thinks. This is going to be such a headache. One molly was bad enough, but two? And one that seriously wouldn’t have needed to basically introduce himself as ‘the new affair’ on top of that.
John wants nothing to do with a guy like that. He’s fighting so hard to get this being masculine right. He’s watching every step, every word, every day, all day long. What if people, just by association with a guy like that, notice him struggling?
He hopes, so hopes, that that gross molly is getting kicked out right this instant by his girl. She has to draw the line there, right? She’s not possibly letting that guy stay, letting Gregory’s affair stay! The thought makes him shudder, but he better go check up on the situation no matter what he’ll find.