Post by Chelliet on Jul 31, 2008 12:13:28 GMT -5
Chapter One
February 22, 1817
Night had truly fallen in London. The sky was black, not even the tiny pinpricks of stars breaking through the clouds to relieve it. In the quiet byways of the Market, a small strip of London nestled between the infamous Dark District and the heart of the city, only the street lights that dotted the hard packed road gave any kind of relief from the shadows and the night, but even they seem muted, as if the darkness would swallow the light if it truly wanted to; as if that black sky had weight to it and that weight held a kind of quiet but unstoppable malice.
It was a perfect night for believing in things like Shadowspawn.
The carriage stopped with a small lurch beneath one of those street lamps, the springs nearly silent from their fresh oiling that morning. The driver sat hunched in a long, thick greatcoat and when the door of the elegant vehicle opened, he turned to the woman who stepped out.
“You sure you want to be here, my lady? It’s not the best part o’ town ya know.”
“Yes Brian, I am quite sure.” The gentility of the woman’s voice was a dramatic contrast to the older man’s gruff, common speech. Rachelle, only daughter of the Earl of Raine, was a tiny bit of a thing, barely reaching a slender five feet tall. Dressed as she was in a deep midnight blue with that brilliantly red hair piled atop her head in a series of intricate curls, she looked like a porcelain doll. Dusky lips smiled and the driver simply shook his head. “You will wait for me, won’t you?” she asked.
“‘Course I will. Niles’ll have my head if I came back without ya.” The driver actually shivered at the thought.
“I’m sure my butler is the one you need to worry about,” she said dryly, giving him an unimpressed look. A slight flush of color rose on Brian’s cheeks and he ducked his head down a bit at the mild admonishment. Rachelle sighed softly and closed the door behind her, securing the braided cord of her purse around her wrist. “It’s alright, Brian. I know you’re only doing what you think is best.”
“Aye to that.”
“But I will visit this shop to see if they have the manuscript I inquired about.” Brian rolled his eyes and simply hunched down a bit more against the night’s chill and his lady’s stubbornness. This wasn’t the first time she’d had him drop her off someplace unusual for a book after all, so he was beginning to get used to it. It wasn’t really that cold, but this part of town always gave him the chills. It wasn’t exactly in the worst section of the city, but it was close enough and the rumors of what happened here were not pretty.
Mysterious deaths, bodies showing up in places impossible to get to without wings, corpses drained completely of blood. It was enough to give any man, or woman, pause. Except for Rachelle.
“Don’t see why you got to do it at night is all,” Bryan muttered. Rachelle ignored that last comment and secured the matching cloak around her neck with a heavy broach. She was expected to be at the book meeting tonight at Lady Plimsoll’s townhouse but there was more than enough time for her to do a bit of shopping first.
No one in her family understood her obsession with books – the older the better – and they didn’t try. Instead they left her to her own devices and liked to pretend that she didn’t exist. That worked out just fine for her since it left her the time and money to do what she pleased which, at the moment, was to visit this Mr. Ramsey and his book shop on 204 Elm Street to see if he did indeed carry the 16th century encyclopedia she’d been searching for.
Some would call her bold, but most used the term foolhardy instead. Here she was, a young woman unescorted at night in a rather shady part of town, going to look for a book of all things. Yes, foolhardy most definitely described her. But she didn’t seem to mind whatsoever because she walked as if she knew exactly where she was going. That wasn’t the case, but she had the address in her reticule and she’d memorized it only moments after jotting it down that morning.
Moonlight filtered over her creamy, pale skin and washed away the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks that hadn’t dimmed with maturity. In the soft light, her eyes were the dark blue of still, deep water and her hair looked like spun garnets with only a hint of gold. All in all she was a fetching bit of goods, but it was all ruined by the silver rimmed spectacles that perched on her nose. She had a seeing glass in her purse, but she hated using it. It was so inconvenient and she was forever searching for it. She much preferred her woefully unfashionable spectacles, especially since she couldn’t see much past her own nose without them.
A slight frown marred her face as she continued walking. She should have been there by now. Had she missed it? She was about to pull out the slip of foolscap she had the address written on before she caught sight of a dusty door set back from the street in a narrow alley between two outdated and badly cared for brownstones. A dull bell perched above that door and the small window didn’t show much light. Then again, the glass was so dirty that a thousand candles could be blazing inside and one wouldn’t know it.
Taking a bracing breath, she raised a small fist and knocked smartly on the door three times before trying the doorknob. It didn’t turn.
“Mr. Ramsey?” No answer.
“Mr. Ramsey?” she called out again, but that wasn’t any more successful. Pressing her lips together in a thin line, she knocked again, much more forcefully this time. Ignoring the stinging in her knuckles, she waited. Nothing moved and everything remained ominously silent.
“Well good gracious. How am I supposed to see if he has what I want if he won’t answer the door?” she muttered to herself. Her mother had often told her that ladies do not mutter and that it is considered a common thing to do. She’d tried to stop, but the simple fact was that she never knew when she was doing it. A flaw, that, but now that her parents had decided to give up on her, there really wasn’t anyone she needed to please but herself. Such a relief that was.
When it was more than obvious that the shop wasn’t open and that no one was going to greet her, she sighed in frustration and kicked the door for good measure. That gained her nothing but a set of sore toes and a bit of wounded pride but the street was deserted so at least no one saw her burst of temper. Ah yes, her temper; yet another thing on a long list of embarrassments that her mother scolded her for.
Well, why shouldn’t she be angry? She’d been searching for this particular manuscript for months, nearly a year, and now that she had caught wind that they resided here in this very city, she was thwarted by a reclusive shop owner!
For a moment she thought about plucking out one of her many hair pins and trying to trick the lock just as she’d seen Nevil, the housekeeper’s son, do a fortnight prior. She’d caught him in the act by the attic door and he’d been so desperate that she not tell his mother that she’d easily procured lessons on lock tricking from him. Or was it lock picking?
Yes, she thought hard on it but decided simply to call upon the aggravating man tomorrow morning. She could imagine him now... A short, squat man with a balding pate who took his delight in luring young women to his shop at night only to let them call and knock to no avail. Yes, she was sure he had beady, dark eyes and one of those smiles that makes your teeth hurt just to look at it.
Oh stop it Rach, that’s more than enough for one evening. Sighing again, she turned away to return to her carriage. And promptly ran directly into someone.
“Oh!” Stumbling back, she caught her heel on the hem of her ball gown and if it weren’t for the hard hands on her arms, she would have fallen.
“Sorry I am, my lady. Didna mean ta scare you like that.”
“Brian! God in heaven, what in the bloody hell are you doing? I thought you were waiting with the carriage.” Brian steadied her upright before jamming both his hands into his pockets, wisely ignoring the fact that she’d sworn at him.
“I was, but you was taking so long I thought I’d come a lookin’, see? Niles’d have—”
“Your head if I was hurt, yes I know,” she interrupted, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear absently. But she smiled anyway and self-consciously straightened her cloak and skirt. “Niles worries for naught, but it was all for a dead end at any rate. I believe we are expected at Lady Plimsoll’s shortly, are we not?” Brian’s smile was wide and dotted with one missing tooth and he nodded emphatically.
“Indeed we are. Tain’t right for a lady to be seen ‘round these parts anyhow,” he said before turning back to the carriage. Rachelle remained silent at that remark because she still needed to convince him to bring her back here tomorrow, so the walk back was quiet but for Brian’s shuffling gait, one foot dragging very slightly behind him with every other step. He preferred driving to walking, or even riding, because of his leg. A horse had kicked it fifteen years ago and it had never healed right after that, but despite his injury he was still an excellent driver.
The walk to the carriage was uneventful though the night certainly gave the impression that it would be otherwise.
On the border between the heart of the city and the Dark District, their position was a tenuous one at best if one believed the rumors. Though she was given to ‘flights of fancy’ as her family called them, and though she was quite aware of the recent deaths not far from here, Rachelle heartily disbelieved the notion that such creatures as Shadowspawn, a horrible amalgamation of man and demon, existed.
It was a preposterous idea, really. Men with fangs who drink the blood of their victims? Hardly. The more probable scenario was madness. A man probably took ill with the fever and in his insanity, most likely bit anyone who came near him. She knew all too well how rumors could change and twist and become more than what they were based off of. After all, the Incident had been so widely spoken of that there were at least fifteen different versions bandied about by the ton. The record had been set straight of course, but some gossip is not so lucky. Yes, Rachelle pitied the poor man who’d had the misfortune to take ill and thus attack his family in such a way.
Brian opened the door to the carriage for her and she settled herself inside with a minimum of fuss. The small curtains had been pulled over the equally small windows to help hide its occupant because who knew what kind of scoundrels and brigands lurked the streets at this hour? She didn’t want to fend off any misguided miscreants tonight.
She felt the carriage sway beneath Brian’s weight as he assumed the driver’s seat and when his soft clucking and the flick of reins drew the horses into motion again, she sat back and pondered her disappointment. She most definitely would have to visit this Mr. Ramsey in the morning and give him an earful. She had been assured that his shop was open this evening, though now that she thought on it she couldn’t quite remember where she’d learned that particular bit of information.
Tapping a gloved finger over the reticule she’d set in her lap, she plotted and planned on their way to the Plimsoll manor. Lady Plimsoll was a dear, the widow of the late Viscount Plimsoll, and blind as a bat as well. Rachelle believed that to be the reason they got along so famously. Both of them chose to wear their spectacles whenever possible though Rachelle secretly thought that Lady Plimsoll couldn’t see even with them on. They also happened to share a keen interest in medieval manuscripts though Harriet, Lady Plimsoll, preferred more to hear Rachelle recite the stories rather than read them herself.
Rachelle was usually happy to oblige though tonight she would probably be too distracted to do a good job of it. Sighing, she resigned herself to a mostly boring evening (they were all to be discussing a book she’d found to be utterly dull) and wondered again why she bothered going to these meetings sometimes. The last several months had been full of the popular works of Lord Byron and other such literature that did as much to excite her as watching the grass grow.
* * * * *
The beast was gone.
The hunter stood outside the building and looked up, his face wreathed in shadows beneath the wide-brimmed hat he wore and the leather greatcoat hiding all but his height and his leather-clad, booted feet. He gazed coolly up at the top line of windows that ringed the second and third stories of the building, but nothing moved. There was no light, no bodies bustling around behind those dark panes and he resigned himself to returning another night.
Aye, the beast was gone, but it would return. Of that, he was absolutely certain. And when it did, he would be ready for it.
February 22, 1817
Night had truly fallen in London. The sky was black, not even the tiny pinpricks of stars breaking through the clouds to relieve it. In the quiet byways of the Market, a small strip of London nestled between the infamous Dark District and the heart of the city, only the street lights that dotted the hard packed road gave any kind of relief from the shadows and the night, but even they seem muted, as if the darkness would swallow the light if it truly wanted to; as if that black sky had weight to it and that weight held a kind of quiet but unstoppable malice.
It was a perfect night for believing in things like Shadowspawn.
The carriage stopped with a small lurch beneath one of those street lamps, the springs nearly silent from their fresh oiling that morning. The driver sat hunched in a long, thick greatcoat and when the door of the elegant vehicle opened, he turned to the woman who stepped out.
“You sure you want to be here, my lady? It’s not the best part o’ town ya know.”
“Yes Brian, I am quite sure.” The gentility of the woman’s voice was a dramatic contrast to the older man’s gruff, common speech. Rachelle, only daughter of the Earl of Raine, was a tiny bit of a thing, barely reaching a slender five feet tall. Dressed as she was in a deep midnight blue with that brilliantly red hair piled atop her head in a series of intricate curls, she looked like a porcelain doll. Dusky lips smiled and the driver simply shook his head. “You will wait for me, won’t you?” she asked.
“‘Course I will. Niles’ll have my head if I came back without ya.” The driver actually shivered at the thought.
“I’m sure my butler is the one you need to worry about,” she said dryly, giving him an unimpressed look. A slight flush of color rose on Brian’s cheeks and he ducked his head down a bit at the mild admonishment. Rachelle sighed softly and closed the door behind her, securing the braided cord of her purse around her wrist. “It’s alright, Brian. I know you’re only doing what you think is best.”
“Aye to that.”
“But I will visit this shop to see if they have the manuscript I inquired about.” Brian rolled his eyes and simply hunched down a bit more against the night’s chill and his lady’s stubbornness. This wasn’t the first time she’d had him drop her off someplace unusual for a book after all, so he was beginning to get used to it. It wasn’t really that cold, but this part of town always gave him the chills. It wasn’t exactly in the worst section of the city, but it was close enough and the rumors of what happened here were not pretty.
Mysterious deaths, bodies showing up in places impossible to get to without wings, corpses drained completely of blood. It was enough to give any man, or woman, pause. Except for Rachelle.
“Don’t see why you got to do it at night is all,” Bryan muttered. Rachelle ignored that last comment and secured the matching cloak around her neck with a heavy broach. She was expected to be at the book meeting tonight at Lady Plimsoll’s townhouse but there was more than enough time for her to do a bit of shopping first.
No one in her family understood her obsession with books – the older the better – and they didn’t try. Instead they left her to her own devices and liked to pretend that she didn’t exist. That worked out just fine for her since it left her the time and money to do what she pleased which, at the moment, was to visit this Mr. Ramsey and his book shop on 204 Elm Street to see if he did indeed carry the 16th century encyclopedia she’d been searching for.
Some would call her bold, but most used the term foolhardy instead. Here she was, a young woman unescorted at night in a rather shady part of town, going to look for a book of all things. Yes, foolhardy most definitely described her. But she didn’t seem to mind whatsoever because she walked as if she knew exactly where she was going. That wasn’t the case, but she had the address in her reticule and she’d memorized it only moments after jotting it down that morning.
Moonlight filtered over her creamy, pale skin and washed away the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks that hadn’t dimmed with maturity. In the soft light, her eyes were the dark blue of still, deep water and her hair looked like spun garnets with only a hint of gold. All in all she was a fetching bit of goods, but it was all ruined by the silver rimmed spectacles that perched on her nose. She had a seeing glass in her purse, but she hated using it. It was so inconvenient and she was forever searching for it. She much preferred her woefully unfashionable spectacles, especially since she couldn’t see much past her own nose without them.
A slight frown marred her face as she continued walking. She should have been there by now. Had she missed it? She was about to pull out the slip of foolscap she had the address written on before she caught sight of a dusty door set back from the street in a narrow alley between two outdated and badly cared for brownstones. A dull bell perched above that door and the small window didn’t show much light. Then again, the glass was so dirty that a thousand candles could be blazing inside and one wouldn’t know it.
Taking a bracing breath, she raised a small fist and knocked smartly on the door three times before trying the doorknob. It didn’t turn.
“Mr. Ramsey?” No answer.
“Mr. Ramsey?” she called out again, but that wasn’t any more successful. Pressing her lips together in a thin line, she knocked again, much more forcefully this time. Ignoring the stinging in her knuckles, she waited. Nothing moved and everything remained ominously silent.
“Well good gracious. How am I supposed to see if he has what I want if he won’t answer the door?” she muttered to herself. Her mother had often told her that ladies do not mutter and that it is considered a common thing to do. She’d tried to stop, but the simple fact was that she never knew when she was doing it. A flaw, that, but now that her parents had decided to give up on her, there really wasn’t anyone she needed to please but herself. Such a relief that was.
When it was more than obvious that the shop wasn’t open and that no one was going to greet her, she sighed in frustration and kicked the door for good measure. That gained her nothing but a set of sore toes and a bit of wounded pride but the street was deserted so at least no one saw her burst of temper. Ah yes, her temper; yet another thing on a long list of embarrassments that her mother scolded her for.
Well, why shouldn’t she be angry? She’d been searching for this particular manuscript for months, nearly a year, and now that she had caught wind that they resided here in this very city, she was thwarted by a reclusive shop owner!
For a moment she thought about plucking out one of her many hair pins and trying to trick the lock just as she’d seen Nevil, the housekeeper’s son, do a fortnight prior. She’d caught him in the act by the attic door and he’d been so desperate that she not tell his mother that she’d easily procured lessons on lock tricking from him. Or was it lock picking?
Yes, she thought hard on it but decided simply to call upon the aggravating man tomorrow morning. She could imagine him now... A short, squat man with a balding pate who took his delight in luring young women to his shop at night only to let them call and knock to no avail. Yes, she was sure he had beady, dark eyes and one of those smiles that makes your teeth hurt just to look at it.
Oh stop it Rach, that’s more than enough for one evening. Sighing again, she turned away to return to her carriage. And promptly ran directly into someone.
“Oh!” Stumbling back, she caught her heel on the hem of her ball gown and if it weren’t for the hard hands on her arms, she would have fallen.
“Sorry I am, my lady. Didna mean ta scare you like that.”
“Brian! God in heaven, what in the bloody hell are you doing? I thought you were waiting with the carriage.” Brian steadied her upright before jamming both his hands into his pockets, wisely ignoring the fact that she’d sworn at him.
“I was, but you was taking so long I thought I’d come a lookin’, see? Niles’d have—”
“Your head if I was hurt, yes I know,” she interrupted, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear absently. But she smiled anyway and self-consciously straightened her cloak and skirt. “Niles worries for naught, but it was all for a dead end at any rate. I believe we are expected at Lady Plimsoll’s shortly, are we not?” Brian’s smile was wide and dotted with one missing tooth and he nodded emphatically.
“Indeed we are. Tain’t right for a lady to be seen ‘round these parts anyhow,” he said before turning back to the carriage. Rachelle remained silent at that remark because she still needed to convince him to bring her back here tomorrow, so the walk back was quiet but for Brian’s shuffling gait, one foot dragging very slightly behind him with every other step. He preferred driving to walking, or even riding, because of his leg. A horse had kicked it fifteen years ago and it had never healed right after that, but despite his injury he was still an excellent driver.
The walk to the carriage was uneventful though the night certainly gave the impression that it would be otherwise.
On the border between the heart of the city and the Dark District, their position was a tenuous one at best if one believed the rumors. Though she was given to ‘flights of fancy’ as her family called them, and though she was quite aware of the recent deaths not far from here, Rachelle heartily disbelieved the notion that such creatures as Shadowspawn, a horrible amalgamation of man and demon, existed.
It was a preposterous idea, really. Men with fangs who drink the blood of their victims? Hardly. The more probable scenario was madness. A man probably took ill with the fever and in his insanity, most likely bit anyone who came near him. She knew all too well how rumors could change and twist and become more than what they were based off of. After all, the Incident had been so widely spoken of that there were at least fifteen different versions bandied about by the ton. The record had been set straight of course, but some gossip is not so lucky. Yes, Rachelle pitied the poor man who’d had the misfortune to take ill and thus attack his family in such a way.
Brian opened the door to the carriage for her and she settled herself inside with a minimum of fuss. The small curtains had been pulled over the equally small windows to help hide its occupant because who knew what kind of scoundrels and brigands lurked the streets at this hour? She didn’t want to fend off any misguided miscreants tonight.
She felt the carriage sway beneath Brian’s weight as he assumed the driver’s seat and when his soft clucking and the flick of reins drew the horses into motion again, she sat back and pondered her disappointment. She most definitely would have to visit this Mr. Ramsey in the morning and give him an earful. She had been assured that his shop was open this evening, though now that she thought on it she couldn’t quite remember where she’d learned that particular bit of information.
Tapping a gloved finger over the reticule she’d set in her lap, she plotted and planned on their way to the Plimsoll manor. Lady Plimsoll was a dear, the widow of the late Viscount Plimsoll, and blind as a bat as well. Rachelle believed that to be the reason they got along so famously. Both of them chose to wear their spectacles whenever possible though Rachelle secretly thought that Lady Plimsoll couldn’t see even with them on. They also happened to share a keen interest in medieval manuscripts though Harriet, Lady Plimsoll, preferred more to hear Rachelle recite the stories rather than read them herself.
Rachelle was usually happy to oblige though tonight she would probably be too distracted to do a good job of it. Sighing, she resigned herself to a mostly boring evening (they were all to be discussing a book she’d found to be utterly dull) and wondered again why she bothered going to these meetings sometimes. The last several months had been full of the popular works of Lord Byron and other such literature that did as much to excite her as watching the grass grow.
* * * * *
The beast was gone.
The hunter stood outside the building and looked up, his face wreathed in shadows beneath the wide-brimmed hat he wore and the leather greatcoat hiding all but his height and his leather-clad, booted feet. He gazed coolly up at the top line of windows that ringed the second and third stories of the building, but nothing moved. There was no light, no bodies bustling around behind those dark panes and he resigned himself to returning another night.
Aye, the beast was gone, but it would return. Of that, he was absolutely certain. And when it did, he would be ready for it.