Fic: A Fish Out Of Water - Part 4
Apr. 2nd, 2005 12:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lonelybritAnd lo, on the day of the fool, the fourth part of this indulgence fic was posted. As usual I would like to thank the academy, my hairdresser, my beta ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eloise_bright, my parakeet and, of course, Jeeves for helping me tweak this plot bunny into something vaguely sensible. Also sending general hugs to all those on my FL, because I can. And if anyone has word on Willa, let me know? *huggles*
Previous parts can be found here.
Chapter Four:
Greylings stood waiting for us at the top of steps like a well-dressed guard-dog at the gateway to Hades. He descended with a slow, dignified tread to our level. Knox gave him the task of taking the car to the garages, and then vanished up the steps, presumably heading off on his own errand. I was directed to wait in the drawing room, before being abandoned. It looked like I was the first to arrive, since the gigantic wood-panelled, thick carpeted room was empty when I got there. I had promised Will I would be waiting for him, armed with a ready cocktail, and so I began hunting for the drinks cabinet. At the first sound of opening cupboards, however, Greylings instantly materialised by my side with a suspicious gleam in his eye. My instinctive yelp at suddenly having a suitfull of glowering butler breathing down my neck didn’t seem to make him look on me any more kindly.
“Can I be of assistance, sir?”
“I was looking for the drinks?”
“You surprise me, sir.”
“Will, I mean, Master Davies, he wanted me to have it all ready for when he got back-”
“Ah, I see, sir. I shall take care of the matter at once.”
He silently faded, rather like a nightmare in the cold light of day. And not long after, there came the welcome sound of an approaching engine, the spatter of spraying gravel, and the slam of a car door.
Will entered the room minutes later, and any trace of his dark mood earlier was completely gone. In fact, he was lit up like a Christmas tree. His feet barely touched the ground, he seemed to float in; he radiated contentment, smugness and general joie de vivre. Anchoring him to terra firma were at least two young, not unattractive, women who gazed up at him with a starry-eyed adoration that defied belief.
“I could hear you speak forever, Will-”
“And you say you’re not published-”
“I’ll speak to my father; you may have heard of him, he owns that monthly journal-”
“Raven hair, effulgent beauty. Oh, Will, America has done you such good!”
Will turned a powerful gaze my way, his chest swelling like a pufferfish.
“Liam!” he boomed, voice resonating like a thunderclap. “Dash it, old boy, you missed one beautiful service.”
“The language!”
“The heart!”
“The soul!”
These comments were coo-ed by the minions hanging off his arms.
Will suddenly spotted something off to his right and made a dart forward, removing a small glittery object from some stiff stuffed exhibit that was lurking in the corner of the room. A second look revealed the sparkle to be a glass, and the prone holder as Greylings.
“Aunt Edith, here’s to you, the blighters up there don’t know how lucky they are to have you!” Will toasted the ceiling, and drained his drink. The girls swarming round him made soft clucking noises; it was a bit like having a bunch of large glossy perfumed pigeons in the room. Whispered phrases like ‘sweetheart’ and ‘such devotion’ drifted across the room.
“Liam,” said Will, very seriously. “I am taking these young ladies round the grounds, show them the lake and whatnot. The lake actually inspired some of my earlier works,” he added, to his captive audience. “Disturb me, Liam, and they’ll be picking your body off the lawn for days.”
With that, he rotated on the spot with the dignified slowness of a hot air balloon, and headed once more for the door.
“Will!” I hissed indignantly.
He looked back at me over his shoulder.
I gave him a look and a tiny gesture that indicated the whole room. What I was trying to get across was that (a) I was only here because he asked me to be (b) more guests would be arriving soon, and shouldn’t he stay and greet them (c) when people did arrive I could safely say that I would most definitely know none of them and (d) if he left me alone to face a roomful of the county’s finest then there would be hell to pay the moment I got him alone.
“Liam, are you quite well or are you twitching as part of some new health regime?”
I glowered at him. He sighed and rolled his eyes.
“They’re not going to bite,” he said, as if this were obvious. “Just steer clear of old Holland and his spawn, they’re cold fish that lot, and you’ll be fine.”
“Holland? Who’s he?”
But Will and his gaggle were already through the door and their gentle babble fading into the distance. In their wake came the sound of many approaching motors. It seemed that even if Aunt Edith’s funeral was a quiet affair, the wake was aiming to be something of a social event. And I’d heard about social events. My blood ran cold as I thought of all the horror stories of outsiders who had fallen foul of the weird customs surrounding such gatherings.
“Lord Cusplip,” Greylings announced solemnly, and through the door came Aunt Edith’s poor widower. He was the typical Lord; snow white hair, startling blue eyes, a solid frame that could easily hurl a serf down the steps so hard they bounced, if needs be.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, looking me up and down, “you would be Will’s young friend, what what?”
“Yes, sir.”
Greylings momentarily emerged out of the wallpaper to shoot me a steely look.
“I mean, yes, m’lord.”
“Splendid, splendid!” Lord Cusplip looked round the room, rather like a hunter surveying the great African plain. “Will speaks most highly of you, Mr Connor. I look forward to discussing things with you in greater depth at some later date. Today I’m afraid will be quite crowded. Lady Cusplip was held in great fondness and high regard by people of the shire. Today we mourn and share in our loss.”
“Yes, I’m really sorry, Lord Cusplip.”
“Mr and Mrs Rothson,” Greylings announced.
Lord Cusplip sniffed deeply and I admit I was impressed. Like I said, I can read people. It was just something in the eyes and the way he took a moment before turning to greet the first arrivals that said it all. He really was mourning, but he strode out, chin up, eyes blazing, nevertheless; the last man standing and determined to do a good job of it.
I stood and twiddled my thumbs as I thought about my situation. There I was, not a clue in the world about what to do at such affairs. Outside, the hordes were already massing. Will had deserted me. My host was busy. I had trouble remembering the different names of the local barmaids, let alone flocks of gentry. I needed help.
“Sir Mullet and Lady Mullet.”
“The right honourable Miss Bass.”
“Mr and Mrs Radna.”
“Lord Beauclerk-”
“Greylings,” I bleated pathetically, “can I use the phone?”
A kindly looking maid led me to the instrument. After a mild panic attack when I couldn’t remember the number, I finally got through.
“Rose cottage.”
“Pryce! Oh thank god. Pryce, there’re people here.”
“Yes, sir. I believe that is usually the custom at functions such as wakes.”
“I’m sunk.”
“Sir?”
“Will’s run off with some young things to appreciate the poetry of the lake.”
“No doubt the lake is happy to be of service, sir.”
“Stuff the lake!”
“Very good, sir.”
“Pryce!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Pryce.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Pryce?”
“Speaking, sir.”
“Help?”
There was the slightest hesitation.
“It won’t be for long,” I added, and I won’t deny there was a certain pleading note to my voice. “Just an hour or so?”
“Sir, I am really not sure it is my place to attend-”
“Oh come on, they won’t notice! The maid just went past carrying enough glasses to water a few thousand at least.”
“Well-”
“Pryce, please.”
“I will attempt to arrive as soon as possible, sir.”
At the moment, if there hadn’t been a telephone connection in the way, I could have kissed him.
*~*~*~*
My feelings of general jubilation faded just a little as the day wore on. For the simple reason that while more and more guests continued pouring in through the doors, not one resolved itself into the delicate besuited figure of Pryce. I guess ‘as soon as possible’ in Butler English really means ‘Whenever the magic carpet I’m riding there arrives’.
In the end I wound up standing by one of the large bay windows, glass in hand, gazing out down the drive like some sea widow watching for the returning ship.
“You know, on a clear day, I hear you can see Cornwall from here.”
It was a low, cool, rich voice. And most definitely female and very amused. I turned and found its owner pretty much as you would imagine. She was tall, curves and sweeps in all the right places, hair shiny as a button, and a strong face framing sharp sea-green eyes that regarded me with lazy interest.
“Er, hi?”
“And a Yank, too. Well, I suppose all sorts really are washing up to this place today.” She took a sip from her glass as she gave me the visual once over. Then she tossed her head, and extended one beautifully manicured hand. “Lilah Morgan. Pleased to meet you.”
I went through the motions; shaking her hand, introducing myself. But already I was looking around and carefully noting the position of all emergency exits. New York was crawling with this type of woman: steel-blooded creatures; they can eat a man alive, stand in the path of a charging water bison and emerge triumphant, with not a hair out of place.
She smiled slowly; it felt like I was watching a snake deliberately begin to uncoil.
“Well, Mr Connor, what was your connection to the late Lady Cusplip?”
“Will.”
Genuine interest flickered in those green eyes. “She left you a legacy?”
“No. Will- William, I’m a friend of her nephew’s.”
She gave a gasp and a silvery peal of laughter.
“Oh, the prodigal son finally returned did he?” She cocked her head on one side and looked at me with more interest. “You must tell me all about it, Mr Connor. You do realise what a scandal Will running off was? There were terrible tales of how he was leading a life of debauchery and sin… Thrilling!”
I drew myself up and said in my coldest possible voice: “Will has always led a perfectly honest life, Miss Morgan. There is no man in this room with a heart purer than his.”
She patted me on the shoulder, utterly unmoved.
“Yes, yes,” she said distractedly, “but what exactly did you two do for all those years? Please don’t tell me you did something unutterably dull, like work in a soup kitchen.”
“Lilah?”
The second voice cut into the conversation and I gratefully sidestepped this she-wolf and greeted the newcomer.
“Knox!” I cried, rather more relief showing than I had intended. “Did you sort out whatever it was you wanted to sort out?”
“Sure thing,” he said, and then looked past me with a friendly smile. “So, there you are, Lilah. Holland was wondering where you’d gotten to.”
“How terrible for him to be uninformed of my movements.”
“Don’t worry,” said Knox pleasantly, the acid sarcasm totally going over his head, “I’ll let him know now.”
“How kind.”
We watched Knox vanish back into the crowd and I felt a slight tinge of unchristian pleasure in seeing Lilah’s previous smooth and flawless brow now darkened and furrowed with ill-temper. She muttered something into her glass about Holland’s legitimacy, then stalked past me with a cold dismissal.
“Miss Lilah Morgan,” a quiet voice said in my right ear, “stepdaughter of the renowned man of law Sir Holland Manners.”
Pryce waited patiently as I righted the potted palm I’d crashed into.
“She’s quite something, isn’t she, Pryce,” I said, dusting myself off with as much dignity as possible.
“Certainly a most memorable lady, sir.”
“Please tell me there aren’t more of her kind around here?”
“She is here with her family, sir. Her stepfather and his nephew Mr Lindsey MacDonald. The family has a most illustrious reputation in London; Sir Holland is executive director of the law firm Wolfram and Hart.”
“Reputation my arse. That lady was one cold fish.”
“Perhaps not quite the phrase I would have used, sir, but your caution is well merited.”
I looked thoughtfully at Pryce before turning back to the crowded room. I was pretty sure that valets weren’t normally meant to give nasty looks at employers and their friends, but Pryce was certainly managing to give the impression that if he was ever given that old dilemma about who you’d chuck out the sinking boat, he’d nominate Lilah without hesitation or burden on his conscience.
My heart warmed to him.
The crowd in front of us all looked pretty much the same to me; pale faces, dark clothes, the air a sea of vowels that could cut teak. Then, as I stared a bit harder, I began to pick out actual people in amongst the heaving mass. A fair head with green eyes here. A mass of dark hair and a chocolate sweet smile there. A gaze like a steel blade that could only be Lilah Morgan. She was standing with a small group that included herself, Knox, a short youngish man who looked like he’d rather be off riding cross-country, and an elderly clean-shaven gentleman with bright eyes and a beautifully tailored and perfectly pressed suit.
“That the rest of the clan?”
There was no immediate answer. Pryce stared across at the gathering, managing the not inconsiderable feat of making his expression even more stonier than it already had been. His lips pressed tight together for a moment, and then he had recovered himself.
“Yes, sir,” he said calmly. “The younger is Mr MacDonald, his elder companion is Sir Holland.”
I’m not sure how well it comes across on paper, but, for the record, the temperature of that delivery made the Arctic seem like a tropical paradise.
“You, um, don’t sound thrilled to see them.”
“Wolfram and Hart are executors of Lady Cusplip’s will, sir. Their presence here is not unusual.”
“Meaning you don’t want to talk about it. Okay, fine, I can take a hint.” I scanned the room for some other topic of conversation. “Oh…”
It’s always a bit of shock to look somewhere at random and find someone looking straight back at you. Makes you blink. Not there was anything obviously wrong with the lass looking back at me with a pair of clear hazel eyes. She had the same confident stance of Miss Morgan, but unlike Morgan, her smile lacked malice and contempt. Which it not to say that it still wasn’t something that made me nervously take a swallow of the w.
“Pryce?” I said, a little anxiously.
“Ah yes,” and even though I couldn’t see him, my eyes fixed on the lady as she flicked back a glossy stray tendril and trotted towards us, I could hear his smile.
“This would be-”
“Well, hello there.”
She planted herself firmly before me, smile as bright as a thousand suns and as terrifying as when said suns are seen at close quarters. I felt as I imagine a show dog must feel when placed on the pedestal with the judges scribbling on their clipboards. I tried to stand a little straighter, giving my ‘Never Fails Except Apparently On Pryce’ grin a quick try.
“So glad to see there’s at least one person here under the age of two hundred and infinity.” She drained her glass and set it aside on a passing tray, smoothly extending her free hand. “Cordelia Chase, now who are you, stranger?”
“Liam Connor, I’m-”
Her face fell and a couple of the suns went out.
“Oh,” she said, shaking my hand with an air of pity. “New World stock, huh? I guess you have a nice farm somewhere… or maybe in fact your Dad’s a rich oil tycoon?” She looked up at me hopefully.
“Oh no, my family’s still living in Ireland.”
“Couldn’t you at least have kept the accent?” she asked sorrowfully. Then she gave a small snort-like noise of dismissal. “Ah well, it was worth a shot.”
The smile came back, this time softer and slightly less like the smile of a lioness moving in for the kill.
“So, who’s your silent friend?”
“Who?”
She nodded her head to behind me.
“Six foot something standing just to your right.”
“Oh!” I shuffled a little to one side, not entirely sure how to do those kind of introductions. “This is… erm… This is Pryce, my gentleman, or valet, or erm… I mean, that is to say-”
“Pryce, eh?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Nice suit.”
“Thank you, Miss.”
“You won’t take offence if I leave your master here and continue looking for actual life at this do?”
“Not at all, Miss.”
“Thank you, Pryce. Pass my regards to Mr Connor.”
“I shall do so, Miss, thank you.”
She patted me on the arm as if we had been best friends since so high.
“Gotta love you and leave you, maybe see you later!”
And with a twirl of skirts and flash of teeth, she was gone back into the crowd, leaving me and Pryce standing in sudden ringing silence.
“She seems nice,” I offered after a few more moments of stunned contemplation.
“A high-spirited lady, but one with a good heart, sir.”
“And on the look-out for a wealthy bachelor?”
I saw Pryce stiffen a little, and his voice when it came was decidedly less warm than before.
“I could not say, sir.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that… But, she’s a good friend to have, right?” I watched her smile over her refilled glass at some insipid looking inbred lad who had Class written all over him.
“Yes, sir.” He hesitated a moment and unbent a little, adding, “although it does simplify matters if the chances of a matrimonial match are…”
“Null, dead and none?”
“As you say, sir.”
We watched the crowd for a little longer, Pryce quietly putting names to faces, and occasionally adding a bit of history to some of the more colourful characters.
“Lord Harris, sir, recently inherited the title. The walnut-like gentleman is his uncle. His expression might be to do with the fact that he had to bail Lord Harris out last night.”
“You’re kidding. What for?”
“Apparently Lord Harris encountered Mr MacDonald and the meeting finished with the latter in the village pond. The postmistress was most upset, she said the ducks had been disturbed and would not lay good eggs.”
“I feel we should extend an invitation for tea to Lord Harris, Pryce. What do you say?”
“A most kind gesture, sir.”
We both regarded the pond-dipper with fondness, and then the doors to the sitting room crashed open, and Will stormed in. His balloon of happiness appeared well and truly punctured, his brow beetled, and storm clouds swirling in his wake.
“Liam,” he snarled, coming to a quivering halt in front of us, eyes dark and nostrils flaring, “so help me I’m going to kill him. I mean it. I’m going to tear that bastard limb from limb.”
Next part here.
eloise_bright, my parakeet and, of course, Jeeves for helping me tweak this plot bunny into something vaguely sensible. Also sending general hugs to all those on my FL, because I can. And if anyone has word on Willa, let me know? *huggles* Previous parts can be found here.
Chapter Four:
Greylings stood waiting for us at the top of steps like a well-dressed guard-dog at the gateway to Hades. He descended with a slow, dignified tread to our level. Knox gave him the task of taking the car to the garages, and then vanished up the steps, presumably heading off on his own errand. I was directed to wait in the drawing room, before being abandoned. It looked like I was the first to arrive, since the gigantic wood-panelled, thick carpeted room was empty when I got there. I had promised Will I would be waiting for him, armed with a ready cocktail, and so I began hunting for the drinks cabinet. At the first sound of opening cupboards, however, Greylings instantly materialised by my side with a suspicious gleam in his eye. My instinctive yelp at suddenly having a suitfull of glowering butler breathing down my neck didn’t seem to make him look on me any more kindly.
“Can I be of assistance, sir?”
“I was looking for the drinks?”
“You surprise me, sir.”
“Will, I mean, Master Davies, he wanted me to have it all ready for when he got back-”
“Ah, I see, sir. I shall take care of the matter at once.”
He silently faded, rather like a nightmare in the cold light of day. And not long after, there came the welcome sound of an approaching engine, the spatter of spraying gravel, and the slam of a car door.
Will entered the room minutes later, and any trace of his dark mood earlier was completely gone. In fact, he was lit up like a Christmas tree. His feet barely touched the ground, he seemed to float in; he radiated contentment, smugness and general joie de vivre. Anchoring him to terra firma were at least two young, not unattractive, women who gazed up at him with a starry-eyed adoration that defied belief.
“I could hear you speak forever, Will-”
“And you say you’re not published-”
“I’ll speak to my father; you may have heard of him, he owns that monthly journal-”
“Raven hair, effulgent beauty. Oh, Will, America has done you such good!”
Will turned a powerful gaze my way, his chest swelling like a pufferfish.
“Liam!” he boomed, voice resonating like a thunderclap. “Dash it, old boy, you missed one beautiful service.”
“The language!”
“The heart!”
“The soul!”
These comments were coo-ed by the minions hanging off his arms.
Will suddenly spotted something off to his right and made a dart forward, removing a small glittery object from some stiff stuffed exhibit that was lurking in the corner of the room. A second look revealed the sparkle to be a glass, and the prone holder as Greylings.
“Aunt Edith, here’s to you, the blighters up there don’t know how lucky they are to have you!” Will toasted the ceiling, and drained his drink. The girls swarming round him made soft clucking noises; it was a bit like having a bunch of large glossy perfumed pigeons in the room. Whispered phrases like ‘sweetheart’ and ‘such devotion’ drifted across the room.
“Liam,” said Will, very seriously. “I am taking these young ladies round the grounds, show them the lake and whatnot. The lake actually inspired some of my earlier works,” he added, to his captive audience. “Disturb me, Liam, and they’ll be picking your body off the lawn for days.”
With that, he rotated on the spot with the dignified slowness of a hot air balloon, and headed once more for the door.
“Will!” I hissed indignantly.
He looked back at me over his shoulder.
I gave him a look and a tiny gesture that indicated the whole room. What I was trying to get across was that (a) I was only here because he asked me to be (b) more guests would be arriving soon, and shouldn’t he stay and greet them (c) when people did arrive I could safely say that I would most definitely know none of them and (d) if he left me alone to face a roomful of the county’s finest then there would be hell to pay the moment I got him alone.
“Liam, are you quite well or are you twitching as part of some new health regime?”
I glowered at him. He sighed and rolled his eyes.
“They’re not going to bite,” he said, as if this were obvious. “Just steer clear of old Holland and his spawn, they’re cold fish that lot, and you’ll be fine.”
“Holland? Who’s he?”
But Will and his gaggle were already through the door and their gentle babble fading into the distance. In their wake came the sound of many approaching motors. It seemed that even if Aunt Edith’s funeral was a quiet affair, the wake was aiming to be something of a social event. And I’d heard about social events. My blood ran cold as I thought of all the horror stories of outsiders who had fallen foul of the weird customs surrounding such gatherings.
“Lord Cusplip,” Greylings announced solemnly, and through the door came Aunt Edith’s poor widower. He was the typical Lord; snow white hair, startling blue eyes, a solid frame that could easily hurl a serf down the steps so hard they bounced, if needs be.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, looking me up and down, “you would be Will’s young friend, what what?”
“Yes, sir.”
Greylings momentarily emerged out of the wallpaper to shoot me a steely look.
“I mean, yes, m’lord.”
“Splendid, splendid!” Lord Cusplip looked round the room, rather like a hunter surveying the great African plain. “Will speaks most highly of you, Mr Connor. I look forward to discussing things with you in greater depth at some later date. Today I’m afraid will be quite crowded. Lady Cusplip was held in great fondness and high regard by people of the shire. Today we mourn and share in our loss.”
“Yes, I’m really sorry, Lord Cusplip.”
“Mr and Mrs Rothson,” Greylings announced.
Lord Cusplip sniffed deeply and I admit I was impressed. Like I said, I can read people. It was just something in the eyes and the way he took a moment before turning to greet the first arrivals that said it all. He really was mourning, but he strode out, chin up, eyes blazing, nevertheless; the last man standing and determined to do a good job of it.
I stood and twiddled my thumbs as I thought about my situation. There I was, not a clue in the world about what to do at such affairs. Outside, the hordes were already massing. Will had deserted me. My host was busy. I had trouble remembering the different names of the local barmaids, let alone flocks of gentry. I needed help.
“Sir Mullet and Lady Mullet.”
“The right honourable Miss Bass.”
“Mr and Mrs Radna.”
“Lord Beauclerk-”
“Greylings,” I bleated pathetically, “can I use the phone?”
A kindly looking maid led me to the instrument. After a mild panic attack when I couldn’t remember the number, I finally got through.
“Rose cottage.”
“Pryce! Oh thank god. Pryce, there’re people here.”
“Yes, sir. I believe that is usually the custom at functions such as wakes.”
“I’m sunk.”
“Sir?”
“Will’s run off with some young things to appreciate the poetry of the lake.”
“No doubt the lake is happy to be of service, sir.”
“Stuff the lake!”
“Very good, sir.”
“Pryce!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Pryce.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Pryce?”
“Speaking, sir.”
“Help?”
There was the slightest hesitation.
“It won’t be for long,” I added, and I won’t deny there was a certain pleading note to my voice. “Just an hour or so?”
“Sir, I am really not sure it is my place to attend-”
“Oh come on, they won’t notice! The maid just went past carrying enough glasses to water a few thousand at least.”
“Well-”
“Pryce, please.”
“I will attempt to arrive as soon as possible, sir.”
At the moment, if there hadn’t been a telephone connection in the way, I could have kissed him.
*~*~*~*
My feelings of general jubilation faded just a little as the day wore on. For the simple reason that while more and more guests continued pouring in through the doors, not one resolved itself into the delicate besuited figure of Pryce. I guess ‘as soon as possible’ in Butler English really means ‘Whenever the magic carpet I’m riding there arrives’.
In the end I wound up standing by one of the large bay windows, glass in hand, gazing out down the drive like some sea widow watching for the returning ship.
“You know, on a clear day, I hear you can see Cornwall from here.”
It was a low, cool, rich voice. And most definitely female and very amused. I turned and found its owner pretty much as you would imagine. She was tall, curves and sweeps in all the right places, hair shiny as a button, and a strong face framing sharp sea-green eyes that regarded me with lazy interest.
“Er, hi?”
“And a Yank, too. Well, I suppose all sorts really are washing up to this place today.” She took a sip from her glass as she gave me the visual once over. Then she tossed her head, and extended one beautifully manicured hand. “Lilah Morgan. Pleased to meet you.”
I went through the motions; shaking her hand, introducing myself. But already I was looking around and carefully noting the position of all emergency exits. New York was crawling with this type of woman: steel-blooded creatures; they can eat a man alive, stand in the path of a charging water bison and emerge triumphant, with not a hair out of place.
She smiled slowly; it felt like I was watching a snake deliberately begin to uncoil.
“Well, Mr Connor, what was your connection to the late Lady Cusplip?”
“Will.”
Genuine interest flickered in those green eyes. “She left you a legacy?”
“No. Will- William, I’m a friend of her nephew’s.”
She gave a gasp and a silvery peal of laughter.
“Oh, the prodigal son finally returned did he?” She cocked her head on one side and looked at me with more interest. “You must tell me all about it, Mr Connor. You do realise what a scandal Will running off was? There were terrible tales of how he was leading a life of debauchery and sin… Thrilling!”
I drew myself up and said in my coldest possible voice: “Will has always led a perfectly honest life, Miss Morgan. There is no man in this room with a heart purer than his.”
She patted me on the shoulder, utterly unmoved.
“Yes, yes,” she said distractedly, “but what exactly did you two do for all those years? Please don’t tell me you did something unutterably dull, like work in a soup kitchen.”
“Lilah?”
The second voice cut into the conversation and I gratefully sidestepped this she-wolf and greeted the newcomer.
“Knox!” I cried, rather more relief showing than I had intended. “Did you sort out whatever it was you wanted to sort out?”
“Sure thing,” he said, and then looked past me with a friendly smile. “So, there you are, Lilah. Holland was wondering where you’d gotten to.”
“How terrible for him to be uninformed of my movements.”
“Don’t worry,” said Knox pleasantly, the acid sarcasm totally going over his head, “I’ll let him know now.”
“How kind.”
We watched Knox vanish back into the crowd and I felt a slight tinge of unchristian pleasure in seeing Lilah’s previous smooth and flawless brow now darkened and furrowed with ill-temper. She muttered something into her glass about Holland’s legitimacy, then stalked past me with a cold dismissal.
“Miss Lilah Morgan,” a quiet voice said in my right ear, “stepdaughter of the renowned man of law Sir Holland Manners.”
Pryce waited patiently as I righted the potted palm I’d crashed into.
“She’s quite something, isn’t she, Pryce,” I said, dusting myself off with as much dignity as possible.
“Certainly a most memorable lady, sir.”
“Please tell me there aren’t more of her kind around here?”
“She is here with her family, sir. Her stepfather and his nephew Mr Lindsey MacDonald. The family has a most illustrious reputation in London; Sir Holland is executive director of the law firm Wolfram and Hart.”
“Reputation my arse. That lady was one cold fish.”
“Perhaps not quite the phrase I would have used, sir, but your caution is well merited.”
I looked thoughtfully at Pryce before turning back to the crowded room. I was pretty sure that valets weren’t normally meant to give nasty looks at employers and their friends, but Pryce was certainly managing to give the impression that if he was ever given that old dilemma about who you’d chuck out the sinking boat, he’d nominate Lilah without hesitation or burden on his conscience.
My heart warmed to him.
The crowd in front of us all looked pretty much the same to me; pale faces, dark clothes, the air a sea of vowels that could cut teak. Then, as I stared a bit harder, I began to pick out actual people in amongst the heaving mass. A fair head with green eyes here. A mass of dark hair and a chocolate sweet smile there. A gaze like a steel blade that could only be Lilah Morgan. She was standing with a small group that included herself, Knox, a short youngish man who looked like he’d rather be off riding cross-country, and an elderly clean-shaven gentleman with bright eyes and a beautifully tailored and perfectly pressed suit.
“That the rest of the clan?”
There was no immediate answer. Pryce stared across at the gathering, managing the not inconsiderable feat of making his expression even more stonier than it already had been. His lips pressed tight together for a moment, and then he had recovered himself.
“Yes, sir,” he said calmly. “The younger is Mr MacDonald, his elder companion is Sir Holland.”
I’m not sure how well it comes across on paper, but, for the record, the temperature of that delivery made the Arctic seem like a tropical paradise.
“You, um, don’t sound thrilled to see them.”
“Wolfram and Hart are executors of Lady Cusplip’s will, sir. Their presence here is not unusual.”
“Meaning you don’t want to talk about it. Okay, fine, I can take a hint.” I scanned the room for some other topic of conversation. “Oh…”
It’s always a bit of shock to look somewhere at random and find someone looking straight back at you. Makes you blink. Not there was anything obviously wrong with the lass looking back at me with a pair of clear hazel eyes. She had the same confident stance of Miss Morgan, but unlike Morgan, her smile lacked malice and contempt. Which it not to say that it still wasn’t something that made me nervously take a swallow of the w.
“Pryce?” I said, a little anxiously.
“Ah yes,” and even though I couldn’t see him, my eyes fixed on the lady as she flicked back a glossy stray tendril and trotted towards us, I could hear his smile.
“This would be-”
“Well, hello there.”
She planted herself firmly before me, smile as bright as a thousand suns and as terrifying as when said suns are seen at close quarters. I felt as I imagine a show dog must feel when placed on the pedestal with the judges scribbling on their clipboards. I tried to stand a little straighter, giving my ‘Never Fails Except Apparently On Pryce’ grin a quick try.
“So glad to see there’s at least one person here under the age of two hundred and infinity.” She drained her glass and set it aside on a passing tray, smoothly extending her free hand. “Cordelia Chase, now who are you, stranger?”
“Liam Connor, I’m-”
Her face fell and a couple of the suns went out.
“Oh,” she said, shaking my hand with an air of pity. “New World stock, huh? I guess you have a nice farm somewhere… or maybe in fact your Dad’s a rich oil tycoon?” She looked up at me hopefully.
“Oh no, my family’s still living in Ireland.”
“Couldn’t you at least have kept the accent?” she asked sorrowfully. Then she gave a small snort-like noise of dismissal. “Ah well, it was worth a shot.”
The smile came back, this time softer and slightly less like the smile of a lioness moving in for the kill.
“So, who’s your silent friend?”
“Who?”
She nodded her head to behind me.
“Six foot something standing just to your right.”
“Oh!” I shuffled a little to one side, not entirely sure how to do those kind of introductions. “This is… erm… This is Pryce, my gentleman, or valet, or erm… I mean, that is to say-”
“Pryce, eh?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Nice suit.”
“Thank you, Miss.”
“You won’t take offence if I leave your master here and continue looking for actual life at this do?”
“Not at all, Miss.”
“Thank you, Pryce. Pass my regards to Mr Connor.”
“I shall do so, Miss, thank you.”
She patted me on the arm as if we had been best friends since so high.
“Gotta love you and leave you, maybe see you later!”
And with a twirl of skirts and flash of teeth, she was gone back into the crowd, leaving me and Pryce standing in sudden ringing silence.
“She seems nice,” I offered after a few more moments of stunned contemplation.
“A high-spirited lady, but one with a good heart, sir.”
“And on the look-out for a wealthy bachelor?”
I saw Pryce stiffen a little, and his voice when it came was decidedly less warm than before.
“I could not say, sir.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that… But, she’s a good friend to have, right?” I watched her smile over her refilled glass at some insipid looking inbred lad who had Class written all over him.
“Yes, sir.” He hesitated a moment and unbent a little, adding, “although it does simplify matters if the chances of a matrimonial match are…”
“Null, dead and none?”
“As you say, sir.”
We watched the crowd for a little longer, Pryce quietly putting names to faces, and occasionally adding a bit of history to some of the more colourful characters.
“Lord Harris, sir, recently inherited the title. The walnut-like gentleman is his uncle. His expression might be to do with the fact that he had to bail Lord Harris out last night.”
“You’re kidding. What for?”
“Apparently Lord Harris encountered Mr MacDonald and the meeting finished with the latter in the village pond. The postmistress was most upset, she said the ducks had been disturbed and would not lay good eggs.”
“I feel we should extend an invitation for tea to Lord Harris, Pryce. What do you say?”
“A most kind gesture, sir.”
We both regarded the pond-dipper with fondness, and then the doors to the sitting room crashed open, and Will stormed in. His balloon of happiness appeared well and truly punctured, his brow beetled, and storm clouds swirling in his wake.
“Liam,” he snarled, coming to a quivering halt in front of us, eyes dark and nostrils flaring, “so help me I’m going to kill him. I mean it. I’m going to tear that bastard limb from limb.”
Next part here.
no subject
Date: 2005-04-02 01:30 pm (UTC)