Fic: A Fish Out Of Water - Part 6
Apr. 10th, 2005 11:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lonelybritThis chapter for some reason has been seriously kicking my arse over the past week. It's still a little rough around the edges, but I just need to get it posted and done. So, apologies. Words cannot express my adoration of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eloise_bright who has put up with me whining and moping about this. If it's in any shape to be read, it's entirely thanks to her and her wonderful beta-ing activities. **huggles her**
Previous parts may be found here.
Chapter Six:
MacDonald and I hastily unknotted ourselves. I tried to think of something to say, but MacDonald beat me to it.
“I am sorry that you had to witness this, Lord Cusplip. I do appreciate the brevity of this day for you, but I’m afraid certain individuals here present were not able to behave themselves as fits the occasion and I was drawn in against my will.” He shot me a filthy look. In spite of his caustic words, though, there was a ruddy tinge about the neck which I doubted came solely from anger.
Lord Cusplip let out a snort that set the leaves rustling. A hissing echo ran through the blue-blooded rabble at his back. The collective eye turned on MacDonald remained cold. Although I received a short blast of Cusplip’s first class Glare of Wrath, I quickly realised that the focus was staying firmly fixed on the person who actually had a previously established reputation to ruin.
A second, smaller thundercloud with fair hair and a sharp suit emerged by Lord Cusplip’s side. Sir Holland levelled a stare at MacDonald that made the skin crawl.
“I must second that apology, Lord Cusplip. I am ashamed of my nephew’s folly. If you will excuse us.”
MacDonald’s mouth tightened. To be humiliated in front of your peers is one thing. To be humiliated in front of your peers and in front of someone you loathe, well, that can be a very potent experience. Which was why I was so glad it wasn’t happening to me. Well, not as badly as it was happening to him, anyway.
Holland summoned MacDonald to him with a mere raise of one eyebrow, and the two melted into the crowd.
Lord Cusplip turned his attention to Will.
“On today of all days, William,” he said quietly, “is this how you would let your friends treat her memory?”
Will looked like he’d been filleted. He sagged where he stood.
“You have responsibilities and duties to attend to. She wanted it that way. So, go and attend to them. I will speak to you tomorrow, not before,” Cusplip concluded coldly. He turned on his heel and the crowd parted before him.
There was a soft cough to my left-hand shoulder.
“I think,” said Pryce, and the disappointment in his voice stung, “that we should withdraw to somewhere more private, sir.”
*~*~*~*
“I’m telling you that MacDonald was asking for it.”
“Very good, sir.”
“If I hadn’t dumped him in the garbage, then someone else would’ve before sundown.”
“As you say, sir.”
“And you should have seen his face.”
For the first time, Pryce looked up at me. Briefly. He didn’t smile, but his face sort of brightened a little.
“I did, sir.”
After a pause, he returned to what he’d been doing. My slightly battered jacket received a few more attacks from the coat brush and then Pryce shook it out and eyed it critically. It looked fine to me, but he let out a small sigh, slung the crumpled item over one arm and vanished into the bathroom.
I gingerly sank down into a chair and continued the fun task of picking individual grits of dirt, clumps of grass and slivers of vegetables off my person.
It’s always a good feeling to know you’ve given a well-deserving arse a well aimed kick. Yet, for once, I couldn’t quite get that whole warm triumphant and well-pleased inner-glow thing going. I just kept on seeing Lord Cusplip’s stony face, and Will’s hunched walk back to the main house. I had offered to go and lie low back at the cottage, but Will, in a voice from the tomb, told me to stay till sunset at least.
I reached down to pick a leaf off my ankle, wincing as a new bruise throbbed in my side.
“Are you very sore, sir?”
I felt so wretched that even the sudden materialisation of Pryce beside me lacked its usual sparkle.
“Not really.” I gave a swatting dust to the arms before looking up properly. “Can you see anything?”
He was silent for a moment, his intent gaze neatly scanning my face.
“I dare say, sir, that your right cheek may show some discolouration, but otherwise you would appear physically unscathed.”
I gave a hollow laugh. “How lucky for me.”
“You succeeded in publicly shaming one of Wolfram and Hart’s finest within hours of first meeting him. Many an opposing man of law would envy you that record.” Pryce inclined his head to one side, again examining my face. “Possibly a little ice would minimise any swelling, if you wish, sir?”
“No, no, I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Very good, sir.”
He returned to the bathroom. I sat where he left me, my cheeks burning.
It’s one of those horrible things, that just when you least want them, utterly inappropriate feelings tap you on the shoulder and remind you they’re there. I knew, of course, that Pryce had earlier registered as a person not completely unattractive to the eye. Nothing unusual there, I’m as human as the next man. But up until that point, I had quite successfully managed to almost forget about it. Pretty men are one thing, friends in distress are quite another. And Will was most definitely the latter. Situations like that are great for making you concentrate on your priorities. So, in between panicking about being eaten alive by English bluebloods and trying to help Will fend off evil bloodsucking lawyers, any initial thoughts on Pryce had been firmly filed under ‘Pending’.
But, like I said, I’m human. You try having someone who has nice hands and eyes, tending to your battle wounds and offering what passed for a compliment, and see how long you can keep your concentration. With the immediate danger past and only the dull burn of public shame and sense of having failed a friend to deal with, my brain ever so kindly brought the old problems back to the fore.
“I’m afraid this is not at all close to your usual standard,” Pryce said, once more wafting into view a few feet away and brandishing my jacket. It looked, to my untrained eyes anyway, as clean as when it had been laid out earlier. “But hopefully it will suffice for the short duration of your remaining stay here.”
“Thank you.”
“Not at all, sir.”
He laid it smoothly over the back of a chair, and came over to me, looking me up and down with a critical eye.
“Perhaps if you would stand, sir.”
I obliged and he briskly began dusting me off with a gentle but firm hand.
“Er… thanks,” I mumbled, trying not to notice how close he was, my collar suddenly feeling a little tight as those hands deftly brushed over shoulders and upper arms. “Listen, Pryce-”
“Sir?”
I looked up from my inspection of my shoelaces. Our shoulders were practically touching, one of his hands poised mid-dust just above my elbow. This close and I could see the finer details of his face: his eyes more grey than Will’s, the delicate mould of the upper lip, dark brow and lashes softening what could have been quite a hard and aristocratic profile.
“Um…”
A small voice in my head snapped at me to get a grip and concentrate on getting back downstairs and trying to heal the rift between Will and his Uncle. The rest of my consciousness uttered unfavourable remarks about this not happening in, say, Paris and under slightly different circumstances.
“Perhaps sir could use some fortifying refreshment?”
And his utterly innocent well-meaning tones, along with the faintest frown of concern, did nothing to help matters.
“I think that maybe, er, I – we – us should, erm,” I trailed off and steeled myself. I had faced far worse than dulcet-toned valets hovering beside me. “I think we should find Will. He didn’t look at all good down there.”
An odd expression flickered over that marbled face, and then Pryce merely inclined his head a little.
“I hesitate to contradict you, sir, but perhaps you should prolong your period of restoration before inflicting your company once more on Lord Cusplip and his party.”
“Inflicting?”
“Pardon me, sir, a poor choice of words. I simply meant that you hardly left the scene in the best of light, and I think a well-timed and certainly well-dressed re-entry would be wise.”
He drew to one side and directed my attention to one of those dresser mirror things by a large window. I examined my reflection for a few moments.
“Okay, right, good point. Um, I don’t suppose you have a hair brush on you, do you, Pryce?”
The next few years, at least that’s what it felt like, were spent with Pryce patiently trying to groom me back into some kind of presentable shape. I tried not to hurt the man’s feelings, but when he suggested that I take off my shirt so he could clean any bruises or cuts, I shot from the room like a scalded cat, slamming the bathroom door behind me so the mirror wobbled. The door remained firmly shut and locked as I tried to clean myself up using the sink and a spare sponge. I could hear Pryce outside, fussing about over something. And when I finally ventured forth, he was there with a clean shirt from God knows where, a pair of hair brushes, and a cup of tea.
I took the shirt and slunk behind the corner of the wardrobe to change. I felt kind of on edge, I think the word is jittery.
“Pryce, I feel kind of on edge.”
“Perhaps the word would be ‘jittery’, sir?”
“Yeah, that covers it.” I pulled the buttons into line and started buttoning. “Pryce, I’m not going to lie, I really enjoyed giving that MacDonald a good kicking.”
“A sentiment I believe that would be applauded in different circumstances.”
“But even so, I feel the lowest of the low. You saw Will’s face out there.”
“A most melancholy visage, sir.”
I finished the last button, pulled down my cuffs and turned to face Pryce.
“That’s just it,” I sighed, taking the proffered tie, “he’s my friend, Pryce. I hate seeing a good friend down like that, and I really hate knowing that I helped cause it.”
“If I may say so, sir, that sentiment is a credit to you.”
“Thanks,” I huffed, glumly. “But what can I do, Pryce? MacDonald’s nose might be out of joint, but he and his clan still have all the cards. We’ve still got no idea how to make them give Will that money back and… what?”
“If you will permit me, sir.”
Pryce came forward and swiftly made some unseen adjustment to my just-knotted tie. One cool knuckle grazed my throat and then it was over, again leaving me feeling like you could have fried an egg on my face.
“Perhaps you could try talking to Mr Manners yourself, sir,” Pryce said, examining his work with the air of a connoisseur. Apparently satisfied, he raised the head and looked at me directly. “Considering the lack of alternative, one would almost say that ‘we have nothing to lose’.”
Fortunately, I couldn’t think of an answer to that, so I didn’t have to try and speak around the odd lump that seemed to have lodged itself in my throat. Instead, I frowned and nodded seriously. And before long, I was striding out, determined to smoke out old Manners and send him and his spawn crawling back to the swamp they came from. I was halfway down the main stairwell before I realised that I wasn’t in fact alone.
“Pryce,” I exclaimed, surprised. “You’re not coming along too, are you?”
“I thought perhaps you could do with the moral support, sir.”
I didn’t know what to say. I mean, I was touched, obviously, I’m sure not every valet would take a new master’s cause to his heart the way Pryce had done. And as he stood there, with calm, gentle face, and sharp spotless suit, it seemed impossible to imagine that anyone could even think of trying some underhand business in his presence without blushing.
Impossible, of course, unless you were me.
I’d seen a lot of the world, and although in Pryce I saw good intent, I didn’t see much that would stand up to someone like Manners. You could just tell, that if Pryce were ever to get into a fight, he would fight by the book, all neat feints and right hooks and nifty footwork. Whereas Manners would simply step to one side and let some maggot like MacDonald end it all with one well-aimed kick. In short, I had come to the conclusion that Pryce was a genuine example of that dying breed: a gentleman. Whereas Manners was absolutely part of that flourishing species: the earthworm.
“If nothing else, sir, at least there will be a witness to whatever may pass between you and Sir Holland,” Pryce continued.
“This kind of stuff isn’t on your contract, Pryce.”
He gave me a reproving look.
I relented.
“Very well. Thank you, Pryce.”
“Not at all, sir.”
We continued down the stairs, and there was an odd comfort with having Pryce by my side. By the time we reached the main hall I had decided that maybe there really was something in this whole ‘moral support’ thing.
It didn’t take long to trace Manners to his temporary lair. We took a turn away from the main drawing room whence issued the babble of the mob, and investigated one of the side corridors. Almost at once the sounds of someone getting a thorough verbal lashing hit us. Manners had one of those voices just designed for a courtroom; even the deadliest whisper carried for miles. His vigorous description of MacDonald’s mental capacities, heritage and questionable choice of leisure activities led us to a small room with delicate leafy wallpaper.
Manners stood with his back to the window, hands behind his back in the posture of paper-thin patience, his gimlet gaze fixed on MacDonald, who shuffled his feet and sullenly flushed under the reprimand.
“If my poor sister could see how you turned out, Lindsey,” Manners was saying with venom, “you are the utter limit.”
They both turned as I strode through the door. I nodded curtly at them both in greeting, and firmly crossed my arms.
“Manners,” I began, coolly, “I think you and I need to talk.”
“Indeed?”
Manners gave a slight smile. He took up a stance of complete attentiveness.
“Please, speak on, Mr… I’m sorry, what was your name?”
“Mr Liam Connor, sir.”
Manner’s gaze shifted sideways and his smile became hungry, rather like a lion who has spotted the abandoned calf.
“Master Wyndam-Pryce,” he purred, “what a pleasant surprise to find you here.”
I kept my eyes on Manners and MacDonald, and so couldn’t see how Pryce reacted to this greeting. But when he spoke, he had the light, crisp and distinctly chilly voice of one who has drawn themselves up.
“Yes, well, unfortunately life does enjoy being unpredictable. Sir.”
“Ah, but surely the true measure of a man comes from how he deals with such unexpected events, does it not?”
“As you say, sir.”
Manners curled his lip and returned his attention to me. MacDonald had taken up position by his right shoulder. It seemed that any differences between those two had been put aside in honour of my presence. I was treated to a double-headed scornful stare.
“Unless you’ve come to apologise, I can’t think why in the world you’re here,” MacDonald said pleasantly. “Unless you really do have no brain and have some deluded visions of heroics and winning us over regarding that low-life Davis and our fairly earned profits.”
“Well earned my foot!”
We all swivelled as Will himself came stalking slowly into the room. He brushed past me, fire coming from both nostrils, and firmly took up station in front of Manners.
“Listen to me, you heartless spineless unfeeling cold bloodsucking foul excrement, you will not lay a single finger on one penny of Aunt Edith’s profits.”
“You have plans to the contrary?” said Manners with the air of genuine and surprised interest.
“Damn right I do!” Will snarled. “If you think you’ve picked an easy fight, think again. I’m not a penniless simpleton.”
“And why would we ever think that of you,” murmured MacDonald to himself, gazing fondly up at the ceiling.
Will ignored him.
“It would serve you better to do your homework, Manners,” he said with grim satisfaction. “It may surprise you to know that I have not inconsiderable funds at my disposal.”
“Ah yes,” sneered MacDonald, “you always were a bit of a Mummy’s boy, weren’t you?”
I saw Will stiffen like he had been slapped, but he gamely kept on track.
“I’ve not been idle in America, Mr Manners. I’ve made my way.”
“You gambled to, you mean,” sighed Manners. He dusted down his sleeves with an expression of boredom. “Or perhaps you are referring to the income from your diverting weekly poems for that local paper? The Tattling Drum, unless I’m mistaken?”
I itched to introduce that smug face to something fitting, like the heel of a boot, but this was Will’s battleground.
Manners continued to look unbearably smug. He took a deep breath, no doubt savouring the smell of impending success.
“I fancy, from his expression, that Mr Connor’s valet might see your problem, Mr Davis.”
Will half turned, shooting a sharp questioning stare over his shoulder. I also swivelled to examine said valet. Pryce didn’t look at either me or Will, his eyes were fixed on Manners.
“If you are referring to the fact that Wolfram and Hart are joint owners of the newspaper, sir…”
“You see that, Lindsey? Even with such a heavy workload, he still manages to keep up on the activities of old friends,” Manners said in a theatrical aside to his grinning shadow. “Quite touching, wouldn’t you say?”
“An example for us all, Uncle. Though, I do feel sad for him and his unjustified cynicism,” MacDonald mused, sounding hurt. “I think he’s about to accuse us of threatening Mr Davis.”
Manners looked back at the three of us with an expression of wounded dignity.
“You mean, he thinks we are no better than some underhand cad who could and would use our influence to the disadvantage of Mr Davis’ publishing career purely on a whim?”
“It’s tragic.”
“Sad beyond words.”
“It’s a harsh life.”
“Pitiful.” Manners shook his head mournfully. “Wesley, it is a sad day that sees you so unaccountably embittered against the world.”
Pryce’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
“Besides,” Manners went on, spreading his hands, “we only wish to propagate Lady Cusplip’s good will. There is a very reputable charity, the Bereaved Ladies and Orphans Trust. The profits would of course go there. We wouldn’t dream of simply putting them into our own bank account.”
“Try getting a lawyer to oppose that one,” MacDonald said in a low tone. He grinned at Will. “Give it up, Davis.”
Will turned to me, frowning.
“You know this charity, Liam?”
“B.L.O.T?” I shrugged. Of course, who hadn’t. It was The Charity at the moment, getting all kinds of film stars and celebrity writers appearing at its fundraising parties.
“Yes, I have heard of the trust,” Pryce said pleasantly. “I believe its founder is one Mr Vail. He has certainly risen to the occasion.”
“Indeed he has.” And despite his jovial smile, Manner’s eyes were suddenly cold and a little wary. Like he had just spotted the proverbial snake in the long grass.
Pryce met him with a similar gaze, face hard and eyes like ice.
“Of course,” he mused, still in that absent tone, “Mr Davis’ lawyers might be a little over-zealous and require further information as to why you assisted Mr Vail in winning a very costly legal battle against one of his employees, for no fee. I’m sure his case was one that you were happy to undertake purely for the satisfaction of doing the morally right thing. But some suspicious, more callous people might wonder if perhaps you are waiting to reclaim your expenses at a later date when Mr Vail has more to offer.”
Throughout this, the temperature in the room had steadily dropped. A ringing silence sounded as Pryce came to a close. Manners showed not even a hint of a smile; his jaw was tight, eye blazing with pure loathing.
“Still haven’t learnt your place, have you, Wesley,” he finally managed, voice barely a hiss. “Very well, if you want to play this game, then we’ll play.”
He advanced a few steps, and the aura around him was such that Will moved out his way without apparently noticing.
“Just because you and Daddy no longer move in the same circles, do not think that you have passed beyond his sphere of influence. Or than he is beyond yours. And please believe me, neither of you will ever escape ours. When I last heard, he was still chasing that judicial appointment. And certain tales simply don’t lose their potency, even after all these years. Do you understand, Pryce? This is not your battle, keep out of it or I’ll take your entire family down to the mud where you are.”
The air had gone very flat and still. The two men met each other, daggered stare for daggered stare. If it had been a pub, then it would have been the silent moment that comes just before the first punch is thrown. However, this was still a wake, a Lord’s house. So all that happened was that Manners summoned MacDonald to him with a nod of the head, and the two of them left me, Will and Pryce to ourselves.
“What the hell was that all about?”
Pryce blinked once, slowly and carefully, and fixed his attention on some distant point on the opposite wall. It felt like trying to talk to a stuffed animal.
Will threw up his hands and muttered to himself.
I stared at Pryce and was going to say something, only to be interrupted by the distant rumble of voices in the corridor. I stuck my head through the doorway, and saw Manners and MacDonald on the horizon. They were talking to Knox, who from the sounds of it had been wondering where they’d gone to. As I looked on, MacDonald made a dismissive gesture and I caught a snatch of ‘just chatting’, and the three ambled off.
Will caught my eye as I thoughtfully came back into the room, and we both spared a short glance and silent shrug over the still silent valet. The meeting hadn’t exactly helped our cause, but it had thrown up a few questions. Will sighed and gave a weary nod.
“Pryce,” I announced, grimly, not looking forward to the task ahead, “we’re going home.”
“Very good, sir.”
Next part can be found here.
eloise_bright who has put up with me whining and moping about this. If it's in any shape to be read, it's entirely thanks to her and her wonderful beta-ing activities. **huggles her**Previous parts may be found here.
Chapter Six:
MacDonald and I hastily unknotted ourselves. I tried to think of something to say, but MacDonald beat me to it.
“I am sorry that you had to witness this, Lord Cusplip. I do appreciate the brevity of this day for you, but I’m afraid certain individuals here present were not able to behave themselves as fits the occasion and I was drawn in against my will.” He shot me a filthy look. In spite of his caustic words, though, there was a ruddy tinge about the neck which I doubted came solely from anger.
Lord Cusplip let out a snort that set the leaves rustling. A hissing echo ran through the blue-blooded rabble at his back. The collective eye turned on MacDonald remained cold. Although I received a short blast of Cusplip’s first class Glare of Wrath, I quickly realised that the focus was staying firmly fixed on the person who actually had a previously established reputation to ruin.
A second, smaller thundercloud with fair hair and a sharp suit emerged by Lord Cusplip’s side. Sir Holland levelled a stare at MacDonald that made the skin crawl.
“I must second that apology, Lord Cusplip. I am ashamed of my nephew’s folly. If you will excuse us.”
MacDonald’s mouth tightened. To be humiliated in front of your peers is one thing. To be humiliated in front of your peers and in front of someone you loathe, well, that can be a very potent experience. Which was why I was so glad it wasn’t happening to me. Well, not as badly as it was happening to him, anyway.
Holland summoned MacDonald to him with a mere raise of one eyebrow, and the two melted into the crowd.
Lord Cusplip turned his attention to Will.
“On today of all days, William,” he said quietly, “is this how you would let your friends treat her memory?”
Will looked like he’d been filleted. He sagged where he stood.
“You have responsibilities and duties to attend to. She wanted it that way. So, go and attend to them. I will speak to you tomorrow, not before,” Cusplip concluded coldly. He turned on his heel and the crowd parted before him.
There was a soft cough to my left-hand shoulder.
“I think,” said Pryce, and the disappointment in his voice stung, “that we should withdraw to somewhere more private, sir.”
*~*~*~*
“I’m telling you that MacDonald was asking for it.”
“Very good, sir.”
“If I hadn’t dumped him in the garbage, then someone else would’ve before sundown.”
“As you say, sir.”
“And you should have seen his face.”
For the first time, Pryce looked up at me. Briefly. He didn’t smile, but his face sort of brightened a little.
“I did, sir.”
After a pause, he returned to what he’d been doing. My slightly battered jacket received a few more attacks from the coat brush and then Pryce shook it out and eyed it critically. It looked fine to me, but he let out a small sigh, slung the crumpled item over one arm and vanished into the bathroom.
I gingerly sank down into a chair and continued the fun task of picking individual grits of dirt, clumps of grass and slivers of vegetables off my person.
It’s always a good feeling to know you’ve given a well-deserving arse a well aimed kick. Yet, for once, I couldn’t quite get that whole warm triumphant and well-pleased inner-glow thing going. I just kept on seeing Lord Cusplip’s stony face, and Will’s hunched walk back to the main house. I had offered to go and lie low back at the cottage, but Will, in a voice from the tomb, told me to stay till sunset at least.
I reached down to pick a leaf off my ankle, wincing as a new bruise throbbed in my side.
“Are you very sore, sir?”
I felt so wretched that even the sudden materialisation of Pryce beside me lacked its usual sparkle.
“Not really.” I gave a swatting dust to the arms before looking up properly. “Can you see anything?”
He was silent for a moment, his intent gaze neatly scanning my face.
“I dare say, sir, that your right cheek may show some discolouration, but otherwise you would appear physically unscathed.”
I gave a hollow laugh. “How lucky for me.”
“You succeeded in publicly shaming one of Wolfram and Hart’s finest within hours of first meeting him. Many an opposing man of law would envy you that record.” Pryce inclined his head to one side, again examining my face. “Possibly a little ice would minimise any swelling, if you wish, sir?”
“No, no, I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Very good, sir.”
He returned to the bathroom. I sat where he left me, my cheeks burning.
It’s one of those horrible things, that just when you least want them, utterly inappropriate feelings tap you on the shoulder and remind you they’re there. I knew, of course, that Pryce had earlier registered as a person not completely unattractive to the eye. Nothing unusual there, I’m as human as the next man. But up until that point, I had quite successfully managed to almost forget about it. Pretty men are one thing, friends in distress are quite another. And Will was most definitely the latter. Situations like that are great for making you concentrate on your priorities. So, in between panicking about being eaten alive by English bluebloods and trying to help Will fend off evil bloodsucking lawyers, any initial thoughts on Pryce had been firmly filed under ‘Pending’.
But, like I said, I’m human. You try having someone who has nice hands and eyes, tending to your battle wounds and offering what passed for a compliment, and see how long you can keep your concentration. With the immediate danger past and only the dull burn of public shame and sense of having failed a friend to deal with, my brain ever so kindly brought the old problems back to the fore.
“I’m afraid this is not at all close to your usual standard,” Pryce said, once more wafting into view a few feet away and brandishing my jacket. It looked, to my untrained eyes anyway, as clean as when it had been laid out earlier. “But hopefully it will suffice for the short duration of your remaining stay here.”
“Thank you.”
“Not at all, sir.”
He laid it smoothly over the back of a chair, and came over to me, looking me up and down with a critical eye.
“Perhaps if you would stand, sir.”
I obliged and he briskly began dusting me off with a gentle but firm hand.
“Er… thanks,” I mumbled, trying not to notice how close he was, my collar suddenly feeling a little tight as those hands deftly brushed over shoulders and upper arms. “Listen, Pryce-”
“Sir?”
I looked up from my inspection of my shoelaces. Our shoulders were practically touching, one of his hands poised mid-dust just above my elbow. This close and I could see the finer details of his face: his eyes more grey than Will’s, the delicate mould of the upper lip, dark brow and lashes softening what could have been quite a hard and aristocratic profile.
“Um…”
A small voice in my head snapped at me to get a grip and concentrate on getting back downstairs and trying to heal the rift between Will and his Uncle. The rest of my consciousness uttered unfavourable remarks about this not happening in, say, Paris and under slightly different circumstances.
“Perhaps sir could use some fortifying refreshment?”
And his utterly innocent well-meaning tones, along with the faintest frown of concern, did nothing to help matters.
“I think that maybe, er, I – we – us should, erm,” I trailed off and steeled myself. I had faced far worse than dulcet-toned valets hovering beside me. “I think we should find Will. He didn’t look at all good down there.”
An odd expression flickered over that marbled face, and then Pryce merely inclined his head a little.
“I hesitate to contradict you, sir, but perhaps you should prolong your period of restoration before inflicting your company once more on Lord Cusplip and his party.”
“Inflicting?”
“Pardon me, sir, a poor choice of words. I simply meant that you hardly left the scene in the best of light, and I think a well-timed and certainly well-dressed re-entry would be wise.”
He drew to one side and directed my attention to one of those dresser mirror things by a large window. I examined my reflection for a few moments.
“Okay, right, good point. Um, I don’t suppose you have a hair brush on you, do you, Pryce?”
The next few years, at least that’s what it felt like, were spent with Pryce patiently trying to groom me back into some kind of presentable shape. I tried not to hurt the man’s feelings, but when he suggested that I take off my shirt so he could clean any bruises or cuts, I shot from the room like a scalded cat, slamming the bathroom door behind me so the mirror wobbled. The door remained firmly shut and locked as I tried to clean myself up using the sink and a spare sponge. I could hear Pryce outside, fussing about over something. And when I finally ventured forth, he was there with a clean shirt from God knows where, a pair of hair brushes, and a cup of tea.
I took the shirt and slunk behind the corner of the wardrobe to change. I felt kind of on edge, I think the word is jittery.
“Pryce, I feel kind of on edge.”
“Perhaps the word would be ‘jittery’, sir?”
“Yeah, that covers it.” I pulled the buttons into line and started buttoning. “Pryce, I’m not going to lie, I really enjoyed giving that MacDonald a good kicking.”
“A sentiment I believe that would be applauded in different circumstances.”
“But even so, I feel the lowest of the low. You saw Will’s face out there.”
“A most melancholy visage, sir.”
I finished the last button, pulled down my cuffs and turned to face Pryce.
“That’s just it,” I sighed, taking the proffered tie, “he’s my friend, Pryce. I hate seeing a good friend down like that, and I really hate knowing that I helped cause it.”
“If I may say so, sir, that sentiment is a credit to you.”
“Thanks,” I huffed, glumly. “But what can I do, Pryce? MacDonald’s nose might be out of joint, but he and his clan still have all the cards. We’ve still got no idea how to make them give Will that money back and… what?”
“If you will permit me, sir.”
Pryce came forward and swiftly made some unseen adjustment to my just-knotted tie. One cool knuckle grazed my throat and then it was over, again leaving me feeling like you could have fried an egg on my face.
“Perhaps you could try talking to Mr Manners yourself, sir,” Pryce said, examining his work with the air of a connoisseur. Apparently satisfied, he raised the head and looked at me directly. “Considering the lack of alternative, one would almost say that ‘we have nothing to lose’.”
Fortunately, I couldn’t think of an answer to that, so I didn’t have to try and speak around the odd lump that seemed to have lodged itself in my throat. Instead, I frowned and nodded seriously. And before long, I was striding out, determined to smoke out old Manners and send him and his spawn crawling back to the swamp they came from. I was halfway down the main stairwell before I realised that I wasn’t in fact alone.
“Pryce,” I exclaimed, surprised. “You’re not coming along too, are you?”
“I thought perhaps you could do with the moral support, sir.”
I didn’t know what to say. I mean, I was touched, obviously, I’m sure not every valet would take a new master’s cause to his heart the way Pryce had done. And as he stood there, with calm, gentle face, and sharp spotless suit, it seemed impossible to imagine that anyone could even think of trying some underhand business in his presence without blushing.
Impossible, of course, unless you were me.
I’d seen a lot of the world, and although in Pryce I saw good intent, I didn’t see much that would stand up to someone like Manners. You could just tell, that if Pryce were ever to get into a fight, he would fight by the book, all neat feints and right hooks and nifty footwork. Whereas Manners would simply step to one side and let some maggot like MacDonald end it all with one well-aimed kick. In short, I had come to the conclusion that Pryce was a genuine example of that dying breed: a gentleman. Whereas Manners was absolutely part of that flourishing species: the earthworm.
“If nothing else, sir, at least there will be a witness to whatever may pass between you and Sir Holland,” Pryce continued.
“This kind of stuff isn’t on your contract, Pryce.”
He gave me a reproving look.
I relented.
“Very well. Thank you, Pryce.”
“Not at all, sir.”
We continued down the stairs, and there was an odd comfort with having Pryce by my side. By the time we reached the main hall I had decided that maybe there really was something in this whole ‘moral support’ thing.
It didn’t take long to trace Manners to his temporary lair. We took a turn away from the main drawing room whence issued the babble of the mob, and investigated one of the side corridors. Almost at once the sounds of someone getting a thorough verbal lashing hit us. Manners had one of those voices just designed for a courtroom; even the deadliest whisper carried for miles. His vigorous description of MacDonald’s mental capacities, heritage and questionable choice of leisure activities led us to a small room with delicate leafy wallpaper.
Manners stood with his back to the window, hands behind his back in the posture of paper-thin patience, his gimlet gaze fixed on MacDonald, who shuffled his feet and sullenly flushed under the reprimand.
“If my poor sister could see how you turned out, Lindsey,” Manners was saying with venom, “you are the utter limit.”
They both turned as I strode through the door. I nodded curtly at them both in greeting, and firmly crossed my arms.
“Manners,” I began, coolly, “I think you and I need to talk.”
“Indeed?”
Manners gave a slight smile. He took up a stance of complete attentiveness.
“Please, speak on, Mr… I’m sorry, what was your name?”
“Mr Liam Connor, sir.”
Manner’s gaze shifted sideways and his smile became hungry, rather like a lion who has spotted the abandoned calf.
“Master Wyndam-Pryce,” he purred, “what a pleasant surprise to find you here.”
I kept my eyes on Manners and MacDonald, and so couldn’t see how Pryce reacted to this greeting. But when he spoke, he had the light, crisp and distinctly chilly voice of one who has drawn themselves up.
“Yes, well, unfortunately life does enjoy being unpredictable. Sir.”
“Ah, but surely the true measure of a man comes from how he deals with such unexpected events, does it not?”
“As you say, sir.”
Manners curled his lip and returned his attention to me. MacDonald had taken up position by his right shoulder. It seemed that any differences between those two had been put aside in honour of my presence. I was treated to a double-headed scornful stare.
“Unless you’ve come to apologise, I can’t think why in the world you’re here,” MacDonald said pleasantly. “Unless you really do have no brain and have some deluded visions of heroics and winning us over regarding that low-life Davis and our fairly earned profits.”
“Well earned my foot!”
We all swivelled as Will himself came stalking slowly into the room. He brushed past me, fire coming from both nostrils, and firmly took up station in front of Manners.
“Listen to me, you heartless spineless unfeeling cold bloodsucking foul excrement, you will not lay a single finger on one penny of Aunt Edith’s profits.”
“You have plans to the contrary?” said Manners with the air of genuine and surprised interest.
“Damn right I do!” Will snarled. “If you think you’ve picked an easy fight, think again. I’m not a penniless simpleton.”
“And why would we ever think that of you,” murmured MacDonald to himself, gazing fondly up at the ceiling.
Will ignored him.
“It would serve you better to do your homework, Manners,” he said with grim satisfaction. “It may surprise you to know that I have not inconsiderable funds at my disposal.”
“Ah yes,” sneered MacDonald, “you always were a bit of a Mummy’s boy, weren’t you?”
I saw Will stiffen like he had been slapped, but he gamely kept on track.
“I’ve not been idle in America, Mr Manners. I’ve made my way.”
“You gambled to, you mean,” sighed Manners. He dusted down his sleeves with an expression of boredom. “Or perhaps you are referring to the income from your diverting weekly poems for that local paper? The Tattling Drum, unless I’m mistaken?”
I itched to introduce that smug face to something fitting, like the heel of a boot, but this was Will’s battleground.
Manners continued to look unbearably smug. He took a deep breath, no doubt savouring the smell of impending success.
“I fancy, from his expression, that Mr Connor’s valet might see your problem, Mr Davis.”
Will half turned, shooting a sharp questioning stare over his shoulder. I also swivelled to examine said valet. Pryce didn’t look at either me or Will, his eyes were fixed on Manners.
“If you are referring to the fact that Wolfram and Hart are joint owners of the newspaper, sir…”
“You see that, Lindsey? Even with such a heavy workload, he still manages to keep up on the activities of old friends,” Manners said in a theatrical aside to his grinning shadow. “Quite touching, wouldn’t you say?”
“An example for us all, Uncle. Though, I do feel sad for him and his unjustified cynicism,” MacDonald mused, sounding hurt. “I think he’s about to accuse us of threatening Mr Davis.”
Manners looked back at the three of us with an expression of wounded dignity.
“You mean, he thinks we are no better than some underhand cad who could and would use our influence to the disadvantage of Mr Davis’ publishing career purely on a whim?”
“It’s tragic.”
“Sad beyond words.”
“It’s a harsh life.”
“Pitiful.” Manners shook his head mournfully. “Wesley, it is a sad day that sees you so unaccountably embittered against the world.”
Pryce’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
“Besides,” Manners went on, spreading his hands, “we only wish to propagate Lady Cusplip’s good will. There is a very reputable charity, the Bereaved Ladies and Orphans Trust. The profits would of course go there. We wouldn’t dream of simply putting them into our own bank account.”
“Try getting a lawyer to oppose that one,” MacDonald said in a low tone. He grinned at Will. “Give it up, Davis.”
Will turned to me, frowning.
“You know this charity, Liam?”
“B.L.O.T?” I shrugged. Of course, who hadn’t. It was The Charity at the moment, getting all kinds of film stars and celebrity writers appearing at its fundraising parties.
“Yes, I have heard of the trust,” Pryce said pleasantly. “I believe its founder is one Mr Vail. He has certainly risen to the occasion.”
“Indeed he has.” And despite his jovial smile, Manner’s eyes were suddenly cold and a little wary. Like he had just spotted the proverbial snake in the long grass.
Pryce met him with a similar gaze, face hard and eyes like ice.
“Of course,” he mused, still in that absent tone, “Mr Davis’ lawyers might be a little over-zealous and require further information as to why you assisted Mr Vail in winning a very costly legal battle against one of his employees, for no fee. I’m sure his case was one that you were happy to undertake purely for the satisfaction of doing the morally right thing. But some suspicious, more callous people might wonder if perhaps you are waiting to reclaim your expenses at a later date when Mr Vail has more to offer.”
Throughout this, the temperature in the room had steadily dropped. A ringing silence sounded as Pryce came to a close. Manners showed not even a hint of a smile; his jaw was tight, eye blazing with pure loathing.
“Still haven’t learnt your place, have you, Wesley,” he finally managed, voice barely a hiss. “Very well, if you want to play this game, then we’ll play.”
He advanced a few steps, and the aura around him was such that Will moved out his way without apparently noticing.
“Just because you and Daddy no longer move in the same circles, do not think that you have passed beyond his sphere of influence. Or than he is beyond yours. And please believe me, neither of you will ever escape ours. When I last heard, he was still chasing that judicial appointment. And certain tales simply don’t lose their potency, even after all these years. Do you understand, Pryce? This is not your battle, keep out of it or I’ll take your entire family down to the mud where you are.”
The air had gone very flat and still. The two men met each other, daggered stare for daggered stare. If it had been a pub, then it would have been the silent moment that comes just before the first punch is thrown. However, this was still a wake, a Lord’s house. So all that happened was that Manners summoned MacDonald to him with a nod of the head, and the two of them left me, Will and Pryce to ourselves.
“What the hell was that all about?”
Pryce blinked once, slowly and carefully, and fixed his attention on some distant point on the opposite wall. It felt like trying to talk to a stuffed animal.
Will threw up his hands and muttered to himself.
I stared at Pryce and was going to say something, only to be interrupted by the distant rumble of voices in the corridor. I stuck my head through the doorway, and saw Manners and MacDonald on the horizon. They were talking to Knox, who from the sounds of it had been wondering where they’d gone to. As I looked on, MacDonald made a dismissive gesture and I caught a snatch of ‘just chatting’, and the three ambled off.
Will caught my eye as I thoughtfully came back into the room, and we both spared a short glance and silent shrug over the still silent valet. The meeting hadn’t exactly helped our cause, but it had thrown up a few questions. Will sighed and gave a weary nod.
“Pryce,” I announced, grimly, not looking forward to the task ahead, “we’re going home.”
“Very good, sir.”
Next part can be found here.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-04-10 05:41 am (UTC)(And oh, poor Liam has got it bad, doesn't he? *g*)
no subject
Date: 2005-04-10 06:25 am (UTC)That's really all I can manage to say. That, and I love your icon.
no subject
Date: 2005-04-10 09:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-10 11:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-10 01:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-10 02:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-10 02:16 pm (UTC)The hints of backstory between Holland and Pryce are nicely done, tempting me to go back and re-read the first draft... *g*
Simply superb, dahling!
no subject
Date: 2005-04-10 04:07 pm (UTC)And yes. Poor Liam does have just a little bit of a crush developing, I think...
no subject
Date: 2005-04-10 04:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-10 04:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-10 04:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-10 04:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-10 04:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-10 04:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-10 04:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-11 12:52 pm (UTC)“Pryce, I feel kind of on edge.”
“Perhaps the word would be ‘jittery’, sir?”
Bwah! I totally snickered out loud. That rocked.
Also, plot. Ooooh. It's been a long time since I read something *just* for the writing and plot. Usually it has to have *some* sex, or come highly recommended by everybody. Hell, even then it'd better have sex or I won't make time for it.
Which should attest to the wonderfulness of this story. Because I'm *reading* it. And checking for updates daily.
no subject
Date: 2005-04-11 02:55 pm (UTC)