The Velvet Black

Lupin stilled, and began to probe her surroundings as far as she could with her senses. There were murmurs from other women in the salon - a lady was having trouble with her beribboned decollatage, and the maid struggled to help her through the haze of inebriation the lady palpably exuded.But the mark of normalcy that surrounded Lupin seemed to hide a deeper lack - an eerie lack - as if plots were being actively excoriated and covered up. Lupin stood very straight and tall and grave, and kenw that soon she would see why the journal had led her to Paris - why it would lead her no further, no doubt. Or at least, not any further under her own control.
There was little she could do; however, it was not her own fate that bothered her at the moment, it was the visions of Lord Grefham. Silent, white, shot and slaughtered in all sorts of ways in her head. Was it that she WANTED his death? Was that where these visions emanated from? But no, she knew beyond a shadow that her own fullest life was lived near him - with him. And she loved him. She loved him selflessly - even distant from her, her care of him was greater than her care of herself. It was without question and with the greatest joy.

So she stood - still - and did not move. For she could not. She could not budge herself, suddenly, she was as stone. Note capable of her own propulsion in the face of an oncoming decision she could hardly bear to think of. But she forced herself forward, to the dark window, the idea in her mind. She stood illumined for a moment against the light.

Then she swiftly swung about, her gray silken skirts billowing in the low, golden light of the candle flames, She picked up a comb set out - and tucked it quickly into her bodice. She straightened a stray curl that was artistically powdered: so lightly that the color shone through.
She took herself neatly out of the salon and then, knowing her pursuers were only pausing for a few moments - took herself down the hall into the depths of the house. They had not decided yet how to chase her, they waited uncertain of her identity. Her only chance was to seal her image as a mistress and force Lord Grefham to escape. But how to do it?

She heard footsteps behind her - soft, padding, certain. She crept softly, softly away down the darkened corridors. So dark it was like walking in black velvet. She could almost feel it soft and thick against her face, and behind her the nebulous unknown undulating away from her.

She hurried. She was alone - or was she only alone in her own mind? She could not tell. She was disoriented by her own decision to action. She was alone in her thoughts, perhaps cut off from her senses! She slipped around a corner and, she felt, towards safety. She fled towards it, embraced by the darknes, running into the bright, bright black. She ran her fingers agains the wall to guid her (the house seemed to ulsate in its cool splendor against her fingertips), then suddenly she ran into something, and it grabbed her.

The urge to fight overcame all rational thought. Skirts, curls, powder flew as she scrabbled free. The embracing arms - which she realized had been strangely gentle - released her.

"I am surprised at your struggle at the embrace," drawled a cool voice from the black, but it was laced with cruelty. "When so recently you ran to it."
"Alistair," she breathed - and seemed to fall towards him. She stumbled, and landed somewhere on his person. His arms surrounded her again, as if by accident. She wrappped herself to him - presing eveyr bit of her into him, revelling in his presence, even his angry presence.
"Oh lord." She whispered, dazed.
" I asked you not to call me that," he remarked, and then turning her face to his, he kissed her with an intensity she had never known. He seemed to possess her for a moment, until she reached back with her lips, her embrace, and commanded him as well. This only strengthened his action. He took her by the upper arms and pulled her hard to him - kissing her, taking the lead.
"So - it was freedom you desired," he remarked quietly, as he ppulled away. He sank back to her, almost helplessly, and his lips drifted towards her ear. "I could offer you one, you know."

She searched for his eyes through the black, her heart beating so quickly it would certainly stop.

"Leave with me Grefham," she said darkly, gruffly - commanding. She braced her hands on his shoulders "You must leave with me."

He was silent for a moment that stretched away to infinity in the black, and he seemed to imperceptably draw away from her. She shook her head, suddenly desiring to communicate to him all the things she had held back in their time together, but not knowing how to go about it. He felt the tremor of her movement against his chin, and instinctually drew her in closer, as if afraid she would leave again.

"No," she told him, "you are in danger," her hand had somehow moved upwards and lay against his cheek. She moved to pull it away, but was caught by his own hand and was brought to his lips passionately. She could not resist leaning into him, but pulled away again in but half a moment. "you must leave, Grefham."

Despite his action, his voice was cold, as if the movement had been agians his own will. He released her hand slowly. "I believe, my dear, I have more social standing than that - even with your VERY dear friend." His voice was cold, but his hand still held hers, warmly.

Her brows creased in confusion, then cleared. "Don't be a fool, Grefham. It was you yourself who told me there were those who wish me ill. They do not stop with me. You, too, are in the heart of this danger, and I. Will. Not. Have. You. Hurt," she ground out the last words haltingly and with gritty determination, her eyes burning with bright, banked flames.

Visions Anew

She could not, however, stop herself from tracking his presence. Thelonging to be with him drew her toward him, even as she guided herself deliberately in the opposite direction. Self-denying, she moved herself steadily, throughly away. Lord Maximilien allowed her to lead him subtly, and she soon found herslef, for the moment, safe.

A group of Lord Maximilien's many acquaintances suddenly arrived, a group of men and women high drunk off the libations and the vening. The women were flushed and merry, thier gentlemen, if they could be called so, leering and smelling strongly of spirits. Lupin looked steadily through them. She held to Lord Maximilien's hand and smiled, laughed. Then she was pulled away. A gentleman smelling perhaps less badly of champagne, a gentlean in a dark purple coat of velvet and silver lace, desired her hand in a dance. She accepted - she was courting Paris, that strange love of Lord Maximilien's - and she would put o the show of wanting the proper status. She laid her hand gently on the arm of velvet and silver; and her expression froze.

There was something very wrong in this. The waves of cold seemd to emanate from the gentleman. She knew in a flash at that moment that she had somehow made a very bad mistake. Soemthing in this evening had gone terribly awry. Her dream of Lrod Grefham flashed before her eyes - but it was changing even as she saw it. It ws turning into duplicates, multiplying infinitely, his death over and over and over in her mind - the blood splattered on his gold ocate - he lay at her feet on the stairs at Greye, the staris down which she had flown at him. She saw his figure falling from his horse in Green Park, where he had saved her life from the black hoofs of her stallion. She saw him lying, white and cold at ehr very feet at htat moment. And the images swirled to a stop with the image of hs white, fast-draining face as she lay in his arms - and her gaze faded to black, the ultimate black of finality. She had paused in the floor midwqay to the dancing salon - she realized she was blankly gazing at her hand, the hand that had worn Lord Grefham's signet. At that moment, she felt her soul was being lost by the absence of it on her finger.

Her companion was looking at her oddly, his eyes narrowed. "I'm sorry," said Lupin, avoiding his eyes for fear he would see the echoes of dath in hers. "I realied I have lost my ring!" She held up her empty right hand in shock. "I must find it immediately!" she cried, looking at him in alarm.

He frowned, as if not certain what to think. "Will you walk me to the stairs there," she inquired, gesturing urgently to the steps to the ladies withdrawing room.
He nodded his head. "Certainement, mademoiselle," he replied quietly, his accent a little strange. Lupin did not require the auditory cue to let her know the situation was darling. There ws the inescapable truth of her own inner visions - though she tried to escape them in her mind, they remained, accusing.

Lupin mounted the stairs swiftly, but carefully, glancing back at the top with a seductive and polite smile of high society understanding. She entered the curtained doorway to the ladies' salon. The she paused. Why had he not asked her to send a maid?

No Mistake

It was, perhaps then, not Lupin's fault that her feelings were not as sensitive as was usual that evening. The encraching shadows of danger and the pulling distraction of some hundreds of gazes might be thought to be a very sensible reason why she did not, at first, realize. It wwas in fact not until quite a time later - looking back - that the realization of her own sensations truly were made known to her.

The shadows had subsisded, the room had behun to move about her once more, and Lord Maximilien was leading her gracefully up the croweded grand staircase to the brilliant rooms above. The way opened up before them as if by magic; the dignified, composed, and charismatic little gentleman beside her seemed to be his own talisman against the ballroom crush.

A the top of the stairway, he turned to her neatly, and in the quick movement of carrying her hand to his lips with a practiced air, he murmured "Courage, ma petite - ma petite Anne Touloure." Lupin looked at him beneath ehr lashes, and acceded - to his gesture and hiddenly to his preparation for her entrance to the world of fashionable Paris.

The night was filled with the echo of strange, polite, repetitive exclamations. Behind her, the whispers spread like bees floating across clover fields. The introductionswere assumed; Lord Maximilien's good friend Ann Touloure, visiting from Austria; educated - of all places - in Britain! His amie - his bonne amie... Bonne et bonne! The laughter rang out, the titters flowed. Lupin cringed inwardly, but her visage ws calm, Lord Maximilien had calmed and glanced around, dignified, at the surrounding swarm. He was in his element and his very stried seemed to purr.

Lupin walked with Lord Maximilien, promenading, dancing, very much playin gthe lovelost, the very mannered lovelost; nodding, returning words of politesse, smiling quietly here and there - looking, rarley, at her companion, but when doing so, always with over some shared and private amusement. And Lord Maximilien, the beloved of Paris, the chameleon of society, smiled back, stroked her fingers on her sleeve absentmindedly, and showed her off with every stride.

The evening drew on and Lupin had been swept away by a vying group. Her silver, sweeping skirts were surrounded by the gaiety of blues, oranges, greens, dark clarets - men's coats of the most beautiful hues. They surrounded her, amused her, took her arm. They were moving from the cardroom back into the main salon - the men's shoulders taller than hers as they moved throught he large double doorway, but not by much - down by the far wall, across the room; Lupin was looking up, smiling slightly at something the nearest friend of Lord Maximilien was saying to her, when she saw a figure in a dark golden coat, a familiar figure. A figure of her most vivid dreams and worst nightmares. Above the coat, a face, frozen, the quizzing glass in his fingers held absolutely still.

The room seemed to lose all of its breath and everything dimed and caught for a moment - but perhaps it was only Lupin's own life that seemed to catch. At that moment, Lord Maximilien appeared at her elbow, and taking her hand, raised it to his lips significantly. Lupinknew he was deepening the ruse for her, and forcing her chin up slightly , she dropped her eyes and swept him a low curtsy. There could be no mistaking her look upon rising. There could be no mistake. The room was bright with candles. Lord Grefham, white and almost gray beneath his powdered wig, turned slightly and enquired something of a passing acquaintance. The acquaintance gestured brightly, and tittered slightly at Lord Grefham's lack of information. Lord Grefham's eyes grew very cold.

He watched her coldly, haughtily, while Lupin took Lord Maximilien's arm and began to glide gracefully towards the refreshments table, her head held in the veriest picture of pride an status and beauty. Her eyes were the only cold thing about her - sparkiling like agates covered with the streams of new rain She did not look back towards the entrance; she withdrew inside herself and her hands went almost numb they grew so icy. Lord Maximilien lookied at her oddly for a moment, and then moved to laugh and pet and cover her distanced gaze and whitened complexion with animation.

The Stolen Heart (Excerpt)

The Stolen Heart


Characters:

The setting: an English country house party in the early thirties

Lady Madeline Maltby – the lady of the house and hostess of the house party
Lord Roger Maltby – the master of the house and host of the house party. Big fan of hunting.
Lady Hydrangea Mantertash – distant, wealthy relative of Lord Roger
Miss Ragney Granger – poor relation of Madeline, here for a charity visit from her family home in a rather bad part of London; good blood
Mr. Levenhall – elusive houseguest, friend of Lord Roger's family
Mr. Leopold Rosencrentz – up-and-coming barrister, work friend of Lord Roger
Lord Hyperion Todworth – social relation of Lord Roger, “goes to all these things”
Miss Leslie Catness – vamp from London. Invited herself.
Miss Teresa Catness – her sister; shy, quiet, and bad-tempered when spoken to.


SCENE I
Opening scene: the morning room, sun streaming in the windows

Lady Madeline, seated gracefully on the couch: Well! The weather certainly is cooperating! And they say it always rains on a house party
Miss Teresa Catness (reading a book, sullenly): I don’t think they say that.
L. M.: But of course they do! I’ve heard it a thousand times if I’ve heard it once! I wonder when dear, dear, Mr. Levenhall will arrive? (twiddles her thumbs) I wonder if he got caught in Little Digworth…. Hm – hm – hm – hm (humming)
M.T.C.: Looks up, glares, looks back down.

Door opens, in saunters Lord Hyperion Todworth
L.H.: Well hodey-ho! What have we hear? A gaggle of beauties!
L.M. laughs, M.T.C. doesn’t looks up, but snorts.
L.H.: beautiful day for a canter, what what! Who’s up for a little equine exercise?
L.M.: Well, not me, I’m afraid! I have to wait for the elusive Mr. Levenhall (sighs and flops back on the couch)
L.H.: Ah, yes – right. And who’s this latecomer?
L.M: Oh, some family friend of Roger’s. Old slow-top, in my opinion.
MT: Rolls her eyes and shuts her book w/a bang.
LM and LH look startled. She glances fiercely at both of them, then strides out of the room.
LM tosses her head.
LH: Well, I’m not going to let all this sunshiney outdoorsness go to waste, I tell you one thing! Where’re the rest of our frolicking friends?
LM: (airily) abed.
LH: What, all of ‘em? Not a one out-and-about?
LM: (rolls her eyes to the side) well if they are, they’ll no doubt be breakfasting!
LH: Right, right – capital idea… feeling a little peckish again myself at the moment…
(leaves the room)
(we follow him to the breakfast room)

SCENE II

(LH enters room jauntily, three people are seated at the table eating breakfast: Miss Ragney Granger, quietly eating breakfast, Mr. Leopold Rosencrentz, reading a newspaper and Lord Roger Maltby, drinking some beer while eating his steak)

Lord Roger: Todworth old fellow! It looks like a capital day for a little huntin’!
LH: I was thinking something more along the equine lines, myself, old chap – but it’s your home
LR: (looking a little downcast, but not to be overcome) nonsense! The guest is always first! (Looks around him at the others at table.) Is there anything….? (trails off weakly in the unresponsive silence, then goes takes another mouthful of beer, and shrugs)
LH: How’s about a little ride, then, old chum?
LR: Capital, capital! (now cheery again!) Have you let Madeline know?
LH: She’s waiting on that poxy friend of yours, Levenhall.
LR: Levenhall? That's odd! (Snorts and takes a swig of beer) Right then, we’ll just be two, then, unless… Rosencrentz – does a ride tempt you?
Mr. Leopold Rosencrentz: (looks up from his newspaper) I’m afraid not, Maltby. Perhaps at a different hour of the day.
LR: Well, I say that’s a rather unsporting spirit!
MLR: I’m so sorry, Maltby my friend, but I simply…

(we hear a scream from abovestairs, then another, then another. They are becoming quite alarming)