morebooks (morebooks) wrote in shadowlands_ic, @ 2017-11-08 21:32:00 |
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Entry tags: | adrien green, arabella ward |
Who: Adrien Green, Arabella Ward
What: Mysterious coins and unexpected fangs
Where: Parkinson's & Co.
When: 8 November, 1888
Rating: PG
The first few weeks after Adrien had taken Merrick from the Institute, he’d approached his work with a certain degree of dread -- a mixture anticipating that he’d somehow not covered his bases (did Wilhelm look on him with suspicion these days?) and a queasiness at what his place of employ was capable of.
He’d faced nothing out of the ordinary since, though -- no hint of anything untoward. Eleri had kept her tongue, and that -- and her -- had provided a distinctly valued counterweight, and he’d managed to settle back into his routine without feeling the need to look over his shoulder quite as much. (The next thing he had to do -- to sort out whether Merrick was the only horror kept locked away -- loomed -- but at least he wasn’t actively fearing discovery from the last go-round.)
So he dove once more into his work, a little wiser, perhaps, a little more jaded too, and oh so slightly more emboldened.
Miss Ward’s invitation at the ball had been an intriguing one -- and a good reminder that while the people he worked for had distinctly questionable motives, that there were still interesting questions he could pursue, people he could be of use to.
On the day in question, he dressed in his second-best suit, and showed at the bank in question promptly.
Arabella joined him there only a few minutes later, evading the clerk's attempt to help her by saying simply, "I am here to meet someone, please tell Mr Parkinson we have arrived," and ignoring all follow-up questions in favor of making her way to Adrien's side.
"I'm glad you have come," she told him once she drew close. "Thank you. I'm sorry for the secrecy, but Mr Parkinson - the banker I saw here - has concerns about what I brought to him. Are you ready to see it? We can go back now."
Adrien nodded. “I must admit,” he said, in a low tone, “that rather serves to pique my interest. I will of course keep all of this in the strictest of confidences. I can take my notes in a cipher, if you’d prefer.”
He knew the basic nature of her inquiry -- a coin she’d found in circulation that didn’t appear to fulfill the Treasury standards -- but this provided an air of intrigue to the matter that he couldn’t help but be drawn to.
Arabella considered that for a moment. "I haven't done the same, but it may be wise. Mr Parkinson believes I might be in danger, if it were to become known that I have a counterfeit coin in my possession, and he has a better grasp on criminal mathematics. It is why we have it in a box here at the bank, with two keys."
Mr Parkinson, better-mannered than Arabella, managed the introductions she forgot as they went back to the box, and then left them alone for the moment to discuss it while he had an impromptu meeting with another client.
"The image matches a coin design withdrawn before circulation this past year," Arabella explained, in case Adrien had forgotten the particulars, which would be understandable. "Mr Parkinson is unsure whether it is counterfeit or not--he says he would have believed it so, had the design not been withdrawn, which he claims is unusual. And he would know," she observed, lest Adrien mistake her accurate language for a lack of credulity.
Adrien hadn’t considered that there could be an element of risk to Miss Ward, and he raised an eyebrow.
“Danger from whom?” He asked, his voice low. “And yes, please, I should likewise recommend all precaution if Mr Parkinson does believe there to be a certain element of risk.”
‘Mr Parkinson’ looked to be about fifteen years of age, and Miss Ward likewise -- it was difficult to determine whether there was true risk, or merely the fancies of youth, which tended to melodrama, but Miss Ward didn’t seem to be the sort easily swayed, despite her youth.
“Have you any others to compare it to from the same run?” He asked. “You’re correct in that withdrawing a design tends to be fairly rare -- the expense of minting would make such a decision prohibitively expensive.”
Arabella nodded. "It is the economics that concern him. He considers this to be potentially valuable evidence, which those responsible might wish not to come to light. If that were the case, I think they should not have lost it in the first place, as it seems irresponsible--although I also cannot think what else they would do but put it into circulation...isn't that what counterfeit coins are for, spending in place of real ones?"
She was not looking for an answer, and therefore continued on without waiting for one. "I told him precautions were unnecessary, but I believe he is being a gentleman. The design of the coin is not what concerns me, however. I brought it in because the alloy is unusual, and there is a substance I can't identify on one surface, caused by oxidation or some other process. Here, do you see?"
Arabella opened the small velvet box containing the coin and held it up for Adrien's inspection. "It appears to be somewhere between liquid and solid in state."
“Hm,” Adrien replied, frowning deeply in thought, and poking at it a little with his pencil, dipping down to see if he could smell anything -- it didn’t give off any unusual scent. “Yes, you’re right that the residue does appear to be coming from within -- as a result of the wear on the coin, perhaps exposure to air, and not from a substance it might’ve been coated in. When you say liquid state… might I handle it?”
He looked over at her, raising an eyebrow.
Arabella shrugged, or did her best imitation of one, which was angular and incremental and only slightly awkward. "I have, and the only consideration to my knowledge is the coin's continued degradation. I have a sample in my work room already for study." She frowned at the coin. "It's a sort of...oily substance."
He nodded in reply, and picked up the coin gently, holding it in his palm. “Considering your expertise on the subject at hand,” he said, “I find it quite notable you have yet to determine the nature of the metal in question.” He hemmed a bit. “I don’t suppose you could send a sample to someone else for a blind test, if you were concerned it could be traced back to you, but I might be able to through the Institute, should you want a second opinion.”
He poked at it with his finger.
“That’s… hm.” he said, his frown deepening further.
Coins did not tend to warm in dead fingers. And this was not only warm, but… malleable slightly, at least the part that had been worn away.
Arabella lifted slightly onto her toes and poked her nose over to see what Adrien was observing. "I don't know that it is a metal," she said frankly. "If it is, it isn't one that follows any of the principles."
A new idea occurred to her, one that surprised her by the fact that she hadn't thought of it sooner. "It could be a failed alchemical experiment," she suggested. "A partial transformation, incomplete. That might also be why it was discarded, rather than saved. I usually keep all of my work, but there are some...hotter-tempered...alchemists who might fling a coin away if it did not behave as they wished, in a fit of pique. It's not very scientific." Arabella couldn't help this criticism, although she tried not to sound as disapproving as she felt.
"You have alchemists that work at the Institute," Arabella remarked. "Could you offer a sample to one there whom you trusted with discretion and care?"
Adrien snorted. “Trust may be a strong term,” he said, a little shortly, “but I may be able to direct it to some individuals there whom I could be reasonably certain would have a limited scope of influence. I was debating sending it out abroad under the guise of it coming from the Institute,” he added, shrugging a little. “Some low level lab in France or Germany who would be told very little about it, only that the results were to be kept confidential.”
He looked at the coin again before depositing it back in its lined box, wiping the residue on his pants.
“I suppose another avenue is to properly track its removal from circulation, and determine why,” he added. “If, for instance, they determined the coin was too easily counterfeited, that would explain part of the mystery.”
"That is more Mr Parkinson's area than mine," Arabella replied, stating the fact simply. "He thinks the Crown may become involved, if it is indeed counterfeit. My interest is for the substance. If it is not metal, or alloy, or a transmutation, then it is outside of my discipline. It's trying to determine that which has been difficult."
She considered the coin again, then looked up at Adrien. "I would let Mr Parkinson answer, about the laboratory. He may have other ideas, or know what else to ask them to look out for. What do you think of the...non-oxidation? Have you seen anything like it before?"
Adrien paused, and then nodded. “If he suspects the Crown were indeed to get involved, I could see the need to keep it along more official channels, but…” he frowned a little. “This suggests something a touch more… out of the ordinary, and I’m not certain official channels would suit.”
He shook his head. “I have not seen its like, no. And if it is indeed entirely unique…”
The fact that she’d taken it to Parkinson’s of all places was fortuitous. He himself had a healthy distrust of banks, and bankers, but they did have a reputation for handling ‘unusual’ clientele. Perhaps the (very) young Mr Parkinson could be convinced this was a matter for a good witch to handle.
"It seems a shame for it to be lost or destroyed, if that is the case," Arabella observed. "Out of fear or misunderstanding. But if it is indeed a threat in some way, I suppose I understand their caution."
Grudgingly. There was little question of that. Governments and officials merely impeded the progress of science in most cases, and Arabella did not feel charitably toward them when they took such actions.
"Would you like to see anything else here?" Arabella asked. "You may study the coin further, if you wish. I'm in no hurry. I haven't taken a rubbing; I wasn't sure whether the substance would mar the paper."
Adrien nodded. “If you’d indulge,” he said, “I’ll do my best to work quickly.” He jotted down a few notes, his pencil edging out a rough facsimile of both faces (flipping it over with his pencil), and he recorded the date and the remaining text in shorthand.
He appreciated the silence he was afforded -- Miss Ward didn’t appear overly fussed by his attention to detail, nor rushed for time, and he finally pocketed the pencil and pad of paper, looking over at her and nodding his head. “Thank you, Miss Ward,” he said. “And… well. Thank you for thinking of me when this came to your attention.”
Arabella was surprised at that, and a little pleased. "You are my librarian," she said awkwardly. "I find you pleasant and helpful, and prefer you to any other. It seemed something you would be well-suited to assist with."
That was all true, but there was more to it, which she admitted with more self-consciousness. "And...I consider you a friend, and wished to have your counsel. I hope you have no objection."
Off-balanced by her own unaccustomed profession of emotion, however plainly it was delivered, Arabella moved too hurriedly to close the double-lock box, and the corner of the metal lid scored a long, thin gash down the inside of her arm. She winced and drew back at once, holding her arm up and away from her as blood welled on her wrist. She had removed her gloves when they came in to handle the coin, and had not replaced them; whether that was a grace or a misfortune was difficult to say.
Adrien was taken off-balance by this declaration as well -- he was only recently becoming accustomed to the notion of people wanting to make such a claim, perhaps in part because he was only recently prepared to believe them. And the young, sober Miss Ward was a creature after his own heart -- she wasn’t nice, she was honest.
That small bloom of pleased surprise had him turning to face her just as another surprise hit his nose full-bore -- the intoxicating bouquet of Fae blood -- not the muddier mix he’d expect from a human who’d had some ancestry in the Kingdom, but pure, unadulterated stuff suddenly and unexpectedly there, and it was so unexpected coming from her that his teeth extended very nearly involuntarily in a sudden, painful push, his eyes flashing blue, and he clapped his hand over his mouth before he managed to reassert his will.
He looked over at her cautiously, uncertainty spread over his face -- had she seen?
Arabella was, quite rudely, staring. She had seen many wonders of natural science, educated as she was by her father. Tricks of the light or lenses might account for eyes appearing blue and vividly lit, and bone growths or theatrical tricks for long, sharpened incisor teeth, but there was no reason for Adrien to have enacted such a performance. There was also no reason for such things to leave him looking so horrified and frightened, as if terrified that Arabella might have seen something he hadn't intended.
Arabella pointedly and politely turned away, and considered her gloves. She would ruin them by putting them on now, and she was practical enough to find that a senseless waste of good gloves when someone at the bank would be able to find something to clean the cut with, and it would stop bleeding in only a moment.
She recalled the look on Adrien's face, however, and considered that in this instance, kindness should take precedence over practicality.
Kindness also indicated that she should pretend nothing was amiss, so after she drew her gloves on, she said, still facing away, "It's all right. Many people are squeamish about seeing blood. Are you all right? Do you need me to look for a bin?"
Adrien swallowed, hard, and shook his head, his shoulders lowering in a blessed sort of relief. If she was indeed full Fae (which was a mystery he’d leave for another time and place), his powers of persuasion would be useless -- and, given she thought her own people were myth, he could only imagine what she would’ve thought of him.
“Apologies, Miss Ward,” he said, briskly, “I shall be quite alright. And you? Should I fetch someone to fetch a bandage, or direct you to a washroom?” He hovered a little, uncertain of protocol, a little on edge from his nearly disastrous reaction.
"I'm very well, thank you. Think nothing of it." Which was her diplomatic way of saying that he should not think about it at all, which seemed to be best for him. Arabella, in turn, would think nothing of it either, at least until she was in a hansom returning to her home. Then she would think about it a great deal. And perhaps write a letter to her friend Zipporah.
Arabella turned slightly, and on seeing that Adrien did indeed look recovered, turned around again, her scrape covered neatly and hidden from view. "Is there anything else you'd like to see while we're here, or ask Mr Parkinson? Or should I let you return to the Institute to consider the matter before we discuss how to proceed?"
Again unspoken was that this last provided an excuse, should Adrien wish some time alone to compose himself.
Adrien frowned, still concerned, but Arabella seemed gathered together enough -- she wasn’t the sort to make a fuss over a cut anyways, and it didn’t seem terribly serious -- the tang of blood was already turning stale in the air.
“I should look into Treasury records next, discreetly,” he said, “and make sure to keep you and Mr Parkinson informed of any developments.” He’d talk to Parkinson later about the possible need for the Night Watch, or a decent witch.
Arabella nodded agreement to this sensible plan. "You know where to reach me, if I don't see you soon," she said, and then paused. Did he know how to reach her? Had she ever given him her address? She took one of her infrequently-used cards from her bag to offer it to Adrien.
There was an awkward moment wherein she considered telling him that he was welcome to visit her anytime, if he wanted to see her work or simply speak of engaging scholarly matters, that he was her friend and would be welcome, and then reconsidered what it might sound like to ask a gentleman to call on her.
"Please keep it," Arabella settled on finally, and presented him with the card. "And thank you for coming. I am in your debt." This last was not something she normally said, but she couldn't help feeling that it was true, where it might not have been before this. If a tally sheet existed between them, hers was the lesser column.
Adrien pocketed it, and nodded briskly.
“Nonsense,” he said. “After all, I am your Librarian.”