Remember, Remember WHO Diana von Klimburg, FKA Anna Renaud, AKA Lucilla OT Elijah Durant WHATFlashback: the day Elijah became Diana’s WHERE Durant Manor (FKA Renaud Manor), Havenwood WHEN November 5, 1865; late evening RATING TBD
It had been a plan three years in the making. While Anna Renaud, widow of beloved Edmond, was known for her kindness and impulsive generosity, Annia Aurelia Galeria Lucilla was a creature of cold calculation and seemingly infinite patience. On Edmond’s arm, and under Anna’s warm smile, she had first laid eyes on her desired prize: Elijah Durant, artist and reformed forger. She had first encountered his work some years earlier, in another life, and had been impressed enough to utilize her network of agents and “children” to start keeping her informed.
It was by chance that she discovered his arrival in the very same small town she had come to, after wedding her current husband. A merchant who’d done well for himself in importing and exporting goods from Europe to the United States - especially as the Union grew desperate during the war - Edmond Renaud had been charmed by the delicately featured woman with dark hair and wide, expressive eyes who’d introduced herself to him simply as Anna. A few months later they’d married in Bayonne and shortly after set sail for New York, where their paths had crossed with Elijah and his young wife, Beatrice.
Lucilla was immediately taken with Elijah, her mind formulating a plan for him as soon as she’d introduced herself. His sweet Beatrice had stirred something as well, something far more sinister as she watched him dote upon her. Commissioning him to paint a portrait of herself and Edmond had given her cause to foster more of a friendship, one that had deepened considerably in the time since Edmond’s unfortunate and tragic death on an ill-fated hunting trip.
Elijah had been her shoulder to cry on, and he and Beatrice were frequent visitors to Renaud Manor as they called upon their patron. Just that morning, Beatrice had come to call on her own with a loaf of fresh baked bread, to express her concerns for her husband’s state of mind of late.
“Why, whatever do you mean, my dear?” Lucilla had politely asked as a servant poured them tea in the parlor.
“He seems to be agitated,” Beatrice had confided. “Paranoid, even. But he tells me it’s nothing -”
Lucilla had laid a hand gently over Beatrice’s. “Then I’m sure it’s nothing. Your husband would never lie to you. Trust in him.”
Of course, Lucilla knew the truth. Elijah had begun to hear whispers that his former employers had found their way to town, and were plotting to bring him back into their fold by any means necessary. Faking their presence had been easy enough; the mafia Elijah had found himself mixed up in during his more youthful years were hardly masters of finesse or elegance. Some cash and a set of specific instructions given to the right men had proved to be just as good as importing Elijah’s enemies directly.
The stage had been set, poor Beatrice unwittingly playing her part perfectly, down to her last, tortured breath. It was an unfortunate casualty - Lucilla had thought the young woman rather pretty, the type she would normally welcome into her ever-expanding network of agents. But Elijah was righteous in an almost foolhardy way. There was no way he’d come to her side without strong motivation. And in her seventeen centuries, Lucilla knew well that there were few forces stronger than the desire for revenge.
She had retired for the evening to the library which sat just off from the foyer, dismissing her servants for the night. Wrapped in a wool and silk dressing gown over her chemise - she’d shed the rest of the day’s outfit earlier in the evening, never quite able to understand society’s necessity for so many layers of corsets, petticoats, and crinolines. Much more comfortable now, she lounged on the small sofa by the fireplace, idly reading the day’s newspaper as she sipped on the last of her meal from a crystal goblet. It wasn’t long before she heard the urgent knocking at the door and roused herself to answer it.
Surprise and concern etched itself into her face with practiced ease as she opened the door to reveal Elijah standing there, drenched from the rain that had started to pour down outside. Ushering him quickly inside, she yelled for a servant to bring her some fresh towels as she guided him into the library, seating him near the fire. Kneeling before him, both of his hands held in hers, she looked deeply into this eyes with all the warmth he’d come to expect from Anna Renaud.