WHO Diana von Klimburg OT Declan Ward WHAT Diana requests Declan's help WHERE Declan's townhouse WHEN A flashback to the winter of 1860
When he was roused that morning by his motherly neighbor, Mrs. Seward, who had taken it upon herself to be his housekeeper slash caregiver "because someone has to do it, Mr. Collins," it was not with the expectation of having tea later that day with the wife of one of Havenwood's wealthy merchants. In fact, Declan expected to have no visitors at all since he'd all but cut himself off from the community save for the few stubborn friends that visited him once a week or so. Mostly, however, it was due to being the middle of winter with heavy snow on the ground, making travel difficult. Because of such difficulties, Mrs. Seward was staying with him for the week while her husband was in Manhattan conducting business.
The morning was spent in routine as he assisted the older woman in tidying up the townhouse. Perhaps it was because Declan was now alone or perhaps it was because she did not have a set of her own, Mrs. Seward always insisted on using the silver for their meals. When he asked why one day, he could hear movement in what he figured out was a shrug and she gave a rather practical reply.
"Well… it just seems like a waste to let it just sit there to gather dust and tarnish." After that, Declan didn't have the heart to argue and it was usually his assignment to clean the set when Mrs. Seward said it needed cleaning. It was not a particularly large one that had been inherited by a previous wife at the time and somehow remained within his care. While the task could be tedious, Declan rather enjoyed it as it gave him the opportunity to reminisce over the fond memories they invoked. As he worked at the long bench table in the kitchen, the space and rest of the house became increasingly pungent with the smell of cooking stew. By mid-day, based on the sunlight he could feel on his back, he was ravenous.
The duo were just finishing up in the kitchen with a tea made to cleanse the palate when the bell rang to signal they had a visitor. Declan's companion made a noise of surprise followed by a muttered query as she rose to see who was at the door, a blast of freezing air blowing through the interior as she admitted the individual into the townhouse. Confusion marred his brow as he heard an accented feminine voice speak to Mrs. Seward who returned to announce that Anna Renaud was there to see him. His brows rose in surprise.
"The merchant's wife?" He asked with a tinge of confusion in his voice.
"Aye, sir. I told her that you don't receive visitors anymore, but… she insisted, Mr. Collins."
Flabbergasted as to why the woman would want to see him, Declan was tempted to send her away on reflex and principle, but his curiosity got the better of him. He gave a nod to the makeshift housekeeper, "I'll receive her here in the kitchen, Mrs. Seward, it's the warmest room in the house on such short notice." He flashed her a smile and after the woman stepped out, Declan's fingers searched for the heavily tinted glasses he had lying on the table and was just slipping them onto his face when Mrs. Seward returned to introduce Mrs. Renaud.
The spectacles were as much to soothe his vanity as it was to ease the comfort of those he didn't interact with often. It became clear that Hecate had more in mind when she took his sight for apparently the goddess had leached the brown from his eyes. While he had no intention of receiving the merchant's wife for long, first impressions were still important and he didn't wish for the woman to be uncomfortable.
Declan rose to his feet, folding his hands in front of him as the woman entered the room as he begged forgiveness.
"My apologies for not receiving you properly, Mrs. Renaud," a brief smile flashed across his face, "I'm afraid I don't entertain as often as I used to. Please," he indicated to the seat across from him, "Won't you have a seat?" Declan found his own again, searching for an empty cup and saucer from the set that was kept on the table for such a use. As he pulled it toward him, Declan also reached for the pot of tea. Feeling for the rim of the cup and the spout of the pot, he poured the woman a cup of tea as he asked, "Might I inquire as to the nature of your visit this afternoon, Mrs. Renaud?" When he felt the heat of the liquid reach the tip of his finger, he set the pot aside and lifted the saucer to hand it out toward his unexpected guest.
The woman currently known as Anna Renaud had only been in Havenwood a few scant months, but had already established a name and reputation for herself as the genial hostess running her husband's house. She was kind and beautiful, often spotted out with a parasol during the day to protect her fair skin, and already a generous supporter of the arts in the small town.
She hated every moment of it. She hated the people, she hated pretending to be in love with her current husband, and couldn't wait until she could be inconspicuously rid of him. Unfortunately, that time wasn't just yet, but nobody had told the pneumonia he'd managed to contract after a hunting trip. Word had spread through the household quickly of the mistress's courage in caring personally for her husband, rather than risk the staff becoming ill as well; only a very select few knew it was because she was, by nature, immune.
It worked in her favor, she supposed, to play the role of the doting wife; it would limit suspicion when Edmond finally did meet his end. But when he failed to improve, she grew annoyed at the fragility of the human form. Knowing that the town was home to a variety of supernatural beings, including a rather large of coven of witches, Anna began quietly inquiring into "alternative" medicines that might be more effective, which eventually led to the recommendation that she pay a visit to Declan Collins.
She had found his home with ease, somewhat confused to have been met by an old woman instead of the man himself, as she hadn't expected him to be of means to afford help. The situation clarified when she was led to the kitchen; the man was blind. So many centuries of practice made it easy to withhold any sign of her disappointment; they had also taught her not to dismiss anyone at first blush. Nearly everyone she had spoken to had pointed her in his direction, and as she watched him pour tea while she took her seat, she could see why. He may have been hampered by his loss of sight, but he was not incapable because of it.
"Merci, Monsieur Collins," she said, accepting the teacup with a gracious smile for the old woman's behalf, her coastal French accent coloring her words. "You were recommended to me by those familiar with your... medicinal skill. You see, my husband has fallen gravely ill, and nothing the doctor has done has helped."