Re: parlor ; observing
Fearsome reputation or no, here was Miss Vanessa Ives, the talk of the party behind hands and in small knots. Anyone unaware of who the hosts were before they arrived was appraised by one gossip or another within minutes of walking through the doors. They learned of the mysterious flight and dissolved marriage of the lady of the house, and of the fearsome happenings that followed her friend, the one who had stayed at the Banning Clinic, the one who had spawned a thousand society ghost stories after a spectacularly scandalous seance last fall. There was word of women falling into faints at Miss Ives' language, of her distinct connection to the spirit world. It was the latter that kept her a curiosity instead of a total catastrophe. The supernatural element - the setting at a seance - titillated as well as horrified the guests. These were people for whom the spirit world was a very real prospect, more for some than for others. The skeptics laughed the story off. The believers listened to it as a cautionary tale.
None of them really had any idea what they were talking about, but that didn't stop them from talking. It never did. Vanessa didn't let it stop her from having a good time, either, moving from circle to circle and charming every clustered group she drifted into. Rather than avoiding her company, she almost never had a moment to herself for the early part of the evening. Tomorrow, at the breakfast table, they would all want to be able to say they had spoken with the afflicted and charming Miss Ives, as if she were Shakespeare's dark lady herself. Their brushes with danger would be badges they would wear, and they would talk about her at dinner parties and compare notes and wonder, as if she were an exotic creature in a cage at London Zoo. Well, she would make their attendance worth their time. She had long ago given up hope of a salvaged reputation, but she might still find some amusement for herself in watching them wonder and knowing how many miles they were from knowing her, truly, how small their lives were, how much they never could.
And it served her well as a fact-finding mission. She dropped hints, asked questions, let people talk to her. She caught up on gossip, and guided conversation toward the backstories of the different guests, and was it true that no one had seen a man spending time with Miss Murray before she disappeared? For, you see, Vanessa herself had been convalescing from a long illness at the time, and had not been in London when...it had happened.
At juicy tidbits like these, the ladies were only so happy to fill her in.
When Dracula entered, Vanessa was standing in the parlor. She wore a wine-colored gown with intricate black embroidery at the edges of her sleeves and the high oriental collar. The brooch at her breast was watery mother of pearl, and her earrings were dangling, carved gutta percha.
She was just inside the door, back against the wall, both hands on a small crystal port glass half-empty of its contents. The fortune teller at the table was using her own well-worn pack of tarot cards. Vanessa's deck was tucked into the locked drawer above the charlatan's knees. Such things were not for parties.
She watched the woman at her tricks with a hint of amusement. She showed no fear to a single one of these toothless jackals. No doubt they had expected her to stay well clear of this room, and the associations it might create in the minds of the guests.
She did not fear them, and she did not fear the woman with the shawl around her head and a dozen gold rings weighing her fingers down as she solemnly flipped cards. The young woman seated before her trembled, and Vanessa smiled, a little.
But she did not come any closer.
A young man standing beside her leaned in and murmured something in her ear. Daring thing, looking for a challenge. From a distance, it was clear he'd made some jibe about the fortune teller, and Vanessa's smiled widened, just a little. Then the fortune teller called him to the table to fill the empty chair and see his future, and Vanessa was standing on her own.