Leah Allen (leahallen) wrote in shadowlands_ic, @ 2017-07-09 20:02:00 |
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Entry tags: | bertie eden, leah allen |
Who: Leah and Bertie
What: Looking for information from unusual sources
Where: Miss Lydia's
When: Backdated to July 1st.
Ratings: PG, astonishingly.
Miss Lydia’s Music Academy bore an outward similarity to certain houses of ill repute that Bertie had frequented during his Cambridge years, but due to the Night Watch, he was aware of its differences. The Detective Inspectors made jokes and suggestive comments, but there was an air of respect and caution when they addressed the establishment, all the same. It was implied heavily that the ladies who taught music at the academy might not be suitable company for human recruits, although there were few enough on the Night Watch. The warnings, Bertie was fairly certain, had been for his benefit.
He knew from past adventures, however, that ladies of the night were a valuable source of gossip, particularly when it came to scandal. They heard the worst of what went on in London, behind their closed bedroom doors, and occasionally, they could be persuaded to repeat it.
Bertie wasn’t entirely certain of the etiquette required of such an establishment, when it catered primarily to those unlike himself. He decided to approach the visit as he would one to the ladies of his Cambridge days. He showed up clean, free of any offending artificial scent in case there were werewolves present with sensitive noses, with a wine bottle of decent vintage and a book of poetry. To learn anything at all, he would need to spend some time in the salon, and that meant he would need to be entertaining.
There were quite a few ladies in the salon when he was shown in, and Bertie bowed dramatically to them in the doorway, as if he had just come into the room for one of his mother’s private teas. “Ladies,” he greeted them when he’d straightened. “I hope you will accept a humble gift, in exchange for the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”
Leah was finding the closer she got to reaching the end of her probation the longer time seemed to stretch out. True, she had the clients, friends and rivals among her fellow musicians, and Miss Lydia, to keep her on her toes, but dear god it was taking forever even with less than a week to go. The sex was (occasionally) good, and the brothel did provide an inexhaustible amount of food for one of her kind, but it wasn’t enough to make her enjoy being effectively a prisoner. If she could help it she wouldn’t be here more than she absolutely needed to once her probation was at an end.
But the arrival of the handsome young man with the book and bottle caused her to sit up and eye the newcomer appreciatively. “We like gifts, sir.” She replied, “You look like you could use a friend so I’d be happy to get to know you.”
"I'm always happy to make new friends," Bertie declared cheerfully, crossing to take a seat next to the lovely young woman who'd addressed him. He couldn't tell who might be what at first glance--his ability to differentiate supernatural species from one another was still newly-budding, and usually required some amount of time spent around the individuals gathering clues. To be safe, he kept his neck tucked into his collar and under his cravat, so that he didn't accidentally make any overtures to a vampire, and did a second thorough check of himself to be certain he wore no iron or steel, in case he brushed up against a sidhe.
"Bertram Eden," he introduced himself. "And I make no claims at being a wine connoisseur, but I've been assured this shouldn't offend your palate. I've also bought poetry, on the off chance that you will allow me to hasten along a slow evening with a recitation. Although I cannot imagine that anyone so lovely as you should be left alone for long enough to become bored." It was well-rehearsed gallantry, used in drawing rooms and brothels alike, but also true--the young lady was both beautiful and sharp-eyed, which surely drew more than Bertie's eye to her corner.
“Call me Vicky,” Leah responded, smiling at Bertie as he settled in beside her. He looked positively scrumptious and seemed a cheerful sort, it could be a very pleasant evening if all went well.
As long as the wine hadn’t turned to vinegar she was sure it would be fine, and it would help smooth things out as they went. She ignored the glare of her nemesis at latching on to the handsome young man before anyone else had a chance and her smile widened just a hair. “Poetry sounds like a delightful start to the evening, Mr. Eden.” She glanced at the title. “Especially when I don’t think I’ve read this author before.”
Bertie had not given much thought to a plan beyond gaining entry and making the acquaintance of some of the ladies of the house. Luckily, he was good at improvisation. "It is very good stuff," he assured her, tilting the book's spine so that she could read it more easily. "Laments for lost love, melancholy reflections on a past life, that sort of thing. Perhaps it is too sad for such company, I had not thought."
He paused for a moment, and looked up at her with a touch of worry. "It seems unforgivable to ask, but I would rather err with rudeness than giving ladies a fright...I don't suppose...you have not...been through a traumatic circumstance yourself, I hope? I should not want to upset you with the verses. Nor any of these other ladies," he added at once, as if only realizing then that there were other ladies in the parlor at all.
Ah. Well that made for a sticky situation. While Leah herself hadn’t suffered trauma (aside from the death of her mother perhaps, but that happened when she was so young she couldn’t remember it) ‘Vicky’ had endured a harder life. That and she knew a few of the other ‘musicians’ endured traumatic lives before coming to Miss Lydia’s.
The question was exactly what he’d come for besides the obvious. She doubted it was to read poetry. “Perhaps later? I’m sure we can find other ways to...pass the time? A game of cards or another frivolity.”
"Of course. What is your preferred game? Should we see if any of the other ladies would care for a hand of whist?" That was an appropriate game for ladies, and surely could not give too much offense. Bertie set the book aside and cast about for any other ways to identify any fallen ladies who might know - or be - werewolves.
He could always tell her directly, he realized. He might be thrown out on his ear, but it would serve him better than spending an evening playing at cards. Before that, however, he might try one more approach.
"I've never been here before," Bertie confided honestly. "You'll forgive me, but I have heard gentlemen talking. Is it true that some of the ladies...specialize?"
That was vague enough, surely. Bertie could not help feeling already, however, that was being unspeakably rude, and to a lady. His good conscience could not let him proceed with the lie.
Groaning, Bertie held up a hand. "Forgive me, I had thought to be clever and have only managed to to give insult. It's possible that I might be here under less-than-honest pretenses. I should not have made you complicit in my misadventures, and do humbly beg your pardon."
His honesty caused peals of feminine laughter, some of the girls ending up crying they laughed so hard. Leah kept her own reaction to a chuckle and a wide smile as she took one of his hands in her own. “My dear Mr. Bertram, we all specialise. We can discuss matters here in the parlor, or somewhere more...private? And you can choose one of us or several, if you so desire.”
"Ah," Bertie said, not at all immune to the charms of the lady who currently touched his hand. "That is to say, I would be honored, but I'm afraid...well, the false pretenses," he finished unhappily. "I think I should speak here, if you will hear me out. I'm afraid my questions may be quite rude, and I will understand of course if you should choose not to answer, but I would be very grateful for your aid if you should be willing to give it."
He glanced around the parlor, but even knowing that some of the ladies here were reported to be supernatural, he did not know that they were all so, and could not speak openly without certainty. "I am here on an investigation, I am afraid. Not an official one, nor anything very recent, but it had crossed my mind that of anyone, the good ladies here might be able to assist me."
There, that was a pretty enough speech. Bertie took a breath and moved on to the more delicate heart of the matter. "There is in our society a lamentable state of affairs, in which a woman of virtue, should she through no fault of her own come to misfortune, might feel she had no other choice but to choose a different life for herself, in secret. I wondered if...if there might be some who, upon such an incident, might have sought refuge here."
His mouth twisted into an unhappy line. "I had thought to ask under more cheerful circumstances, I do apologize. I promised you poetry and wine, and I fear I have brought only painful reminders."
Leah’s visage mirrored his own. Miss Lydia’s was her father’s pride and joy, and she’d seen enough over the past month to realize that it was a refuge for more than a few women. She might hate the necessity of such a place existing, but it was far, far better than having them work the streets or be left without even that drastic step. The fact was that she was hiding, though not because of any traumatic event but the simple need to feed, was an ironic twist.
She looked around at some of the other musicians, noting matching frowns on several faces. “And if someone was, what would happen if they admitted it?”
Bertie blinked. "Nothing, of course," he assured her, and stopped himself before following her gaze, carefully not looking at any of the other ladies. "I suppose they should not have to admit it at all, or not to me. What I really hope to know is whether anyone in this house might have come to be here due to an...encounter, through no fault of their own," he pressed hastily, "and not reported such an event to the police, for fear of losing their reputation and harming their family, or with the expectation of not being believed, if the event was...somewhat sensational."
Was that clear enough? Did Vicky understand? Did anyone else in the parlor?
"If it helps," he said, more subdued, "the case I am pursuing is one of a lady who was so assaulted, some years past, and her attacker has not been brought to justice. If the m- the beast has done this again," Bertie said breathlessly, hoping his word choice would help to clarify his meaning, "then any details, even the smallest, might help me to unveil him. I should treat such reports as confidential, and anonymous," he suggested, looking hopefully at Vicky. "If, perhaps, you would relate, on behalf of any others with a story to tell, anything they might have to say? I could return, in a week's time, to inquire again. I pray you believe that I do not take asking such painful questions lightly."
“I see.” Well, she thought she did anyway. Leah’s frown deepened as she parsed his words. A beast attacked a lady in a ‘sensational’ way and escaped justice. The beast wasn't an ordinary animal or it wouldn't have a policeman making inquiries years after the fact. Werewolf perhaps? It would fit with what she knew about them.
“I'm not sure if there's anyone here matching that description, but I'll make sure Miss Lydia is made aware of your question. Of all of us here she'd have the best idea of your needs in the matter. “
It was a shame such a scrumptious looking man was going to just leave.
Bertie's smile broke out anew, taking the offer optimistically. It sounded genuine, and as much as he could have asked for from one visit. "I am in your debt," he told Vicky.
There was a minorly-awkward moment when Bertie realized that his business was now complete, and he was just a gentleman sitting in the parlor of a brothel whose exceedingly lovely ladies all, apparently, specialized. He couldn't even begin to fathom all that entailed, although his mind was quick to make some suggestions.
"Er," Bertie said after a moment, grasping after something else to say and deciding to make the best of it. "Would you like to hear some poetry after all? As an apology for intruding on your evening, and thank you for hearing me out. I'm certain I could find something that isn't too melancholy."
A customer was a customer, even if it had been the strangest encounter of Leah’s short career at Miss Lydia’s. Leah glanced around at the others, silently looking for opinions on whether to let Mr. Bertram continue with his desire to entertain them or send him off. It was a slow night, and a collection of shrugs was the response she received. With a shrug herself Leah returned her attention to their unusual client. “We’d like that Mr. Bertram, why don’t you see what you can find in your book?”