Who: Chiara di Palermo and Gabriel Allen What: Monthly meet-and-greet Where: L’albergo, Muswell Hill When: June 21, 1888 Rating: PG Warnings: Mentions of theft and other unsavory activities; behavior not befitting a proper Victorian woman
Once a month at L’albergo, Chiara hosted a particular meeting with a particular person. Really, it was no different to any other business meeting… except that the person coming was likely to cause something of a stir among the girls.
Today was no exception. Chiara’s quarters were on the top floor of L’albergo, which meant that Gabriel would have to run the gamut of Sorelle just to get to her office. Staircase doors were not locked, with the exception of that which led from the fourth to the fifth level, her level. Such was her trust in her girls that she knew absolutely that none of them would be on a level where they had no business being. Her own privacy, however, she guarded as a dragon might guard his pile of treasure.
Given that this meeting happened on the same date every month, and had done for as long as most of the existing Sorelle had lived in L’albergo, Gabriel’s presence was not new and not a surprise. Still, the presence of a man in sacred Sorellanza space was not a common occurrence, and at breakfast that morning Chiara had asked the fidate to brief the others on her expectations. She knew Gabriel would never touch one of her girls, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have high standards for their behavior.
She was waiting, sitting perfectly still on an armchair she kept near the staircase door exactly for this purpose. Gabriel was nothing if not prompt, and the agreed-upon hour was almost upon them.
Gabriel had known Chiara for going on sixty years now, but it was only in the last fifteen or so had he been invited for their monthly meetings at L’albergo, Chiara’s home base of sorts. He was fully aware of the privilege, and while he winked playfully at a few of the girls he encountered as he entered the building, he kept it mild, and so did they -- while he was used to the (very) occasional new girl going through a hazing routine of trying to lift his wallet, no one tried to brush against him as he walked through the lobby and began climbing the staircase.
He knocked on the door, bottle in hand, his timing exact.
“Chiara, ma bella,” he called out.
At the sound of his voice, she rose gracefully and unlocked the door in one smooth motion. “Gabriel,” she greeted him, bestowing the requisite kisses on his cheeks. “So glad you could make it.” It was all part of the ritual - she knew he would come, and he knew she would greet him this way. Chiara placed great stock in ritual and ceremony.
“There is tea waiting for us in my office.” And this, too, was a carefully constructed façade. Her mug was full of blood, and she would eat none of the carefully arranged cakes. It was all for Gabriel’s benefit.
She showed him through to the office, though by now he probably could have found his way there blindfolded, and invited him to sit down on one of the plush chairs. “How has your month been?”
The rather nice bottle of wine (Sicilian, naturally) was left on a side-table as they settled; he was never entirely sure if she ever actually consumed it, but he knew her well enough by now to know that she valued quality, and that the gesture was more important than its direct utility.
She remembered how he took his tea (a splash of milk, no sugar), and he took the delicate china cup from her with a nod of his head, taking a small sip and smiling appreciatively.
“Thank you, Chiara. Lovely, as always.” He said, crossing his legs and tipping his chin towards her as he relaxed into the familiar rhythms of their monthly ritual. “On balance, I would say it’s treated me well. And you? You’re looking particularly delightful -- I hope life has been rewarding you as richly as you deserve.” He grinned, a little playful.
“Life has been adequate,” Chiara acknowledged, the twinkle in her eye the only sign of her mirth. She did not, in fact, drink the wine - it generally went to the fidate, or a particularly enterprising sorellina - but the charade was the thing. “As always, I create my own opportunities. I find life has a way of… falling into line. My sorelle are a constant source of entertainment, among other things. Yes, everything is as it should be.”
She reached for her mug, sipping in the same manner as Gabriel had. “Alright, that is enough niceties for one meeting. Tell me, how are things on your side of the city?” They had divided London neatly enough between the two of them, Chiara and the Sorellanza calling the north portion their own, while Gabriel and his girls worked the south. “I trust that there have been no territory issues with my girls. After the last instance of… unpleasantness, the neofite have been spoken to firmly about the bounds of our land. Everyone else understands the way things are to be.”
This was the part of the conversation where particulars mattered, and Gabriel nodded, thoughtfully. There’d been some tension over the years as they’d worked in parallel and had each grown in their own little corners of London, before they’d gotten to know one another better, before they’d sorted out a mutually agreeable situation. His sort appreciated the security they could get knowing a member of Chiara’s sorellanza wasn’t going to be rolling potential johns in their area and did better business for it, and while he couldn’t claim the same degree of ownership over the lot of them that Chiara could over her tightly-knit group, he appreciated the courtesy. That, and as part of their arrangements, he was able to maintain most of the network he’d carefully cultivated over the years; he’d found it useful to keep his fingers lightly on the pulse of London’s seething underbelly first-hand.
“We may need to re-visit the map in a year or two,” he said, “London grows so quickly these days.” He nodded. “From where I sit, the current territory arrangements are both satisfactory, and are currently being enforced. I appreciate it, Chiara.”
He grinned. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything interesting of late?” He asked casually, taking a sip of his tea. This part of their monthly dance was his favorite -- the careful exchange of information they considered worth-while, the small nuggets deemed worthy of passing along.
“Perhaps. But the current divide is right through the middle, east to west, so growth should not matter overmuch.” It was difficult enough to drum in the heads of the new recruits the outer limits of where they were allowed to go, and to impress on them the consequences of straying outside it. Any deviations on the status quo would likely set her back months in terms of control.
“Interesting, interesting,” she mused, pretending to be thoughtful, though she did wink at him. “I suppose I could pass on the small, insignificant piece of intelligence my sorelline picked up while out and about their business yesterday… especially considering it may well inform the entirety of our newest venturer. But, on the whole, I think I would rather not.”
She sipped from her mug coyly, if such a gesture were possible.
“Minx,” Gabriel purred. “Tease,” he added for good measure, laughing. “...And here I am, sitting on a juicy nugget about the Forty Elephants I just know you’d be eager to hear.” He took a sip of his tea and shrugged.
He’d found that it paid to keep tabs on the minor territorial scuffles and gang activity among mundane criminals in his patch of land regardless of the fact that they were remarkably short-lived and narrow-minded in scope -- mostly working class boys with nothing better to do after a shift but get rowdy. The Forty Elephants, however, had been around for awhile, and they’d had their moments of rivalry with the Sorelle over the years.
Chiara’s eyes narrowed, and she set her mug down. “The Forty Elephants? Come now, Gabriel. I keep my information close to my chest because it pertains to an upcoming project - and we both know, the less you know about those, the more plausible deniability you have when the Night Watch comes knocking. You, on the other hand, are apparently in possession of knowledge that directly affects the welfare of my sorelle.”
She stood, aware how menacing the action could appear in certain lights. “So tell me. Must I pay for this information somehow? Or must I…” And now that twinkle in her eye was back, something only Gabriel knew her well enough to spot. “Tickle it out of you?”
At that, Gabriel tossed back his head with a full-throated laugh, looking up at Chiara fondly. For all her initial formalities, and (quite fitting) expectations of respect, he appreciated the most when he could see beyond the mantle of the leader of the Sorelle to the woman beneath. “Well. As long as you’ve good reason to tease me and keep all the news to yourself, I might forgive you for getting what I’ve brought for free.”
He tipped his chin. “I overheard that their usual duffer has gone away for a stretch at Newgate, and they’re having a devilish time moving their latest haul. Word is, they’re getting antsy.” He knew the Forty were far flashier than Chiara’s Sisters -- they tended to enjoy the notoriety, while Chiara preferred to have secrecy on her side. His eyes met hers, his grin widening. “There. Although I might demand a tickle after the fact, just because.”
“Dannati elifanti,” Chiara swore. “I suppose that means they will be sniffing around my fences now, trying to offload their substandard drek on my territory. Well, I will not stand for it! I will increase security along our borders, and send amici out to speak to our current fences. I will not have my carefully curated connections co-opted by these con artists.”
She sat down, pleased with this impromptu piece of angry alliteration. Not only was it true, she considered it very prettily phrased.
“Thank you for letting me know. I only ask why this news is so late in coming to me. Perhaps my own network of information is developing holes.”
Gabriel shrugged. “One of the benefits of being endlessly charming,” he said, smiling, pleased that he’d given her something useful, and even more pleased that his news was current. “That, and they’re in my backyard -- one cannot help but pick up odds and ends.” He looked up at her. “I can give a description of one or two of the pieces if need be,” he added.
“...Oh, and one more tidbit,” he added, picking up his teacup mildly. “I’ve heard from at least two of my more dependable sources that there’s a witch on the East End who specializes in women’s health -- of all kinds. Comes highly recommended.”
He knew Chiara’s Sorelle were not terribly likely to get into trouble -- but if they were, those sorts of contacts could be useful, given the alternative.
“Let me get my quill,” Chiara said, quickly moving to her desk and removing an elegant quill and pot of deep blank ink (what? She was born in the 1300s) and a thick piece of vellum (what? She wasn’t an animal). “Describe these pieces to me.”
To his other remark, she merely nodded. Illness was not an issue for her, but it sometimes was for the sorelle - but also, reading between the lines, it seemed there were other services this witch offered that may come in useful occasionally. She filed the information away.
“One was a suite of coral cameos and gold -- the coral was a dark, high quality, and there were bits of coral in the links to the necklace too -- an acrostic ring spelling “ETERNAL,” and a brooch and matching bracelet made of rose gold.” He shrugged. “There were other pieces, of course, but those were the ones I got a description of. I hope that’s of use.”
Taking careful notes in her elegant, flowing handwriting, Chiara bent over the vellum. In minutes, she was done.
“Thank you,” she said. “I will pass this on to the sorelle and our fences, and have them look out for the pieces.” Privately, she rather thought she might be tempted to steal them herself, should any of the Elefanti dare to trespass on her land. It would serve them right for disregarding the carefully drawn boundary lines.
“I suppose that concludes our business for the month,” she said with a smirk. “As always, if something crucial pops up in the time before our next meeting, I will send a sorelle with a message, and encourage you to do the same. But, just as a parting gift…”
She lifted her skirts slightly, just enough to enable her to straddle his lap where he sat. She leaned in close, her breasts (and not an inconsiderable amount of cleavage, given the time) right in his face… then bent her head to whisper in his ear.
“I hear the Maltese Falcon itself is making its illustrious way through Old London Town,” she whispered. “And I mean to have it.”
“Ah, ma bella,” Gabriel replied with a murmur, her heady perfume enveloping him. He tilted his neck a fraction to expose his jugular temptingly, his eyes catching hers. “Close to the chest indeed; and what a beautiful one at that. I look forward to celebrating your success,” he said, grinning, glad she was entrusting him with her latest scheme.