William Rothschild (soldat) wrote in thisdarknight, @ 2016-07-07 11:25:00 |
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Entry tags: | emmeline rothschild, william rothschild |
oh guard the pounding sound
Who: Em & Will Rothschild.
What: Emmeline introduces her husband to her line of work.
Where: New York.
When: About ~150 years ago.
Warnings: None.
Progress: Gdoc, complete.
Emmeline kept William close to her as they entered the party. She'd worn a showier dress, one dotted with sequins and buttons of a staggering caliber; she'd acquired it with the money they'd gained after selling her previous shop. She'd explained to Will that she didn't want to be tied down to one location; instead, she would go to the customers instead of having them come to her.
"Good evening, Mr. Scott," she greeted their host, planting kisses on either side of his face as they entered the room.
"Mrs. Rothschild, we've been eagerly awaiting your arrival," the man replied, holding her hands warmly. He glanced at the man leaning on a cane standing behind her. "I didn't realize you'd bring an escort."
"My husband is an important part of my enterprise, Mr. Scott," she replied, smiling at him. "Plus he ensures that rogues like you don't take advantage." Mr. Scott laughed in response to her teasing.
"Fair's fair, I suppose. Sir, your wife is enchanting. I certainly hope she'll grace us with as entertaining of a performance as the one I heard about at the Heschel's."
William already disliked the man; his forwardness with Emmeline, he had learned, seemed to be an unwanted side effect of the business. He'd figured out how to work against such thoughts, and he placed a hand lightly around Emmeline’s waist as he stepped closer to his wife. Offering the man a nod, he smiled. “I’m sure she will,” he replied. He glanced lovingly at his wife. “She is quite enchanting, I know.”
“So, do you have an area for Emmeline? A table set up, perhaps?” The question brought his gaze back up to the man, a chilly exterior immediately replacing whatever warmth he'd shown toward the woman in his arm.
"Of course, right this way." Mr. Scott swept his arm to the right, indicating a series of doorways. People were peppered throughout the space, lingering in rooms with champagne flutes and wine glasses to lubricate the conversation. Everyone was dressed somewhat similarly to Emmeline, but her dress was the most ostentatious, causing no small amount of chattering among the ladies. That, and the presence of the handsome man with a cane escorting her The two made quite a pair, enough to cause any amount of idle gossip. Emmeline drank it all up, a saucy smile on her face showing how much she delighted in being the center of attention.
"Here, in our dining room. I hope that will suffice?"
Emmeline nodded. "This will do splendidly. Whenever your guests are ready, Mr. Scott; I only need a few moments to prepare." She offered the man one more smile, who promised to get her something to drink and disappeared through his large homestead.
She looked to William, one gloved hand clutching at the bicep of his arm that rested on his cane. "Don't be offended, William. He was only making a joke." She gave his arm a light squeeze, smiling up at him. "Just listen to all the other ladies here, they're whispering about you behind their fans."
William glanced around the room and felt his face grow warm. He could hear them whispering, see their eyes glancing his way from over the fans, and was surprised. He had considered himself handsome prior to the war, but with his injury and the memories that haunted him, he lost that confidence. He still found himself marveling at the fact that Emmeline was interested in him and couldn’t quite grasp that he had his own beauty that was appealing to others. Turning his gaze back to his wife, he offered a tight smile. “I apologize, I don’t mean to be rude,” he said softly, a hand darting up to brush over Emmeline’s cheek. “Everything about this has me uneasy. I don’t like the way the men have looked at you but beside that I’ve realized… I’ve never watched your work. Our first meeting… we never quite got to the part of communing with ghosts.”
Emmeline's smile tempered; her thumb smoothed over his bicep. "I'm glad that you didn't. Are you ready for this? It can be quite shocking." The question was a reiteration of one they'd had at home before their arrival, but Emmeline felt pressed to ask again.
“Not at all,” William replied honestly. His hand touching Emmeline’s waist was solid, a rock that had no intention of moving. He didn’t want her out of her sight and felt that there was a threat present. Speaking with the dead certainly didn’t sound like much fun, and he was worried for her. He glanced at the crowd forming and leaned forward to speak lowly. “Tell me again, what should I do? What happens if you seem hurt? I want to be sure you’re alright but I don’t know how I’ll be able to tell if it’s as shocking as you say.”
Her lips pressed to a line, her heart skipping a beat to hear the concern in his voice.
"Just stay next to me. Stay close, and everything else will be all right. If... If I seem lost, talk to me. The sound of your voice will bring me home." Her hand moved from his arm to his face, cupping his cheek for a moment before Mr. Scott returned with his guests in tow.
"And here she is, in the flesh. Mrs. Rothschild, let me introduce you to..." Names attached to faces flooded into the room, Emmeline pulled away from Will as she was swept up in the sudden social current. She smiled and grasped hands, making niceties and networking like a true businesswoman. Soon they were all taking seats, and Emmeline removed herself to William to pull him into a chair next to her. She squeezed his hand, giving him a reassuring smile.
He clung to her hand as they took their seats and then under the table. He looked around the table at the faces surrounding them. They were all happy and flushed from wine and liquor, finding this a party trick if anything, and it further soured his mood.
Returning the squeeze of her hand, he leaned toward her. “Come back to me,” he whispered lowly, not liking this at all but feeling fiercely protective of Emmeline—from the men who gazed at her and from the threats he could not see.
Emmeline offered him one final smile before turning back to the partygoers.
"If everyone could please place their hands on the table as I have done," she said in a careful voice, the volume loud enough to be heard but not shouting. She had placed both hands shoulder width apart with the palms turned down on the table top. Everyone in the room seated at the table -- more bodies were shouldering to watch the spectacle as it unfolded -- followed suit, their hands creating a ring as each touched pinkie to pinkie. Emmeline surveyed the table, her gaze only making it halfway around as her eyes suddenly turned up in their sockets, her head dipping toward the table.
"Spirits, I intone you. Come forth. Speak to us. Give us a sign that you are present." The sound of her voice lapsed for a moment, falling silent before she repeated the phrase again. Everyone in the room fell quiet, no one daring to interrupt the ritual as it began.
William looked around the table as every single person stared at Emmeline expectantly. He took in a breath, slowly and cautiously. He felt to even breathe too heavily could distract his wife from her task. His dark gaze moved over the faces surrounding him once more before falling upon Emmeline herself. He frowned, his worry from earlier becoming a concrete thing in the bottom of his heart.
Her head continued to dip forward as her voice chanted the words; slowly the syllables began to fade, the sound growing quieter and quieter as though it seemed she had fallen asleep at the table. A few whispers dared to make themselves heard as participants wondered if this was part of the act, and more than one rude comment fluttered through everyone's ears.
Suddenly, Emmeline's shoulders rolled as she sat back up, her face still turned directly down toward the table.
"Who calls me?" The voice was not hers. It was deep, and frog-like, and sounded somewhat fake, like someone attempting to mask their true voice. A titter of laughter escaped some of the party goers, while the rest glanced about, clearly unimpressed with what was occurring.
"I said, who asks for me?" Emmeline's head rolled, seemingly looking from one end of the table to another, waiting for someone to ask a question.
“I am,” a man said. William looked across the table, his gaze landing on the man who had greeted them--Mr. Scott. He was flushed and obviously a few drinks in, or perhaps the drinks he had prior to their arrival were finally hitting him. He was smiling but not kindly, as if he was privy to a joke. William frowned, his fingers twitching on the table as he reminded himself not to move his hand away from touching Emmeline’s or the woman beside him. “I asked for you,” the man sniggered, exchanging a raised eyebrow with a few people sitting close to them who all smirked.
Emmeline's head rolled back to their host, her eyes still shuttered.
"And you would ask a question," she replied, the tilt of her head looking as though she were considering what had not yet been asked. "To know how your shipping company would do in the future. You would hide information from your partners. What information might that be, Mr. Scott?"
The man's eyes widened as a small collective gasp went around. Mr. Scott swallowed.
"I'm hiding nothing," he replied, his voice wavering only a little. "And of course any businessman wonders about his company. Tell me something truly shocking, o spirit," he continued, words growing in confidence as he seemed to sway the crowd back to his view. Emmeline didn't move, but the spirit had far more to say.
"I wonder how they will feel about the spice shipment you signed for under your name, including a rather large insurance policy," the thing replied dryly. Mr. Scott swallowed again, his eyes darting.
"This isn't the sort of entertainment I was looking for," he leaned forward and hissed, the words far too audible for the entire audience.
"Then perhaps you should not make a jest of us," the spirit hissed back, pulling out a titter of laughter from the crowd at large. William smirked and bowed his head, trying to cover his amusement. He didn’t like the man and he was glad he had been singled out, but he didn’t want to be seen blatantly finding the host’s discomfort amusing. His gaze trailed over the tablecloth, and to his hands pressed lightly against Emmeline’s. Their similar wedding bands glinted in the low light and he felt comforted. Looking up, he viewed his wife and frowned again. She was there and yet… not. He hoped he wouldn’t have to try to pull her back from wherever she had gone, but he waited and was ready in case it was needed.
Emmeline's head rolled, seeking out the spirit's next target. She -- or it -- centered on a young woman who was sitting perpendicular from the medium's location.
"Sarah Prescott," she uttered, the blond's face starting with surprise. She glanced to the woman sitting next to her, but her hesitation was short lived. Mrs. Prescott turned her head back toward Emmeline, her gaze expectant.
"Your grandmother is happy, where she is. She would be pleased, however, if you named your first grandchild after her." The woman's surprise only grew, her eyes wide. A hand started away from the table, but Mrs. Prescott remembered at the last minute to keep the connection.
"How...we haven't..." The woman to Mrs. Prescott's left smiled, joy lining her face.
"You should have said something, Sarah! That's wonderful news!"
Mrs. Prescott reddened, but the smile on her face did not abate. "We wanted to be sure. Is it to be a girl, then?" She looked back at Emmeline, who nodded.
"A girl. Seven months from now." Mrs. Prescott smiled more widely, finally pulling away from the group to touch her stomach. The woman to her left put her hands on Mrs. Prescott's shoulders in excitement, and the mood around the table lifted.
With the break in the chain, Emmeline tilted forward once more, growing quiet. The room was filling quickly with chatter and everyone seemed distracted by the most recent reveal, Mr. Scott just seemed relieved attention wasn’t on him. William looked at Emmeline hunched forward and lifted his hand, severing the touch they shared, but gently placed his palm on the top of her smaller one. He gave it a small squeeze and leaned forward, peering at her face.
“Emmeline, come back to me,” he whispered, too low over the thrum of talk for anyone else to hear. “Come back, love.”
Her form shuddered, leaning toward him. Slowly, she blinked as her eyes came back into focus. She glanced around, her sight finally settling on Will, and she smiled. Emmeline licked her lips, turning back toward the party-goers.
"It looks like the connection's been lost. But I can do individual palm readings, if anyone's interested. I just need a moment to collect myself."
She turned back to Will; the hand under his turned palm up to lace her fingers with his. She could feel the familiar touch of his ring against her hand. "I need something to drink. Just water, or juice, if they have it. Please?"
“Of course,” he replied, lifting their hands so that he could place a kiss on the back of her hand. “I’ll be back quickly.” And then he moved embarrassingly slowly. It was the effort of standing up was all, but he did it all the same with the help of his cane. Once he was on his feet, he was able to better move and crossed the room to a table where food had been placed. A punch bowl sat in the center with a long spoon and a number of glasses beside it. He poured the pink liquid into a glass then balanced a small plate precariously on top of it with selected cheeses, meats and fruit. Emmeline hadn’t asked for anything to eat, but he felt it wouldn’t hurt.
Slowly, he returned to the table. Resting his cane against his chair, he used his free hand to place the plate of food before Emmeline, followed by the glass of juice. He took his seat beside her and turned his worried gaze to her. “Are you feeling alright? I brought this food as well, I thought you might be hungry.” He glanced at the food, his frown obvious. Around him, the other guests were still discussing Mrs. Prescott’s pregnancy and how Emmeline had done. William didn’t quite care what they had to say, his concern solely for his wife.
Emmeline grabbed up the glass even before it was set down. She drained it in a few gulps, then carefully covered her indiscretion with her hand as she took a few deep breaths. She quickly reached for her husband's hand.
"I'm fine," she smiled at him, even as she looked tired even from that small display of her ability. "It's just...taxing. Are you? I'm sorry if I scared you." The smile remained on her lips, but worry drenched her eyes.
“Better now,” he replied, a hand reached up to rest upon her cheek. “You were glorious, love. I just was worried, that was all; I didn't want you to be hurt.” He leaned forward and caught her lips with his own; Emmeline responded in kind, reassured by the physical contact. Social expectations be damned, he didn't care if others saw. But he wanted her and was eager to get her home. She was powerful and all right. He marveled at her strength to both conduct the spirits and also handle it all with such grace. “So you mentioned you wanted to return to doing this regularly,” he whispered, pulling his lips away from hers. “And I fully support it, if that means anything, but I hope you'll include me—I would feel better about it all if I can make sure you're all right.”
Emmeline's brow knitted. "If you feel up to it. I wouldn't want this to interfere with your own work. I know you're busy with the law office. I'm perfectly comfortable doing this on my own." She carefully hedged around the idea that he might dislike her being on her own, especially with the warm reception she had received upon the entry to this party.
He gave a small shrug. “If I haven't a court hearing early the following morning and I'm not working late...you know that happens frequently enough. The nights I'm available I would be happy to spend more time with you.” He gripped her hand and smiled, all the while snatching a piece of cheese from the plate he had brought her, and popped it in his mouth.
She returned his smile with one of her own. Reaching for his hands, she gave them a quick squeeze before they were interrupted again by the party crashing around them; Emmeline was pulled back into the social swing, immediately putting on the mask that was so familiar to her.