knownoguilt (knownoguilt) wrote in v_nocturne_rpg, @ 2009-08-29 03:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | nanette-jeanne vivant passebon, simon alexander |
Redefining ettiquette
[Takes place between "Love you, Hate you" and "Hypnotized eyes"]
"I do apologize for my husband's absence," Nanette spoke to her host in her most congenial tone. "It has been our misfortune that Dr. Passebon has never quite returned to full health, after contracting the Cholera when working through the epidemic in Hamburg," she went on to explain. It was always difficult, explaining away her husband's absence as the years that had been so kind to Nanette herself and gradually wore him down to the frail, sickly shell of a man that he had become.
Lady Ellison had extended an invitation for the invalid doctor and his young wife to join her for dinner, along with a few other notable faces from among London's high society, and had seemed rather surprised when Nanette arrived unescorted. Upon learning of the doctor's misfortune, however, her annoyance at the breech in etiquette softened at the tale of a doctor stricken while trying to heal others. Besides, there were a handful of well-to-do London ladies who made their way about the city without their husbands, be they widowed or seemingly abandoned. It was strange, but it could be tolerated.
"That's quite alright, dear," Lady Ellison responded with a sympathetic smile. "I do wish the good doctor all the best in health, and regret that he is not able to join us. And yet, it is so delightful to meet you, Mrs. Passebon! How rare it is for us to have a real Yankee in our company!" Her words drew a soft murmur of laughter from the table.
Nanette immediately bristled. She knew the lady of the house had meant the term only in jest, but the negative connotation it carried - both in London, and to Nanette herself as she remembered fleeing Atlanta in dead of night to avoid the marching Union army some thirty years prior - could not be easily forgiven. Pretty jaw set in a hard line and an eyebrow arched in annoyance, Nanette trained a weighted stare upon her host.
"I have been called many things in my travels with my husband, Lady Ellison," she said through gritted teeth. "From memsahib in India to Frau Doktor in Hamburg... but the one that I cannot... no, the one that I shall not abide, is to be called a Yankee!"
Lady Ellison reddened, sputtering out an apology between frantic sips of water in an attempt to hide her own embarrassment. Such chiding from a guest - and an American, no less! - should have brought proper rancor from the lady of the house, as well as the multitude of guests at her dinner party, but the tone that the doctor's wife had used and the vehemence with which she spoke had somehow made it clear to Lady Ellison that the young woman was not one to be trifled with.
"You must excuse me, Mrs. Passebon," she said, stumbling over her words as she went. "I meant no offense, in all honesty. It was merely a bit of merriment."
"One might take care as to true effect of their supposed merriment in the future," Nanette responded coldly.
Simon watched their host's discomfort from across the room. When he had first come to London some years ago he'd been really quite inundated with invitations to evenings and events from those who knew his father or his family, and were keen to find out if the fresh generation of Alexanders lived up to the charm and social grace of their parents. Naturally, Simon had rejected or ignored all but very few of the invitations, and slowly word had filtered back to the socialites of London that while there may be hope for his brother yet? The oldest son of Simon Alexander (the elder) was a queer and quiet young man, who lived alone and did not mingle with those whom it was proper. Rumors swirled that he was seen out in dens frequented by those far below his status, that he was touched with madness, but even more did the invitations come, now from a social elite which craved spectacle above etiquette.
Still, far more often than not Simon would reject such advances. He had little time or interest in the comings and goings of whatever petty gossip may presently be paramount to these people, and honestly it seemed unkind to offer his parents false hope should they hear somehow that he was civilizing.
Tonight was an exception though. Tonight? He needed a little reinforcement of his superiority, he needed to be somewhere ruled by priggish ritual and unshakable sensibility. After the events at the hall a few nights previous, Simon had decided that the best possible personal exorcism would be to immerse himself in something which reminded him who he was, and for a man who considered him unlike anyone else? Starkest contrast was a most sufficient tool for this.
He gave a slight smile, watching the lady of the house suddenly overcome with discomfort. As of yet he'd not chosen to actually engage in much conversation, but the night was turning out better than he'd hoped, and as an additional bonus? It appeared that the groups gossip would have found in the American woman a far more tantalizing target than in himself.
The sudden quiet that had come over the table at Nanette's words slowly began to dissipate, and she smiled, having gained just the reaction she had been hoping for. She considered herself a student of life, at all forms, and the most important lesson Nanette had learned during her many years was that dominance must always be asserted swiftly and absolutely in any given social situation. The Londoners seemed to pride themselves on their manners and rules of etiquette, so the method of attack had been simple enough to find.
And truth be told, Nanette had been offended. To call a Southerner and Confederate sympathizer - as well as staunch anti-abolitionist - a Yankee would be as welcome as to call the Lady of the manor a two-bit slag.
"Oh, you must excuse me," Nanette added quickly in a placating tone, addressing all the guests at the table. "One's heritage is as important to any American - a label I do still possess, in spite of my travels with Dr. Passebon, I'm afraid - as it is to any European or Londoner, it seems. Much of my family suffered greatly during the War of Secession, and for a Southern-bred lady to be termed as a Northern Aggressor, even after all of this time, is quite upsetting."
She gave a tittering laugh. "Of course, I daresay there are far worse things one might be called!"
"Indeed!" Simon piped up, unable to resist the temptation to interject, "Some might even presume that it would be a compliment, or that our gracious host was trying to spare you the embarrassment of having to align yourself with, well..." He pursed his lips, an expression of condescension gracing his features, "...What eventually emerged to be the losing side."
Simon allowed his condescension to meld into a smile once again, utterly self satisfied with his role as agitator fulfilled. He glanced briefly to their hostess, finding that, contrary to all expectations, she actually wore an expression of slight relief in the split second before controlling herself again and schooling her face back into a look of polite neutrality. Apparently in his decision to be impolite, he had not only distracted from, but also successfully justified her faux pas! Simon considered telling her she was welcome, but decided against, instead directing his attention back to the American, "Still, it is good to know that you stand beside the principal of a thing which in this civilized country has already been outlawed for nigh one hundred years! A toast, madame, to your noble heritage. I myself never much cared for my own."
"One might recall the phrase that he who wins the war writes the history, Mr. Alexander," Nanette responded succinctly. "A lost battle does not mean the spirit that brought it about is any less noble for having been defeated. And, do forgive me for saying so, sir, but it is a symptom of grand naivete to assume a single issue in a governmental disagreement should be cause for an entire war... anyone who dare have an opinion on the matter might take a gander at the true cause: the conflict of a state government's right to institute laws among their own territory, and the presumption of a larger federal entity to overrule them."
She paused, taking a sip from her water glass to wet a throat dry from conversation; in her own home, Nanette spoke mostly to her servants and occasionally to her captives, but rarely more than that. Social conversation could take a toll on one who had grown unaccustomed to the habit.
"Though I do suppose I cannot expect you to understand such things, born and bred in a monarchy as you are," she added with the hint of amusement in her eyes. "In my travels, it has long troubled me that so many still exist under such conditions."
She laughed again, knowing she had further alienated the entire dinner party. "Oh, but listen to me! Going on about political matters! How terribly rude of me! Tell me then, Mr. Alexander, what exactly does one such as yourself do?"
"Madame when I speak of your pride and contentment with the slave trade I am not speaking of the whole issue of the war, I do not know it and I do not care to. I am speaking of public perception, which no doubt you have noticed is a matter of great concern to all of us here. Though I will not pretend that my own ignorance runs through all of our land, I shall not deceive you either. To an Englishman? A confederate on our shores is one who fled from failure and carries a purse of black blood at her belt, whether it is true or not."
He took a drink from his glass - something a little stiffer than water in his case- more because he wanted to break up his words than because he needed to wet his own throat. Simon, unlike the American, talked a lot.
"I daresay our good host was merely attempting to protect you from the perception." At her mention of the monarchy, his expression turned amused, "My dear lady, we had our revolution before your little country was even a twinkle in the eye of your forefathers. The conditions we exist under are on terms which are agreed upon in a democratic parliament. That you could think the presence of a monarch actually makes that much difference suggests to me that you have been unfortunately misled."
He paused then, realizing that she had him at a disadvantage. He presumed he'd been announced at some point, as there was little other way that she could know him by name, but apparently his attention had drifted when the dame had been done for her. Who was she?
"I am a scholar." He replied simply, declining to invite further examination.
"I do find it terribly amusing that you might refer to me as a Confederate," Nanette pondered aloud. "Considering I was yet barely two years of age and raised in Havana when the war ended," she went on, lying to cover her passage of more than a century in age. Her beauty was stable at a woman of her mid-twenties, though to make her history of travel acceptable, Nanette often claimed to be twenty-eight years of age if asked. "Though you mistake the contempt I hold for the atrocities suffered upon my family by brutish Union soldiers for complicity with the African slave trade, which is it not."
That much was true; Nanette had no use for the overseas slave trade in her day, preferring the domestic route in Havana, and inheritance or breeding when in New Orleans and Atlanta. She knew she would not be alone in her thoughts at the dinner table; after all, there still existed a wide gap between supposed freedom and acceptability. Her gaze drifted from one pale face to another at the dinner table, and she could see that many shared her beliefs.
"A scholar you say? Pity," she went on, shaking a head of perfectly pinned chestnut curls. "It has been my experience that young gentleman of means who claim that title are simply drunken wastrels hiding behind their family name and wealth. Wouldn't you agree, Lady Ellison?"
Their host colored, but said nothing; it was little secret that young Albert Ellison, a self-proclaimed scholar and the future Lord Ellison, spent much of his time and pocket money in East End brothels.
Simon was at this point, sporting a wide grin, obviously enlivened by their conversation. He didn't really care if the lady was a teary eyed abolitionist or if she longed to whip enslaved skin with her own fair hands, the point was? She was interesting, and Simon liked interesting.
"Then madame we are both of us wronged and slandered by the fowl beast of perception, for of all the young gentlemen of means whom you have ever encountered, I assure you I am quite contrary to type. A drunkard? I shall not deny it. A wastrel? Aye, this too is a title I shall not hide from, but madame the pursuit of knowledge in true intensity will drive a man to drink in search of brief respite from thought! Besides which he who seeks to break new ground and search for paths untrodden must at times grease palms with silver to find the way revealed! There is blood and ash, and sacrifice in the pursuit of pure reason, and If I leave upon that altar my sobriety, my money and my reputation then so must it be!"
He gave a slight laugh, before lifting his glass to the room once again, "In fact I doubt you'd find soul at this table who would argue that I have done anything else with my adult life. Still, my fascinations are my own, I'm quite aware. What of yourself?"
Nanette gave a gentle, ladylike shrug. "I spent many years assisting my husband. A physician does need a dedicated nurse, after all, and who better than a wife to travel alongside him? Besides, it gave me much to learn. The sciences have always fascinated me, and I simply refuse to become a fattened hen of a housewife, tending to squalling little beastly children while Dr. Passebon traveled the world to save lives and advance his own learnings." The pointed glances she shot to each of the ladies at the table could not go unnoticed; her words had indicted their very lifestyles.
"How dreadfully boring it has become, since my husband's illness. Our travels now are limited only to those places that might improve his health, and I am left to keep house. Though I have time enough for my own... intellectual pursuits."
Simon was just poised to accuse the American of not wanting the housewives lifestyle due to some hysteria on her part, or politely ask if she wanted no children purely because she was what one would call, (in scientific terms) barren. However, at the mention of her own intellectual pursuits, the insult faded on his lips. He did like intellectual pursuits, and not many women tended to engage in them as far as he knew, so despite his inclination to continue prodding unkindly, Simon caught himself instead asking, "Truly? What area interests you Madame?"
Nanette's eyes it up. Perhaps the scholar was indeed a man of great learning; though her travels had brought her far and wide, Nanette rarely found herself in the company of a true-minded scientist... and never before had she encountered one who could keep up with her banter so well.
"My husband is a physician, sir," she responded. "I have learned much of sickness and death, and of anatomy and medicines. The sheer quantity of blood in the veins is truly astounding... the manner in which illness attacks muscle and bone, feebling the body and leaving the mind intact... or quite the opposite, leaving the body fit and healthy, and the mind an addled lump of rubbish. It's fascinating, truly."
A high-cheeked, thin-nosed woman by the name of Mrs. McAllister, who sat just adjacent to Nanette, flushed red in her cheeks, apparently unable to keep silent and let Nanette and Mr. Alexander lead the dinner conversation.
"That is quite enough!" she said in high-pitched shrieking voice. "I simply cannot take this any longer! Such language, Mrs. Passebon, such language! Talk of blood and death over dinner, how absurd! How inappropriate! And of children, my dear sweet children, here referred to as beastly! What manner of woman could you possibly be? For shame! And shame upon you, Mr. Alexander, for goading this... this... lewd foreigner!"
A low gasp rose from the table; a red-faced portly fellow with a thick mustache spat out "Mary!" in a gruff voice, presumably chiding his wife.
"That is quite enough," Lady Ellison spoke up. The American woman was an oddity, and Mr. Alexander's behavior, while not particularly appropriate, was not terribly unexpected of the man. "Mrs. McAllister, I would thank you to keep your peace and not insult my guests. Shame indeed!"
Simon leaned forward as Nannette spoke, the strange, hungry fascination in his expression only intensifying as she described the things she'd seen, all contained beneath their very skin. one hand drifted to his wrist as she spoke, imagining the blood in his own veins, imagining his own body ravished by illness or rotting away beneath a still sharp mind. The very idea of it not only chilled but electrified him.
He half reached forward across the table, an uncertain movement. As though part of him intended to grab the Americans hand, and yet a wiser part of him swayed it into a mere, odd gesture, when Mrs McAllister erupted. Suitably distracted, Simon raised his hands in deference, "No, No, Lady Ellison! No shame on her at all. She's quite right to take offence, and even more right to have voiced it! She's quite right on all her counts, for I am quite a goader and Mrs. Passebon perhaps the most lewd of all foreigners to ever sit across from me, and truly this is not the place to talk of such matters!"
He laughed lightly, looking back across the table to Nanette. He knew her name now, at least. "Thankfully, there will be other times, and other places, I trust? Perhaps some evening your husband would suffer my company, Mrs. Passebon? Away from those who might take offence at your work?"
"Our home is open to any polite callers," Nanette responded with a kind smile. "Even the likes of Mrs. McAllister, whether she can control her tongue or not."
Lady Ellison cleared her throat and stood; though her husband had taken dinner with the group, it was clear that Lord Ellison did not rule his home. The domineering lady was soon matched in stance by the brandy-soaked Lord, once he had noted her movement.
"What an interesting conversation this has been," she spoke loudly, signaling the end of any banter that may follow. "Ladies, let us adjourn to the parlor, and leave the gentleman to their cigars and brandies for the evening." Polite society dictated that the women leave the table, and they stood to follow the lady of the house. Stepping towards the door, Nanette cast a last glance back at Mr. Alexander; an interesting conversation, indeed!