The Odd Fairytale That Is Your Life
[Sometime after the ball and before the hypnotist's show.]
Dreadful how things had turned out. Instead of being a magical genius, she had an utter handicap! All these years, and she had been fooled by that bitch of a demon. That retched, vile, loathsome creature from Hell who... yes, had taught her all she knew. Berdette laughed inwardly. What a love-hate relationship they had. It showed in the violent sex she had indulged in every once and a while. Oooh, sweet memories, and the scars had just begun to fade.
Hmmm. What was that boy's name? Izzy? Yes... he would be of use tonight. Just for a test or two, nothing too big. Her theory about magic was that it was simply inherent energy that some had more access to than other's. In her own case, she could only transfer it into liquids. What if... all this time, she had simply been taking from the people around her? Limiting their own untapped abilities to further her own? That would be just devious! and delightful.
Cheerfully she called for her maid, Emilie, to bring Izzy to her at once. Emilie was a slip of a girl, perhaps half the girth of her own mistress. The strange ways of the house had taught her to never question, and with only a nod in confirmation she left to get him. She refused to think about what would happen to her if she returned without the bird-boy. Lord knew the grisly fate of Mrs. Daugney's last personal maid was never far from the front of her mind.
Despite the way she'd shown such interest in him the night they met, Izzy hadn't spoken to Mrs. Daugney very often since she'd hired him. If she did speak to him, it was usually to admonish him for something he hadn't noticed or to give him something to dump into the Thames, which wasn't even as often as she'd made it seem. Or perhaps he was just expecting too much excitement. In the back of his mind, he preferred it that way. It made him feel human.
Knowing that, when Emilie approached him, he was quite surprised. He'd been playing cards with some of the other servants and managing to be meek enough with his bets that he'd hardly lost anything so far. The last thing he'd expected was to be called to Mrs. Daugney, especially by a girl he'd hardly ever heard speak. She appeared to be quite scared, and as he followed her down the long, empty halls, the feeling was infectious. He tried to console himself; it had never been anything too terrible before, why should he feel so apprehensive now?
Rationality didn't do much for him, his fear knotted in his stomach as often as he tried to dispel it. But he wasn't going to be stupid, was he? There was hardly anything he couldn't have stood up to, after all. Standing up straight, he entered the room and assumed a calm expression which was probably unconvincing. "Yes, madam?" he asked.
When the two finally arrived, Berdette dismissed Emilie with a flick of her wrist. In the privacy of her own home, she wasn't much for propriety. She met Izzy in a gauzy sleeping gown with her curls unbound and just brushing her shoulders. With a charming smile she beckoned him to her and the stool opposite the lounge she was sitting on. The bedroom was decorated in white and cream, the furniture and linens (of course) being the best money could buy. It wasn't dominated by any one piece, rather with the bed to one side and the sitting area to the other. Resting upon her lap was a suspiciously non-descript book, along with a pair of delicate eyeglasses.
"Tell me, pet, how things are going. You must excuse my distanced nature, I am an awfully busy woman. Did Emilie find you alright? Such a frail girl."
At first he thought it might be another box of entrails or what have you, but considering the way she was dressed and the way the room looked, he seriously doubted it. Perhaps she was just going to give him some kind of orders? That would have been the best case scenario, all things considered. Despite the room's inviting nature, it still struck him a little eerie. He dismissed it as paranoia. He seemed to have more and more of that every day, despite the fact that he should have felt relatively safe. He pressed his lips into a thin line for a moment, and then went to join Mrs. Daugney, taking a seat on the stool.
Smiling, he replied, "Everything's been absolutely wonderful, madam," and that, said a sardonic part of his brain, was why he couldn't let anything lie, "It's no trouble at all - and she found me quite well, thank you." He considered telling her about the game, but quickly decided not to. Despite the fact that she seemed to have very few problems with many kinds of hedonism, he didn't know her opinion on gambling.
With only an expression of faint amusement as a response, Berdette placed her eyeglasses and books upon the nearby coffee table and stood. She didn't spare him another glance as she walked over to her wardrobe, pulling open the doors and considering the generous amount of dressing gowns inside. Wouldn't do to walk around the house without AT LEAST another layer. As she gathered up her hair and twisted it into a loose bun she called back, "Come with me to my offices. There is so much that needs to be done. You will be a dear..." Berdette looked over shoulder and shot him a half-baked pleading look, "Won't you?"
For the occassion she choose perhaps her most plain robe, one deep blue in color and without decoration. Easily enough, she pulled it off of its hanger and slipped it on, turning to face him. "I assume your answer is 'yes'?"
At this point, he had decided that it was relatively useless to be paranoid. What did he stand to gain by it? Nothing, so far as he could see. What did he stand to lose if he acted on it? His job, for one, and the new life he was quickly becoming accustomed to in London. There was also the ever-present threat of losing life and limb, which he was overconfident enough to believe he could avoid, but he couldn't avoid the rumors of what had happened to some maid when Mrs. Daugney found her doing something contrary.
When she started towards the door, Izzy stood up on instinct. Some odd social impulse told him that he should have found this incredibly interesting, this beautiful woman in little more than a nightgown and dressing gown being so inviting towards him, but he couldn't bring himself to feel that way in any honest capacity.
He nodded shortly and said, "Yes, ma'am," before quickly following her.
Briskly, Berdette led him down several corridors, each as non descrip as the last. She had designed the layout herself to be confusing and the decorating, unmemorable. Nobody appreciates an unwelcome visitor, but with a few more skeletons in her closet than the average man Berdette had become more careful. The servants knew which parts of the house they were allowed in, unaccompanied, and those with a more curious nature soon found themselves dazed and lost. Outside of her own mind, it was all blamed on a bout of sickness her husband had suffered. Poor thing. Refused to sell the maze of a manor.
If Izzy had a good memory, he would recognize the room they were in as the one he arrived in not too long ago. With a whispered word and a tug of her fingers the bookcase swung open and she ushered her companion inside. They were back again in the brick tunnels. A few moments of dizzying passages later, they arrived to their destination. Berdette opened the door and immediately went to a table in the center. The room itself wasn't big or decorated, just a table, some wooden chairs and an... iron maiden? One couldn't be sure, as the tall woman quickly threw a black cloth over the tall contraption. "Don't mind that, it's not finished. It's nothing you would have to suffer, anyway. You know the old saying about mixing business with pleasure."
Izzy had been shown around the halls he could go down a few times, mainly just the ones that he needed to go to. He tried not to be curious about the rest. A few times he had wondered if the halls were enchanted, and what he was walking down was actually an illusion. However, he'd never gotten around to asking this question, and frankly he wasn't certain that he wanted an answer. He only worked and slept here, after all. Like everything in London, he preferred to think of it as a transient state. It wouldn't last forever, after all. One day, he would walk out of here and never have to think of this place again, except for nostalgia.
Though he could have just as likely passed it off as another part of the mansion, Izzy remembered the winding brick hall. Was it the same one he'd come through? He continued to follow Berdette until they reached the room. He silently wondered if it would be the same one he'd woken up in when she'd brought him in. However, it seemed that they'd entered the only room that wasn't poshly decorated. To Izzy, it looked like a very simple torture chamber. The overall temperature of his blood dropped a few degrees, but he laughed softly when she spoke of the contraption. He assumed it was a very black joke.
Berdette chuckled along with him, though not for the same reason. More at his own folly of assuming she was joking. The iron maiden contraption was to be the pinnacle of her magic, to be sure. A true machine of horror. For now, she dismissed that train of thought and gracefully settled into one of the wooden chairs, resting her hands in her lap. She couldn't dive just straight into business, could she? Better to make him comfortable, so the pain was more unexpected.
Smiling, she asked him, "How has your life been since your arrival? Don't spare a single detail!" Hmmm. She musn't forget his supernatural nature... maybe that meant he was more resilient and stronger? She'd hate to damage his skin, she knew she couldn't overpower him, so she'd just have to go the tedious route of persuasion. What was most important to him?
Oh, good, that was how she's meant it, too. His eye was still drawn to the contraption, though, it was a little hard to miss being that it was the only memorable thing in the room. Part of him wondered what it was, and another part wouldn't have wanted to find out on pain of death. He sat down on the chair across from Berdette, though he didn't seem entirely comfortable in it. There was still a paranoid part of him that had grasped onto Emilie's fear and made him wonder if she knew something that he didn't. Their surroundings weren't exactly helping, either.
At her question, he cocked his head to the side, a little confused. He didn't imagine that she'd care much about his life, but if she asked, who was he to deny her? "It's been much more peaceful," he said with a small smile, "I quite enjoy the work you've given me. I have been quite happy, it is good to be doing something respectable, finally. My mother thinks so, too - and she thinks quite highly of you as well, though she only has my word to go on."
"Oh yes, your mother! How is that darling? I've not looked into her myself, yet, but I like to be sure of all of my employee's family. I did hire you rather out of the blue, didn't I? I can't have anything come out that would ruin your reputation, and thus tarnish mine. It would be /such/ an unfortunate thing." Nodding slowly to emphasize the statement, Berdette stood once more and walked to the desk in the center, pulling open one of the deeper drawers and producing a bottle of sherry and two copitas to serve it in. "You must think me an alcoholic, Izzy, but really I find alcohol is the best way to soothe everyone's nerves. You do seem to be a tad off-put, and I can understand why. Do you find the atmosphere in this room unbecoming? We can certainly go to a more lively sitting room. This is where I usually interview new arrivals. I find the bare quality of the room helps give my questions gravity."
"She is well, despite the circumstances," Izzy replied, and then said in a lower voice, almost to himself, "It is difficult now-a-days, and I wish I could be home to help her, but I do more good staying here than I ever could back there." Even though a city-dweller, especially one such as Berdette, would have found the little hamlet distressingly backwater, Izzy often wished he could go back there, simply because it was home. However, he knew full well that was a stupid thing to wish.
Shaking his head, he said, "No, not at all, madam. That's completely true," he smirked a little at this, but immediately felt bad about it, considering what else he knew it was good for. Nodding, he continued, "And I would have never thought of that, but it must be true. After all, one would not have much to think about aside from the questions at hand."
While pouring the sherry she nodded her agreement to him. "Indeed. I am so glad you see it from my own point of view. Does your mother need help, Izzy? I'm sure I can arrange something to take care of the ills. All you'd have to do is suffer me a bit longer so we can hash it out." She didn't need to glance back to know that what she was doing with her hands was obscured. While listening to his response, Berdette brushed her fingers across the stems of both copitas, murmuring under her breath to activate what she started. The surface of the glass darkened for just a moment, but as she turned around with them in her hands, they appeared as ordinary as any. It would be a last resort if he didn't cooperate.
"Hopefully my company isn't too dreadfully boring."
His eyes widened as she spoke, could she have really meant it? Part of him wanted to be humble and say that working here was a blessing enough and that there were hardly any problems at all. Another part of him knew that she would know this was a lie, after all, she knew what he'd been desperate enough to do for money before he'd come here. Carefully, he started, "You've been far too kind to me already, Mrs. Daugney, but if you insist I will tell you that my family has not been in the best of states. When my father died, he left my mother with his debts, and he had a great many of them." He stopped himself before he mentioned his theory about how his father had died, he thought he should spare her. It was embarrassing, anyway. "She tries her best, but there seem to be more coming out of the woodwork every day," he backtracked quickly, "But I wouldn't want to impose upon your kindness any more than I have."
Honestly, Izzy wasn't too fond of sherry, but he was half-anticipating it. "No, not at all, madam."
"I cannot say I sympathize with the issue, but it sounds horrible just the same. My own father was the owner of several tea plantations in Ceylon, and my mother, well, she was a socialite. A bit... outrageous for her time but well-loved nonetheless. Debts? How unfortunate that is. Especially for them to be saddled onto your mother. It can be so hard for a woman to climb herself out of a financial hole. I can help her, maybe improve upon her living situation a bit."
With an almost bored expression and a cool stare, she asked "You are a supernatural creature, Izzy, tell me, do you believe in magic?"
He listened to Berdette speak with a look of polite interesst, but by the time she'd rounded her story back to his situation, he could hardly see what it meant. Still, he said nothing about this, why would he? "It is, but she's been taking it well. Better'n I would have." Despite his circumstances, he still felt a little bit bad for accepting her charity, when he had so little to return it with.
For a moment, Izzy sat there and blinked slowly. The question surprised him, partly because it had come out of nowhere and partly because he'd never thought about it. Maybe he'd just assumed it, but in truth he wasn't inclined to believe in it. "I'm not sure," he said, "There are plenty of strange things that happen. If I exist and vampires exist, I suppose magic must exist to a degree."
"I suppose as well, yes." No need to reveal all the cards then. All this polite small talk was draining on her spirits. It would be the loveliest thing to meet someone who had similar interests to her own, maybe they could compare notes, though magic users seemed to be notorious for being stingy. It took her ages to get anything out of Mrs. Pleasant. Enough of the velvet glove, it was time to end his evening so she could get to work. It would be better if he wasn't conscious anyway.
Berdette held out a glass of sherry to him, lifting up her own in the process. "You're such a curious thing, Izzy, perhaps that is why I keep you around. Not to say your care of the birds isn't excellent, which it indeed is. All of my ladies adore you, which is quite pleasing. I'm sure you can imagine how fickle they can be. I don't offer much praise as a rule, but know that you are appreciated, pet. I will take good care of you, like all of those who work for me."
"Thank you very much, madam," Izzy replied, not quite sure what to make of all that she was saying to him. While it all seemed quite positive and made it absolutely clear that she liked him, he wasn't sure why she was telling him all this. Considering the hour and place she'd chosen to do it in, it just managed to come off as very suspicious. He distinctly remembered a few of the threats she'd made when he'd first gotten here, and a few of the rumors of the fates of other servants who'd done something she hadn't liked. He couldn't think of anything she'd want to punish him for, and if he had done something wrong that he hadn't noticed, she was giving no hints as to what it was. All he could think of that would merit it would be the events of the ball, and he couldn't imagine Mrs. Daugney socializing with either of those men. He took the glass and held it apprehensively.
Berdette nursed her own glass, looking down and sighing. Her mouth teetered on the classification of a frown, and her fingers nervously fluttered in the air. "Oh, it so tiring to have to be the 'tough mistress'. Here I've gone and overdone it, ruining everything. Why did I even bring you here, I'm not sure. It's a scary room, even to me. My husband never comes in here, says it gives him nightmares. When he's home, I mean. No, it wasn't to seduce you or anything like that." She gave him an earnest smile, waving to the door, "Just take the hall straight down until the second left passage, then down that one to third entryway. After that, you'll take two rapid right turns, and you will end up at the door that leads to the kitchen. I can take you, if you think it'll be too much. Just me feeling like a woman much older than I am. The sherry is a thank you for suffering my facade, take it."
Now Izzy had the horrible feeling that he was now doing something wrong, that something bad was going to happen if he left. Perhaps even worse than if he stayed. He shook his head. "Oh! No! I'm terribly sorry madam, I meant nothing of the sort, it's just a bit late," he smiled nervously, but then stopped the very instant he realized what he was doing. "It's no trouble at all," he trailed off. am He looked back at Berdette again. "You really have been far too kind to me, if you'd like me to stay, I shall." He raised the glass to his lips, surreptitiously sniffed it, and drank about half of it in one go.
It wasn't an instant knock-out, more of a gradual scale of dizziness to fuzzy edges and so on until unconsciousness finally came. She had to resist the urge to gleefully clasp her hands together and cackle. This had been the first time she had tried this! Normally she was too hesitant, too late, or just too damn frightening. Well, this taught her a lesson, didn't it? Tone down the scary and veiled threats! Had she so quickly forgotten the benefits of loyalty over fear? Sometimes, she hated herself for being such a petty girl. Berdette hadn't been lying though, it was terribly taxing to be a tough mistress. Mentally, she made a note to work on being " more-predator-like-without-the-actual-stalking ".
As to properly play her part, Berdette rushed to Izzy's side when his vision came unfocused. " Izzy, Izzy? Are you quite alright? Are you somehow allergic to sherry? "
At first, absolutely nothing happened. He put the glass down and smiled, though to be quite frank he wasn't sure whether or not he should be happy. Well, he was. At least it wasn't poisoned, though admittedly he felt a little out of breath. He was more thank likely nervous, a drink would take care of it. The trouble came when he tried to lift up the glass again, and his arm appeared to have other concerns aside from what he wanted it to do. It went limp and he dropped the glass, but at this point he barely noticed when it crashed to the floor. The world had gone soft around the edges.
When Berdette went up to him, he understood perfectly. He also understood that no matter what he could have done, it would have ended badly. She was pretending, he knew that, she'd been pretending for a while. He had to get out of here, but he couldn't. He stared straight up at Berdette and breathed something that might have been the beginnings of a curse, but he never got that far before the world closed in on him.
As soon as he was out, Berdette grinned and managed to hold back once more, cackling. She wasn't going to be too cruel! Without a glance back, she left to retrieve the two men Izzy had roughened up the night of their meeting. Once returned, she ordered them to lay him out atop the table. Needless to say, they were a little rougher than they had to be. Being beat up by a man less than twice their size was quite a blow to their egos. Just as quickly, they were dismissed. Primly, she sat in one of the wooden chairs and waited. Mrs. Pleasant would see he had been taken out soon enough, and then the lessons were to begin!
The feeling returned to his fingertips and the bridge of his nose first. Then his eyes popped open and he found that he was not in the interview room, but in a bed with a cream-colored ceiling over him. It must have been morning or afternoon, for the sun hit his eyes next and he rolled over with all the strength he had. He was then aware of someone over him suddenly, and he opened one eye to see a stranger standing over him.
"Good morning, Mr. Alderdice. You're a very lucky man."
He sat up quite suddenly, to the mild surprise of the doctor, and then realized he was shivering all over. Indeed, he'd never felt worse in his entire life. He held himself and looked down at the duvet. What had happened? He barely had time to complete this thought when he began to cough, and then to gag. He heard the doctor call, "Emilie! Get the bucket!" In two seconds, he'd never been happier that anything else in the world existed. As he emptied out the contents of his stomach, the doctor continued to speak to him.
"You have been asleep for four days, Mr. Alderdice, and I hesitate to use the word asleep because there were a few points where I quite thought you'd gone to meet your maker. I would still like to keep an eye on you for the next few weeks, since frankly I have seen healthier men who were six weeks dead. I should like to look at you now, but your mistress has an urgent message for you," he looked as if this displeased him immensely, "Emilie!"
Spitting out a few chunks of what he could hardly believe had been food at one point, Izzy looked to the side and at the maid, who was still as slight and skittish as she'd ever been. She began, "Mrs. Daugney would like to bid you a speedy recovery and tell you that she has taken care of your mother, that your debts would be paid in full and any expenses your family might have will be taken care of. Should you wish to ask why, Mrs. Daugney would like to tell you that she is a woman of her word."
Izzy closed his mouth and set the bucket to the side. He had heard the words and understood what they meant on an objective level, but the statement hit him like a sack of bricks. His mind searched for the proper response, but could only find the last few minutes of consciousness supposedly four days ago, with Mrs. Daugney's very unconvincing act, the drink, and fainting. What had she done to him? He currently felt as though all his innards had been taken out, smashed against the paving stones, and put back in without any thought as to where they actually went.
Whatever she'd done, it had worked. She wouldn't have been happy or giving him things if it had happened. He should have been incredibly happy, and indeed, he could feel it welling up in wherever his stomach had gone. And yet, he'd never been so afraid in all his life.
"Well, let's get started, shall we?" He could hear the doctor speaking, but suddenly he felt much too week to even consider the fact that he was speaking English or that he even existed. He simply fell back onto the mattress and was surrounded by blackness once more.