A Thief in the Night Occurs several weeks previous to the Demonic Haunting
Thankfully, it was over. There were only so many performances of Racine's great tragedy that the actress could take. She had played the anti-heroine for more than a month. So long, in fact, that she had almost begun to believe that she was Phèdre. It was late. Marguerite had received a flurry of invitations to dinner, soirees and balls. She had received flowers, boxes of sweets, letters of unrequited love, pieces of jewelry and other various trifles. But these things meant little in the end. She gave all the sweets to her maid, arranged the flowers without thinking and slipped the jewelry in a velvet lined box she used for such things - tucked away until she remembered it before some event.
It was not that Marguerite disliked being courted and admired thus. Indeed, there were few things she liked more. However, she found that she was in something of a sullen mood this evening and rejected all invitations. Instead, she preferred to lounge on the chaise in her dressing room, dismissing her maid with a few kind words and several pounds of chocolate. She herself disrobed, slipping into a comfortable dressing gown. She'd decided to write Monsieur Abbott. It had been over a month since she had become acquainted with the fellow and weeks since she had given him more than a passing thought. It must have been her melancholy mood which inspired her to jot off a letter of trifles to him. She looked it over, rolled her eyes, then folded it up neatly, sealing it and slipping it into the little fancy box of the things she'd be taking with her.
The ornate Sèvres carriage clock told the time. And it was indeed time to leave. In that characteristic fashion, Madame Larousse felt the canines in her mouth. Yes, she was starved, although she had forgotten in her preoccupation - a rare feat, indeed. It was only for her to return that diaphonous drapery and various other accoutrements of which her costume had consisted to their proper places. She gathered together the items with some care and opened the door. A few doors down laid a moderately sized room, in which were kept the various costumes of the theatre. It was cluttered with dressing dummies, bolts of cloth, pieces of jewelry with paste jewels and brass settings, devices for sewing and measuring. At one end stood a great table, at one side of which were heaped in disorder a good deal of fashion magazines and old costume books. Sometimes, when she had little else to do, Marguerite liked to leaf through these.
The only light came from the corridor, but it was more than enough for Marguerite. Almost mechanically, she began to return her bits of costume to their places, eyeing the enticing fashion magazines on that table. She was far too oblivious for a person of her experience and years, not at all paying attention to the small noises in the room until she happened to hear the rustle of fabric. It was then that she whipped around, her eyes narrowing.
Even with the freedom of being undead, Lucy Cramwell had plenty to keep herself busy. Those initial days of constant worry, confusion and concern, were starting to edge slowly behind her. The odd trinket might be pocketed from a market stall or passing well-to-do gentleman, every now and then, but with a vampiric lifestyle came certain... Alterations in one's habits. The overheads of survival changed. Without food and water able to give much, if any, sustenance, changes were necessary to adapt to this new way of existing.
And with great power, came great irresponsibility...
Lucy had taken to using her old guise of hired help to get into places and take what might not be missed. Invitations to private homes might be required, but more public buildings seemed to have no such barrier.
So it was that, still clutching a great bundle of dresses, the young brunette looked up at the actress with watchful eyes. "Beggin' your pardon, Ma'am," she excused, still dressed in the same maid's outfit used to gain entrance and pass, so far, relatively unsuspected. With as much of a partial curtsy as could be managed, she headed for the door.
Marguerite did not at all recognize the girl. She was at the theatre for many hours each day, and had been for weeks on end. She had become familiar with all of the cast, the hired help. Surely she would have known if they had hired a new mistress of the wardrobe. She was perhaps not as observant on matters of personnel as someone else might have been, but she knew enough to know what was what. And, if she was correct, this young woman was trying to steal away with several of the theatre's costumes. Surely this was not to be borne!
"Beg my pardon all you wish, girl, but you will be begging for my mercy if you do not stop this instant." The actress's voice was commanding and threatening. She would not stand for some young brat purloining the various habiliments of what she considered to be her second home.
Lucy, trapped in that classic trap of fight-or-flight, came to an immediate halt, unprepared for offering any alternative. She could make an excuse, but most of them revolved around her assumed guise. If her true identity as an interloper had been discovered, then there were few choices left.
Except for one... The instinctive impulse of attack, which seemed to writhe within her, like a serpent in bondage, ever since the change.
Turning slowly on heel, Lucy lowered her gathered bundle of material just enough to look more convincingly over the top. A petulant expression looking out, as she silently weighed up her options. In times gone by, she might well have admonished a servant of lower standing for going against the rules, but as she was now, Lucy Cramwell was a confused - and cornered - predator. Someone needing to leave in a considerable hurry, before further misfortune befell her.
"There somethin' you need from me, Miss? I've been told these are needed elsewhere."
Marguerite would not believe it. It was absurd at the very least. The girl must have been desperate to be stealing clothes from the theatre. Some of the costumes she had snatched up were rather fanciful. Perhaps she was hoping to sell the parts, rather than wear them, but at this point, either mattered little. What truly mattered was that the costumes were being snatched up. She took several paces forward, her eyes flashing, but her words belied her anger.
"If you will return the costumes to me, then you may run off and try to steal from someone else. I shan't make mention of it." This, she thought, would be the most reasonable way to answer to such a situation. A part of her, indeed, did pity the girl, that she must take such a desperate move. She held out her hand expectantly, ready to receive the clothing. If, however, the case were otherwise, well, she had few qualms about using more brute force.
Worrying lip, Lucy's resolve hardened against the one trying to give her an ultimatum. Arms tightened around her bundle and jaw shifted to a silent clench. They were as good as hers now... What would a theatre do with such lovely fabrics, other than show them off, once in a blue moon? Why allow the artistic and fanciful exclusive access, when she could cut and refashion them into prettiness of her own making? At least they'd get more use, that way!
"No."
It was a bold move and, even as a vampire, the girl felt a measure of fear in her gut. As she rose to meet this particular challenge, however, shoulders moved back and spine straightened.
"You 'eard me... I said no."
Marguerite sighed inwardly. Stupid girl. She had no idea. Slowly, eyes gleaming, the vampiress drew nearer the girl and took hold of her wrists. With slow, sadistic and deliberate motion, her hands tightened about the girl's wrists. She was squeezing, her hands constricting tightly, attempting to fracture or break the bone there. She felt her fangs elongate from behind her lips. So this was how it was going to be? Well, so be it.
"Now," she commanded, unnaturally still, other than the slow squeeze of her fingers against the other's wrist. "You will drop the costumes." Her gaze was fierce but clouded with the rage of her more primal instincts. If she made the younger woman's hands useless, so much the better. She was well aware that the people of the Near East routinely removed hands for theft. She was merely doing them homage in this.
"I SAID NO!"
Arms wrenched back, either forcing hands away or yanking the actor forward, but at the cost of relinquishing hold of the clothes. Something poisonous within Lucy had needed to lash out and the former maid's own set of fangs were bared in a snarl of anger, no longer willing to remain withdrawn and hidden under threat of physical harm.
The secret was out and Lucy knew it. Backed into a proverbial corner, younger vampiress now lunged for the neck of elder, thinking the woman to be as mortal as any other. She had remained in the shadows for too long and it was time for this little viper to strike back...
Marguerite was thrown back a little, not at all expecting this. But she was quick enough to rein in her shock and dodge the other (clearly, now) vampire. Her smile was slow, lazy, giving no hint as to any sort of distress this revelation may have caused. She was an instinctual, unbalanced woman and so she did the first thing that came natural to her, she laughed. Quickly taking hold of the other's neck, she slammed her against the wall, as she had done countless times with various gentlemen - in game or in earnest - simultaneously kicking the door shut. It was now close to pitch in the room, but this bothered the actress not one bit. She was brimming with mirth.
"Mademoiselle must be young," she said in gasps, when she could hold back her laughter. "We do not attack people in such cases, especially when we do not know with whom we are dealing." She punctuated each word with a tightened grip of her hand around the girl's slender neck, and the raking of fingernails across flesh. She bared her fangs in an unnatural grin then, so that the girl might be perfectly clear on the matter. She loosened her hold a little, smirking. "I could easily find a way to kill you. I know how it is done."
Indeed, she did know how it was done. Before she had escaped from France, His Lordship had told her in detail what was to be done to her when he fetched the priest. It sickened her stomach now to think about it, but she would have few qualms about dismembering the girl if it would promote her interests.
"But should I?" she mused, as though beginning a monologue on stage. "You see, interloper, this is my theatre. Everything here bears my own markings, whether you see it or not. And I do not like my things taken from me. Do you understand?" She was well aware that she did not own the theatre per se, but she wanted to use the best words to illustrate her point, so that there would be no mistaking.
Lucy seemed every bit the alley cat as she had attempted to fight back. Own fingernails digging into the woman's arm, after a moment of flailing, this way and that. Lucy always could be a scrapper, if ever need be, even in her mortal days. Arms swung, nails trying to scratch and breath hissed through clenched teeth. It was only the immediate throwing against wall, which caused Lucy to yelp out and, then, the implications of what was being said. "What the flamin' 'ell you talkin' about?!" The girl demanded. But it was only to be expected. She was hardly the most intellectual of London's residents, even if quick to learn.
As nocturnal sight adjusted to the darkness, however, Lucy found reason to, if not entirely cease in her struggles, then at least to dampen them, a little.
Fangs?
Like... The gentleman she had met at the music hall. Jim... James? No, John. Wasn't that it?
Then, as elder vampiress laid down the law to younger, Lucy began to understand, although not favourably so. Her present situation reinforced the feeling of being cornered, more than ever. That the woman was French, in a weird sort of way, even contributed to bringing out something of the brunette's own British patriotism.
"Yeah, I get ya'," she finally replied, evidently displeased, but not willing to push her luck beyond what was necessary. "You took a piss on the tree an' don't want no-one else cuttin' off the branches..."
"Precisely," Marguerite replied, releasing her hold on the younger woman's neck. She chafed her hands together as though wiping away dirt. The girl was crass, but she could appreciate it. "So, if I were you, I'd start stealing at different theatres. I have heard that the Savoy carries large quantities of bejeweled costumes. I daresay you could rip those to shreds and sell the parts, if you like. But truly, you should have a little more pride than this. To remain a petty thief when you have certain...abilities! Oh, it is the silliest thing!"
Marguerite felt like a matron chiding her daughter. Truly it was absurd, but she was aghast that the girl was so uninspired. "And besides, there are people running around killing such as you and I, you know. My maid tells me that they found the body of a man in an abandoned house, his head nowhere to be found. He was...unnatural. You have a pretty head. I should hate to hear of it severed from your body." It was natural to develop a maternal demeanor toward the girl. Perhaps it was knowing that she was of akin to Marguerite, in a way.
Mentally, Lucy internally grumbled, straightening out the material of her own clothing. It was going to take a while for her to calm down after this. Any dislike of being spoken down had been magnified in her brief time as a revenant, specifically because of now knowing she could do something about it. At least one incident in her past, as a maid, had made it obvious just how unjust the world could be and it still stung. The thought of now going back to that place and paying certain residents of it a more predatory visitation, had crossed her mind, more than once.
"Works for me," the girl retorted. "Not even sure what I can do, truth be told, beyond a few accidents, 'ere an' there..."
Once hearing about killings, however, Lucy frowned with perked attention.
"Beggin' your pardon, Miss, but until recent, I weren't even of a mind t'think more than I existed. Nor even what we're rightly called! You're the second I've 'ad opportunity to meet an' now you're sayin' we're in peril, all of a sudden... Who'd be after us? I've trouble enough doin' that an' I'm of our kind!"
The changeable actress felt a bit of sympathy for the plight of the girl. She was drawn back to her first few years as a vampire, being left to her own devices, with no-one to educate or nurture her. She turned out fine, she thought, but it was a shame indeed that this poor girl had no mentor. Especially with the new trouble afoot.
"A source tells me that a somewhat known gentleman of our sort, an Edward Flannigan, was found with his head severed from his body... The head being nowhere to be found. I do not know much about him other than that he was several years turned at least. This should not have happened." Marguerite was solemn of a sudden, and very still. Her retainer, Bertain, had spoken to her of such matters. He knew her nature and wanted with all his loyal heart to warn his mistress.
"They do hunt, my dear," Marguerite continued, thinking back to the affair with the Duc. "They think we are possessed by evil spirits, that we have no souls, and so we must be destroyed. Even with all of this power that you and I have, if we put ourselves into compromising situations, we could perish." She made a gesture with her hand as though cutting her head from her body.
"Well..." This last matter caused Lucy some considerable inner reflection on the matter and she reared head back, taking a somewhat askance mental reaction to what she had just been told. "I've urges, but..." A puzzled glance up, eyes squinting. "Evil spirits?"
Lucy might well have perceived vampires like that in life, for all that she knew. Had never really been one for reading, though. Had very little to no familiarity with the term. Yes, she questioned herself, often. Her new, reborn nature. Wondered if this was all part of the Almighty's plan and what, if anything, she should do with such knowledge, even if it were true.
But...
"If I'm possessed, I've yet to know it," she resolved, frowning against this new element of those who would hunt for both their heads. "Save for appetite, that is... I'm wantin' only to keep t'me own affairs, that's all. It's no concern of theirs... There's far more worse 'an our like wanderin' the streets, I tell ya'!"
"Oh, I agree with you, truly I do. But, you see, I have been in this situation for nearly one hundred years now, and I have had a bit of a run in before I came here." She was beginning to pick up the costumes and return them to their proper places. She brushed her hands on her skirt, opening the door nonchalantly, as though she had not at all had a conflict with the thieving woman within the past few minutes. "I really do not like the idea of you running out and getting yourself killed or worse. Perhaps you would not mind walking with me to my dressing room? I can give you my card, if you should have any need of assistance."
She looked at the younger woman, eying her from head to toe for the first time. The girl, given the right lessons, would not do so badly in the theatre, she thought. Marguerite was, as ever, the most improbable creature. "Have you thought of working in the theatre? You have the look for it, you know. I daresay a few lessons could make you quite the dancer, or an actress, even."
"One 'undred years?"
Lucy was taken aback at such a declaration. While her conversation with John might or might not have involved suggestions of extreme longevity, to have it spoken of so casually in front of her, was quite the revelation. It was enough to make her gingerly crouch down and retrieve a few of the items dropped to floor and, with considerable hesitation, hand them back to the undead actress. At the suggestion of a card and... Offering actual assistance, Lucy's suspicious nature kicked right in and refused to voice a reply right away. Their confrontation had led to good reasons for thinking in such a manner, but the job offer...
Blink-blink-blink.
"Me? Up on stage?"
There could be a certain... Stigma about girls who went into the theatre and by no means all of it good. Still, being told so by one who was, evidently, such an expert, did cause thoughts to wander. Lucy, having survived the initial trials of unlife, would eventually herself in need of further direction. Some sort of either a cause to champion or place in existence to aim for. She had figured out the basics and, while hardly an expert on her condition, was realising her position as an upper predator.
And what about such a career? If one might even call it that. If nothing else, while she still had obvious reservations about the woman, if the tale about having lived for a century could be believed, then she would be a good course for information.
"I should consider it, I suppose," she ventured, honestly, with hand placed to chin. "'Ow far is this dressin' room of yours...?"
She thanked Lucy, then began heading out the door. "I assure you it is merely down the hall. We will be there in a pinch. And yes, I think that you could make a superb stage presence, given the right training, of course. You see girls from all sorts of backgrounds who begin splendid careers on the stage. Ah, here we are." Marguerite took a key from her pocket and unlocked the door. She let the gaslight flood in slowly, then headed toward a small bureau. There, she rifled through some papers, stumbling across what she wanted, a card. She handed it to the younger woman.
"I was turned in 1813, likely before your grandmother was born," Marguerite said lowly. "It has been a long life, and if I am lucky, I will live twice as long, or longer. This is my home address on the card. You may write me there if you have any questions, or if you would like assistance in obtaining a position." She paused for a moment. "You may ask why I am doing this. I do it not only for your sake, but for my own. To have rogue vampires running about would be a discredit to us all. We must stick together in these trying times, no?"
Twice as long... Longer... The possibility of it was not something which Lucy had given much thought to, but now she had been presented with the fact - and knew it to, apparently, be without any adverse effect of age... Eternal youth? And she still was young. Old enough to have married by now, certainly, had she wanted to, but... It opened up quite the world of opportunities.
Could it be that this, in fact, was not a curse, but a very true blessing?
Lucy had yet to properly decide, either way, but this put a whole new spin on things.
"No wonder they want rid of us," she murmured contemplatively, accepting the card. Thumb brushing over the print as she glanced back up at the Frenchwoman. A slight surge of what might be identified as confidence seeming to assert itself. "I'll not disagree with you there, Miss Larousse. An' I've no interest in bein' struck down by some fella' with a ruddy great cleaver in 'is 'and." A slow nod was given, in understanding of facing a common adversity, as people sometimes do. Even if they were no longer quite human anymore. "I've matters still to attend, but if you 'ear from me in due course, don't be too surprised... S'like you said; maybe stickin' together might not be such a folly, all things considered."
"Precisely," replied the actress, a look of approval spreading over her face. "Oh, before you go..." She rummaged through her mess of things, assembling several notes and coins together into a small pouch. She handed this to the younger woman, a stern look on her face as she would not be refused. "For your journey. If you are interested in fine things, I recommend Mme Greeley. She's made me many a lovely dress."
She turned, then, and began gathering her things together. Perhaps she would skirt the pubs of London. A fine place as any to find some willing gentleman.
Lucy's expression, for what it was worth, read as one of wide-eyed total surprise. There would be no difficulty in accepting the gift. At least, physically, which she did with a quiet little, if dumbfounded, "Thank you..." Mental acceptance, however, was something else. While she had taken to more criminal exploits than usual, being simply paid, out of the blue, like that, was quite unexpected. Nevertheless, life had taught the girl never to waste too long in taking opportunities, especially if they could improve her lot. "I-I'll look into it," she nodded and, out of habit, affected a hurried little curtsy. It came from years of service as what she presently was disguised as. A little good manners could sometimes go a long way, in the right company.
And, of course, served well to erase the previous feelings of confrontation which had, until now, been making her regard the woman with a sceptical air.
"Lucy... Lucy Cramwell," she volunteered, not at all sure if the name had already been given, such was the shock of monetary aid being so freely given. "I'll not trouble your evenin' any longer, Miss... Apologies for the inconvenience."
With that, the vampiress half-dashed out the door. One educated contact, potentially enjoyable career and several coins richer, for the experience.