working_class (working_class) wrote in v_nocturne_rpg, @ 2009-10-23 18:43:00 |
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Entry tags: | fox cullen, fr antoine verdoux |
Matters of Faith
Fox had managed to find an old-fashioned walking stick in the sitting room of the Taylor house, and she looked at it critically after wiping the dust off of it with one of the sheets covering the furniture. It wasn't what she was used to, but it would suit. If she was to be shut behind these walls for however long, she preferred to have something to defend herself with.
"I should imagine this is a bit of an inconveinence for ye, Father," she said to Verdoux as she got ready for this scavenging trip of theirs. "Tis certainly not how I expected to spend my own day." She felt a little guilty at once again trying to deceive a man of the cloth, but there was no help for it just now. There never seemed to be any help for it ever, really. "Guess a man never knows what's goin' to happen when he rises for work in the morning."
"Alas, that seems to be the case, my son," Verdoux replied sympathetically. He had been examining the house in his own peculiar fashion, with the young Fox at his heels. It was somewhat comforting for him, even, to be in the company of a person who shared his faith. He had not been sure of the others, but the members of the Inquisition were only nominally of the faith of the Church of England, as far as he knew. He never could discuss such things--he himself was something of a scandal, a Catholic priest, and French to boot. He turned his attention back to the (presumed) young man.
"It is the way of the Jesuit to care little for his own convenience; it does not matter so much as serving Him to whom we owe our very existence. I presume you know your prayers? If it should come to it, Mr. Cullen, it may be necessary for you to assist me in a rather unpleasant task." And he was positively grim. He did not wish to think about exorcism. He hoped beyond hope that the explanation to this horror lay in the more mundane rather than the supernatural. But such, he was almost certain, would not be the case.
"Aye, sir, I speak to the Lord in my heart often and attend confession when I must." Fox's faith had always been a simple matter to her, and she tried to follow God's laws as closely as she could. "Where do ye preach, if you don't mind my askin'? Wasn't aware the French sent their own to other countrines very often. Where have you fetched up?"
"I am at St. Anselm's, near Limehouse. And yes, we are sent where we are asked. I am servant to the Church before I am servant to France." Fr Verdoux idly scanned a bookshelf as he spoke. There was nothing to suggest that the erstwhile inhabitants' tastes in literature were unconventional in the least. "As I am sure you know, not many people here share our faith, though there are many more now than there were perhaps when your father was your age. It is always a hope that some may seek conversion and the comfort of the Church's welcoming embrace."
"My Da came over from Ireland when he was a young fella," the apprentice said with a nod, and she poked lightly at the back of a sheet-covered chair with the end of the walking stick before passing it by. Strange to think the people who had lived in this house had simply left their belongings behind. "He was tryin' to find work when he and Mum met, and they fostered me and the others later. Protestants and Catholics got more in common than they think, and its lovin' the Lord that counts anyhow."
She crossed the threshhold of the dusty library, peered into the next room, which was down the nearly pitch-black hallway. Still, there was some light coming in from outside now that the streetlamps had come on. "How did ye end up in here with us?" she asked, musing on the nature of the lure. "Seems as if whatever happened, it was something guaranteed to attract the attention of the intended. I should hope whatever urchin I see next, I'll not think them to be the Devil's imp."
The next room was a dining room, properly decorated but for the dust cloths. A goodly sized chandelier hung in the center, the fading rays of the sun's waning light glistening off the little teardrops. It was otherwise hung with cobwebs, giving it an air of the macabre. At times like these, Fr Verdoux wished he had an easy source of light, one that he might light and dim at will. But such things were perhaps for the future. For now he was groping.
"I was told that one of my parishioners had just now given birth to a child. The fellow looked like the lady's husband, and so I entered the house, expecting to find a tiny person and its mother. However, I came to what you see. And I do think you are right, young Cullen. It seems a ruse was devised to lure in the victim. Though what awaits we have yet to see." It was at this moment that a great shriek came from above. Furrowing his brow, Fr Verdoux gave the young (wo)man a meaningful look, and rushed out of the room.
The chandelier rattled in the wake of the scream, glass tinkling against glass, and Fox darted after Verdoux in search of the source of the noise. There were times when you had to be stalwart, and this seemed to be one of them. The staircase leading to the upper floor was dark; what lay beyond was darker. She laid her makeshift weapon against her shoulder as though it were a rifle. "Have you any matches, Father?" she asked in a whisper, as if the screaming might begin again if she spoke too loudly. "I can go back to the dining room and see if I can't find some candles to light."
"I haven't," he replied, but thought a moment, then remembered the satchel in his hand. He was so used to carrying the large bag that it had almost become like another member of his body, an extended hand, even. He set it down on the step above him, and leaned down, rifling through it. Yes, he did keep matches with him, as well as a candle. It would have been senseless to do what he did and not have such things at the ready. He handed the candle to Fox, then struck the match, creating a small flame in the stairwell, which cast wicked shadows around them.
"I don't know what I was thinking," he said, returning the match to the matchbox, then to his satchel, which he firmly snapped shut. "I keep a good deal of useful things in here, Mr. Cullen. Shall we?" He gestured upwards, indicating they follow the noise again. He could only hope it was an unearthly shriek and not one of a more human nature.
Fox rubbed the back of her head with her free hand, then started up the stairs. The candle's light threw the sharp planes of her face into even starker relief, and she peered ahead into the gloom as she counted the steps to the second floor. The runner of carpet was worn beneath her feet, and the toe of one shoe caught briefly in a tear before she shook free. She smelled dust, the smell of closed-up rooms. Mildew, as if sometimes the rain got in. But there was no sign of any danger, at least not yet. She wondered how the others were faring.
When the two of them reached the landing, the hall seemed to stretch out for eternity on either side. She could see a couple of doors, but not much else beyond that because of the poor light. The candle flickered in her hand. "There's bound to be a storage closet up here," she suggested. "The nights get cold in October. If blankets can be found, they'd be found up here."
"That is very practical of you, Mr. Cullen," the priest said approvingly. "First, however, I think it would be wise to try and discern the source of the screams." He paused for a moment, then shouted, "Mrs. Stoker? Mrs. Fry? Miss Cramwell? Are you alright?" He could not be certain as to which lady may have uttered that horrible scream as he had not before had the occasion to hear any of them scream prior to this.
"Would you say that this scream was similar or dissimilar to that of a few hours ago?" he asked Fox, trying to compare the two in his own mind.
"I couldn't say, sir. I only heard it for a moment before I found the others. I shouldn't think it was any of the ladies downstairs, though. We'd be hearin' from the men as well if it were."
Steeling herself, Fox took a few steps to the left of the stairs, the walking stick finding itself gripped near the handle. If this was all some terrible joke she was going to clout the sod responsible for it. If not...well, if not, she'd come to her own terms with it. At the far end of the hall, the creak of a door could be heard. If this was where the former owners of the house slept, likely one of the doors was ajar. No telling who - or what - might be lurking within this house.
Fr Verdoux pointed silently to the direction of the door from whence the creak seemed to be emanating. And indeed it was ajar, and he could see a little slit of light coming from it. He slipped his hand into his pocket, taking grasp of the vial of holy water which he had placed there earlier. He steeled himself as he neared the door. He was thrown back, though, by the sudden sound of laughter, a sharp contrast to the scream which the two had but just heard.
"Take courage, Mr. Cullen," he whispered, mentally reciting several prayers at the same time. He placed his long, pale fingers on the door knob, slowly opening it.
The insane laughter had Fox gripping the cane she'd found even more tightly, but she ventured forward regardless. If God truly watched over His servants, they'd be protected from whatever horror lay beyond the door. The temperature in the hallway was dropping by slow degrees, and the unmistakeable stench of rotting meat wafted out of the room as the door swung open. The apprentice quickly covered her nose and mouth with one arm. The light of the candle swung crazily, splashing in irregular intervals against the walls.
Something dead. An animal, probably. Dogs seek shelter when it rains, it must have gotten in and not been able to get back out. Starvation, what an awful way to go.
When the door was finally open, something streaked past her, bringing that rotten smell with it even as it bumped her shoulder and sent her sprawling to the floor. The candle hit the wooden boards and threatened to go out. The thing, whatever it was, disappeared down the hall, and another door in the darkness slammed shut even as more laughter rang out. "Father?" A note of agitation in her voice as she found the guttering candle. "Father, are ye all right?"
The movement of whatever it was had pushed him back as well, though he had not lost his footing. He was more concerned for the young man, and he knelt down beside him. "I am quite alright. However, I am more concerned about you, my child. You didn't hit your head, did you?" He glanced anxiously toward where the figure had gone, but turned his gaze back toward Fox. He was glad, however, that the strong stench of decay which it had brought with it had left. His stomach was still churning.
"I do not think that resembled any of our companions. Indeed, none of them seemed to be a rotting corpse," he said sardonically. In his characteristic manner, he pulled his hand through his hair. He was beginning to suspect, but he did hoped indeed that his suspicions were incorrect, though they rarely had been in the past.
"I should bloody hope not," Fox muttered, forgetting her manners momentarily. Her rump ached where she'd landed on it, and she pulled herself to her feet. "And I thank you for your concern, but I've been knocked down before," she added in a gruff voice. A glower was directed down the hall.
"Devil's business, then." Not that she was surprised. It seemed as if the city was teeming with devil's business lately. "Should we try to get a closer look at whatever that was?"
The priest pondered the matter for some time. He bit his lip, looking down the hall. His head suddenly hurt. But that was not paranormal circumstance--indeed, the confounding nature of the whole situation was enough to give anyone a headache. There was no way that he was going to put the young person in danger of something worse, especially after he had been knocked over by it.
"I do not think that is wise. Particularly not at this moment. We had best find the others, I think, and wait. Whatever it is, it is, as you say, the 'devil's business.' It would be best to return to the study and gather our energy. Have you had anything to eat? I think there is a sandwich in my bag," he said absentmindedly, his gaze still in the direction of where the figure had headed.
Fox thought of the boarding house, of the comfortable room where she slept. What if she wasn't able to return home tonight? Mrs. Soames would probably call the constable out to look for her, but when they couldn't find her, what then? "I ate lunch earlier," she said, trying to push the worries aside. Her rent was paid up for the month, if nothing else. Surely they'd not give her bed away.
"We should look for a closet, though, like Missus Fry said," she added. "I've gone through winter nights before without much bedding. Don't want to go through that again."
"Yes, you are quite right," replied the priest. "Though I recommend getting away from the...thing as quickly as possible. I have seen what it does." And indeed but an hour earlier he had seen the effect it wreaked upon Mr. Alderdice, toying with his mind and senses. "Until we know its true nature, we cannot be certain as to the full extent of its capacities." He did not want to say "power." He wouldn't allow the creature that even in word.
"Now, you spoke of a closet earlier? Let us gather what we can, and return downstairs. I think it is safer there, no?"
Izzy's down there. It was a reminder, and Fox looked behind her where the staircase beckoned. She wanted to watch out for her friend as well. He always seemed to get in the most trouble when he had no one to keep track of him. The apprentice shot another dark look down the hall where the thing had disappeared.
"Aye, sir," she agreed with a nod. "I'm thinkin' safety in numbers is the order of business until we figure out what's what." A pause, then; "Would ye have an extra crucifix in that bag of yours? Mr. Alderdice downstairs is a friend of mine. If you'd be agreeable, I'd like to give him one as extra protection."
Without hesitation, Fr Verdoux rifled through his bag and pulled out an extra string of rosary beads. Just with any rosary, the crucified Christ hung from the strand of beads. He whispered an extra blessing over it and handed it to Fox. "If you can get him to wear it, I think it will do him good." He was unsure of the young man's attitudes, particularly since his strange behavior in their last meeting.
He began opening doors, looking for spare bedclothes, pillows, anything. They would not sleep upstairs, even though beds were plentiful. They would have to assign rooms below. It was far more complicated than he could have imagined.
Fox wound the strand of beads around her hand, letting the cross dangle free. Izzy would wear it if she asked, she believed, if only to make things easier. She'd also just realized she'd be sleeping with the male contingent in the house, and the idea of it had her nervous. In her own room where she lived it was different, but these were strangers. She would have to be doubly careful lest any of them discover her secret.
"I'm pretty sure there was a kitchen downstairs," she offered. "Hopefully some of the others have found something passable to eat. Loaves and fishes aside, I doubt that sandwich of yours will serve as many people."
Gathering up a pile of blankets, Fr Verdoux smiled at the allusion. "I am afraid I am not that Christlike. If God wills it, we will only remain here until the morrow at the latest. Surely there must have been a way of discerning what this is and remedying the situation by then. You will find that it is quite amazing what one can come up with, even in the midst of strangers." He was heading down the stairs with the blankets and pillows in tow. He gave the hallway one more backwards glance and he thought he heard soft laughter, as though the thing--was it a demon?--were mocking him.
Fox looked back too, her narrow features openly displaying the unease and distrust she felt. Surely they'd not be trapped here for long, would they? If nothing else, she didn't relish being at close quarters with Mrs. Fry for very long. "Mind yer step on the stairs, Father," she said, turning away from the shadows as she picked up a blanket the priest had dropped. "Shouldn't like to have to pick you up if you take a spill."
They would all have to watch out, for themselves and for each other. Whatever thing occupied this house, it was not benign. Devil's business, indeed.