Europe / British Empire / London (Ainsworth Estate / Stafford Castle): June 3rd, 1817.
It was a beautiful day for the world. The birds were chirping their songs as mankind went about their daily routines with smiles on their faces at the beauty of the city, but also sad looks on their faces at the horror of it whether it be financially, emotionally or physically, yet if you were to look closely in london. To be more specific, inside two different estates. You could see two people that should not have fit into the world they were now standing in.
The atmosphere heavy with preparation.
(Mordred's POV)
"Stand still." Said a annoyed male voice.
I stood in silence. My arms slightly spread while the sound of measuring tape moving across my shoulders, chest and waist was heard.
The study had been converted into a fitting room. Fabric laid across chairs. Jackets hung by the window. A large mirror stood before me and reflected nothing that I cared for.
"Your posture is strange." Said the tailor with creased eyebrows as he crouched slightly to measure the hem of the trousers.
I looked down in the general direction of his silhouette and said calmly "My posture is excellent. Your standards are merely low."
The room was absolutely silent.
Margaret snorted from where she sat in a chair smoking her pipe and said "No. Your posture is funeral home chic. You stand like a man that writes wills for pleasure."
The tailor adjusted his throat and said carefully "I would not say it in those exact words but yes. You do have a very stiff presence, mr ainsworth."
"I am not here to be comfortable. I am here to be measured." I said calmly while staring at the pitch black map inside of my mind.
The tailor clicked his tongue and said with a sigh "That right there. That is exactly the problem, mr ainsworth. You are attending a ball, not a hanging."
Margaret leaned back with a grin and said "Thank you. Finally. Somebody with eyes."
"I have eyes too. They simply function differently." I said calmly.
The room was silent.
"Hm…" Said the tailor while stepping back and studying me.
He went over to a coat laid over a table and held it up.
"It should be dark but not mourning dark, expensive but not screaming, sharp but not theatrical. You are young, tall and strange looking enough already. You do not need help looking memorable." Said the tailor seriously.
I rubbed my chin and thought "Visible restraint. Controlled presentation. Nobles who oversell themselves are compensating"
"I do not want embroidery." I said calmly.
Margaret rolled her eyes and said "Of course you don't."
"I do not want bright colors, gold cuffs, peacock shoulders or anything that jingles when I breathe." I said calmly with a slight look of disgust on my face.
The tailor's eyes widened and said immediately "Who in god's name would put jingling trim on a man's evening coat."
"Some fool with money and no self awareness." I said calmly.
Margaret exhaled a cloud of smoke from her nose and muttered "So half the nobility in london."
The room was absolutely silent.
The tailor held up two fabrics.
"This one. It will make you look most excellent like a undertaker." Said the tailor said while lifting the black one.
Margaret laughed loudly.
"This one will make you look like a dangerous young noble with just enough taste not to embarrass himself." Said the tailor while lifting the deep charcoal one with a subtle sheen.
I stared at his silhouette and asked calmly "Which one gives the least information."
The tailor stared at me for a moment and asked with confusion "Pardon..."
"Which one reveals the least while still being remembered." I asked calmly.
The room was silent.
Margaret squinted her eyes and said quietly "The charcoal."
I nodded once.
"Then that one. No embroidery. Clean line. High collar. Good structure in the shoulders. I don't care for decorations but I do care for command." I said calmly with a wave of my right hand.
The tailor's eyebrows slowly rose and he said with a serious look on his face "I understand, mr ainsworth."
"Do you." I asked calmly.
"Yes mr ainsworth. You wish to look like a man that doesn't need to ask permission to stand in any room." Said the tailor while laying the selected cloth aside.
I was silent for a moment.
"Correct." I said calmly.
Margaret chuckled and said while wagging the pipe stem at me "Now that's the first intelligent thing you've said all afternoon."
"I've said many intelligent things, you simply process them slower due to age. It's sad but it can't be helped." I said calmly with with sigh and shrug.
Margaret had a look of disgust on her face and said "Keep talking and I'll have them sew lace on your sleeves."
The room was silent.
A younger servant woman stepped forward with a folded white shirt over her arms and said softly "Master, would you prefer the cravat tied broader or narrower."
"Narrow. I don't need extra fabric strangling my throat for fashion." I said calmly.
The servant woman nodded nervously and stepped back.
I listened. Breathing. Cloth shifting. Small movements. The weight of attention in the room.
"Hm…" I muttered as I turned slightly toward the mirror and touched it with my left hand. A tall man in a fitted charcoal suit attire stood there. Controlled. Severe. Precise.
It looked acceptable.
Not warm.
Not inviting.
Just pure efficiency to it's finest perfection.
Margaret clicked her tongue and said "Now all that's left is the face."
"There is nothing wrong with my face." I said calmly.
The tailor kept quiet. Wisely.
Margaret stared at me and said "You look like you are about to reject somebody's final prayer request."
The room was absolutely silent.
I slightly lifted the corner of my mouth.
"There. Is that better." I asked calmly with a very wide, lecherous grin on my face.
The tailor physically flinched. Sweat forming on his forehead.
Margaret frowned and said "No. That makes you look like you buried the body yourself."
"Hm…" I muttered. letting the expression drop.
"Then I will simply speak less." I said calmly.
Margaret laughed and said "Now that is your strongest talent."
I reached for the gloves laid beside me and felt the leather.
"The ball is not about dancing. It is information. Social leverage. Long term positioning. I will attend, observe, make note of who matters and leave." I said calmly while putting the gloves down again.
Margaret leaned forward in her chair and said "That's what they all say."
I ignored her.
"My appearance will be enough. The rest is voice and timing. Charm is not natural. It is a learned weapon. Most of nobility are simply too lazy or stupid to sharpen it." I said calmly.
The room was silent.
The tailor swallowed slightly and asked "Mr ainsworth…are you nervous."
I was silent for a moment and then said calmly "No. I am annoyed, now stop asking me so many questions nameless man if you value your store."
Margaret laughed again and said "Good. That means you'll do well."
The room was silent. The sound of the pipe crackling softly could be heard.
I looked once more toward the mirror and thought while my eyes squinted slightly "Quiet men are more dangerous in rooms built on noise"
I adjusted the cuff of the coat and muttered with my left eye closing "I will be the quiet one."
(Mary's POV)
The room was quiet. Finally.
No doctor.
No grandmother.
No father.
No one hovering.
Just mary, the bed, the cloth covered mirror, and the sound of her own breathing that still sounded like a broken instrument trying its best.
Mary stared at the canopy above her and muttered in a hoarse voice "This is some bullshit."
The bedroom was absolutely silent.
Her throat hurt. Her jaw hurt. Her face felt heavy. The entire left side of it felt like somebody had stitched fire underneath her skin and then politely asked her to remain calm about it.
Mary slowly moved her hand up and touched the edge of the bandage wrapped around her head and cheek.
"Still here." Mary muttered.
The cloth beneath her fingers was rough. Too real.
Mary was silent for a moment and thought "Ok. Let's not do panic today. Panic isn't going to fix shit"
Mary slowly pushed herself up a little more upright against the pillows and Immediately regretted it.
Pain flashed through her face, neck and chest.
"Damn…" Said mary muttering nonchalantly as she paused and breathed through it.
The room was silent. A candle flame moved softly near the fireplace.
Mary looked down at the body under the blankets.
Smaller hands.
Narrow wrists.
A chest that rose unfamiliar and wrong and familiar all at once.
That was the messed up part. Wrong and familiar.
Mary was silent for a moment.
"My name was Jerome Carter. Nigerian. Forty four. A failed music artist. Dead. Very dead apparently."Said mary muttering nonchalantly while looking down at her own fingers.
The room was silent. Another memory rose like something ugly floating to the surface.
Mary olive'era stafford.
Long hallways.
Lessons.
Corsets.
Stiff dinners.
Being stared at.
Being corrected to act like a lady.
Being dressed.
Being looked at judgingly
Being looked at as if the body made sense when it never really had.
"Huh…" Said mary muttering quietly.
That part sat wrong too. But because this body was a man forced to be something he lost control over.
A woman.
Mary leaned her head back slightly and thought with her eyes half lidded "So you were already having a bad time before I showed up. That's tough"
The room was absolutely silent.
Mary flexed her fingers. Then her wrist. Then lifted one hand slowly and held it in front of her face.
It looked delicate. Bony. Pale. Wrapped in privilege and damage.
"Not my hand. My hand now though." She muttered.
The candlelight flickered.
Mary looked toward the covered mirror on the far side of the room and said softly "I know you're under there. I'm not afraid of you, I'm not mary."
The mirror did not respond.
Mary stared at it for a moment longer and thought "I don't need to see it yet. If I already know it's bad then I can schedule the emotional collapse for later"
The room was silent.
Mary shifted one leg carefully under the sheets and tested movement.
Weak. Not useless. Just enough.
Mary adjusted her throat and muttered "What year is it."
It came out thin, rough and quiet. Like the kind of voice that used to belong to somebody people interrupted often.
"Damn. That's new too." Said mary said nonchalantly.
A memory surfaced.
An invitation. A ball.
King george III. Three days.
A possible suitor.
A name.
Mordred.
Mary stared at the canopy and said flatly "What kind of unserious name is mordred."
The room was absolutely silent.
Another memory followed that one.
Servants whispering.
Grandmother speaking with somebody.
A marriage possibility being discussed in a room previous mary had apparently not been conscious enough to object to.
Mary was silent for a moment and thought "Of course. Wake up half dead and somebody's already trying to arrange a husband. Incredible work all around"
Another memory followed.
Childlike hands.
A voice.
"Your not my son." Said a familiar man's voice.
A scalpel.
A gloved hand gripping the chin upward.
A boy screamed.
A bowel full of bloody cloths.
Training.
Checkups.
A voice.
"You are my daughter. Nothing more, nothing less michael. No, mary olive'era stafford." Said a chucking man's voice filled with excitement.
Mary's eyebrows creased and slowly turned her head toward the cloth covered mirror and listened to the ache in her face.
"If I stay in this body then I stay in this family. If I stay in this family then I stay in this game. If I stay in this game then I need information before feelings." Said mary muttering with a different look in her grey, violet eyes.
The room was absolutely silent.
Mary looked down at the blanket over her lap and thought "Being pitied is annoying. Being underestimated though…that might actually help"
That thought settled cleaner than the others.
Mary moved her hand up again and very gently touched the side of her bandaged face.
"They think I'm weak. They think I'm recovering. They think I'm confused. All true. But none of that means I have to be stupid. I will get revenge for you mary so you can rest in peace." Said mary softly with a cold look in her eyes.
The room was silent. Mary looked toward the door.
One attendant had been left outside. Mary could hear the faint shift of shoes every now and then.
Good.
That meant someone was close enough to call if she died and far enough not to be in her face.
Love that.
Mary leaned back fully into the pillows and closed her eyes for a moment.
A childhood not hers pushed against her ribs.
A mirror avoided.
A dress hated.
A strange relief the first time a stable boy called out "young master" from behind by mistake years ago before being corrected.
Mary opened her eyes agai man and muttered "Huh…"
That one lingered. Not because it solved anything.
Because it didn't.
It just made the whole thing feel less random and more mean.
Mary stared at the canopy and said softly "Mary had her own problems. Jerome had his. Now I got both. Amazing."
The room was absolutely silent.
Mary turned her head once more toward the covered mirror and thought "I'll act like mary. That's the safest role available until I know who wants what"
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"Let them think I'm weak. Let them think I'm ruined. Let them think the accident broke me. Good. Less work for me." Said mary with an extremely cold look in her eyes.
The candlelight flickered.
Mary looked down at the blanket again and slowly ran her thumb over the fine stitching near the edge.
Rich.
Careful work.
Old money.
Pressure.
Expectation.
A prison with prettier walls.
Mary was silent for a moment and thought "Fine. If I'm stuck here then I'm learning the walls before I start moving furniture. My past life was diarrhea, this life will be a rainbow and rosses".
*Knock* *Knock*
"My lady, your broth has arrived." Said a timid female voice from outside the room.
Mary stared at the door and muttered "Come in then."
The door opened quietly.
*Boom*
A young maid entered with a tray in her hands. She kept her eyes lowered. Good instincts.
She set the broth on the side table and stepped back.
"My lady…would you like the mirror removed fully from the room." Asked the maid softly with her head lowered.
Mary looked toward the covered shape and said nonchalantly "No. Leave it. I'm not in the mood for surprises later."
The maid nodded once and said "Very good my lady."
Mary looked at her silhouette and asked softly "What's your name."
The maid hesitated and then said "Anne, my lady."
"Ok anne. People are talking about the ball outside this room like my life depends on it. What exactly is the urgency." Asked mary flatly with squinted eyes.
Anne swallowed slightly and said quickly "Because society will talk, my lady. They always do."
Mary was silent for a moment.
"That sounds exhausting." Said mary muttering.
Anne said nothing. Smart girl. Very smart.
Mary looked down at the untouched broth and then back toward the maid.
"Did they tell you who might be there." Asked mary nonchalantly.
Anne nodded carefully and said "A lot of families, my lady. Nobility from london and beyond. I also heard the ainsworth family may attend with baron fletcher."
The room was absolutely silent.
Ainsworth.
There it was again.
"And mordred." Asked mary nonchalantly.
Anne's eyes widened slightly and then dropped again and said "I heard that name too my lady."
"Hm…" Mary muttered.
Anne stood there awkwardly for a moment.
"You can go. And Anne…" Said mary softly.
Anne paused at the door and said with her back still turned "Yes my lady."
"If anybody asks, tell them I was quiet, weak and terribly tired." Said mary nonchalantly.
Anne blinked with confusion and then nodded while saying with a stutter "Y…yes my lady."
She quickly took her leave.
*Boom*
The room was silent once more.
Mary looked toward the covered mirror and said softly "That should hold them"
Mary reached for the broth, took one careful sip, winced, and muttered "Trash"
The room was absolutely silent.
(Margaret's POV)
"Hurry up. Hurry up. I don't have all damn day and neither do these hoes." Said margaret with a impatient look on her face as she sat in the sitting room with three women and two men standing in front of her.
Vladimir stood against the wall beside the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest and said with a sigh "Can you stop calling them hoes in front of their faces."
Margaret looked at him and said with disgust "Why. That's what they are applying to be around."
The sitting room was absolutely silent.
A young woman with curled red hair and a very large chest adjusted her throat and said with nervous eyes "I thought this was for serving drinks and entertaining guests."
Margaret stared at her for a moment and said "And what do you think that means dear."
The room was silent.
The red haired woman looked away and muttered "Ah…"
"Hm. Useless. But useful enough." Said margaret while writing something down on a paper with a dip pen.
Vladimir clicked his tongue and said "At least lie to them softer."
"I am not here to soften anything. I am here to build. If they don't like that then they can leave and starve in a alley. There are five brothels to fill and only so many women desperate enough to take the work without whining." Said margaret while pointing her pen at the line of applicants.
A middle aged man in a brown coat frowned and asked "And what exactly would my place be in all this."
Margaret looked him up and down and said "Can you keep your mouth shut."
The middle aged man blinked and said with a confused nod "Yes."
"Can you beat a man senseless without crying about it later." Asked margaret calmly with squinted eyes.
The room was silent.
The man hesitated and then nodded.
"Then you watch doors." Said margaret with a wave of her left hand.
Vladimir smirked slightly from the wall and muttered "That was quick."
"Efficiency." Said margaret immediately.
The room was absolutely silent.
Another woman stepped forward and asked nervously "And the pay."
Margaret smiled.
"Now that is the first intelligent question anyone has asked in this room. Good girls get fed. Useful girls get housed. Loyal girls get protected. Disloyal girls get thrown back to whatever gutter they crawled out of. Men get the same rule. Do we understand each other." Said margaret while propping both of her legs atop the desk with her arms spread. A gold ring on her right on her ring finger with the letter (P) on it for pimp.
The room was silent.
The line of workers nodded.
"Good. Vladimir, take the ones that look like they can actually stand upright for more than ten minutes and put them with the second property. I want the first open within the week." Said margaret calmly.
Vladimir straightened from the wall and asked "What about the stuff."
Margaret lowered her voice.
"Not until the rooms are stable. I want the girls settled, guards in place, front business clean enough to pass and routes watched first. Then the grave smoke moves." Said margaret with a serious look in her eyes.
Vladimir nodded slowly and muttered "Hidden but accessible."
Margaret pointed her pen at him and said "Good. Your brain finally caught up."
The room was absolutely silent.
A older woman near the back of the line asked quietly "Why are you doing all this."
Margaret stared at her for a moment and said "Because money likes movement and I got tired of being poor."
No one said anything.
Margaret leaned back into the chair and looked at every face in front of her.
"And because the family I work with is too ambitious to fail quietly. So if you're joining, understand this now. There will be rules. You do your job. You don't ask what doesn't concern you. You don't skim, steal or talk. If you do, I will find out and your life will become very educational. I can guarantee it." Said margaret calmly.
The sitting room was absolutely silent.
Vladimir rubbed his nose slightly and muttered "She means that."
"Of course I do. I didn't survive this long by bluffing." Said margaret with a smile and chuckle.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway.
A servant entered the sitting room and bowed "Madame. The carriage for the bank has returned with confirmation of the property transfers."
Margaret's eyes widened slightly with delight.
"Oh. Good. Very good." Said margaret while taking the papers handed to her and looking over them with squinted eyes.
Vladimir pushed off the wall and came over and muttered while reading over margaret's shoulder "Bamburgh and greenland."
Margaret chuckled and said "That little freak actually did it."
The applicants stood there awkwardly.
"Dismissed. You, red hair, stay. Door man, stay. The rest of you go wait in the front hall and don't touch shit." Said margaret quickly while waving her hand.
The workers hurried out.
*Boom* *Boom* *Boom*
The room became quieter.
Margaret looked down at the transfer papers and thought while a smile spread over her face "Land. Brothels. London. Ball. Marriage. Hahaha…this family moving like a disease"
Vladimir looked at the papers and asked "Do you really think he'll like that stafford girl."
Margaret snorted loudly.
"Like her. Boy I don't care if he likes a wall. If she gives him leverage then he will marry the wall." Said margaret dryly while looking up at vladimir.
The room was absolutely silent.
The red haired woman stared with wide eyes.
The doorman kept quiet. Very smart.
"That's cold." Said Vladimir muttering while rubbing the back of his neck.
Margaret stared at him and said "No. That's structure."
The room was silent.
(Vladimir's POV)
"How many girls do we have already." Asked vladimir with a sigh.
Margaret looked over the list and said "Across the five, counting the ones half confirmed and the ones already working under the old london houses we've bought out…eighteen women, six men for doors, four runners, two carriage boys and one drunk idiot that says he can read."
"Can he." Asked vladimir.
Margaret looked up and said "No."
The sitting room was absolutely silent.
"Hm…" Vladimir muttered.
Margaret handed him another paper and said with a slight smirk "This is the spread. Two near the river. One near the market road. One near the theater district. One further out for the men who don't like being seen."
Vladimir looked over the list and nodded slowly and said with a grin "Haha…mordred really meant it. He's making a spider web."
Margaret leaned back in the chair and said "No. A nest. Spiders hide. This family intends to own the walls."
The room was silent.
Vladimir looked down at the marked locations and thought with his eyes narrowing slightly "He's moving fast. Faster than before. Before he had to survive, now he can build"
A weird little feeling sat in his chest.
Not fear. Pride maybe. That felt weird.
Vladimir clicked his tongue and shoved the feeling aside.
"Fine. I'll get the men in place and check the areas personally. No one's screwing with what we are building." Said vladimir seriously.
Margaret nodded once.
"Good. And after that go wash your face. Those freckles keep ruining your flirting." Said margaret with a wave of her hand.
Vladimir stared at her and asked "How do you even know about that."
Margaret smirked with all the evil of a old witch and said "Because you walked in smiling like a freshly fucked fool."
The room was absolutely silent.
The red haired woman coughed and looked away. Her mouth curling into a smile.
The doorman tried not to laugh. Failed.
Vladimir pointed at all of them and said loudly "Not a word. Not a single goddamn word."
Margaret burst out laughing.
*Boom*
The room was loud with it for a moment and then settled.
Vladimir folded the location papers and tucked them into his coat and thought while heading toward the door and out of the building "One week and london already feels smaller"
"Mordred's right. This city moves quick. But house ainsworth moves even quicker." Said vladimir muttering underneath his breath as he adjusted his cuffs and blew at his cold hands.
His figure gripping the long coat as it faded down the muddy street.
…
THE END…