Chapter 28: Like Herding Cats pt. 1 (1/2)

“What is this place?” I ask as I exit the sarcophagus.

“We are inside the Tillerson plantation house Mistress. The largest and most expensive manor in a hundred-mile radius! The furniture was made by a famous Philadelphia artisan and it has no less than forty windows. Please note the wonderful Corinthian column on the front porch, so lovely.” Says Dalton, deadpan.

I am grateful that vampires rise fully awake.

“The Tillerson are very proud of the place, aren’t they?”

“Yes, Mistress. They explained everything in great detail. Took one bloody hour.”

“And I assume that we reached fort Barrington safely during the day?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“And we have become their guests because…?”

“Why Mistress, how could Cornelius Tillerson let a good act such as this rescue remain unpunished? Of course, he must show the hero of the moment, sir Cecil Rutherford Bingle, to all of his posh friends! We are invited to the ball.”

“Loth has been unable to leave?”

“Unable and unwilling. We only arrived two hours ago, so leaving would have been unreasonable. Not to mention, suspicious.”

“What does suspicion have to do with anything?”

“We do not all have sir Bingle’s winning charisma, Mistress. See, the brave man credited us for many things. Except, I’m not exactly hero material and Loth is a bit odd. Not to mention a few widows and spinsters have been sweet on him. Never good to steal the women the first day in a new place, I can tell you. Was hoping you could use your legendary persuasion to smooth things out.”

And by ”smoothing things out” he does not mean killing everyone here, this time.

“Very well, but I want to clean up first.”

“I’ll have the servants bring water.”

The bedroom I am in is small but well furnished. It is too impersonal to be cozy, but I can appreciate the effort. As I finish picking leaves and twigs from my hair a harried-looking black woman drags a pot of tepid water inside before leaving without a word. I have helped organize enough receptions to know that improvising one is a tiring and thankless ordeal.

The Thirst takes me as I finish putting on Nashoba’s earrings and a mother of pearl necklace. The royal blue dress I wear is too practical to be elegant, unfortunately. At least, it is well cut and should serve adequately.

I exit the bedroom and find myself in a corridor of respectable size, and I admit to being impressed. The Tillerson mansion is large indeed, and expensively decorated. I would think that more money than sense had been thrown at our surroundings. As the guest, however, I am also grateful for the care and will refrain from commenting.

Dalton has been waiting for me faithfully. I notice that he is much more polished than his usual self. He is clean-shaven and his hair is combed back and even waxed. He has become darkly charismatic, the kind of men fathers are afraid of when their daughters come of age. A well-cut suit helped him transition from outlaw to prodigal son.

Good. This image is more respectable than the last and should help him in serving me.

“Offer me your arm.”

“Mistress? You… Are Thirsty?”

“No! Well, yes, but that is not what I meant. Offer me your arm so that we may walk together.”

“Aaaah. Of course.”

I grab him and we move towards a set of stairs. I can hear quite a few people making merry below, as well as the scent of alcohol, vitality and sweat. And also…

I stop Dalton with a gesture and knock on a nearby door.

“Excuse me! Hello?”

It is soon opened by a mortified man in the uniform of a butler. One of his hands is behind his back to hide the proof of his crime: a half-empty bottle of fine scotch.

“Hrm. May I help you miss…”

When our eyes meet, I hit him with the full power of my hypnosis. With one small push, he tumbles back inside.

To my dismay, his bow tie is in the way so I must feed on his arm. Well, nevermind.

When I am finished, I return to Dalton and leave my donor in the haze he was so desperately seeking. It seems that it is impossible to find good help anywhere nowadays. Oh well, that is feeding taken care of for tonight I suppose.

“Where is Sinead anyway?”

“Oh, he mentioned something about filthy humans stinking up the air and left for the forest. If we’re lucky a wolf will eat him…”

“Not before I get my due I hope!”

“I believe, however, that some naïve daughter will give birth to a child with strange hair nine months from now.”

“…”

That sounded personal. I am starting to think that someone in his family may have rolled in the hay with the wrong species. Hum. I shall leave those thoughts for some other time as we approach our destination.

The ballroom is at the back of the property and it seems the party is already in full swing. Groups of revelers have spilled over the main hall and the garden beyond through open French windows. I notice the conservative yet expensive garb of wealthy landowners in light colors, but also more than a few army uniforms in dark blue, quite close to my dress in fact. I wonder if Loth did it on purpose? It would not surprise me, coming from the crafty old bugger.

We are stopped at the entrance by a man in a butler outfit who is as puffed up as a singing bird. The self-importance radiating from his scowling features is remarkable.

He considers Dalton with obvious distrust. I, however, seem to pass some kind of test. The condition of one’s skin in the South is an easy way to determine their position in society. Anyone with a white and healthy skin is hidden during the day and sleeps at night. Thus, they must be rich.

The dress and understated jewelry as well as my posture only reinforce this image. In half a second, the gatekeeper has deemed me worthy.

“Who should I announce, miss?”

“Ariane Delaney.”

“Oh! You are… Hm. Forgive me.”

The man is flustered by his breach of decorum. Well, I cannot blame him as I can already hear Loth’s roaring laughter.

“Miss Ariane Delaney!” Announces the man to the crowd, to the general indiff…

Why is everyone looking at me?

“Miss Delaney, over here!” says Bingle in the center of the room.

I bypass several groups of people, smiling and nodding to any guest meeting my eyes. Dalton follows me in like a shadow before merging into the crowd, unnoticed.

Soon, I arrive before a group of people who I assume are the instigators of tonight’s unexpected celebration. I notice in passing that Rose is absent from Bingle's arm. I hope she is not being snubbed.

“Miss Delaney, it is so good to see you! Here, let me present to you our most excellent and generous Hosts: Cornelius Tillerson,”

He indicates a jolly fellow with a large grey beard and mustache. His well-cut suit struggles to contain a gut, his nose is already quite red and his glass is empty, not the first one tonight I’d wager. The master of the house is a man who indulges it seems.

“… Lydia Tillerson…”

His wife is much younger than him. She is also gorgeous and elegant. With her slightly graying hair, she is the very image of a mature beauty. Loth would be pleased.

She smells of sex. This is rather interesting because her husband does not.

“… And their daughter Cecily!”

The last member of the assembly has unfortunately inherited her father’s traits, although I have seen worse. What she lacks in beauty, she makes up for in self-confidence, and her calculating eyes hint at a keen intelligence.

Since the introductions are done, I curtsy only for Cornelius to shove his hand in my face.

I give him my own fully expecting a proper kiss, instead the man pumps it like he expects me to spit crude oil.

“The heroine of the hour! Bingle here mentioned your courage! A true testament to American women you are, not like those pale flowers the Brits seem to like, hah!”

“Haha. Surely Mr. Bingle is exaggerating. He and my uncle did most of the work.”

“He also said you were modest.” He replies with a sly smile.

“Corny dear, stop hogging the poor woman, you will scare her!”

“Is it true that you deceived a room full of guard and clobbered one of them?”

Why does he make it sound so uncouth?

“Well, there were two of them. The other was guarding Dalton.”

“Hah! HAHAHAHA by God Bingle, you missed one! Aaaa thank you my girl, I have not laughed that hard in a long time. Now. Why don’t you and Cecily enjoy yourselves with the young people while we crusty old folks reminisce about the past! My friends would never forgive me if I do not give their sons a chance to court you. Now go! Enjoy and be merry, and come back to us when you have made the round!”

The young woman immediately locks arms with me while Cornelius and Bingle resume their previous discussions under the lady of the house’s tolerant gaze. She drags me from group to group and introduces me to more people than I care to remember. I answer a barrage of repetitive questions with all the charm and patience I can muster. Am I engaged? No but I have prospects. Is it true I manipulated a group of men and used violence on one of them in order to save my uncle and the adventurer? It certainly is. Someone heard that I shot a pistol in someone’s face at point blank range. That last rumor, which I deny in vain, makes me popular among the soldiers and younger people, not so with the more conservative fringe of the room. For some reason, I have a particularly warm reception from the women. I am willing to bet that quite a few of them would find swinging a club at their rivals a therapeutic experience.

I am leaving a group of scowling spinsters when I catch a warning sign from the corner of my eyes. Dalton is frantically gesturing in several directions.

Ah, it seems that I am being corralled. A few men in uniform are making their way across the crowd. I immediately spot the leader by virtue of his cloth being the shiniest, turn around and stop.

“What is it?” Asks Cecily.

“Someone could not wait their turn.”

To her credit, my companion does not inquire more. Instead, she moves closer to me to offer a united front.

In moments, a tall officer with a clean-shaven face and piercing brown eyes appears from the edge of a herd of guests. He is wearing a powdered white wig despite the sweltering heat. Whether it is by vanity or love for decorum, I cannot tell. His eyes fall on me with a frown.

Yes, I was expecting you. What I was not expecting is for you to smell of sex and of Lydia Tillerson. This is an abuse of his position as guest. It makes me want to kill him.

“Miss Delaney?”

“Yes?”

“Would you please...”

“And who might you be?”

The man’s face ticks in anger at being interrupted. This is a trick I learned from Papa. People in a position of power are not used to opposition. If they are thwarted, their first reaction will almost always be to threaten.

“I am captain Lannes of the United States army, and you would do well to follow me.”

“Is there an issue, Jonas?” Asks my neighbor.

You just lost the home advantage Jonas, let us see if I can take it for myself.

“I have some questions for your guest, nothing serious I assure you.” Says the Officer with a strained smile.

“Then surely you can ask them here.” I suggest loudly. A few people are starting to turn to us, sensing the tension in our respective postures. I could have been surprised that Cecily supports me instead of someone she lives with. I am not. My stay with the Lancaster taught me that people are always eager to employ newcomers as tool in an ongoing conflict. The rigid officer is not on his first offense, it seems, and Cecily is not someone I would offend lightly.

Now to see if he stays or retreats.

“I was very impressed by your uncle’s tale Miss Delaney. There is no need for hostility. I merely wanted to clarify a few points. As a member of law enforcement in those savage lands, it is my duty to shed light on your extraordinary adventure.”

Cute save, mortal.

“I notice that you still haven’t asked a question.”

“Your aggression does you a disservice Miss Delaney, it almost looks suspicious.”

“I confess, I am guilty of running out of patience. Ask your questions and be gone Jonas, we still have many guests to greet. “

Poor Jonas. You cannot touch me and we both know it.

“... Very well. What’s your relationship with the group of outlaws known as the Valiant Companions?”

“There isn’t one.”

“Really?” He smirks. “Then can you explain why you came here arm in arm with one of its members?”

“And who would that be?” I answer immediately. The immediate riposte catches him off-guard. If he expected guilt and fear, I am going to disappoint him.

“Do not play coy. I am referring to Mr. Dalton.”

“Is he a member of the Valiant Companions?”

“... Yes?”

“Curious, I would expect him to be in chains then, since he is an outlaw. No?”

Silence.

I am aware that I am playing a dangerous game. The best would be to avoid the conflict. That would mean that they attempt to corner me for the rest of the evening however, and I am not letting that happen.

“Mr. Dalton’s pardon does not absolve him of his crime before the Lord.”