HystericalParoxysm
26th Jun 2010, 08:31 AM
Just a little snippet of the beginning of a story I've had kicking around my head for a while. I would really love feedback, constructive criticism, and any random ideas - I've got some vague notions on where to go with this but they're still not fully-formed.
This post here has been edited several times as I rewrite/edit/add things. ;)
Rebecca Lawson rang the doorbell, hearing the muffled buzz behind the door, and then stood tall and straight and waited, smoothing her dress over her legs and brushing a stray wisp of hair from her forehead. The wind caught it and dropped it right back out of place. She heard shuffling footsteps, and then a figure appeared behind the rippled stained glass panel in the door. The lock rattled, and the door swung open.
She stared down at an old woman who had a face like a shriveled lemon, wearing a white bonnet and grey dress. The old woman glared up at her with one cold blue eye. The other, made of marbled grey glass, rolled in its socket. "Well? I haven't got all day!" the old woman demanded in a cracked growl.
"Good afternoon. I'm Rebecca Lawson. I sent a letter last week..."
The old woman's expression didn't change. "Yeh? Lots of folks send letters. I en't allowed to open 'em, and the master of the house just lets 'em pile up. You here about a bill?"
"No, no, nothing like that. I am here to offer my services-"
She was cut off by the old woman's coughing fit, that she realized was actually laughter. "You are far too well-dressed, honey. I doubt he can afford you."
Rebecca's cheeks reddened. This wasn't going as she had planned. "Ma'am, I am in the employ of the Dionysos Group. I have been sent as an assistant to Dr. Grey. To get his business affairs in order."
The old woman scrutinized her, looking at her sensible and stylish dress and coat, her small and smart bag carried at her side, and then coughed another laugh. Her breath smelled of cough drops, tobacco, and cheap whiskey. "A secretary? They sent him a secretary! Oh, lordy. Well, come on then..."
She stepped back from the door, gesturing for Rebecca to follow her inside. Rebecca shut the door behind her and followed the old woman down a wood-paneled hallway into a large sitting room.
"I'm his maid and cook. Hazel's my name... though he never uses it. I try to keep him in clean shirts and fed, and the house from falling apart. Fat lot of good it does, the way he treats the place. Tea?"
"Tea would be lovely, thank you."
"Right then... I'll go put the kettle on and see if he's out of bed yet."
Rebecca blinked. "It's half past three."
"He's usually not up until suppertime. Sometimes not even then, if he's been up late." Hazel disappeared into a corridor off to one side of the room, leaving Rebecca to herself.
She took the opportunity to look around the sitting room. The furniture was old, well-worn, and a bit dusty. Bookshelves covered one wall, sagging under the weight of hundreds of thick books, spines cracked. She set her bag down beside a many-times-patched sofa, and walked to the bookshelf. Bartleby's Astronomy. Alchemical Explorations. Xenobiology: A History. Strunkmore's Guide to Steamworks, Editions 1-10. Exploring the Aether through Ether.
She turned and went to the other side of the room, where portraits covered one wall. The smoke-stained, painted eyes of the people there looked back at her almost accusingly. Most of them had the same strangely intense stare, hard features, and barely-tamed black hair. They wore antiquated finery decorated in jewels and pearls, and several held small dogs, as if they were royalty.
Hazel rattled back into the sitting room, carrying a tray with a small white teapot and three mismatched teacups. The sugar bowl was shaped like a startled-looking swan, and an open-mouthed ceramic cow held milk, which sloshed onto the tray when Hazel set it down on the table in front of the sofa. Rebecca crossed the room to sit on one side of the sofa while Hazel hunched and poured tea, adding sugar and milk to all three cups without a word.
Hazel straightened, took one cup and saucer, and back toward the hallway, where a set of steep, narrow stairs led up. "Let's see if tea will rouse him. Either that or he'll be wearing it." She chuckled toothlessly to herself and then wandered off, saying, "I'll be right back. You have your tea."
And then Rebecca was alone again. She lifted her chipped blue and pink cup and sipped at the tea. It was weak, and too sweet, but it was warm. She set it down and slipped out of her coat, folding it carefully and laying it across the top of her bag.
From upstairs, she heard raised voices, and a crash. More raised voices, and then the thudding of swift footsteps. Another crash, and then the slow thump of footsteps heading down the stairs. Hazel appeared in the hallway, giving Rebecca a strained smile.
"Everything all right?" Rebecca asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh, just lovely. He'll be down shortly." Hazel flopped down into a chair opposite Rebecca, and then lifted her own cup, slurping noisily at her tea. After draining the cup in a few gulps, Hazel stuck her pinky finger in one ear, twisting it, and then examined it closely.
Rebecca sipped silently at her tea, trying to look anywhere other than Hazel. She opened her mouth to try to make polite conversation, but at that moment, another crash came echoing through the house from above, followed closely by heavy, clomping footsteps coming down the stairs.
Dr. Grey emerged from the hallway, wrapped in a heavy red brocade dressing gown, his feet bare. He was tall, thin but broad-shouldered and long-limbed, and rumpled from head to toe. His curly black hair stuck up in all directions. He had several days of beard upon the hard planes of his pale cheeks, and his eyes were red-rimmed, heavy-lidded with sleep behind his tiny, gold-framed spectacles, which lay crookedly across his long, narrow nose.
He stumbled into the sitting room, and then threw himself down onto the sofa next to Rebecca. He extended a hand toward Hazel, who, with a scowl, reached into the pocket of her dress and withdrew a small silver flask. He uncapped it, took a swig, then tucked it into his own pocket.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, yawning loudly. Then he opened his eyes again, looking at Rebecca as if he had just noticed her. "Who're you, then?"
Before Rebecca could answer, Hazel leaned forward. "This is the girl I just told you about, you dizzy fool. They've hired you a nanny!"
"Dr. Grey, I am Rebecca Lawson. I was hired by the Dionysos Group, and sent here to you to act as an assistant."
He regarded her with a dubious gaze. "An assistant? I didn't ask for any assistant."
"No, sir," she replied, folding her hands on her lap. "However, your recent output has dwindled and concerns were raised. So they thought it best to find you someone who could help. Pay bills, respond to inquiries, pick up supplies... that kind of thing."
"So they've sent you here to spy on me, then? Is that it?"
"Not exactly. While they have asked for progress reports, I am not here to monitor your experiments. Merely to ensure they are being done."
"They are being done. Now you can leave. Report back to your bosses that everything is fine!"
Rebecca smiled. "I'm afraid that's not good enough."
Dr. Grey suddenly stood, glaring at her. "That will damn well have to be good enough!"
Her smile faded. She looked up at him and spoke, perfectly evenly. "I am here, primarily, to help you. To take care of the day-to-day administrative matters that you neglect. I will also report back to my employer - your employer - regarding your experiments. However, I have not been asked to report on the details of your experiments. Merely that you are actually doing some. And, I have been instructed to inform you that if you refuse my services, your contract with the Dionysos Group will be terminated."
"What?!" He took a step back, knocking into the table, rattling the teapot. "They can't do that to me! I need my funding."
"Actually, they can. But I can assure you, they do not want to do so. They would very much like to continue with your arrangement. But your progress reports have been late, slim, and quite vague. And so, I am here, to remind you of the calendar, to handle your accounts so that your bills are paid, and to assist you in any other ways necessary for you to continue with your work."
"I don't need a nanny!"
Rebecca rose from the sofa and stepped up to Dr. Grey. He towered over her, but she looked up into his unshaven, unwashed face, and narrowed her eyes. "I believe you do, Dr. Grey. Look at yourself. It's three in the afternoon and you are just getting out of bed. You start the day from a flask. You probably haven't bathed in a week, and I don't believe you have anything on under that dressing gown. I can strongly suggest that you go and have a bath and a shave, and a fresh change of clothes, but I won't make you. And I won't put you over my knee if you refuse. Because I am not your nanny. I am your assistant. And I am here to help you."
Dr. Grey glared down at her over the top of his spectacles. After a moment, he sighed and said, "Do I smell?"
"Only a little." Rebecca gave him a little smile.
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Very well then. I will bathe and dress and then we will discuss this. I am not admitting defeat so easily, though, make no mistake! I merely concede that I do need a bath."
He stalked from the room and stormed up the stairs.
Hazel snickered, sitting in the armchair and holding her empty cup of tea.
"Is he always that dramatic?" Rebecca asked, sitting back down.
"Oh yes. Actually that was quite mild. He's not awake yet, and I think you caught him off-guard. I've never seen him give in with so little blustering and protest."
"My employers warned me that he is a tad eccentric."
Hazel hooted. "Yes, that's one word for him!" She chuckled and put down her cup back on the tray. "I should show you to one of the spare rooms upstairs. There's loads of 'em up there. It's his house, but he'd never think to offer. That is, if you were planning on staying here..."
"Yes, thank you. Seeing... the state he's in, perhaps it would be best if I stayed here, to keep an eye on him."
"You know I've done my best with him. I see that he eats, that he sleeps occasionally. Keep him from over-indulging. But a mind like that, it's hard to convince to do anything it doesn't want to do."
"I'm sure you've done just fine. I hope you don't believe my presence an intrusion. My employers are very grateful for your service. And you will be well-rewarded."
Hazel's glass eye gleamed, and a smile raised the corners of her deeply-lined mouth. "Well. Isn't that something?"
After a few moments of slightly uncomfortable silence, Hazel pushed herself up from the armchair with a grunt, and turned toward the hall. "You'd best come on then."
Rebecca draped her coat over her arm, picked up her bag, and followed Hazel's grey-covered backside slowly up the creaking stairs, lined in threadbare red carpet. They went down a wide hall, lined with doors, and stopped at the last one on the right. "Here we are," said Hazel as she opened the door.
The room was small, dusty, and dark. The yellowed lace curtains covered the window, letting only a little light in from the chill grey day outside. There were doilies everywhere. A shelf over the small bed held a collection of ceramic kittens playing with balls of yarn. Rebecca stepped in and set her bag down at the foot of the bed.
"His rooms are at here, you see," Hazel said, pointing just outside the room to the door at the end of the hall. "Best to keep a close eye on him. He sleepwalks sometimes. I try to put things down for him to stub his toe on before he gets to the stairs, so he doesn't go wandering down the stairs and out the front door. He's done that a few times. He doesn't always remember the dressing gown... Bit difficult, trying to steer him back toward bed in the altogether... I've given up on it and I just ignore it when I hear him knocking around..." Hazel trailed off, chuckling nervously. "Hope that sort of thing doesn't bother you too much..."
Rebecca smirked. "I am the youngest of seven children. I have six older brothers. Nothing he could do would shock or surprise me much."
Hazel nodded. "Ah, right then. Well, good luck. I've got the kitchen floor to do. He can take a while at his bath sometimes. Once you're settled in, if ya like, come down and I'll make you something to eat."
Hazel waddled out the door and shut it behind her, leaving Rebecca in the little dusty room alone. Rebecca stepped to the window and opened the curtains, waving in front of her face to disperse the dust this released into the air. Outside, a fine spray of droplets began to mist the rippled window glass.
Rebecca descended the creaking stairs and went into the sitting room to wait for Dr. Grey. She could hear humming from the side of the house with the kitchen, where Hazel was busily cleaning.
A cloudy, cracked mirror near the hall offered her a chance to check her appearance. Her long, mouse brown hair was carefully piled and pinned atop her head, and had mostly survived the windy journey from the train and coach. She wore little in the way of cosmetics, and her jewelry was simple. Her dress was a sensible dark blue edged in cream lace, with a row of tiny pearl buttons down the front. She had had cinched her corset loosely today, in anticipation of her journey, and at this she frowned. It made her feel sloppy, but the young woman gazing back at her in the mirror looked well-groomed and professional. She smoothed down a few stray hairs, re-pinned a piece that was coming loose, and then sat down on the sofa.
A grandfather clock in the corner ticked loudly as she waited. She did not fidget or search for entertainment. She was patient, and used to waiting.
After about twenty minutes, she heard heavy footsteps on the stairs, and Dr. Grey came down the hall and into the sitting room. He was clean and shaven, and wore fresh, though rumpled, clothes: dark brown trousers, a cream shirt, and red and cream brocade waistcoat. His hair, though he had clearly attempted to comb it, still lay atop his head in an unruly puff of shining black curls, still wet from being washed.
She stood as he entered, and he stopped in front of her and frowned. "What did you say your name was?"
"Lawson. Rebecca Lawson."
"And you're still here."
"Indeed I am."
"You're not leaving, then?"
"No, I'm not."
"Damn." Dr. Grey chewed at his bottom lip, and then rolled a shrug. "Can't convince you to go, can I?"
"Probably not," she said with a tiny smirk. "You could demand I leave, but then, of course, your funding would cease, and I daresay you don't want that at all."
"No, I very much do not want that. I also don't need an assistant, though. Can't you just... I don't know, stay out of the way and report back that I'm doing experiments and tell them to leave me alone?"
"I think that you'll find I can be quite helpful. I am well-educated and have a particular interest in science. And if nothing else, I can see to it that your mail is opened and answered, and I can fetch supplies for you. Give me a chance to show you how useful I can be, and I believe you will be pleasantly surprised."
"You're a woman. What help can you be to me with science?"
To his surprise, she laughed. "Do you believe I'll be dipping my ovaries in your test tubes? I may not be a doctor, but I am competent in a laboratory, and I can follow directions. Surely sometimes it would be helpful to you to have someone there to stir something, turn the flame up or down, take something from the heat, add an ingredient... Certainly, a woman can do these things... women can cook, can we not?"
He nodded slowly, uncertainly. "I... suppose so..."
"Good. Then why don't you show me where you do your work? I'd like to see what you have in progress."
At this, he tensed. "My work is not fit for view yet. I do not reveal my works in progress. And I do not allow anyone into my laboratory."
Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest and smiled at him. "I'm not here to steal your inventions, Dr. Grey. We work for the same people. I assure you, I am no spy for one of your rivals. I swear to you that whatever I see of your work will remain secret, even from the Dionysos Group. As I told you earlier, I am to report that you -are- working, not on what."
"You're still not coming in my laboratory."
"Then how will I know you are working, and not merely sleeping under the desk?"
He scowled at her. He had an excellent face for scowling; thick, dark eyebrows lay low over his dark brown eyes, obscured by the tiny, delicate looking spectacles that rested upon his long, narrow nose, and the deep furrows on either side of his nose framed his unusually full, wide mouth as it twisted into disapproval. "You can stand outside the door."
She supressed a chuckle, covering her lips with her fingers. "You want me to wait outside and watch through the doorway?"
His scowl deepened. "Yes."
"Well, it's a start," she said with a grin.
He turned and headed to the stairs without another word. His shoulders slumped as he trudged up them, and down the hall. He stopped at one of the doors lining the hall, and opened it. A tiny passage led up toward the attic. She followed him up this set of stairs, and into a small room with three doors. He opened the center door, and then turned back to her. "You stay here. If you come into my labororatory, this ridiculous arrangement is over, funding or none."
She nodded her agreement, and he turned back into the room. It took up what had to be most of the rest of the attic, fully finished with the same wood floors as the rest of the house. A large arched window at the far end let in the greyish light of the dreary day. Beneath it, an elaborate chemistry set reached almost half the height of the room. A dusty chandelier sagged in the center of the ceiling, hanging over what looked like dozens of mismatched tables holding every manner of junk. Glass jars, ceramic pots, twisted nests of wires, precarious stacks of books, and containers partly filled with various colours of cloudy liquids covered every surface, spilling over onto the floor in haphazard piles. Dr. Grey navigated the maze of tables and junk with a practiced ease, lifting his long legs high to step over piles stacked almost up to his waist, ducking the arms of a strange metallic crab-like contraption that dangled over the back of a dining chair that had been placed up on one of the tables, the seat of the chair stacked high with papers.
Finally, he reached the far end of the room, where the glass tubes, beakers, and brass supports of the chemistry set gleamed, the only thing in the room that didn't appear to be coated in dust. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small box, and struck a match to light a gas-fueled flame. It leapt up blue and softly roaring, and he adjusted its height with a knob on the side of the burner. Then, he pulled the burner out from beneath the largest flask. From nearby, he located a battered black kettle, shaking it to hear a liquid sloshing inside. He placed it over the flame, and then turned back to her and asked, "Tea?"
This post here has been edited several times as I rewrite/edit/add things. ;)
Rebecca Lawson rang the doorbell, hearing the muffled buzz behind the door, and then stood tall and straight and waited, smoothing her dress over her legs and brushing a stray wisp of hair from her forehead. The wind caught it and dropped it right back out of place. She heard shuffling footsteps, and then a figure appeared behind the rippled stained glass panel in the door. The lock rattled, and the door swung open.
She stared down at an old woman who had a face like a shriveled lemon, wearing a white bonnet and grey dress. The old woman glared up at her with one cold blue eye. The other, made of marbled grey glass, rolled in its socket. "Well? I haven't got all day!" the old woman demanded in a cracked growl.
"Good afternoon. I'm Rebecca Lawson. I sent a letter last week..."
The old woman's expression didn't change. "Yeh? Lots of folks send letters. I en't allowed to open 'em, and the master of the house just lets 'em pile up. You here about a bill?"
"No, no, nothing like that. I am here to offer my services-"
She was cut off by the old woman's coughing fit, that she realized was actually laughter. "You are far too well-dressed, honey. I doubt he can afford you."
Rebecca's cheeks reddened. This wasn't going as she had planned. "Ma'am, I am in the employ of the Dionysos Group. I have been sent as an assistant to Dr. Grey. To get his business affairs in order."
The old woman scrutinized her, looking at her sensible and stylish dress and coat, her small and smart bag carried at her side, and then coughed another laugh. Her breath smelled of cough drops, tobacco, and cheap whiskey. "A secretary? They sent him a secretary! Oh, lordy. Well, come on then..."
She stepped back from the door, gesturing for Rebecca to follow her inside. Rebecca shut the door behind her and followed the old woman down a wood-paneled hallway into a large sitting room.
"I'm his maid and cook. Hazel's my name... though he never uses it. I try to keep him in clean shirts and fed, and the house from falling apart. Fat lot of good it does, the way he treats the place. Tea?"
"Tea would be lovely, thank you."
"Right then... I'll go put the kettle on and see if he's out of bed yet."
Rebecca blinked. "It's half past three."
"He's usually not up until suppertime. Sometimes not even then, if he's been up late." Hazel disappeared into a corridor off to one side of the room, leaving Rebecca to herself.
She took the opportunity to look around the sitting room. The furniture was old, well-worn, and a bit dusty. Bookshelves covered one wall, sagging under the weight of hundreds of thick books, spines cracked. She set her bag down beside a many-times-patched sofa, and walked to the bookshelf. Bartleby's Astronomy. Alchemical Explorations. Xenobiology: A History. Strunkmore's Guide to Steamworks, Editions 1-10. Exploring the Aether through Ether.
She turned and went to the other side of the room, where portraits covered one wall. The smoke-stained, painted eyes of the people there looked back at her almost accusingly. Most of them had the same strangely intense stare, hard features, and barely-tamed black hair. They wore antiquated finery decorated in jewels and pearls, and several held small dogs, as if they were royalty.
Hazel rattled back into the sitting room, carrying a tray with a small white teapot and three mismatched teacups. The sugar bowl was shaped like a startled-looking swan, and an open-mouthed ceramic cow held milk, which sloshed onto the tray when Hazel set it down on the table in front of the sofa. Rebecca crossed the room to sit on one side of the sofa while Hazel hunched and poured tea, adding sugar and milk to all three cups without a word.
Hazel straightened, took one cup and saucer, and back toward the hallway, where a set of steep, narrow stairs led up. "Let's see if tea will rouse him. Either that or he'll be wearing it." She chuckled toothlessly to herself and then wandered off, saying, "I'll be right back. You have your tea."
And then Rebecca was alone again. She lifted her chipped blue and pink cup and sipped at the tea. It was weak, and too sweet, but it was warm. She set it down and slipped out of her coat, folding it carefully and laying it across the top of her bag.
From upstairs, she heard raised voices, and a crash. More raised voices, and then the thudding of swift footsteps. Another crash, and then the slow thump of footsteps heading down the stairs. Hazel appeared in the hallway, giving Rebecca a strained smile.
"Everything all right?" Rebecca asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh, just lovely. He'll be down shortly." Hazel flopped down into a chair opposite Rebecca, and then lifted her own cup, slurping noisily at her tea. After draining the cup in a few gulps, Hazel stuck her pinky finger in one ear, twisting it, and then examined it closely.
Rebecca sipped silently at her tea, trying to look anywhere other than Hazel. She opened her mouth to try to make polite conversation, but at that moment, another crash came echoing through the house from above, followed closely by heavy, clomping footsteps coming down the stairs.
Dr. Grey emerged from the hallway, wrapped in a heavy red brocade dressing gown, his feet bare. He was tall, thin but broad-shouldered and long-limbed, and rumpled from head to toe. His curly black hair stuck up in all directions. He had several days of beard upon the hard planes of his pale cheeks, and his eyes were red-rimmed, heavy-lidded with sleep behind his tiny, gold-framed spectacles, which lay crookedly across his long, narrow nose.
He stumbled into the sitting room, and then threw himself down onto the sofa next to Rebecca. He extended a hand toward Hazel, who, with a scowl, reached into the pocket of her dress and withdrew a small silver flask. He uncapped it, took a swig, then tucked it into his own pocket.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, yawning loudly. Then he opened his eyes again, looking at Rebecca as if he had just noticed her. "Who're you, then?"
Before Rebecca could answer, Hazel leaned forward. "This is the girl I just told you about, you dizzy fool. They've hired you a nanny!"
"Dr. Grey, I am Rebecca Lawson. I was hired by the Dionysos Group, and sent here to you to act as an assistant."
He regarded her with a dubious gaze. "An assistant? I didn't ask for any assistant."
"No, sir," she replied, folding her hands on her lap. "However, your recent output has dwindled and concerns were raised. So they thought it best to find you someone who could help. Pay bills, respond to inquiries, pick up supplies... that kind of thing."
"So they've sent you here to spy on me, then? Is that it?"
"Not exactly. While they have asked for progress reports, I am not here to monitor your experiments. Merely to ensure they are being done."
"They are being done. Now you can leave. Report back to your bosses that everything is fine!"
Rebecca smiled. "I'm afraid that's not good enough."
Dr. Grey suddenly stood, glaring at her. "That will damn well have to be good enough!"
Her smile faded. She looked up at him and spoke, perfectly evenly. "I am here, primarily, to help you. To take care of the day-to-day administrative matters that you neglect. I will also report back to my employer - your employer - regarding your experiments. However, I have not been asked to report on the details of your experiments. Merely that you are actually doing some. And, I have been instructed to inform you that if you refuse my services, your contract with the Dionysos Group will be terminated."
"What?!" He took a step back, knocking into the table, rattling the teapot. "They can't do that to me! I need my funding."
"Actually, they can. But I can assure you, they do not want to do so. They would very much like to continue with your arrangement. But your progress reports have been late, slim, and quite vague. And so, I am here, to remind you of the calendar, to handle your accounts so that your bills are paid, and to assist you in any other ways necessary for you to continue with your work."
"I don't need a nanny!"
Rebecca rose from the sofa and stepped up to Dr. Grey. He towered over her, but she looked up into his unshaven, unwashed face, and narrowed her eyes. "I believe you do, Dr. Grey. Look at yourself. It's three in the afternoon and you are just getting out of bed. You start the day from a flask. You probably haven't bathed in a week, and I don't believe you have anything on under that dressing gown. I can strongly suggest that you go and have a bath and a shave, and a fresh change of clothes, but I won't make you. And I won't put you over my knee if you refuse. Because I am not your nanny. I am your assistant. And I am here to help you."
Dr. Grey glared down at her over the top of his spectacles. After a moment, he sighed and said, "Do I smell?"
"Only a little." Rebecca gave him a little smile.
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Very well then. I will bathe and dress and then we will discuss this. I am not admitting defeat so easily, though, make no mistake! I merely concede that I do need a bath."
He stalked from the room and stormed up the stairs.
Hazel snickered, sitting in the armchair and holding her empty cup of tea.
"Is he always that dramatic?" Rebecca asked, sitting back down.
"Oh yes. Actually that was quite mild. He's not awake yet, and I think you caught him off-guard. I've never seen him give in with so little blustering and protest."
"My employers warned me that he is a tad eccentric."
Hazel hooted. "Yes, that's one word for him!" She chuckled and put down her cup back on the tray. "I should show you to one of the spare rooms upstairs. There's loads of 'em up there. It's his house, but he'd never think to offer. That is, if you were planning on staying here..."
"Yes, thank you. Seeing... the state he's in, perhaps it would be best if I stayed here, to keep an eye on him."
"You know I've done my best with him. I see that he eats, that he sleeps occasionally. Keep him from over-indulging. But a mind like that, it's hard to convince to do anything it doesn't want to do."
"I'm sure you've done just fine. I hope you don't believe my presence an intrusion. My employers are very grateful for your service. And you will be well-rewarded."
Hazel's glass eye gleamed, and a smile raised the corners of her deeply-lined mouth. "Well. Isn't that something?"
After a few moments of slightly uncomfortable silence, Hazel pushed herself up from the armchair with a grunt, and turned toward the hall. "You'd best come on then."
Rebecca draped her coat over her arm, picked up her bag, and followed Hazel's grey-covered backside slowly up the creaking stairs, lined in threadbare red carpet. They went down a wide hall, lined with doors, and stopped at the last one on the right. "Here we are," said Hazel as she opened the door.
The room was small, dusty, and dark. The yellowed lace curtains covered the window, letting only a little light in from the chill grey day outside. There were doilies everywhere. A shelf over the small bed held a collection of ceramic kittens playing with balls of yarn. Rebecca stepped in and set her bag down at the foot of the bed.
"His rooms are at here, you see," Hazel said, pointing just outside the room to the door at the end of the hall. "Best to keep a close eye on him. He sleepwalks sometimes. I try to put things down for him to stub his toe on before he gets to the stairs, so he doesn't go wandering down the stairs and out the front door. He's done that a few times. He doesn't always remember the dressing gown... Bit difficult, trying to steer him back toward bed in the altogether... I've given up on it and I just ignore it when I hear him knocking around..." Hazel trailed off, chuckling nervously. "Hope that sort of thing doesn't bother you too much..."
Rebecca smirked. "I am the youngest of seven children. I have six older brothers. Nothing he could do would shock or surprise me much."
Hazel nodded. "Ah, right then. Well, good luck. I've got the kitchen floor to do. He can take a while at his bath sometimes. Once you're settled in, if ya like, come down and I'll make you something to eat."
Hazel waddled out the door and shut it behind her, leaving Rebecca in the little dusty room alone. Rebecca stepped to the window and opened the curtains, waving in front of her face to disperse the dust this released into the air. Outside, a fine spray of droplets began to mist the rippled window glass.
Rebecca descended the creaking stairs and went into the sitting room to wait for Dr. Grey. She could hear humming from the side of the house with the kitchen, where Hazel was busily cleaning.
A cloudy, cracked mirror near the hall offered her a chance to check her appearance. Her long, mouse brown hair was carefully piled and pinned atop her head, and had mostly survived the windy journey from the train and coach. She wore little in the way of cosmetics, and her jewelry was simple. Her dress was a sensible dark blue edged in cream lace, with a row of tiny pearl buttons down the front. She had had cinched her corset loosely today, in anticipation of her journey, and at this she frowned. It made her feel sloppy, but the young woman gazing back at her in the mirror looked well-groomed and professional. She smoothed down a few stray hairs, re-pinned a piece that was coming loose, and then sat down on the sofa.
A grandfather clock in the corner ticked loudly as she waited. She did not fidget or search for entertainment. She was patient, and used to waiting.
After about twenty minutes, she heard heavy footsteps on the stairs, and Dr. Grey came down the hall and into the sitting room. He was clean and shaven, and wore fresh, though rumpled, clothes: dark brown trousers, a cream shirt, and red and cream brocade waistcoat. His hair, though he had clearly attempted to comb it, still lay atop his head in an unruly puff of shining black curls, still wet from being washed.
She stood as he entered, and he stopped in front of her and frowned. "What did you say your name was?"
"Lawson. Rebecca Lawson."
"And you're still here."
"Indeed I am."
"You're not leaving, then?"
"No, I'm not."
"Damn." Dr. Grey chewed at his bottom lip, and then rolled a shrug. "Can't convince you to go, can I?"
"Probably not," she said with a tiny smirk. "You could demand I leave, but then, of course, your funding would cease, and I daresay you don't want that at all."
"No, I very much do not want that. I also don't need an assistant, though. Can't you just... I don't know, stay out of the way and report back that I'm doing experiments and tell them to leave me alone?"
"I think that you'll find I can be quite helpful. I am well-educated and have a particular interest in science. And if nothing else, I can see to it that your mail is opened and answered, and I can fetch supplies for you. Give me a chance to show you how useful I can be, and I believe you will be pleasantly surprised."
"You're a woman. What help can you be to me with science?"
To his surprise, she laughed. "Do you believe I'll be dipping my ovaries in your test tubes? I may not be a doctor, but I am competent in a laboratory, and I can follow directions. Surely sometimes it would be helpful to you to have someone there to stir something, turn the flame up or down, take something from the heat, add an ingredient... Certainly, a woman can do these things... women can cook, can we not?"
He nodded slowly, uncertainly. "I... suppose so..."
"Good. Then why don't you show me where you do your work? I'd like to see what you have in progress."
At this, he tensed. "My work is not fit for view yet. I do not reveal my works in progress. And I do not allow anyone into my laboratory."
Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest and smiled at him. "I'm not here to steal your inventions, Dr. Grey. We work for the same people. I assure you, I am no spy for one of your rivals. I swear to you that whatever I see of your work will remain secret, even from the Dionysos Group. As I told you earlier, I am to report that you -are- working, not on what."
"You're still not coming in my laboratory."
"Then how will I know you are working, and not merely sleeping under the desk?"
He scowled at her. He had an excellent face for scowling; thick, dark eyebrows lay low over his dark brown eyes, obscured by the tiny, delicate looking spectacles that rested upon his long, narrow nose, and the deep furrows on either side of his nose framed his unusually full, wide mouth as it twisted into disapproval. "You can stand outside the door."
She supressed a chuckle, covering her lips with her fingers. "You want me to wait outside and watch through the doorway?"
His scowl deepened. "Yes."
"Well, it's a start," she said with a grin.
He turned and headed to the stairs without another word. His shoulders slumped as he trudged up them, and down the hall. He stopped at one of the doors lining the hall, and opened it. A tiny passage led up toward the attic. She followed him up this set of stairs, and into a small room with three doors. He opened the center door, and then turned back to her. "You stay here. If you come into my labororatory, this ridiculous arrangement is over, funding or none."
She nodded her agreement, and he turned back into the room. It took up what had to be most of the rest of the attic, fully finished with the same wood floors as the rest of the house. A large arched window at the far end let in the greyish light of the dreary day. Beneath it, an elaborate chemistry set reached almost half the height of the room. A dusty chandelier sagged in the center of the ceiling, hanging over what looked like dozens of mismatched tables holding every manner of junk. Glass jars, ceramic pots, twisted nests of wires, precarious stacks of books, and containers partly filled with various colours of cloudy liquids covered every surface, spilling over onto the floor in haphazard piles. Dr. Grey navigated the maze of tables and junk with a practiced ease, lifting his long legs high to step over piles stacked almost up to his waist, ducking the arms of a strange metallic crab-like contraption that dangled over the back of a dining chair that had been placed up on one of the tables, the seat of the chair stacked high with papers.
Finally, he reached the far end of the room, where the glass tubes, beakers, and brass supports of the chemistry set gleamed, the only thing in the room that didn't appear to be coated in dust. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small box, and struck a match to light a gas-fueled flame. It leapt up blue and softly roaring, and he adjusted its height with a knob on the side of the burner. Then, he pulled the burner out from beneath the largest flask. From nearby, he located a battered black kettle, shaking it to hear a liquid sloshing inside. He placed it over the flame, and then turned back to her and asked, "Tea?"