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small-sinclair · 1 year

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Belong

A Lester POV dabble based off this song.

Tw: unalive attempt by drowning, CPR, Worried Bo and Vincent, this is very dark, sad thoughts from Lester, violent Bo, emotional abuse mentioned, physical abuse mentioned, abuse from parents mentioned, misnaming Bo, strong language used, not proofread

If you are feeling as if you can't be here anymore, just know you are welcomed to talk to me. If you you need help, reach out. You are loved and needed in this world, starshine. You are not alone. I am so proud of you <3

The Louisiana marsh was high as the everglades became muddier by the hour. It's rain season in the south, and the Sinclairs weren't strangers to it. They know the woods around the town. They know the best place for crawdads and fishing. They know where the gators mate have their nests. They can tell you where the best little beaches for picnics and little cries if you need to be alone. It's sometimes dangerous to be there by yourself if you don't know where you're going, but it's even more dangerous when it's flooded and the currents could take you before you can scream.

Maybe that's why Lester is out here on top of the broken railroad bridge, looking down at the murky waters. He held the faded photo of his family between his fingers that a girl took when days before his mother died Vincent's hands. It's been two years now and he feels as if he was stuck as the forgotten child. He only asks for one day, one day for his brothers to remember, and they couldn't even do that! Bo's been wrapped up with their mother's "future" and Vincent's been working hard. Killing is bad, it's the worst sin there is; that's what the pastor told them one morning in church. But he never said anything about dying by your own hands.

Lester's suit wasn't too snug, but if you're going to meet God, you gotta look nice, right? That's what his father said before he blew his head off in front of Lester. He took the time to shower and dress right as if he was going on a date. He combed his hair and cleaned his face. Even though the two cinder blocks tied around his ankle clashed with the outfit, Lester still looked good. He felt good, too.

Bo would've made fun of him looking like this. Though he isn't the cleanest out of the three, he does know how to look good in a suit. Of course, it didn't fit the status quo of them: Bo the pretty one, Vincent the artist, and Lester the grimy and creep.

He wasn't a creep; he just looked like one because he was always dirty from the roadkill! It wasn't a pretty job, but it paid well and he got holidays off along with his birthday!

...but his brothers couldn't even remember that. Instead of cake, he got Bo yelling at him in the morning, wishing him dead and gone. He looked at Vincent, who silently watched in the background and didn't cut between him and Lester. Bo yelling at him was one thing, but for him to wish death on him was another.

"Wish ya weren't born!" He spat, his words filled with venom. He can't even remember why he was yelling at his little brother, but he didn't want to lose this battle. "Should've died at birth!"

"Don't say 'at, Bo! Please!" Lester's throat felt dry as he looked at his brother in the morning light. The sun in his hair made it look like he was on fire. "Ya don' mean it!" His hands wrap around his arms tightly.

Bo pushes his brother away, picking up an ash tray that Lester made out of glass years ago fro their mother. "Don't put words in my mouth, Les." He scoffed. "Ya torn 'is family apart! I's your fault! All of it!" The memories he held in the glass played in his mind like a movie. "Fuckin' bitch!"

Lester looked at Vincent for help, but even Vincent didn't know how to help. How could he? This was his twin, his other half. "Bo... don't say that." He didn't mean to start crying. "I-I'm sorry."

"Ya know betta than 'at!" Bo shouted, making him flinch. "Fuckin' cryin. What? Ya a baby, now? No, yer a fuckin man--!"

Lester didn't mean for the words to fall out, but, "Stop, Pa! Stop, please!" He covered his ears, tears burning his eyes. "'M sorry, Pa! 'M sorry! I promise I'll stop! Pa, 'm sorry!" Within a beat, silence filled the house as horror took over Lester's eyes. Why did he call him that? Why did he think Bo was his Pa? "Wait. Wait, no, 'm sorry, Bo! 'M sorry! I didn't mean it!"

"Git out of my house."

"'M sorry--!"

Bo threw an ash tray at his face, but it broke on his shoulder, glass cutting into his shirt. "Gi'out!" That's when Vincent stepped in, pushing Lester out the door so he didn't the full front of it. As he ran out of the house, he heard his brother yell, "Kill yourself before I kill ya, fuckin' freak!"

... that's all he needed to hear.

Bo must've found his note he left on the counter in the shop by the new oil cans he brought in the afternoon. Bo must be wishing he took back his words, unsaid everything as his eye read over and over Lester's neat hand writing. He might be getting Vincent from the basement in a frantic to go get his brother off the railroad bridge. He's probably gunning the truck towards the marsh, cursing himself out as he comes closer to the freshly broken path, finding Lester's truck with his gun still in the passenger seat.

Or he doesn't care. He saw the note and laughed at it, shaking his head at the call for help. Might call him "attention seeking" as he goes back to working without a care. He might be looking for his wretch for the car, thinking Lester is home with the dog. Vincent will be underground with his wax creation, not caring about him.

Yeah... he likes this one better. If he goes without his brothers ever knowing and he would find out on the news, he thought that was better. It'll save the trouble and stress.

You were always in the way, his mother hissed at him once when he came home in the middle of Bo arguing with their father. She pushed her youngest son away when Vincent stopped playing the piano, and she started yelling at him for playing the wrong note. He was shoved aside and sent to his room without food as if he was an animal.

He might as well be an animal to his family. He made it through high school and life with out his family, so why is he struggling now? Why did it bring him here?

Because you're nothin', Lester Sawyer Sinclair, his father answered for him.

He looked down at the photo again and let out a shaky breath. Though they were force to be in suits for Easter Sunday, a friend shot a picture of them smiling at a terrible joke Bo said that made all three laugh. The muddy waters below faded as he thought of the memory. Rebecca took that photo with her new camera that she got from the Easter Bunny, the bright blue and green Polaroid taking picture of everyone that morning. When she got them in this photo, it only showed the happiness and calm thoughts of the brothers. That's when he thought he was truly happy. Trudy was nowhere to be seen when it was taken, but she came back in a flash when she saw her kids standing next to Rebeca looking at the photo, giggling about how they should get a group picture together in their nice clothing.

"If 'm still single when 'm olda, promise I'll marry ya,' Lester whispered in her ear. "Promise."

"I wonder how ya doin', Rebecca," he whisper to himself as he gripped the photo. "Wonder if ya're alive and well." He smiled at the thought of her smiling somewhere up north with her collection of photos and drawings. She always wanted to be an artist like her grandmother--

"Lester!"

"Wonder if ya miss me," he continued, ignoring Bo's call. He could hear his boots snapping through branches and muck. "Wonder if they'll miss me--"

"Les! Git down from 'ere!" Bo didn't like how fast the water was rushing. He didn't like how Lester was looking at the water below, seeing ropes tied to blocks, how dangerously close he was on the edge. "Come home--"

"Ain't my home, remember?" Lester said bitterly, looking up at the full moon. He closed his eyes and took in the light. "Ya tol' me 'at 'is mornin'!"

"Didn't mean it!" He took off his jacket and threw his hat behind him in front of Vincent. He motioned him to stay back. "I swear I was lying! 'M sorry!"

"Does 'at heal my arm, Beauregard?" Lester snapped, his foot resting on one of the blocks, ready to kick and go under. "Does 'at take back everythin' ya said?" His laughter cut through the trees as he shook his head, making Vincent's shoulders tighten and flinch. "There's too many colors, Bo! It hurts ta look an' think! An' ya said 'at 'm betta off dead." His throat tighten like the time his father had his hands wrapped around his throat after walking in on him cheating with his first grade teacher. "I don' belong," he chocked out, tears falling faster than the river below. "Didn't ya say 'at?"

Bo looked down as he stepped on the bridge, walking carefully over the wood and metal. " 'M sorry, Les! I didn't--"

"Doesn't matter now, does it?" Lester hung his head towards Bo, pushing the blocks closer to the edge. In the moonlight, his brothers saw the pain swimming inside him, and he was drowning so fast under it all. "I'll do wha' Mama couldn't when I was a kid." A broken smile escaped as he sobbed, "I'll as-ask God to le' y'all in."

Bo started running towards his brother, his hand reaching out. "Lester, no--!"

Welcome him with open arms, sweet water below.

Without hesitation, he kicked the bricks forward and he fell with it. Time slowed as he looked up, arms reaching up towards the moon and stars. He wondered if he could be able to paint the sky when he's an angel, if he could put up the moon, and let out the rain. There has to be room for him up there somewhere. His mother said it wasn't his fault that she couldn't love him. She could only love one child and Vincent was the one she loved. If he was a bit better, a bit more like Vincent as an artist, maybe his mother would've loved him? No, that's not right--

Then his mind shifted to Rebecca in her lemon printed dress over white fabric. Her red hair braided and tied into a bun. He promised to love her with ever fiber, and she did the same. They split a locket in half, her with a picture of him and he with a picture of her. He kissed her goodbye when she got on the train in the city and headed north to Indiana to live with her aunt after her parents died. She was the only woman he loved, and he wanted to see her again...

Is she looking at the same moon, thoughts of him passing over tear stained face? Does she still wear the locket like he is tonight?

Why do I think of ya now, dandelion? Why now in my death hour? He thought bitterly as his back hits the cold water below. He doesn't know what to do as he sunk under the water, going down with the coldness. He can feel the moonlight grace his face as his hands reaches up. He closes his eyes and lets go of his breath. He felt himself fading into the currents and mud, passing fish and sticks. He's swam in these waters when he was a kid, so he knows the bottom, he knows the cold mud, he knows the true embrace of Louisiana and her arms over the ruby fields.

I'm sorry, Bo... Vincent... I'm not strong like ya.

When darkness welcomed him with a tight embrace, felt like home, like he belonged somewhere.

...

Strong arms pulled under Lester's shoulders and lift him up from the sand and mud, dragging him to shore. Bo ripped his shirt open and started CPR on his chest. The Louisiana heat touched his skin, the swampy air making his hair stand, as Vincent met him on the shore. He went to Lester's legs and started cutting the rope, pushing back the blocks. He didn't want anything near him that reminded of their failure. The twins are at fault, and he'll blame himself until he dies. He could hear Bo counting then--

Lester coughed roughly, Bo lifting him and turning him to his side, throwing up muddy waters and death. He's breathing roughly as he tired to see if he's dead or not, but when he saw Bo's face in the starlight, his worried face and breathless expression, bright blue eyes wet from water and tears, Lester was pissed.

He pushes his brother away, coughing, "Why'd ya do 'at?" He turned his head and threw up in the sand, coughing mud up until it mixed with his birthday cake he made for himself. It was just a small cake, too.

Lester cringed away from Vincent's hand rubbing his back. "Breathe," Vincent whispers. "Breathe, Les."

"Fuck you," Lester gasped, wiping his mouth. "Fuck ya both--!" He leaned forward and threw up more, food hitting the mud under him. "Now y'all care?" He wanted to shout at them, but he can't find the air to do so. He was shaking from shock, form anger, from death. "I had-had to do 'is t'make ya notice?"

It's like a stick snapped in his brain as he felt Bo wrapping around him, Bo holding him close. Lester tried to push away, hitting his chest to get away from Bo's grasp, but Vincent cornered him, holding both his brothers in tightly. He was tired, so tired...

Lester's hands fall as he stopped fighting. He was sandwiched between the two people he loved most, and he started falling apart. He felt the swamp looking at him with glowing eyes and gentle kisses from the fireflies brought him back to his family. He buried his head in Bo's chest as regret and self-hatred fill his lungs. What did he do? Why did he do it? Brothers fight, but...

"Never leav' me," Bo whispers in his hair, his wet clothes sticking to his skin. "Les, never do 'at again."

"Ya wanted-wanted me gone," Lester chocked out, shaking like a leaf in Bo's arms. "Ya said 'i yourself!"

"Stupid," Bo murmurs. "Was fuckin' stupid ta say 'at." He takes a staggered breath. " 'M the worse. Don' forgive me." His grip around his little brother tightens. "Never forgive me."

You're just like me, boy. Just like your old man.

Lester felt Vincent snake his hand into his. "Love you," Vincent said in his curls. "Lov' ya so fuckin' much." Vincent started rocking back and forth slowly, pulling Lester and Bo in tighter. "Don't know wha' I am without ya."

Lester squeezed his hand. "Y'all hurt yer throat if-if ya keep talkin."

"Shut up," Vincent breathed out, his voice raspy and gravely. "Shut up. Ain't 'bout me now. Just you... always you, Lester."

The moonlight glowed brighter around the three, and Lester closed his eyes, allowing himself to cry in his brothers' arms. He felt his heart breaking faster and harder as he sobbed harder and louder against Bo's wet clothing. His ankle where the stone was tied felt sore and hurts to move. In his pocket, he felt the photo of his brothers, and he felt the memory of their laughter fill his head, Rebecca's giving them the photo when it was ready. The blanket of moonlight covered him in comfort and love. He knew it'll be a long road for him to recover everything mentally, and his brothers will be there this time. No pushing, not throwing, nothing but love for the next couple of months.

He'll grow wings and he'll fly his brothers out of here. He promised to the moon and the muddy river. He promised the stars and his brothers in his arms. He'll get them out of here, somehow, someway.

Get a load of this train wreck.

#lester sinclair #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #sinclair brothers #the sinclair brothers #the sinclairs #lester sinclair fanfic #bo sinclair fanfic #vincent sinclair fanfic #house of wax fanfic #house of wax 2005 #house of wax #house of wax (2005)#house of wax fanfiction #how 2005 #slasher fanfiction #slasher fanfic

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the-letter-horror-lover · 2 years

Text

Through the Years

Kimberly_T

Summary:

Young Ciel Phantomhive had made a contract with Sebastian to defeat and get his revenge on those who had once all but destroyed him. However, Ciel had honestly never thought it would take so long to destroy his enemies, that he would grow up first. Join the Phantomhive household as they snicker, scream, snark, cry, and smuggle in kittens... through the years.

Chapter 5: His Master, Ashamed

Notes:

This fanfic is based on the manga, not the anime, and its background incorporates all the manga events up through chapter 106. (It may end up being canon-compliant for later chapters of the manga, but at this point we'll just have to wait and see.) This fic also incorporates the concept "practice makes perfect;" that is, if they keep doing their jobs long enough, the Phantomhive servants will eventually become reasonably good at them. (Or at the very least, not quite so bad at them!) And it counts the years after Ciel first made a contract with Sebastian, which is why the story starts at Year Four instead of Year One.

Chapter 1: YEAR FOUR, Part 1: His Master, Growing

Chapter Text

In the spring of Ciel Phantomhive's fourteenth year, and very soon after returning from a mission on the Queen's business to the Ivory Coast, the young earl suddenly began to grow taller.

And at first, he did not appreciate it.

"Damn that witch doctor! Straight to hell!" Ciel groaned while writhing on his mattress, trying but unable to straighten out his legs; the muscles there seemed to have tied themselves in excruciatingly painful knots under his skin. "He said his gods would bless me because we saved the village, but he must have cursed me instead!"

"I do not think what is happening to you is a curse, young master," his butler Sebastian said calmly, while holding Ciel's left leg and massaging the calf muscles. "Rather, I think it is simply muscle spasms, though peculiarly strong... and I'll admit that I'm currently at a loss as to why they have occurred. You were certainly not over-exercising earlier..."

Just then the earl and butler were surprised by a knock on Ciel's bedroom door, and the voice of Baldroy the chef came floating through the wood: "Young Master, Sebastian? Mind if I come in?"

Ciel and Sebastian exchanged startled glances; it was rare that Bard ventured up to the earl's bedroom, so far from the kitchen that he held as his territory. Ciel gave permission to enter and Bard came in, wearing a rather peculiar expression; like he wasn't sure whether to be happy or worried over something.

"Sir, Finny just came tearing into the kitchen cryin' buckets again, an' worried to death over you. He said you was nappin' under the elm tree with a book on your face, when you suddenly woke up and started screaming in pain while grabbing at your legs! And then Sebastian came flyin' in and carried you up here before he could find out who'd attacked you and how. So... is that what happened?"

"I wasn't napping!" Ciel snapped, blushing hotly. "I was just resting my eyes while pondering what I'd just read about—about China's current political climate!"

"Uh-huh. Yes, sir," Bard said with what possibly threatened to become a smirk, as everyone very deliberately did not look at the book that had been tossed heedlessly onto the nightstand: Gulliver's Travels. "But aside from what your eyes were doing, he got the rest right? You just woke up with a bad pain in your legs? Mostly here in the calves, right?" as he thumped down on the other side of the bed, and set to massaging the muscles of Ciel's right leg while Sebastian continued working on the left.

"You seem to have some knowledge of this ailment," Sebastian said almost grudgingly, looking at the cook through narrowed eyes. "Would you care to share with the rest of the class?"

"What, you really don't know?" as Bard stared at Sebastian in surprise. "Well, that's a first; for once, I know more about somethin' than you do! Huh, wait'll I tell Mey-Rin... Naw, better not; she'll think the sky's gonna start falling next."

Ciel glared at the cook over his shoulder as he snapped, "Bard, stop congratulating yourself on being the Fount of Wisdom for once, and tell me what the hell's happening to me!"

"Sorry, sir!" as Bard almost saluted out of sheer reflex, before he went back to massaging Ciel's leg. "Anyways, it's really nothin' to worry about; you just got a charley horse! Or I should say a pair of 'em, and probably feeling big enough to pull a stagecoach."

"Charley horse?" Sebastian echoed, one elegant eyebrow raised.

"Yup. Dunno why they're called that, but I got 'em myself sometimes, back when I was a teenager, and so did some of the younger bucks in my old squad." Still massaging, Bard leaned forward to say earnestly to the earl, "Wakin' up with a charley horse is actually a good sign, young master; it means you're growing up! It's just that your growing bones an' growing muscles ain't quite caught up to each other yet, or somethin' like that. It don’t happen to everyone, but guys that got tall folks in their family tree tend to get ‘em when they start really shooting up in height."

Still digging his fingers into the mattress, Ciel stopped groaning and looked at Bard, his uncovered eye wide. "I'm... growing? Getting taller? Are you sure?" he said, and there was no disguising the raw hope in his voice.

Bard gave a cheerful shrug in response. "It fits the pattern; charley horses, needin' more sleep all of a sudden, and your plates have been coming back to the kitchen practically scraped clean lately. Have your shoes been pinching you too, sir? The biggest growth spurts start at the feet an' go from the bottom up; that's what my old man always said, back when."

"My... my shoes were pinching my feet, feeling too tight earlier," Ciel half-whispered, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards in a painful grin. "I thought it was because they'd gotten wet and had shrunk a bit while drying, but... Sebastian, I'm getting taller!"

"That is indeed wonderful news, young master," Sebastian said with a polite smile. "If you like, we can start measuring your progress in the classic fashion, with marks showing your height against an appropriate wall... though first, we must get you capable of standing upright again. Try extending your leg now, sir..."

They started that very afternoon, with a pencil being laid precisely level on top of Ciel's head before marking the wall in a discreet corner of his dressing room. Then exactly one month later, they measured his height again—and the next mark was just under three-quarters of an inch higher on the wall. Another month passed, and the third mark was a full inch and a half higher than the first.

There was a definite spring in the young earl's step as he strode about the manor... that is, whenever he wasn't stumbling, banging into cabinets or tripping over his own feet, as his body had apparently decided to trade coordination for height. Or when he wasn't lying on the bed, cursing in phrases that would shock even the saltiest sailor, and clutching his pillow while Sebastian massaged the cramps out of his legs.

00oo00oo00oo00oo00

To be continued...

Chapter 2: His Butler, Introducing

Notes:

Yes, I'm introducing an OC in this chapter. No, she's not here to Save the Day, or make either Ciel or Sebastian fall madly in love with her. :-P

Also, I'm aware that in the Black Butler Wiki, Tanaka is officially listed as the House Steward, though unofficially retired. But if he was actually the House Steward, Tanaka would outrank Sebastian and hold authority over him as well as the other servants, including the authority to hire & fire. Proper butler aesthetics would have Sebastian treating him deferentially, instead of dismissively. As an example, rather than lining up with the other servants at the daily meetings, Tanaka would be standing next to Sebastian and approving the orders the butler gives, even if that approval consisted of just a soft ‘ho ho ho’ while sipping his tea. So in my fic, he’s still a Steward, but the lesser rank of Wine Steward instead.

Chapter Text

Two weeks after the third mark indicating increasing height was penciled on the wall, the Earl Phantomhive and his demon butler came back to the manor after another extended mission for the Queen, at an extremely early hour and with a new servant in tow. The earl retired to bed with the stated intention of sleeping the next two days straight, so once the sun had risen, Sebastian introduced the new servant to the others at the conclusion of the daily meeting for announcements and tasking.

"When the master awakens, which will likely be in the afternoon, he will also likely be ravenous; he must be immediately served a high tea with both meat pie and pastries. To that end, a platter of cakes will be prepared no later than noontime and kept covered until the tea, a small pork pie shall be prepared and kept warm on the back burner, and a kettle shall be kept on for making tea at a moment's notice—-and you must not let the kettle boil dry again, Baldroy," as the butler fixed the chef with a meaningful stare.

"Here now, I ain't ruined a kettle in at least two months!" Bard protested.

And finally, there is one more thing to inform all of you: we have a new addition to the manor staff." While the servants murmured amongst themselves, Sebastian turned to the kitchen door and said, "Please enter."

The door creaked open and a woman entered the room, clad in a female servant's basic uniform. A woman of slender build and average height, though the hair piled atop her head in a massive coiled bun made her seem taller. What little skin was showing outside her uniform, namely her face and hands, had an olive tone to it that suggested at least partly Mediterranean ancestry. Her lips were full and her eyes were brown in an oval-shaped face, but by far the most noticeable feature was the still-pink scar that nearly bisected her visage, running diagonally from her left brow to the right corner of her mouth.

Her eyes were flickering nervously from person to person, and definitely widened with shock when she saw Snake with that morning’s companion standing in a row with the others, but the woman stood straight and her voice was clear as she said politely and with a slight French accent, "My name is Dahlia. It is a pleasure to meet you all; I look forward to working with you."

"Dahlia will be working as the laundress and seamstress, which will relieve our housemaid of some of her burden," Sebastian informed them all. "And when there are no clothes or linens in need of cleaning or mending, she is to assist either the chef in meal preparation or the maid in particular cleaning projects, as the situation at the time warrants. Everyone, please introduce yourselves and your positions."

"I am Tanaka, the Phantomhive household wine steward," Tanaka said as he gave a short bow to the newcomer.

"I'm Baldroy, the chef. But folks call me Bard," the chef said with a nod of greeting as he thumbed his chest.

"This one is Snake, and the one on his shoulders is Oscar," Said Snake, gesturing first at his chest and then at the snake draped over his shoulders. "Snake is the footman. Pleased to meet you. Says Oscar."

"I'm Finny, the gardener!" the boy said with a grin and a friendly wave.

"And I'm Mey-Rin, the maid! It'll be good to have another girl in the house, it will!" she said with a cheerful curtsey.

"It's fortunate you feel that way, Mey-Rin, because she'll be taking the unused bed in your room," Sebastian informed her. "And now that introductions have been made, everyone, to your duties! I will spend much of the day supervising Dahlia's first day of work on the laundry, to ensure it meets our high standards. Although she has said she already knows how to launder and care for an assortment of fabrics.... which is something of a first for this household," Sebastian added dryly. Then with a sharp clap of his hands, he sent everyone off to their assorted duties.

Ten minutes later, Sebastian and Dahlia were in the mansion's laundry room, and Sebastian watched closely as she performed a dry-run demonstration to show that she did indeed know how to use the electric washing mill kept there, as well as the wringer mounted over it. "I must say, I find it odd that someone of your former profession would be so familiar with laundering clothes," he commented when she was finished. "I've noticed that washer-women usually have greatly reddened and chapped hands."

"For people who do laundry day-in and day-out, their hands probably do suffer like that," Dahlia responded as she looked through each item that needed laundering, looking for stains that would require particular care to remove. "But we girls only did it on the days we were bleeding, and therefore unqualified for our regular work—except for those clients who liked girls in that state, that is," as she frowned. "So everyone did it for the entire House, but just a few days a month. And we all learned very quickly how to do the job right. Girls who displeased either the Master or the Madame, for any reason... well, you saw what happened to them."

"The Flowerboxes," Sebastian responded, his face expressionless. Dahlia gave a curt nod of confirmation, her every muscle tense. "A far more effective punishment than many would realize."

"Yes. And that wasn't the only way they came up with to hurt people without leaving a mark on them. So anyway, whatever the stain is, whether bloodstain or food stain or... If it can be smeared onto the body or comes out of it, I've cleaned it at least a dozen times in the last twenty years, and out of sheets made of fabrics from cheap cotton muslin to the finest silk and satin." Then she stopped talking for a while as she washed the tablecloths and master's white shirts that made the first load of laundry, wrung the excess water out, and carried them in a basket outside to the clothesline.

As she finished pinning the last shirt to the line in a manner that would leave no visible clothespin marks on it afterwards, Sebastian nodded in approval. "You have done well so far. So I shall leave you to your task, trusting that if you do run into an unexpected situation, you will come seek me out or wait for my return rather than deal with the unknown on your own." Casting an experienced eye on the weather and the shirts, he said, "We shall allow three hours for the first load to dry. When I return, I will show you the particular way our young master likes his shirts ironed; he is very particular indeed about his shirt collars."

And with that, he turned to go back inside, took three steps—and stopped with Dahlia's voice came floating behind him, sounding bewildered. "Wait, there's ironing, too? We never ironed the sheets, or the... I've never ironed anything before!"

00oo00oo00oo00oo00

Seven hours later, the master bedroom's bell rang in the servant's quarters, to alert them that their young master was awake and needed tending to. Sebastian brought him a trolley fully laden for a hearty afternoon tea, with a pork pie, finger sandwiches and tea cakes as well. Given how Ciel had become nigh-constantly hungry since his growth spurt had begun, Sebastian harbored no serious concerns about spoiling his dinner.

To Sebastian's mild surprise, instead of sitting up in bed in his nightshirt, Ciel was already clad in a dressing gown and sitting at his table, and wearing a highly disgruntled expression. Why—ah, of course. Again, Sebastian silently sighed as he served the tea, an Assam blend that was one of the young master's favorites. Once the master was properly situated with his food and drink, Sebastian gestured at the bed. "Shall I strip the sheets and take them to the laundry, sir?"

"You should know by now; take them out and burn them," Ciel growled, blushing while scowling down at his sandwich.

Sebastian sighed aloud this time. "Young master, if you insist on continuing this practice, I shall have to go to London immediately to purchase new sheets for your bed; we have emptied the linen closet of all the reserve sets of sheets. I shall also have to purchase new nightshirts for you to wear, since I assume you would be unwilling to wear a larger male’s hand-me-downs. And might I remind you that we have just taken on a laundress? One who, unlike Mey-Rin, has a great deal of experience with washing sheets and clothing carrying this particular stain...”

The teenager stared at him in incredulous dismay. "Absolutely not; that would be even worse! That means she'll know exactly what it is, what it's from—and after I just promised her she'd be leaving that part of her old life behind! She'll think I'm the worst sort of lying pervert!"

That could be a possible reaction, Sebastian acknowledged. Best to wait a week or so, to give her time to settle in, before bringing up such matters with her. "Very well, master," he said with a bow. "These shall be burned. And when I go to London, I shall inquire about buying sheets in large quantities."

"Good." Ciel buried his blush in his teacup, surfacing only to take what the butler thought were appallingly large bites of his food; eating at a most unseemly speed while Sebastian stripped the bed and replaced the sheets with the very last set they had in that size. When the bed was finished, Ciel asked between bites, "How's she doing so far?"

"Young master, great hunger is still not a suitable excuse for a man of your station to talk with his mouth full... Dahlia has met the staff but had little chance to talk with them yet, except brief conversations with Mey-Rin when the maid dropped off more linens for laundering. As for her duties, she does indeed know how to wash various types of fabrics and the best ways of hanging clothes to dry. For mending, she did reasonably well in darning a sock that Finny had worn a hole in. She is also proving to be a quick learner on the proper ways to fold the linens and various articles of clothing. But in regards to ironing..." Sebastian sighed. "All the good that I can truthfully say amounts to: She has not burned down the laundry room. Yet."

00oo00oo00oo00oo00

Later that afternoon, Dahlia entered the kitchen with a sheepish expression and her right hand lightly bandaged. "A little accident while ironing," she admitted with a blush. "But at least Sebastian was able to dodge the iron before it could hit his foot."

"Here, lemme see it; I got experience with burns," Bard said as he beckoned to her. He unwrapped the bandage and inspected her burned fingers, and declared, "Not bad; must have gotten your hand into cold water right away. Just a first-degree burn, it'll be fine in a few days. "

All the other servants were present in the kitchen already; Finny was mashing potatoes for shepherd's pie, Snake was peeling carrots for the pie and for the side dish, and Mey-Rin was polishing the silver for the master's dinner. After Dahlia promised that her mild burns wouldn't slow her down and she was ready and eager to do her part in making dinner, Bard put her to work in rolling out the piecrust dough he'd just finished mixing, while he moved on to preparing the sauce needed for the side dish of apricot-glazed carrots.

As he put the pot on the stove, Bard asked Dahlia, “So, what’s your specialty?”

Dahlia looked at him quizzically. “Are you referring to what type of dish I make best? I suppose it would be chocolate-covered strawberries…”

“Yum!” Finny piped up happily from where he was mashing potatoes.

Bard waved his hand dismissively. “Naw, not that stuff; I’m talking about what your main job was before here.”

Dahlia stiffened, as her face went carefully blank.

“Hey, I’m not asking for you to tell us yer whole history,” Bard hastened to add, while lighting the burner. “We all got pasts that we don’t talk about much. But if trouble comes, it’s better to know everything your comrades are capable of. So, what are you good at?”

Dahlia slowly looked at everyone around her. Mey-Rin had paused in polishing the silver and Finny in his potato-mashing, and both were looking at her expectantly. Snake had not paused in his task of peeling the carrots, but he was glancing sideways at her and the snake around his shoulders had risen up to look in Dahlia’s direction.

Dahlia cast her eyes back down at the dough as she slowly resumed rolling it out. “I… understand, please, I didn’t generally enjoy it at all. But I was reasonably good at… at destroying lives.”

Bard put the lid on the pot so it would come to a boil faster, as he said without hesitation, “Well, yeah, we all figured that, but how exactly?”

Dahlia dropped the rolling pin with a clatter, and spun around to stare at him. “Qu-quoi?!”

Bard frowned at her. “Sebastian didn’t tell you? That’s what I meant about pasts we don’t talk about much. Before we came here, most of us, all we were good at was killing.” He gestured over at the maid as he continued, “When she takes her glasses off, Mey-Rin can put a bullet right between a man’s eyes from a hundred yards away.”

“A hundred and twenty yards,” Mey-Rin corrected him with a wry grin. “Sebastian measured it, he did!”

“And Finny there, he’s super-strong; he can rip a tree right out of the ground and then beat you to death with it.”

“Yeah, but I don’t like to; it would kill the tree too,” as Finny looked troubled.

“Snake, well, all his best friends are poisonous,” Bard said with a shrug.

Snake paused in his work to raise a finger and inform them, “Shelley and Coleridge aren’t poisonous; they squeeze and suffocate to kill instead. Says Emily.”

“Tanaka is downright incredible with a sword, and he's an expert at hand-to-hand stuff too; he may be gettin’ on in years, but he can still tie a man’s arms in knots.” Tanaka gave Dahlia a courteous nod of confirmation as he sipped his tea. “And me, I work with explosives and firearms of all kinds,” Bard finished, thumbing his chest with a measure of pride. Dahlia had stared at each person in turn as their favored method of killing was mentioned, and her eyes were wide as saucers by the time Bard finished, “So that’s why I asked, what’s your specialty?”

“I did say, Dahlia, that the staff here would surprise you,” Sebastian said with a soft chuckle, making everyone except Snake jump; they hadn’t heard him come in. “You may feel free to confide in them, at least regarding your preferred methods for killing when it's warranted.”

After another few seconds of silent staring, Dahlia stepped back from the counter as she wiped the flour from her hands with a dishtowel, and then reached up to pull a matching pair of hair sticks out of her bun. Her hair came down in a long, thick black braid that reached clear to her upper thighs.

Bard’s eyes widened and his lips pursed in a whistle. “Now that is a lot of hair!”

“I have heard it said that a woman’s hair is her pride,” Sebastian said slyly. “And in Dahlia’s case, it is also her most lethal weapon.”

Dahlia tugged the braid forward over her shoulder, and held the last eighteen inches of its length between her hands as she said with a rather pained grimace of a smile, “Twenty-three men have been strangled to death with this braid.”

“Twenty-three?” Sebastian echoed, looking at her in mild surprise. “Your previous employer exaggerated, then; before he met his end, he boasted to us that you had killed fifty men with your hair.”

“It’s probably more than that by now; I... I lost count somewhere along the way. But the rest weren’t strangled; they were either stabbed to death, or poisoned,” Dahlia explained as she brandished the hair sticks, which were tipped with sharp gleaming steel. Then she worked her fingers through the braid, and pulled out a series of tiny throwing blades. After laying twelve blades out for the others to inspect, she reached inside the neckline of her uniform to tug out a necklace, at the end of which was a small silver locket. “Poison for coating the blades in,” she explained as she showed it to them before tucking the locket away again, and then meticulously hiding each blade back inside the braid and pinning it up again. “I've also done target practice with handguns, but guns were hard to conceal in, ah, the clothes I wore most often.”

“Oh, these clothes are easy to hide guns in!” Mey-Rin piped up while polishing the silver. “I’ve got two on me right now, and I could hide three more without too much trouble. I can show you later, if you like.”

“And if we can spare the time tomorrow, I’ll take you out to the firing range and see if any of the guns we have on hand suit you. After you pick out a gun you like, we can get you a holster for hiding it,” Bard said as he pulled the lid off the pot and began stirring the now boiling contents. “Snake, you got the carrots ready?”

“You… want me to be even more lethal?” Dahlia stared at them, clearly appalled. “Don’t tell me you also expect me to sedu—”

“They want you to be even more prepared, Dahlia,” Sebastian interrupted, his voice firm. “That is the master’s wish, as well. All servants of the Phantomhive family must be prepared to defend their master and the estate at a moment’s notice.”

“And getting you better equipped to kill from a distance, gives you better odds of surviving the next attack,” Bard said, scowling. “Don’t go getting the wrong ideas; we’re not the kind of folks that like killing! We just don’t mind doing it when we gotta, and we’re damn good at it. But we came here, all of us—well, some of us anyway—because the Earl gave us a future where we could do more than killing. When I first came here, I didn’t even know how to fry an egg! But now I can cook all kinds of meals—”

“With assistance and with frequent do-overs,” Sebastian interrupted dryly.

Bard flushed bright red. “Yeah, well, I’m getting better! And anyway, the point is, we all had to learn skills at something else besides killing, and it was hard learning too, but we did it and we’re still doing it and we’re happy to be doing it! But the master has to deal with a lot of nasty characters, working as he does as the Queen's Watchdog, and sometimes trouble follows him home. And that’s when it pays to be still damn good at killing, too.”

“Surprisingly well said, Baldroy,” Sebastian commented, and the chef first grinned at the compliment, and then frowned at the implied insult. “But now we have other matters to deal with,” as he clapped his hands to command their full attention. “The master’s growth spurt may be accelerating; he has requested an additional course for his dinner tonight, rosemary-baked chicken breast stuffed with goat cheese…”

Bard groaned aloud, while Tanaka chuckled into his tea. Sebastian rolled up his sleeves to work alongside the others, and the kitchen became far too busy for idle conversation.

00oo00oo00oo00oo00

Another author's note: "Quoi?" is French for "What?!"

Chapter 3: His Master, Awake at Night

Chapter Text

At the end of the new laundress Dahlia's first day on staff, Mey-Rin showed her the room they'd be sharing from now on. "...Emptied the two bottom drawers for you. And here, you have the right side of the wardrobe for hanging your skirts, and a dress if you have one for going somewhere on your hours off," the maid chattered while showing her where to put her belongings. "Did Sebastian tell you when yours will be? Everybody has Sunday off between breakfast and teatime, and then for evenings off, Bard has Tuesdays, I have Wednesdays, Snake has Thursdays, Finny has Fridays and Sebastian has Saturday evenings off—when he bothers to take time off at all; he's truly a dedicated man, he is! But I expect yours will be Monday evenings."

"What about Tanaka; which is his evening off?" Dahlia asked while opening the valise containing her few belongings. Most of the items in the valise were standard household servant uniforms, new and fresh from the shop, but there were a few small trinkets as well.

"Eh, well, any time is his time off if he wants it," Mey-Rin shrugged, causing Dahlia to stare at her in surprise. "You see, officially Tanaka is the household's wine steward, like they have in the homes for the highest nobles or the very, very wealthy. Some place where they go through so much wine every month for the family and the guests, that they have a servant just to take care of the wine cellar's stock, they do!"

I visited a home like that once," Dahlia commented with a hint of a wry smile. "But this isn't that kind of home, I presume?"

"Oh no, not at all! We have a wine cellar, a big one, but our master is still years too young for serious drinking, yes he is. And he hardly ever throws fancy dinners or parties, where you'd expect a lot of wine to be poured. We do get some businessmen and such visiting, but most of those who come here on business are fine with just drinking tea like the earl does. So there's hardly ever anything that Tanaka has to do, really," Mey-Rin shrugged, while slipping out of her shoes and giving them a quick cleaning before putting them away at the foot of her bed. "So he can come and go as he pleases, but he hardly ever does; he mostly just drinks tea and keeps us company when we have time to chat, or lends us a hand if we're really busy and it's somebody's evening off."

That made Dahlia frown. "And is the master aware that you have such a layabout on staff?"

"Oh, not a layabout!" Mey-Rin corrected her swiftly, while taking off her apron and beginning to undress for bed. " 'Tis more like he's retired while still serving, you see. Tanaka has served the Phantomhive family for decades; he was the butler for the young master's father, the previous earl, and I think he started as a footman for the young master's grandfather! He would be the family butler still, if not for what happened four years ago."

"Which was...?" Dahlia prompted, while hanging the last of her uniform skirts.

"Well, it was before my time here, so I don't know any of the details; just the bits that I've overheard from visitors to the mansion while they're here. But the young master's father was the Queen's Watchdog before him, and four years ago, trouble must have followed his father home as well. The worst sort of trouble; the mansion was set afire, and nearly everyone in it was killed. The only ones who survived were Tanaka and the young master, and even then just barely; Tanaka was stabbed and left for dead, and nearly did die before he was found in the ruins by a shepherd's dog. And the young master was kidnapped, and missing for nearly a month."

"Kidnapped?" Dahlia's eyes went wide, as she stowed her valise in the bottom of the wardrobe and began undressing for bed.

"Yes, but you must never ask about it, understand?" Mey-Rin's voice was unexpectedly stern, as she paused in undressing to shake a cautioning finger at Dahlia. "Neither the master nor Sebastian ever talks about it, ever, but it must have been terrible indeed. He came back with his right eye forever ruined and under an eyepatch, and to this very day, even in his own home the master sleeps with a gun under his pillow. I've seen it there a few times, when he forgets to put it in his holster straight away after he's dressed."

"That's a bad sign, when you don't feel truly safe even in your own bedroom," Dahlia agreed as she unpinned her hair. As the long braid fell down her back, she slid the sharp steel-tipped hairsticks under her pillow without even looking at them.

Mey-Rin paused for a moment, about to say something, but then gave a small shrug and continued. "Anyway, somehow Sebastian found him and rescued him from his captors, and agreed to become his new butler; they've been together ever since. But the young master and Tanaka found each other again in the Royal Hospital, and when the mansion was rebuilt and Tanaka was finally recovered enough to leave the hospital, the master brought him straight home to stay." Mey-Rin smiled as she confided, "They don't talk about it much, but they're both very fond of each other, they are! Why, once when Tanaka caught a bad cold and the young master was worried about him, I even heard him refer to Tanaka as 'Grandpa'!"

Dahlia gave a small smile as she unfolded a plain cotton nightdress and shook it out. "So he's officially a servant, but really he's part of the earl's family."

Mey-Rin finished taking off her skirt and petticoats off while nodding, "Mm-hm. Oh, I promised I'd show you how easy it is to hide guns under these skirts," she said as she briefly posed in her undergarments to show off two holstered handguns, one holster strapped to each thigh. "And I can strap on another set of guns to my calves if I wear the long skirt to cover them, and tuck a third pistol inside my blouse. Though what I really prefer are rifles, and we have plenty of them, too; someday when we have time, I'll show you the sniper nests we've set up."

The ladies finished getting ready for bed, with Dahlia taking the tiny throwing blades out of her braid and putting them with the poison-pendant in a small covered dish that she'd set on the nightstand earlier, while Mey-Rin carefully lay each holstered gun on top of the folded clothes she'd be wearing the next day. Mey-Rin yawned as she turned off the lights, "Good night, Dahlia; sleep well. We'll be getting up at five o'clock..."

00oo00oo00oo00oo00

Normally young Ciel Phantomhive, no longer a child but still a youth, was in bed and asleep hours before his hardworking servants were. But at midnight that night the young earl was still wide awake and working in his study, with Sebastian periodically coming in to provide refreshments or see if he needed anything else.

Being awake at such unusual hours was proving useful for communicating overseas, particularly now that Funtom Company was selling their quality products in America and had just opened a new raingear factory in China. Ciel made several telephone calls, first to America before the sales managers there went home for the day, and then to China as soon as the factory there began its day’s work. In between the phone calls, he read through reports from his other factories and sales divisions, and took care of several business items that he’d recently been forced to neglect while working as the Queen’s Watchdog on the latest case for Her Royal Majesty.

Also between phone calls, when he had finished dealing with the routine paperwork, he pored over a series of small black books, the type that are sold with blank pages so that people may use them for diaries or journals. There were six books altogether, and each one filled from cover to cover with neatly precise handwriting.

As he read, with a pen in hand and still another black book with blank pages in front of him, Ciel Phantomhive's face went through a multitude of expressions; disbelief, anger, disgust, wry humor, and resignation were all made evident at different times. The pen was used most often to draw lines through the precise writing in the filled books, sometimes gently and sometimes with far more force than necessary; only rarely was it used to write something down in the blank book instead.

Finally, at just shy of two o’clock in the morning, Sebastian came in with the tea trolley again and poured his master a fresh cup. But when Ciel absently sipped the tea while reading the sixth black book, he sputtered and spit it back out before giving his butler an outraged glare as he said accusingly, “This isn’t Assam!”

“No, young master; it is a chamomile tea, to help you sleep,” Sebastian said calmly.

“I asked for an Assam blend! And macaroons; where are my macaroons?!” as he gestured angrily at the tea trolley’s conspicuous absence of sweets.

“Young master, if you will take note of the clock on the mantle, you will see that it is well past time you were in bed and asleep, to begin resuming your regular daytime schedule. You have a meeting scheduled with the manager of your Ipswich raingear factory in two days, at ten o’clock in the morning; it would not do your reputation any favors if you appear at that meeting still yawning and out of sorts from lack of proper sleep.”

“Rrrrgggh…Fine!” Ciel snapped, pushing away from his desk. “Draw me a bath, then; I’ll need to relax before I can even attempt to sleep.”

“Already drawn, sir; by the time you finish your chamomile tea, the hot water will have cooled to just the right temperature.”

A few minutes later they were in the bathroom and Sebastian was methodically undressing his master for bathing. As he worked on the buttons of his shirt, Sebastian asked, "Now that you have largely recovered from the effects of being drugged, what did you find when you reviewed all the business ideas you had me write down for you on our journey home?"

Ciel groaned, "Only about one in ten of them are even remotely feasible. Most of the rest are sheer rubbish, and several of the ones that aren't completely rubbish would need more advanced technology than we currently have, though they might be possible in another decade or two. A few of them are feasible, but would utterly wreck the Funtom Company image; I may see about becoming a silent partner with another entrepreneur on those. And there were at least two ideas that would have seen me hanged as a traitor; I would have thought you’d made them up and put them in there for fun, except I… what on earth was I thinking?!"

"Is that a rhetorical question, sir?" Sebastian asked, utterly straight-faced. And when Ciel grumbled that yes, it had been rhetorical, he asked with a hint of a smile, "And the idea in the second book that involved ducklings, sir?"

Ciel groaned and covered his face with his hand, while Sebastian helped him out of his trousers. "Did you have to remind me of that one? I had hoped to forget it forever..."

Sebastian couldn't help smirking at his discomfiture. "I did find that one particularly amusing, sir."

"You would, demon," Ciel grumbled. "You would probably have been laughing your head off if you hadn't been so busy writing."

“I did warn you, sir, that such a stimulant was affecting your mind just as greatly, if in different ways, as a full measure of Lau’s opium.”

“Well it’s not as if I’d had a choice in being drugged, now did I? Since you were too busy playing with the House of Flowers' assassins to prevent the Madame from sticking me with her vile potion!”

Sebastian looked offended… but not quite; there was still a trace of a smirk on his lips as he replied, “My lord, I was not playing; I was dispatching them as efficiently as could be managed while still following your orders to avoid killing those who were acting under duress, ordered against their will. That necessitated interacting with them for at least brief periods to observe their attitudes as they attempted to kill me.”

Ciel gave a most ungentlemanly snort of derision, and said before his butler could reprove him for it, “I heard from our little survivor that you were critiquing their techniques! That you told the redhead with the pistols, whatever her name was—”

“Columbine, my lord.”

“Columbine, then; when she shot you, you told her that she’d missed, her target was two inches lower down and she should try again! Admit it; you were having fun with them!”

Sebastian finally nodded acknowledgement, his smirk even wider than before. “Guilty as charged, my lord.”

“And while you were having fun, I was being drugged, and then thrown into a room filled with-" as the young earl’s eyes went wide with horror at the memory and his every muscle tensed, before he glared at Sebastian again. “I had to shoot two of them before the rest backed off!”

Sebastian quickly bowed his head in apology/submission, seeing that rather than being relaxed at the prospect of a hot bath, his master was agitated and even more tense than before. “My deepest apologies, my lord. I shall do my utmost to ensure that exact situation never arises again. Young Master, would you like me to bring you some warm milk with honey while you relax in the bath, and simply soak for a while before washing?”

“…Fine,” Ciel growled. As he stepped into the bath, Sebastian vanished out the door and reappeared in short order with a cup of warm milk, sweetened just the way Ciel liked it. The young earl sighed as he accepted the cup, “At least it’s not plain water again. Two days of you all but pouring a cup of water down my throat every twenty minutes, to flush the drug out of my body; it felt like I was going to drink the entire Thames dry! You could have at least made it tea a few times.”

“I dared not, my lord. I had known that the potion was not an outright poison before you were injected, but it was a very powerful stimulant. If I had added more stimulants on top of that, your heart might have burst under the strain… or at the very least, you would still be wide awake for the third day in a row, and I would likely still be taking dictation for whatever idea came into your addled brain.”

A few minutes later, Ciel sighed in contentment as he gave the empty cup to Sebastian, and leaned forward so the butler could scrub his back. Silently relieved that the worst of his master’s mood had been chased away by the warm milk and warmer bath, Sebastian nonetheless took care to use calming strokes and subtle massage techniques as he washed and shampooed. And by the end of the bath, the young earl’s quiet expression and utterly relaxed shoulders said, while not actually happy (a rare state indeed for the Queen’s Watchdog who was also the youngest successful business owner in all of England), he was once more reasonably content with the state of affairs.

Stepping out of the tub, the youth covered a yawn with his hand as Sebastian patted him dry with the towel. “Out of curiosity, (yawn) what will you be doing for the rest of the night?”

His master was in a good mood indeed, to indulge in such idle conversation. Sebastian confided, “In truth, young master, I’m contemplating indulging in a few hours of sleep myself. After dealing with your correspondence and tidying up the study, of course.”

“I dare say you’ve earned some rest, after this case,” the young earl said with a corner of his mouth curled upwards in a hint of a smile. “It certainly put you through your paces.”

“Indeed,” Sebastian had to agree, knowing exactly what Ciel was referring to. “I must confess, young master, I was indeed surprised to find myself successfully running across the water with you.”

The demon considered that the most surprising aspect of the year so far, and that included their recent adventure in Africa and conversations with shrunken heads. Four days ago they had found themselves on a boat about to explode, far out of sight of any land, and knowing from the gloating letter that the Master of the House of Flowers had left for them, that the water around the boat had just been turned lethal for any human to be in for more than two seconds. Sebastian had been about to inform Ciel that in order to get his master safely away, he must be allowed to drop his human form entirely so he could fly them both out of there, when the young earl had said tightly, “Sebastian, this is an order: run across the water with me back to France!”

Sebastian had stared incredulously at him as he’d repeated, “Run across the… Young Master, do I need to remind you of exactly which breed of supernatural I am?”

“There’s nothing supernatural about this; it’s physically possible, if you run fast enough!” Ciel had insisted. “I know you can do it, Sebastian; now run us both out of here, at top speed! Top speed; that’s an order!”

So Sebastian had followed the order, and done it. And now four days later, he mused, “I do wonder what those fisherman we passed on the way to shore thought of the sight.”

“They probably thought they were having a religious experience… and don’t tell me that doesn’t tickle your fancy, demon; I know you too well. As well as knowing something about the animal kingdom that you don’t,” and now Ciel was definitely smiling, very nearly the smuggest little grin Sebastian had ever seen. “Remind me tomorrow to show you that book on the natural history of Central America, and the article on the plumed basilisk lizard. They’re well-documented as being capable of running across the water for short distances.” He gave his demon an expectant look as he added, “And of course, if a mere silly little lizard can do it…”

“Then how could I be the Phantomhive butler, if I couldn’t accomplish it as well?” Sebastian finished wryly. The young master really did know him, better than Sebastian thought he was entirely comfortable with.

To get a bit of his own back, the butler retorted, “However, young master, that was not the most tiring aspect of this case. Neither was battling the Black Roses, which as you pointed out was rather more play than work for me, nor taking dictation for your madcap business ideas for the better part of two straight days. Really, I would have to give that honor to the task of keeping up with you, after you so abruptly decided that the middle of a carriage ride through London after sundown was the perfect time to begin playing hide-and-seek.”

Poking his head up through the neck of his nightshirt, Ciel predictably flushed bright red as he snapped back, “I was not playing hide-and-seek! You heard it too, the scream of a woman in distress; the only proper thing for an English gentleman to do was to go immediately to her aid!”

“Which you accomplished by leaping out of our hired carriage while it was still moving, sprinting straight through a dark alley to get to the woman in question, and beating her two assailants over the head with your walking stick. While I’ll grant you had the element of sheer surprise on your side in subduing them, choosing to risk breaking your custom-crafted accessory rather than task your perfectly capable butler with the work… really, I was feeling quite snubbed, sir,” Sebastian said, while keeping a perfectly straight face. He thought about putting on a suitably offended expression, but feared his truly amused grin would peek through if he tried.

“Hmmph. Well, at least the woman I saved appreciated my efforts,” Ciel grumbled just before brushing his teeth.

“Indeed, sir.” Sebastian agreed while quickly tidying up the bathroom. “I dare say Finny will also be quite pleased, when he finds out that the hero of his favorite television programme, the Rowdy Count, is apparently living under our roof.” His lord made a soft grunting sound while cleaning his teeth, but with his mouth so occupied Sebastian couldn’t tell whether it was a sound of pleasure or displeasure at the idea. He persisted, “However, sir, while I set about tracking down our carriage with Dahlia still sleeping inside it, and bringing it back around to pick you up… did you really need to scamper off into the night, in search of more innocents to rescue?”

“…The Rowdy Count does not scamper,” Ciel finally said with every scrap of dignity he could muster, his head held high. “Nor does the Rowdy Earl, for that matter.”

Sebastian was about to retort that running while giggling with glee must surely be the very definition of scampering, but Ciel cut him off with a hasty, “Now that’s enough idle chatter; it’s time for bed,” as he marched over to the opulent four-poster bed that lay waiting for him with the sheets turned back.

Sebastian tucked him in, and then picked up the buckets for hot water and the clothes in need of laundering, and bowed himself out of the bedroom with a quiet, “Pleasant dreams, young master.”

He dropped off the clothes in the laundry and took the buckets back to the kitchen, deciding that on the morrow he would make another inquiry about purchasing a water-heating tank for the manor’s use. The last version he had looked at had simply not been good enough for Phantomhive Manor; the tank had insufficient volume for supplying hot water to fill even one full-sized gentleman’s bathtub, and the reports he’d gotten from servants in other households had indicated that the heating element was troublesome and prone to causing electrical fires. No, considering their chef was still more prone to causing accidental fires than putting them out, there was no sense in adding such a device to the household.

But Sebastian’s last inquiry had been made early last year, a few days before boarding the Campania and their first encounter with the Bizarre Dolls. Technology seemed to be advancing at a faster pace every year; perhaps the inventors of such devices had made improvements to later models in the sixteen months since then. If not, then he might consider investing some of his accumulated salary in funding their research and development of both safer and more effective water heaters; after all, he had little other use for the money.

From the kitchen he went back up to the earl’s study, to address the master’s business correspondence for the morning post. He had already written responses to all the social correspondence that had accumulated during their absence, penning the most polite and cordial refusals to all the invitations to balls, poetry recitals and musical soirees that the earl had stated vehemently that he’d rather hang by his heels than attend. He had also penned similar polite refusals to five invitations to formal dinners, while securing the master’s agreement to attend the sixth (the Whitfields were a pleasant couple who had both sense enough to treat the earl as a full adult, and a chef whose dishes met Ciel’s high standards.)

Addressing and applying stamps to the business letters was but the work of a few minutes. As he put away the stationary and writing supplies and then tidied up the paperwork, Sebastian allowed himself to yawn once, with a slight smile of anticipation seeping through. He occasionally had to take steps to ensure the young master didn’t find out, but the demon had found sleeping with a cat curled up in bed with him to be a fine luxury indeed. When he was finished here he would go out to the gardens to find and bring inside his dearest little beauty, the—hmm?

His sharp eyes had spotted a small white triangle barely visible in the shadows under the earl’s desk. He reached down to discover and pull out a cream-colored envelope composed of the finest heavy vellum, and addressed in a handwriting he recognized. Frowning, he carefully slit the envelope open and began reading the letter within… and his eyes flew open wide, with combined alarm and dismay…

To be continued!

Chapter 4: His Butler, Preparing for Guests

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

At bedtime the night before, Mey-Rin had told the new servant Dahlia that they'd be getting up at five o'clock in the morning. But when Sebastian knocked quite forcefully on their door to wake them, it was only 3:15 a.m. "Be dressed and downstairs in the kitchen, within fifteen minutes!" was all he called through the door before dashing off towards the serving men's quarters, presumably to give them the same rude awakening.

Fumbling in the dark for glasses, the lights, uniforms and weapons, the ladies barely managed to make it to the kitchen in time. They made it only by running clear from their room to the kitchen, and they still weren't entirely ready for inspection; Mey-Rin had her apron and maid's cap still tucked under one arm and both boots on but unlaced, while Dahlia had her shoes in one hand and a fistful of weapons in the other, and her braid whipped behind her as she ran.

Even unready, they still fell into line and stood next to Tanaka, Bard and Finny while scrambling to get their uniforms proper; better to be improperly dressed than late to an emergency meeting! And they were a whole ten seconds earlier than the last arrival, Snake, who slept in a room of his own instead of sharing with the other men (Snake claimed that Bard's snoring kept his friends awake; Bard claimed he couldn't sleep comfortably with so many snakes slithering about the bedroom.) Snake came running up at exactly fifteen minutes on the dot, with his socks in one hand, his shoes in the other and the coral snake draped about his shoulders carrying his neck-ribbon in its jaws.

The normally calm and unflappable Sebastian was actually tapping his foot while waiting for Snake to fall into line, and both Mey-Rin and Finny swallowed nervously as they registered that fact. "Oh man, this is bad..." Bard muttered under his breath.

The moment Snake fell into line for the meeting, Sebastian launched into a quiet but fervent tirade. "While I recognize that some duties have traditionally been let slack on days when the master isn't in residence and guests aren't expected, that practice stops now. Every day, the entire mansion shall be kept in tip-top shape and ready for receiving guests! And of particular importance is the proper sorting and disposition of the mail to the household! Mey-Rin, I found this letter," as he brandished a cream-colored envelope, "only twenty minutes ago, lying on the floor under the master's desk instead of atop it with the other correspondence addressed. A letter from the Marchioness Midford, stating her intentions to come to the manor this very day!"

"Huaaahhh!?!" The gasp of horror and sheer dismay sounded from five throats simultaneously; six if you counted the coral snake's open-mouthed hiss.

"Her letter states that she'll be here in time for the afternoon tea... And you all know what that really means," as Sebastian gave them all a meaningful stare.

The response this time wasn't quite in unison, though no less heartfelt: "Yes, sir!" "Sir, yes sir!" "W-we know too well, sir!" "We know, sir! Says Emily."

"But this time, we're going to be ready for her. Right?"

Another response in unison, of "Yes, sir!" complete with crisp salutes; even Dahlia joined in on the saluting, to stay in step with the other servants, though her face betrayed bewilderment instead of determination.

"Good. Now your duties are as follows—yes, Dahlia?" Sebastian interrupted himself with a flash of clear irritation, because Dahlia had just timidly raised her hand.

"I, I'm very sorry to interrupt, but... How big of an army are you expecting to invade?" Dahlia asked, looking very worried. "And how does this Marchioness usually equip her forces; will there be mostly close-in fighting with blades and handguns, or can we expect sniping rifles or barrages of heavy artillery as well?"

For a long second, everyone else in the room just stared at her; then Sebastian covered his mouth and turned away, clearly stifling a chuckle. Mey-Rin giggled, Tanaka chuckled aloud, Snake snickered, and Bard and Finny started outright braying with laughter.

"I, I guess we were acting like the Marchioness would be leading an army against us," Mey-Rin said in between giggles.

"Hell, an invading army would almost be easier to handle than her!" Bard finally gasped, clutching at his sides.

Having composed himself the soonest, Sebastian turned back to Dahlia and explained, "The Marchioness Midford is not a leader of the Underworld; instead, she is a lady of High Society, married to the leader of the British knights. And she will also someday be our young master's mother-in-law... so for the past year and more, she had taken to coming out here periodically to inspect the estate, to see that we servants are performing to her expectations."

"And we ain't passed a one of her inspections yet," Bard added glumly as he recovered his breath. "I'll admit that for the first time, we bombed the place so bad she would've had every right to be furious with us; we was all still pretty new at our duties then, and... anyway, she forgave us that time because we were throwing a birthday party for the young master's thirteenth birthday, and because the young master had just saved her daughter from a bear attack."

But she's been out here twice more since then, she has, and those times she's not gone easy on us at all!" Mey-Rin said with an emphatic shake of her head. "The last time, we almost thought we'd made it... and then she had poor Finny reduced to tears because she'd found a rosebush, just one out of the whole garden, that had an old dead flower that hadn't been plucked yet. And that was with three days' notice of her coming!"

Sebastian finished, "And in addition to being very strict about her high standards, the Marchioness has a reputation for arriving hours earlier than when she's expected. As her letter says she'll be here in time for the afternoon tea, that means she'll be here before elevenses, possibly right after breakfast. Which means,” as he began handing out some handwritten lists that had been tucked into his handkerchief pocket, “that there is a great deal of work that must be done to prepare for her inspection even before the young master wakes up..."

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The next six straight hours were packed with work, work and more work, all done as fast as everyone could manage while still being thorough. There was furniture to dust and polish, curtains to steam free of wrinkles, linens to be changed out, silver to polish, floors to be swept and mopped, flowers to be arranged in vases, flowerbeds to weed, grass to mow, hedges and trees to trim, and several different food dishes to prepare. Everyone did everything they were assigned to do, and pitched in to help each other when help was needed.

Bard sweated and swore in the kitchen while making dish after fancy dish for their expected guests. Finny dashed everywhere with the mower, moving the heavy rotating drum of blades across the grass faster than most people could run. Mey-Rin, Snake, Dahlia and even Tanaka spotlessly cleaned and tidied up room after room in the manor, following the lists they’d been given.

Even Snake’s companions were helping out with the cleaning efforts. Dahlia paused and stared, took a deep breath, and then determinedly continued polishing the legs of the dining room table, unsure whether she should be screaming or laughing hysterically at the sight of a large python slithering along the right side of the room, rubbing the dusting cloth in its jaws against the baseboards.

And Sebastian, well, Sebastian seemed to be everywhere at once. Producing lanterns on freestanding poles from who-knew-where so Finny could begin working outside even before the sun rose; dashing from room to room with a ladder tucked under his arm in order to reach and dust the chandeliers; sitting the other servants down one at a time in five-minute breaks, to all but stuff down their gullets the cold breakfasts he’d whipped up for them; threatening to eviscerate Bard if the chef let burn the tea cakes that he'd just popped into the oven; leaping down out of a tree after trimming its branches into a perfect sphere…

In the manor’s grand hall, Dahlia paused in her dusting and stared at Sebastian as he leaped ten feet into the air to reach a portrait that was hanging ever-so-slightly crooked, tapped it while in midair and just hard enough to perfectly straighten it, and then landed with barely a thump before dashing out of the room again. “That man is just not human!”

“Strictly speaking, neither is Finny. And Snake doesn’t even look human,” Mey-Rin said with a shrug as she spread out and smoothed a fresh tablecloth before setting a vase of freshly cut flowers back on it. “But the master doesn’t care whether or not any of his servants are normal humans, and it’s not our place to worry about that, no it’s not! All that matters to the master is that we do our jobs well, and that’s all that should matter to you too, yes indeed.”

Just then Sebastian leaned in through a doorway, his voice sharp as a whipcrack as he glared at them both. “Speaking of jobs, if you’re gossiping while working, then you’re not properly focused on your tasks!”

“Yessir!” Dahlia and Mey-Rin both gulped as they started cleaning with even more fervor.

Ten minutes later, they both heard through an open door a high-pitched “Aaaahhh!” of sheer dismay verging on horror, followed by some furious conversation that was too fast and low-voiced for them to make out from so far away. The ladies traded glances while Mey-Rin said knowingly, “Sebastian just informed the master, he did…”

Finally, at 9:30 a.m., Sebastian called all the servants together down in the kitchen, and looked over their uniforms with a critical eye. “Finny, retie your left boot, I showed you how to do your laces properly. Snake, replace your neck-ribbon, I can see Emily’s fang-marks in that one. Mey-Rin, brush your hair again and straighten your cap, have Dahlia help you with it if necessary. Dahlia, your apron needs ironing—never mind, I’ll supply you with a freshly ironed one.” He cast a glance over his shoulder, apparently glaring at the kitchen wall or the outdoors behind it, and then turned back to them with a clipped, “Everyone, good work on preparing the manor and grounds, and we finished just in time; I believe I just heard carriage wheels turning from the road onto the drive. Be outside and lined up to greet our guests in five minutes!”

Dahlia hurriedly helped Mey-Rin with her hair and cap, stepped back a pace to look her over—and then gasped sharply as white-gloved hands reaching from behind moved swiftly over her own person, snatching away her current apron and replacing it with a freshly ironed one in the blink of an eye, while somehow dodging the sharp elbows and sharper heels she’d instinctively thrust backwards to defend herself from an attack from behind. Mey-Rin didn’t give her time to freak out about Sebastian’s actions, tugging her arm to lead her outside.

Already outside with boot retied and neck-ribbon replaced, Finny and Snake both took out combs and quickly gave each other identical hairstyles, slicked back like Tanaka’s hair and held that way with hair wax from a small tin that Bard tossed to them. Bard himself had a clean white chef’s toque jammed onto his head down to his ears, and he wiped his ever-present goggles with a handkerchief that was quickly stuffed back inside his apron.

The only one not an obvious bundle of nerves for the occasion, Tanaka strolled outside chuckling softly at the nervous antics of the younger servants. Then they all fell into line and stood at attention, mere moments before their young master dashed out of the house with Sebastian on his heels, just as a fancy carriage with a heraldic coat of arms emblazoned on the sides rolled the last few yards up to the door.

The coachman reined the horses to a stop, and the young earl at the base of the steps audibly swallowed and firmed his stance, seeming to brace himself for impact even though the coach and horses were stopped several feet away. The coachman leaped down from the box seat, opened the coach door—and Dahlia’s first impression was that of a human cannonball shooting out of the carriage, streaming blonde curls and pink ruffles behind it like a comet’s tail, and barreling straight into their master while screaming “CIEL!”

Dahlia looked bewildered as she used the noise of the extremely enthusiastic greeting to cover her whisper to Mey-Rin, "Is that the Marchioness?"

But before Mey-Rin could say anything, another voice boomed out from the carriage's interior: "Elizabeth Ethel Cordelia Midford, what have I told you about such indecent behavior?!"

Wincing, Mey-Rin whispered back, "No, that's the Marchioness. Now hush; her ears are almost as sharp as Sebastian's!"

The cannonball, which turned out to be a very well-dressed young lady with curly blonde hair and perfect complexion, turned back towards the carriage without letting go of the earl and wailed, “But we’re going to be married, Mama! Surely I can give my fiancé a warmer greeting than I would greet some stranger on the street!”

A tall woman with hair of the same shade of blonde, statuesque proportions and a severe expression stepped out of the carriage while scolding, “You are not married yet, and while you are still living under my roof you will behave like a civilized young lady instead of some indecent trollop, even with your betrothed!”

But it was obviously a speech that had been said and ignored many times before; the young lady turned back to their master and said excitedly while hugging him even tighter, “Ciel, we have the most exciting news!”

“Hello, Lizzie,” Earl Phantomhive grunted with a pained smile, his face slowly turning red. “Can I breathe, please?”

“Oh, sorry!” as she let go of him and stepped back a pace, to hold his hands—which she abruptly let go of after she glanced to the side, where the servants were lined up. “Oh, you have a new servant! What does she do?”

“Elizabeth!” the Marchioness Midford all but shouted in dismay, clenching her fists. “One does not ask about others’ servants so bluntly!” She shook her head and groaned, “You will drive me to despair, child…”

“But they’re going to be my servants too someday, aren’t they?” Lady Elizabeth said in a reasonable tone, before she looked right at Dahlia with an expectant expression.

Dahlia dropped into a deep curtsey and said with her eyes modestly downcast, “My name is Dahlia, kind Lady; I am newly employed as the laundress.” Looking up through her lashes, she glimpsed Sebastian giving her a brief nod of approval for her answer.

“And Hello to you as well, Aunt Frances,” the young earl said with a wry smile, before gesturing towards the doors. “Thank you for coming here today. If you’d like to come into the conservatory, Sebastian will serve us tea while you tell me the news.”

“Oh, it’s so exciting, Ciel!” Elizabeth said enthusiastically, grabbing his arm again. “Mama and I are going to be traveling to America! We’ll be touring there, and gone for months!” then her expression fell a little as she continued, “I do so wish you could come with us; I just hate the thought of being parted from you for that long! Oh I know, you have your business and your duties for the Queen that you can’t leave for such a long time, but still…”

Sebastian opened the main doors and ushered the nobles inside with a smile and bow, and then dashed lightning-fast over to the servants’ line to tell them, “Snake and Mey-Rin, with me to the conservatory; Finny, see to the horses; Dahlia, to the kitchen with Bard; Tanaka, just do as you see fit.” And then he dashed inside before the door had time to fully close.

Snake and Mey-Rin followed Sebastian inside, while Finny helped the coachman unharness the horses and Dahlia followed Bard and Tanaka back to the kitchen entrance. Just before they went inside, the elderly servant looked at her with a twinkle behind his monocle as he said, “Service to the Phantomhive family can be at times more difficult than at other manors, but it is rarely if ever dull. I would congratulate you on having survived the first trial of your employment here, but we have not passed the Marchioness’s inspection yet.”

“Thank you,” Dahlia said faintly, while Bard just snorted and held the door open for them both.

Once inside, Tanaka poured himself a cup of tea before vanishing to somewhere else in the manor, so Dahlia asked Bard if there was anything he could use her help with. “There’s always more to do in a kitchen, especially when the master has guests,” Bard grunted with a lopsided smile. He showed her a small bushel of peas that needed shelling, before picking up the whetstone and a set of knives in need of sharpening.

After a few minutes of quietly splitting the pea pods, Dahlia asked, “Pardon me, but… Lady Elizabeth Midford is our master’s betrothed, correct?”

“Yup,” Bard said as he finished sharpening the knives, put two of them back and started using the third to chop some vegetables. “Since they were both toddlers, if you can believe it. Sebastian said that’s perfectly normal for the upper-crust here in England; the parents decide who their kids will get hitched to before they’re even out of diapers!”

“But then… I heard our master refer to her mother, Marchioness Midford, as ‘Aunt Frances.’ Is that just an affectionate term, or…” Dahlia’s voice trailed off uncertainly.

“Nope. She’s really his aunt, his dad’s sister, and the master’s fiancée is really his cousin,” Bard said with a shake of his head, still chopping away. “That’s another thing upper-crust folks seem to think is okay; inbreeding like that. That’s how they got them royals in Spain a couple hundred years ago, with faces that looked like beating ‘em in with a shovel would be an improvement! But it’s the master’s business, not ours.”

“The latter is quite correct,” Sebastian said coolly from directly behind Bard, causing the chef to flinch hard and Dahlia to jump a little in her seat; she hadn’t seen or heard the butler come in. “Their choices in marital partners are none of your concern,” he continued as the chef spun around to face him, fixing the man with a gimlet stare that caused the veteran soldier to start sweating bullets.

Then Sebastian relented a bit and said, “However, to allay your fears of the master’s potential offspring resembling the late Habsburg line: he and his betrothed share but one recent ancestor instead of two. Marchioness Frances Midford is actually a half-sister rather than full sister to the departed Earl Phantomhive. His grandmother, Claudia Phantomhive, became a widow after bearing only one child, a daughter. She actually had Phantomhive blood in her veins, being a third cousin to her husband, but the closest male relative of direct descent and therefore traditional heir to the title was an even more distant and apparently quite disreputable cousin. In order to preserve the estate and keep it from falling into ruin, she remarried but required her second husband to legally change his name to Phantomhive. It is my understanding that, based on the importance of the service the Watchdog provides to the Queen, they appealed for and received special dispensation from Her Majesty to carry on the Phantomhive title.”

Bard lost his fearful and guilty expression to look concerned instead. “You said his grandma was widowed young…Trouble followed that generation’s Watchdog home?” he asked, but it wasn’t really a question.

“Very likely,” as Sebastian moved past him to collect the items needed for a midmorning tea. “But you are forbidden from ever asking about it, is that understood?” as he gave the chef another hard stare. “Your speculation about the master’s family tree ends here and now, Baldroy. I suggest you instead focus your efforts on not ruining our guests’ dinner again.”

“Yessir, shutting up sir,” Bard muttered as he turned back to his work.

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Snake, Finny and Mey-Rin all popped into the kitchen at different intervals, to drop off dirty dishes or pick up more food and drink, or bring in freshly picked strawberries and vegetables for dinner. And each time, they gave a progress report of the Marchioness’s terrifyingly thorough inspection of the manor and surrounding grounds. She'd cleared the conservatory... then the grand hall... then the east wing's parlor...

Until finally, hours later, just after the afternoon tea that she had originally said they'd arrive for, the Marchioness Midford said it was time for her and her daughter to leave. Lizzie promised her betrothed that she'd send him postcards from every major American city they stopped in, and the young earl promised in return to write to her whenever they would be staying in one place long enough for mail to be sent to them.

The servants lined up again to see them off, and after Lizzie gave her betrothed one last terrific hug and sprang into the carriage, Sebastian bowed low to Frances Midford as he said, "Thank you so very much for visiting Phantomhive Manor, Marchioness Midford; we trust that you found the visit entirely satisfactory." Dahlia decided that was as close as that deadly but oh-so-proper butler dared come to asking the noblewoman, Well, did we pass your inspection or not?

The Marchioness gave him a somewhat suspicious glare, and finally said, "For the most part, it was indeed satisfactory. You're keeping the manor properly clean and tidy, and the grounds well-groomed. But there's still one thing I've seen today that has once more failed to pass inspection..."

"And what would that be, Madame?"

"Your hair," as the noblewoman pointed accusingly at it. "It's still indecently unkempt! Always looking as if you'd just rolled out of bed—and are intending to roll back into it! Why can you not learn to keep it decent without being scolded into it each time I come here? Even the footman and gardener have learned from Tanaka on how to maintain their hair properly!" as she gestured over to where Snake and Finny indeed stood with their hair slicked back just like Tanaka's hairstyle.

"...I see," was all Sebastian said, his face expressionless, while a few feet away the Earl Phantomhive silently rolled his eyes and shook his head ever-so-slightly.

With a few last words of farewell for her nephew, the Marchioness Midford departed. And as soon as their carriage had rolled far enough away, the earl gave a wave to dismiss the servants, and Sebastian turned on his heels and strode swiftly straight for the gardens behind the manor, his coattails flapping behind him.

Dahlia watched him dash away, and whispered to the other servants as they walked at a slower pace back towards the kitchen, "Where's he going?"

Bard grinned. "Off to see his girlfriend, probably."

"Bard!" Mey-Rin instantly scolded him, her cheeks flushed. "That's not funny at all!"

"Aw, c'mon, Mey-Rin, you were the one who first spotted him cuddling and being all lovey-dovey with her!" Bard retorted.

Dahlia blinked. "The butler has a girlfriend? I thought servants weren't—"

"He has a cat," Mey-Rin hastened to correct her. "Although it's not actually his cat, not really... There's a black cat who lives on the estate, at the edge of the forest I think, but she hunts in the gardens for mice and moles. She comes to the back garden gate nearly every afternoon, and whenever Sebastian is home he makes a little time to go out and play with her. He can't bring her inside, because our master is allergic to cats, but he's very fond of her."

"Oh, he sneaks her in sometimes, when the weather's really nasty," Bard informed them with a mischievous grin, "and hides her in his room. Lucky for him, the master almost never goes there. Anyway, Dahlia, if we're having a bad day and you see Sebastian heading for the garden out back, just leave him be and give him time with his girlfriend; he's never out there for long, and he's usually not as harsh with us afterwards."

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To be continued

Notes:

Author's Note: As of the date of this chapter's finalization (5 November 2015), no canon information has been provided at all concerning Claudia Phantomhive, other than that she was Ciel's grandmother and Vincent's mother... and that she had a child by a man whose full name is as yet unknown; Vincent's father's name was partially revealed in Kuro chapter 103 as 'Cedric K. Ros___'. So yes, I totally made up that bit about the late Vincent Phantomhive and Frances Midford nee Phantomhive being only half-siblings instead of full siblings, and Frances being Vincent's older sister instead of younger. For several reasons:

First, Ciel is awfully damn proud of his family lineage; it means a lot to him to be a Phantomhive, to uphold his family's centuries-long legacy. It would break the kid's heart to find out he's actually a bastard-once-removed; that his grandmother Claudia, while married to that generation's Earl Phantomhive, cuckolded her husband by getting pregnant by that Cedric fellow. So I decided the relationship was legit, but in order for Vincent to have his mother's surname (instead of Ros-mumblesomething, his father's surname, which is the usual practice in Western cultures) and genuine Phantomhive blood running through his veins, a little finessing of the Phantomhive family ancestry was necessary, as well as receiving the monarch's approval for adapting the line of succession in that manner.

Vincent and Frances bear no family resemblance at all, beyond both being tall. Plenty of siblings look completely different from each other while having the same set of parents, but usually there's at least a little resemblance between them; half-siblings, on the other hand, are typically as different as night and day.

Also, the Marquis Alexis Midford was established as being two years younger than Vincent Phantomhive in the Weston Arc. But when Frances was first introduced, Yana Toboso made a point of mentioning that Frances still retained her youthful beauty, which implies that she's considerably older than she looks. In Victorian times it was almost unheard of for women to marry men younger than themselves, even by just one year; it was far more common for women to marry men considerably older than them, by anywhere from two years to twenty-five years. But the Marquis Midford would have few qualms about his daughter Elizabeth marrying a boy younger than her, if he and his wife had already set a fine example of such relationships working out well; another point in favor of Frances being Vincent's older sister instead of younger.

And the final reason for having Vincent and Frances be half-siblings is simply that I personally have a strong bias against inbreeding; look up the history of the royal Habsburg line which ended with the death of Charles II of Spain, and you'll see why. If they have only one common ancestor in the last three generations instead of two, any children that Ciel and Elizabeth are expected to have won't be quite as inbred and therefore not -quite- as susceptible to the hazards inherent in inbreeding.

Chapter 5: His Master, Ashamed

Chapter Text

Two days after Marchioness Midford and her daughter visited Phantomhive Manor, they had another visitor; one whom they had known well in advance would be coming that day, though they didn't go to any great lengths to please her. Quite the opposite:

At the sound of the front door knocker being vigorously banged, Sebastian strode into the foyer and opened the door, and then frowned down at the visitor. "Miss Hopkins, I've told you before, trades people such as yourself are expected to arrive at the rear entrance."

"And a good morning to you, too, Mister Hardhead," Nina Hopkins retorted, frowning up at the butler's face. "As for the rear entrance to the manor, that is for servants! And Nina Hopkins, the tailor who announces the seasons, is not a servant, but an artiste!"

"Referring to yourself in the third person is a sign of narcissism and mental illness, Miss Hopkins," Sebastian said with clear exasperation. "I am sorely tempted to close this door and insist that you go around to the rear, but the master is already waiting for you in the drawing room, and it would not do to keep him waiting further."

Once inside and heading into the drawing room, Nina called out gaily, "And what daring new outfit do you need this time, my little earl? Are you going on another adventure to distant lands? After the delight of designing your outfits for exploring Africa on Her Majesty's business, I can hardly wait to find out what my new challenge will be!"

#black butler fanfiction

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