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blood_wingedTitle: My Lord and Master, Chapter 5 of 7
Genre: AU/General/Romance
Word Count: 2061
Rating/Warnings: U, none.
Summary: Alfred Jones is the new manservant to the son of the late Lord Kirkland, a mysterious and secretive young man who seems out of place in his opulent surroundings. The previous manservant, Alfred's own father, said nothing of a youngest son and no one else appears to know of him, and Alfred wonders... what did the man do to warrant such secrecy? If he keeps his job for long enough, he may be able to find out.
-- Alfred accompanies his master to the theatre, but the drama is more off the stage than on it. --
The young blonde found himself feeling rather underdressed, though Arthur had said that he was presentable enough, as they approached the theatre and the crowds milling outside came into view. Arthur seemed tense, but Alfred had noticed that it was a common thing for him to be tense even in small groups of people. It did leave him wondering, however, why Arthur pushed himself to attend these things if it wasn’t really something that he wanted to do. He supposed it was another one of those upper class things that he didn’t really think were necessary. Something to do with keeping up appearances. It wasn’t his place to question, however, it was his place to escort his master and do as he was told.
Considering Arthur’s previous unsteadiness he was holding up remarkably well in Alfred’s eyes, barely seeming to need to lean on his cane at all but months of being around the man meant that the younger noticed how he shifted his weight subtly to favour his good leg. That cold outer shell of his was back but Alfred knew better, and he followed every order he was given without complaint no matter how sharply it was delivered. He was on hand, covertly hovering by Arthur’s side as they walked up the steps to the doors of the theatre, the name of the play escaped him as they moved inside, not given enough time for the letters to arrange themselves into any kind of recognisable order. Arthur had told him what it was but the name had escaped him through his anxiety about being put into this kind of situation.
He was sure, at first, that everyone was looking at him. It didn’t take him long to realise that everyone was in fact looking at Arthur. Nobody made it obvious – quick glances, quiet whispers concealed behind gloved hands – but he saw it. Arthur either didn’t or was pretending not to notice and Alfred suspected the latter as they moved through the foyer and towards the wide staircase at the opposite end of the room. If his master struggled at all with the stairs he didn’t show it while they were shown to a private box with a good view of the stage, but he didn’t miss the relieved-sounding exhale the moment the door closed behind them and Arthur finally sat down.
Alfred had hoped to get through this night without incident, a vain hope that was dashed the moment that the door clicked open again and Arthur jerked around in his seat as if the devil himself might have been stood there when the culprit spoke.
“Bonjour, chéri…”
It was a voice dripping with charm wrapped around a knife-edge and it sent chills up Alfred’s spine. He turned, his master already on his feet, his eyes falling on the intruder. A man, tall and blonde with eyes a peculiar shade of violet-blue, and he was looking at Arthur with an expression that was half amused and half disdainful. Arthur’s expression couldn’t have been described as anything but hatred. The stranger’s eyes slid over to Alfred, looked him up and down in a way that Alfred could swear saw right through him, and he dropped his gaze, clearing his throat softly.
“What do we have here?”
“Leave him, Francis. He has done nothing to you.”
“Ah?” Alfred wasn’t looking but he heard the smile in Francis’ voice, and his footsteps as he moved closer. Beside him, Arthur seemed to sway back a fraction, then straightened, tilting his chin up and gritting his teeth faintly. “And who is he? Another little playmate of yours?”
“Do not be so vulgar,” Arthur spat, but his voice shook and Alfred risked a glance at him, finding a familiar but troubling blush on his face as he glared at the other. “He is my manservant, and we did not come here to be hassled by someone like you.”
“Someone like me? You are too cruel.” He moved closer, and Alfred almost stepped to place himself between them, not quite given the time before a faint metallic sound rang out and suddenly Francis had the tip of a slender blade pointed at his throat, momentarily shaking him from his calm demeanour, but then it returned and he smiled, bringing one hand up to touch a fingertip to the weapon and push it aside. “How much does he know of you? To be working so closely with you he must be learning all of your little secrets, no?”
“Francis, that is enough.”
“Does he know why your father kept you shut away like a princess in a tower?” Francis smirked faintly, merriment sparking in his eyes as he moved them over to the younger man. “You, boy, what is your name?”
“Alfred, sir.” He didn’t like this. He didn’t like this at all. He didn’t like the way that this man was looking at him or the way that his master seemed so tense, even anxious. Alfred trusted Arthur in a situation like this, one that he was so unfamiliar with, and he kept his gaze guarded as he looked up. “Alfred Jones.” Francis beckoned to him and he took a step forwards, but didn’t move past his master, who still had that sword in his hand, held like a barrier between the two of them.
“Alfred Jones. How much do you know of your master?”
“As much as he sees fit to tell me,” Alfred replied, not quite able to keep the defiant tone out of his voice. Francis didn’t seem to mind, however, and in fact seemed more amused than anything else as he tilted his head to one side and chuckled, that unnerving smile still playing on his lips. “It is not my place to ask anything further… sir.”
“And nor is it yours to tell him,” Arthur snapped, lifting his weapon and once more levelling it at the other man’s throat. “Leave us.”
“Ah, but of course…” He agreed too easily, and Alfred was struck with the suspicion that he had only appeared to make his master uncomfortable. “But before I go, just one thing. Does your adorable little manservant know what a dangerous position his puts himself in by being in your company?”
“Dan-”
“Enough!”
Arthur’s voice cracked, and Francis had to step back rather quickly to avoid being impaled on the sword thrust towards him, leaving without another word. It seemed that whatever damage he had wanted to do had been done and Arthur was flushed with anger and perhaps something else as he slid the blade back into its sheath and Alfred finally realised where it had come from as his master set the tip of his cane back to the floor. He uttered something that Alfred would not have repeated in polite company and moved to his seat, his eyes fixed on the stage and one hand half covering his face. Alfred wanted to speak, he had questions again and Arthur had, since the first time, never been terribly hesitant in answering them, but something told him that now was not the time.
His master’s demeanour didn’t really change throughout the performance, which Alfred didn’t follow terribly well but he amused himself throughout by watching the audience instead. In the lower levels the eyes were mostly fixed on the stage, but it was in the private boxes that he found his entertainment. Across the theatre from them, a couple were sat, engaged in a quiet but furious argument. Alfred watched them until the performance interval, at which point they left, and when it was over the woman returned alone, followed by her companion some minutes after the show had already begun again. Whatever they had been arguing about, they seemed to have stopped. Alfred stopped watching them after that. He turned his attention to his master though not fully, watching him out of the corner of his eye. Arthur had barely moved while they had been sat there, aside from now and then shifting his position slightly, and Alfred’s mind went back to what that man – Francis, was it? – had said. How could this man possibly be dangerous?
Certainly there was much about him that Alfred didn’t know, but it had never been something that had bothered him. Now it did, wanting to know what had been meant by it and if he was indeed putting himself in danger. Arthur had never threatened him, had never been cruel, had never as much as raised his voice but he supposed that those things weren’t necessary. It was confusing and he didn’t like thinking about it, but it was those thoughts that continued to play on his mind for the remainder of the performance.
The curtain dropped, but Arthur didn’t stand. He waited until the theatre was mostly empty before he got up and beckoned Alfred to follow him with a small jerk of his head. A hansom cab was waiting outside for them, Alfred discreetly giving his master a hand up into it before they set off for home, the streets and people passing by them in a slow blur.
“I feel that I should apologise,” Arthur said quietly, drawing Alfred’s attention over to him. He was looking out of the window, his hands curled in his lap, rocking back and forth slightly with the movement of the carriage. “You should not have had to be witness to that kind of behaviour from me.”
“My lord… Why did he say you were dangerous?”
“I have an illness, Alfred. It is something that I cannot help and there is no cure for it but I refuse to allow myself to be placed in a mental institution while I can still function with all of my mind intact.” His voice was still soft and Alfred sat up straighter, leaning a little to him so that he could hear him better. “Francis is inflicted with the same but he has been far better about hiding it.”
Alfred frowned. He didn’t understand, but a slowly growing part of him wanted to. “My lord, I… How does Francis know of it?”
“We were friends, once, a long time ago. I lived with my mother for some time before my father took me in and we knew one another then. This sickness took the both of us, and we… spent time together, before it eventually drove us apart.” Arthur sighed and shook his head. “My mother found out, and sent me to my father, who shut me away in the hope that it would… fix itself. I do not know why I am telling you this, but Francis is correct. I may be a danger to you if you remain in my employ.”
“I… think that I understand.” Alfred sat back, clasping his knees. His head felt like it was spinning. He had heard of these kinds of people but had never seen one, and Arthur hadn’t ever seemed like one of them. Sneaking a glance over he bit his lip and looked away again, not knowing what to think, but he was sure of one thing. Arthur needed him around, and he wasn’t about to leave just because of something like this.
“My lord?” he said, and Arthur made a sound of acknowledgement, as if expecting something. Alfred wasn’t going to give it. “Would you like your breakfast a little later tomorrow morning?”
Arthur looked at him, an expression of surprise on his face. The younger man smiled brightly at him and after an uncertain moment, Arthur smiled back. He nodded and let out a quiet breath, settling back in his seat. “I think so,” he replied, closing his eyes for a moment. “An hour later, but wake me at eight. And … thank you, Alfred.”
“Of course, my lord.”
He found that he was still smiling, even though Arthur wasn’t looking at him anymore. Alfred turned his gaze out to the opposite window and watched the houses thinning out and growing larger as they moved towards the outskirts of the city, the terraces making way for stretches of countryside. Finding out this piece of information hadn’t shaken him as much as he thought it might, and he certainly had no intentions of leaving. Perhaps, though, it would do his master a little bit of good to get away from the house for a while.
---------
<| Chapter Four | Chapter Six |>
Genre: AU/General/Romance
Word Count: 2061
Rating/Warnings: U, none.
Summary: Alfred Jones is the new manservant to the son of the late Lord Kirkland, a mysterious and secretive young man who seems out of place in his opulent surroundings. The previous manservant, Alfred's own father, said nothing of a youngest son and no one else appears to know of him, and Alfred wonders... what did the man do to warrant such secrecy? If he keeps his job for long enough, he may be able to find out.
-- Alfred accompanies his master to the theatre, but the drama is more off the stage than on it. --
*****
The young blonde found himself feeling rather underdressed, though Arthur had said that he was presentable enough, as they approached the theatre and the crowds milling outside came into view. Arthur seemed tense, but Alfred had noticed that it was a common thing for him to be tense even in small groups of people. It did leave him wondering, however, why Arthur pushed himself to attend these things if it wasn’t really something that he wanted to do. He supposed it was another one of those upper class things that he didn’t really think were necessary. Something to do with keeping up appearances. It wasn’t his place to question, however, it was his place to escort his master and do as he was told.
Considering Arthur’s previous unsteadiness he was holding up remarkably well in Alfred’s eyes, barely seeming to need to lean on his cane at all but months of being around the man meant that the younger noticed how he shifted his weight subtly to favour his good leg. That cold outer shell of his was back but Alfred knew better, and he followed every order he was given without complaint no matter how sharply it was delivered. He was on hand, covertly hovering by Arthur’s side as they walked up the steps to the doors of the theatre, the name of the play escaped him as they moved inside, not given enough time for the letters to arrange themselves into any kind of recognisable order. Arthur had told him what it was but the name had escaped him through his anxiety about being put into this kind of situation.
He was sure, at first, that everyone was looking at him. It didn’t take him long to realise that everyone was in fact looking at Arthur. Nobody made it obvious – quick glances, quiet whispers concealed behind gloved hands – but he saw it. Arthur either didn’t or was pretending not to notice and Alfred suspected the latter as they moved through the foyer and towards the wide staircase at the opposite end of the room. If his master struggled at all with the stairs he didn’t show it while they were shown to a private box with a good view of the stage, but he didn’t miss the relieved-sounding exhale the moment the door closed behind them and Arthur finally sat down.
Alfred had hoped to get through this night without incident, a vain hope that was dashed the moment that the door clicked open again and Arthur jerked around in his seat as if the devil himself might have been stood there when the culprit spoke.
“Bonjour, chéri…”
It was a voice dripping with charm wrapped around a knife-edge and it sent chills up Alfred’s spine. He turned, his master already on his feet, his eyes falling on the intruder. A man, tall and blonde with eyes a peculiar shade of violet-blue, and he was looking at Arthur with an expression that was half amused and half disdainful. Arthur’s expression couldn’t have been described as anything but hatred. The stranger’s eyes slid over to Alfred, looked him up and down in a way that Alfred could swear saw right through him, and he dropped his gaze, clearing his throat softly.
“What do we have here?”
“Leave him, Francis. He has done nothing to you.”
“Ah?” Alfred wasn’t looking but he heard the smile in Francis’ voice, and his footsteps as he moved closer. Beside him, Arthur seemed to sway back a fraction, then straightened, tilting his chin up and gritting his teeth faintly. “And who is he? Another little playmate of yours?”
“Do not be so vulgar,” Arthur spat, but his voice shook and Alfred risked a glance at him, finding a familiar but troubling blush on his face as he glared at the other. “He is my manservant, and we did not come here to be hassled by someone like you.”
“Someone like me? You are too cruel.” He moved closer, and Alfred almost stepped to place himself between them, not quite given the time before a faint metallic sound rang out and suddenly Francis had the tip of a slender blade pointed at his throat, momentarily shaking him from his calm demeanour, but then it returned and he smiled, bringing one hand up to touch a fingertip to the weapon and push it aside. “How much does he know of you? To be working so closely with you he must be learning all of your little secrets, no?”
“Francis, that is enough.”
“Does he know why your father kept you shut away like a princess in a tower?” Francis smirked faintly, merriment sparking in his eyes as he moved them over to the younger man. “You, boy, what is your name?”
“Alfred, sir.” He didn’t like this. He didn’t like this at all. He didn’t like the way that this man was looking at him or the way that his master seemed so tense, even anxious. Alfred trusted Arthur in a situation like this, one that he was so unfamiliar with, and he kept his gaze guarded as he looked up. “Alfred Jones.” Francis beckoned to him and he took a step forwards, but didn’t move past his master, who still had that sword in his hand, held like a barrier between the two of them.
“Alfred Jones. How much do you know of your master?”
“As much as he sees fit to tell me,” Alfred replied, not quite able to keep the defiant tone out of his voice. Francis didn’t seem to mind, however, and in fact seemed more amused than anything else as he tilted his head to one side and chuckled, that unnerving smile still playing on his lips. “It is not my place to ask anything further… sir.”
“And nor is it yours to tell him,” Arthur snapped, lifting his weapon and once more levelling it at the other man’s throat. “Leave us.”
“Ah, but of course…” He agreed too easily, and Alfred was struck with the suspicion that he had only appeared to make his master uncomfortable. “But before I go, just one thing. Does your adorable little manservant know what a dangerous position his puts himself in by being in your company?”
“Dan-”
“Enough!”
Arthur’s voice cracked, and Francis had to step back rather quickly to avoid being impaled on the sword thrust towards him, leaving without another word. It seemed that whatever damage he had wanted to do had been done and Arthur was flushed with anger and perhaps something else as he slid the blade back into its sheath and Alfred finally realised where it had come from as his master set the tip of his cane back to the floor. He uttered something that Alfred would not have repeated in polite company and moved to his seat, his eyes fixed on the stage and one hand half covering his face. Alfred wanted to speak, he had questions again and Arthur had, since the first time, never been terribly hesitant in answering them, but something told him that now was not the time.
His master’s demeanour didn’t really change throughout the performance, which Alfred didn’t follow terribly well but he amused himself throughout by watching the audience instead. In the lower levels the eyes were mostly fixed on the stage, but it was in the private boxes that he found his entertainment. Across the theatre from them, a couple were sat, engaged in a quiet but furious argument. Alfred watched them until the performance interval, at which point they left, and when it was over the woman returned alone, followed by her companion some minutes after the show had already begun again. Whatever they had been arguing about, they seemed to have stopped. Alfred stopped watching them after that. He turned his attention to his master though not fully, watching him out of the corner of his eye. Arthur had barely moved while they had been sat there, aside from now and then shifting his position slightly, and Alfred’s mind went back to what that man – Francis, was it? – had said. How could this man possibly be dangerous?
Certainly there was much about him that Alfred didn’t know, but it had never been something that had bothered him. Now it did, wanting to know what had been meant by it and if he was indeed putting himself in danger. Arthur had never threatened him, had never been cruel, had never as much as raised his voice but he supposed that those things weren’t necessary. It was confusing and he didn’t like thinking about it, but it was those thoughts that continued to play on his mind for the remainder of the performance.
The curtain dropped, but Arthur didn’t stand. He waited until the theatre was mostly empty before he got up and beckoned Alfred to follow him with a small jerk of his head. A hansom cab was waiting outside for them, Alfred discreetly giving his master a hand up into it before they set off for home, the streets and people passing by them in a slow blur.
“I feel that I should apologise,” Arthur said quietly, drawing Alfred’s attention over to him. He was looking out of the window, his hands curled in his lap, rocking back and forth slightly with the movement of the carriage. “You should not have had to be witness to that kind of behaviour from me.”
“My lord… Why did he say you were dangerous?”
“I have an illness, Alfred. It is something that I cannot help and there is no cure for it but I refuse to allow myself to be placed in a mental institution while I can still function with all of my mind intact.” His voice was still soft and Alfred sat up straighter, leaning a little to him so that he could hear him better. “Francis is inflicted with the same but he has been far better about hiding it.”
Alfred frowned. He didn’t understand, but a slowly growing part of him wanted to. “My lord, I… How does Francis know of it?”
“We were friends, once, a long time ago. I lived with my mother for some time before my father took me in and we knew one another then. This sickness took the both of us, and we… spent time together, before it eventually drove us apart.” Arthur sighed and shook his head. “My mother found out, and sent me to my father, who shut me away in the hope that it would… fix itself. I do not know why I am telling you this, but Francis is correct. I may be a danger to you if you remain in my employ.”
“I… think that I understand.” Alfred sat back, clasping his knees. His head felt like it was spinning. He had heard of these kinds of people but had never seen one, and Arthur hadn’t ever seemed like one of them. Sneaking a glance over he bit his lip and looked away again, not knowing what to think, but he was sure of one thing. Arthur needed him around, and he wasn’t about to leave just because of something like this.
“My lord?” he said, and Arthur made a sound of acknowledgement, as if expecting something. Alfred wasn’t going to give it. “Would you like your breakfast a little later tomorrow morning?”
Arthur looked at him, an expression of surprise on his face. The younger man smiled brightly at him and after an uncertain moment, Arthur smiled back. He nodded and let out a quiet breath, settling back in his seat. “I think so,” he replied, closing his eyes for a moment. “An hour later, but wake me at eight. And … thank you, Alfred.”
“Of course, my lord.”
He found that he was still smiling, even though Arthur wasn’t looking at him anymore. Alfred turned his gaze out to the opposite window and watched the houses thinning out and growing larger as they moved towards the outskirts of the city, the terraces making way for stretches of countryside. Finding out this piece of information hadn’t shaken him as much as he thought it might, and he certainly had no intentions of leaving. Perhaps, though, it would do his master a little bit of good to get away from the house for a while.
---------
<| Chapter Four | Chapter Six |>
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-15 01:59 pm (UTC)it's getting really interesting :3
(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-15 01:59 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-15 04:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-15 04:59 pm (UTC)I swear I keep expecting someone to slate me for Arthur saying he's 'sick'.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-15 05:57 pm (UTC)It's part of your story and the time in which this AU is set, i think most people will understand and not slate you for it.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-15 06:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-15 06:11 pm (UTC)PLEASE HAVE MERCY AND UPDATE. C':
(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-15 09:27 pm (UTC)I've just slept for three hours xD I'm going to start working on the update now.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-16 06:27 pm (UTC)Oh, I get it. Now go ahead and take a rest! Dx
(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-16 06:29 pm (UTC)I meant that I slept three hours in the afternoon. 'Just' as in 'just now' because I'd just woken up :)
(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-16 07:45 pm (UTC)*shoots self*
(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-15 10:05 pm (UTC)Arthur's hidden cane is awesome
and probably illegal.(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-15 10:07 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-15 10:08 pm (UTC)... Yes it's probably illegal. I'm not sure on the legalities of concealed weapons in 1850's England though.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-15 10:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-15 10:46 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-16 03:02 am (UTC)and Im curious--am I safe in assuming this sickness so conveniently shared between Francis and Arthur that is treated with institutionalization is not quite the literal sickness as something more along the lines of something people dont want to accept.... I hope my vagueness wasnt irritating but didnt sound like a big blabbing of possible spoiled secrets o3o
(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-16 03:04 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-16 05:51 am (UTC)Can't wait to see more! ♥
(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-16 03:52 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-16 06:58 am (UTC)(and i want to kick Francis in the shin. :D)
(no subject)
Date: 2011-07-16 03:52 pm (UTC)And yeah it's kinda obvious when you think about it X3