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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.

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To be continued...

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!"

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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."

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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.

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

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..."

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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 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..."

00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00

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.

00oo00oo00oo00

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."

00oo00oo00oo00oo00

To be continued

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!"

Seated in his favorite chair with a detective novel, as he'd been reading to pass the time while waiting for her to arrive, Ciel looked up at Nina with an arched eyebrow and wry expression. "Your 'challenge', Miss Hopkins, will consist solely of making a respectable wardrobe for me. For a growing young gentleman," he added as he stood up, his lips quirking in a blink-and-you-miss-it smile.

Nina Hopkins went from leaning solicitously over the earl's seated figure, to drawing back with a startled frown as he stood up from the chair and stretched to his full height in front of her. "You... you've grown! At least a full inch, in just the three months since I saw you last!"

"A full inch and a half," Ciel informed her, no longer able to hold back his smug grin. "And I believe my shoulders are a bit broader than before as well; you'll need to do a full set of measurements today."

As Miss Hopkins began working with measuring tape and clipboard, frowning in concentration and perhaps something more, Mey-Rin quietly approached Sebastian at the entrance to the drawing room. "Mister Sebastian, perhaps while she's here, Miss Hopkins could see Dahlia as well?" the maid suggested hesitantly. "Dahlia will be needing a holster under her uniform for her pistol, yes she will. And... and begging your pardon, Mister Sebastian, but Miss Nina's designs for concealed holsters are, um, a bit more comfortable for the female figure than your design, I'm so sorry to say."

Sebastian frowned at Mey-Rin, but chose not to comment on her remark concerning his own tailoring abilities. Instead he asked, "Has she finished deciding on the long-distance weapon she'll be using, then?"

"Not yet, sir, but it should be soon. When last I looked out at the firing range, Bard had narrowed it down to three weapons for her, yes he had..."

00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00

Even as Mey-Rin was speaking to Sebastian indoors, back in the fields behind the mansion, Bard was looking through a pair of binoculars at a target twenty yards away from where he and Dahlia were standing, Dahlia with a short-barreled revolver in her hands. "Damn good grouping; all but one shot within an inch of the bulls-eye," he commented past the smoldering cigarette dangling from his lips; lips that twitched up into a smile as he added, "Ain't nobody gonna expect that from a gun that's normally used for close-in fighting!"

"Precision aiming is required for throwing weapons, too," Dahlia commented with a wry smile as she lightly touched the braided coil of hair piled atop her head, in which she kept two hair-sticks that doubled as daggers, and over a dozen tiny throwing blades hidden within the long braid.

"Yeah, and that damn strong grip you got from strangling people makes it easy to handle a Webley Bulldog's recoil, just like I figured," Bard said almost smugly. "Yeah, you'll do fine on the Bulldog. Convenient, too, if you and the master use the same gun; there'll be less chance of grabbing the wrong type of ammunition from the armory in a crisis."

"The young master fires one of these?" Dahlia said, blinking down at the small but powerful revolver in her hands. "I wouldn't have thought..." her voice trailed off, and she seemed to shrink in on herself.  

"Lemme guess; you thought he was too small and prissy to handle a Bulldog?" as Bard gave her a lopsided grin. "You should've seen him last year, before he started really growing; such a scrawny little thing that you'd expect him to be knocked on his arse by the recoil from an itty-bitty derringer! But even before I got hired on here, he carried a Bulldog when he went out on the Queen's business, and he'd go bird-hunting with a full-sized shotgun too."

"Indeed he did, and still does," Sebastian said from directly behind them, making them both jump a little before they spun around, to be confronted with his stern expression. "And the master would be singularly unappreciative of your descriptions of him, Baldroy... do you perhaps need another one of my lessons on holding your tongue?"

"No!" Bard said quickly, a bead of sweat trickling from his forehead. "Come on, Sebastian, I was just explaining to the new girl about how the young master is a lot tougher than he looks!"

"That he is," Sebastian conceded, and a little of the dark, dangerous aura that seemed to surround him eased up, as he looked past them at the target. "And that is a decent grouping, Dahlia; enough to satisfy the current requirements for a distance weapon, though of course you are expected to practice and further improve your marksmanship."

"O-of course, Mister Sebastian," Dahlia agreed with a hasty nod.

"I suggest you take your weapon into the house with you, to be measured for a holster by our visiting tailor. I shall retrieve your target to show the young master your efforts, as he had exhibited a moment of curiosity on the matter this morning," as Sebastian strode forward, towards the row of targets.

"But—!" as Dahlia started to reach out to catch the butler's jacket sleeve, only to be pulled back by Bard and urged towards the house.

"But what about all those beehives only a few yards away?" the laundress protested, looking back over her shoulder at where Sebastian was heading; the series of posts and hay bales that supported targets were indeed bracketed on either side by beehives, a cluster of six to the left and seven to the right. "You said the firing line was also our minimum safe distance; any closer and they might feel threatened and attack!"

"Yeah, and you and I would both regret it," Bard said with a vigorous nod, still tugging Dahlia towards the house. "And so would Mey-Rin, or Snake since not all of him is scaly. But Finnian's got some tough skin; beestings only make him itch a little, though he still goes out mostly at night to change the targets because he's such a softy towards any animal, even them. And Sebastian... he just doesn't get stung, period! Which is good for him, considering how often he has to go out there for honey; the young master's got the world's biggest sweet tooth."

00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00

Weeks passed as the latest servant-soldier to join the Phantomhive household settled into her duties. Weeks that saw the ruin of five of Master Ciel's shirts, three pairs of pants, two fancy tablecloths and even an ironing board, before the new laundress finally got the hang of ironing. But under Sebastian's stern tutelage, Dahlia eventually did learn to do all of her duties properly, just as she eventually found her place and comradeship amidst the manor staff.

After giving the matter due thought, Sebastian allowed Dahlia and Mey-Rin to have the same evening off, provided they performed their duties flawlessly beforehand and were always back home at the proper time. Both ladies were happy to have the time off together, having become comfortable and friends with each other, and would often spend their weekly evening off exploring the nearby village. The rough shepherd lads and other locals that had once bothered Mey-Rin so much that she had gotten in the habit of staying in her room to practice reading with children's books instead, were less troublesome when the serving women went out together.

But for the rest of the week, when no laundry needed collecting, washing, hanging, folding, ironing, mending or putting away, Dahlia could often be found in the kitchen with Bard, even when the meal preparations required little to no assistance. Sebastian actually subtly encouraged the behavior, after he noted that there were almost no explosions or incidents of flash-burned food on those days, because Bard wasn't as impatient to get the food ready for eating quickly if he had Dahlia to talk to while working. Dahlia would do some easy but time-consuming task like shelling peas or stirring a thickening gravy while good-naturedly teasing the chef about his rough American ways, smiling when he sassed her right back, and occasionally sneaking his cigarettes.

Just under a month after her arrival, Dahlia was hard at work in scrubbing a set of particularly stubborn grass stains out of Finny’s pants, when Sebastian came in with an armload of bed linens that looked to be of the finest quality and asked politely, “Pardon me, Dahlia, but do you have any matches?”

“Ah, no, sorry,” Dahlia told him, wondering why he had thought she would have any in her pockets; the laundry room had no stove for heating water, so when she needed hot water for washing the whites, she lugged a few kettles’ worth in from the kitchen. She held her arms out for the bedsheets, fully expecting Sebastian to hand them over, but instead he held them up out of her reach. Puzzled, she watched him stride past her and towards the door leading outside to the clotheslines… and then pause and look over his shoulder at her expectantly, in a wordless command to follow him.  

Dahlia followed Sebastian outside, far past the clotheslines, and clear over to the burn pit where Finnian burned the most noxious weeds. Then she watched with astonished dismay as the butler dumped the high-quality linens right atop the ashes. “What on earth?! Sebastian, why…?”

“I’m sorry, but the master has forbidden me to tell you anything about this increasingly regular occurrence,” Sebastian said coolly, before walking back to the manor.

Dahlia did not consider herself an exceptionally clever woman, but neither was she a blind fool. She spent only a moment frowning at Sebastian’s retreating back before pulling the sheets out of the burn pit and laying them out to look them over, searching for whatever the Phantomhive butler had been forbidden to tell her but wanted her to know about regardless.

By the time Sebastian came back out with a box of matches from the kitchen, Dahlia had found the stains in the sheets, determined their origin and bundled the sheets back into the burn pit, though with the stains conspicuously exposed instead of hidden in the folds. She asked quietly, “Mister Sebastian, even though you’re forbidden to tell me anything about this… could you nod or shake your head in response to questions I ask after making this entirely coincidental discovery?”

“Why yes, I am physically capable of nodding and shaking my head,” Sebastian said while giving her an approving smile, as he struck a match and set it to the base of the bundle. And for the next several minutes as the fabric slowly burned, he proceeded to either nod or shake his head in response to the questions she asked… though there were a few times when he gave her an inclined head and piercing stare, which she eventually figured out meant that while the question could be answered with a simple yes or no, the real answer was more involved than that and she should make a more specific inquiry.

As the bundle of linens burned to ashes, and after voicing a suggestion for how she could approach the situation and receiving Sebastian’s nod of approval, Dahlia excused herself and went to see the young master.

0oo00oo00oo00oo00

Ciel had finished reading the newspaper and was preparing to make the first of the day’s telephone calls to his business managers when he heard the knock on the door to his study and Dahlia’s voice asking quietly, “Young master, may I come in?” He gave permission to enter, and she came to stand before the desk, dropped into a deep curtsey and said plaintively, “Young master, how can I prove to you that I am not a complete failure as your laundress and seamstress?”

“Eh?” as he stared at her in surprise.

Dahlia kept her head bowed as she said in a voice heavy with misery, “I know that I have failed to live up to the household standards in regards to ironing, though I swear to you that I am trying my best to improve with Sebastian’s firm lessons in technique. But truly, I do have some knowledge of how to properly wash and clean various fabrics, and I do sew a tidy seam when mending. Will you not give me the opportunity to prove my worth?”

Ciel cocked his head at her, as a suspicion began to form. “And what, exactly, have I or a member of the staff done to make you believe I doubt your capabilities?”

Still staring at the carpet, Dahlia told him, “Earlier today, my lord, I was hanging the first of the day’s washing to dry when I saw Sebastian taking a bundle of fabrics to the burn pit, and burn the lot to ashes. His manner at the time did not encourage questions, but Finnian said afterwards that it’s not the first time he’s done that since my arrival. My lord, for your butler to burn your belongings before even giving me an opportunity to see how they are stained or torn, let alone attempt to remedy… how else am I to interpret that, except that you think me utterly incapable of performing my duties?”

Ciel sighed and rubbed at his forehead, swearing he could feel a headache coming on. Damn that demon butler, he’d probably deliberately timed that burning to coincide with her hanging clothes to dry… “Dahlia, so far I’ve been given no reason to doubt your capabilities at washing or mending. Nor are Sebastian’s actions intended to cast aspersions on your abilities. Those sheets are being burned because I want them burned, that’s all.”

Dahlia curtseyed again, even further than before, and her voice was strained as she asked timidly, “Would my lord be so kind as to inform this humble servant why he desires the sheets to be burned, rather than mended or washed and donated to the orphanage nearby?”

Sebastian was nowhere in sight, but Ciel could still somehow feel his butler smirking at his discomfiture. He finally growled out, “Because they’re an embarrassment, that’s why! Now return to your duties!”

Dahlia hastily curtseyed again with a hurried, “Yes, my lord!” And she proceeded to back out of the room, still babbling, “I apologize for giving offense, my lord; I did not mean to—oof!” as she turned to hurry—straight into the still-closed door, hitting it so hard she rebounded and fell to the floor.

Ciel wondered for a split-second if Mey-Rin’s more unfortunate habits were catching, as he reflexively got up from his desk and hurried over to where Dahlia lay sprawled, her hands over her face. “Are you all right?”

“Mon nez,” Dahlia moaned, and he could see blood starting to seep out from between her fingers. Having seen plenty of broken noses over the last few years, he recognized the signs too well; he hissed a curse while whipping out his handkerchief for her to use, and said aloud, “Sebastian, come!”

Sebastian appeared in the doorway a moment later, taking in the scene at a glance, and crouching down beside them while giving Ciel a raised eyebrow. “My lord, what precisely did Dahlia do to earn such a mark of displeasure?”

“What?! I didn’t hit her; she ran right into the door!” Ciel protested.

“I was stupid,” Dahlia moaned, as Sebastian whipped out his own handkerchief to give her to hold over Ciel’s, which was already staining red. “I’m so stupid… I’m going to be let go…”

“I hardly think that is the case, Dahlia,” Sebastian said reassuringly as he effortlessly lifted her in his arms, but took her over to a chair in the study instead of back to the servants’ quarters.   “Here, lean forward onto your elbows, and keep your head bowed. You don’t want the blood to run back and down into your throat or lungs; that would be quite unpleasant for you… Young master, before she begins truly panicking, perhaps you could reassure our laundress on her continued employment?”

“Sebastian’s right, Dahlia; you aren’t going to be let go just for breaking your own nose,” Ciel told her, and offered a crooked smile. “The other servants could tell you stories of all the things they’ve broken, burnt and ruined, and they’re still here! I told you, you were hired to be not just a household servant, but part of my private army to defend my estate. You proved you were lethal enough back at the House of Flowers, and as far as your servant capabilities, from what Sebastian has told me, you’re doing far better than my other servants did for their first few weeks here! You’re in no danger of losing your position.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Dahlia whispered, keeping her head down as ordered by the butler.

“Young master, it would be best if Dahlia stays seated there and holding her nose for roughly ten minutes, to ensure the bleeding has stopped before she returns to her duties,” Sebastian said with concern written on his features. “Will it be too terribly inconvenient for you to work with an additional servant besides myself present in the room?”

Ciel had been about to tell Sebastian to take Dahlia back to her quarters… but given the way the butler had phrased his question, he’d look peevish and petulant if he said anything but that it wouldn’t be a bother at all. So he did, but he gave Sebastian a glare just on principle as he went back to his desk.

Both servants were silent as he flipped through the ledger he kept on his desk until he found the telephone sequence for connecting to the Funtom confectionery factory in Belgium. He picked up the receiver, started to dial the number… and then set the receiver down, staring first at Sebastian and then at Dahlia, until he finally demanded, “You put her up to this somehow, didn’t you? So damned clever at working around my orders… Did you actually tell her to contrive to break her own nose if I didn’t tell her everything right away?”

“I did not, my lord,” Sebastian said with a smile and bow, though it was unsure whether the smile was for his master’s intuition or for Dahlia’s cleverness. “That delaying action was an inspired bit of quick thinking on Dahlia’s part.”

“It’s not actually broken, young master,” Dahlia said as she tilted her head up just enough to peer at him, with what might have been a wry smile peeking out from under the handkerchiefs. Her voice was somewhat muffled and nasal in quality, but still intelligible as she explained, “I get nosebleeds rather easily; it’s come in handy at other times that I needed a reason to stay in place instead of leave, or keep a gentleman’s attention focused on me in a completely platonic fashion. But it did hurt quite a bit, banging my face like that… and I will continue to bleed for several minutes, my lord; that is an unfortunate truth.”

“I see,” Ciel said grudgingly. “You understand of course that the ruse will never work on me again, and if you try it, I’ll order you to run back below stairs, dripping all the way.”

“Of course, my lord,” Dahlia said quietly.

Ciel sighed and admitted, “And the equally unfortunate truth is, those sheets are being burned because they’re stained. It’s a stain that you’re likely familiar with from your prior profession, and I didn’t want you to have such an unpleasant reminder of your old life when you’d barely begun your new one.”

“I see. Young master, thank you for showing such consideration to a humble servant. But perhaps I could mention two minor issues? The first being that I still see sheets with such stains on them—”

“What?!” as Ciel gaped at her in outrage.

“On sheets from the servants’ quarters, my lord.” Dahlia’s look at him from underneath her lashes was definitely wry. “You have five healthy males on staff, three of them in the prime of life and one of them still growing…”

“But which one—no, forget I said that, I don’t want to know!” as Ciel buried his face in his hands.

Hiding his face did nothing to hide the amusement in her voice. “I don’t try to ascertain which bed the stained sheets came from, my lord; I simply wash and dry them. In any case…” Her voice grew serious again. “My lord, may I speak freely?”

Too aware that he was blushing hotly, Ciel nonetheless lowered his hands, looked at her and sighed. “You may.”

“Thank you, my lord. May I ask, what is your favorite fruit?”

That got not only Ciel but Sebastian staring at her in wary confusion, wondering what she had in mind. But Ciel answered honestly, “Strawberries.”

“Thank you, my lord. As it happens, I do an excellent dessert with strawberries, which I’d be delighted to make for you someday. But to use strawberries as a metaphor… The world is filled with people who like them, and why not; they’re very sweet. But someone isn’t apt to like them much at all, perhaps even loathe them, if their first experience with strawberries was being fed them before they were ripe… and having the fruit forced on them.”

Ciel stiffened in his seat, while Sebastian went very still. But looking down and apparently unaware of their reactions, Dahlia continued, “And even if their first experience was not so … very unpleasant, if someone was fed strawberries with every single meal, for year upon year, whether they wanted it or not… they would eventually get tired of that fruit as well. But it would be a truly selfish person who denied others the pleasure of eating strawberries, which most do indeed regard as a delicious treat, simply because they themselves didn’t like them. No, a decent person would simply and politely decline to eat any strawberries offered, and pass the bowl down the table to others waiting for them.”

Looking up at him through her lashes again, Dahlia finished, “Young master, I would never willingly ‘eat a strawberry’ again, but I do not begrudge others their enjoyment of it. And washing sheets with ‘strawberry’ stains on them will not offend me at all.”

After an uncomfortable pause, Ciel finally said, “Your consideration for others is commendable, Dahlia; thank you.” He added while looking down at his desk, “You can stop burning the sheets, Sebastian.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Sebastian said with a smile and bow. “Come along, Dahlia,” as he gestured to her.

But Dahlia remained seated, her eyes downcast. “My nose is still bleeding,” she said softly. “Young master, may I continue to speak freely while it does?”

Ciel’s loud sigh made it clear he was beginning to find this tedious, but he still told her, “You may.”

“Thank you, my lord. And may I begin by thanking you again, for sparing my life when you tore down the House of Flowers. It's quite likely that I would have been dead within a fortnight if you had not come; after it became plain that the facial wound inflicted on me by the last man I strangled to death would not heal cleanly but leave a blatant scar. A flower that is no longer beautiful, is soon plucked from the garden; when you spared me, you saved my life twice over. But now I must ask, why did you decide to do so, and hire me as a laundress?”

Ciel hadn’t expected that question either, but he was ready to answer it. “Partially on Sebastian’s recommendation; he said that you whispered an apology when you tried to kill him, but you still went about it quite thoroughly.”

“Indeed,” Sebastian said with a smile, evidently not at all bothered by the memory. “I dare say that between first strangling me with your braid, and then stabbing at me with your hair ornaments, you would have succeeded in killing nearly anyone else. Fortunately, I am of rather hardier stock than the average human.”

“Rather hardier stock, indeed,” Dahlia agreed emphatically, sparing the butler a rather suspicious glance. “Mister Sebastian, may the young master and I have privacy for the next few minutes?”

Sebastian gave her another wide-eyed look of surprise, that started to turn into an offended frown—but instead became a professionally blank expression, as he bowed to Ciel with a smooth, “With your permission, my lord.” When Ciel nodded assent, he left the room and closed the door behind him.

After several seconds of silence, Ciel prompted the laundress, “Well?”

“Given his exceptionally sharp hearing, I believe Mister Sebastian is still within listening range outside the door, young master,” Dahlia said without looking up. “Would you kindly tell him to move out of range?”

Ciel gave a quiet half-chuckle, and then said without raising his voice in the slightest, “You heard her, Sebastian; the rest of the staff is catching on to you. Go keep Bard company in the kitchen until I summon you.”

Both master and laundress faintly heard a set of footsteps walking away from the door, and thumping down the stairs with a definitely offended air. Ciel informed Dahlia, “You’ve likely just made the next few days harder on yourself, you know.”

“Yes, sir,” Dahlia said quietly. “But I thought you’d prefer he not be present for what I have to say.”

Ciel frowned at her. “I’d prefer it?”

“Yes, master. Because I am not an exceptionally clever woman, but as a Black Rose I was trained to observe, to spy as well as seduce, steal and kill. And I have made some observations that I feel it necessary to voice now, while no one else can hear.”

Here it comes, Ciel thought to himself with resignation. With each servant-soldier that he hired onto his staff, there was a risk that the newcomer would figure out that Sebastian was a demon, and then the newcomer would have to be quietly gotten rid of before they could cause serious trouble. They’d been fortunate up till now, in that Bard knew the value in keeping his mouth shut (and frankly, wasn’t really that smart when it came to matters outside his military expertise,) Finny was just too blindly loyal to question anything Sebastian did, Mey-Rin couldn’t see past the not-so-secret crush she had on the butler, and Snake apparently knew better than to say anything that might risk his position at one of the few places in the entire world that would accept him and his poisonous friends.

But Dahlia was reasonably intelligent, able to blend in with the general populace if she wished, and too jaded by her past experiences to have a blind crush on any man. After nearly a month of observing the butler at close quarters, it would be no real surprise that she had determined Sebastian’s supernatural origin. Now he'd have to take her on ‘a trip into town’, and then have Sebastian bury her remains where no one could find them, while he told the staff that she'd found a new employer or a long-lost lover or something.

Ciel expected Dahlia to start listing all the things Sebastian had done lately that no human could accomplish—the first being surviving her successive attempts to kill him. But instead she said, “The first observation is that Hyacinth tried and failed to kill Sebastian too, but the two of you did not spare her as you did me, long before offering me a position here. And given that we were trained to kill in similar ways, I cannot help but feel that the greatest difference you saw between myself and Hyacinth, is in how we behaved towards you personally. Before we were given the orders to kill, Hyacinth tried and failed to seduce you. But I did not, because I wasn’t assigned to do so.”

Ciel gave her a sharp look of warning, and was about to tell her that the greatest difference was that she had quietly apologized while attempting to kill Sebastian—his soldiers had to be ready to deal out death without hesitation, but truly bloodthirsty people eventually began killing just for the fun of it, and he would have none of that on his estate—but Dahlia kept her gaze focused firmly on the floor as she added, “And I know too well the effects of the Passionflower Potion, how men usually behave when under its influence. ”

His mouth suddenly dry, Ciel shut it and swallowed convulsively as she continued, “You didn’t behave that way at all when you were drugged with it, even when you were thrown afterwards into a room full of Flowers who had been ordered to couple with you until you were comatose. You channeled all that drug-induced passion into rage, instead of desperately seeking carnal pleasure as the Madame had expected. I had more than enough time to observe your actions and reactions, both as you and Sebastian killed the Master and Madame and tore down the House, and afterwards on the journey to your manor. And your iron self-control, that which kept you from pouncing on me or on any of the women or pretty young men you saw on the long journey back here… that iron control was forged from more than just a sense of decency.

“And in all the occasions since my arrival here that I’ve seen you interact with people besides your staff… My lord, you never asked about my past history, nor have I ever asked about yours. But as you surely deduced from my metaphor earlier, I started my ‘career’ at the House of Flowers by being raped by a well-paying client, when I had barely begun to blossom as a woman. Nor was I the only one to be initiated that way over the years, though we didn’t all start that way... and after a while, I learned to recognize the signs of those who had.”

She almost whispered, “There’s… a hesitation, a slight stiffening of the body, whenever we’re touched by anyone that we’re not already deeply familiar with and trust implicitly.   There’s a certain look in the eyes; the look that speaks our first thought and fear of ‘how much is this person going to hurt me?’ And often there’s a flush of anger, at anything that makes us remember what we’d like so much to forget. Most of us at the House of Flowers learned quickly to hide the look and the hesitation, the fear and the anger, because our masters told us we must give every impression to our clients that we enjoyed being bedded by them… Except for the ones that came there precisely because they liked hurting women.”

Keeping her eyes firmly on the expensive Persian carpet, Dahlia continued, “Life at the House was terrible, but those of us who survived it chose to endure because we knew what would happen if we tried to escape. Nearly every year, someone tried… and when they were caught or hunted down, the Master and Madame made an example of them before everyone. And then made us bury the remains afterwards. But there was one time, roughly twelve years ago… one of us didn’t escape, she was rescued. I remember…

“Her name was Alice when she was brought to us, before the Madame named her Gentiana. She was thirteen, a few years older than I was when I’d been sold to the House, but her first time was even worse than mine, because they gave her to two clients together; I heard her screams and sobs, and helped her clean herself up after the bastards left. And afterwards, she showed the same hesitation and the same subdued fear and anger that so many of us did until we learned to hide our true selves. But roughly three months after she was brought there, a Danish nobleman visiting the country with his son came to the House of Flowers, saying it was time his boy became a man. Gentiana was chosen for the boy, while Chrysanthemum went with the father, and he’d paid for a full night for each.

“The next morning the father was found dead, having died in his sleep of a heart attack. Well, Chrysanthemum swore that it had been an entirely natural heart attack, even after the Madame put her in the Flowerbox for it, and it’s true that the baron had been overweight and had a somewhat unhealthy complexion the evening before. Anyway, the Master and Madame made their apologies to the boy, the new baron, and at first he seemed to accept them without question. But later that evening he came back with twenty strapping men, the entire crew of his father’s ship to act as his bodyguards, and he demanded to see our masters again.

“The new baron told the Master and Madame that there would be a price to pay for his father’s death; a price for his silence, to keep him from warning all the men of peerage that he had ties with to steer clear of the House’s deadly women… and he named his price as Gentiana. He demanded they release her to his custody, and forswear all claim to her thereafter. Aster witnessed the meeting and she told me that he even offered them a small sack of gold, to compensate them for the loss of her future services. The Master was ready to refuse him and have the Black Roses take care of him and his entire crew, but the Madame privately told her husband to accept, that Gentiana was proving too fragile for the work and she didn’t expect her to last the year anyway; they’d get far more money for her from the baron now than they’d get from regular clients later.

“So the new baron took Gentiana away to his ship, and no one at the House ever saw her again. But six years later, on an assignment that took me to Denmark, I saw Alice. I saw the baron on an outing with her and their children, and she was laughing. She was happy. And we were in the middle of a crowd, there were men all around her and some of them were acting quite boisterous, but I could see in her eyes that she was unafraid. Unafraid, and unashamed of herself; even when her husband kissed her cheek, as much affection as could be shown in public, she just smiled and accepted it. I can’t say that Alice had forgotten entirely her terrible time with us, but it wasn’t casting a shadow on her anymore.”

Ciel had occupied his hands during Dahlia’s story by clenching a pen in his white-knuckled fingers, though his grip had loosened as time went on. When she seemed to have finished, he made sure his features were schooled to impassiveness before commenting dryly, “A nice little story. Let us all rejoice in happy endings. But why did you think it important enough to tell your master?”

“I told that story because… I was a Black Rose for far too long; there can be no such happy ending for me,” Dahlia said as she lifted her head, though not looking directly at the earl, and took away the handkerchiefs; her nosebleed had stopped. “I am a humble laundress, but it’s honest work and I’m alive to do it, and I’m content with that.   As your servant and out of gratitude for your having spared me and hired me, I just want to say that… that for some people, happy endings may still be possible. That there is still hope, for people who have others who truly care for them, as that Danish youth cared for Gentiana and as… as some other people’s fiancées obviously care for them. People like that, even if they were forced to eat unripe strawberries once, can still learn to like the fruit and enjoy it without shame.”

After a moment of frozen silence, Ciel said heavily, “Congratulate yourself, Dahlia. You came perilously close to an outrageous level of impertinence, but by your wording you’ve managed to avoid the charge by a hair’s breadth.”

“Y-yes, my lord.”

“However, if I ever hear of you speaking to anyone else, even the other servants, referring to me in even the remotest of connections to one of your fellow enslaved whores—except in my role as the Queen’s Watchdog who tore the House of Flowers to pieces—if I ever hear of any talk even remotely like that, you’ll be sacked immediately and without references. And possibly deported, to whichever remote corner of the world I happen to be thinking of at the moment.”

Dahlia wisely did not ask how he would accomplish that last threat; she simply repeated meekly, “Yes, my lord.”

“Having said that…” Ciel found to his self-disgust that he could not look Dahlia in the face just then; he stared down at his desk instead of at his servant, even though she’d been carefully not looking at him the entire time. “I appreciate, on just this one occasion, your attempt to offer comfort and hope about… about disliking strawberries. Not that it was at all needed; I’ve been slowly improving on my own over the years since… since then.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Sebastian won’t be burning the sheets anymore. And I can see now, the link between my ordering him to do that and… back then.   But don’t expect me to start bloody announcing to all and sundry when the sheets need changing!” as he abruptly gave her a fiercely defensive look. “There’s such a thing as common decency!”

“Of course, my lord!” Dahlia hurried to assure him.

“All right. Now return to your duties, and tell Sebastian to bring me a fresh pot of tea and some sweets when he comes back up; something with chocolate.”

“Yes, my lord,” as Dahlia rose to her feet, curtseyed again and left the room, this time without running into anything on the way out.

After she left, Ciel brooded over her words and the horrible memories of That Month that they had dredged up.   Dahlia's suspicions had hit the bull's-eye; among the many other tortures the Satan-worshipping secret society had inflicted on him, he'd been raped repeatedly, by men and by women equally as depraved as the men. For nearly a full year after his rescue, he could hardly stand to be touched by anybody except Sebastian, who was bound by an unbreakable contract to protect him at all costs... and when waking up from nightmares of being their captive again, he couldn't stand even Sebastian being within arm's reach.

During that awful time in Germany when he'd been stricken by the werewolves' "curse" of mustard gas, the incredible pain he'd been in had brought the memories and nightmares back full force, and even paralyzed his mind when he was awake. He'd been literally struck blind from shock, and had gone into utter hysterics if he'd thought any adult was even in the same room with him. If it hadn't been for Finny, a youth far more childlike than Ciel in many ways but who had gladly stepped up to take care of him, Ciel would either have starved during that terrible week, or thrown himself out the nearest window in a blind panicking attempt to get away from his servants’ caring(hurting!) hands and end the torment forever. Once he'd finally snapped out of it, he'd been so humiliated by his behavior... even when Bard had informed him that even seasoned soldiers sometimes had episodes like what he'd suffered, after being wounded unexpectedly and worse than usual.

Those nightmares of the ways he'd been so foully violated by his captors were relatively rare now, though he suspected they'd be visiting him again tonight. But after listening to Dahlia, he realized that even though the nightmares were rare now, the grooves worn into his psyche by his tormentors were still affecting his daily life. He still unconsciously avoided being touched by anyone but Sebastian, when he could manage the avoidance without giving offence. And even all these years later, the thought of sex was still more apt to make him panic than anything else.

And the way his own body had been betraying him of late, with what the medical texts politely referred to as ‘nocturnal emissions’... even after two full months of such happenings, he still felt burning shame with a dash of raw horror every time he woke up to find the sheets sticky and stinking of that.

He told himself that he shouldn't feel ashamed of such things, which Sebastian had assured him over and over were actually quite normal for boys his age. But telling himself that did not stop the feelings of degradation at all. Surely a normal boy would be over such feelings and feel no more than mild embarrassment by now...

But then, Ciel knew to the core of his being that he wasn't normal.

Normal boys didn't agree to make contracts with demons, knowing full well that it would cost their souls in the end.

Normal boys did not become heads of household and acknowledged by the Queen as titled nobles when they'd barely turned ten.

Normal boys didn't become business tycoons even before becoming teenagers, amassing wealth and influence in the business world... and all to taunt those who had killed his parents and sold him to the Satanists, basically daring them to try to end the Phantomhive line once more.

Normal boys would scarcely even dream of becoming the Queen's Watchdog of the Underworld, with all the terrible burden implied.

Instead of being curious or outright eager to experience sex as so many boys his age were, if being perpetually ashamed, afraid and disgusted by even the idea of sex was just one more way that he wasn't normal, then so be it. Normality was for the common folk, not a Phantomhive.

Dahlia had tried to offer him hope that becoming married to Lizzie would change his views on the matter, but he refused to touch that hope and instead did his best to banish it from his thoughts forever. Really, given the life he led, how likely was it that he would even survive till his twenties and a decent marrying age? He fully expected to have his revenge against his tormentors fulfilled, and his soul to end up in a demon's belly, years before that could happen.

The young earl's broodings were thankfully interrupted by Sebastian coming back into the study, pushing a fully laden tea trolley. “As requested, young master, fresh tea and some sweets with chocolate.”

The tea was Darjeeling, and was received with due appreciation. But the sweets Sebastian uncovered with a flourish were chocolate-covered strawberries... and the butler got those pitched back in his face.

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To be continued...