A Series of Letters to Christabel de Winter, Viscountess Pierrepont, from the Honorable Miss Georgina Wytherly

1 March, 1900

How boring Town is without your presence! Louise was remarking just the other day on the dullness of last weekend's house party in Kent and, though I would not wish to consider myself a simpering sycophant, I find myself agreeing with the general sentiments of the ton. Even the suffragette rallies are dull, dull, dull ... how I wish you would find it in your heart to return to us!

4 March, 1900

Please ignore and forgive the previous sentimental outpouring, dearest Bella, and know that it was naught more than the result of too much wine and far too much rain. The weather here is positively dreary; how lucky you are to be in Italy where the sun shines and breezes are but a warm caress. How I envy you that!

Very little here changes and, as I will not bore you with effusive prattle over the latest fashions or meaningless gossip, I must beg you to return to me words in your own hand. I have not had a letter of my own in more than a month whereas Louise has a new missive every week. Have I offended you in some manner? If so, I would send a hundred apologies to have one word from you -- even if it is to say you wish to never again hear my voice.

10 March, 1900

Oh, joyous day! You know not how pleased the receipt of your letter has made me this morn. The economy and brevity of your words is now painfully understood and I must beg your forgiveness for my demanding nature, for I am terribly unused to being denied that which I desire -- and I do so desire your company.

And now, as to your commentary...

Short missive to Christabel de Winter, Viscountess Pierrepont, from Lady Louise Seymour Cavendish

27 March, 1900

Thank you, my dear, for writing to Georgina ... the poor dear has been beside herself with thoughts that you were displeased with her after she so senselessly discussed your particular marital arrangements with her cousin, Miss Eleanor Stanley (who is now Mrs. Broderick Chase of Baltimore, Maryland and also a dear friend of yours, unless I am most abjectly mistaken). She is a bit high strung, I am sorry to admit, but that has much more to with her grandparents than any natural tendencies toward melodrama. Her late mother, Lady Penelope, was all but disowned by the Earl when she wed Bartholomew Wytherly (despite his own pedigree and connections), and when the young couple died while she was still in her infancy the Earl and Countess lavished all their guilty affection on Georgina. That she had been named in honor of the Earl no doubt went some distance in reassuring him that his late daughter was not nearly as disrespectful as he had once thought. In any respect, the single-minded devotion and attention of her grandparents has no doubt turned her head.

As per your other request, I have undertaken inquiries into the Moresby family as well as the Prices. However did you learn about the union of the latter with the relatively unknown Wyndhams of Oxfordshire? When last we spoke you mentioned nothing about an acquaintance with those worthies and I know they are no relation to the Woodvilles or the de Winters. Are they perhaps maternal relations? You have never mentioned your mother's family at all and, though it pains me, I must ask -- my dear friend, is there a reason for your silence? I know that your marriage was arranged whilst you were in your infancy -- and that your husband adhered to that arrangement no doubt contributed to the demise of the relationship between he and the courtesan, Darla, of whom the less said the better -- and that you are (through your father) kin to William, who is in turn a relation of your husband through his mother's family (though I admit to being lost when attempting to decipher the twisted Franco-Irish connections). Yet, through all of this you have made little mention of your maternal line. Are you a relation of the Moresbys, my dear, the Wyndhams or the Prices? Or have you perhaps undertaken to make inquiries not for yourself but for another?

Ah, my friend, whatever your reasons I do have your answers (although I must say I was quite tempted to withhold this information until you answered the aforementioned). The current Moresbys are a caveat branch of an older family that has long since retired from any type of court life. I believe my solicitor mentioned that they have remained on their estate in Cornwall for the better part of two hundred and fifty years, seeking no companionship from former friends and encouraging marital alliances only with local families, although I seem to remember hearing that the current Mrs. Moresby is from Somerset ...

Letter to Lilias Abernathy, Viscountess Blackwell, from Harold, Childe of Hugh FitzDougal, Childe of Antonius, and a Master in the Order of Aurelius

10 April, 1900

Please, dear Lilias, forgive me for contacting you thusly, but that which we had foreseen has finally come to pass. Just this morning I had an inquiry from Rosalind; it seems she has nearly exhausted her personal resources and has petitioned for asylum. Naturally I granted her request and, as per our last conversation, we are diligently piecing together all our knowledge into the possible whereabouts of Penn, Childe of Angelus. You should know that Angelus and his other Childe, William, have decamped for China in search of the aforementioned and the Other Slayer is currently under the protection and in the company of Indara of Cyrene thus making it impossible to use her as leverage. I did try, my dear, but the Cyrenian did not achieve her position or lifespan through sheer serendipity -- she is a formidable opponent and one I wish never to engage.

We must reconvene soon to discuss our strategy and tactics, as the role of Clan Eleusinia's Covener was not known at the time. Her word carries a great deal of power, as does her clan, but the politics of the situation is rather murky at present. In Paris you mentioned that the Cyrenian has a hold on this Other Slayer, but you neglected to mention what this hold is and how it was attained. Is there a formal alliance between Aurelius and Eleusinia or is this a gentleman's agreement between Angelus and Indara of Cyrene? I must know, Lilias, if we are to subvert Angelus and retake control of the Order.

On another note, I do hope you are well. Your work on my behalf never ceases to surprise and excite me, and I look forward to seeing you once more -- hopefully without that bore you now call husband. Rosalind also wishes you a speedy journey and looks forward, with much longing, to our impending (re)union.

And my dearest, you have my deepest congratulations. Your first Slayer ... my, my, Lilias, you are a vicious little witch.

Telegraph to Christabel de Winter, Viscountess Pierrepont, from Angelus de Winter, Viscount Pierrepont, and the Honorable William J. Woodville (dated the twenty-seventh of July in the year nineteen hundred)

BEGIN CABLE Have left China STOP No sign of Penn since March STOP Details in letter STOP Will travel through Russia to Black Sea STOP Hope to arrive before snow END CABLE

The Black Sea wasn't at all black, Buffy mused as she contemplated the shoreline from the window. Oh, yes, it raged and created powerful storms that rumbled across the countryside but other than that she found she quite enjoyed the place. Indara's estate was vast and luxurious while retaining a level of simplicity that implied comfort with wealth; it was nothing like the grand houses in England or the house in Paris, or even the villa in Florence that she had vacated at the beginning of April. The floors were made of either stone or a local wood that carried a patina of age and didn't hide the scars left by centuries of trampling feet, and were sparsely covered in comfortable carpets in subdued colors with bright accents. Each room was different, but her bedchamber was decorated in a style she remembered from Northern Africa. Or perhaps not quite, she reconsidered. While the walls were a rich, deep golden yellow there was no hint of Moorish architecture or decor; indeed, the furnishings were more European as were most of the accessories.

Which wasn't to say it matched the level of awe to which Buffy had become accustomed. On the contrary, the mix of simpler styles from earlier eras held a certain charm that she found quite a relief after months of ridiculously lavish suites and fussy trimmings.

The wind continued to howl and she dropped the drapes with a sigh, turning to face her raven-haired companion who was lounging on the seventeenth century bed with exquisitely carved posters. Indara's eyes appraised the blonde carefully, noting the mix of restlessness and fatigue in Buffy's hazel eyes as the Slayer drifted about the room. Perhaps this had not been the best choice for summering, she allowed, but it was far more acceptable -- more defensible -- than her houses in Athens or Istanbul. It meant enduring the boredom created by summer storms, yes, but the alternatives were simply not to be borne.

Buffy stopped in front of the dresser and idly brushed her fingers along the surface, tracing a pattern around the objects littering the marble top. Angelus' latest missive had arrived that morning and carried yet another account of their -- his and William's -- trek through eastern Russia in search of the ever-elusive Penn. That the two were traveling through Russia was Indara's primary reason for relocating to her home in the southwest of that same country, but Buffy was not a fool and had little doubt that the anonymous message Dalton had received in March had threatened her in some way. Given that the Florentine villa was very open and therefore vulnerable, Indara had believed it prudent to relocate -- something the Slayer had been loathe to do. However, three and a half months in Italy had gone far to aid in her recuperation from the whirlwind journey the previous autumn, and Buffy found herself agreeing when she realized that it meant she would see Angelus and William that much sooner.

"When will they arrive?"

Buffy started, jerked out of her reverie by the sound of the newest lover's voice. "Before the snow begins, he hopes. There's been no sign or word of Penn since March, so he writes that they'll just come here on their way back."

Indara simply nodded absently though her lips were pursed in consideration. "And did you, in your last letter, tell him of the intelligence gleaned from our vast network of informants?"

"No," she replied as she rolled the small glass jar of scent between her fingers.

"Why ever not?"

The honey-haired Slayer sighed and allowed the jar to roll across her palm and fall to the table with a 'plunk,' faint surprise flitting over her features when the glass didn't shatter on impact, but rather rolled across the dresser until it hit the ivory backed hairbrush and stopped. "Because he had to have known what Rosalind would do when he disowned her. It only makes sense. I'm a bit surprised it took her as long as it did to decide that Harold was her only option."

"Never underestimate your options," Indara reminded. "Often you have more resources than you had first considered. Rosalind either exhausted her resources rather quickly or she grossly overestimated her means, but either way she did try to stand alone before choosing Harold. For that, she gains a certain amount of respect."

Buffy shrugged in reply and tried not to draw parallels. It struck her as strange and somehow wrong that the vampiress who had abandoned Penn after the return of his soul was capable of doing what she was not. Even further, that Rosalind had had those options infuriated Buffy. Why? Why didn't she have those options? Or had she simply failed to recognize them for what they were? A sigh, the only sign of her internal conflict, escaped her lips as she continued to drift across the room in a haze of confusion and boredom.

"Little bird," Indara chided teasingly. "Come lay beside me. Let me send for refreshments and we will wile away the storm in a more ... pleasurable fashion."

The thought of Indara sending for food or wine was enough to jolt Buffy out of her fog and she dropped onto the foot of the bed and leaned against the wide poster as she met the black eyes of her ancient companion. It wasn't that the idea of spending the afternoon and evening in bed with her lover and a tray of comfits and wine was unappealing, quite the opposite. Buffy had found that once she began to accept her feelings for Indara that her scattered emotions began to regain an even keel, and in truth she enjoyed the other woman's company -- in bed and out. Indara was fascinating and insightful and Buffy found a great deal of contentment in finally having another woman to whom she could confide *all* of her thoughts and emotions. Oh, yes, Felicity was a dear and the Slayer loved her fiercely, but it was impossible for the girl to understand everything; that what she did understand didn't scare her away was something for which Buffy gave thanks each day. Still, even Louisa and Eleanor couldn't be told the entire truth and Alicia ... she still mourned for the strong young woman to whom she might could have bared her soul.

And, of course, there was no denying that Buffy's sexual repertoire had grown increasingly larger and more detailed. Indara was never satisfied with mere physical release but taught her young companion to appreciate fully the sensuality and eroticism of which she was capable. 'Not everything sensual was sexual' had been the first and most thorough lesson, followed by long nights learning to appreciate and understand her own body. Between the two and her own resolve, Buffy had discovered a new world wherein she could finally comprehend what others saw in her. It was daunting, to say the least.

However, what bothered the Slayer were the serfs. Indara had patiently explained the concept and the history of Russian serfdom and that they were present on her estates in Russia, but what truly disturbed Buffy was that almost all of the house servants were undead. Vampire serfs were a hard idea to contemplate much less witness, and she had found herself struggling to accept this throughout her stay.

With very little success.

"Or perhaps not," Indara chuckled. "Though I still fail to understand your distress. They were serfs as humans and they are serfs as vampires, young one; nothing has truly changed in their life except its state."

"See, that's part of the problem," Buffy told her. "The whole concept of serfs is just wrong to begin with, and then you pick and choose the ones you want to keep around to serve you forever. And even after they're turned they just go along with it! I know vampires have a very feudal social structure, but ... "

"Combine the feudalism of vampires with the person they were," Indara explained. "They were serfs -- it was what they knew and understood. Since the human personality informs the basis of the vampire's personality ... "

Buffy sighed. "You get vampire serfs who don't question their place in life or death. Or undeath or unlife, whichever."

The ebony-haired vampire's laughter echoed in the room. "Oh, little one. I forget how very young you are ... Come to bed, sweetest. We will talk of other matters and make do with what wine remains, for I have no wish to upset you further."

Letter (written on parchment with India ink) to Sir Reginald Travers, London, from Father Theodore Giles in Jerusalem

29 August, 1900

I will be quite brief, for I do not hold with the pointless bandying of words in which you and your colleagues frequently engage. And yes, I am well aware that the Council still considers me to be one of your colleagues but, le bon Dieu and the Vatican be thanked, I do not.

The death of Marie-Cecile so soon after the apparent death of Alicia Price [here several lines were obscured by ink, as if the author reconsidered his thoughts and found them extraneous or unneeded] has been a tragic and mortal blow, though luckily not one such as we were faced with just a few years ago. I do not have to be told that you have been at your wit's end since April, and so I will not mince words but appease you here and now. Here with me, hidden away in a safe house in the Old City, is the most recent Slayer, a fifteen year old by the name of Leah Corbel whose Watcher died not six months prior of causes unknown. (I suspect poison, Travers, though by whose hand I am unsure as there are far too many within the Council who would do anything for advancement -- as you well know.)

Given the circumstances I am loathe to send the girl to London unattended (or at all, but then you know my feelings on that particular matter), and so other arrangements must be made. If you have no trusted operatives in the area and cannot dispatch an escort by twentieth-fifth September, I will send Miss Corbel to London in the company of the Sisters of Mercy who will be returning to England to seek further support for their missionary work in the Holy Land.

I await your response by cable.

Telegraph to Father Theodore Giles, Jerusalem, from Sir Reginald Travers, London (dated the tenth of September in the year nineteen hundred)

BEGIN CABLE Escort will arrive twentieth Sept STOP Details with escort END CABLE

Letter to the Honorable Mrs. Arthur Moresby, nee Helena Sinclair, of Cornwall, from Christabel de Winter, Viscountess Pierrepont (currently abroad)

4 October, 1900

Dear Mrs. Moresby,

I feel I must first inform you that the awkwardness of receiving a letter from an unknown is only eclipsed by writing to someone whose acquaintance you have never made. Having said that, let me offer you my sincerest congratulations for I have been informed by Our Mutual Friend that you have recently become a mother, an honorable state which I have not yet entered into. However, the reason for my correspondence is not only felicitous; if you will forgive my intrusion, I would inform you that I was by way of being an intimate of young Miss Moresby's natural mother and I was deeply saddened upon the occasion of her passing. For reasons that must remain my own, though they are known to our mutual friend, I am unable to raise her child (openly or otherwise) and so sought a family where she might be loved and not ridiculed.

Please, do not perceive from this letter that I would seek to take your child -- for she is your child, whoever her natural mother may have been -- from you. That was never my intention. If it would not trouble you greatly, however, might I beg a few lines from your hand each month or so? I do not seek to be a part of Miss Moresby's life but I dearly wish to know how she comes along, if only for the love I bore my late friend.

I apologize for any distress this missive may have caused, and I await your reply whatever it may be.

4 October, 1900

You know, Angel, I have to say, I never would have thought it would take me three months to write a letter. It's short, as letters go, but I think it sounds about like most of the letters that get written these days ... and at least I can be me here, right? Right.

I had to do it. I *need* to know how Alicia's daughter is, I have to know if she's happy or sad or scared. I want to know if she's smart and clever and witty like her mother or if she's just herself ... I think Alicia would have wanted me to look after her baby despite what she thought of me. But it's that very same thing that keeps me from being a part of little Corrine's life (I'll call her by name here, since doing so in the letter would have been forward and rude according to the etiquette tips I was given). I told Helen Moresby that I was unable to raise Corrine and while that's not a lie, it's not the whole truth either. Angelus might have balked if he'd come back to find me with a baby but he'd have gotten over it quick enough (look at how well he adjusted to having Felicity around ... and she would have adored a baby) and, because we've been away so long, nobody would say anything if I returned to London with an infant. And it's not even the trouble that would momentarily arise after explaining everything to Angelus.

No, it's something else entirely.

Alicia came to me because she saw me as the lesser evil, not because she felt any genuine compassion for my plight or because she respected my choices. Quite the opposite, as you already know. And while I've come to terms with my life here, while I've embraced and accepted the choices I made and the power I have, Alicia never would have even if she'd lived to be a hundred. Given her feelings, I have no right to raise her child while I live with Angelus. Which is not to say that I didn't contemplate leaving him, because I did ... but in the end it wouldn't have worked out. I'm too deeply enmeshed in the London ton *and* the demonic underworld to just up and leave. Kinda sad, really, but I think I'm finally being honest with myself when I say that I don't really mind all that much.

Most of the time.

Telegraph to Christabel de Winter, Viscountess Pierrepont, from Angelus de Winter, Viscount Pierrepont, and the Honorable William J. Woodville (dated the twenty-first of October in the year nineteen hundred)

BEGIN CABLE Will arrive sundown twenty-third Oct STOP Still no Penn STOP I know it's already snowing END CABLE

Letter to Harold, Childe of Hugh FitzDougal, Childe of Antonius, and a Master in the Order of Aurelius, from Lilias Abernathy, Viscountess Blackwell

3 November, 1900

You utter, utter fool.

I am disappointed, Harold. I had hoped that as the year drew to a close we would have gained more ground than we have so far ... I am a patient witch, my bumbling buffoon, but your progress has been slower than even I would tolerate. Must I do everything myself?

You misguided but perhaps laudable notion that Rosalind would be a better spokesman than yourself failed because you fail to understand the politics behind what Angelus has wrought [here several lines are obscured as if the author grew too emotional to write and ended up smearing ink and tearing the edge of the paper]

Simply put, you must be the one to gather unhappy, impressionable or sympathetic members of the Order. That Rosalind lives with you can be seen as charity, if we're lucky; after the mess she made of my plans with Penn, too many people associate her with Darla and what Darla tried to do to Nest. They believed she was merely waiting for an opportunity to betray Angelus, as her Dam betrayed her Sire, and as such they feel he dealt with her in the most appropriate way possible. And then YOU took her in *after* the Council denied your claim; it doesn't look good, but there may very well be a way in which this can work to our advantage IF you can lower her profile.

Our finances continue to do well and I've recently made the acquaintance of one Edward Rayne, son of the occult physician Jacob Rayne, who appears to be both knowledgeable of the Dark Arts and yet still impressionable enough for my purposes. I'll write more on this subject later.

Forget about the Other Slayer for now, my dear, and focus on other areas. While she would have made an impressive bargaining piece, provided we could subdue and control her, I fear that any move against her would call down the wrath of the Cyrenian and we simply are not ready to face that opponent quite yet.

Yet being the operative word ...

Official message to the vampire Dalton in London, from Angelus, Master and Covener of the Order of Aurelius (currently abroad)

15 December, 1900

We will be returning to London aboard the Great Henry on the twentieth of January, 1901; we will debark before sunrise so as to avoid the crowds and the need for daytime preparations. Please have the house reopened and aired, staff rehired, and other notices our impending arrival sent to the appropriate parties. And continue to send any news concerning Lilias Abernathy, the most recent Viscountess Blackwell, as well as any news of the latest Slayer.

 

The End