Baker and Jones Ch. 16

Annette sits back as surprise enters her expression. "You've missed me?"

Samantha nods, her face somber and sincere. "I've attempted to replicate your warmth in my bed, but thus far no one excites me as you did. I wish you were mine once more."

"So you might toss me aside once again?"

"I did not appreciate you the way that I ought to have," Samantha admits, her eyelashes batting apologetically at her. "Allow me an opportunity to remedy this."

Annette stares down the apology and the commitment that she had wanted from Samantha for so long, the one she hated to admit she craved, and pushes aside her past feelings. She's surprised to find they subsided less than expected, but she squares her shoulders back into the cushion and asserts, "I am with Cordelia now."

"We both know she is incapable of treating you as she should," she tells Annette, her own history with the detective bubbling forth. "Besides," Samantha shrugs, "I am with Revier and it has never stopped you."

Annette puffs out a breath. "That's different."

"But it isn't different," Samantha insists. "You simply find it convenient for your conscience to discount him. Perhaps I truly love and adore him."

"You don't believe in love."

"Not with him," Samantha lets out a long breath. She shifts forward once more, closing most of the distance between the two of them. "Annie... I implore you, give me an opportunity to prove your affections for me still remain."

Annette shifts to the edge of the couch at Samantha's approach. "You will find those affections to be in the possession of Miss Jones."

"Dear," Samantha follows her, her hand resting on the cushion next to Annette's head. "I, of all people, understand her charms. But I assure you, she grows bored easily and will not be by your side eternally."

"Of the two of you, only one has abandoned me."

Samantha dodges her concern and presses on. "And yet prior to your affair with her, you would often complain to me about how fickle her feelings were to you. How unfair her expectations were," her hand drifts down to gently rest on Annette's cheek. "As soon as she is minorly disappointed, you know she will leave you behind, all alone." Her other hand slowly finds its way onto Annette's thigh, "I, on the other hand, have only erred in such a way once, and have clearly learned my lesson."

Annette feels a shudder descend down her spine and she removes Samantha's hand from her cheek. "I have given you my-,"

Samantha quickly lifts herself up to straddle Annette's thighs, pinning her down just as she was moving to leave. The noblewoman hooks her fingers underneath Annette's collar, pulling her neck forward and tilting her head up to meet her gaze.

"What are you do-,"

"You could be my chambermaid," Samantha promises, her voice low and filled with intent, "ensured of my night affections and devotions. I would require your services..." she leans her neck down and whispers into Annette's ear, "... constantly."

Annette pushes back from her as best as she can and shakes her head. "You have already rejected-,"

"And I am offering it to you sincerely now," Samantha sits back and her eyes meet Annette's, trying to communicate the honesty in her words. "Allow me to buy your contract. You've already seen my ability to negotiate conversation and maintain a cover story for your protection tonight." She pulls her lips closer. "Be mine, Annette. I beg of you."

"I don't think I should -,"

"Don't answer yet," Samantha affirms.

"I will anyway, my answer is-,"

"Kiss me and prove to yourself that you still want this," she insists. "I know that you do, and you owe it to yourself to experience this joy. And if you somehow feel nothing, I'll allow you to walk away."

Annette scowls and glares at her. "I'm not going to do that."

Samantha shakes her head and presses into Annette, pushing her back into the couch and kissing her. The noblewoman's hand latches onto the back of Annette's head while the other maintains hold of her collar, pulling Annette closer and closer as her tongue slides into her mouth.

A small part of Annette sighs at the feeling of being kissed, adoring the attentions and affections, but she pushes past it quickly. An overwhelming feeling of frustration replaces it, and she fights Samantha's grip, succeeding in lifting the woman off of her a moment later. She slips out from the couch and paces to the other side of the balcony.

"You feel it!" Samantha looks at her delightedly, victorious on the couch.

"I assure you I do not," Annette frowns, waving away Samantha's insistence.

"I could tell that you wanted it, only to choose to push it away."

"Then listen to me choose once more," Annette declares, "Goodnight, Lady Deveroux."

She storms out of the balcony, slamming the heavy door behind her and leaving Samantha alone. Annette leaves the Deveroux's shared wing of the house, once again returning to the winding hallways of Lamishton. Inside, she resents Jarl for placing this mission upon her, and decides she's had enough. Regardless of the darkness outside, she was returning to Cordelia tonight, and would not be stopped.

But, it is as she begins to make her way towards the front doors, something inside her pulls her back. The feeling, the ever present sense of investigation pries its way forward into her mind, insisting that she take this opportunity. She's not likely to be given entry to a place like Lamishton ever again. She takes a long breath, slips away into a dark side room, and waits for the night to lull its residents to sleep, a small part of her wondering if she was right to place so much faith in Cordelia's affection.

- - -

Once resolved that the final servants errands had been accomplished in the night, Annette slips out of her hiding place and descends upon the massive home. She removes her shoes, tying them together and slipping them over her shoulder, and allows her stockinged feet to move across the marble floors without a sound. She'd spent the last hour or two plotting out where she expects to search, trying as hard as possible to recall the layout of the house well enough to create a working mental map.

She first makes her way to the dining room where she'd initially met Lord Winchester, stopping in the hallway of portraits once more to inspect the man at the end of the row that had appeared familiar earlier. It's difficult to make out the portrait's features in the night, but a close inspection confirms her suspicions. A nameplate at the base of the frame reads clearly: Darrius Winchester.

So Darrius is his brother, Annette concludes, still trying to place where she had seen him before. Her best guess is that he might have been someone Annette encountered at the Hasting's Ball, and that he simply looks distinct enough that he left an impression in their short encounter.

Right next to Darrius' portrait is his brother, the Winchester Annette was familiar with: Lucian. The two brothers hardly appear to be siblings at all. Where Lucian appears polished and proper, once again donning his military appearance for the sake of portrait, Darrius is surprisingly rugged and unkempt. His red beard, far lighter than his brother's dark hair, is tangled in places. His skin is rough and already wrinkling despite appearing to be no more than forty.

Annette continues, testing the door to Lucian's dining room. She's relieved to find it unlocked, so she quietly peaks in to confirm it's empty, and once confirmed, she carefully makes her way inside. She immediately moves her way over to the small cabinet in the corner where Lucian had pulled out his writing supplies. She pulls open the drawer, hoping her luck would hold out, and sighs lightly to see he had taken the response letter with him.

He's not given the letter to me, Annette muses, which means he is either dismissing my role as courier, or that he has yet to complete it. She debates between the two for a moment and decides that while either is possible, it's still worthwhile to hunt it down. At the very least, it might be enough to simmer Jarl's ire.

She works her way back through the house, once again returning to the residential halls. She stops for a brief moment outside of the entrance to the Deveroux's hall, feeling a tired wishfulness almost begging to stay. Samantha may not have always been good to her and Annette is still surprised by her forwardness and insistence this evening, but she'd be lying if the thought of returning to her wasn't tempting. Cordelia hadn't always been good to her either, and Samantha was far less likely to place Annette in situations of immediate danger. With Samantha, she could retire to the life of a beloved plaything, a jewel to be placed upon a lovely shelf and brought down when the noblewoman desired to play.

The answer resolves in Annette without further thought: she'd get bored. Cordelia had revealed so much within Annette that the girl always knew was there but had pushed aside. Annette couldn't bear the thought of simple domesticity or servitude, or even luxurious delight at Samantha's side. There always needed to be something more, something greater. She had been so afraid of this impulse at St. Bartholomew's, opting to hide it and relegate it to the backgrounds of her mind, but Cordelia had coaxed it forward, and now revealed, it was impossible to ignore. Samantha would always know how to make Annette blush and squirm, but she'd never replace the powerful sense of purpose Cordelia had unleashed in her.

The Winchester's residence is further down, but Annette stops in her tracks once more. Lord Winchester had guests over, and not just any guests, but an Admiral and a baron of industry. It was not likely that he would be simply shut into his room this evening - men like them would be up, talking and smoking and drinking. She turns quickly and moves towards the opposite end of the house. She doesn't know exactly where in the house it would be, but Annette knows one truth of unhappily married men and women: they stay as far away from one another in their homes as possible.

The sound of laughter and the stench of cigars at the far end of the home provides her the answer she was seeking. She tiptoes forward to the curtain of light pouring out into the hall, created by the cracked open doorway. Annette takes a deep breath, forcing herself to embrace the risk, and peaks her head through the crack.

Lucian and his guest aren't to be seen in the study itself. It's a small library, with a sturdy desk in the center of the room. Opposite of the door, Annette spots yet another balcony, its curtained glass doors stopped open to the night sky. The voices find her from the balcony itself, and a quick look reveals no one to be in the study itself. She scans the desk quickly and spots a handful of letters upon it.

She nods quietly to herself, stealing her resolve and preparing a cover story. If caught, she would need to be an incredibly fast talker. Perhaps she could convince them she truly was Darrius' agent, sent to investigate their dedication to the cause... whatever that cause was. She moves the door slowly, testing if it would make any noise, and opens it enough to slide inside. She creeps forward just enough to confirm that the flowing curtains would cover her entrance, then crouches her way forward. Inside the room, she can finally make out the two voices: Lucian Winchester and Arthur Hayle.

"-plain isn't she?" Lucian is saying, his voice slightly slurred. He coughs out the smoke of his cigar.

"You're not supposed to inhale it," Arthur chides politely, the smirk on his face evident in his voice.

"Yes, you are," Lucian pokes. "It's how a true gentleman takes a cigar."

"Coughing must be a mark of nobility then."

Lucian laughs. "Bastard."

"I do believe you were commenting on the plainness of my wife?" Arthur supplies, chuckling with him.

"She's terribly plain," Winchester complains. "How can you stand it?"

"It's almost as though you've never heard of mistresses, dear fellow," Hayle chirps back at him, sardonic and light.

Lucian snorts. "With a wife such as my own, I'd pity the fates of any mistresses she discovered. They'd be dead within the week."

"Surely you must get out sometime," Arthur teases. "Grab at a collar or two, at the very least."

Annette's face grows sour and she returns to investigate the desk, carefully positioned in such a way that the heavy wood blocks most of her form. If either returned inside, she'd at least have a moment of cover to slip under the desk. She quickly scans the letters, and it takes a brief moment to recognize the one he was penning earlier. It's unfinished, not yet wrapped or sealed in an envelope, but Annette swipes it nonetheless. She folds it as quietly as possible and slips it into her shirt.

"Damn the consequences," Winchester boasts, "I'd rather grab Revier's wife."

"Even Revier has mistresses out in the colonies," Arthur rebuts. "Truly, you ought to get out more."

Annette shudders, and for a moment feels protective of Samantha. She wonders whether or not Lady Deveroux knew, but decides it likely doesn't matter. It's not like Samantha's hands were particularly clean on that front either.

"Truly?" Winchester croaks, surprised. "With a wife such as that?"

"He's a fox," Hayle tells him. "She knows who she married."

"Do you think he'd allow me to-,"

"Absolutely no, you buffoon," Arthur interrupts, laughing. Winchester joins him a breath later as well, and their cackles ring out over the night air. For a moment it sounds as though they might reenter the room, and Annette panics, hitting her head softly on the desk. She freezes, waiting a long, tense breath in case they heard her, but neither says anything.

Annette debates remaining. She now had the letter, which was likely enough for Jarl. But then she thinks of Cordelia and knows she has to stay. How often would she get a chance to listen to the secrets of the wealthy, especially one who might be wrapped up with the Mallets in some unexplained way? At the very least, she might gather some information for blackmail, which could be useful in any case.

"How much do you think it would take?" Winchester asks.

"In matters like this?" Arthur ponders for a moment, then replies, "A few thousand pounds, though the profit from reduced labor costs-,"

Winchester grunts and redirects him. "How much money for Revier to give me a go at his wife?"

"And here I was, led astray by the promise of business," Hayle grumbles playfully. "You're not serious, are you?"

"Of course not," Winchester huffs. "But how much do you think?"

Arthur shares a laugh with him, the laugh of two men acting as schoolboys on the prowl. "Two hundred and fifty pounds a touch."

Winchester lets out a rowdy cackle. "Some expensive prostitutes you're visiting!"

"She's a noblewoman."

"Hardly," Lucian coughs. "One hundred pounds."

"Ridiculous," Hayle rebuffs. "Truly ridiculous."

"Thank you for humoring me, at any rate," Lucian sighs and chokes on his cigar for a brief moment. "But for the other thing, it really only takes a few thousand pounds?"

"It would take more for an entire country, of course," Arthur concedes. Annette's ears perk up, her mind working to try and decipher what they were speaking of. "But, for a county with only one major city? Few thousand. Most of it goes towards bribing the other guys."

Lucian whistles. "How many times have you done this?"

"Once in the colonies as proof-of-concept; once in Kereland," Arthur answers, then adds, "of course, in the colonies you're dealing with proper slavery, so it is far simplier. Less regulation than the damned collars and all that."

"Brilliant," Winchester exhales. "And it worked? Truly?"

"Fabulously," Arthur lets out a puff of laughter. "They love their revolutions."

Another tremble descends down Annette's spine, and for a moment she's entirely lost in their point. It seems unfathomable that two men such as them could be endorsing the revolutions, possibly even funding them.

"Tell me this-,"

A noise alerts to Annette's right, and she quickly scrambles to hide, but is too late. Her eyes dart over to meet the surprised, but not too surprised, servant. The woman looks concerned, and a little amused, holding a platter with more whiskey and fresh glasses.

"I assure you," Annette whispers, "I am not-,"

The servant shakes her head and keeps her voice low. "You should not be here, Annette."

"You... what? How do you know-?"

The woman bobs her head at the door, gesturing for Annette to leave. Annette stares her down for a moment, but nods and departs. She exits the study, her blood pumping hastily in her veins, and finds a quiet place to hide in the dark for her. The servant exits a few moments later, leaving behind the platter, and meets Annette out in the hall.

"I did not expose you to them," she relates, and Annette lets out a sigh of relief.

"How do you know my name?"

"It's infamous, from the papers, innit?" She smiles. "And, the other reason."

"Other reason?"

"Allow me to explain elsewhere," the servant directs, walking off down the hall and waving Annette to follow her. Annette is hesitant for a moment but joins her. The woman eventually leads her to the servant's quarters, guiding her into a private bedroom that appears to belong to her. She lights a candle and invites her to sit.

"What other reason?" Annette asks, taking a seat on the small bed in a room that reminds her of her own in Cordelia's house.

"Myra Pennywise," the woman extends a hand out to her, and Annette shakes it lightly.

"As in...?"

"The very same."

Annette lets out a surprised breath. "No. No way."

"Coincidences are spectacular, are they not?" Penny smirks. "Though I suppose Miss Jones never much believed in coincidences, did she?"

"Except when she does. She's inconsistent like that," Annette grins. "You're truly Penny? The Penny?"

"It's good to meet you," she nods. "How is Miss Jones?"

"Good. Quite good," she clears her throat. "She's sober. Or, at least she's trying to be."

"God bless her. Has she been treating you well?"

Annette has mixed success hiding her blush, and only manages to croak out, "Y-yes. It's been good. She's been good."

Penny laughs, thankfully not at her expense. Instead, it seems to be a laugh of solidarity, enjoying the shared experience of a mildly ridiculous person. "Did she clean at all after my departure and before you arrived?"

"Hardly," Annette smiles, recalling her first day. "She did not take kindly to me reorganizing, however."

"She was the same with me. Hated it every time I put things away and made the home functional."

"She complained about that to me," she giggles.

"I'm sure she did," Penny joins her. "Does she still do the thing with the laundry?"

"Which do you mean?" Annette asks, her voice light and amused. "Always getting bloodstains on white cotton or never turning her shirts inside out?"

"Both, I suppose."

"Less bloodstains," she replies. "And I've given up on the other battle."

"That's wise."

Annette marvels at the sight of Penny, finally able to put a face to the name she had heard semi-often in Cordelia's home. Her first servant had clearly left an impression, and much of Annette's habits were measured against Penny, for better or for worse.

Myra Pennywise was a short and curvy woman, with a wide face and lovely dark hair. She was somewhere in her later middle years, certainly older than Cordelia but still younger than the Winchesters. Her hands are strong and soft, and she wears a pleasant smile most of the time, decorating her round cheeks.

"I knew your contract ended with her," Annette says, "but somehow I never realized you left and took up another contract."