Doctor Who: Panic Moon Ch. 34

Inside fared little better; worn carpets covered dull wooden floors, the halls echoing with a distinct lack of population, empty and hollow in a way that only the passage of years could produce. Like the accumulated soul of the dwelling had been rotted away.

Christina hated living here, but having only just turned eighteen, her prospects for moving out were somewhat limited.

Besides, there was also her father to consider, the old man who had watched the de Souza family fortune fade away to nothing in his hands, frittered away on this and that, until there was nothing left but the two of them and his regrets. Despite the hammer he had taken to their name, he was the only other extant de Souza, the one member of her family who hadn't left or died, the only one who had at least attempted to struggle through and support her, even if he hadn't always succeeded.

Of course, his lack of success in that regard had led to Christina's acquisition of her specific skill set, all but required to keep the family household intact as the years had rolled by. Imagine what old Lord de Souza would say, if he knew that his expensive habits had driven his daughter directly into a life of crime, until the woman that had resulted was equal parts socialite and cat burglar.

Consider also his dismay at learning that the de Souza name had only aided her in this, as what cache it still had allowed her entry into any number of high society parties and engagements, into the homes of the upper class, where she could walk right past all manner of treasures and valuables, mentally composing her shopping list even as she small talked with the simpletons who often hosted such engagements.

And as the final blow to the old man's noble sensibilities, imagine what he would think if she had told him that the education that he had paid so much for in her youth, the gymnastics training and athletic extracurriculars that those lovely private schools had provided, had made her body limber and fast, the perfect vessel for the skills and knowledge of theft and infiltration that she had adopted to pay the bills.

It was more than a tad ironic, Christina reflected as she stared out her bedroom window, that so many factors of her upbringing as a noblewoman had been so conducive to living the life of a hobby criminal.

Not for the first time, she considered simply expressing this fact to her father, seeing as he had summoned her to see him today. She had to admit, it would be a load off her mind; thief or no, Christina disliked hiding things from people she saw every day. There was always a sense that she was being silently, secretly interrogated, searched for imperfections and signs that would betray her clandestine hobby. The threat of accidentally betraying what she did, no matter how careful she tried to be, rose with every day she spent in close quarters with the man. All it would take was one instance of being accidentally caught sneaking out at night, or to have one of her... acquisitions discovered before she could fence it, and the game would be up. Christina had no idea what she would do, then.

Living a double life was hard.

Still, perhaps today wasn't the day for such a thing. It wasn't every day that her father deliberately requested her presence in his office, after all; that top floor corner room had always been off limits, not just to Christina herself, but even to her mother and sister, when they had been living here. The door had remained steadfastly closed and locked, its dark and polished wooden bulk one of the few expensive items that had persisted in the house even as Lord de Souza had begun selling off the property piece by piece to fund his gambling habits. She had often wondered, in her youth, what it was that the old man was hiding behind it, but she didn't need to wonder any more.

She knew that it was dreadfully boring; after sneaking through the homes of the rich and famous for a couple of years now, the simple lock on that study door hadn't posed that much of a challenge to her. Nothing but old books and rows of brandy bottles of varying levels of fullness, hidden in a liquor cabinet or, far more shamefully, the top drawer of his desk. If anything, that room had been her father's refuge from the growing disappointment of his family, not the secret hub of hidden plans that she had imagined in her childhood.

Going to the study was a rarity in itself, but it was practically unheard of for her father to issue additional requests on top of that, but this time, he had done so in language that had been entirely suspicious.

'I want you to come and see me this afternoon, Christina,' He had said, barely even taking the time to look at her. 'And wear something nice, would you? You're a lady, do attempt to look like one.'

That had been the extent of the conversation, but despite its brevity, its content was totally new ground for Christina. Lord de Souza had never expressed so much as a whit of interest in her appearance in the past, and in general had been able to trust that she could take care of that particular thing on her own. Confusion over his sudden care over how she looked had given way to a kind of irritated, affronted pride, demanding that she truly impress the old man if just for herself. She was a de Souza, after all.

Far more of a de Souza than the stupid old gambler had ever been. She had, at least, done far more to keep the name alive and funded than he.

And so, she had determined to acquiesce to her father's request, taking the time to scan her wardrobe with an appraising eye, up and down the racks in search of something appropriately ladylike. Eventually she settled on something simple, her favourite black dress with the single shoulder strap. The hem flowed around her as she walked; it was hardly appropriate for her secret little hobby, but it was perfect for this kind of thing, the sorts of social situations that her rank so often thrust her into. Whatever Lord de Souza's eventual plan was, this would at least partially suit it.

The floorboards gave a series of tortured squeaks as she walked across them, and the stairs positively wailed, the old wood showing its lack of repair and upkeep in its inability to silently take her weight. The banister wobbled threateningly when she took hold of it, causing her to tut in annoyance as it almost caused her to lose her balance, promising herself mentally to steal something valuable enough to pay for some refurbishment here before somebody ended up falling and breaking something.

The first floor corridor had once been lined with paintings taller than Christina herself, rich, deeply detailed oil works from artists too numerous to name, and too obscure in Christina's body of knowledge to bother with. Now, of course, the walls stood bare, the artwork long ago taken down and sold, the colours and images that had filled Christina's childhood vanishing one by one into the ether, just more grist for her father's mill. The end result was that the hallway rung out with desolation, bare walls and unadorned wood floors stretching on to the door at the terminus of it, nothing but stale air and floating motes of dust separating Christina from it.

Sighing at the sight of it, she advanced.

The door creaked as it opened, its weight bearing down on the metal hinge in a way that produced a tortured whine of metal on metal. Inside, the same sort of faded rug that filled the rest of the house stretched nearly from corner to corner, laid out on pitted wooden floorboards, the corners frayed and curled. Old furniture filled the room, bookcases stretching from floor to ceiling at either side wall, with the Lord de Souza's desk situated opposite the door, lit by sunlight filtering in through thin, drawn curtains the colour of dried blood.

Her father sat behind that very desk, on a chair that very obviously did not match the aesthetic of the heavy wood desk itself. He looked up from a large, leather bound book as she entered, giving his daughter a look that was as close to a smile as he ever got.

In truth, it looked more like a sneer.

'Ah, Christina! Good, good,' Lord de Souza nodded, as though her compliance in coming here was some obvious facet of the universe, a component of reality that he had simply been waiting to complete itself. 'Come in, my girl, come in. We have big news to discuss, big news indeed. I've been planning for a long while, and it's finally time to get you involved.'

'Alright,' Christina said, unable to keep a dubious note out of her voice. She let herself sit down opposite the old man, hands folded in her lap in a manner befitting the kind of lady her father expected her to be. Little did he know that just last night those very same hands had cupped handful after handful of jewellery from someone else's dresser, some upper class twit whose name she hadn't even bothered to learn. She let that thought put the smallest suggestion of a smile on her face, a secret glow of pleasure at knowing something so sumptuous coming with it. 'What can I do for you?'

'Christina, I don't need to tell you that the de Souza family fortunes have been a tad on the wane in recent years, I'm sure,' Lord de Souza answered, and Christina had to suppress a bark of harsh, ironic laughter at the words. The de Souza family, in all the generations of it that Christina had known, had always tended toward this sort of genteel understatement, but when discussing this particular topic her father's insistence on sticking to the style of his forebears was particularly ridiculous.

The truth was far more harsh, filled as it was with foreclosures and debt collections and fire sales, and to cover it with such soft language was almost offensive, in Christina's mind.

'Yes,' She said, after a lengthy, rather frosty pause. 'Yes, I think that is something you definitely could say, father.'

'Well, it's a situation I've been moved to attempt to rectify,' Her father's gruff yet cultured accent didn't do anything to help the spectacular offense of the sentence itself. Rectifying the problem? Where was all this years ago, when all this could have been stopped well before it had become as big an issue as it now was? 'After all, it wouldn't do for me to allow such lean times to continue, without providing for my daughter into her adulthood. You are, of course, a de Souza. You should be living like one.'

The bitter irony of it all was nearly enough to make Christina grind her teeth, but she managed to maintain her composure as her father stood from his chair and began to pace from side to side, keeping his desk resolutely between himself and his daughter.

'Of course, there is also the future of the family to take into account, and I don't think that the de Souza name is an insignificant topic in the least, don't you agree?' He continued, barely ever allowing his eyes to drift over the woman he was talking to. They remained locked ahead of him as he paced, only turning Christina's way for a scant second at a time, 'We can hardly be expected to get back on the rise if we don't concern ourselves with such things, after all. Indeed, one might even consider it paramount, and-'

'Father, you're rambling again,' Christina cut in, as gently as she could bear. That was the thing about talking to Lord de Souza; his lack of self awareness provoked the most extreme frustration, but his noble bearing and personality made acting on that frustration near impossible, without coming across as the bad guy in the situation. As such, Christina added, 'Not that I don't enjoy your digressions generally.'

Lord de Souza levelled at her a long, flat stare. There was no malice in it, merely a sense of reshuffling, as if her father was running through his plan for this conversation in his head and altering it to fit her request to get to the point. When he spoke again, the words came out notably quieter than his usual speaking voice.

'Christina my girl, are you familiar with the Blake family?' He asked, and in an instant memories crystallized in Christina's mind, a momentary flush of satisfaction running through her.

So that was the name of the family she had robbed last night! Yes!

'I... am, yes. Vaguely,' Christina nodded, forcing herself not to grin as she ran through the events of last night's... activities in her mind's eye. 'Don't ask me to cite a family tree or anything, though.'

'No, no, of course not,' Lord de Souza said, waving a hand dismissively. 'The reason I ask is rather more immediate, I'm afraid. Regardless of how comprehensive your knowledge of them, the pertinent fact at hand is that the Blakes are the current owners of the Horizon group, a not inconsiderably large conglomerate of media and printing outlets.'

The tenor of the conversation hadn't changed, but Christina had begun to get an inkling of its true purpose. Nervousness began to fill her from the ground up, slowly robbing her of her composure. One leg began to twitch restlessly, as she kept her eyes firmly on her father.

'The news is, dear Christina, around my relevant social circles, is that they are interested in gaining access to a noble title for themselves, now that their youngest son has reached adulthood...'

Ah, yes. There it is. How unexpected.

'So much so that they were more than happy to discuss the matter with me, once I explained to the family's patriarch that the de Souza line has quite the long and storied history. Their young- and might I add, available- son seemed rather interested, as well.'

'Father-'

'He's visiting this afternoon, Christina,' Lord de Souza finally took the time to look his daughter full in the eye. 'Jon Blake. Net worth, something like twenty million. He wants to meet you, and I want him to meet you.'

'Father!'

'Your family requires your aid, Lady de Souza. Surely you won't abandon us now, will you?'

'I...' Christina paused, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. 'Just a meeting, right? You haven't arranged any other surprises for me down the line, have you?'

'A meeting with a potential suitor, my dear,' Lord de Souza nodded. 'Perfectly suitable for a woman of the de Souza line. Almost expected, one might say; you bear the same responsibility to choose an appropriate mate to continue our bloodline that I did before you, Christina.'

The word "responsibility" rankled, but Christina didn't show it. Her place in the de Souza family hadn't provided her any advantage worth anything much, but it had taken from her time and again, forcing her to fight to keep it cohesive time and again; the idea that she had any responsibility to it beyond that was deeply offensive. Her lineage just took and took, and now she supposed that it was going to take just a little more.

Still, she supposed it was just a little meeting. Nothing too taxing, no matter how obnoxious this Blake character turned out to be.

'Alright,' She said, shrugging helplessly. 'I'll do it. But just a meeting, father. No expectations, no designs or plans, just a little time together to see what he's like. I may be a de Souza Lady, but I'm also a de Souza Lady, and you know how insistent we can be.'

'That I do, my dear,' The slightest of curves crested Lord de Souza's stone-faced mouth, the closest she could ever get him to a true smile. 'Thank you for that.'

And so it went. Christina sat and listened as her father described the young man she had been arranged to meet, absorbing only the most basic of details, while letting the social detritus of his breeding and the nature of his inherited wealth slough off of her like water off a duck's back. She didn't need that; she was meeting a person, not a portfolio.

She left her father knowing that her gentleman caller's appearance was nigh, and that she had very little time to prepare herself, physically if not mentally, for her meeting with him. With that thought constantly at the back of her mind, Christina hurried back to her room, intent on at least giving herself one last check before she had to be social. Dashing back down the stairs, without even a care for the groaning, shaking wood, she double-timed it to her door, and stopped in her tracks once she had opened it.

'Oh, hello there. You must be Lady de Souza.'

'I am, at that,' Christina barely skipped a beat, responding coolly to the man she had discovered in her bedroom. 'And you are either Jon Blake, or in an awfully large amount of trouble.'

'The former, if you please,' The man said, and that being the case, Christina allowed herself a quick scan, to get an impression of him. He was young, perhaps a few years older than Christina herself, and tall with it. Christina herself was hardly a short woman, but Jon couldn't help but look down even on her, his cool blue eyes regarding her with... what was the best word? Arrogance was too negative, but confidence was too friendly; perhaps some combination of the two, some middle ground that Christina lacked the words to describe?

At any rate, it set her off balance almost immediately.

He stepped forward, absently pushing his silver-rimmed spectacles up the bridge of his nose. Hands pushed deep into the pockets of his jeans, he looked the picture of old money, argyle-patterned youth.

'Apologies for just coming in, but I do this rather a lot,' His accent was high English, silver tongued and caressing every syllable with a maximum of care. 'The suitor thing, I mean. My family keeps arranging these little meet and greets, I see so many little heiresses and socialites and do the same little social dances over and over... it gets boring, I'm sure you can see. So, I thought I'd just cut right to the chase, since it's all going to end up the same way, regardless.'

Christina found herself slightly behind the curve on this conversation, as Blake outpaced her immediately and spoke with such smooth, unerring momentum that it was impossible for her to catch up, but her mind did seize upon one question in particular and cling there, demanding with every moment that she ask it.

'And what way do you think this is going, if I may ask?' She said finally, bowing to her own curiosity on the issue. Blake continued to get closer, and as she spoke he gently took her hand and guided her into her own room, closing the door behind it and, with a note of finality, locking it. The click of the lock sliding out resounded around the empty silence of the manor.

'Oh, come now,' He scoffed. 'I know you're young, but you've been in the same social circles I have, I've seen you around. Surely you understand how these things go, behind the scenes, the reality unspoken by the fine, proper ladies and gentlemen we interact with. But being that we're here, doing what we're doing, I think we can abandon euphemisms, don't you?'

He took a step toward the centre of the room, then another, the sunlight dappling his chest through the window, shallow pools of shadow tracing through it. Christina remained resolutely by the door, a growing defensive instinct blooming in her chest.

'It's really an easy deal to understand, once you drop the indirect language and desperately genteel couching,' Blake continued, with a shrug. 'We're both just pieces in a game being played by our families, looking to make a connection. Your family has social cache but no money, mine has money in abundance but positively aches for social status like yours. So I get paraded around in front of a lot of mid-to-low ranked heiresses with noble titles, girls whose claim to fame is being the great-great-granddaughter of some prince's second cousin and not anything particularly compelling that they've done themselves, all for the purpose of paying them to get respect feigned at me for attaching myself like a leech to someone else's dubious merit. I'm sure you can imagine such a procession of doldrums gets tiresome. If you're a smart girl I'm sure you feel much the same, and are simply thrust into the same situation I am, rather than actually believing this nonsense.'