11It was over the top. Excessive. Gaudy even. And yet, the preparations Madame Colt had made for the dinner party were strangely... impressive.
The finest china (the gold trimmed set passed down from Mémère Fontaine) was placed on the satin table cloth immaculately and the crystal wine glasses sparkled under the light of the dining room chandelier. Soft melodies and harmonies floated about the room from a string quartet in the furthermost corner. The table appeared to have been set for an odd twenty or some people and Ettie couldn't help but feel as though this was supposed to be a royal feast as opposed to a mere dinner party.
That's Mum for you, Ettie thought to herself.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the guests trickled in and the dining room was full of chatter. The violin music could just barely be heard over the conversation. Soon, Ettie's sister, Sylvie, and her husband Leonard were seated on her left and she found herself in the midst of a heated debate.
"It's all a trick. That's all, just a simple parlor trick," Leonard insisted. It appeared that the methods of the "Party Guest from Hell", as Ettie had taken to call him in her head, were being questioned.
"So you're saying that Ettie's kidnapping, and his tracking her down, has all been a trick?" Sylvie demanded, playing the guilt card. Ettie rolled her eyes, but nonetheless followed the argument eagerly. It wasn't often that she witnessed the "Match Made in Heaven" argue, and needless to say, she was enjoying it.
"No, no! I'm not saying that. I'm talking about the thing he does when he looks at your briefcase and tells you your grandmum's life story. I mean honestly, how can you correctly assume so much from such little things, like the scratches on your pocket watch? It's absurd!"
"Actually, you'll find that the smallest details often prove to be the most revealing."
Ettie jumped out of her seat, startled to hear the rumbling voice so near, and shrieked, "Jesus!"
Across from her, one of her mother's unfamiliar guests scowled, a disapproving frown clouding the plump, woman's face. Ettie shrank under the gaze of the older woman and trained her wide eyes on her unexpected neighbor.
To her right sat a decidedly rugged looking man, a layer of gruff stubble shadowing his jaw and what appeared to be a fading bruise ghosting his cheekbone. A full head of unruly, black curls seemed to be just barely tamed, combed back in a seemingly half hearted effort. And yet, a pair of warm, wise brown eyes offered a stark contrast to his distinctly listless features. And she was intrigued.
"No, it's Holmes actually," The man offered smartly, a smug smirk playing at his lips, "and don't worry, your grandmother is quite well," he directed to Leonard.
Henriette frowned. No...
"Holmes? Sherlock Holmes?" Sylvie piped up from Ettie's other side. Her sister leaned forwards in her chair, her blond waves serving as a curtain separating the three of them from everyone else along their side of the table. Ettie sank back into her seat, observing the exchange with faint interest. Holmes inclined his head in affirmation and gave Ettie's sister a considering look.
"Sylvie Durmack," Her sister said in her "pleasant voice", a tone reserved for the highest standing members of society and college professors. Sherlock Holmes came close to neither. Sylvie reached across Ettie's lap and held her hand out, expecting the detective to take it politely. When he refused to do so, casting an aghast look at Sylvie's pale, spider-like hands, she jerkily retracted her arm. On the other side of her, Leonard was glaring. There was a thick air of awkwardness, and Ettie found herself trapped in the midst of it.
And then she came back to her right mind.
"Excuse me, Mr Holmes, but I was saving that seat," Ettie announced, her clear voice breaking through the tension. His brown eyes crinkled as he smirked once again and reached into his jacket. As he drew his hand back out, Ettie's eyes caught sight of the ivory envelope clutched in his hand.
"Yes, saving it for your fiancé, I presume?" Ettie nodded in approval before he continued. "And since he is unable to attend," Holmes gestured to the white envelope now placed beside Ettie's fork, "I saw fit to take his place." He finished with a smile, its radiance practically lighting up the whole room.
Ettie starred in confoundment. "How did you acquire this, exactly?" She asked, plucking the envelope off of the table and flipping it over in her hands. In scarlet ink, her name was scrawled along the front. The contrasting red against ivory reminded her somehow of blood against snow. Oh the casual comparisons of an unsound mind...
"I stole it from a stable boy in the kitchens."
Ettie's head whipped to the side and she raised her eyebrows in bewilderment. She couldn't tell if he was kidding. As she contemplated the likelihood of the statement, she scrunched her eyebrows. He arched one of his. It was all very frustrating.
"You stole it...from a stable boy?" Ettie parroted, shifting in her seat so that her knee was almost touching his.
"I believe that is what I said." adjusted his shirt sleeve and Ettie watched as his fingers rebuttoned the cuff. The pads of his fingers looked calloused. Musician's fingers?
Ettie lowered her voice, "And why, exactly, would you steal a letter from the stable boy?"
A mischievous grin crossed lips, and Ettie heard the flat, scrape as he brought his chair closer to hers. Leaning even closer to her, whispered, "You have thieves in your dining room," He nodded over to the servant girl who'd served Ettie's tea earlier in the day, and watched as she patted a just barely noticeable bulge in her apron, "Liars in your kitchen," A hooked thumb pointed back at the kitchen door behind them, just swinging shut. Ettie remembered him mentioning that he'd already been in the kitchen. "And a drunk in your stables." That would be the stable boy. "Now, why on Earth, would oneself see it fit to make sure that a lady received her message, when her staff is of such stellar service?"
Ettie floundered for some kind of witty response, but to no avail, so instead asked another question, "You said that my fiancé would be unable to attend." She plucked a knife off of the table and slid it into the letter, breaking the seal.
"I did."
Following the crisp rip of the envelope giving way, Ettie turned the paper over in her hand and shook out what appeared to be a telegram. Her eyes scanned over it quickly, and heavy disappointment weighed in her stomach like a rock. was right. Jack couldn't come. Ettie reread the text once more through, soaking up the details like a sponge. An excuse illustrating an unexpected business trip to Cardiff and a promise to attend the upcoming, and in Ettie's case dreaded, annual Christmas ball Madam Colt hosted every year for as long as she could remember.
"Let me guess," quipped, holding up a hand to halt Ettie as she opened her mouth. "Business trip in...Bristol?"
"Cardiff actually," She snapped in reply, tucking the telegram back into its envelope, and sliding it under her plate. Crossing her arms over her chest, Ettie glared down at her plate, not caring in the slightest that she probably looked like a sulking child.
"That's it?"
Ettie looked up from her plate with a curious, "Hmm?"
blinked, putting as much attitude as you could into an involuntary bodily function. "No questions? No defense? No physical assault?" He questioned, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.
Ettie uncrossed her arms, placing her hands in her lap instead, and turned back to the man. Cocking her head to the side, she plastered on a polite smile and in her most sickly sweet voice replied, "Is that a request?"
"I suppose I could do without," he offered cheekily, and then proceeded to wave down a server.
Ettie rolled her eyes before setting her sights on her mother at the far end of the table. Madam Colt had just taken her seat, and it appeared that every other seat, excluding the empty place intended for Jack, was filled. After exchanging a few more polite smiles and compliments by the looks of it, Madam Colt arose from her chair with a silver spoon and wine glass. The gentle, yet commanding tings of silver against crystal resonated through grand room, followed by an eery wake of dead silence.
"Welcome, welcome, friends. We are ever so grateful for your presence on this night," announced the familiar nasally voice. Ettie drew a hand through her curls and prepared herself for the oncoming, and inevitably embarrassing, speech.
"Two months today, our daughter was taken from us. Two months today, our hearts broke,"
Ettie felt the weight of the room's gaze on her, and ducked her head, hiding her grimace, all the while praying her mother would keep it short and sweet. She could feel their piercing gazes on her skin, and absentmindedly rubbed her arm to rid herself of unwelcome goosebumps.
"Two months today, we were lost," Madame Colt continued, her French tinged voice, strong and attention commanding, "and we still would be, if it weren't for Mr Holmes."
Ettie watched from behind a veil of her dark curls as nodded in acknowledgement and offered the room a small smile, but Ettie couldn't see any heart in it. Unseen by anyone else, she rolled her eyes and fidgeted with a silver spoon, twirling it in her fingers distractedly.
Please be done. Please be done. Please be done.
"And so, I would like to make a toast," came the saving words from Madame Colt. Henriette released a sigh of relief.
"To the safe return of our beautiful daughter," Henriette looked up, taking that as her cue, "and the daring rescue by Mr Holmes !"
Henriette wasn't sure if she would call Mr Holmes' latest endeavor "daring", in fact the whole rescue part of the experience was rather mundane, but all the same she raised her glass in sync with the rest of the dining room. Ettie loved champagne, but at that moment she could have been drinking vinegar for all she cared. All she wanted was to be back in her chambers, plucking at her guitar or flipping through her mystery novels. But that would have to wait, because not a moment after the toast, she heard them.
The shattering of crystal. The gasps of shock. And then, the screams started.