The Bandalore

by D K Girl

  Silas wiped a wayward droplet from his chin. Jane always spoke of the Order with such conviction, as though she truly believed them to be as she said. An organisation that dabbled with the supernatural. Charlatans and showman, surely?

  ‘But you said I was only to escort you,’ Silas said, with some alarm. ‘I’m not to tell fortunes, am I? I can do no such thing.’

  ‘Oh,’ Jane fluttered her lashes. ‘Perhaps you’d prefer to banish daemons then? It’s rather more dreary than it sounds though.’

  ‘Daemons? You jest with me most cruelly, Miss Handel.’ Silas fought to keep the tremble from his voice. ‘Do you not?’

  ‘You are wound far too tightly this evening, Mr Mercer.’ Jane made her way to the door in that effortless way she had, as though she skirted above the very ground itself. ‘We need wine, I believe. I shall fetch some while you go upstairs and cloth yourself.’ She glanced back at him. ‘Though it does seem a terrible shame to hide such assets.’

  Jane spun on her heels and left him with the blood rushing to his cheeks. Silas waited till he was certain she was no longer close by before he gathered the linen close about him and hurrying to his bedroom upstairs.

  He stood before the mirror clad in a crisp, fresh white shirt with onyx buttons and black trousers. The cut of each was perfect, despite never being fitted for such attire. The suit had been laid out on his bed when he returned from his daily post-lunch walk around the grounds, with no sign of the deliverer. Likely it was the same clandestine servant who tended to Silas’s food. A basket of breakfast items appeared on his doorstep each morning, bread still warm with the oven’s touch and hard boiled eggs nestled in straw that still bore feathery evidence of the fowl they had come from. Silas had never heard a footstep, and never seen the barest hint of anyone else upon the grounds, despite a few mornings waking early in the hope he might discover who his provider was.

  He picked up the blue necktie laid out for him, and frowned at it. Jane’s scent arrived before she did, and as was the way so often he did not hear her approach. He had neglected to close his bedroom door and now she stood in its frame, her full skirts filling the space, a crystal glass filled with rich red wine in hand. ‘My don’t you look rather dashing?’ She cocked her head to one side, the long length of her diamond earing touching her shoulder. ‘But you do look rather confused by that necktie, might I assist you?’

  Silas nodded, eyeing the glass of wine. ‘Please.’

  The evening had not begun on the mildest of notes and he rather fancied something to dull his nerves.

  ‘Of course.’ Jane rustled into the room. It was the full skirt to blame he was certain, but yet again she moved as though sliding across ice. Jane exchanged the wine for the necktie and her fingers moved deftly with the tuck and fold of material. ‘So I suppose we might assume you were not a noble gentleman in the life you lived?’

  ‘It would seem not.’ Silas had to crouch to accommodate her much shorter stature. ‘Which does not bode well for an evening spent in society.’

  ‘I promise you, you are going to do just fine. This will be painless I assure you. We are simply in attendance at the behest of the Marquess, in thanks for the work undertaken for his daughter the Lady Elizabeth to rid her trout pond of a bothersome supernatural.’

  The heat of the wine reached his stomach. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘You see she was quite convinced a water nymph was polluting the lake at her Salisbury estate, devouring all of her prized trout. She employed the Order to investigate the situation. Be a dear and lean down a little more for me.’

  Silas obliged and Jane resumed the wrangling of his tie.

  ‘And…was there?’ He took another generous gulp of the spicy wine.

  ‘What?’

  ‘A water nymph?’ Silas offered a half-smile, as though he were a part of the joke. For a nymph surely must be folly?

  ‘Oh no, no,’ Jane said. ‘It was a harmless, but rather ravenous, asrai. Pretty creature, very distantly related to the nymphs I believe, but far more amiable. And it was eating the Lady’s trout, that much was true, so the Order dealt with it.’ She patted at her handiwork, and stood back, hands on corseted hips. ‘There. Lovely don’t you think?’

  Silas blinked, caring very little about his tie. ‘And these creatures truly exist?’

  ‘They truly do. Among many others. Isn’t this wonderfully exciting? You are going to be introduced to a world of marvels I assure you. You’ll be astonished at what creatures you have always shared the world with. So very few humans ever have a clue, thanks to the Order’s work. But you are not quite human now, are you Silas.’ She traced a distracting finger down the length of his lapel.

  ‘Am I not?’His tongue was thick in his mouth.

  ‘Do you know many men who have survived the sweep of death’s scythe?’

  ‘I don’t…well, I don’t recall knowing many men at all. I do not know myself for the man I am.’ He drained the last of his wine, all at once awash with a terrible loneliness. ‘There is nothing to recall at all.’

  Except death.

  Jane swept in with the black velvet coat and top hat that completed his outfit. Her scent made him lightheaded and some of the melancholy that had gripped him loosened its hold.

  ‘Then we shall set about building new memories for you. Perhaps this evening we will find someone to warm your bed and smooth away that frown that comes far too easily to you. Come, Mr Mercer. Let us begin simply, and enjoy the dancing and champagne. I can fairly taste the oysters already.’

  Silas slipped his arms into the coat she held, raised near above her head to allow for his greater height. He lowered his head so she might press down the top hat to his crown, and then they were ready. He went gently down the stairs, taking care not to set his feet upon her gown.

  ‘Come along, Mr Mercer.’ Jane fairly danced out the front door and across the narrow patio into an early evening that still held some light and the barest trace of coolness on the air. He breathed in deeply. The tickle of the wine had lifted his spirits somewhat, and chased back his trepidations. This evening could serve him well, allowing him a distraction from the tumult of his experience in the tub.

  The gas lamp outside his cottage had not yet been lit. And the person responsible for doing so was as elusive as the deliverer of his meals and clothing. All Silas knew was that by the time night came, the light burned bright in its glass cages, flames upright and unwavering, a golden soldier standing to attention. They walked along the crushed stone pathway to the imposing archway which held a pair of wrought-iron gates. At their approach the gates opened, swinging back in utter silence to reveal an awaiting brougham. The lower half of the carriage was painted a pale blue while the rest was gleaming black. A solitary bay stamped its hooves against the cobbles, the tracers set tinkling.

  ‘Isaac, I do hope we haven’t kept you waiting too long,’ Jane declared gaily.

  Their carriage driver waited in his seat, and did not show sign he had heard her. He was swathed in dark fabric, a wide scarf around his neck hiding the lower part of his face, and his wide brimmed hat, black also, dipped over his brow, with the man’s own dark complexion, Silas felt as though he were gazing up at a shadow. He nodded his head in greeting, touching a finger to his own top-hat.

  ‘How do you do?’ he said, the bubbling heat of the wine loosening his tongue.

  Isaac settled deeper into the folds of his clothing, and did not reply.

  ‘Wonderful speaking with you as always, Isaac,’ Jane said brightly, managing to alight into the carriage without having to tug at the generous folds of her gown, or accept Silas’s waiting hand to balance her. ‘Never mind him, Silas. Isaac doesn’t like anybody, you are not being singled out for special treatment. Now, let us go. We shall be quite delightfully late. Not so late as to be in bad taste, but enough that our guests will be brimming with excitement for our arrival. Are you ready, Mr Mercer, to step into the glow of the Order of the Golden Dawn?’

  Silas
shifted in his seat, slipping a finger between his starched collar and his neck. ‘If I were to answer honestly, I would say I am not.’

  Jane laid her hand upon his, where Silas’s fingers dug into the leather of the seat. ‘Well I shall ask you again once the champagne and music has worked its magic and a fine woman hangs upon your arm.’ Jane’s laughter worked upon him like a balm. As light as a wind across a spring meadow.

  He returned her smile. ‘Very well then.’ For what she suggested did not seem to terrible at all, and was a far better proposition than a lonely night in his cottage with only his thoughts to lend him company.

  Jane tapped the roof of the carriage, and the restless bay jerked them forward, setting them on their way.

  Chapter 2

  The Marquess of Ailsa resided in a stately home in Chelsea with a view of the Thames that was much admired by other guests but succeeded only in increasing Silas’s discomfort. The ballroom was an enormous affair. He was quite certain that it could have accommodated his parlour a dozen times over. On a raised platform at the head of the room a quartet of musicians sat amongst potted palms, teasing beautiful music from their violins and cellos. Above, three embellished chandeliers dripped with sparkling crystal and shone with flames. The waft of wax mixed with the parfums of the lavishly clothed men and women who mingled around the edges of a polished dance floor and Silas’s head fairly spun. A surly, thin-haired footman escorted them through the throng, with Silas all too aware of the murmur their arrival garnered. He hunched his shoulders in a pathetic attempt to diminish himself, as much from prying eyes as from the noise and bustle. He’d not realised until this moment just how quiet Holly Village was. Silas’s heart thudded so hard he felt its pulse in the depths of his throat. He could not help but feel a freak in a travelling show, on display for all to see. The footman bowed in a sharp movement.

  ‘I hope the Order enjoys their invitation to his Lordship’s entertainments this evening,’ he said. Despite being well below Silas’s towering stature the man somehow managed to gaze upon him down the length of his nose. If Silas were not mistaken, there was a harshness to the man’s welcome, a note of derision evident upon his pronunciation of the word, Order. Jane gave no sign that she had noticed the slight, her pink-lipped smile firmly in place.

  ‘I have no doubt we will be wondrously entertained,’ she said.

  The moment the footman departed, a waiter pressed forward a silver tray brimming with champagne filled crystal glasses. Silas abandoned all pretence of decorum and selected one. He drew a pinch-faced look from the waiter whose dull grey eyes moved between Silas and Jane.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Silas offered Jane the glass he’d already touched his lips too. Her eyes alight with amusement, she shook her head, and selected her own glass from the tray. The waiter gave her a brief bow, and moved to attend to other guests.

  ‘Take a deep breath, Mr Mercer. You are doing well,’ Jane said behind the cover of her raised glass.

  She was far too kind. Silas hovered on the edge of panic. ‘There are so many eyes upon us.’

  ‘Of course. Have you taken a look at yourself, you are quite the impressive figure, Mr Mercer, even without the Order’s reputation upon you. Now, finish your drink. We are here to impress the dear Marquess’s guests, drink his liquors, and dance. Shall you dance with me?’

  Before he could refuse Jane stole his glass and set it down with her own empty one, pulling him onto the dance floor as the opening notes of a waltz filling the air. Jane took his hands, lifting them into position. Silas slid his hand against the curve of her back, the firmness of her corset evident, a fresh terror striking him.

  ‘I’m not sure I can dance.’

  ‘I disagree, Mr Mercer.’ Jane laughed, leaning into him. ‘Now do relax, we don’t want you to give that newly beating heart an attack, do we?’

  For a length of time far too long and arduous to be anything but unpleasant, Silas stumbled his way around the dance floor. Admittedly, he managed far better than he could have imagined. Just as he would despair of what placement his feet should take next, he found himself stepping happily in the correct direction, or whirling Jane around in a passable twirl, as though his limbs knew the music and movement while his brain did not. Pleased as he was, there was something undeniably odd about his movement, and he had not the faintest sense that he’d danced this way before. Never mind the fact that he generally tripped over his own toes several times a day. Here he was, as refined as the next gentleman. As the quartet launched into a vibrant new tune, Silas was struck by an idea. One that would have been ludicrous at any other time he was sure.

  ‘Jane, is this your doing?’ He glanced down at his feet which were hidden beneath the reaching folds of Jane’s gown. ‘I have not been so assured on my feet since I awoke.’

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’ Jane battered her lashes.

  All at once, Silas’s left foot tangled in her skirt’s multitude of cotton and satin layers and he uttered a sharp cry certain he was to bring them both crashing upon the floor.

  ‘Do stand up,’ Jane laughed, and righted him, as though he were no heavier than the fan that dangled from a lady’s wrist, and not a towering bulk of muscle and bone. Such strength should be impossible for a woman of her stature, were she all she seemed. ‘And yes Mr Mercer, I may be responsible for your aptitude for dance. Which is just as well as I dare say in your last life you were not one for such efforts.’

  He was saved from defending himself by a rough tap to his arm. A portly gentleman, smelling strongly of gin, and dressed in a suit of the deepest forest green.

  ‘Might I step in?’ He rather slurred his question, and if Silas were not so eager to depart the dance floor he might have harboured misgivings about leaving Jane in the man’s company. He was rather relieved when Jane gave a delighted cry of recognition.

  ‘My Lord Frederick.’ She dropped into a short curtsy. ‘How wonderful to see you again.’

  ‘And you, Miss Handal.’ The man’s moustache was an elaborate swirl of oiled black, an oil that Silas suspected had also been used upon the man’s eyebrows. ‘I suspect we have not crossed paths since the hunt last autumn. Lady Scarbrough still speaks of your prowess for cartomancy, though she refuses to indulge me with the questions she sought from your cards.’

  ‘And nor shall I, my lord.’ Jane dipped her shoulder, leaning ever so briefly into the man, in a rather unsubtle flirtation. ‘I should never desire to betray your wife’s confidences.’

  He laughed, a deep rumble of sound. ‘Fair play. I wonder though if I might take you into my confidence, and a dance or two as we discuss some business that the Order may see fit to attend to?’

  ‘Of course, of course.’ Her smile was flawless. ‘But I am being ever so rude. Might I introduce you to the newest member of the Order, your lordship, this is Mr Silas Mercer. Mr Mercer this is the Earl of Scarbrough, quite a regular utiliser of the Order’s services.’

  For a brief moment Silas imagined a wry grin twisted her lips, but it vanished before he could fully discern it.

  Silas bobbed his head. ‘Your lordship.’

  ‘Well, one could hardly miss you, Mr Mercer.’ The earl’s cheeks were bright with the vigour of dancing and drink. ‘Good god, I see now where my payments to the Order might go. Towards this giant of a man’s tailor and baker, no doubt.’ He laughed far louder and heartier than the jest warranted, drawing the glances of those who were not already observing the trio. If the polished wooden floor had split apart and swallowed him whole Silas would not have minded.

  ‘What are you then, man?’ The Earl swayed as he spoke, nudging against Jane who appeared not to notice. ‘What special talent do you own?’

  Silas’s lips opened but he could not find a word to release. This was his first conversation with someone beyond the walls of Holly Village, and he was at an utter loss.

  ‘Mr Mercer is our newest spiritualist, your lordship.’ Jane took up Silas’s cause. ‘And this is his first foray in
public as one of our members. So do be kind my lord, won’t you?’

  There, it was said. His identity made solid and real. A pity Silas had no clue what being a spiritualist might entail.

  Feigning shock with eyes widened far too wide, the Earl chortled. ‘Am I ever anything but kind, my dear?’

  ‘The fox upon the hunt may not think so.’

  A dark glint came to the Earl’s hazel flecked eyes. ‘But I do so love a good chase, Miss Handel.’

  His words crawled upon Silas’s skin, but Jane merely lifted her fan to cover her mouth, her eyes never leaving him. Silas frowned, when had Jane obtained a fan?

  ‘I’ve seen evidence of your love for the hunt quite clearly, my lord,’ Jane said. ‘Now, the dance begins. Am I to be partnered, or left floundering?’

  ‘Of course, of course.’ The Earl offered his plump arm. ‘It has been a pleasure, Mr Mercer.’ His eyes ran the full length of Silas’s body, perhaps still wondering at the lengths of fabric a tailor might require. Whatever the reason, it caused Silas great discomfort. ‘Perhaps I’ll have need of a spiritualist soon, and we shall meet again.’

  Mouth parchment dry, Silas couldn’t work a word free before the Earl of Scarbrough whisked Jane deep into the dance floor.