fateandfortune | Dark Portents [for Rogue]

Dark Portents [for Rogue]

The rain was pounding down, and Meri refused to go any faster than a walk, not that Steve blamed her in the slightest; even the paved roads were getting treacherous, water slicking the stone and mud in unexpected places making it even more dangerous for a misplaced hoof to slip in. He dismounted the horse and led her the last mile up the hill, where the innkeeper had told him he might be able to find shelter at the local manor. Unfortunately, due to the poor traveling conditions, the inn was already completely full, but he'd been told the lady of the manor often took in travelers for a fee, and he should have no problem securing a place to stay.

It seemed a little odd to Steve, how forthcoming the innkeeper had been about the manor taking in guests; wouldn't it be bad business to let others know about the affair? But then, there was no room at the inn anyway, so why not explain it - the innkeeper wouldn't be getting his business at the moment one way or the other.

Passing through the wrought iron gates to the property, Steve saw that, like many of the old-world estates he'd seen during the War, it had the name spelled out in Gothic lettering: Ravencroft. Despite what the South had fought for, Steve was glad to see, after so much devastation, that some of the old estates and towns had gotten by unscathed - architecturally, at least. He was sure there was no one, Union or Confederate, who had gotten by entirely unchanged by the battles. But at least there were still places where one could remember that it hadn't always been just blood and death.

Reaching the manor proper, Steve tied Meri's reins to a hitching post nearby, gave her nose a rub to let her know he'd return for her, one way or another, and headed to the door. It had an ornate silver knocker, and he firmly knocked several times, pulling the brim of his hat down a little more snugly over his head, trying to keep the rain out of his eyes a little more. It was no use; it was coming at a downpour, and he was already thoroughly soaked.

It didn't look like it would be letting up any time soon, either, which disheartened Steve; he'd really hoped to be able to make it to Houston within the week, but every second not spent riding meant a considerable delay.

There was a brilliant flash of lightning from behind him, with thunder almost simultaneously, and Meri startled, rearing up and whinnying, making Steve turn to ensure she didn't hurt herself.

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Steve nodded quickly, giving a soft response of, "Of course," before moving over to the desk and carefully gathering up the papers, ranging from mildly damp to sodden. He didn't see any smudges to the ink, for which he was thankful for Marie's sake.

He followed Marie into the sitting room, carefully laying the papers out along the hearth, pressing them flat, as close to the grate as he dared without getting close enough that a stray ember might pop and alight on them. They were too wet to catch fire, but they might smolder a bit if it happened, and damage some of the writing.

She did much the same, carefully spreading out the letters on every surface she could find that was within reach of the warmth of the fire. Some of the ink was beginning to blur, but it looked like they wouldn't be too badly damaged in the end. She knew every word by heart, but she couldn't bear to lose them.

"Thank you," she murmured finally, straightening up and wiping her damp hands on her damp skirt. It was, of course, completely ineffective and more of a nervous gesture than anything else. "Well, now that you've been completely soaked through again, why don't I show you to a room and find that change of clothing?"

Steve glanced down at his undershirt - now practically transparent and plastered to his chest, and his sodden pants. He quirked a smile at her. "That would be much appreciated, thank you so much." He went over and gathered his pack, which felt about fifteen pounds heavier after being thoroughly drenched all this time. Everything inside must be wet as well; he'd have to lay it all out and let things dry overnight, and hopefully by morning he wouldn't have to borrow more clothes from Marie.

Marie nodded and gave her guest a smile, waiting for him to retrieve his pack before leading the way back out to the foyer. It was quite dark in the house now, thanks to the storm outside and the shuttered windows, so she paused to light a few of the candles on the waiting candelabra on a side table before continuing up the grand staircase to the second floor. Many of the doors in the hall were closed. It was seemingly random which one she chose to open, but really it was room she'd been working to clean just that morning.

A sheet was draped over the bed and small chest of drawers, and she set the candelabra down on a side table before quickly removing the sheets to reveal dark wood and a bare mattress. "I'll fetch some linens as well," she assured him, "and wood for a fire." The room wasn't lavishly decorated, but it did at least have a fireplace, which spoke to the wealth that had been poured into the building's design. He would certainly need the extra warmth that evening, with the chilled evenings rolling in with the storm.

Steve couldn't help but look around the house with wide-eyed amazement as he followed behind his hostess. Of course, looking at the estate from the outside had told him it was for a wealthy family, but he'd never actually been inside a house like this. He'd been lucky to live in one of the immigrant slums growing up, instead of out on the street, but he'd certainly never imagined stepping into a place such as this.

Entering the room, Steve took a quick measure of the place, still in awe. But after a long day's ride, and having to weather the storm, he was beginning to feel the wear on his body. He nodded to Marie. "I appreciate it. I'm beginning to feel as though I could sleep on the floor with no trouble. But a tidy bed and dry clothes are well worth a little wait."

Marie gave him a smile and a nod, quickly lighting the small oil lamp on the bedside table so she could take the candelabra with her. "I'll return shortly," she informed him before leaving the room, moving quickly down the hall to the cupboard where the clean linens and spare pillows were kept. It was near her own room since she was the only full-time resident of the estate, and she slipped inside to retrieve a stack of Remy's clothing, everything Steve might need for that night and the next day, all of it clean and in good condition.

It was easiest to pick up her own pale of firewood to carry back down the hall, and it was quite a balancing act with the pile of fabric in her arms. Returning to her guest, she breezed into the room with purpose, setting the clothing and linens down on the edge of the bed so she could first see to the fire. It wouldn't do for him to catch a chill.

"This should see you through for the time being," she told him as she knelt beside the fireplace and moved the grating aside.

While she was gone, Steve began the rather onerous task of pulling out his wet belongings from the napsack. As he'd suspected, everything but what was in the very middle had been drenched. One pair of pants seemed to be only somewhat damp, so he laid those over a chair by the bed for morning. His correspondence with Dr. Erskine, however, had been stored along the outside of the pack near the top, so that he could easily reach it should he need a reminder of dates and places.

"Dammit," he swore under his breath, holding the paper gingerly, trying not to make the ink run any more than it had already. He could still read it where it had soaked into the paper, but it was faint. He'd have to write it out again before it became illegible.

Glancing over as Marie reappeared with his provisions, he bit his lip for a moment. "I can do that," he told her. "Actually... might I borrow something to write with?" He moved the paper minutely, unable to keep from staring as a drop of inky water fell from the corner. "It seems some of my own correspondence has been damaged, and I need some of this information for my travels. I'm... so sorry for the inconvenience."

Marie took a glance at the condition of the paper before quickly shaking her head. "It's no inconvenience at all," she assured him, moving back to the pile of linens and pulling out a thick drying cloth and laying it on the chest of drawers. "Here, set it atop this and keep it level so it doesn't drip and smear further. I have some things in my room down the hall, I'll be just a moment."

She didn't wait to see if he followed her instructions, gathering her skirt in one hand so she could move faster down the dark hall, following memory alone since she'd left the candles behind. It was easy to locate the ink, pen, and paper, all of them settled in the small desk she had put in the corner of the room. Usually, she would write anything needed downstairs in the library, but every so often she preferred to stay upstairs. She was grateful for that tendency now.

Barely two minutes had passed before she returned to her guest, slightly out of breath but with supplies in hand. "Here you are."

With relief, Steve did as instructed, placing the paper gingerly on the drying cloth. He hovered for a moment, debating if he should try to blot some of the water off, but quickly decided against it, not wanting to smear it any further.

Moving over to the linens she'd brought, he'd just started to shake them out when Marie returned. "Oh, thank you so much. I do apologize, again." Shoulders slumping a little, he gave her a small smile. "Tonight has not gone well for us, has it?"

Returning the smile with one of her own, she shrugged slightly. "It could have been much worse." He might not have made it there at all, and instead been stuck out in the storm.

She set the supplies down beside the letter he needed to copy before reaching for the linens. "You see to that, and I'll prepare the bed for you. No arguing."

Steve opened his mouth - then sucked in a breath and shut it. It was Marie's - well, everything, her house, her linens and bed, even if she was allowing him to use them - if she wanted to do the work, he knew better than to argue when a lady said not to. Especially in that fashion.

Kneeling by the chest, Steve quickly copied down the dates and times he needed, before they became completely illegible, before starting to copy as much of the actual letters as he could. There were several spots he had to guess at, but he was fairly confident he was getting the gist of them, if nothing else, and wasn't missing any vital information.

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Dark Portents [for Rogue]

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