The Black Lotus (Night Flower)

by Claire Warner

  “She….” Montjoy stammered, looking at the deadly gleam in Marcus’ eyes and realised his error. A panicked look about the room revealed that he had no allies, several of Melissa’s dance partners of earlier were staring at him with something akin to hatred and many of the others were whispering to each other.

  “For this insult to her honour I will meet you on the morrow,” He let go of Montjoy’s wrist and stared at him full in the face. “Unless you are too craven to attend,”

  Montjoy’s eyes glittered and he nodded slowly, casting a vicious glance in Melissa’s direction, he strode from the ball.

  “Did Father not warn you of him?” Marcus watched Montjoy leave before he turned to face his younger sister. “The man’s a blight on polite society, he’s a villain of the highest order and you put yourself in his path. What the deuce were you thinking?”

  “I only danced with him to be polite,” Melissa protested at the tone in her brother’s voice. She had not anticipated this turn of events and she still felt shaken. The thought that Montjoy would try to manoeuvre her forcibly from the events had not occurred to her and her fingers still stung from slapping his cheek. Her gaze flickered over the crowd, it was also clear that she would be the talk of the town for this little episode,

  “Well you shouldn’t have.” Marcus’ voice dragged her back from her thoughts and he looked down at her with a disapproving expression on his face. “You don’t have to dance with all that crave your company. I fancy my dear sister that you have a good deal to learn about society. Maybe you should talk to your friend; she knows how to deal with those of that sort.”

  “Perhaps if she’d spent more than ten minutes with me I would have learnt something.” Melissa snapped back at him, angry at herself for not realising that she could have turned the man down and angry at Marcus for pointing it out. She had only been polite, why was Marcus turning this into her fault. Angry tears pricked at her eyes and she blinked furiously, determined not to cry.

  “And stop acting as though it were my fault, I didn’t ask you to play my saviour.”

  “Nevertheless sister dearest, I am honour bound to defend your good name. He would have struck you, should I have let him?”

  “No of course not but…”

  “Then don’t be so stupid. I will meet Montjoy on the morn and he will learn manners on the end of my blade,”

  That’s if he doesn’t strike you first

  “Now I think we’ve caused enough upset, I think it’s time to go,” He captured her hand and they walked towards the doors.

  “Do we have to tell Papa?” Melissa asked as they reached the hallway and moved through the crowd.

  “Well we can hardly keep it secret,” Marcus nodded at a small group of women gossiping in the corner, as the pair drew near, the talk subsided and several pairs of eyes fixed on their passage. “You’re the talk of the night? I think mama will want to keep you home for several days until the scandal has died down.”

  “Not what I wanted to be noted for..” Melissa sniffed as they reached the study and her father. “And where is Sarah?” She looked about her, wondering why her friend had chosen this moment to abandon her.

  “I don’t know, but I’m not looking for her.” Marcus walked into study and crossed the crowded room, heading for their father.

  Melissa glanced around the hall, feeling the eyes on her as she waited. It was uncomfortable and she knew that she was the subject on everyone’s lips. Trying to ignore the stares, she gazed into the study and watched Marcus reach her father’s side.

  “Oh I can’t believe you did that,” She turned at the words and looked at Sarah with a grateful smile. “I mean he did deserve it, but he would have struck you.”

  “I wasn’t going to let him take me out there,” Melissa retorted, remembering the anger that coursed through her as she realised what he meant to do. “Did you want me to meekly go with him?”

  “Of course not, but why didn’t you just excuse yourself?”

  “I tried but he was pinching my arm,” She held up her wrist and showed the reddened marks made by his fingers. “Perhaps I should have called for help from another, but I barely know some of these men and why should I have to?” A great sense of injustice flowed within her. “I slapped him for heaven’s sake and now Marcus is going to duel him tomorrow.”

  “Yes I wouldn’t worry about that.” Sarah replied. “Montjoy is a poor duellist. Your brother will mark him and then that odious individual will leave court for several years! I would worry more about your own future,” Her friend’s face took on a more concerned cast. “That little burst of anger will cost you dear, I saw several potential suitors for you turn their eyes away in disgust.”

  “Sarah,” Melissa protested; worry flooding through her in an instant.

  “Well it’s true, you just demonstrated conduct unbecoming for a lady and as it is your first day on the scene it hasn’t helped. You have to be demure.”

  “I know that.” Melissa’s voice was wrung with agony as she realised the enormity of what she had done.

  “You should have had the vapours or fainted.” Sarah persisted, seemingly determined to lay salt on the wound.

  “I know.” In a paroxysm of misery Melissa bent her head back into the lace handkerchief, wiping the hot salty tears into the white fabric.

  “Melissa,” Her father’s voice drew her attention and she looked up Edward De Vire was crossing the room, his face clouded with anger.

  “Well I guess he knows,” She stepped forward and hugged Sarah farewell, feeling her anxiety rise even further. “Hopefully I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Of course.” Sarah replied, stepping away as Melissa’s father walked through the door.

  “We’re going home.” Edward announced in a voice like thunder as he reached them threshold. In a stony silence, her father led her from the Palace and out into the cool night air. Melissa did not attempt conversation; her father’s anger was a palpable force that she feared to test. As she waited for Marcus and her mother to leave the building and as a distraction from her father’s raw fury, Melissa turned her head to stare back at the Palace. A lone figure detached itself from the exit and walked out, illuminated by one of the carriage lamps. The light bounced off powdered hair and a bejewelled coat drawing her attention. Justin stood at the entrance. His eyes met hers and he took a hesitant step forward. His face was softer, less mocking than it had been within the ball and he seemed all the more attractive for it. At that moment, her mother and brother left the palace and walked towards them. Her mother was thin lipped and angry.

  “Into the carriage,” Her father’s voice gruffly sounded as the steps were lowered before her. Melissa ducked her head and climbed within the coach, before turning and staring back out of the curtained window. Justin still stood there, face in shadow beneath the glare of the light. As her mother and Marcus stepped through the doors, he was joined by Mary Westbury and she drew him away towards the Palace. As they pulled away she took one last look at his dark form before he faded from sight. Behind her Justin watched her leave, an enigmatic gleam deep within his eyes as the carriage disappeared from view.

  They rode home in silence, Melissa glancing at her father surreptiously as the carriage rumbled over the cobbled streets. Marcus attempted idle banter but his voice sounded thin and lost in the uncomfortable silence caused by their Fathers’ displeasure. After a long tense ride, the carriage clattered to a stop before the large town house they rented for the season. As the servants rushed to lower the steps, Melissa risked a glance at her father. She was not cheered by the stony look she saw on his face.

  “In the parlour now,” Melissa’s father snapped at her as they moved through the house doors and into the candlelit hallway. Swallowing nervously Melissa moved into the parlour. The fire had been lit in the grate and her father stood before the blaze, his face forbidding in the shadows cast by the orange flames.

  “What do you have to say for yourself about that disgusting disp
lay of poor breeding?” Edward DeVire wasted no time and his voice lashed across the room, pitiless and cold.

  “He was rude to me Father…” Melissa stammered out but was stopped by Edward’s upraised hand.

  “I have never felt so ashamed of you. You are a member of the quality and you behaved with all the social grace of a common housemaid. How dare you act like a vicious wildcat on heat? Whatever his offences, you had no reason to strike him and even less reason to be in his company.”

  Melissa tried once again to speak, yet his voice drowned her out with its fury.

  “I am ashamed to have brought you out. You have humiliated your family and yourself. Clearly you are not ready for the season. After Marcus’ duel tomorrow we are returning to the country and you will figure out your priorities. Now get out of my sight.”

  Repressing the tears of anger that threatened to spill down her cheeks, Melissa ran out of the room, past the parlour maid and up the wide stairs, her taffeta gown rustled like fallen leaves as she raced to her room. Slamming the door she behind her, she reached her dressing table and stared at her angry reflection. Tears of white hot fury had spilled down her cheeks, making runs in the perfect white lead mask. Beneath her pale and fuming face, the emeralds in the necklace winked at her in the light.

  “How dare he?” She seized hold of the chain and pulled the glimmering necklace from her neck, scoring a thin red mark across her skin as she did so. With a flick of her wrist she threw it across the room. It hit the wall with a heavy thunk and slid to the floor behind one of the armoires. She then flung herself across the bed and sobbed bitterly into the thick damask pillows.

  “Melissa?” Her brother had followed her into the room. She felt the bed sink as he settled his weight onto it. “Don’t worry about Father. He will forgive you.”

  “I should not need forgiveness,” Her voice, muffled by the pillow, was hard and full of anguish. “Why is it my fault for him trying to force me from the room? He bruised my wrists as he tried to drag me out of there. Why am I being punished for defending myself?” Marcus opened his mouth to speak, but Melissa hadn’t finished. “I wish I had been born a man, then I could duel the bastard myself.”

  Marcus sighed once and rested his strong fingers on her shoulder. “I understand how you feel…”

  “No you don’t.” She pulled herself out of the pillow and stared at him, her face flushed and smeared with powder and tears. “You have freedom that I can only dream about.” She pulled a handkerchief from a pocket and blew her nose. “If you wish to go to the theatre you can go. If I wish to go to the theatre, I have to wait for a chaperone.” Marcus nodded and once again tried to interrupt, but Melissa’s voice overrode him. “If you wish to drive through St. James you can, I am not even allowed on the street accompanied or not.” Pulling the handkerchief from her face, she turned bright angry eyes on her brother. “But I can be blamed for a man’s behaviour. I can be assaulted and have it be my fault. You don’t walk in my shoes brother, so how can you understand?” She turned away from him and flung herself back onto the pillow. “Get out of here Marcus, I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

  Marcus looked at her for several long moments as his mouth worked soundlessly. What could he say? He hesitated for a moment and gently pressed her shoulder, feeling the sobs ripple through her skin.

  “Get some sleep Melly.” She did not answer yet he hadn’t expected one. Getting to his feet, he crossed the room and picked up the necklace. The clasp was broken and useless and he placed it in his pocket. “I’ll have this fixed for you.” He murmured as he headed for the door. “I know I can’t understand fully, but I am here for you.” And with that, he walked through the door and closed it quietly behind him.

  Chapter 4

  It was the early hours and a lone rider rode towards Maybury Hall. The old edifice had become occupied only recently and the building was not fully habitable. Parts of the structure still lay in ruins and blackened stone told of some distant fire. Justin Lestrade rode his horse into the stables and roused the groom, a small close mouthed individual, who took the reins without comment. Leaving the horse in the capable hands of his servant, Justin strode into the courtyard and stared up at the house. A mainly medieval structure, the manor house loomed over the solitary figure. Its battlements stood stark and ruined against the moonlit night. Lights shone in few of the windows, indicating sparse occupation and the door did not open at his approach. Servants were few and far between within the walls of this house, in fact there was only one in residence. Striding through the newly restored hallway, Justin removed his riding cape and gloves and tossed them on the stairs. Poking his head into the parlour, he glanced at the empty armchair beside the fire with a troubled gaze. It was the fifth night in a row that he had come home to this scenario. Turning back into the hall, he strode back out into the night. In the stables, he found Coll rubbing down the bay mare he had rode in on.

  “Is my brother about?” He asked as Coll looked up at him.

  “He went out Master Lestrade.” Coll’s voice was deep and gentle, the kind of voice that people stopped to listen to, the kind of voice that people trusted.

  “When?”

  “Not half hour after you went. I saddled Thunder for him.”

  Justin considered this. His brother showed little interest in courtly amusements, yet he did not know where he went. His brow furrowed in thought as he ran through possibilities in his mind. Alistair didn’t have a fancy as far as he knew and he had given gaming houses up recently.

  “Alright Coll, send him to me when he returns. Tell him I’ll be in the parlour.”

  “Very good sir.”

  Justin left the stables and returned to the house. The acquisition of this ruin troubled the cream of London, yet to him it was home, even more so than the fine modern accommodation he had secured in the capital. Most people would not understand how much this near ruin meant to him. None were allowed to visit him here; this was his hideaway, the small piece of his past that would always be home, no matter how long he stayed away. He crossed the hall, the noise of his steps echoing to the gallery above. This part of the house was the newest; the wooden balustrade above was all that remained of the large minstrel’s gallery and the staircase now led to the only liveable apartments in the old place. Much of the house had been destroyed by fire a century or so before and restoration was slow work.

  He sat in the chair and stared at the flames dancing in the fireplace and turned his mind back to the evening and the distractions he threw himself into. There was precious little entertainment to be had at court and it was a diversion he sorely needed. His situation demanded it, if he didn’t have his diversions, he would surely go mad.

  He stretched out his foot to the flames and picked a stray thread from his sleeve as his thoughts roamed over the ball’s occupants. His current flame was Mary Westbury, an overly clingy female who was quite ready to run off with him to Gretna. He was giving serious thought to ending the relationship, but who would he take in her stead? Elinor Marling was available and more than once he had seen her eyes seek out his form on the dance floor. Yet Elinor would bore him, he could see that without even attempting to woo her, the unfortunate girl held no more interest than a pail of pump water. Sarah Davenport was a good choice, she had cast her spell on most of the young man around her, yet she knew a good deal and was far too sensible, she also giggled incessantly. It was no fun seducing one who would annoy him beyond all reason. His fingers ran over the smooth surface of the bottle as he discarded female after female, he was beginning to wonder if his boredom was more pervasive than he initially thought.

  Melissa

  The girl’s name burst into his thoughts and his mouth opened in shock, he had almost forgotten her, strange as it seemed. Her first night in society had proven to be the most interesting night he’d had there in years. His mind’s eye ran over his images of her, a vision in stunning green, a goddess in taffeta. Her eyes had trapped him once and he recalled the
intelligence and strength he had seen within them. She was a force to consider, she had caused a huge stir, her beauty had dazzled the room, yet he could feel that there was more to her than that. It was this feeling that had driven him to seek her out, yet he had not charmed her. He recalled his words with a shudder of regret, wondering what had driven him to answer so poorly. Melissa De Vire had something to her, beyond that of a usual social butterfly; he had seen something in her eyes something that intrigued him and yet he had pushed her away. He ignored the thought that he had found someone who could understand him and turned to her altercation with the odious Montjoy. The rake deserved more than the slap she had dealt him and he hoped that her older brother would deliver the chastisement needed. The girl had verve; he couldn’t imagine the other women reacting to Montjoy’s attentions with such spirit. He smiled at the image of Melissa’s fingers striking the man’s face and he regretted his flippant approach to her. He had damaged his chances, yet he was convinced that he could have her should he wish it. He hesitated at the thought. Did he really want to seduce her as all the others?