by P. S. Power
Especially if she ended up sleeping under a bridge or something, she mused, trying not to let the idea get her down. Her life before had been isolated from others, and hard at times. About once a year, sometimes more, someone, usually a group of teenage boys or drunk men, would think it great fun to attack her because of her looks. If she went out too often, people, again, almost always young men, but sometimes women, would yell things at her from passing cars.
But she'd always had a home.
Here she didn't even have any employable skills, not that she knew of at least. She'd have to scramble to find something.
Then it hit her... she could really do it.
Here, she looked normal... maybe even pretty, depending on the standards of beauty. She could clean houses or something, even if she still had to learn how basic equipment worked. There was always work for normal people if you weren't too picky about what you did and didn't ask for too much.
This wouldn't be like it had been. Not at all.
In this world she could actually go out in public without anyone running away in fear or turning in disgust.
Cool, she thought, smiling a bit.
After helping her with her hair, the older woman returned her to the room she'd been in, so she could collect her things, mainly her drawings and the lists she had written and rewritten over the last days, having nothing better to do most of the time.
She sat, trying to figure out what to do with herself when a firm knock came from the door, which stood open. Two men stood there. One, an older man, looking to be in his mid-fifties, was wearing a nice burgundy suit made with more of that silky looking material, in a striped pattern that reminded her a little bit of upholstery, the colors mainly golds and a rich, darker color, maybe brass? His shoes looked like real leather to her and he had a large, gold watch chain that led from a button on his left chest to a small pocket about eight inches below. Thin and dapper looking, the man smiled tentatively.
The other man she recognized from the day before. Robert Vernor.
She stood, not sure what the protocols were here, but not wanting to be caught sitting in case something bad was about to happen. She didn't think she could fight very well in this dress, maybe if she kept to low kicks and eye-gouging? The chest wound still pulled at her and she didn't know how hard she'd actually be able to hit if they attacked, not very, most likely, so she needed to target sensitive points if possible: eyes, throat, groin. She relaxed through force of will, ready to do what she could to protect herself if it became needed. At least there were only two of them.
Mr. Vernor spoke first, as if recognizing her discomfort he spoke softly, a gentle thing really.
“Miss... Farris. This is my solicitor, Mr. Benjamin Grimes. We felt it best that he come to this meeting to help you settle in here, if... if you're comfortable with this? We could call the nurse, or your friend the detective if you like...” His voice seemed hesitant, and he didn't walk much past the door, the solicitor hanging back as well, as if waiting to be invited.
Like vampires, she thought wickedly, the idea making her smile. She didn't have a cross or any holy water though, so she gave them both a small smile instead. Both gentlemen returned the smile, but still hesitated, unmoving.
After an awkward pause, she knew she'd just have to ask what the problem was, seeing both men expected her to do something, but not knowing what that was at all.
“I'm sorry,” she began, both men moving suddenly back to the hall, as if they'd done something wrong, or like she'd revoked their right to be in the house and they really were vampires. She'd seen enough vampire fiction that it almost made sense. Gwen had to fight a smile, but managed, thankfully.
“I know that I'm running up against some kind of social difference here, different cultural expectations, but I really don't know what I'm supposed to be doing by your rules.” She shook her head a little trying to show her bafflement. Better to look stupid than mean or rude.
Grimes reacted first, seeming to understand her problem immediately.
“I see. Well, here, in this country at least, it would be considered... incorrect for two men, or even one man, to enter a woman's chamber unattended. Unless they were close family, of course. A father or brother, husband or grandfather. It would be within your rights to call a female friend to ensure the good behavior of any strange men, or even ask the men to leave. We're waiting for you to do that, if you feel the need.” He said this with a matter-of-fact air that few people here had managed with her yet. Benjamin Grimes. She committed the name to memory. She may need his help later, like she had Doctor Professor Grainger earlier in the week.
She nodded, getting it now.
“For these purposes, would Mr. Vernor be able to act as a close family member, do you think? I mean, he seems like a good person, and I doubt he'd allow anything improper to happen, right? All things considered. I really don't want to bother anyone else if I can help it.” She hoped this wouldn't be too odd to them, or that the forthright solicitor would at least let her know if she'd messed up too badly.
Mr. Vernor walked into the room, and gestured to the other man to follow.
“Thank you, Miss Farris. Once again your good nature and kindness humbles me. I assure you that I will do my utmost to serve you as I would my own daughter in all things.” His voice took on a tone that made it sound like a pledge, not just a throw away comment. Next to him the solicitor nodded.
“Witnessed,” the other man said, his voice very even, almost soft.
Gwen noticed that everyone still stood, she gestured to the chairs and suggested that they sit, since she still wasn't a hundred percent, she let them know, feeling the two men might need a reason to sit in her presence or something. Was that even a thing here? She didn't know, of course. They all seemed a little like they were Victorian age people, but then again, they didn't, and little things were way different. Not that she'd have known what people from back then would have really expected either, other than what she'd seen on TV.
Mr. Vernor cleared his throat then.
“Well,” he began, seeming hesitant again for some reason, “as my daughter, Katherine enjoyed... luxuries, that most are not afforded. Money and freedom that, in hindsight, were a mistake, it seems. Nonetheless, I would continue those privileges, extending them to you, if you wish them...” He looked to the other man, who pulled a small pad from his left-inside jacket pocket.
After flipping open the leather cover, turning the pages to find what he needed, having to hold them open, since the clip at the top made them want to fall back into place, he started reading off a list.
“You'll have access to one thousand mets per month with the ability to draw on another four thousand at need. Katherine regularly withdrew nearly three thousand from my offices per month on top of her standard. You've use of a vast transportation network and a private lorrie and driver at need. There are a number of dwellings you can inhabit here in the city, or if you wish, there are several country homes that you may use as well. Mrs. Vernor has requested that you stay somewhat local if possible, so that she and her husband may render any aid you may need, day or night, and has even offered to open her own home to you, for that purpose.”
He cleared his throat.
“Given the delicate nature of this situation, we'd request that you not take this public... but all involved understand if you feel duty or honor bound to do so.” He stopped speaking when she raised her hand.
“No worries there. While I don't think I can really hide that I'm not from here, not given how little I know about this world, I also don't think that the Vernors are responsible for their adult daughter's actions. Past a certain point we all have to take responsibility for ourselves, right? I'm not even that certain she did this on purpose, maybe she just panicked or, I don't know how these things work, could someone else have done this to her? I don't think we should blame her for this when we don't even know for certain what her part in it may have been. So, I'm not going to cause problems, e
ven if you decide not to give me this money and stuff.” She smiled as Mr. Vernor suddenly looked relieved.
“I have to admit though, having a little help at first would be nice, at least until I can find some kind of work and a place to stay. I wasn't looking forward to living under a bridge until I could find a job cleaning or something. Don't get me wrong, I have skills, I just don't have any skills that mean anything here. Web-design, how I made my living before, means nothing in this world at all.”
Mr. Vernor stood then, standing straight.
“You most certainly will not have to live under a bridge!” He smiled though, looking at Grimes and nodding. “I told you she wouldn't be difficult at all, Ben. Miss Farris is far kinder and more genteel than Katherine ever was. I dislike speaking ill of my own, but my daughter, she wasn't... a good girl. She'd never worked a day in her life, not even at projects suited to a woman of her station. She drank and smoked tobacco, stayed out late at night with men that I can't at all refer to as gentlemen, and dabbled in dark things best left alone. You have my full support in whatever you wish to do, Miss Farris. My wife's as well. She asked me to personally let you know that.”
They talked for almost an hour, the solicitor giving her his number on a card, and a half dozen others as well. She held on to them, not wanting to set them down, fearing that losing them would mean letting go of whatever small chance these men offered her.
Grimes, the solicitor, finally asked her what she wanted to do next.
She thought for a moment. What did she want to do? Only one thing came to mind at all. Get the people that tried to kill her.
“I think I should find out what's up with the case, these murders, and make sure they're feeding Bethany and making her sleep.” She trailed off, since she literally had nothing to add after that.
Mr. Vernor explained to the solicitor who Bethany was.
“The doctor mentioned that Miss Farris has been taking pains to aid her, a Westmorland, even from her own sick bed. The staff seems to be quite impressed.” His voice held a quiet pride as well, she thought. She couldn't imagine why. It wasn't like suggesting to Bethany that she eat or sleep had required work on her part. What else did she even have to do here?
They guided her to a strange elevator, operated by a young man that looked to be about sixteen, he wore a black velvet vest and red cotton shirt, with a strange bell hop style hat, the kind with no brim that had a thin chin strap to hold it in place. He lowered them using a lever that controlled the descent silently, moving slowly. Maybe it was a hospital thing, the glacial pace it set, so as not to jar an injured person? Still, at this rate it would have been faster to take the stairs, injured or not.
Outside they took her to a car that was not what she'd expected at all. It looked like a black metal carriage, rather than an automobile, the driver sat outside on a high seat, steering using something like a rudder that attached to a small cart in the front which balanced on two wheels.
The inside had black leather seats and trim done in a light colored wood instead of metal. The windows looked like they could open, but instead of rolling down they were pulled open from the bottom and folded up, mainly sitting inside the compartment.
The trip didn't take long, even considering the vehicle didn't move very fast at all. The two men watched her, as if expecting her to freak out at any moment. Looking at Grimes, who seemed to understand her need for solid information, she asked why. Hopefully she hadn't gone all wide eyed and freaked looking. The scenery was interesting, but not scary. It just looked... nice. Cleaner than home did.
He touched his face, as if thinking.
“We're... both worried that the high speed of transport might seem off-putting to you, since we don't know what kind of things you have available in your other world.” His tone conveyed a desire to not insult her, even as he told her what she needed to know. Gwen smiled at him a little and nodded. The guy was really going out of his way to make her feel comfortable. They all were. It was incredibly kind of them, considering they didn't really have to be doing anything.
She nodded, understanding now that it had been explained. Gwen felt a little slow on the uptake, because it should have been obvious. As little as she knew about this strange place, her knowledge was practically encyclopedic compared to what they knew about hers.
“Well, I think we're alright speed wise. This is going what, twenty miles per hour? What's the top speed?” Her question was directed to the solicitor.
“Oh, I don't know, upward of thirty I believe,” he stated tentatively, Mr. Vernor agreeing with him.
Gwen tilted her head to the right a little and kept nodding just slightly, “Where I come from, the cars, different than this but I'd guess it's the comparable technology, are allowed to drive sixty-five miles per hour on the freeway, giant roads built with many lanes of traffic. Most of them can go about twice that fast, but it's not good for the engine. That's... kind of like the little wagon thing in the front of this, I think, except totally different. Even my little Geo Metro could do seventy-five or so, in a pinch. Driving was one of the few times I was treated just like anyone else. Most people have cars, the roads here look... smaller and the traffic a lot sparser here than where I come from. We've only passed what, six or seven vehicles? In a city this size we'd be fighting to move through hundreds of cars by now.” She kept her gaze on the passing buildings outside, seeing a lot more made of brick and stone than she'd have seen at home.
When she looked back, both Mr. Vernon and Grimes stared at her.
“So...” Mr. Vernon started. “You had your own lorrie? You had a driver?” He said this as if he knew the real answer but couldn't believe it.
“Oh, no, only really rich people have drivers, I have a license, so I can drive myself.” She smiled at him, trying to convey the idea of different worlds being... different.
The man shook his head, but didn't say anything.
Maybe he just couldn't imagine his own daughter ever driving a vehicle? She didn't sound all that capable from what little Gwen had heard so far. Not really able to do much of anything. Except apparently using magic to switch bodies, which Gwen had to admit did seem pretty impressive, even if she'd messed it up and accidentally gotten Gwen's body instead of whoever she'd meant to. If she'd intended to get anyone in particular at all.
They pulled up in front of a brick building that would have looked at home on a college campus, white columns out front, apparently made out of something like concrete, rather than solid stone, they had that worn gray look, the rounding that happened after a few decades of exposure to the elements for soft stone. The sign out front said only “District House Main” on it. Apparently everyone just knew that you went there to find the police? Or, she wondered, did only the detectives work there? She'd have to find out. If she ever needed help finding a lost cat or something, she didn't want to bother the wrong people.
Grinning a bit, she wondered if people kept pets here at all? She hadn't noticed any, but coming straight from a human sacrifice to a hospital to a police station, she wouldn't have, would she? Even in her own world that would have been highly unlikely. It seemed odd to her, but the human sacrifice seemed like the most likely place in all that she'd encountered for there to have been a cat or dog. Or maybe a goat. But these people apparently didn't want to waste time with animal sacrifices, not even as a warm up.
Pulling into a parking place, the men got out one side, so she figured out the handle, a simple push lever, like on a screen door, and hopped out the other, the non-street side, causing Grimes to chuckle as Mr. Vernor ran over to her door to give her a hand down.
“Normally, a lady waits for a gentleman to come open the door for her here. Since all the skirts can cause falls if you're not careful. It wouldn't do to have you spilling all over the walk, now would it?” The solicitor smiled when he said it.
Gwen blushed and mumbled an apology, which Mr. Vernor waved off, then put his hand out to her, which she took, trying to climb down from the r
aised carriage carefully so as to not put any force on his hand.
“Sorry. New ways and all that. I'll try to remember in the future.” Gwen focused, trying to keep this all in mind. Still, so far the rules for women didn't seem all that hard. Just act fragile and helpless if she wasn't sure what to do. When it doubt simper? That... would be hard. Actually she wasn't really sure how to do that at all, so hopefully it wouldn't be a requirement or anything.
They entered the building, which smelled a little of tobacco and desperation, then had to climb three flights of stairs to get to the detectives' offices. From the signs on the different floors, she guessed that this really was where the regular police hung out too and that holding was on the second floor. The wood work here seemed less polished, a lot less so, and there was no visible metal work at all. It looked surprisingly like a regular, if old, building inside, at least in the stairway. The wooden railings, banisters, had wear marks where people had run their hands along them for decades or longer taking the stain off, revealing bare wood underneath. As they entered the hallway she saw more wood and a hard tile floor that looked gray, like slate.