"Thank you for coming."
The words, muttered automatically and repeatedly over the past hour, were starting to make my head throb.
It had become a sequence: nod, hold out your hand, say thank you, then repeat.
A woman in a glittering grey dress paused after withdrawing her hand to bend down and press a kiss to Rosemary's crown of dark hair.
Despite being only nine years old, it seemed my younger sister was handling things much better than me in terms of hospitality.
They didn't fear her like they feared me.
Her pale green eyes flickered at the woman, unaccustomed to such a show of affection, and the clamp of guilt over my heart tightened, squeezed.
I massaged my forehead, hoping to ease the ache.
Henceforth, things will be excruciatingly difficult.
Having no living relations from either of my deceased parents left me, a seventeen-year-old, under the scrutinizing glare of society. It was unheard of. Sure, a widow could temporarily steer business until finding a husband or the next male of kin - but a girl being the head of a family? And such a prosperous one at that? No, no, no. No, I can't do this. Not on my own, especially since Father is -
A tug at my skirt pulled me out of my self-depreciating thoughts.
"Daisy, can we leave yet?" asked Rosemary, understandingly uncomfortable. It was her first time at a funeral, explaining it alone proved challenging for me. The gaping hole between her and Father couldn't have been more vast.
Although, I thought. We weren't what you'd label as close either.
"I suppose we could step outside. They already finished the burial and everything's in order," I said, finding myself grateful for an excuse to get away from the suffocating atmosphere and hushed whispers.
Perking up, she slipped her hand into mine. It was small, trusting, and shockingly warm.
Gently tugging her through the clusters of people proved easy. Most recognized us and discreetly shuffled away, if not in sympathy than in caution.
It's not as if death were contagious.
The stinging slap of cold air was immediate. Although it wasn't near sunset yet, the sky was dark with the promise of rain. In London, the weather was a constant mix of foggy days, stormy nights, or sweltering sunshine.
"Do you think it'll snow next week?" Rosemary smiled, her eyes brightening at the thought of the plush white frosting that coated our gardens every winter.
"Hm . . . They say it might be even sooner than that. And Thames might freeze up again." I felt a small smile edge its way to my lips. "You've never been to their fairs, have you?"
As expected, her response was instantaneous.
"That's only because you didn't allow me to go last winter!" Smothering a laugh, I recalled the tantrum she had thrown. So angry, she refused to speak to me for the entirety of the day. Although it didn't last, never did. In the end, I was woken up and begrudgingly asked for a 'goodnight.'
"But I suppose it would have been my fault if your fever worsened." Crossing my arms, I smirked at her. "If I had let you go, what kind of sister would I be?"
"A good one," the girl muttered, scuffing the stone path with her boot, not meeting my eye.
I arched a brow. "Is that so? Do you wish to go back inside?" I asked, jabbing a thumb over my shoulder to the large and ornament church. My response was simply her sticking her tongue out.
We had chosen to bury him next to mother. It was what he would have wanted. Even alive, I knew he wanted to join her more than anything.
I tried to assure myself that that was the reason he placed a gun to his temple.
Walking, Rosemary trotted ahead to sit on the wooden bench overlooking the city of arched stones while I lingered, looking for a particular tombstone.
Her grave had a bouquet of white roses and daisies, relatively fresh. From what I remebered, they were her favorites. Which is why both me and my sister were named after flowers. She had loved their alluring fragrances and beautiful petals.
I hadn't known that Father visited her so often.
I ignored the stone perched next to hers, the new bed of dirt marring the emerald landscape.
Sighing, I shook my head of the thoughts and decisively walked forward.
♤ • ♡ • ◇ • ♧
Instead of leaving, Rosemary had taken to exploring the graveyard, peering at all the odd names enscribed on the old tombstones. Ordinarily, I would have cut this little adventure short long ago - with the weather crisp and my patience thinning - but it was pleasing to see her bouncing about when the mood has been so dark for the past few days.
I also needed some peace to think about what to do next.
I asked and asked myself what should I do? wielding the same answer again and again.
Nothing. I had absolutely no idea how to run a company, how to support a family, how to do anything!
Maybe I ought to just sell the company to Lord Burton. I'd be a fool to refuse his rather generous offer. And yet . . .
And yet it was dissapointing. Although the company board guaranteed me the deal was just, I was hesitant to accept something that could either allow us to continue to live prosperously or degrade into poverty. I had a chance, a slim one albeit, but a chance. My self ambition went beyond this bargain. To defy them all, prove them wrong only because they said I couldn't, lift my head higher. Not many women educated themselves in business - it was only literature if I were to be completely frank - and I wanted to be different. Wanted to make a name for myself. Wanted to prove that no, my face is not my only redeeming quality. A woman is so much more than a manor's ornamentation or an arm's accessory.
Or perphaps my thinking bordered on insanity. It's not as if anyone shared these views. Good god, to hear me speak one must think me loony -
Rosemary's laugh tinkled through the air as she continued to chat animately.
That's right. This isn't just about me anymore. Could I risk failure at my overconfidence? Surely if so many have failed endeavors at lucrative business then I -
Wait, who is she speaking to?
Whipping my head up, I could feel my blood ice in my veins.
"Get your hands off her!"
A man stood in front of Rosemary, a hand wrapped around her upper arm. With scruffy trousers, a sullied shirt, matted hair, and torn shoes, I knew he was no friendly visitor. The only ones invited to the funeral were nobles; besides, I'm sure Father wasn't acquainted with the likes of him.
Before I knew what I was doing, I had crossed through the graveyard in long strides and tugged my sister behind me.
"You will not speak nor lay hand on her!"
My stomach twisted as I noticed his face - red eyes, slightly twitchy, and a deep cut running from his temple to the bridge of his nose.
I felt Rosemary grip my skirts. "D-Daisy?" she squeaked.
The man's grin turned haughty. "Come now," he cajoled, taking a step forward. "I was only asking her a coupla' questions, is all." He moved to touch me and I jerked my head away, glaring.
"You lot sicken me. To lay hand on a child, you truly must be the most vile of scum."
The man's head tipped back in a laugh, the sound as unwelcoming as a hot branding iron. My skin burned at his glare.
"I didn't do nothin' to nobody, lady. But if ye be up for offers. . ." His voice trailed on as his dark eyes swept over me.
Suppressing a shiver, I opened my mouth but my voice clogged somewhere in my throat as his hand tipped my face up, holding my chin with his thumb.
I tried to pull away - well, mentally. In reality, my feet remained rooted to the floor and my stomach gave a sickening churn as he maneuvered my face with each breath. I could hear Rosemary whimper as she pressed herself to my legs.
Just as I felt his calloused palm slide against my check, a burning sensation traveled up the length of my spine and the sound of skin striking skin crackled through the air.
Snarling, the man's hand snapped up to soothe his flaming cheek and I felt my heart flip at the murderous glare.
"Why I ought'a - " His hand wrenched my arm behind my back and I yelped at the painful twist as Rosemary screamed. Grimacing, I felt the sharp and uneven edges of fingernails cutting into my skin.
"My, my," a voice tutted as the crushing grip on my wrist slackened before disappearing all together and a yelp cut through the air. "It's quite rude to touch a lady so without her consent."
I looked up through errant strands of cherry-brown hair to see the back of a tall man who was completely encased in black cloaks. However, more peculiar than his dress was the waterfall of silver hair that pooled over his shoulders and down his back.
The man's only response to the almost cheerful accusation was a helpless gurgle.
I could distantly feel Rosemary releasing her clutch on my dress and dart into the church, her voice yelling for help.
After a minute or two, the stranger let the offending man, who had begun to turn the most concerning shade of purple, crash in an undignified heap on the dirt.
Gaping like a fish out of water, the man's hands flew up to his throat and he struggled to gain footing.
"You . . . you nearly k-k-killed me," he stammered, eyes bugging out of his face in an unseemly manner.
The man chuckled, as if amused by the claim.
"You were being rather rude, if you don't mind my saying so."
"R-Rude?" The peasant sputtered, launching to his feet. "I nearly died, I did!"
Just as it looked like another scuff would take place, a deep voice sliced through the two.
"Peace!" A plump priest cried, trotting down the winding path towards the graveyard. "Peace in the holy house of God!" He huffed, cross dangling down his neck and a bible in hand - as if it would ward off anything other than a vampyre.
Because the 'holy house of God' could not afford to hire a decent locksmith, it would seem.
I suppressed a scoff.
I wasn't particularly religious - or at all, for that matter. I believed there existed a God for one reason and one reason only:
If there was a Devil dancing in hell, there must be a God lounging in heaven.
Not that I've seen much of him.
"I have half a mind to call the Yard on you two! This a place of worship and I shan't stand for any sort of violent practices," the priest said.
"Father," I butted in as the priest's balding head swiveled to me. "This sir here helped me. That man - " I pointed to the harraser " - was trying to force himself on me."
The religious man's brown eyes were skeptical as he eyed the silver-haired male before his expression suddenly cleared.
"Oh, yes. You're that Undertaker that runs the funeral parlor."
"One and the same, Father." Turning towards us, I had to inhale sharply at the grotesque and mangled scar that stretched across his face. It was worse than that of the drunk.
His eyes were sheathed by a thick silver curtain, but as his mouth twisted into a smile I had the distinct impression he was staring at me.
At one point or another, the accused had begun to sputter nonsense and, after some 'guidance' from the priest, scrambled out of the cemetery.
"Erm," I cleared my throat and the Undertaker's head tilted in my direction. "Thank you, I suppose. If it weren't for you - "
He waved me off and I stared at the black talons meant to be fingernails. "It's no bother, milady." Listing his head, I squared my shoulders. "However, I shouldn't recommend someone as lovely as you travelling unaccompanied in the future."
I swallowed my pride and nodded, noting to accept the driver's offer to escort us next time
"Yes. Yes of course," I muttered, finding myself terrified as the man tipped his hat and casually walked away.
Possibly one of the oddest and most frightening characters I had ever met. Was he insane? He seemed insane. Deranged and perphaps a tad too smiley.
Midway through my critique I reminded himself that, no matter what he is, he did me a great favor.
"Daisy." I looked down as trembling fingers hooked through mine, a small girl frightened and shaken. "Now can we leave?"
I wholeheartedly said yes.
♤ • ♡ • ◇ • ♧
So fatigued by the day's chaos, anxiety, and fear, I had fallen asleep just as I eased myself to bed.
However, the next time I opened my eyes, I would experience more chaos, anxiety, and fear than I could have possibly imagined.