House Party by Lizzie

[byslantedlight.livejournal.com]

A special treat today - a fourteen page fic posted on behalf of Lizzie! This story was originally published in the Gryphon Press zine Unprofessional Conduct 12 under her pseudonym Harriet Allenby and the title "House Party", and until now has never been available online. I've only just noticed that there's a different title on this version too...

Happy Halloween, from Lizzie!


I Live To Serve
by Lizzie

It was on the first day that I noticed him; his obvious sense of himself drew my attention immediately - it was clear he had the utmost confidence in his ability to fascinate. I had never before observed such blatant use of the physical in anyone, draping himself, rag-doll-like, over any available surface, assets on display to those who cared to inspect the goods. Surveying the room, it was clear that several did indeed care...

The master's occasional house-parties indulge his sense of mischief. Guests are picked with meticulous care according to their potential for entertainment. A canny Scot, his judgement is not often far wrong. It was hard to imagine though, where he had found this one. It hardly seemed as though he dressed with care. In fact it appeared to me, fastidious to the last, that his clothes had either spent the previous night on the floor or had actually kept him company in bed; if in fact he possessed such an item of furniture. And if his wild curls had seen a comb that morning this would also come as something of a surprise. A light Midlands accent finished off the package - I was agog with fascination but like all in my line of work, practised at obscuring it.

From the first evening's proceedings I learned much. Those who serve are invisible to the majority, it is their right as they see it, to treat us as nothing, worthy not even of notice. For my part I have always thought of this as nicely convenient. Much can be gleaned from whispered conversations when the eavesdropper does not exist.

The Scruff, it materialised, was an artist. As our American cousins would say - 'it figured'; he was surely all that a budding artist would aspire to and more. He possessed, of course, the most ordinary of names - Raymond Doyle. Nothing there to suggest anything other than dull; but, of course, he was anything but...

It was soon clear that the rest of the company agreed with me as he made his way unselfconsciously through the meal, displaying very few of the social niceties normally expected at such a gathering. For such a diner should all meals be cooked. Good food normally picked at by the finicky or the skinny and determined to stay that way, was eaten by him with gusto. Exquisite sauce was mopped with chunks of bread and duly washed down with loud slurps of wine costing more than he probably earned in a year. My skill at observing unobtrusively was put sorely to the test as I fought with my mouth to keep it shut - determined as it was to gape constantly open in surprise.

Others were more fortunate. Engaging him in conversation seemed to be the order of the day as each guest vied for his attention. Mr. Doyle was doubtless unlike anything they had encountered before, the common man being only slightly higher on the scale of invisibility than servants.

It had to be said that he gave value for money. The master sat silently watching, a look of quiet satisfaction on his face as each individual did his very best impression of concern for their fellow, less fortunate, man.

It was when he was asked if he managed to cook for himself that I began to wonder who was entertaining whom. Presumably the enquirer thought as I did, that Mr. Doyle ate as though he was quite unaccustomed to eating four square meals a month, let alone a day.

He grinned in reply to the question, displaying huge white teeth. "My old landlady cooks for me. If I'm nice to her." He winked lewdly, causing a sharp intake of breathe from a large bejewelled lady with three chins seated opposite him. "She's not exactly in her first flush of youth but there'e life in the old bird yet. Like the old music-hall song, eh?" He was relentless. "How does it go? ' Get Down Off The Gas Stove Granny - You're Too Old To Ride The Range'."

His dirty laugh reverberated around the room. One or two forced titters joined in but a stunned silence was, I believe, his looked for reward and he got it. I turned away quickly, only just holding on to the pile of plates I was in the process of transporting across the room. They clattered noisily onto the sideboard as I lost the battle. The master glanced at me, piercing blue eyes acknowledging my predicament as I struggled to contain my amusement.

"Ooops," the artist exclaimed, turning to where I stood fumbling. He shook his head sadly at the woman seated next to him. "Just can't get the staff these days, can you?"

The master was seized by a sudden coughing fit, resulting in much concern and slapping of backs from his fellow guests. While this ensued I poured a glass of water and went to stand beside him at the ready. I endeavoured not to look in the direction of the culprit but failed miserably. He knew it of course, was waiting in fact and as our eyes met he directed an exaggerated wink straight at me. The glass of water landed on the carpet.

Some while later the men rose to join the ladies in the drawing room. Much port had been consumed but curiously Mr. Doyle seemed hardly affected by it. The master was the last to rise and I received the second wink of the evening as the others disappeared.

"Interesting, eh Bodie?"

He grinned mischievously and limped away to join his guests.

A master of understatement - my employer.

* * *

The conservatory was quiet the following afternoon, as I delivered afternoon tea. Three females enjoyed a gossip at one end, seated comfortably on wicker chairs and surrounded by exotic hot-house plants. The day was warm and the soothing sound of bees at work on the herbaceous borders drifted in through the french windows.

I set tea and cup cakes in front of the ladies and turned to survey the other occupant at the opposite end of the room. Sprawled across a sofa he was reading what emerged to be a volume of stories of the supernatural; Gaslit Nightmares. Each to his own.

He looked up, frowning, as I approached with a second tray.

"Don't I get cup cakes?"

Leg pulls - the bane of a butler's life. I learnt very early in my career never to retaliate in kind, people suddenly lose their sense of humour when bettered in jocular conversation by a servant. I thus kept my reply very non-committal.

"No, sir. Cook considers coffee and walnut cake to be more appropriate for the gentlemen."

"No licking off the icing and sucking on succulent cherries for me then, eh?" Wide green eyes regarded me innocently. "It's just as well I've always preferred a dish of nuts to a bowl of cherries."

Speech failed me for some moments as I stared at him open mouthed. Eventually I managed to force another bland reply.

"Yes sir, very fortuitous, I'm sure."

I bent to pour his tea, sensing his amusement. He was winning this skirmish and I could not allow it. Reaching for his cake I handed it to him, pausing in mid air.

"Do you enjoy cream on your nuts, sir? I would be more than happy to produce some."

He didn't hesitate for a second. "I call that a very generous offer, Mr. uh Bodie, isn't it? But I'm afraid the ladies might be jealous if they see me getting special attention and want some for themselves."

"I can't imagine why you would think they might be jealous, sir." I replied, tidying the table to avoid his gaze but grinning nevertheless.

He leaned forward, his answer soft but emphatic. "Because they have eyes, Mr. Bodie. And call me a Philistine but watching a good looking man produce thick cream is worth a few minutes of anyone's time, don't you think?"

Casually flicking a fly away from the food, I glanced sideways at him. "Personally, I think it more enjoyable on a private, one to one basis, sir. Give and take, so to speak."

"I see." He absorbed this piece of information for a moment. "So which do you prefer? The giving or the taking, Bodie?"

"Cook is our theological expert, sir and I suspect she would say that it's considered better to give rather than to receive." I replied.

He smirked. "Well, be that as it may, I like to receive. Isn't that convenient?"

"Exceedingly expedient, sir." I replied, still smirking and turned to leave.

His voice followed me as I approached the door. "And stop calling me 'sir'."

I carried my grin all the way to the kitchen, earning myself more than one suspicious glance along the way and, once there, dire warnings from Cook along the lines of reaping what one soweth.

* * *

She arrived the next day. I knew she would be a problem from the word go. Instinct? Intuition? Or merely that she coerced the taxi driver into carrying her bags inside by batting her eyelids, when their normal practise is to dump them on the pavement, hold their hand out for a tip and leave you to struggle with your twenty seven bags, complete set of golf clubs and the ornamental jardiniere which you'd thought at the time was perfect for Great Aunt Esmerelda's Christmas present.

The taxi driver retreated and she stood in the entrance hall looking at me expectantly. I regarded the cases in silence, sniffed delicately and rang the bell for Hoskins. He arrived, out of breath as always. Looking at the bags, then at me, then back at the bags and muttering under his breath, he proceeded to trudge upstairs, laden down with luggage. She followed behind, glancing at me uncertainly as she climbed the first few steps. I stared back at her indifferently. I was almost sympathetic; almost. It could not often be that such a woman did not conquer any male she happened upon, instantly. The shock must have been considerable.

* * *

I should have known of course. Put it down to being distracted by a pair of green eyes and therefore not paying the matter sufficient attention. Extremely remiss of me. She was seated at the dinner table that evening, eyelids batting for England, fully occupying those same green eyes.

I took my annoyance out on the roast beef and the master regarded the hacked-at meat with surprise, tinted with amusement, when it was placed unsummarily in front of him.

I hovered throughout the meal, trying to distinguish her conversation from others going on around the table. It was not easy but I gathered her name was Mason. Miss? Mrs? Both, it appeared. She'd reverted to her maiden name after her husband had left her for some music-hall hussy.

I rejoiced inwardly. 'Well done, that man!' A little uncharitable perhaps, she had apparently been ejected from their lodgings as a result and now resided with a maiden aunt. Birth pangs of sympathy for her predicament did not endure for long. Mr. Doyle it seemed was a man with a conscience, full of indignant sympathy for the stricken woman. She knew it of course, must have had him pegged from the beginning in fact.

Powerless, I could only observe as he absorbed all her problems; her life was one of endless sadness, she was, by all accounts, the ultimate victim. I wanted to slap her. I slapped the trifle instead - in front of her - a dollop of cold, clammy custard leapt up and clung ridiculously to the end of her nose. I turned away, pretending I hadn't noticed but could feel with utmost certainty, her eyes boring into my back. I had made an enemy.

* * *

The house was quiet the next morning, most of the party having left to follow their own pursuits for the day. I tidied the conservatory in readiness for their return later that afternoon. Lost in my own thoughts I failed to hear him enter and was therefore surprised on rising from the floor to find Doyle leaning against the open door, watching me.

I straightened, brushing myself down self-consciously. "Good morning, sir."

"Thought I told you to stop calling me that? And yes it is." He stared moodily out at the profusion of plants and flowers. "A little piece of paradise this, isn't it? Birds singing, bees buzzing. You'd never think there was anything wrong with the world if you lived here. I mean, who would think that poor woman last night could have had such a hard life?"

I cleared my throat, trying to think of a tactful reply.

He didn't wait. "Abandoned like that, cast out..."

Any moment now, violins would start to play.

"How could any man do that to such a beautiful, fragile creature?" he continued, almost to himself.

"Uh, well, sir," a word in edgeways at last, "there are two sides to every story, you know? We don't have his version of events."

"Don't you think she's beautiful?"

"Yes, but that's not the point. Beautiful people are just as capable of wrong doing as anyone else in my experience. More so sometimes, they can be the worst manipulators of all."

"You don't believe her, do you? Be honest."

Honesty; almost as bad in a butler's book as humour. They think that's what they want from you but in reality your job depends on your ability to lie through your teeth convincingly. I tried tact again.

"I didn't say that."

"But you don't."

I stared mutely at him.

"It's all right for you here, you know!" Indignation seemed to have ignited an inferno in his eyes. "Nice and cosy, plenty to eat, a solid roof over your head. What the hell would you know about hardship? Eh?"

It hurt. Had he learned so quickly how to achieve this end or did such outbursts come as second nature to this prickly individual? My expression hardened.

"Of course, sir, you're quite correct, how could I possibly have any idea? Can I get you anything, sir? It's what I'm here for after all - to pander to your every whim. I live to serve. Or should that be serve to live? I'll let you to decide, you seem to have it all worked out - 'sir'."

A sharp intake of breath registered his shock; I glared at him angrily, waiting for him to defend himself. Locked in this silent battle of wills neither of us noticed her approach. Surprised, I wondered exactly how much Miss Mason had heard. Her expression said it was more than I would have wished and I fought to prevent the smugness written all over her face from influencing my tone.

"Good morning, ma'am, is there anything I can get for you?"

She smiled the sickly sweet smile of the righteous. "Oh, just some tea if you have the time, Bodie. I'm sure you have a lot to do and I don't want to keep you from your duties."

She was good. No doubt about it, she was very good.

"It's no trouble, ma'am. You stay here with Mr. Doyle." I looked pointedly at him. "I'm sure he'll be only too delighted to sit and have a cosy chat while I fetch refreshments."

He blanched visibly and I left them to it; the battle not exactly won - an honourable draw I thought. The war might be a different matter.

The dining room door opened as I polished wine glasses in readiness for dinner that evening. I gave the Artist a cursory glance and continued my task in silence. He didn't speak for a moment or two and I looked up again to find him surveying the table. Eventually he spoke.

"'S beautiful. I couldn't even begin to do this. Wouldn't know where to start."

I pride myself on my immaculate and imaginatively laid tables but would died have rather than admit it to him.

So I merely shrugged and replied, "Thank you, sir, but I'm sure it's a talent most butlers have."

"You're doing it again."

"What?"

"Calling me 'sir'!"

I ignored him.

He sighed - exasperated. "I don't want you to. I'm not your lord and master."

I continued to polish diligently.

I could sense his patience was close to breaking point and eventually of course it broke.

"Look, I'm sorry. I've got a sharp tongue and a short temper, all right? I speak my mind without thinking sometimes. It doesn't last - I don't hold a grudge - unlike some I could mention."

I stopped polishing and thumped the glass on the table, it was fortunate perhaps that looks could not in fact kill or the one directed his way would have been fatal. The next glass took even worse punishment as I continued to glare at him.

"You're going to break that in a minute."

He looked sideways at me, softness in his eyes. Very becoming.

"You have to feel a bit sorry for her, don't you?" he ventured.

My reply was out in a rush before I could prevent it.

"You hardly know the woman. She might be the Axe Murderer of Clapham Common for all you know!"

"Ah, it speaks at last," he grinned. "What sayest thou, oh Oracle?"

"Shuddup." I snapped.

"Oh, very profound," he grinned, "ought you to speaking like that to one of your master's guests?"

"Well, make up your mind, " I accused, "do you want me to bow and scrape or not? I'd better warn you, tugging of forelocks is extra. Anyway, you know I'm right."

"Perhaps." He regarded me for a long moment. "Nice eyelashes."

"If you like that sort of thing."

"I do." He turned to leave. "And hers aren't bad either."

* * *

One of the great myths that exists is that beautiful women are stupid. It's true that they often have less reason to use their intelligence than their more homely sisters but one should never make the mistake of under-estimating them. I thought I had not but Miss Mason had one advantage over me - greater access to Raymond Doyle - she was not occupied the entire day with menial tasks and therefore able to spend more time in his presence.

Thus it was several days before I noticed the change in him. Another hot day, humid in fact - to the point of being sultry - a thunder-storm was definitely brewing. The garden was quiet, even the insects were feeling the heat it seemed.

I was delivering lemonade to those in the conservatory, the one or two hardy souls who had not gone to lie down in their rooms to sleep away the heat of the afternoon. Doyle and Miss Mason occupied one corner of the room; bamboo blinds effected some semblance of shade but the heat was still oppressive.

I placed the tray in front of them and looked from one to the other. The difference could not have been more marked. She sat upright and despite the temperature looked cool, fresh and invigorated somehow. Ray was the complete antithesis. Lying back against the cushions, sun glasses protecting his eyes, he gave the appearance of one drained of all energy.

I tried hard to quell my alarm. Some people are much less able to cope with humidity than others. It was perfectly natural for him to appear listless. Except that he did not even acknowledge my presence and comparing this to the sparky individual of the first few days, I realised that something was not right. Heat or no heat.

"Are you all right Mr. Doyle?" I enquired tentatively. "Is there something I can get for you?"

"He's fine!" The woman was quick off the mark. "It's just so hot, no wonder he's exhausted. What can you expect? "

Quick, but I was quicker. "I'm sure it must be cooler in your room, sir. Why don't you go and lie down? I'll put the fan on. I think you would be far more comfortable."

Without waiting for a reply I hoisted him unceremoniously to his feet and escorted him out, leaving her with her mouth gaping.

It was all he could do to climb the stairs, even with my assistance. In the bedroom I quickly drew the curtains and turned on the ceiling fan. He lay on the bed where I had left him, unmoving. I fetched some water, sat him up and made him drink; it seemed to revive him somewhat.

"Has something happened? You're not sick are you?"

He rubbed his hands over his eyes as though trying to wake up.

"No, I'm fine. Why?"

"No, you're not, you're out for the count. What have you been doing the last couple of days? I've been too busy to keep an eye."

That seemed to provoke him and he snapped irritably, "I don't need you to keep an eye on me! I'm a big boy now, thanks very much."

I grinned inwardly, that was more like it. "All right, all right. But what have you been doing? Come on, humour me, Doyle."

"Well, she wanted to go sight-seeing and then she wanted to go shopping; she needs someone to confide in, Bodie. You know, 'a trouble shared' and all that?"

"What?" I interrupted, " are you potty or what?"

"Haven't even told you who I mean," he muttered.

"No but I imagine it's safe to assume you haven't been keeping company with Mrs. Huntingdon-Smythe of the three chins?" I countered.

"Oh, ho ho. Aren't you the droll one?" he replied sulkily.

I sighed. "She's trouble, Ray. Don't ask me how I know, I just sense it. Keep away."

He ran his hand through his hair and left one curl dangling in his eye. I reached over and gently pushed it away with my finger. Nice.

"I don't want anything to happen to you," I said quietly.

His eyes held mine. "Now what could she possibly do to harm me? A helpless female - I was just trying to cheer up her miserable life by being cheerful company. You're not jealous are you?" he grinned.

"Yes, but that's beside the point. She worries me. Some people, well..." I struggled to find the right words, "they have this way of sucking people in, taking over their victim's will. Not all vampires have pointed teeth and live in coffins y'know."

He fell back on the pillows hooting with laughter. "Oh, come on! You're not serious, Bodie? Vampires!" His amusement bubbled over and he cackled unrestrainedly.

I stood, grinning sheepishly.

"All right - it's funny. Just do me a favour will you and don't spend so much time with her. If you really must go shopping, take Mrs. Huntingdon-Smythe. I approve of her. Now get some rest."

"Yes sir!" He saluted. " And do I get reward for being good?"

I bent and brushed my lips fleetingly across his own, a kiss so light it almost wasn't there. I left without judging his reaction and was glad not to meet anyone as I went back down the stairs.

* * *

At breakfast the next day he seemed much more himself. I managed by skilful manoeuvring to seat Doyle and Miss Mason apart and saw to it that he ate a hearty breakfast. She on the other hand had to endure the party bore's opinions on the falling into disrepair of the nation's canals. He'd buttonholed her last night and wanted to continue their fascinating discussion today. The look she directed my way, on rising from her meal, was one of pure malice.

I noticed afterwards that Ray had crept away bearing his sketch pad, heading towards the garden. I relaxed a little and got on with my chores. What harm could he come to amongst the marigolds and petunias?

Lunchtime arrived. It was decided to serve a light buffet in the conservatory. The day was once again stifling - the hoped for thunder storm, to freshen the atmosphere, still conspicuous by its absence. Having delivered salads and sandwiches I looked around for Doyle. Not here yet. I looked out into the garden - no sign. The others were busy tucking in and I became slightly concerned.

Approaching the master I whispered in his ear. He nodded and asked the assembled guests whether or not they had seen him.

Silence for a moment and then Miss Mason spoke in her prim little voice. "Well, yes as a matter of fact. We spent a lovely morning in the garden. I watched him sketch, he's very talented. He does so enjoy company and doesn't seem to mind my prattling at all. It's so nice to find a man who really listens to you."

The master regarded her for a moment or two. "And did he come in with you, Miss Mason?"

She returned his regard impassively. "No, as a matter of fact. He said he was tired and was going to sit in the summer house for a while." She smiled her sickly smile. "I do hope I haven't worn him out."

Hell and damnation; a man who takes on the troubles of the entire world being targeted by this predatory woman, the temptation to slap her was once again almost overwhelming. The master looked up at me and nodded in the direction of the garden. I didn't need to be told twice.

Was it me or were statuesque lines of delphiniums mocking me as I dashed hell for leather through their domain? My shirt was quickly soaked with sweat in the oppressive heat and I was gasping for breath by the time I reached my goal.

I stood in the doorway looking down at him. He lay stretched out along the wooden seat in the gloom, slumbering peacefully and I momentarily considered leaving him alone. But it wouldn't do; I had to check. I moved to where he lay and shook him gently.

"Ray."

No answer.

"Ray!"

Still no response. I shook him harder.

"Doyle!" I slapped him rigorously across the face as I shouted and suddenly he was sitting bolt upright.

"Wha'? Wassmadder? What time is it?"

His eyes were at half-mast and it was most entrancing but I had something to say and say it I did.

"What did I tell you about that woman? She's a bloody menace, Ray! She'll suck you dry and spit you out." I prodded him in the chest to emphasise each word. "Tell her to bugger off if she comes near you, walk away if you can't do that. Christ knows how many men she's been the death of but you're not bloody-well going to be one them. Hear me?"

I was livid. All I could see was her prissy little smile entrapping a man who took personally the troubles of all who confided in him. He on the other hand seemed to think something was funny in a lazy, laid-back sort of a way. I tried to ignore how attractive it made him.

"It's not funny, Ray. Behind that sweetness and light exterior is a will of iron and a dangerous individual. I don't want anything to happen to you."

He smiled lazily at me. "Nothin's going to happen to me, you're making a mountain out of a mole-hill, Bodie."

Pushing me back he swung both legs off the bench. He stood, or tried to; his knees buckled immediately. I made a grab for him and pulled him back onto the seat.

He blinked and sniffed, widening his eyes as though trying to wake up. "Think I must have has a bit too much sun out there this morning."

I glared at him. "Oh, really?"

His head snapped around.

"Yes, really! I don't need a nurse-maid thanks very much. So don't take the job on without an invitation. Understand, Bodie?"

I continued to glare. "You're not equipped to deal with her sort, Ray. They feed on people's souls. Take it from me... "

He stood, cutting me off, and walked shakily towards the door. "As a matter of fact, Bodie, I think I might be in more danger from you than from her. You're barking mad do you know that? So why don't you just sod off and leave me alone, eh?"

I watched him as he made his way slowly through the flower borders. Yes, that was definitely the delphiniums I could hear having a snigger...

* * *
Things did not improve. I soon discovered how vindictive the little bugger could be. Despite all my attempts to keep them apart he was determined to prove his independance by clinging to her like a limpet. I was very much afraid he had no idea what he was playing with.

The weather had broken at last and for several days they kept to the house because of the rain. They were everywhere and on each encounter I had to endure her smugly victorious demeanor. Benevolent little smiles seemed to be her fort- concern that she should not put me to any trouble. But her eyes told another story, one that Raymond Doyle was quite unable to read.

I came upon them one afternoon in the drawing room, putting together a jig-saw puzzle; at least she was. Doyle lay back on the cushions, his eyes almost closed as though he were about to drop off. On spying me he immediately made an effort to sit up and started to rifle through the pieces.

My mission was the watering of the indoor plants; more particularly the maidenhair fern which lived in the large bay window in this room.

The watering can raised, a clipped voice pierced the silence.

"Could you move please?"

I swung round, expression questioning.

"You're blocking the light," she continued haughtily "we can't see the pieces."

I nodded in their direction, incredulous, and made to leave the room.

"Just one moment," it seemed she hadn't quite finished. "I'd love some tea, I know it's little early but I can see you're at a loose end so I'm sure you won't mind."

Doyle looked up at me from under his eyebrows. We exchanged glances for a couple of moments and I wondered what was going on inside that impetuous head. I looked back at her.

"Of course ma'am, and does sir require anything?" I enquired, directing my gaze back at Ray.

The look he returned was pure indifference. "Not from you, no."

I stepped back involuntarily in surprise. So that was how he wanted it. I descended to the kitchen my thoughts in turmoil, aching inside.

* * *

It wasn't long before I realised that he was skipping meals. Breakfasts at first, nothing to get too alarmed about, then he failed to appear for the odd lunch and then dinner. He was already too thin and in my view could not afford to starve himself. He was also starting to spend time in his room. When one of the guests asked about him, Miss Mason told her that he was not strong due to a childhood illness and from time to time had to rest for days on end. Piffle. It was time to find out for myself.

Except that the cunning Miss Mason suddenly took it upon herself to be nurse-maid, fetching bowls of chicken broth for the patient and keeping all who approached at bay. It was time for a plan of action. A concerned maid informed me quietly that Miss Mason was locking his bedroom door at night. I smiled inwardly at the news. If the harpy was thinking that would keep me out...
* * *

I stood in his room, just inside the window. The moon shed just enough light for me to see the pale outline of him asleep in bed. The house was quiet as I trod silently across the room. Standing over him I was dismayed; his face appeared gaunt and drawn, I realised I might already be too late. I slipped off my shoes, drew back the covers and got into bed beside him.

It was several days before she guessed that her victim was receiving nocturnal visits. She confronted me at last in the dining room as I was arranging a table decoration.

"He's getting better."

It was an accusation and she quickly realised her mistake and rephrased her statement, smiling sweetly.

"Mr. Doyle seems to be recovering. It's wonderful but I'm not at all sure how this miracle has occurred."

I regarded her innocently.

"Chicken soup ma'am. I hear it has amazing medicinal properties."

Her eyes narrowed. "I daresay but it's hardly a miracle cure for someone who has slipped into a decline."

"Well, perhaps he woke up one morning and decided to ascend instead, ma'am. It does happen, I gather. Take Cook's Aunty Ivy and her lumbago...."

"You won't win," she hissed, her face twisted into a hateful expression that truly reflected her personality; a pity Doyle was not there to witness it.

"Really?" I fussed at the table decoration and moved a leaf or two, standing back to admire my efforts, "I thought it was looking quite good, actually." I smiled at her - very sweetly.

* * *

He shifted in my arms and sighed, pressing his neat little backside into my groin.

"How do you do that?" he murmured.

"Oh, you know - just naturally gifted. You've either got it or you haven't."

I sighed gently into his neck, kissing it tenderly.

"But..."

"Don't ask, Ray, it's complicated."

He was quiet for a moment. "Do you know what she is?"

"Yes."

"She's not..."

"No."

"What? Not at all?"

"Not a bit."

"Oh. Well, what do we do?"

"There are ways."

"Don't ask?"

He was learning.

"That's right."

"You were right," he admitted. "Sorry."

"So were you, in a way."

"How d'you mean?"

"Never mind... sleep."

"Well. I don't care what you say, I still think nuts are better than cherries. And you can keep your ruddy cup cakes..."

* * *

The drawing room was in complete darkness - the master stood in the shadows by the window; scotch in hand, he stared out into the garden. The moonlight cast weird shadows making flower beds that were beautiful by day look like monsters conjured up by the most terrible of nightmares.

I moved to stand beside him.

"Will he do?" he asked.

"Yes. Where did you find him?"

He smiled. "Och now, Bodie, you don't really think I'm going to tell you that, do you? You had a need and I supplied it. That's all you need to know."

"And her?"

"She'll get her just desserts. I'll think of something - appropriate."

I had no doubt that he would.

* * *

We never saw her again. Except that the room she had occupied became a place where no-one went - voluntarily or otherwise.

He only asked about her once - one night as we lay in bed.

"That boss of yours... or is he?"

"Is he what?"

"Your employer?"

"Kind of. It's complicated."

"So you keep saying..."

"Well, it is."

"Was it him got rid of her?"

I didn't reply.

"Thought so." He was silent for a moment. "Bodie..."

"Shhh." I cut him off mid-sentence. "We're together. We'll always be together. That's all you need know."

"Forever? Hard to believe..."

"You bloody-well better had, Ray Doyle. You belong to me now, mind and body."

I covered his mouth with mine and he chuckled deep within his soul. My lips left his at last and made their journey to that special place just below his rampant curls. I used my tongue to taste and lick intoxicating flesh. He groaned, whimpering his need into the all enveloping darkness, "Please, Bodie. Now..."

I live to serve. Opening my mouth, I punctured his neck. My bite, his blood, for all eternity.


* * *

(I will make sure that Lizzie sees any comments, so please do! *g*)

Title: I Live To Serve
Author: Lizzie
Slash or Gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Will let you know
Disclaimer: Bodie, Doyle and the rest of the CI5 universe are borrowed purely for the joy of it, and not for the profit.
Notes: Originally published as "House Party" by Harriet Allenby, in Unprofessional Conduct 12, Gryphon Press, 2003.

Comments

[andreathelion.livejournal.com]

That's great :D Thanks for posting.
Just will have my breakfast and then it's reading *g* Happy Halloween!

[constant-muse.livejournal.com]

What a treat - thank you so much!

That is pure bliss - period AU with that particular twist (sighs very happily). And Cowley and Bodie! Bodie's, 'It's complicated' leaves plenty to the imagination.

[snailbones.livejournal.com]

Oh thank you! I love it, and just the right thing for today. The twisty-ness at the end made me smile and shiver all at once *g*

[smirra.livejournal.com]

Oh that's a nice gift for autumn day to read! Thank you!

[sc-fossil.livejournal.com]

Ohhh, good story! I loved it. Well done, Lizzie. *shudders* I'm so pleased that Bodie won his prize and that the unwanted Miss Mason was dispatched. *g* Thanks!

[roven75.livejournal.com]

That was a good one! Great twist at the end. Thank you :)

[angel-ci5.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much for getting us yet *another* previously-zine-only-fic online, I'm really looking forward to reading this when I get a chance!

[moth2fic.livejournal.com]

That was great!! And I was 'fooled' till the last paragraph! Yes, I've only just read it (January) but I'll keep it to re-read next Hallowe'en!!