The Balcony - Chapter 1

Summary: Kath, always too curious by half, finds herself inescapably in trouble. Unexpected help appears just in time — but is it wise to trust someone who you do not know at all? PG-13, reader's discretion advised for innuendo. Total id-fic.

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Chapter 1
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Eyes never raising above ankle level, Kath wound through the crowd to the balcony doors. Outside, she shivered; smoke hung, as if someone had just gone inside, or perhaps walked down into the darkness, a cigarette carelessly held between his teeth. The balcony extended the whole length of the room, bright windows over stone, facing the gardens.

Uneasy in the spilled light, she walked away from it to the space between the windows, to the very limit of the balcony over the gardens, and hugged her wrap to herself. There was a smell of a storm in the air, and a stronger note of tobacco. She imagined the sky, overcast, and inhaled deeply. It did not calm her.

A burst of male laughter through the open doors startled her, and she froze, not wanting to turn, nor to be seen and talked to.

But they, whoever they were, did not appear to see her. 'How is she? How did you like it?' said one voice, unknown but with a definite tone of meanness. They sounded as if they had stopped just outside the doors, or even in the doorway itself.

'As well as ever,' said another, which she knew too well, and then he laughed. 'The girl, now — but that cannot be helped. She will serve well enough.'

'Will she?'

'Of course.'

'Then why have I not met her?' There was more than a note of curiosity in the tone — it was faintly disbelieving.

'I had no desire to tie myself to the chit the whole night — I will see her before I go and reassure her; you can come with me. You must understand, the secrecy is part of it; it always keeps them coming.'

'Enough to send the bell ringing for this one? Or should I say tolling?' He sounded as if he were smiling, he alone appreciating his own joke.

'If she does not want to christen my bastard, then yes. If she is not in an interesting way, she will be shortly.' The tone was almost grim.

The other laughed again, and his tone was mocking. 'Have you used her so well? What an unpleasant task you have made for yourself.'

'I will have you know my work is very hard.'

'That, I expect, is not a pun?'

'I am hale and hearty — even her squalid charms do the deed fairly easy, and if not—' he made a pause— 'I think of our cold, cold winter queen.'

'And there she goes. Are you not promised to her for this for this set?'

'Yes, we better go.'

Steps, then the door.

A cold winter queen. What originals they were! Kath shivered again, and swallowed around the lump of her throat. And that gentleman, that man had deceived her! Her embarrassment almost eclipsed her despair for a moment. What to do if she was—? She could not even think the words.

Silly girl, she told herself. This is no more than you deserve.

She would have to go to her brother with this, or she would have to tell her sister, at the very least, though she could imagine what her sister would say: You must tell Mr Field! What can I do?

Her breath grew erratic, and her throat closed even more at the perspective. Odious, odious man, she thought, and she was not entirely sure she referred to the one who had been part of her fall, or the one who was supposed to help her hide it.

She leaned over the balcony, and hid her face in her arms. Maybe she would feel better if she could at least cry, but she was terrified. The future, always unknowable before, stood now grim and defined with certainties.

To marry the man, when she knew what he was! It was too much. She would have given anything in that moment to be deceived, as she had been deceived before — but even that would not serve, because, if she were to be honest with herself, had she not suspected his amiability? And had she not grabbed his hand, eyes willingly closed, and told him, in not uncertain way, to lead, anyway?

And why? Because she, silly girl, she repeated to herself, was too curious by half, and had wanted to see the end of the path.

Yes, her brother would say, Silly girl, have you no sense? Where did your mother go wrong? Were you not taught about honour?

And what could he do, truly? Nothing. Marry her to the same man, or some other, if some other could even be imposed upon; but that only if she were to beg enough, if she were to impress in her brother how much of a libertine this man was. She would have to lie, of course, because he was not out of the common way, for a man.

And what kind of man could he get, in short notice, with her in the state, and her money as only enticement? Maybe giving it all outright, without tying it up in any way. And what kind of man would accept those terms?

She shuddered. She hated this — she had always been at someone else's mercy, leisure and patience, but she had thought that would change, not too far into the future. That dream, lost.

She felt her eyes water finally, and sighed.

'There, there,' said a voice behind her.

She turned, almost cried in surprise, and could see nothing.

The voice came again — he was in the alcove between the windows, and had stood directly before her, she supposed, since she had come to stand there. Embarrassment and confusion reigned for a moment, and she could not understand his words, until— 'Crying for the one they call the queen — and if so, do not worry, she can manage one or two dandies — or for the one the man will marry?' The tip of his cigarette shone brightly for a moment.

She blushed, and hoped it did not show in the darkness. 'I am not crying.' Her voice was not quite as firm as she would have wanted.

Staring into the dark, she could now see smoke slowly spiraling into sight in front of one of the windows, to the side of the voice.

'Of course not. The girl is in a pretty pickle, would you not say?'

'I do not know that of which you speak, sir,' she said, cooling her voice.

'Oh?' It was spoken softly, the tone amused. After a moment, and her not relaxing her stance, he said, 'You might as well make yourself comfortable, unless you plan to leave.'

'I will go!' she said, annoyed. She should have gone when he spoke the first word. She should not be here standing in the dark with a stranger she could not see.

He laughed, a surprisingly warm sound, and then she felt the small breeze he caused by waving his hands around. 'I apologize,' he said. 'I ought not be smoking in front of you.'

'I cannot see you.'

He laughed, again, and she knew he gestured as he spoke, a bright spot moving in the darkness. 'Do sit down on the balustrade; I rather think you will want to hear what I planned to say.'

She did, if only because not doing so would leave her alone with her thoughts, and her thoughts had no good news to tell her.

'I will be blunt,' he said, lowering his voice, when she had sat. It carried in the darkness, and she could hear him, but she leaned towards him without thinking, and was suddenly breathless at the warm, serious tone of his voice. 'You suspect — you have reasons to suspect you may be in trouble, trouble that would require you to be married in short order. And you would not wish, I think, to marry the—' and here his voice twisted as if he were grimacing, or maybe smirking— 'gentleman who helped you along the path to perdition.'

His voice was amused when using the more dramatic turn of phrase. Kath's voice clogged her throat, and there was no way she could speak, or laugh. All blood had left her face. If he knew, she was lost. How many people knew? To how many men had he told?

'I have a proposal. You might not find it agreeable, but then again, you might, so I have decided, against all common sense, to present it to you.'

He paused. On her not objecting, or perhaps, on her not even moving, he said, 'Are you all right?' He took one step in her direction, but stopped. The light of the windows did not quite reach him, but he was now a figure, somewhat taller than her, but not too tall, not too wide, either.

'I think I have shocked you. Well, I will shock you more, perhaps. My proposal is simple. I will court you, until such a moment — the earliest possible — in which you discover you are, indeed, enceinte. And then, if you are, we will marry.'

In her startlement, even though part of her had known those words or some very similar ones would be coming, she finally found her voice. 'I do not know you.'

Her question, not even voiced, had been answered: this was the kind of man who could be persuaded — nay, who offered to marry her knowing her state. Had they even been introduced? She thought not.

He huffed, but he did not appear really annoyed, and withdrew to the darkness again. The tip of his cigarette moved in an impatient gesture. 'Indeed, you do not. And there is nothing I could tell you, nothing you could see of me tonight who would leave you better informed than you are now to decide to trust me, or not.'

'But why — you do not know me at all either, why would you do this?'

'Quite easily. I am penniless. My father's state, which should be mine, is mortgaged to the last wretched painting.'

'And you would raise another man's child as yours? Even if he would be male, and thus, your heir?'

'I would,' he said, simply. 'I cannot have children.'

There was a silence, and hope and fear warred in Kath's chest.

'You would, of course, be insane to accept me on these terms alone. I promise — I promise you two things: the money which you will entrust me will only be used towards the state your — our — child will finally inherit, and I will not, ever, bother you again.'

'Bother me?'

He made another gesture, and this one, broad, seemed to encompass her whole figure, sitting — she realized now with annoyance — inelegantly slouched over towards him. She understood, suddenly, his meaning, but could not react in time to stop him from clarifying. 'I will not —' he seemed to search for words— 'visit you at night, or take liberties.'

Kath thought it a strange way to call it — certainly, they wouldn't be liberties when taken by a husband? — but said nothing, only assented. She was red now, and hot all over, and only wanted the interview to be over.

'You cannot decide immediately,' he said, finally, after a lengthy silence, 'of course. I will call on you tomorrow, and you can tell me then.' And he walked away, passed through one of the brightly lit glass doors into the ballroom, and lost himself into the crowd.

She had only a glimpse of him. Straight nose, dark hair, not really too tall at all, though not short, and with the slimness of the youth she had recognized in his voice. Only some years older than her, then.

She sat there for a long time. Enough to think over the whole interview from start to finish two or three times, perhaps, but still — silly girl, she thought, reflexively — the only things in her mind were the quick, graceful bow with which he took his leave, and his voice, travelling through the darkness and offering unexpected salvation.