Victorian England PSL

[artistwithasickness]

It wasn't like London was the only place in the world. There were other place, less foggy, less rainy, less muddy but this was home. The tea, the tophats, the stiffness that all the aristocracy carried was a very intricate, if not boring dance.

The Darvishes weren't a well known family and neither were they the richest, but who could compete with Lords and names that had grown in London before them? Their money was made mostly overseas and while the collective Ton turned their noses up at how the money was made, they were, of course, too polite to say anything in public about it. Lord Darvish and his only daughter didn't take up much room or attention and the ton, generally, allowed them to mingle. Lord Darvish was a portly man with a deep infectious laughter, and his easy nature got him a little leeway with his peers. It didn't earn them a bigger house, or more money - not even the smoothest talker could make magic from nothing, but they didn't ask about their estate or finances.

That's what the Ton seemed mostly composed of. Old greedy men, bitter shrewish women and a gaggle of young girls that were to be married off for their father's benefit. Devi wasn't giggling, but she knew she fell into the latter half of that list. Each party that she was made to go to was boorish - another auction set to dancing music - but she was at them, none the less. The youngest Darvish had ideas and opinions, not something seemly for a girl in this age according to the frustrated rants of her father, and it was for his sake that she kept her smile and manners; moved around the circles, even if she did always end up sitting on the outskirts of the movement.

The music was boring, the people were boring, and one dark haired girl was left to wander the empty halls of whichever Lord's house they were visiting this week. She heard he had a garden somewhere, expansive and full of colorful flowers and the idea of exploring someone else's home seemed delightfully, excitingly devilish.

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[detective_fields]

Detective Inspector Emmett Fields was in London consulting on a serial killer case with Scotland Yard. After the Poe murders, he'd developed something of a reputation in these sorts of affairs. They were an intellectual exercise in their way, and he'd even find them stimulating if lives didn't always hang in the balance by their very nature.

Once the case had wrapped, the killer dead in a showdown with police, Fields was invited to a party thrown by the father of a girl whose life had been saved when the killer's lair was found. Full of debutantes and those surveying them like predators stalking prey, he was a little bored by it all. Despite his single status, he tended to be married to his work and was not seeking a young, monied wife to sail back to America with and subsequently bore. Instead, he took to walking the halls of the house, looking at artwork and tapestries he found there with interest.

[artistwithasickness]

No doubt she'd heard the name in passing but Devi had no mind for boorish old inspectors to match the rest of the artifacts and had paid no mind to any of the other guests, except in the barest of passing. No one else seemed to be milling out of the party after her, so when she peered into the next hall she came across, she was surprised to see someone standing around.

At worst, she was impish and, in a flash of wondrous idea, Devi decided to see how long she could follow him before being found out. Getting away wasn't going to be a problem, she thought, she was young and spry and had the advantage of knowing the playing field.

As he turned his back to head down to the next picture, Devi picked up her skirts and silently easily strode into the room diagonal from her. Even if it didn't connect to the rest of the hall, it was a start.

[detective_fields]

It might not have been noticed by most, but he was observant. It was his job. And his job was more of a vocation than an occupation for him. He spied movement from his peripheral vision, but carried on. He looked at the next painting, but his mental focus was now on his periphery, looking for the movement again.

[artistwithasickness]

She waited a full minute, heart already pounding in self propelled excitement, before squatting down to barely peer out from the door frame. No use coming out at eye level, not if she was going to play seriously. He was occupied, but scurrying past anyone who was standing in a profile was a hard sell and she was prepared to wait for him to continue on down the hall or, better yet, out of it completely and into the open library.

One couldn't make too much out of a hall, it did kind of eliminate directional surprise.

[detective_fields]

Fields moved to the next picture and examined that a moment as well, then did notice the open library door and stepped inside, looking around. It was plush and well-appointed and he stepped into the semi-circular snug to look at the books that lined it.

[artistwithasickness]

Devi studied him for the few moments that he paused, finally seeing that he wasn't as ancient or as boorish looking as the other guests. He was handsome in his way.. and walking away. Waiting until he starts to turn the corner into the library, she stands up and makes her way down the hallway until she's standing at the doors herself. Carefully, she looks around and steps in properly, clearing her throat softly.

The game had given way to curiosity and that was, maybe, more dangerous. For someone.

[detective_fields]

He looked over at her, his expression a little amused.

"You've decided to step out of the shadows, have you?"

His accent would mark him as American, but he was smartly dressed in subdued navy and black.

[artistwithasickness]

An American. There was nothing boring about that. She hadn't actually met anyone that wasn't English and some playfully sarcastic voice in her head had suggested that maybe the English really did rule the world.

She smiles a bit sheepishly. "You noticed me. Why didn't you say anything?"

[detective_fields]

"It seemed a bit rude to accuse someone of skulking in their own house," he teased.

[artistwithasickness]

Her smile broadened, hands folding behind her back as she takes to leaning lightly on the pillar of the bookcase.

"It is." And for a half second, she had a mind to play the house as hers, but honesty won out over simple boredom and she continued."Your manners would remain spotless anyway.. It's not my home. I'm only visiting. I'm from the party they're holding in the larger drawing room."

[detective_fields]

"As am I, so I won't ask you why you're not actively attending it." He gestured to the books. "Do you read?"

[artistwithasickness]

She rolled off her shoulder and took a few steps closer, glancing over the books with a fond look and a nod. "Less often then I'd like, but yes, I do. It's something more engaging then needlepoint and gossip." Neither of which she'd found a lot of interest in.

"There's something about other's people's libraries though, isn't there? Almost personal..." She laughed softly at herself, shifting on her feet and reaching out to run her finger down one of the spines. "That's a little silly I suppose."

[detective_fields]

"Not at all. Looking through someone's library is likely more intimate than looking through their dresser drawers. It tells you what they're wearing on the inside of their mind, rather than the outside of their bodies."

[artistwithasickness]

"And yet here you are, rifling through them." She gave him an inquisitive sidelong glance before remembering that she was supposed to have manners. "I'm seem to have forgotten myself," she says as she turns to face him properly. "Devi Darvish," she introduces with a slight and respectful inclination of her head.

[detective_fields]

"Rifling things is my vocation," he jokes dryly. "Detective Inspector Emmett Fields," he tells her, incling his head back.

[artistwithasickness]

"What a rude vocation." Her lips tug slightly. "A pleasure to meet you. So is that why you're here? To rifle through Mr. Sherriland's inner wardrobe?"

No, the fact that it was an impertinent question never ran through her head.

[detective_fields]

"I suppose I am. Why else would I look at his art collection and his library on the same evening?" A slight smirk. "I suppose he wanted me to look at his daughters, but I'm not in the market for a wife."

[artistwithasickness]

"I missed the art collection," she mutters, glancing briefly into the empty hallway over her shoulder before blinking back to look at him. "Why's that? If you don't mind my asking. Don't need more then one?"

It a joke - after all, she wasn't sure if she believed that he was a bachelor in the first place. There didn't seem to be many of those around. Not that she was interested in finding one of her own, but the social field had to be watched.

[detective_fields]

He looked at her curiously for a moment. Most people who...ever met him, really, would have no trouble believing that he had no wife.

"Is that a joke?"

[artistwithasickness]

Her lips twitched. "Do you know many men stupid or brave enough to try it openly in this day and age?"

[detective_fields]

He gave her a rueful but direct look.

"I have no wife and it is unlikely my career will leave room for one any time soon."

[artistwithasickness]

"No? And why's that then? Do you spend your days chasing villains down dark alleyways and your nights up to your collar in paperwork?"

She didn't know what that job was like in reality, only what she'd read in books. Detective Inspectors weren't a commonly lingering class.

[detective_fields]

"I spend my days and nights combing tiny details for the one that will start the chain that solves the crime."

He watched her for a second.

"Do you read detective stories?"

[artistwithasickness]

She nodded, habitually glancing and brushing her finger over the scant inch of the book spine on the shelf her hand was closest too. Even in passing she found them interesting and wondered what sat behind each firm backing.

"I do, when I can get my hands on them. My father's collection isn't widely spread outside of what he likes. Mostly War stories." The eye roll that came with it was a clear suggestion of what she thought of that Genre. "And a strange obsession with the west." She looked over at him.

"You said you were from America. May I ask where?"

[detective_fields]

"Baltimore," he replied. "Do you know where that is?"