Blood and Bodice (Applepoisoneer Victorian Virtue)

[Applepoisoneer]

A long line of Hansom cabs rattle to a stop outside the gates Stanley Carnarven's palatial estate. The railroad tycoon was hosting a grand gala for the elite of New York to celebrate the millionth mile of track lain. Fine ladies and gentleman from virtually all over the country assembled in his great hall to dance and drink the night away.

Caroline was among the arriving throngs, but unlike most ladies in attendance, she was arriving along. She intended to meet another friend who, insisted of riding in with her, decided to meet her there. Frustrated and embarrassed, Caroline's face flushed hot and red as she passed through the mincing crowds. Finally, she spotted her.
Rosaline Carter was waiting for her at the top of the steps leading up to the great doorway. She stood next to a man who seemed to be the one checking names off the guest list. When she spotted Caroline, she waved and smiled, which only seemed to fuel the heat in her cheeks.

Rosaline wore her long, strawberry blonde curls pinned up in a strangely understated fashion for the event. While other women boasted such elaborate hairstyles, hers was merely a braided bun. Her makeup was also considerably lighter than most others as well, though Caroline thought that was a smart choice. It emphasized her natural beauty. A little paint, a little powder, and her glistening blue eyes and rose petal lips would shame anyone.

"Honestly Rosaline!" She chided, reaching the top of the steps. "Do you know how humiliating it is to show up here alone?"

"Well, I had errands I thought would prevent me from arriing on time, and I wouldn't want you to be late on my account. We'll go inside, that'll take your mind off things."

The two were checked off the list and admitted into the gathering. People were sipping champagne, nibbling trifles, and standing amid the band, and it appeared the party was going to get into full swing. Suddenly, the band fell silent, and all eyes were turned to the Grande Staircase, where their host stood with a martini glass, poised to speak.

"Good evening, dear friends!" He began, his voice filling the now crowded hall. "Tonight is a celebration of hard work. Of perserverence. Of the American dream! Tonight is a celebration of m-" His voice caught in his throat. At first, he tried to clear his throat and continue, but no words would come to him. Eventually, he disolved into dry hacking, grasping at his neck, the martini glass fell to the steps, spilling shattered glass and liquor around his feet. The tycoon slipped backward and knocked the back of his skull against the rise of the stairs. Shrieks erupted from the onlookers, and a doctor was sent for.

Caroline stood, dumbed by horror and clutching her dear friend's hand. When she spared a glance in Rosaline's direction, the girl seemed transfixed, unable to tear her gaze away from the man floundering on the steps.

 

[Applepoisoneer]

The police arrived surprisingly quickly, and Rosaline's calculating eye scanned the mass confusion for an escape hole. But her clinging, hysterical companion made it completely impossible to slip out undetected. She cursed the day she'd ever met Caroline Marie Johansen, but was determined to turn a burden into an asset. She held the sobbing girl around the shoulders and patted her back consolingly, keeping her best poker face about her.

She knew Carnarven's death had to be clean as a whistle, which meant she couldn't play with him as she liked. Not like the others. Oh, if Caroline had thought this was a ghastly spectacle, the others would surely have driven her mad! The thought almost made her giggle, until she saw the officers bringing the servants into the hall.

The serving staff was lined up along one wall and the guests were lined up along two others. Rosaline clutched her friend a little tighter and buried her face in the ruffles of Caroline's shoulder. If one of them saw her clearly enough to recognize her...

 

[Applepoisoneer]

Rosaline followed her friend out without looking back. It was nearly impossible to keep from smiling; she didn't have to say a word, and she knew it. It was only a matter of time before someone older and more influential than she was piped up and complained. Virtually all of the people in the room that weren't serving class were pardoned by mayoral decree, but Rosaline knew that wouldn't be the end of it.

She knew the face that had loomed over the body; the notorious better half of Rose/ Waters, the detective team responsible for thwarting most major criminals in New York. Now she had to smile as the carriage pulled away from the gates. She had made her mark! If they felt the need to call Rose in, which of course they had, it meant that she was well on her way to infamy! Of course she could never reveal her true identity, but she would know. Every time they mentioned one of her epertly-crafted scenes in the paper, only she would be wise. But she also knew she would have to lay low for a little while. She'd get a lot of milage out of this stunt.

"What on Earth could you be smiling about?" Caroline asked pathetically.

"Oh, I'm just so relieved to be out of that dreadful room." Rosaline mewed, covering her face and letting her grin spread behind her hands.

 

[Applepoisoneer]

(OOC: You really must have some kind of psychic ability. I was absolutely going to use either nightshade or aconite.)

The elderly housekeeper sat in front of the interrogating officer, wringing her handkerchief in frustration and grief.

"It's like I told the rest of you!" She bawled. "The only queer thing I remember seeing was a girl I didn't recognize. She came round the back, saying Mr. Carnarven's agent had hired her on as extra help for the party, and I thought that was plenty reasonable." She took a deep breath and concluded. "She had pretty blonde hair, and was very petite, and that's all I remember." The officer thanked her for her time and sent her home.
..........................................................

Rosaline had just barely made it out of Caroline's company intact. It took a lot of pardoning and pacifying, but she'd gotten herself into a hansom and back to the large, West end home she shared with her father and mother. She hardly ever saw her parents; the doctors had said her father would do better in a warmer climate over the autumn and winter season, but they always made it back in time for the spring premiere.

Fortunately, the leaves had turned deep reds and purples and littered the gutters. The house was a sleeping, empty giant, and she had it all to herself.


Darkness fell over the city, punctuated by gas lamps on every other corner. She wore a long skirt and a pair of sensible shoes, but her fathers spare coat and hat. The brim hung low over her face, obscuring the finer features. The spill of her strawberry blonde hair had been pinned close to her head, and she wore leather gloves more appropriate to colder weather.

The flask in her pocket was only three-fourths full, but she didn't think that would prevent any particular vagabond from taking it up. The blade in her other pocket called to her, singing of it's hunder. She smiled absently and reached a gloved hand to stroke the sharp edge sweetly. Soon, it would be fed.