I
The rest of Eleanor's day took an unexpected turn.
Here she was, sat in an opium den, amongst a swirling crowd whose faces and clothes appeared before her in dazzling, colourful forms. Even in her inebriated state, her subconscious mind was electrically aware that her reality - and the rest of her life - was fundamentally altered.
She could never go back to being the naive country girl who revered her father and glanced shyly at strangers; she was now a rich lady in English society, fashionable and sharp-minded and invariably caught up in London's shady, sinful offerings, regardless of her own moral opinions of them.
Liquor, cigarettes and small tincture bottles kept appearing on the cloth-covered stool in front of her, set down by a hazy kaleidoscope of hands, some familiar, some not. The floor and walls of the basement room were concealed behind a variety of vibrant tapestries and wall hangings, evoking a timeless, mystical atmosphere amongst its inhabitants, though Eleanor knew she must have been sat there for hours and hours, all least well into the evening.
It had all started with James' visit to the Purcell's London home, where, after his and Eleanor's tense conversation, he had somehow persuaded her and Michael to take a walk with him.
Her refusal of the offer was on the very tip of her tongue, if it wasn't for the child-like twinkle that appeared in Michael's eyes and demeanour; clearly 'taking a walk' alluded to something very different. She'd tried her hardest to be a virtuous lady in society, but Eleanor couldn't deny the deep, agonising longing in her body to get to the bottom of the shady drug scheme which was growing like a virus inside her tobacco company. And if she had to get caught up in the decadent crimes herself in order to take it down, then so be it.
She'd set her teacup down gently and given the visitor a saccharine smile. "Why, I'd love to accompany you today, Mister Sterling."
James' expression was unreadable, as if he himself wasn't sure if her enthusiasm was a good or bad thing. His thumb ran over the scars on his neck absent-mindedly. "Well then, we'd best be going."
The group walked along the cloudy Thames until it led them from the lavish city centre to Camden, the same area as the shady docks where Eleanor had hidden from Rafe not so long ago. James knocked on the peeling door of a decrepit building, which a scowling young woman answered. She ushered them inside and pointed towards the basement wordlessly, the door of which was already open with an alluring yellow glow illuminating the otherwise dark stairwell.
They descended the rickety steps, and the room they entered was already fairly full with a handful of other high society members. She was surprised to recognise the face of Mr Nathaniel Hutton, who she'd sat beside at that first society dinner in Bath, which now felt like a lifetime ago. She smiled at him, and he nodded back at her in casual acknowledgment, as if this was the most ordinary of places for two aristocrats to bump into each other. Michael and James also greeted the rest of the group chummily, slapping shoulders and shaking hands with them under the mystical glow of various exotic oil lamps.
They then led Eleanor to a free corner where they each sat down upon a pile of velvet pillows. No words passed between them, only a handful of anticipatory glances at each other. The young woman from upstairs appeared and set down a tray of glasses, a pitcher of alcohol, and three little tincture bottles.
In a mixture of nerves and adrenaline, Eleanor took a cigarette and lit it immediately. Then she picked up one of the little bottles and held it up to the multi-coloured light of the room.
The two men watched her every move in silence.
James' eyes glowed like a cats's in the lamplight. She stared right into those Pyrrhic vessels, which seemed to goad her on in their own indecipherable way. She was wary of the non-verbal game still being played between them, a game of power and threats which seemed to be digging both her, James and Rafe deeper and deeper down a dangerous hole.
Exhaling a cloud of smoke, she unstopped the bottle, tilted her head back and felt the cold, addictive poison gently trickle down her throat.
II
More time flew by in a euphoric haze for the trio.
The opium affected Eleanor's vision and rendered it occasionally blurry, but she had only taken a few sips, not enough to fully remove her edginess of her surroundings. In the back of her mind she cursed her curiosity and unrelenting determination for dragging her into this mess.
James and Michael, on the other hand, were way up in the sky. Both two bottles down, they'd leaned back and immersed themselves in the ecstatic visions conjured by the potent substance. Occasionally they'd double over in fits of howling laughter, experiencing the fantastical joys of the drug together. Eleanor found the sight of them oddly touching. They looked so carefree and youthful in that moment, like a pair of mischievous schoolboys with their hair askew and top buttons undone. But as cheery as their current states seemed, other, more sobering images also flashed up in her mind; Marianne's worried face, Michael's monstrous shouting, doors slammed, quiet tears.
The grave repercussions of that one, fleeting moment of intoxication weighed down upon Eleanor like a lingering burden for the rest of the evening. She laid down on her velvet cushions, closed her eyes and let the mystical hallucinations wash over her, wishing they would stop.
About half an hour later, when the males were still giggling and Eleanor was nearly fast asleep, the basement door slammed open and a tall figure loomed within the pitch black doorway.
One of the other intoxicated guests attempted to protest the sudden intrusion but the arrival marched confidently across the room and straight towards the group in the corner, his dark coat leaving a trail of rain drops upon the carpet.
Eleanor's eyes half opened at the commotion, and she glanced up to see Rafe Sterling's furious gaze crouching over her, appearing upside-down in her line of sight. A droplet of rain from his face hit her chin, its coolness revealing how stiflingly hot the room had become. His wavy hair spread around his head like an unruly mane, shrouding his face in shadows. His dark, searching eyes held hers for a long time.
She stared back up at him, doe-eyed and woozy.
"Are you alright, Eleanor?" He asked her, his voice nothing more than a low, husky murmur.
A million thoughts spiralled throughout her head, along with deep whirling sensations in her warm stomach. The claustrophobic room seemed to be closing in around her.
"I want to go outside," she rasped.
Rafe broke his gaze and stood up upright again, jaw clenched.
"What are you playing at? I knew you'd be here when you didn't return home," He hissed at his bedraggled brother, pulling James up by the arm as if he were as light as a ragdoll. "Christ, look at you. The mixture of opium and your medication could be lethal-"
James mumbled an incoherent response, and merely flopped back down to his previous position when Rafe released his grip on his arm. There was clearly no use trying to reason with him under the spell of opium.
Rafe turned back to Eleanor and slowly helped her to her feet, letting her lean her slender figure against his body to support herself.
"Iss okay," Michael unexpectedly piped up, his words slurring, "I'll bring Elle darling back home."
"You won't go anywhere near her until you're sober. Look at yourself." Rafe's mouth curled up humourlessly. "I bet she doesn't even know that you've been helping yourself to her fortune, or that you stole the opium she took from the shipment and replaced it with empty bottles." He glared Michael who was slumped on the floor, dishevelled and pathetic. "I pity you. You too, James, I really do. But there's no need to ruin her life as well."
Words completely escaped Eleanor's exhausted brain, so she remained quiet, internally promising to comprehend all the information once her mind was back to normal.
Safely gripped in Rafe's firm embrace, she walked with him out of that hedonistic room, up the creaky staircase, and back into the real midnight world of refreshing cold air and delightful, piercing rainfall.
YOU ARE READING
Emberlight
Ficção Histórica"We must meet in darkness, by the light of the embers..." c. 1850, England. Young heiress Eleanor Godfrey is swept into high society after the death of her businessmen father. She inherits his prosperous tobacco company, and is thrilled by her newfo...
