DISCLAIMER: Joss owns the characters and makes the money. I right the wrongs of the Evil Writers who refused to get Buffy and Spike together where they belonged.

SPECIAL THANKS: Extra special thanks to nmcil for her inspiring banner. You can see more of her fabulous work at href = “http://www.whedonworld.com”

=======================================

Chapter 3 – Razzle Dazzle


The following afternoon, William escaped the house. He told his mother he needed to perform some important errands and she, believing him to be going out to buy some permitted trinket for Cecily, bid him enjoy his afternoon. He would have loved to buy a gift for Cecily, but it was out of the question. He only planned to buy his mother’s Christmas present.

The afternoon was cold and sharp dashes of sleet splashed into his face, but he enjoyed the cool air after the stifling heat of his mother’s parlor. He scurried into Harrods without pausing to examine the elaborate displays of Christmas decorations and gifts or the store’s impressive façade with its motto engraved into a stone plaque over the door that usually drew his attention. He wandered about the store for a bit, admiring the store’s bewildering fairyland display of scarves, mittens and muffs, gloves and jewelry and all manner of paraphernalia for genteel ladies.

A young lady clerk saw him casting about and looking confused and approached him. “May I assist you in finding something, sir?”

He glanced at her crisp, white blouse and black skirt. Miss Merk’s name was printed neatly in black ink on a white card and pinned to her blouse with a tiny red and green plaid ribbon. Yes, an employee. “I am quite at a loss. I would like to buy a gift for my mother, but I have no idea what she would like.” He felt his words had been too abrupt and might be construed as rude. “You have so many lovely things here, it is impossible to choose.”

Miss Merk directed him to a counter layered with soft, woolen scarves and colorful cashmere pashimas imported from Lahore. “Perhaps a lovely scarf?” She held up a pink and purple paisley scarf.

William dismissed the idea of a scarf. His mother rarely left the house, especially in the winter. Dr. Gull advised her to avoid the cold air. He didn’t wish to parade his mother’s illness to a mere shop girl, so he made up an excuse. “I’m afraid it won’t do. My mother is in mourning.”

The shop girl fetched out a black version. “The black, then?”

“No, I’m afraid a scarf won’t do. If you could suggest something else?”

A large, well-dressed man with longish brown hair and a prominent forehead brushed by William and knocked into his shoulder. Two women, one a blonde floozie that William recognized from the cut of her neckline as a soiled dove and the other a brunette with large, dreamy eyes, followed the man. The brunette turned back for a moment to stare at William. She was decidedly odd. William opened his mouth to protest the man’s rude behavior, but before he could collect his thoughts, they disappeared into the crowd.

The shop girl spent twenty minutes showing William lace handkerchiefs with black borders, black gloves, black lace mitts indoor wear, lavender sachets and tiny bottles of cologne with jet stoppers. He narrowed the choices down to a pair of monogrammed handkerchiefs or some black lace mitts, when a silly thought occurred to him. “A question popped into my mind, foolish question really, but is it true Omnia Omnibus Ubiqu?”

“Sir?”

“All things for all people? The store motto? The one over the front entrance.” For a moment, he thought her eyes flashed silver, which was ridiculous. Shop girl’s eyes didn’t turn silver.

“Oh yes, sir. You should have mentioned it straight away.” She directed him to another counter.

Her words were quite puzzling. Why should he have mentioned it? He followed her to a large display of Christmas cards and ornaments – tiny black and yellow-headed china dolls, glass icicles and tear drops, gold and silver cardboard cut and folded into fanciful shapes, sentimental cards printed in bright colors and a small selection of tin fancies – birds, whistles, drums, stars and moons, butterflies and other animals.

Miss Merk handed him a Christmas card and turned her hand to a tin bird suspended from the branch of a gilt tree display. “I believe you’re looking for this.”

He fumbled with the card. Two angels, one blonde and one brunette. The blond carried green pine boughs in her skirt front. The brunette held a blank scroll suitable for a message. The brunette looked like Cecily in a vague way. Mother’s comments of the previous evening made him feel certain that she approved of Cecily as a prospective daughter-in-law. The blonde angel was the prettier, but the brunette was the important one, the safe one.

He wished to marry and have a wife to help him with Mother. Unlike the other males of his acquaintance, the Harbury brothers, Charles Bloxham and even Cecily’s brother, Edward, who frequently made nasty remarks on the subject of squalling infants, he wanted to start a family and father a little girl he could name after his mother. He would never admit it to anyone, but he also rather desperately wanted to have sex. The thought of holding a woman close and, well, having relations, was on his mind, it seemed to him, every hour of every day. He wondered what it would be like.

He’d had incidents at night, humiliating incidents which burned in his memory and shamed him for his lack of control. Other men tried themselves out on the maids, but he would never dream of importuning the helpless Betty in that manner. Fallen girls, such as the blond he’d seen earlier, could not even be considered. No, it must be marriage and soon.

He cramped his hands to control himself. Cecily was a good woman. She would never be interested in sex except for the purpose of having children. His married cousin, Robert Brooks, explained to him that women simply didn’t care about the act. He felt guilty for thinking about Cecily in that way. Still, if they were married, he would be able to exercise his rights once in a while. Cecily’s mother would explain to her that a man must exercise his rights.

What if he sent the card to Cecily? No, that would be too bold. It wouldn’t be proper and she would be furious if he revealed his feelings in such a public manner. He could have his mother send the card on behalf of the family. He checked the price and decided it was within his reach. He counted out his pennies to buy the card and handed the money to the shop girl.

While Miss Merk was ringing up the sale, he turned his attention to the tin bird. It was a small silver and gilt bird with pink patches on its wings, a blue-capped head and a blood-red sparkling drop hanging from its beak. It fit neatly into the cupped palm of his hand.

A green-gloved hand touched the bird. “He’s a razzle dazzle, isn’t he?”

William looked up into the white, heart-shaped face of a beautiful girl. From her flat pitched, musical voice, and her strange words, he supposed she must be an American. He’d never heard an American speak before, but she certainly didn’t sound like an English girl. Her curly blonde hair was pinned up loosely under her clever green hat and several strands popped free to frame her face. Her face was a pale valentine shape, her chin something too pointed, with cheeks and lips pink from the cold. Her eyes were deep green, the green of holly boughs. Her figure was trim and hugged by a bright green bodice and a snappy modern skirt that rustled when she moved. A small purse of sparkling emerald bugle beads and two tiny pink lovebirds perched on her hat, completed her outfit.

“He - he’s a very clever bird. I was thinking of buying him for Mother.” He tore his eyes away from the girl and turned the bird over in his fingers to see the price tag. The price astonished him and he released the bird. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“They do want an awful price. My name is Emma Harlan,” she said. She held out her gloved hand for him to shake.

William pulled on his cravat and tugged on his shirt collar. He felt flustered. Why was this lovely creature talking to him? It wasn’t proper, he was certain, but more, he’d never attracted such attention from such a pretty woman. He took off his hat and accepted her hand. “William Pratt.”

“Pleased as raspberry punch, Billy Pratt.” She studied his face for a moment. “You have a kind face and I’m new in town. Would you take a girl out for a drink?”

This was most astonishing. This American girl must not know that it wasn’t proper for a young lady to introduce herself to a total stranger and ask him out on a frolic. He didn’t think she was a woman of ill repute. For one thing, she didn’t look hard and calculating as the woman who bumped into him earlier. No, she looked fresh and unsullied. He found he didn’t mind whether she was proper or not. He wanted to go with Miss Harlan. He cast about for a suitable place to take her. “There’s a tea room here in Harrods.”

“I was thinking about the place kitty wampus across the street. You can get something better than tea.”

Kitty wampus? She must mean the chemist’s shop. They served sarsaparilla and chocolate sodas with seltzer there. His face crumpled into a frown. He wasn’t certain he’d brought enough money for this adventure.

“Short on the jingle jangle? Don’t worry, Billy. We’ll go snooks.” She grabbed his hand and led him out of the store.