Alice Pepper

"Why the 'e' at the end, Papa? Does that make it seem more cultural? Is it intended to bring more visitors? More revenue? We're not even French, for goodness sakes."

"Oh Alice, does it matter? Now what are you wearing on your feet?"

Alice looked down at her feet. The tips of her father's shiny black dress shoes peeped from beneath her ruffled muslin dress. "Does it matter?" she repeated, with a raise of a single eyebrow.

Her father was a tall man who seemed much smaller due to his age. Despite his height, he walked in a stooped shuffle, bent over his cane, his posture more gnarled than the kinks in his resplendent white mustache. He shook his head, blowing out his cheeks with exaggerated irritation, and Alice grinned and nudged him with her glove-covered elbow (not too hard, however). "I swear, if your mother were still alive, she would have a heart attack at half of the things I allow you to pull," he said, mouth twisting into a woeful smirk.

Alice glanced down at her father and covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. "Papa, would you look at yourself?"

With surprise, her father looked down and saw what Alice had finally noticed: his shirt, half unbuttoned, untucked, and speckled with coffee stains (no doubt dripped down his mustache on the ride over). He burst out laughing.

"Oh your mother would have my head!" Inspector Pepper laughed, nodding vigorously. "What must people think of us?"

"Well, they think we're the most attractive pair here." Alice stopped and turned to her father, lifting an eyebrow and fixing his (once) crisp white shirt.

It was true, Alice's state of dress was somewhat in disarray, but only if you looked closely around the edges. She actually looked quite nice, ignoring the shoes (But those are hardly visible anyway; I mean, who would ever be looking at my feet? I'm not walking around in those heeled death traps and face-planting in front of the aristocracy.) Her red hair was curled and pinned back in the popular style.

Surreptitiously, she shortened her steps, tucking her toes beneath the hem of the gown.

This was the day, after all. For weeks London seemed to have been abuzz about the Grande Exposition, an event taking place near the Thames in a regal hall usually reserved for balls, dances. Alice led her father down the hallway, along the wide windows overlooking the broad river below; as dusk began to fall over the city, the riverbanks were lit with hundreds of glowing lamps, like fireflies in the night. Those who weren't invited (the number was high) had taken it upon themselves to hold their own festival. Alice had seen the dozens of candy colored tents below.

It looked like fun, and much less stuffy fun than at this Grande Exposition, but Alice thanked her lucky stars that somebody had remember her father's 25-year-and-ongoing service at the Yard and invited him. As their shoes echoed up the vaulted ceilings, she read the posters plastered on every surface:

Grande Exposition!
20!!! paintings of the greatest Painters in England!
3!!! of the most highly esteemed orchestras of the day!
Beautiful gardens for your perusal!!!
Food fit for the Queen!!!
Shows!!! Singers, exotic dancers, magic, animals, readings of the finest literature in the land!!!
A day like no other!!!

Alice was really beginning to hate exclamation points.

Despite the code of dress and the selective invitations (only nobility, people who knew people, servants, specialists in the fields, and famous people were supposed to come, it was a small invitation list for such a large ball), which usually meant that it would be a stuffy evening, Alice's heart fluttered at all those exclamation points (Stupid posters, she thought, rather irritated that they had manipulated her emotions so. Stupid grammar).

She'd read about culture such as this in her father's library; finally she would see it. She would see the paintings, hear the music, the literature... experience it all for herself. Her eyes, emerald green, flashed in excitement.

"And here it is," grunted her elderly father, glancing up at the tall double doors. Music and light poured through the cracks. The banner read Welcome! To the Grande Exposition!!!

Alice just prayed that whoever had organized the ball had a better idea of culture than whoever double checked the grammar for the publicity.

Servants led them through the balls and Alice took a deep breath, hoping that it would be all that she expected it to be.

-0-

It was.

Marian walked along the path to the grand exposition. It was safe to say that she was less than thrilled at having been dragged into this. Her parents still hadn't fully given up on her becoming a proper lady, they were holding onto a little hope that this was a phase she was going through. So they were always sending her invitations to balls and openings. For the most part she usually says no, but this place was supposed to be exhibiting the top three orchestras and, well, she was a sucker for that smooth, rich sound of the cello. Now because of her love for the cello, she was walking in heels and a fancy dress to something she only half wanted to be at. Her hair was pulled into an elegant, tight bun, put on dark eye make-up that made her eyes look even colder and a reasonably dark red lipstick. Her dress was the only one she had fit for an event like this, it was a dark red velvet with white lace on the edge of the sleeves and in the middle front of her torso, it was long with a full skirt. All this she could handle, and honestly the dress was from her prostitution stage, but she was hoping nobody would notice, but it was the shoes that were killer. She had spent a good hour fighting with herself if she should wear her only pair of ratty heels or her more comfortable working boots. Her mother's voice in her head won, so now she was painfully making her way to the exposition.

"This grand exposition better be worth it," she whispered under her breath as she approached the front door. There was a more exciting festival going on outside for those who, normally like her, didn't get invited. As she entered there were very few people inside, either because even fewer people were invited than she originally thought or she just happened to be earlier than every one else. She guessed it was the latter as the orchestras weren't ready to play yet and weren't scheduled to play till later in the night, meaning she would have to wait a while before getting to actually hear what she came for.

A few servants were walking around handing out glasses of wine and hor d'oevres. Marian grabbed a glass of wine having a gut feeling that she was going to be drinking a lot of it tonight. She looked around at the mindless aristocratic conversation she had so desperately ran from and declared the place dead. The only place left to go at this point while waiting for the orchestras to start playing was to explore the gardens. She sipped her wine and walked like a true aristocrat, normally she wouldn't care, but in all honesty she was a little self-conscious that she was wearing a whore's dress and she didn't want to draw any attention to herself. So she just blended in using all the lessons she learned from her mother about how to act like a lady.

The gardens were beautiful, Marian did have to admit. And the fact that she new the real names of most of the plants there thrilled her. She loved knowing things that many other women didn't even have a clue. She stopped at a bunch of purple flowers that fell in small bundles. To an average woman they were just some pretty purple flowers, to a florist they were Amethyst falls, but Marian they were known only as Wisteria espalier. Her small mouth turned into a tiny smile, one that only really showed itself when she was by herself. She loved plants and loved knowing their true names. It was as if she were in a secret club in which no one else was allowed inside. The flower petals felt soft against her touch and the weight was like water as it fell from her hand back to where it was hanging. The smell in the gardens was nice, a soft sweet smell, nothing overly strong, but just enough for you to notice it. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea, she thought to herself as she continued moving along the garden drinking her wine, maybe this will turn out better than I originally thought.

Zella Beatrice had always been quite taken by any event near the Thames. Especially the regal hall, always one to relish in fancy balls and dances. She was a worldly woman after all. Dusk was falling over the city, brightening everything with glowing lamps. The young woman was walking with her head high, dress swishing around her, alone to the party.

She had half the mind—as any woman such as herself would—to stay behind and allow herself to join in the festivities of those outside of the Exposition she had been so lucky to land an invite to. However, for that particular night, Zella had other thins on her mind.

Zella was a sucker for art, orchestras, gardens, food, and shows...she was meant for the high life of the rich and the famous. Surrounded by greatness and high esteem...beauty...it was Zella's element. Where she shined. Where she belonged.

A crooked smile found its way onto Zella's pink lips as one of the posters caught her eye. Quite personally, she had to admit she'd always been a fan of the exotic...

Before Zella entered the building, she stopped to run her hands over her bodice. Oh there was no doubt she was beautiful. Standing so tall and perfect, Zella was clad in an ivory colored dress, with a corset bodice that gave her already large bust an extra show. Long sleeves dipped from her shoulders down to her wrists in a loose, showy manner. A large skirt appeared at her waist in typical ball fashion, dipping well passed her ankles to cover the lovely shoes she had chosen for the night.

Her long, raven hair was piled into an elegant bun on the top of her head, but as always a few ringlets had found themselves free. Finally pleased with her appearance, Zella stepped inside. She knew she was early, so she wasn't at all surprised not to see the place at full capacity.

She blended in almost immediately, grabbing a drink elegantly from one of the servants. With a nod of thanks she raised it to her lips while her gray eyes searched the room. Aristocratic conversation filled her ears and she couldn't help feel more than at ease.

Of course, Zella Beatrice was a chameleon. Rather in this party tonight or on the street the next, she blended into her environment as if she'd belonged there forever. She glanced up at the tall double doors and found herself grinning at the music and light pouring out. Welcome! To the Grande Exposition!!!

She smiled as she stepped inside, knowing it was going to be a night she would remember.

"This is rather exciting, you agree yes?"

"I spent a great deal of time searching for the perfect dress!"

"I simply cannot wait for the main events to start!"

"The decorations are simply stunning...."

The mundane chatter was beginning to draw out a small headache in the young man's head as his ice blue eyes scanned the perimeter carefully. These sort of social events usually meant little to him; in fact, they were rather boring despite that this exposition was supposed to be "grande". The only real reason he was even attending this night was that three of his recent, and most finest, works were being debuted. All under different aliases of course. He never used his given name anymore, for reasons not very obvious to others than himself. It did not bother him however; in fact, he preferred it to be this way. He found that it was rather tactful to have different names to fall under in case one of his aliases were to fail or be less successful than another.

Not that the income really mattered. It was all about securing his position.

Swirling the wine in his glass languidly, he let out a very quiet sigh. It was still fairly early in the evening. More and more guests were starting to arrive now, and the artist paid close attention to those who took a gander at his precious pieces. If there was anything he enjoyed doing, it was observing those who presented themselves in society; whether they were proud, vain, beautiful, handsome, or simply plain, the human race was certainly a spectacle to behold. This was not just some simple hobby as it used to be. There were darker and more complex reasons for people watching, but he wouldn't dare tread further on that thought lest he ruin his fairly civil mood. Tonight took a great deal of mental preparation.

Shifting his legs beneath the table and adjusting his posture slightly, the black haired man set his wine glass down and noted that he was being stared at. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes when a few young girls made it apparent that his presence was intriguing to them as they giggled once his gaze landed in their direction. Though he was not that far in age, he was quite certain that they had just reached the stage of maturity in which they could be considered ladies. And he was not exactly looking for that kind of company. Offering a tiny yet charming smile, he bowed his head politely at his female onlookers before gracefully pulling himself to a stand.

With very little in mind at the time, he decided to feed his excitement-starved brain by wandering over to intricately designed double doors that led to the estate's gardens. He may have been an artist by trade, but that did not mean he had no knowledge of the nature around him. Catching sight of an elegant fountain planted in the center of everything, he found that his feet carried him over and a brilliant thought suddenly struck him. He wasn't quite sure of what was intriguing him, but he believed that this fountain would inspire his next work of art.

Perhaps this night would be more productive than he initially thought.

It hadn't taken Alice very long to get to the refreshments table. Now that she had a long-stemmed glass of liquor in her hand, her stomach had finally quieted with its butterflies, and she was beginning to enjoy herself.

Though she knew she was terribly out of place-- women draped in ball gowns swished by, waving fans, whereas Alice just had this simple green frock and men's shoes hidden under the chiffon-- it didn't bother her in the least. She let a smile glaze over her face, and she just watched everything around her. She had a million questions and nobody to ask them. Who painted that canvas over there? Why did they use the colors that they did? Did anything inspire them? What technique were they using? And what about the music? Who composed it? Was this an esteemed piece?

A headache wormed its way into her head, and she knew it wasn't because of the alcohol. (Though she would deny it, she could toss back a few drinks, no problem.) Squeezing her eyes shut, she lifted glove-covered fingers to her temple and gave a short breath. Really, now? This night was supposed to be amazing. But the back of her neck was prickling and suddenly all of the people around, the body heat rising up, the layers of dresses and the black tuxedos and canes were intolerably constricting.

She had to get out. Alice turned, intending to walk over to the orchestra pit and sit where the music was loudest and the people were fewest.

"Hey there, little missy-- oh!"

Alice turned right into the man, almost walking straight into him-- but she bumped him enough so that his wine spilled against her collar bone. She let out a rattled gasp as ice-cold liquid poured down her front, trickled down her bodice, crawled across the fabric of her dress in a growing stain. "Oh, shit!" she said-- completely unladylike, but she didn't really care at the moment.

The guy was already swearing himself, yanking a towel from a passing waiter and coming at her, spilling apologies, but there was no way Alice was letting a man near her... chest... with an ice-soaked rag.

"Thanks," she snapped, but immediately her face softened; she winced at the harsh tone in her voice. "Thanks," she said, apologetically this time, "but I'm-- I'll just go now."

"I'm... uh... sorry." He cringed, rubbing his neck, but Alice just sighed and gave a wistful half smile.

"It's okay, it's okay, don't worry about it..."

The smile wavered and broke as she brushed past him and made for the doors into the gardens.

"Well, shit, shit, shit," she mumbled now that nobody could hear her. Crickets sang in the outdoors; stars twinkled like diamonds on velvet overhead. At least nobody could see the red creeping across her cheeks, or her suddenly watery eyes. She laughed at herself. "Shit!" she repeated, breaking into snorting giggles. The cursing was suddenly hilarious.

"Oh God, look what I've done tonight," she groaned, but still grinning, and sank onto a bench. (It appeared to be a stone slab hefted by what appeared to be carved cherubs. Kind of disturbing really.) She stared blankly down at her dress; the dark violet on green looked like an enormous bloodstain.

"Oh dear Lord, why does something like this always happen?" she sighed, wishing she'd grabbed the cloth.

Marian kept walking through the gardens, naming ninety percent of all the plants she saw in her head. She was starting to get a bit of a giddy feeling at the amount of knowledge she had when she came upon a fountain. 'I must be at the center,' she thought remembering seeing the running water from a distance when she had first walked onto the balcony. But that wasn't what dampened her spirits. No what it was, was that there was another person there. That meant she had to put on her best aristocracy manner for this stranger. She sipped her wine quietly as she went to sit down on the edge of the fountain.

"Beautiful night out is it not?" Marian stated looking at the sky trying to start and hopefully finish quickly what would undoubtedly be an un-stimulating conversation. That was another reason that Marian hated aristocracy so much, they never stopped talking and yet they never actually said anything. It was all just small talk done to fill up their otherwise boring day. Though even after Marian had started the small talk she had a gut feeling that this man was different. That maybe she should just continue on and not sit there like an idiot. It was a small feeling in the back of her mind and considering where she was it wouldn't be the best thing to just get up and walk away. They might even throw her out if she did such a scandalous thing and she still hadn't gone to see the orchestra yet. Which was the whole reason why she was here, to listen to those cellos.

She looked over her shoulder at the man. He was tall and skinny with messy, long-ish, dark raven hair. He didn't look like your average aristocrat, but enough so that he would be able to blend in fairly well. It took her minute before she recognized him as one of the artists that they were displaying his works. She didn't know is art very well, though looking at what she did see of the artwork, she guessed that it was good.

"You are one of the artists right?" Marian asked, "Which painting is yours?" She wanted to ask other questions as well, but if she asked too many at once then she would seem like nothing more than another frivolous girl fawning over a famous artist.