The Sisters of Dorley, Book 3 preview (1,036 words) (Patreon)

I thought I'd post this draft scene from an upcoming chapter. My current intention is that whatever this scene becomes will eventually open the third book, so somewhere around chapter 27.

As ever, it's a draft! Written on my phone! And thus subject to change and, especially, typos. It's also a flashback, and thus does not spoil anything about chapters 25 and 26.

(I'm on track with chapter 25. About halfway through the first draft.)

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She’s wearing something nice from the work closet. Cut to the thigh, tight where required and yet still loose enough to run in, should it become necessary. There’s gems sewn into the seams — rhinestones, mostly — and they draw exactly as much attention as she prefers.

The woman waiting for her can’t be older than twenty-two, and while part of her rebels at the prospect of taking someone fifteen years her junior to her breast the greater part of her is aware that of all the power dynamics at play here, age is the only one in her favour. Beatrice is expert at dressing artfully, to conceal her relative poverty; this woman, her unnamed summoner, simply wears her money and wears it well.

They’re close enough to address each other now, and she has a role to play.

“Aren’t you a young one?” she says, modulating her voice deeper and adopting the aristocratic accent she borrows from her other clients.

The woman shrugs, beckons with a tilt of her head, and Beatrice follows her to the elevator. They ascend a dozen floors in silence and step out together into an opulent penthouse. Lamps light themselves at her clap, and she strides briskly to a sunken lounge area, where she sits and indicates for Beatrice to join her.

“My name is Elle Lambert. Not an alias. You are Beatrice… Quinn? That’s the name you’ve been using?”

Beatrice nods. What is this? She’s no stranger to luxury, but her mostly male clients hide behind false names and prefer to forget hers until such time as they are once again horny and ashamed. “It’s as good as any other,” she says.

“I would like to discuss a contract. I find myself in regular need of fulfilment of the sort only one such as yourself can provide. I am also imminent heir to a fortune of both money and control, and I am, and will remain for the next several years, vulnerable to those who might abuse my generosity, or simply be… indiscreet.”

Ah. She wants a fuck buddy who won’t talk. “I understand.”

“No,” she says, standing and beginning to pace, “you don’t. I know about the Hall, Beatrice.”

Professionalism departs her. “What?”

“Dorley Hall. One of my family’s little projects. It’s not run entirely for our family, of course, but for the last decade or so, since the untimely and obviously tragic death of the primary partner, we have maintained a controlling interest, so that the monstrous creature in charge can indulge her whims… and make us a little money on the side.” Before Beatrice can respond, Elle stops pacing and faces her. “I do not approve of what was done to you, Beatrice and, as much as I might appreciate what you’ve made of yourself, I do not condone it. The woman known as Grandmother is, however, untouchable.”

Beatrice nods. She called the police on the place when she got away, and over the years has sent several anonymous tips; all for nothing. For a woman without an identity such as herself, such things have comprised the limits of her ability to fight back. Dorley Hall’s clearly always had serious backing; and now she’s looking at its ‘controlling interest’.

“So why tell me?”

Elle sits down again and taps a button embedded in the table. Moments later a side door opens and a uniformed woman glides across the room, deposits a tray of tea pot and china on the table between them, and exits silently.

“She will not remain untouchable forever, Beatrice Quinn. My grandmother controls the estate, and my parents are dead; I am the sole heir, and when control passes to me we can, with a little preparation, snatch Dorley Hall for ourselves.”

“Why would you want to?”

“Two reasons. When I was growing up I spent much time in my grandmother’s wing — it commanded the best views, and the kitchen staff were agreeable — and in that time I made friends with a succession of serving women who were universally beautiful and universally sad. They lived with her, attended to the needs of her and my grandfather, and sometimes… disappeared. Every question I asked of them or about them was rebuffed. It wasn’t until I returned to the estate last year, spoke to the latest girl, spent some time with her, that I learned the first pieces of what I now know. She was killed for that indiscretion, I am certain, and—”

“What was her name? Please?”

“Kelly.”

“Not Valerie? No trace of French accent? She would have been quite short, and—”

“No. Kelly, God rest her soul, was over six foot. Valerie is a friend of yours?”

“She was.”

“Then help me! Help me, Beatrice, take this place from them and free their captives and turn it to a new and better purpose! For Kelly! For Valerie! For you! I have been living a year with the knowledge that my own family, not content with facilitating the deaths of countless innocents overseas, have bloodied their hands here! In my family home!”

“How will we do it?”

She pours tea as she talks, one for each of them. “I am not supposed to know any of this, officially. I convinced my grandfather, when I heard of Kelly’s death, not to tell my grandmother, and I further suggested to him that I was… titillated by what she told me. I pantomimed sufficient pleasure that the old bastard believed me, and kept my secret, long enough for me to have his heart stopped. And now all that stands between me and control of the Hall is my grandmother’s faltering grasp on life. But I just maintain my appearance of ignorance, Beatrice. So I would like you, with a small team of your choosing, to investigate the Hall. Its history, its current activities; its customers. And when the time is right, when we know everything there is to know, I will end my grandmother’s life.”

“You said you had two reasons. What was the second?”

“As I said, I have needs, Beatrice. Of a nature that is specific and difficult to find reliably.” She returns her half-full cup to the silver tray and extends a hand. “Come with me.”