The Cat and The Nightingale

This story is Rated M for mature, dark, and sexual content.

*Chapter One

The largest organization in power on the island of Stromhaven was Nightingale, headed by a brutal leader people only knew as 'The Captain'. Most citizens of the modest island did not run across any problems with Nightingale. Though Stromhaven was home to the organization, its dealings in money lending and a variety of aspects in the criminal underworld were vastly carried out on the main body of Great Britain.

For this reason, many citizens on the island lived in either constant fear of angering the shady organization or embraced the lucrative opportunities available.

Or in the case of Alice Townshend, complete confusion.

"Alright, girl, we're here," a raspy voice barked.

Alice prepared herself for more rough handling when the cart rattled to a halt. She was alone in the back with boxes and barrels of other bartered goods. Some of it she recognized as her family's possessions. But she, just like it, were payment for a debt her stepmother was desperate to pay off to the Captain.

There was a long story of how Alice got to the point where she was sold off to Nightingale, but the hell she thought she already went through was only going to continue.

"Get down," the driver ordered. He had opened the back of the cart and was waving other men over to help with the unloading.

Without direction, Alice stood with her small bag of personal necessities next to the pile of goods as they were unloaded from the cart onto the courtyard pavement. Looking around, Alice saw a stronghold, an old castle that showed small signs of modern adaptations. Still, it seemed an odd choice for a rich organization leader to want his headquarters. A stone building on a small spit of land in the Irish Sea.

Workers bustled around the open courtyard. Not just the scary, burly menfolk, but women and younger workers who maintained the running of the castle. They all went about their work like they weren't employed by a dark gang. But, Alice surmised, it was a living, and as long as they didn't get in trouble, it was probably the best job security they could have on a small, unprofitable island.

"Alright, move it into the sorting room," a voice yelled as the, now empty, cart rambled away.

Slowly, the boxes were transported into the darkened corridors and through a doorway. Alice waited until the pile dwindled before hesitantly speaking up.

"Um, excuse me, sir," she waved as the last man lifted a sack over his shoulder.

"What, girl?"

"Where should I go?"

"You part of this shipment?"

"Yes, sir. I'm part of—"

"Follow me, then. Hilda'll sort you."

Alice didn't question the man; just fell in behind as he walked the path to the sorting room.

"Whatcher got there," a man with a cargo list asked as they approached.

"Sack of grain," the worker replied and jerked his head, "and the female."

"Sack of grain, check. One female, check." The man noted on the paper and didn't give Alice a look as he waved her into the room.

The sorting room was a huge hall, filled with boxes, barrels, and a variety of displays. As Alice stepped inside in awe at the gallery, the door swung closed and a lock bolted shut.

"Wait!" Alice called and ran to knock on the door.

"Wait there, girl. Hilda will be there in a bit." The voice and the footsteps faded.

Alice sighed. At least there were gas lamps to light the room. Without an idea of how long she would have to wait, Alice set down her personal bag and explored some of the items in the room.

It seemed like a vault or a treasury. There was no obvious coin or gems, but there were suits of armor- Alice recognized some from her father's library- elaborate tapestries and rugs, paintings and sculptures, and boxes of untold valuables. Alice was careful, as her father taught her, to look with her eyes, not with her hands.

Her keen hearing picked up footsteps and a set of keys which had Alice hurrying back to her bag and positioning herself beside the newest shipment. As the key unlocked the door, Alice straightened herself and hoped she would be presentable enough.

"Well, this can't be right," an older woman mumbled as the door swung open. "We don't trade in—"

Alice curtsied and held her bowed position as the woman cut off mid-sentence.

"What was that Madam Hilda?" A young man asked as he followed in with a push cart.

"Lift your head, dear," Hilda said with a crisp tone that brokered no leniency.

Alice obeyed, straightening herself and lifting her gaze forward. A short, stocky woman with a grey dress, white apron, and white cap bustled up to her. Sharp green eyes squinted up at Alice as she studied.

"What's your name?"

"Alice Townshend, madam."

"Age?"

"Nineteen, madam."

"Why are you here?"

"I am to serve as part of the payment to settle the Townshend debt," Alice replied succinctly.

"Townshend, huh?" Hilda flipped open a ledger and looked through, what Alice could assume to be, records of accounts. Hilda found what she was looking for. With a shake of her head Hilda clucked, "Well, Townshend, you can't cover that debt, even if you spread your legs to every Commander in Nightingale's fleet."

Alice was shocked by the brusque manner the woman spoke. Though she looked like a sewer rat, Alice was actually raised as a rich merchant's daughter and had manners that allowed her to dine with local nobility after her entrance into Society.

"Madam, if I may," Alice spoke, "there are several other crates here to pay towards the Townshend account." She gestured to a few boxes she knew housed the precious few treasures of her father's remaining fortune.

"So I see here on the dossier," Hilda said. "Well, stand next to the door while I got through the rest of this."

Alice moved out of the way and watched as Hilda and her assistant opened sacks and crates to verify their contents. Some of the items went onto the trolley. After a few minutes, Alice came to a few realizations.

First, Hilda held a high rank in the household. She knew details on the inner workings of the kitchen and house needs. She was able to sort through the entire shipment of goods on her own and could know exactly what needed to go where. All food items were to be put in the pantry. Several crates of fabrics were to be taken to the textile rooms for making bedsheets and tailoring. Many boxes of trinkets were set aside to be further sorted into the rest of the gallery.

"What are these?" Hilda peered into the final crate.

"That isn't… what language is that?" the servant asked.

"That book is called 'The Art of War' by Sun Tzu. It's written in Chinese," Alice answered. "There is an English translated copy there as well."

"What good are books?" the servant scoffed.

"Well, that one happens to have tactics on warfare, politics, and society. At face value, these items are also collectables for literary connoisseurs," Alice replied with tightly reined control. Her father's last successful trip had brought that, and several crates of tea for her, from the Far East.

"What?" the servant looked even more confused at Alice's answers than before.

"She means the books can be valuable to the right people," Hilda rapped her knuckle on the man's forehead. "Load it, we'll put it in the library for further decisions."

After making a few notations in her ledger, Hilda motioned for both the servant and Alice to follow her out. Leading the way with brisk steps that were more military than lady, Hilda set the trail. Going from the laundry room in the back, to the kitchens at the side, and finally up a flight of stairs to the library, they unloaded the trolley.

"Thank you, Seamus, you can go," Hilda dusted her hands on her apron as she closed the library from Alice's hungry view. To the mesmerized girl, Hilda snapped, "Come along, Townshend. You're about to meet the most impressive man you'll ever know."

Alice's childhood nervous habit of biting and sucking on her bottom lip surfaced as she trotted behind the stout woman. They took a series of halls and stairways to a high wing of the castle.

Though there had been servants working in the various rooms they passed, Alice knew they were almost at their destination when the halls were devoid of workers. A pair of guards stood at the near end of a hallway.

"Madam," the guards addressed Hilda.

"How long has he been in there?" Hilda check the pocket watch clipped to her bodice.

"Two hours, madam. He has two with him."

"He's had enough time," Hilda replied blandly and stepped between the guards.

When Alice moved to follow, the guards blocked her path.

"Let her pass. He needs to decide what to do with her." Hilda didn't even look behind as she strode away.

The guards moved, but didn't apologize, so Alice just hurried to catch up before Hilda reached the largest set of double doors at the far end of the hall. A series of sounds could be heard though the door and Alice prepared herself for the worst.

Hilda gave Alice a single, stone-faced, calculating look before knocking and swinging open the doors.