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the mistress hissed, arms crossed atop the bust of her flowing, ribbon-covered blue-white dress. "I'm not certain what manner of con or game you've decided to play, Ellery—" her eyes fell upon Lady Duskwood, who smiled at the sight. "...nor do I know why that filthy, seducing little viper is here at your side, much less in clothing betraying what I can only imagine was a night spent in sin with you," she positively bristled, "and so I've given the courtesy of a visit, so as to perhaps divine what manner of ill-conceived thoughts have sprung into your head."
"Have you? Given me the courtesy, you have? Quite a courteous, courteous woman, who comes to visit the victim of her blackmail," Ellery responded with proud aplomb. Isobel watched from the railing, satisfactorily savoring each of her lover's bold, rapier-sharp retorts. "Perhaps your little dove carried a message 'cross the countryside of strange goings-on in the house of Brighton, hm?"
"I've no manner of idea on what you're speaking of," Lady Maryweather hissed.
"Oh? Was it not but a day past that you stood in my study positively bragging about how the little bird had told you everything? About how much leverage you held above my head? You seemed quite proud of your cunning plot when we spoke, m'lady," Ellery crowed with authority. "Now that the Duke of Thrushmore's fortunes have turned quite bleak, now you've no interest in a good, classic gloat, I suppose?"
"I've no interest in Eugenius Miller's matters," she snarled in response, the composure of the lady she had so precisely and perfectly cultivated cracking like the glass of a shattered mirror. "We had quite a productive conversation between the two of us, Ellery - and I felt certain we had come to an understanding on how this... woman," she spat the word in Isobel's direction, "...was using, seducing you; all the trouble and ruin it would bring upon your names, both hers, and yours. Had we not come to an accord?" Lady Maryweather tried to play sweet with a sugary tone in her voice and a smile on her lips, though the reality lurking beneath her face could scarcely be hidden by now.
"A courteous accord? That's what we call blackmailing now?" Ellery retorted, his voice full of airy sarcasm and smug satisfaction. Isobel could feel it too.
"These sorts of accusations only hurt yourself, Ellery," Lady Maryweather spoke through angrily gritted teeth, her eyes full of spite.
"But that's what it's called, is it not - blackmail? Please, correct me if my brain, so mired with worry and the want of lovely Isobel, has made a grave trespass in calling it as its appropriately termed," Ellery crowed. Lady Maryweather's cheeks burned brighter the more frustrated and irate she grew.
"Perhaps we need to come to a new agreement, Lord Brighton," she rasped in revilement.
"Blackmail, Lady Maryweather - and from the tales I've heard, I'm not your only victim, am I?" Lady Maryweather's rage broke with that statement into a fractured image of worried confusion; Ellery smiled. "I've said this far too many times in the last day, love, but - Lady Emily Maryweather, you certainly didn't think yourself to be the only noble in all of northern England to associate herself with coy saboteurs and 'little birds', did you?" Lady Maryweather took a step back, hand to her chest, as if ready to faint.
"I... I don't quite underst... and," she stammered.
"I'm certain you do. The difference, though, m'lady," Ellery stated authoritatively, sauntering along the top of the staircase as he spoke; Isobel savored every second, her expression growing full of warmth - and so full of pride, at seeing him assert himself to her. He truly had forced off his chains. "...the difference, is that my friend is not a 'little bird'. No, my friend is far from a dove. My friend is a vicious bird of prey, its talons sharpened, its eyes quick, its manner merciless," he said. Isobel watched the doorway - and she saw the gleam in his eyes. Just as Lord Brighton described. He smiled a sick smile - a smile that had so long kept her in wary suspense and writhing fear. It was then, when he grinned up at Lord Brighton with those eyes, that she realized the identity of Lord Brighton's spy. Perhaps the most loyal - and the person she had least expected it to be.
Arthur Ellsworth's ghastly gaze fell then upon Isobel, whose face brimmed with stunned surprise. He tipped his hat to her, giving her his smile. She had never trusted him... but perhaps that's precisely why he made the most effective spy, in all Lady Maryweather's entourage.
"Who—what?" Lady Maryweather gasped; she stumbled backwards, revelations overwhelming her.
"If I revealed too much, that'd spoil our game, wouldn't it, Emily?" Ellery announced proudly. "Now, my hawk has far more evidence of your wrongdoings than simple blackmail - no, that'd be silly, even expected, from a woman like yourself. But some crimes my hawk has seen your hand sullied with..." Lord Brighton clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, shaking his head. "Perhaps the Duke of Thrushmore wasn't as wicked a man, if we dared compare him to you, love. Though, you're in luck - it seems likely he'll be needing a friend to wallow in ruin with."
"You... you snake," Lady Maryweather managed. She took hobbling steps towards the stairwell, full of rage, before tripping on her long and flowing dress, falling to her knees with a yelp. Quivering, fearful and broken, she could take little more. "I'll ruin b-both of you," she vowed weakly, before the excitement claimed her and she fell faint with a sigh at the foot of the stairs.
Isobel rushed to her lover's side, grasping at his waist; she looked down on the fallen lady with pride. Just like the Duke of Thrushmore, Lady Maryweather had been a lie. And as Lord Brighton held her tight and kissed her, she felt a satisfying warmth fill her from head to toe.
Gentlemen, ladies, deception and ruination... none of it mattered. For no amount of lies or financial ruin could bankrupt the love they shared.
"Now," Ellery whispered against her lips. "We've a wedding to plan, don't we?"
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