Dirty Work

"I think I can handle it. If not, I'll make a game of it, yeah? Take a shot every time they decide to fling an unsubtle insult towards me. I'll be hammered before the day ends," he replied quietly, snorting at the idea. "I'm not faint of the heart. Sure, I might get a little mad but I think that's natural. As long as I know you and Charles will defend me, I think I can handle some criticism. Don't be surprised if I throw it back, though," he reminded.

"I don't have to get too dressed up, yeah? That's exhausting," he groaned dramatically before rolling onto his back again, his eyes doing the same. "I want this to be fun, not too stuffy. If your friends are as 'open minded' as you make them seem, I'm trusting you to have a fun time,"
 
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The idea of having a party wasn't one Joseph was horrified by, not deep down. He may not appear to be extroverted, but he could be the life of the party if he wanted to. In fact, he often flourished in those settings, especially if he could enjoy debates and interesting conversations, whether he could teach others or just learn something from someone else. He liked the alcohol and the fine food and, often, he enjoyed meeting new people, including men he knew he had flirted with in the hope something could develop. Parties were always enjoyable after he looked back on them but the stress of throwing one together was always tiring, especially one he had to organise with such short notice.

By the weekend, though, the home was bustling with guests who had flocked from around the country to meet up and gather at Joseph's country home. He had a great reputation and, as a result, most were eager to meet up to attend the social event and bring along guests of their own to experience one of the doctor's infamous events. As the party got going, he was slowly slipping back into the habit of socialising with everyone, meeting old friends and engaging with new ones, though at the back of his mind, he was always thinking about Ricky. He liked the people he invited, but he also knew that not everyone was as understanding as he and Charles were.

As Joseph interacted with a politician friend of his, typically debating politics, he momentarily forgot to glance back and check on Ricky, unaware of the interest he had seemingly garnered the attention of a young woman who, ideally, Joseph would have kept him far away from.

As expected from anyone in attendance at the party, the young woman was evidently wealthy; if it wasn't noticeable from her jewels, furs or billowing dress, it was from how she held herself. As she circulated amongst everyone, she eventually reached Ricky and slowly examined him as she sipped at her champagne, eventually smiling to herself as through she approved of him.

"...You aren't used to this, are you?" Beatrice laughed loudly, tapping her finger against the glass. "I can tell. It's fine, these events are all rather... busy. As exciting as they are, one does rather wish for a little peace and quiet, don't you agree?"
 
Ricky had tried his best to fit in. He was used to bars and large groups of friends, sure, but this wasn't really what he was used to. He expected it, so it wasn't too much of culture shock, but nothing could quite compare to just how posh everything was.

There was a generally quiet tone, with the occasional heave of laughter, but it was nothing like lounging about with a beer. Instead, Ricky was left to wander through the small groups, introducing himself upon meeting and slipping away. With a glass of wine in hand, he gingerly dipped it and watched as the guests spoke. To be noticed suddenly was a surprise, his eyes briefly widening.

"Ah, nah. This isn't quite my cup of tea but I like to expand my taste," Ricky replies with a smile, offering a small bow. " I'm... Richard," he added, cringing at how formal his name sounded.
 
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"Richard... That's a lovely name, hm? Now, you don't need to feel awkward, everyone I've spoken to seems to like you. It is rather clear that this isn't your scene, which is fine. It's nice to experience new things, isn't it?" She smiled as she adjusted her furs, the distraction preventing her from acknowledging Charles' sudden -and rushed- appearance at the discussion. Joseph might have been occupied, but Charles quickly cut off his own conversation the very instant he saw Beatrice engaging with Ricky, knowing that if there was anyone he ought to stay away from, it was her.

It was only because he wanted the best for the woman, though. If he had a choice, he wouldn't have allowed her at the party to begin with, yet she showed up as a guest of a guest, much to his and Joseph's concern.

"...I see you've met Beatrice-- and you've met Ricky. He's lovely, isn't he? Maybe, now you've all but met everyone, you can go and take a lie down, Bea? I'll ask someone to fetch you up something to eat. You go and take a nice bath and... relax," he murmured as quietly as he could to the woman, his smile faltering at the blank expression she gave in response. "I just don't think it's... wise for you to... be at a social event and..."

"I-I'm fine, Charles." Beatrice quickly smiled, ignoring Charles completely, even if she knew any chance of a normal conversation had ended as a result of his well-meaning -but ultimately annoying- concern. "I'm not a madwoman, Charles. I... just want a nice conversation with Richard, I'm quite capable of that."
 
"I think we're Fine," added Ricky, oblivious to hush hoe fire Charles seemed to be treating it all. He found Beatrice to be lovely for the most part, no real complaints came to mind, so to be suddenly interrupted was startling .

"I can lead you upstairs at the very least," he offered, a charming smile on his lips. He wasn't flirting, moreso trying to make the woman comfortable after the strange interaction with Charles. "That is, unless you'd prefer Charles. It's understandable."
 
"No, I'll take her up. She needs to lie down. I insist, Bea," the artist murmured, a rare stern side showing itself as he took the woman by her arm and proceeded to the stairs. Despite her arguments against it, not wanting to be separated from the party she was enjoying, she knew eventually that arguing against Charles was useless so, with a meek smile and a wave to Ricky, she allowed herself to be taken. The brief commotion caused by her arguments did catch Joseph's attention, his face pale as he approached Ricky.

"...She shouldn't be here, I didn't want to invite her. Beatrice is lovely, really, but... she... needs rest," he began cautiously, his face gradually growing red as the whispers around him seemed to erupt as soon as Beatrice disappeared upstairs. With a tired smile of his own, he took a hefty sip of wine to calm himself down. "I don't want to gossip about her, she's a dear friend of mine and of Charles'; we've known her years. I don't want to... air her life story out when people are unsubtly eavesdropping, Ricky. Just know that Charles and I know what's best for her, and... she might seem stable, but she really shouldn't... be here, it's not good for her. Don't talk to her, don't go to visit her upstairs. It'll only upset her."
 
"Upset her? Wouldn't leaving her up there alone be more upsetting?" He whispered once close to Joseph's side, unable to hide his concern. "Is... she ill? Is it safe for her to be here? I don't appreciate you keeping all hush-hush about this."

Taking another casual sip of his wine, he didn't want to bring attention to the scene when noticing others were murmuring amongst them. Avoiding Joseph's eyes, he decided to move to the window. "I don't understand all of this."
 
"I... yes, she's ill. There were plenty of stories about her last year, I suppose you wouldn't have known that. She was... well, institutionalised," he murmured as quietly as he could. He knew everybody at the party knew all about Beatrice's stint in the asylum, but he didn't want to draw any more attention to it if possible, despite knowing it was all anyone had gossiped about all night. He hated leaving her out of things, but bringing her to a party where everybody would be discussing her mental health in her first public appearance since her time at the asylum ended was not the thing he wanted to happen. It was only going to be a detriment to her, and he wanted her to get better, not worse.

"Her husband -well, ex-husband now- was a horrid man, I... confess I never liked him. He had her put in the asylum down in London, said she needed it. I suppose she needed help, but those places are... they're horrid, Ricky," he grimaced as he stood to the side, eyeing the grounds of his estate with a faint frown to himself. "I wasn't allowed to visit; Charles managed to sneak in, almost got arrested when they found him. She's just been through a lot and I can't imagine any of this is helping her. I don't want to talk about her, this doesn't feel right. I... I feel awful gossiping about her like this, Ricky. She's just... a dear friend of mine who's not well and needs support, I suppose. Not this; not a party of people judging her."
 
"Why mustn't I see her, though? I Have no intentions of judging her and I doubt locking her away wouldn't be very good for her," Ricky countered persistently. "If we are... an item, I would like to at least know those closest to you. I need more wine," he grumbled, calling over a servant. Once having the glass filled, he took a sip.

"Is she staying over? Perhaps that would be a better time to talk, when some of your friends have left," he suggested with a frown. "She seems lovely and misunderstood, I appreciate that."
 
"I'm not locking her away, I'm doing what's best for her. I think she needs peace and quiet and... and no interruptions, that's all. She needs her medication and some bedrest, it's what they told us she needs. I don't want her getting overexcited talking to you, Ricky. She'll just get silly ideas in her head, I... I don't think it's wise. Just leave her be, okay? For me, just promise you'll leave it," he smiled as he held his own glass out to be topped up, anxiously exchanging a glance with Charles when the other returned to the party, physically relaxing at the artist's nod.

"She's resting now, just... leave her be. She's gone through a lot. You can talk to her in the morning. Now she's here, she can stay as long as she wants, of course he can. I... I offered her to stay with me in Edinburgh but she refused. I think she ought to be with someone, she needs the support-- let's not discuss her, hm? It's... she's fine, Ricky. She's doing absolutely fine, I'm sure I'm being overly cautious."
 
"You are being overly cautious," he grumbled in response, though chose to leave it at that as he took a larger gulp of wine. He wanted to get drunk sooner rather than later and wine wasn't the way to do it, alas. Turning to face the window, he took in the sunset silently, lips pursed. He fully intended to speak to the woman but if giving the illusion that he wasn't was best for now, he could handle it.

"I'm going to go talk to some others," he decided, offering both Joseph and Charles a nod before getting lost in the large group of people spread throughout the mansion. He knew he didn't understand completely, he didn't say he did, but he wanted to understand. He wasn't being given the choice.
 
Likewise, Beatrice was hardly content being shoved into the bedroom when there was a party going on downstairs. She was used to being the life of the party and, once upon a time, no party was complete without her name on the invite. She was once sought after for these sorts of events and, deep down, she of course realised that her reputation had been tarnished by her institutionalisation. She didn't think it was particularly fair to be judged so harshly and treated so unfairly, so in her mind, she needed to prove that she was the same as before - and she couldn't do that if she was being kept up in the bedroom away from everything downstairs.

So, despite being ushered into a silk nightdress by Charles -she had plenty of clothes left over from her frequent visits, after all-, Beatrice was halfway down the stairs, attempting to sneak back into the party, when she stopped upon spotting Ricky and urgently motioned him to her. He didn't seem intent to stop her fun like Charles and Joseph, so she instantly decided to trust him, smiling wide in recognition of someone who hadn't judged her. It helped that he had no idea who she was, of course.

"Richard, come here-- I need to get back into the party," she smiled giddily, resting on the banister for support, the pills she had been given starting to kick in. "I think I want some champagne-- yes, that'd be delightful. I'm the Champagne Queen; that's what they used to call me. I always drink it, you see. I'm never without a glass in my hand."
 
Glancing back at Beatrice, he couldn't help but smile a bit. This woman seemed to be much more interesting than the snobs that seemed to be surrounding him and while he knew he would most likely be yelled at by either Joseph or Charles, he wanted to have some fun. Quickly hurrying up the stairs to follow her, Ricky took in the pills in a mix of curiosity and horror. He had heard of the elixirs that were being peddled as miracle cures and the announcements of the latest pill claiming to fix anyone's woes but that didn't mean he necessarily believed it... especially en mass such as this.

"Ah, first of all may I apologize for peeking at you in such little clothing, madam," he formerly spoke, awkwardly laughing at the sight. "Secondly, I would love to try and get you back into the party. I'm sure Joseph would never forgive me and he certainly isn't happy with me right now... but this seems fun." He snorted, a grin only growing. "Are you sure you're up for it? You look a bit dizzy, madam."
 
"Oh, please stop calling me madam, we're friends now, aren't we, Richard? You must call me Bea, I insist upon it. Secondly, you don't have to apologise for anything. It's a nightgown. I suppose it's rather revealing and, as a lady, I probably shouldn't be wearing such an item in front of a gentleman I hardly know, but... well, I'm not one for rules," she snorted with a ditzy smile, waving her hand dismissively. Her ex-husband -and any gentlemen, for that matter- would probably pale at her behaviour, but she would much rather act as she wanted and be a little risque than be boring.

"Oh, don't you start worrying about me like the others. It's lovely that they care so much but... I'm fine. The pills make me a little dizzy is all, I can manage it. Do stop worrying," she laughed as she took a seat on her bed, reaching underneath it for the bottle of whisky she remembered storing there a few months ago during her last visit. Triumphantly laughing to herself once realising it was still there, she cracked it open and poured out two glasses.

"If this won't get us a little drunk, nothing will - and I've been locked away so long, I think I deserve a little fun," the eccentric woman continued as she lifted her glass, smiling wide before downing it in one. "Probably shouldn't mix alcohol with the pills, but it'll be fine, I'm sure. Charles and Joe are awfully lovely, but they don't half pester me. I'm perfectly okay. Have they... said anything to you, about what happened? I'm sure they couldn't wait to gossip about me."
 
"Now I like your style," Ricky teased, easily downing back whiskey without second thought. Taking the bottle, he observed it curiously. It certainly wasn't a brand he had seen before, though he was pretty much left to simple watered down shit, so something as high class as the bottle he was holding was surprising.

"Oh, Joseph and Charles? They didn't tell me much, which is incredibly frustrating. Yes, you're a woman but I do wish they would let you enjoy the festivities. You're a guest, are you not? Hmph. I do hope that your medicine doesn't clash with the whiskey too much, though."
 
Beatrice spent a moment silently debating just how much she should tell Ricky, afraid that the truth would only make him wary of her, like every one of her former friends seemed to feel around her nowadays, as though her mental illness was contagious. It was upsetting, highly so, and so she couldn't risk losing someone who could potentially blossom into a friend. She was so short in that department that she really didn't want to scare one away before a friendship had really begun.

But concealing the truth when he had already proclaimed to be irritated by the lack of transparency wouldn't help either, so with a heavy sigh and another glug of whisky, she laughed and collapsed back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling above her.

"I've never had a good life. I was poor, growing up. Hard to believe, I suppose, but my mother had to raise eight of us, including myself, and we hadn't a penny to our name. It was... horrible, some of the stuff I had to do to get money, from a ridiculously early age, might I add. My husband married me when I was 18, and he... liked to see me weak. I think he got off on making me feel useless; made him feel powerful, you know? Our marriage was notoriously poisonous, so when he took a tumble downstairs and broke his neck, I was blamed, naturally. Fortunately, I avoided the death sentence; they said I was ill. I suppose the friends I made in the world of law helped me quite a lot. It pays to have friends in high places," she chuckled quietly, sitting back upright to drink her whisky again, determined to get drunk to forget about the judgement she had undergone downstairs.

"I mean... It was an accident; my husband's death. Everyone thinks I did it. That sort of judgement-- it isn't helping me, of course. People whispering about me, calling me a murderer... Do you understand how tough that is?"
 
"Oof," he immediately replied as he watched the woman's go on, all the while pouring himself another glass of whiskey to chug back. Once the other finished, he let out a sigh and a nod in understanding.

"Well, the fact that you weren't always in such lavish attire and the definition of riches is a shock," he admitted, though did smirk. "That's good to know, actually - gives you a leveled head, yeah? I'm going to be honest with you, Bea, yeah? I'm just a regular ol' canner's son, just sort of managed my way into Scotland. This is far from what I was expecting to happen when I came here. All of this partying and whatnot is surreal, but... they're Joseph's friends and I suppose they're friends of mine." He explained, making an effort rock say nothing about the alleged murder accusations.
 
"Oh, I'm well aware that you aren't one of these snobs, I can tell, Richard. You're like me; you somehow landed yourself into all of this. I suppose I'm ingratiated into it now, but I don't consider myself like those people. They judge and they care so much about appearance and reputation. I do as well, but I care more about having fun, no matter how others perceive me for it. I'm here for a good time, not a long time," she laughed tipsily, resting her chin in her hand, her accent, which had previously been well-pronounced and posh, now dropping. She had to put on an accent, having adopted it when she married upon her husband's request so she didn't sound 'common' to his friends. After entering the social circles as a result of her husband, and therefore having to meet all of these people continuing the facade of being some higher class lady, everyone she met had never really scratched beneath the surface, other than Charles and Joseph, at least.

"You're a real gem, ain't 'ya? A real diamond sorta guy," she murmured, dropping the effort it took to keep up the pretence. She had genuinely fallen in love with the perks of the lifestyle, especially having the jewels and exquisite dresses she could buy with her husband's money, but it was exhausting having to pretend to be something she, at heart, wasn't. Ricky was from the same sort of background, so what need was there to pretend? She could happily drift back into the Cockney dialect without worrying about judgement for it, and it was as rare for her as it was refreshing.

"...The party's boring here, Richard. They don't know how to have fun, they're so... up themselves," continued Beatrice with a roll of her eyes, forcing herself up to her feet and trying to limit the amount of shaking her body was doing. "Let's do something fun, ay? There's this adorable little pub not too far from here, I'd rather be there than 'yer."
 
"Oh, well, I'm not sure about that..." Ricky replied, putting the brakes on the idea whilst hiding the brief moment of horror. He had no idea where they were or how far they were from another village so the idea of taking a carriage out with a woman he just met who was clearly a bit too drunk and couldn't handle her whiskey as well as he wasn't ideal... not to mention the consequences it would lead to if Joseph or Charles found out. Biting his thumb, he hesitated.

"How about we don't do that and instead to tell me more about y'self," he countered, pouring another glass for himself. He had become pretty hardened to the effects of alcohol and while the alcohol level probably soared high above his usual, he knew how to keep a relatively leveled head. Sure, walking wouldn't be all that great and he most likely would fall down the stairs and crack his neck - which was another reason he'd prefer to stay where he was - but he knew how to at least get some sense in him.
 
In an instant, Bea's smile vanished and she stared silently at the man before her, clearly growing less enthusiastic by the minute. She didn't understand just how stupid it was for her to go charging out into the dead of night; all she understood was that her idea of fun was being shot down yet again by someone she thought she could have enjoyed being with.

"...You're just like them. You think I'm fragile and useless and... and mad, don't you? You think I'm a nutcase," she hissed in upset, storming to the window to take a look at how far down it was to the ground, and whether she could reasonably climb down the vines without hurting herself. "Well, I'm going. I want to enjoy a pint with some nice people."
 
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