The Seamstress of Hulda Street(8-Chapter Challenge for @justwriteit)

Chapter Eight

The doors to Mr Bronfell's study opened with a vigorous rush and a face was put to the stench. Sporting the ulster coat Rose had seen him wearing on the roofs near Hulda Street, the man's long black hair curtained over his rough and scarred visage, his nose as sharp as his callous appearance. 

Rose was waiting for him to pounce, to transform into the beast within, but the man just gave her an uncertain glance before his dark eyes descended on Mr Bronfell. 

'Adam, I need a word,' the man said with almost a growl, taking only a step into the flickering room. 

'Can it wait, Tavarious?' Mr Bronfell replied calmly. 'I'm in the middle of an interview. It won't be long.' 

Tavarious' eyes met Rose again and he gave her a short bow, making the seamstress' worry ease ever so. And she returned the gesture in kind, bowing herself. 

Though his stench still expelled his pursuit, Rose was quite certain now that she wasn't his prey, that he wasn't there for her. 

But who was his target then? 

'How rude of me,' Mr Bronfell quickly blurted out, continuing, 'Miss Hedden, may I introduce my brother-in-law, Tavarious. He's the children's uncle, my late wife's brother.' 

Rose and Tavarious exchanged bows once more, and the man even gave the seamstress a thin smile, though it was colder than cold, a snarl in a different light. 

'It's a pleasure,' Tavarious said before turning back to Mr Bronfell. 'And this cannot wait, Adam. I have news.' 

At this, Mr Bronfell's detachment and melancholy seemed to vanish. And in their place came a look of seriousness, yet a glimmer of hope danced across his features. 

'We shall speak then,' Mr Bronfell replied, getting to his feet. Then facing Rose, he said to her with speed, 'Miss Hedden, thank you for coming. I'll be in touch and hopefully in the next few days.' 

Rose was beyond dismayed, her anger growing at the interview being interrupted, ending in such a manner and without giving a better impression of herself to Mr Bronfell. Had her plan already failed? And if it had, could this be a chance at potent blood? 

The seamstress' head swam with debate. She was quite sure she could take Mr Bronfell, Tavarious and their hairy companions with her magic. It would be a grand fight, pack werewolves much more physically stronger than the lone kind, but her desire would win over, defeat theirs. She would succeed. 

But no, she decided. She would keep with the plan despite its disturbance. 

Rose got to her feet, as Mr Bronfell started towards the doors, to see her off, but she held up a hand and abruptly said, 'I'll see myself out, sir. Thank you for your time.' 

'And yours,' Mr Bronfell replied. 

The man bowed before Rose hurriedly placed her documents, her curriculum vitae and references, down on the desk and swiftly left, brushing past Tavarious, who closed the doors behind her with respect yet with fervor. 

And as she now stood alone in the mansion, the seamstress lingered to see if she could hear what news Tavarious had brought that made Mr Bronfell's mood change. It was out of curiosity, out of finding information that could help aid in her plan or to possibly hear the reason for why Tavarious had been skulking around Hulda Street. 

'Please tell me it's good news,' she heard Mr Bronfell say, his voice a whisper as if his words could destroy the world if they were any louder. 

'I'm sorry, Adam,' Tavarious answered with a murmur of his own and a tone that portrayed sadness. 'I bring you bad news. The trail has gone cold, the idle talk that had been sparse to begin with has ceased. Again, I'm sorry, Adam.'