The Unfortunate Tale of Lucius & Isabel

Lucius Poe cringed as the ruddy-cheeked clerk’s eyes lit up, knowing exactly the question that the man was about to ask. “Poe? You’re not Edgar Allan Poe’s boy, are you?”

There it was. He should have known. His father was known to frequent the First National Bank of Baltimore in search of loans to cover gambling debts and other expenses related to his perpetual tomfoolery.

“I am he,” said Lucius, tilting his head toward the pudgy fellow in the barest hint of a bow. Lucius pulled the corners of his lips into a polite smile, despite the feelings of annoyance that always accompanied the posed question. “Though I’m quite embarrassed to admit that I am not well acquainted with your moniker of choice, sir.”

Lucius was always polite. And formal. Both were useful methods in the hiding of his true feelings. By now, he had become an expert at painting a composed smile over the place where a frown belonged. It would be indecorous to flash the true nature of his melancholy soul to the rest of the townsfolk. His reputation was more than sufficiently sullied by his father’s dark tales. In the past, many a passerby had commented on the unpleasantness of his puckered countenance, often going so far as to inquire as to the soundness of his temperament.

He hated such commentary, having quickly learned to evade such attention by means of false sprightliness and impeccable manners. Nowadays, there was only one individual with whom he shared his innermost reflections. The smile upon his lips turned genuine as he thought of her warm eyes.

“I am Filbert Northhamptonson.” The bank clerk swelled with pride, his chest puffing out, neck swelling as if he were an owl on the verge of issuing a particularly booming hoot. “And I’m quite happy to be of service, Mr. Poe.”

The bank clerk’s pronouncement snapped Lucius’ attention back to his present circumstance, and Lucius had to concentrate to prevent the lower half of his face from falling like the brim of a hat under the weight of heavy rainfall.

“Quite right, Mr. Northhamptonson. Quite right,” said Lucius. “I’ve come to inquire about the status of my father’s accounts.”

Filbert gave Lucius a wink before opening his ledger book, scanning the debits and credits adorning the page until he found the most recent entry. Lucius found winks and the like obnoxious. Why could this man not simply do as he was bidden. Why did he feel an obligation to act as if he was a friend? Lucius had no friends⁠—save one. And he felt no unnatural inclination to pretend that it was otherwise.

“Here it is!” said Filbert, sliding his finger to the bottom number. “It looks like the balance in his account has built rather nicely. He has nearly $100,000 to his name at the moment. To be more precise, the balance is $96,966.96.”

Lucius’ eyes twinkled with delight. He’d known that the latest publication had done well, but he hadn’t expected such a sum. “And the balance of his most recent loan?”

The man frowned, flipping a few more pages in the ledger book before looking up. “$108,119.43. Did you want to apply some savings to the principal?”

“No!” said Lucius, a little too quickly. He paused, taking his time before asking his next question. He didn’t wish to appear inordinately anxious. “Prithee, Mr. Northhamptonson, do indulge a morbid curiosity of mine for a moment.”

The other man arched a bushy eyebrow, adjusting his round spectacles as he awaited Lucius’ question.

“As you may know, my distinguished father is unwell, and his wily physician will not give us a clear definition of what ails him. As a result, I feel that it must fall to me to put affairs in order, fearing the worst, while still praying for the best. You would agree that this course is a wise one, would you not?”

“Of course, Mr. Poe.”

“Good,” said Lucius, once again taking his time before arriving at his next question, rocking back on his heels. The motion always eased his nerves. It also had the benefit of softening the perception of eagerness that his stooped posture and hawklike nose naturally evoked in others. “Then tell me, good sir, what becomes of a man’s loan in the event of his passing?”

“Why the debt would pass to the next of kin, of course!”

“I thought as much,” said Lucius. “What if, as part of a business transaction, such a debt were to be acquired by a private corporation instead?”

Filbert rubbed his chin. “Well then, I suppose that the corporation would owe it in his stead.”

Lucius’ eyes narrowed, his hands gesticulating boldly. “And only the bank balance would pass to a man’s next of kin, correct? The debt no longer would, correct?”

“I suppose that would be correct, Mr. Poe.” The clerk didn’t look altogether pleased at this situation. Lucius doubted anyone had ever asked him such a question before. Luckily, as a student of law at William and Mary, Lucius was learning a good many things which were proving to be quite useful.

“Then I should like to make a withdrawal,” Lucius announced, looking genuinely pleased.

“Of what amount, sir?”

“$50. Enough to cover the registration of a corporation that will handle the publication of Poe’s future works!” Lucius’ fingers curled over the brim of the top hat resting upon his lap, his leg bouncing excitedly.

“Excuse me, sir. But didn’t you mention that the elder Mr. Poe was likely on his deathbed?”

“Exactly,” said Lucius, his eyes growing distant as he lost himself in thought. “Exactly…”

***

“I’ve done it, Isabel!” said Lucius, sweeping into the Redgrove home with scarcely a knock.

Isabel Redgrove looked up from her sewing, her long gown rustling with the movement. She blinked her blue eyes twice before furrowing her brows. “You’ve done what exactly, dear Lucius?”

“I’ve created a corporation, found three investors, and signed a deal on my father’s behalf to buy up all of his debt in exchange for unlimited publishing rights on all future works!”

“But your father is hardly in a position to write, Lucius. He’s deathly ill!”

Lucius shot Isabel a wicked smile. “But the investors are in no position to know that.”

It took a moment, but understanding finally bloomed over Isabel’s pretty face. Her eyes narrowed, and she rose from her seat to snake her willowy arms around her suitor in a scandalous embrace. “You devil!” she whispered before nibbling on his earlobe.

Lucius pulled away, a sly smile turning upward the corners of his lips. “You mustn’t do such things, Isabel! If your father comes downstairs, you shall create a scandal!”

“Mustn’t I?” she said, pressing her bodice to his chest once more. “It hardly seems a sin when compared against the misdeeds of my suitor. Besides, you know that I find your nefarious side enticing.”

“I’ve done nothing save a business transaction,” said Lucius, his eyes flashing defiantly. “I am simply looking after the fortunes of my bride-to-be and future heirs. Any proper gentleman would do the same, had he wits enough.”

“Fortune,” said Isabel, dreamy-eyed. “I do like the sound of that word.” She pressed a fingernail to Lucius’ chest, drawing the shape of a heart over his velvet vest.

Lucius smiled. “Of that, I am well aware, my love. Quite well aware. If I recall correctly, a sizable sum was attached to your conditional acceptance of my marriage proposal.”

“A sum which you now possess,” Isabel said, biting her lower lip. “Or shall soon enough.”

Lucius looked hopeful as he addressed his nearly betrothed. “It is settled then? We shall wed within the month?”

Isabel’s long lashes gave him a sultry wink. “It is, dear Lucius. And we shall.”

***

“He’s recovering?” gasped Lucius.

His father’s physician nodded with a smile. Lucius glanced nervously at Isabel. She fiddled with the wedding band she’d acquired just days prior, looking distinctly unhappy.

“But if he recovers, I shall lose my power of attorney, will I not?” Lucius said. “Will the business dealings I’ve prepared in my father’s name be voided?”

“I know nothing of such matters, sir,” said the physician. “For that, you must consult a proper attorney.”

“Quite right,” agreed Lucius, a sour expression puckering his pale features. “My apologies, sir.”

“Good day to you, then,” said the physician, donning his hat. He exited the house a moment later.

Isabel walked up behind Lucius, wringing her hands. “What are we to do, Lucius?”

Lucius slumped into the nearest seat, running both hands through his hair. “What is there to do?”

“What indeed…” whispered Isabel, primarily to herself. Her eyes, deep in thought, fell to Lucius. She stepped lightly to where he was seated, sitting on the arm of her husband’s chair. Their gazes met, and Isabel cocked her head to the side, her voluptuous lips parting.

“I may have one idea,” she said, plucking at the train of her gown with slender fingers.

Lucius’ troubled visage turned upward. “You do?”

Isabel nodded, her long lashes rising to give her husband a meaningful look. He nodded, his eyes expectant. She smiled, then leaned over him, whispering her dark plan into his waiting ear.

***

“I came as quickly as I could,” said the physician, dismounting the carriage as Lucius ushered him into the house. The two men hurried to his father’s darkened bedroom. The heavy black curtains were drawn, blocking out all but the faintest bit of light, making the space look more like a mausoleum than a bedroom.

“Thank you, doctor,” said a breathless Lucius as their eyes adjusted to the darkness. “He was merely resting when he suddenly began to moan in pain!”

The physician donned his stethoscope, placing it on Edgar’s chest. He detected no heartbeat. Checking for a pulse, he found none.

The doctor scratched his head. “I’m sorry, lad. I had thought your father on the path to recovery. A poor prognosis, to be sure.” The man paused, picking nervously at his bushy sideburns. “I could perform an autopsy should you so desire. In an effort to determine the accuracy of my previous diagnosis, if you wish it.”

Lucius cast his eyes downward, looking forlorn as he took the man’s hand and shook it sharply. “No, thank you. My father has been through quite enough these last months. I’ll not have his expired body fall under a blade. Not one held by your hand, nor any other.”

The doctor bowed, his eyes relieved. “My condolences, Mr. Poe.”

With that, he strode quickly from the room.

A moment later, Isabel entered, two glasses of champagne in hand. Lucius’ trembling lips attempted to smile, but he couldn’t quite manage it. His father’s death troubled him more than he might have guessed.

“Now, now, Lucius,” Isabel said, lifting his chin to focus her husband’s troubled gaze on hers. “Your father was near to death regardless. ‘Twas a courtesy we’ve done. Nothing more.”

“Was he, Isabel?” said Lucius, turning dark eyes on his father’s lifeless form. “Was he really? I can’t help but feel buried by a mountain of guilt at what we’ve just done.”

Isabel rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a twit, Lucius. This is a bright occasion, not a solemn one. I propose a toast.”

Isabel pushed a glass into Lucius’ quivering fingers. She clinked her glass to his, then took a long sip. After a moment, he did likewise, though his expression held no joy.

When he finished his swallow, his sorrowful eyes found the nightstand, quickly widening when he saw that the glass was no longer there. He turned to Isabel. “Where has father’s glass gone? We must take care, lest someone use it before it has been cleaned of its poisoned contents!”

Isabel batted her long lashes innocently. “Why, I believe that you’re holding it, my dear.”

Lucius looked at the glass from which he had just drunk, his eyes going wide as they darted back to his wife’s steady gaze.

“But… but this was not the plan!” said Lucius, dropping his glass and staggering backward. He grabbed his throat, his complexion turning ghostly white.

“Whatever makes you think that, Lucius?” Isabel raised her glass once more, then finished it in a single swallow. She looked unconcerned as she withdrew it from her lips. “I believe it was precisely my plan. Though I must admit, I may have withheld a detail or two in the telling.”

Lucius’ knees wobbled, then he collapsed to the ground. The shocked eyes that looked up at his untroubled wife slowly faded of color until they were every bit as lifeless as those of his late, great father.

SCREAMS!!! 12/1/21
Prompt: Use Lucius Poe and Isabel Redgrove as characters in a story
2,143 words