The Gassing of Hampshire Manor

A polite nausea rose up in Emmett's abdomen as he plunged back into the swarm of hungry entrepreneurs, investors, and politicians on the main floor of Hampshire Manor. His palms and armpits were swampy. He grimaced eloquently and nodded subtly at people who may have been making eye contact with him as he slipped through the crowd. Soon, he thought, you will all be dead. He tugged at his shirt collar, wishing he could loosen the tight bowtie that was ruthlessly strangling him.

Moments earlier, wandering aimlessly through the halls of the mansion's labyrinthine second floor, he had passed by a room brimming with hushed whispers and stern hissing. Someone had slammed a fist down on a hard surface and everything had paused. Emmett's heart had stopped while he held his breath and waited, his ear straining to capture more of the unfolding drama.

"We've been planning this for months." A man growled. "Just stick to the plan."

"But..." a woman breathed desperately.

"Just stick to the plan!" the man roared. "I want every last one of those bloodsuckers dead before dinner is served, is that clear?"

Emmett's heart had jumped. The woman's high heels clapped quickly toward the cracked door. He rushed around a corner just in time. Sneaking past the door again, he heard the man groaning.

"It's just gas. It'll be quick and easy."

Now, side-stepping and waltzing through the throng of guests, he looked up at the elaborate high rise ceiling and took note of all the vents while his heart pounded. He sniffed the air, wondering how long they had. He looked around the edges of the room where armed security guards kept watchful eyes on the crowd. He was suddenly jolted forward.

"Oh pardon!" a shrill, singsong voice declared.

He turned and had to squint as a dazzling silver dress assaulted his eyes. After a brief moment of shock and adjustment, he could finally make out the face of a delightful young woman.

"Excuse me," he lamented shamefully. He pictured her gasping for air, choking on a green poisonous gas wafting down from those vents high above. He could feel a cold sweat trickling down his spine.

"No bother," the woman said smartly. She extended a white-gloved hand. "Britannia," she offered. "Britannia Hampshire."

The name drove a golden spike through his heart. "Ah," he said stupidly while clumsily taking her hand. She rested her fingers gingerly on his. "You're..."

She smiled warmly. "Thank you for coming to my fundraiser. I hope you've been enjoying yourself?"

He almost started shaking her hand, but quickly dropped it instead. "Yes," he stammered, his eyes glancing quickly up to the vents. Had it been her voice he'd heard in the room upstairs? He made brief eye contact with her and forced a half-convincing smile.

Her eyes lingered on him a moment. "Are you quite sure everything is alright?" she asked, concerned.

It couldn't have been her in the room upstairs. That woman had left in a hurry. She was on a mission. Britannia was mingling. She was roaming the crowd at her leisure. She... It clicked suddenly and forcefully in his mind. The political tension leading up to this event had been all over the news. With the recent passing of her father, Britannia Hampshire was heiress to a vast corporate empire and the company's board of directors had been publicly outspoken about their objections to this young, inexperienced woman taking the helm.

They weren't just planning on gassing the guests, they were targeting Britannia. This was an assassination!

His eyes bulged and a drip of sweat trickled down over his scalp, heading for his left temple.

"Sir?" she asked, concerned. "Are you alright?"

"No," he gasped breathlessly, his eyes darting around wildly. "I mean, yes. I mean, I don't know." He stared at her with terror in his eyes. "I think you're in danger," he blurted, looking up at the vents again. Was it too late? Could he already see a sickening haze drifting down from a few of them?

Her eyes widened. "Excuse me?" she gasped.

He leaned in close. "I overheard something upstairs. A man was very angry. I think he and a woman are planning on gassing everyone here. We've got to get out of here!"

Startled, Britannia took a small step back and regarded Emmett quickly. She glanced over her exquisite bare shoulder at one of the guards who was scanning carefully and steadily. She looked back at Emmet. "What did you hear, exactly?" she asked.

He looked nervously at the vents again. "I'm not sure how much time we have." He stared into her eyes. "I know I'm just a stranger, but I think they are specifically targeting you. I really think this is about your father's estate. I don't know who can be trusted, but I think we'll be safer outside in the fresh air."

She took a quick, sharp breath and held it, her gaze sweeping erratically from guest to guest. She leaned in, beads of sweat glistening off her forehead. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure we'll be safer outside," he whispered into her ear.

"Alright," she said, slipping her forearm through his arm. "Let's go."

Quickly they rushed to the entryway. Emmett's stomach was sick. He sniffed the air cautiously, wondering if the gas might already be airborne. "Don't breathe too deeply," he said in a hushed tone, trying to appear calm. "They may already be pumping the gas in."

The doors were guarded by two of the mansion's security detail. They regarded the situation with scrutiny. Emmett wondered if they were in on the scheme. Sizing them up, he quickly played out a scenario where they stopped him from leaving with Ms. Hampshire. They had tasers, but no handguns. One was built like an action hero, the other more stubby and overweight. Perhaps if he could dodge the big guy and surprise the stocky one...

The muscular guard opened the door for them. "Lady Hampshire," he said, nodding to her.

She smiled at him and they went quickly out into the cool night air. Instantly she began to shiver on his arm, pulling in closer. He took a deep breath of fresh air, letting it linger in his burning lungs. He hadn't even realized how little he'd been breathing inside. Britannia's perfume filled his nostrils, a flowery mixture with vanilla and spice that felt warm and cozy. He couldn't get enough of it. He pulled in another long breath, soaking in the fragrance and letting it imprint on his memory.

"Alright," she said, shuddering on his arm. "We're safe now." She looked up at him expectantly. "May I know my daring rescuer's name?"

He winced and gave a weak grin. "Emmet, ma'am," he said. "Sorry to get you worked up." He looked over his shoulder as they distanced themselves from the doors, descending the long stairs leading down to the gardens. He reached for his pocket and his stomach twisted into a knot. "I think we should call the police, but I don't have my phone on me." He tried to remember where it was.

"Right," she nodded. "We collected phones at the coat check-in." She raised her eyebrows and stopped at the bottom of the steps. Emmet stopped with her and they stared down at the ground. "What, exactly, did you hear?" She asked curiously.

Emmett let out a long sigh and shook his head woefully. "There was an angry man and a nervous woman. They were whispering at first but he got angry and pounded his fist. He said, 'I want all of those bloodsuckers dead before dinner!' and the woman tried to protest but he sent her away, reminding her that they had been planning this for months."

"That's all?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. Her beautiful blue eyes twinkled in the dark and Emmett started sweating again.

"Well, after the woman had left I heard him saying something about gas."

Britannia quickly brought her free hand to her mouth and twitched. Emmett looked at her, confused. She snickered, looking up at him with amusement and bewilderment.

He stared at her, his mouth agape. "What?" he asked defensively. "All of those guests could be dying right now and you're... laughing?"

She stifled another chuckle and a tiny snort escaped through her nose. She clenched her eyes shut and fought the urge a moment later, but soon lost and released an unladylike guffaw, leaning hard into Emmett's hot, sweaty torso. Her whole body was convulsing with laughter as she roared and howled, tears streaming down her soft cheeks. He waited nervously for her to stop laughing, his mind racing. Did she think he was joking? Was it hysteria at the thought of all those people dying?

Finally she took a deep, shaky breath and looked up at him, her eyes still shimmering with tears. She wore a magnificently beautiful smile and his heart skipped a beat. "Oh Emmett," she said. "If you wanted to get me outside alone for a moment, all you had to do was ask." Her lungs quivered and she sniffled, choking back more laughter.

He opened his mouth but didn't know what to say.

She smiled and dropped her head onto his arm, shaking her head slowly. "That angry man is the estate manager, Bruce. He's always grumpy. And the bloodsuckers he wants dead are the bed bugs that were found in the east wing last year. We quarantined the area which kept them from spreading, but I guess they aren't gone. The head housekeeper, Anna, has been protesting the use of harmful gasses but Bruce being Bruce, he isn't having it." She laughed. "They've been arguing about the gas for a couple weeks now." She started laughing again, snuggling deeper into Emmett.

He was dazed and disoriented. He stuttered silently to himself, glancing down at her and back over his shoulder at the mansion looming behind them. "Are you sure?" he asked incredulously. "That man sounded ready to murder everyone in the house!"

She exploded in another fit of laughter. "He always sounds like that!" she wailed, wiping tears on the back of her long white glove. "He's really quite cranky!"

Emmett deflated. He felt humiliated. If Britannia weren't shivering and cold, he'd leave. He wanted to disappear. His stomach rolled and twisted while his heart sank.

"Well," he sighed. "I feel foolish. I'm terribly sorry," he mumbled.

"Don't be!" she cried, looking up at him. Her face was bright, her eyes big and lovely. "This was a ton of fun. I was dying to get out of that stuffy ballroom anyway." She sighed and leaned her head on his arm again.

"You should probably get back to your guests," he offered sheepishly.

There was a long pause. He could feel her taking slow, deep breaths, the sides of her chest expanding and contracting against his arm. She squeezed his arm with hers and slowly shook her head. "I'm not ready to go back." She sighed. "Take me for a walk through the garden," she said.

He gazed down at the crown of her head. Her hair was done up in a masterful bouquet of swirls and braids. Glimmering jewels were draped seductively down her neck and chest and the stars themselves were trapped in the silver fibers of her exquisite ballgown. She looked up at him and smiled, and they stepped off into the night to go for a walk.