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Devilish Impulses	By : Arianawray Category: > Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji ???) Views: 13948 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji or any of its characters, and I do not make any money from these writings.

Chapter List
- 1-Unwanted
- 2-Whim
- 3-Trust
- 4-Taste
- 5-Scheme
- 6-Command
- 7-Competition
- 8-Advice
- 9-Enlightenment
- 10-Sustenance
- 11-Caught
- 12-Breath
- 13-Arms
- 14-Inflammation
- 15-Imagination
- 16-Intent
- 17-Compromise
- 18-Sacrifice
- 19-Despair
- 20-Compassion
- 21-Interest
- 22-Equality
- 23-Mentor
- 24-History
- 25-Disorder
- 26-Reputation
- 27-Gifts
- 28-Admission
- 29-Watching
- 30-Bonds
- 31-Revelations
- 32-Confrontation
- 33-Struggle
- 34-Separation
- 35-Duty
- 36-Change
- 37-Together
- 38-Love
- 39-Epilogue: Heaven
- 15
- 16
- 17
Intent

"According to these customs and immigration records, an Englishman named Percival Ambrose sailed from Bremen and arrived in London two days before we got rid of Susan Rothstein and her succubus," Ciel remarks, peering at the dog-eared books on the table before him.

They are in a cramped room on Scotland Yard premises, looking at the documentation that Lord Randall has helped them obtain access to. It was through the Commissioner that they were able to request a search for records of the entry into this country of a person named Percival Ambrose.

"He was accompanied by his German manservant, Carsten Wolf," Ciel observes, peering at the notes on the page.

"Carsten?" Sebastian asks sharply from where he stands near the door, leafing through the decades-old police reports of the deaths that Ambrose is believed to have caused.

"Does that mean something to you?"

"Yes," the butler replies, approaching the desk. "On the day you recovered enough from your illness to go downstairs for dinner, I mentioned how I was pointed in the right direction towards Lady Elizabeth, do you recall that?"

"The other devil, who seemed 'wrong'? Yes, I remember."

"He told me that his master called him Carsten."

"So this Ambrose is for some reason getting himself involved – through his demon, at least – in the things we find ourselves involved in?" Ciel murmurs thoughtfully.

"It would seem so."

"What are they up to?"

"I cannot answer that at present."

"How do we find out?"

"We may run about doing days of research and investigation," Sebastian says. "Or we may speculate. But if you want my advice, I would suggest that we wait for them to come to us."

"What makes you think they will come to us?"

"From the vicar's letter, we know that Ambrose and his devil tracked down Susan Rothstein's succubus to the churchyard – perhaps with the aim of destroying it themselves? Not long after that, his devil directed me to the place where Lady Elizabeth was held, and revealed that he had been watching Mrs Easton's people. Ambrose may have taken an interest in you – either because you destroyed the succubus, or for other reasons. If that is so, he will make contact sooner or later."

"There have been no reports of suspicious deaths like the murders committed at Susan Rothstein's behest? Or of attacks on people like what William Thompson suffered as a young man?"

"Not from the police, not from common talk in public houses and gentlemen's clubs, and not from The Undertaker. The few Phantomhive records that have survived since your great-grandfather's time – when Ambrose was last in England – make no mention of such incidents. But the only papers that survived were those that happened to be in the town house when the first fire destroyed the manor, so they are hardly comprehensive."

"Then going by all other records, Ambrose appears to have harmed no one since he killed criminals in England half a century ago," Ciel remarks. "Perhaps it isn't necessary for us to investigate him so thoroughly. Do we really want to bring him to justice for his acts from fifty years past, killing people who, by all accounts, deserved to die?"

"Is that a rhetorical question, my lord?" Sebastian asks.

Before Ciel can reply, Sebastian puts a finger to his lips to caution him that he can hear someone coming down the passageway. A half-minute later, the door opens, and Lord Randall enters.

"Well?" the Commissioner asks.

"We have his date of arrival in England, the name of the person accompanying him, and the hotel at which they stated they would be staying," Ciel tells him. "But they are likely to have moved. What we must decide now is whether to leave him alone, as he appears to have harmed no one, or to pursue him for the murders of half a century past."

"As I said before, the case is officially over for the Yard," says Lord Randall. "But at the least hint of trouble from this Ambrose, we shall reopen files from as far back as we must, take action, and request your assistance."

"Of course," says Ciel.

Ever since Abberline's death, he has declined all payments from the Commissioner – or "bribes", as Abberline used to term them – for solving cases that the police are unable to. It may be part of the reason for Randall's increasing willingness to work with him.

"Lord Phantomhive, may I ask if the Lady Elizabeth has recovered from her ordeal?" the Commissioner asks the question awkwardly, for it does not come naturally to him to show outward concern for other people.

"Thank you for inquiring after her health. My cousin is quite well now. In fact, she will be visiting the Phantomhive manor tomorrow, with Lady Midford."

"I am pleased to hear that," he replies gruffly. He had personally visited the Midford manor the day after the kidnapping to interview the marchioness and her daughter, and had been shocked to find that Elizabeth was such a small and innocent girl. He had not thought till then that Sophia Easton could be so cold-blooded.

Randall adds: "It may interest you to know that Mrs Easton has been held in Newgate Prison these eight days. I telegraphed His Royal Highness in Denmark to ask if he would consider her case as linked to that of her sons, but the prince has decided, for now, not to regard her offences as connected to the treasonous schemes of George and Robert Easton. Because it was necessary for me to be cryptic in such a message, I explained the case in greater detail in a letter, which one of my own men has sailed for Denmark to deliver by hand. That was four days ago – he may be reading it just now."

"I doubt that His Royal Highness would wish to add the weight of a connection with treason to Mrs Easton's crimes. After all, she is personally acquainted with the Princess of Wales."

"True, but such a development might be the only sure way of obtaining justice," Lord Randall explains. "In recent years, I have seen far too many accusations of attempted murder by the aristocracy brought before the courts and let off with shockingly short prison terms. Such nonsense is a far cry from the severe justice my grandfather told me of. In the years before Her Majesty was crowned, even children as young as eight would be sentenced to death and hanged for stealing food."

"We surely do not wish to return to those days, Lord Randall," Ciel says.

"No. Not on my life. But we have veered too far in the other direction. Our judges and juries are easily swayed by good names and persuasive lawyers. Though they may sentence Mrs Easton to hard labour because her intended victim was the child of a marquess, she may well be free in eighteen months. That is, if I go by the last case in which a nobleman was brought to trial for kidnapping and attempting to murder his cousin. The evidence was compelling enough, in my view, to have warranted a sentence of death, but he only suffered having to walk the treadmill six hours a day, for eighteen months. Then he was released."

"If you are referring to the Richard Layer case, I recall that by the time he was freed, his health was broken, and he has been an invalid since, scarcely able to get out of bed," Ciel says. "Perhaps it was punishment enough."

"Perhaps."

"Let the courts decide," Ciel states, standing up and returning the immigration records to the Commissioner. "Nature and society have their ways of judging people who have not received the sentences they deserved. Whatever becomes of Mrs Easton, I shall take every precaution to ensure that she never touches my cousin again."

"I do not doubt that," Randall says. "But I must ask: Are you certain you have none of your own grievances against Mrs Easton to report to me? The men at the mill were all dead, as your man said, apparently the result of a dispute within the gang. But we rounded up some of her other people, and what they told us of her scheme suggested that she had seized you and–"

"I am alive, and well," Ciel interjects. "Between us, she did attempt to murder me to avenge her sons, but she did not succeed. I do not want my name brought into this."

"You are certain?"

"I am. When will her case, and those of her sons, be heard?" Ciel asks.

"The courts may hear her case in two or three months. The Easton brothers' closed-court trial could begin when His Royal Highness returns from his travels."

"Let us learn the outcomes before we determine the need for further preventive action."

"If that is truly your decision..."

"It is. Good day, Commissioner Randall."

Ciel leaves the room, Sebastian close behind him.

It has been a week since the slap, and only five days since Ciel was well enough to leave his bedroom. But the boy is up and about, doing what he believes must be done within his sphere of responsibility. A letter from Queen Victoria, which arrived yesterday, has certainly galvanised him.

Before opening the letter, he had expected only new orders from Her Majesty to investigate one thing or another that was casting a shadow over her kingdom and her people. But the letter proved to be an informal one of appreciation. In it, the queen said that the crown prince had visited her in Balmoral before leaving for Denmark to confess in person what had happened. He admitted that he had been foolish to have indulged in the pursuits the Easton brothers had led him to, and had no desire to live his life hiding behind the deeds of those who would hide his misdeeds.

"Thank you, dear boy, for casting light upon the errors of our eldest. He confesses that while he cannot give up his mistresses – for he declares that he is extremely fond of them – he will assuredly eschew ever again engaging in anything at all like what the Easton brothers involved him in. Therefore, for bringing justice to this case instead of concealment, and the good it has done, you have our heartfelt gratitude."

Those words are giving Ciel a sense of slowly being freed from the less noble aspects of his role as the Queen's Watchdog. His place in the world will always be tinged with darkness, but he believes now that the darkness may gradually become the shadow of justice, and cease to be the murkiness of dishonour.

"Will you rest at the town house today, or return to the manor, Young Master?" Sebastian asks as they walk towards where they have parked the carriage.

"We will return to the manor," Ciel decides.

"Yes, sir."

Sebastian opens the carriage door for Ciel and helps him in, holding his hand a second longer than necessary. At the same time, one of his fingers slips under Ciel's sleeve and strokes his wrist. The earl notices, of course – for that little caress of his inner wrist is electrifying – but he does not entirely know what to make of these little touches that Sebastian has been giving him for days now. He is not outright molesting him and thus may not warrant rebuke; but he is subtly making frequent and unnecessary contact, and thus warrants careful watching.

The devil has begun a new game.

"A thread is coming loose from the hem of your shorts," Sebastian observes once Ciel is seated.

The butler, who has from the very first also played the role of valet to the earl, leans into the carriage, whips out a tiny pair of embroidery scissors from a small leather pouch tucked into one of his pockets, and snips off the trailing thread. In the course of that minor operation, he places his face so close to Ciel's leg that just before he straightens up with the scissors and thread in his hands, his lips brush the skin of his master's thigh.

It sends an interesting shiver through the earl, but in the same instant he notices it, Sebastian is out of the carriage, closing the door. The butler springs into the driver's seat and manoeuvres the vehicle away from the Yard's headquarters, towards the outskirts of London, leaving Ciel with two hours to himself to think.

He has not discussed the slap with Sebastian. In fact, they have not spoken of the incident at all. The earl knows painfully well that all he needed to do that night – or do now – is to say the words: "Sebastian, I command you to never think lecherous thoughts of me again", and it will be over. Even if it should transpire that a contract with a devil does not allow for legislation of the demon's thoughts, such an order would express in no uncertain terms the master's wishes and expectations.

That Sebastian continues to bestow passing touches on him tells Ciel that he has failed to put his foot down. But he asks himself: Should I?

On the night of the slap, he had considered Sebastian a guard dog he trusted to protect him, but whose dominant nature must be checked by keeping the dog respectful of him. He had believed that his butler, having observed the effect of Langton's molestations on him, had been toying with similar tactics to make a play for greater power within the bounds of their new contract, as demons surely do. The kisses followed by the slap and the final chess moves were his declaration that while he was grateful for his protection and care, he would not be letting the devil get the better of him so easily.

Transgression, rebuke, restoration of order – that was what he had thought their exchange was all about.

Now, he is not as confident that he has assessed the situation accurately. He knows that Sebastian was thinking unspeakable thoughts about him. However, the apparent affection in the butler's little touches has left him no longer sure that he knows why. Most troubling is that while Langton's abuse of him turned his stomach and continues to haunt his nightmares, he lacks the same negative visceral reaction to the devil's approaches. Offended in principle he may be, but curious he is too. As for Sebastian, he seems content simply to begin a new game while saying nothing of the old.

They ought to discuss this seriously, except that Ciel's uncertainty means he is unsure of what to say. The individual who was his advisor before his meeting with the Prince of Wales would be able to advise him again here, were it not for the fact that that very advisor is the one he now needs to have a talk with. He finds it all very provoking and intriguing.

For the time being, it seems that their games must remain the medium of their communication.

***

"Everything is ready for the visit of Lady Francis and Miss Elizabeth, my lord," Sebastian announces the next morning, as he dresses Ciel.

His wounds are healing, all the shallower ones protected by scabs that look promisingly dry and thin, suggesting that they will leave behind very little scarring when they eventually fall off. Even the wound that was infected is doing well. It is the only one that still needs a bandage over it, but it is closing up cleanly.

Strong, sure hands arrange, fasten and straighten his clothing perfectly, caressing him as they move over his body. Ciel finds those hands curiously hypnotic. He has disliked being handled by people ever since his parents were murdered and he was stolen by worshippers of the occult. But Sebastian has been dressing, undressing and bathing him from the time he was ten, and he is well accustomed to the touch of his devilishly clever hands. Physical contact with his butler has not only been acceptable to him for three years, but has in the last week offered something new in the form of both a strangely seductive appeal and a frisson of danger.

Ciel is on the verge of admitting to himself that he is out of his depth. He had some unwelcome exposure to these matters best understood by adults in his first and latest abductions, but he has so little scope and intensity of genuine experience that he is playing a game with several key pieces missing.

"I trust the servants are not destroying everything you have prepared?" he asks, choosing for now to deal with matters he can confidently handle instead of those he cannot.

"I have told them that they are not, upon threat of death, to touch anything," Sebastian murmurs as he pins a brooch onto Ciel's cravat, his unengaged, ungloved fingers gently stroking the smooth line of the boy's lower jaw.

"I'm sure you said as much on other important occasions, and that never stopped them from laying waste the food, the gardens and the furnishings," the earl says, trying not to think about how pleasing it feels to have those black-nailed fingertips tracing invisible lines along his skin.

"I believe that this time, I have convinced them that they will die if they touch a single thing I have left in perfect condition," Sebastian states, finishing with the brooch.

He eases his master's arms through the blue jacket he has chosen for the day, not neglecting to let his cheek brush the boy's left ear as he bends down to straighten the collar.

Lady Midford and Elizabeth are expected for luncheon, and have been invited to stay for tea also. It is early in the day yet, but the earl never takes his Aunt Francis' visits lightly. He suspects, though, that she will be less critical than usual of the state of things in his manor, considering how grateful she was that he and his butler averted at least two tragic outcomes of the day on which she was last here.

They make their way downstairs, where Sebastian has prepared a breakfast of half-boiled eggs, plain toast, and folded crepes with an unusual filling of bacon and early-spring spinach sautéed in butter. Ciel eats appreciatively. It has been only a few days since he has returned to a regular diet instead of food meant for recuperation, and he is enjoying every bite.

But once the last of the delicious breakfast has been swallowed, he leaves the table and inspects all the rooms and gardens his aunt and cousin are likely to see. Everything is in order, with Baldroy, Mey-Rin and Finnian strictly engaged in the most mundane of tasks which are unlikely to cause disaster. Tanaka is in his steward's room, helping with the harmless job of folding the spare napkins into attractive shapes.

Ciel's final stop with Sebastian is the garden where his favourite sterling silver roses grow. The pale lavender flowers are blooming well although they are barely out of the winter season, no doubt thanks to Sebastian's otherworldly skills. They need much care, for they frequently require deadheading and the excision of woody portions affected by disease or pests. Finnian has been trained well enough by Sebastian to cope with most of the routine gardening – provided no one lets him loose with the pesticide can – but the butler always tends to the sterling silver rose garden personally.

"The roses look marvellous, considering the time of year," Ciel remarks with genuine admiration.

"They do indeed, my lord. As the sight of them pleases you, may I give you a gift from your own garden?"

"A gift from my own garden?" Ciel echoes curiously. "What kind of peculiar idea is that, Sebastian?"

"Grown in your garden it may be, but the plant is mine," the butler explains, walking Ciel to the end of the row of sterling silvers, and leading him behind it, where he has been nurturing a paler variety of the rose. "This is derived from the sterling silver, but crossed among individual plants selected for their paler-than-usual hue of lavender. The colour, as you see, is barely discernible to human eyes."

Sebastian selects the most beautiful rose on that single plant, snips it off with secateurs, trims off the thorns, and presents it to Ciel.

"Beautiful in form and shade, with a delicate scent," the earl murmurs in approval, lifting the flower to his nose.

"May I?" the butler asks when Ciel has admired the rose long enough. He slips the stem through the top buttonhole of the earl's blue jacket. The colour of the garment makes a perfect backdrop for the barely-there hints of lavender in the flawless petals.

"I suppose I should thank you for the gift, and I do," Ciel says, looking keenly up at him when he has positioned the rose perfectly. "Although I don't know what to make of it."

"It is simply a gift," Sebastian says, kneeling to adjust the signet ring on his master's right hand, which has turned towards the index finger, hiding the Phantomhive crest.

"Is anything ever simple with you?" the earl demands to know. He slips his fingers out of Sebastian's much larger yet extremely elegant hands when the butler shows no sign that he will release his hold on him even several seconds after the face of the ring has been turned back into place.

"Everything can be both exquisitely simple and infinitely complex, depending on how one looks at it."

"Answer me simply, and don't lie to me, Sebastian: Why are you giving me this rose?"

"Because I want to."

"And why have you been... touching me so much of late? You can't think that I haven't noticed."

"It is for the same reason that I have given you the rose."

Quite serendipitously, they have had the talk Ciel has been thinking of having. The answers he has received have been direct and simple, but they have not really answered anything at all.

***

"Ciel, how are you?" Aunt Francis asks warmly once she steps out of her carriage, doing something most unusual for her by bending down to look closely at her nephew's face, from which the welts and scratches have fortunately faded.

"I am very well, Aunt Francis. Thank you for your concern. I trust you are in good health also?"

"I am, thank you," she replies, giving him a smile that radiates genuine pleasure at seeing him again.

Any fear that Ciel feels of Lady Midford is purely that which arises from the discipline and high standards she expects of him and everyone. But it is a good kind of fear, not the suspicion he feels with those he distrusts. Aunt Francis hides nothing and is completely upright in character, unlike his other, ill-fated Aunt An. As he thinks briefly of Madam Red, he feels a pang of loss – for some reason, children frequently feel closer to their mothers' sisters than to their fathers' sisters – but he shuts the pain away, and turns his attention fully to the only one of his parents' siblings who remains in the world of the living.

"You look so very much better than when we last saw each other," Aunt Francis says, after studying his colour, looks and general bearing long enough to satisfy herself that he is not hiding any illness or severe injury from her. She says not a word about his long fringe, and can say nothing against Sebastian's hair, for the butler is keeping it flawlessly trimmed.

"So do you, Aunt Francis, and my cousin too."

Elizabeth has been hovering excitedly behind her mother because Lady Midford always reminds her to conduct herself as a lady should when she visits her cousin. She now steps forward to give Ciel a surprisingly gentle hug and a light kiss on the cheek. "Ciel, I'm so happy to see you looking well," she says softly, her green eyes shining in a face bright with joy.

"I am very pleased that you also have recovered fully," he replies formally, but with sufficient kindness in his voice to please her. "Shall we proceed to the dining room? Luncheon is almost ready to be served."

"That would be delightful," Aunt Francis tells him. "But before that, Elizabeth, isn't there something we wish to do first?"

"Oh, yes!" Lizzie exclaims, clapping her hands. "It's very important!"

She turns back to her mother's carriage and takes, from their footman, a parcel wrapped in hand-decorated gift paper and bound with a ribbon. Ciel wonders if she has bought him fancy outfits that she will demand he put on at once to please her, as she has done before... but the person to whom she presents the parcel is Sebastian.

"Sebastian," she begins in a manner that is both eager and bubbly while being a shade shy, for it is a painstakingly rehearsed speech she is making now. "Such a very small present as this is in no way at all adequate thanks for what you did for me that day, but I do hope you will accept it. It is from my mother and me, and I embroidered it myself."

"I am honoured that Lady Elizabeth and Lady Midford would think of giving a present to one such as myself," Sebastian responds in the most natural manner, although he is in truth surprised by the gesture.

"Open it, please do!" Lizzie cries, her excitement getting the better of her desire to be proper.

Sebastian undoes the ribbon and unwraps the paper, to find an exquisitely woven black wool scarf of the highest quality, with his initials in an elegant and sweeping calligrapher's font in one corner, beautifully satin-stitched in black silk thread.

"Do you like it?" Lizzie asks, green eyes as wide as they have ever been.

"I can honestly say that this is the finest black wool scarf that anyone on this earth has ever given me," the butler replies with sincerity. "I hardly deserve such a gift. Miss Elizabeth, the embroidery is flawless."

"I'm so pleased that you like it!" the girl exclaims as she takes another parcel from her mother's footman. "We have one for Ciel too, but in blue!"

Ciel receives his scarf from his fiancée and cousin, and admires it as a well-bred child ought to admire any gift, before he once again encourages his guests to step indoors with him and make their way to the dining room.

There, they settle down to an excellent early-spring lunch of poached Scottish salmon that needs only a touch of Sicilian lemons to bring out the naturally good flavour of the pink flesh; a deliciously warm, cooked salad of Mediterranean vegetables; and a crisp, chilled white wine. The earl and his aunt first speak briefly of Sophia Easton and her present incarceration to keep one another informed of what they know. They quickly move on to happier things, with Lizzie reporting that her maid and the coachman are improving by the day, then going on to tell Ciel about the spring balls that Lady Midford may allow her to attend.

"You never go to balls, Ciel," Lizzie says. "I wish you would. We would have such a wonderful time dancing together."

"I find such occasions pointless," the earl replies. He does not mention that he once attended a ball disguised as a girl to trap the Viscount of Druitt, and had to spend most of it either dancing in a manner that saw him pressed up uncomfortably close against Sebastian, or running away from Elizabeth, who would certainly have recognised his face had she seen him at close range.

"Balls may seem frivolous, but they are hardly pointless," Aunt Francis states, sparing a nod to Sebastian as he whisks away her side plate. "Many important contacts can be made during social occasions, and much information obtained. Even silly gossip can reveal vital facts. My father always said so, and your father and I learnt that it was indeed so as we grew up."

"I have other ways of making contacts and obtaining information – ways that require no dancing or music whatsoever," Ciel replies politely, but rather smugly.

"But dancing and music are so beautiful," Lizzie sighs. "How can you not like them? They bring so much joy into one's life."

"When you marry Elizabeth, I certainly hope that you will not leave my daughter to be escorted to balls by other gentlemen while you stay at home with your books," Aunt Francis smiles at him. "I would not be happy with that at all."

"Aunt Francis," Ciel gasps, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Marriage is a very long way off for us."

"My dear nephew," Lady Francis states gently. "At the end of this year, you will turn fourteen. Elizabeth is fourteen already. Boys may be lawfully married at fourteen, and girls at twelve, so we can look forward to a wedding, perhaps, next year?"

"Aunt Francis!" Ciel protests.

"I am only teasing you and Elizabeth," the lady chuckles, glancing at her daughter, who is turning pinker than the salmon on her plate. "I was not married till I was twenty, thanks to the protectiveness of my father and my brother. I found twenty a very good age for a woman to become a wife, so of course I would not wish to subject my daughter and nephew to the demands of wedded life when you are both still children. Just because my great-great-great-great-grandmother Katherine was a mother at thirteen and a grandmother by twenty-nine, it does not mean that I wish Elizabeth to follow suit. I merely wish to remind you both that by the law, you may be properly married as early as next year, and nothing would stand in your way."

"We shall be pleased to benefit from your experience of twenty being a good age for a lady to marry," Ciel mumbles, with no small amount of relief. "Twenty is a long way off for us."

"It seems long only because you are both so young," says Lady Francis. "But it is a shorter time than you might think. Nevertheless, it does not matter exactly when you marry. You are my daughter's intended, and she is yours. You were meant for each other, and what was meant to be will come to pass."

"What was meant to be," Ciel repeats thoughtfully.

He is thinking of how Sebastian specified that their new contract should last five years. It will end (in death? in a parting of the ways?) by the time he is eighteen. If he survives, then by twenty or so, he is very likely to become Lizzie's husband. How strange the idea is to him. It all seems a very long way off – marriage, death and farewells.

He casts what he thinks will be no more than a second's casual glance at the butler here, only to have it turn into a long, surprised stare. For Sebastian is gazing keenly at him, his garnet orbs searching him so piercingly that he almost seems to be seeking, in his uncovered blue eye, a window into the distances of eternity. What the devil sees there he does not know, but it is either most pleasing or most disconcerting to him, for he does not look away at all until Lady Francis asks them what the matter is.

"I beg your pardon, Lady Francis," Sebastian answers without missing a beat, tearing himself away from his master's face. "I thought I saw that His Lordship was troubled by a speck in his eye, and I was considering how best to remove it. But as he does not appear to be in any discomfort now, I realise that I must have been mistaken."

Sebastian removes a few more unneeded items of crockery and cutlery from the table before bowing to his master and his guests and retreating to the kitchen, where Ciel's eyes, covered or uncovered, cannot follow him.
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Devilish Impulses