Athenia's Choice (ON HOLD)

Athenia's Choice: Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

It took much longer than it needed to have to reach Tunbridge Wells. However, it was because I was weaving in and out of backstreets, afraid of being followed. I reached the outskirts of the town soon enough, and swiftly dismounted. I tied the weather-beaten bridle of the dapple-grey horse to a nearby tree, and wished that the messenger boy would find his horse sometime.

I was only a 10 minute walk away from Madame Leyroski’s famously elaborate house, where many highlights of the social calendar were held.( I knew of this information since Mama had dragged me along to one of her ‘balls’ about a year ago.) All any of the ladies cared about was the latest fashions and who had the most intriguing gossip. There would be plenty of wigs about and I got it in to my head I could sneak in the house and get one to disguise myself.

When I finally reached the back garden, after hitching myself over the stone-covered wall, I saw that the back doors were carelessly thrown open. Heart racing with fear and excitement, I tiptoed warily into the room. Colour was splashed into my face immediately, as I marvelled in amazement. There were snow globes, paintings, silks, and ornaments everywhere. Not a spare patch on the maple sideboard went un-decorated. The floorboards creaked, and conscious of being caught, I stole up the stairs.

I found a black wig perched on a shelf in one of the equally chaotic bedrooms. Reaching into a trunk, I stole some very finely polished black boots for my battered feet. I also kidnapped a lacy violet gown. I scuttled out of the house, freezing in panic as the sounds of music wafted through the air. I scrambled back over the wall, scraping my shins. Hurriedly, I donned the newly stolen garments, pressing the itchy wig down tightly. Then, I set off for Charles’ house.

*****

After a contented amble, I recognised the peeling post box-green paint of the Beaumont household. I knocked slowly, hammering confidence into myself.

“Yes, what may I do for you, miss?” Charles asked wearily as he opened the door. My eyes darted around for anyone watching.

“It’s me, Charles!” I hissed. A shadow of horror crossed his face, but he then smiled, just teasing me, ushering me in.

“Mother, its Ath-”

“Mary-Jane,” I announced over him loudly, as Ida came into view. She seemed to have shrunk, with black circles under her eyes. Ida looked me up and down carefully, and then gave a weak nod of recognition.

“I’ve come to apologise,” I said, trembling.

“Oh no, don’t worry,” Ida murmured. She was lying.

*****

The house seemed to have a lingering momentum of sadness, tiredness, and ghostliness. Everyone spoke in hushed voices, as if they were trying to conceal a terrible secret.

“Are you quite sure it is fine to accommodate me?” I checked again with Charles, as anxiety twisted about inside me that his offer was merely a jest.

“Yes, it is fine, I already said so!” Charles snapped, and I stepped back gingerly from him.

“I’m sorry, I did not mean to sound annoyed. There is just too much weight upon my shoulders,” Charles apologized, touching my arm. I lifted my head, and our eyes connected, with a spark of sadness and longing.

“Is it…,” I hesitated, wondering how to put it, “because of your father’s death?” He did not respond. Hoping I hadn’t upset him, I felt the guilt churning around in my stomach.

“Partly. Ath- Mary-Jane, you must get a job, for my sake, and Ida’s,” Charles responded somewhat stiffly. I understood; I had to earn my keep, and show I was good enough for my cousins to keep me on, the murderer of their Henry.

Later on, Ida decided I would be introduced as a maid of her household, if anyone asked who I was. She pointed me in the direction of some possible employment. Looking much older and taller now I was wearing the heeled boots, I secured a place of work in the Laytoff household as a nursery maid, looking after their three children: James, Annie, and Susanna.

Ida seemed happy when I told her of my newfound employment, and took to whistling as she scrubbed some dirty sheets. I was rather elated myself; I felt bright, bouncy, and full of laughter, like I could show the world I could do anything. Cordelia was delighted to see me, having awoken from a long nap.

“Theeny,” she cried, and I shushed her immediately.

“My name is now Mary-Jane,” I laughed, trying to convince her easily.

“Will you play dolls with me please?” Cordelia asked. We had a game of ‘secret faeries’ where one of Cordelia’s china dolls was actually a faerie who was going to secretly give the other dolls lots of ‘candies’. Ida kept scolding her for using an American word, as it sounded improper.

I was unsure where I should sleep that night. Should I go to Charles’ room, as he had taken me out on that one occasion, or was that considered improper as well? On the other hand, should I go and give Cordelia some company? I had to make a choice quickly, as Ida was blowing out the living room candles. I definitely didn’t want to sleep with Ida, as I was still feeling awkward about the way she had shrugged my apology off. Feeling bold and brassy, I knocked on Charles’ bedroom door.

“Come in?” he responded a little cautiously, as I slipped in, wearing a borrowed nightgown of Cordelia’s that exposed my calves.

“Care for me to join you?” I asked in a sugary-sweat, breathless voice.

“Uhh yeah, sure…,” Charles responded, shifting over in the bed. I jumped in bedside him, grinning naughtily. I was very disappointed when all Charles did was pull the quilt over him, and snore himself off to sleep! The noise distracted me too much, so I sneaked out the room, groping around in the darkness.

I gently pushed Cordelia’s bedroom door open. She was kneeling up against the windowsill, like an angel crossed with a ghost in her newly washed pristine white nightgown. A quiet howling like an injured bird sounded from her side of the room. I had a choice- go over and comfort her, or leave her to her privacy? I couldn’t leave her. The drab curtains swept backwards and forwards, as the wind rippled through the open windows, a coldness sweeping through the room.

“What’s the date?” I suddenly blurted out. Cordelia swerved round, startled. I looked at her longingly.

“Why, it must be…,” she whispered.

“The 17th of May,” I answered slowly. Everything seemed to churn around inside me; I could feel my pupils become wider as they grew in horror and realisation.

“I miss my daddy,” the little girl murmured quietly. Someone was always meant to be missed on the 17th of May…