Thoughts of the Past, Dreams of the Future

The Teapot

Sacrificium Deo spiritus contribulatus: cor contritum, et humiliatum, Deus, non despicies.
Benigne fac, Domine, in bona voluntate tua Sion: ut aedificentur muri Ierusalem.
Tunc acceptabis sacrificium justitiae, oblationes, et holocausta: tunc imponent super altare tuum vitulos.

“My husband was a most peculiar man. He did not leave the house - that is an understatement. He scarcely left his study. There were nights, upon which he did not even return to our bedroom. He was entirely devoted to his work - an occupation of which the nature was unbeknownst to me - and I dared not ever disrupt him in his study. His name was Damien. Mine was Hilda. We were different, in many a way. But there was something within him - something that pulled me to his presence, as though a moth unto a flame. I fell for his strange beauty - for his delicate, light locks of hair. For his silver eyes. He was like a sculpture, or a painting - too beautiful to be true.

I was allowed to enter his study once a day, provided I looked at nothing and kept my eyes firmly shut. I would bring him a tray, and on it scones with jam, a cold salad, some sandwiches, and a beautiful, porcelain teapot, with a porcelain teacup, and a small jar of cream. Inside the teapot was his favourite tea - yorkshire, well steeped. After placing the tray on the desk, I was expected to leave, silently. It angered me, this daily ordeal. To never be allowed to speak to him - to never be allowed to look inside his study. I would simply leave the tray and make my leave.

I did not know what it was that Damien spent his time on, only that it was not for my gaze. Strange - his friends were allowed in the study. They always came after dark, spoke in hushed tones. They always left before the first light of day.

I found many ways to keep myself occupied. He had his work - I found my own. I tended to the flower garden - I grew anemones, belladonnas, pink camellias, red carnations, camomile. As the months passed on, I gradually created somewhat of a herbal garden, and filled it with the most useful of plants. I found occupation for myself within the stuffy walls of the castle as well, so as to not sit idly when worse weather came. I took to exploring the castle - there were many rooms I had not ever ventured to. I plotted them down on parchment, so as to not forget them.

I did not, however, visit the east wing.

A few weeks into my venture, I found the most beautiful of libraries, filled to the brim with musical scripts of old. I learned those songs - many of them were good - but none captured my heart quite like “miserere mei deus”, of the Gregorian chants. It brought me confidence - courage in my convictions.

It was Thursday - the 31st of October - the day of the solstice of old, Samhain. As I was wont - I entered Damien’s study, my eyes firmly shut. I placed the tray on where I was taught the desk to stand, plates and cups clattering on the tray. What demon entered my thoughts - what was it that whispered into my ear to commit that heinous crime against trust? I opened my eyes, breath trapped inside my lungs. He was gone - his eyes not seeing, his breath gone, his body cold. He was dead, inside his study.”

Hilda smiled at her reflection in the mirror. Yes, she thought to herself. Such a testimony should suffice. They shall never find out how she did it.