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The Tempest And The Teacup
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The Tempest And The Teacup |
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Mysteria 
since 2001-03-07
Posts 18328British Columbia, Canada 
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 ~* The Tempest and The Teacup *~ Mysteria 02/2002 It was early summer and the day had been hot and oppressive. I had been in the house all day writing letters to some of the larger families in the neighbourhood, with the object of giving French lessons and any general tutoring. I had recently returned to Victoria from Montreal, and the countryside was most entrancing after an unbroken five years absence. My father having recently died, and this event coupled with the fact that the two daughters of the Dubois family in whose home I had lived so long, had reached the age where their mother, dear Mme. Dubois, could take her part in their establishment in life, as the respective wives of gentlemen in a station worthy of a banker’s daughters. Their English was not perfect but I had taught them all I possibly could. My Mother had been very lonely after the funeral, and I had hurried back to Victoria, partly to get away from the sad scene, but during this past month I had come to realize that my place was to be home again, especially as my younger brother was to shortly attend university, which was quite a distance from where our home was situated. Mother had been left comfortably off financially, as my father had been a barrister of some repute, as well as a magistrate in the district. By the town's standards they were quite wealthy. Wearing my light summer coat, I hoped that a good walk in the open mountain air would help to dispel my headache as well as my gloomy thoughts, so I was on my way to post several letters that I hoped would bring some responses to my offer of tutoring. The town was not large, so it was no great distance into the general countryside in any direction, so I chose to walk to the ridge, as it was commonly known. For many parts of this well-wooded hilly ridge there were splendid views of both town and country. In fact, I could still make out the massive towers of the town church. The sky was sullen and the air almost still as I turned along the road to the west, and soon found myself feeling renewed interest in some new houses and buildings, that along with the older homes and views, brought back memories of the old farmers in this part of Victoria. Soon a graveled lane branched off the main macadam med road, and I did not remember it particularly, but I believed it would lead back to the ridge if I followed it, which I did. The hedgerows here usually stone walls, were dry-heaped to a height necessary to keep cattle in their own habitats, and some of these walls criss-crossed the distance between main road and graveled lanes, but I could see the clumps and groves of the trees beyond. The lane I had taken entered among the trees and soon I reached the crest. I paused, looking all around, trying to pick out remembered landscapes. The breeze at the higher elevation was quite refreshing, though heavy clouds scudded overhead. The air was laden with impending fury, or so it seemed to me for a few minutes. Perhaps I was in for a storm? Then with a loud cap of thunder it came! The lightening seared the heavens, and I suddenly saw the local church in the far distance momentarily completely illuminated. The rain now came in a heavy torrent, and I ran to the shelter of the trees at the side, trying to get into the thickest part of the copse. There was not much cover in this downpour but as I passed a large, double wrought-iron gateway, I noticed that one gate had been left a little ajar, and the immense trees of this estate were of a size that must afford some shelter. Realizing that although I was probably legally trespassing, I slipped inside the gate as quickly as I could, then just along the driveway I discovered a massive fir tree that would shelter me until the rain ceased. I was standing in rather a pensive mood, when I was startled to feel my sleeve touched. Turning abruptly and most alarmed, especially as no voice had spoken, I was horrified to find an old woman, crouching near me. She was wearing an old-fashioned black habit of a house servant. There was a touch of white at the throat, and on the white hair of her head rested a black ad while frilled cap. She looked like something out of a picture, and still not speaking, she motioned me to come further along the driveway. Wondering what kind of residence nestled among those trees; I followed the woman, still couching almost, along the graveled drive. The vast trees shut out the sky above, giving a dank atmosphere to this part of the estate. In a short time we rounded a curve and approached a stone mansion. I could not see much of the building, except that it had at least three stories. There was a lot of carved stonework at the doorway and around the windows. Looking back, about the only thing I do remember clearly was a large brass knocker set in the idle of a heavy oak door, with the head of a fox carved into it. This appeared most evilly at an approaching stranger, as I was. The old woman opened the door and motioned for me to enter, which I did, though wishing that I had some feeling of gratitude towards her, which I had not, being only aware of my fear. Though giving shelter from the storm, she bothered me, and I was finding everything too mysterious and eerie to be grateful. Even this house itself had a “Wuthering Heights” look, perhaps because I had not known of its existence before, and it is so easy to fear the unexpected. In the main entrance hall, the place seemed ageless and forlorn as if it had been this way for centuries gone. The thought crossed my mind of what a find this would be for an antique dealer. She opened a double door to my right and urged me to go in. This was a large drawing room where before a flickering fire sat another old woman in a wingback chair, tirelessly knitting some garment of sorts. “Come in and sit down,” I was bidden, in a cackling voice. I seated myself in a chair opposite this woman and waited for her to speak, while taking the opportunity to assess her manner and looks. She was certainly very emaciated and withered in appearance, though obviously not through poverty. Grim, would be a good word to describe her fully. Her attitude, at any rate, though her features betrayed not the slightest emotion of pleasure or sympathy of having a guest, rare though this event should be. She peered into my face for a full minute before speaking again. “So you are Caroline Fox.” It was a statement, and I was startled, never having heard of this woman in my life. I wondered how on earth she knew my name. “We will have tea,” she continued, as I did not answer other than by inclining my head slightly for a moment. As if this was a ritual she reached out to pull a long, tasseled cord hanging from the wall. I heard the jangling bell in a distant part of the house, or so it seemed to me from the weird sounds. The serving woman must have been expecting this summons, for almost immediately she appeared with a tray, setting it on the low table in the center of the rug before us. I stood to better examine the beautiful ormolu clock on her mantle, not being able to hide my interest any longer. The old woman spoke again in, I thought, a most sinister tone, as if in this way I offended her. “We shall have a serious talk,” she muttered, and I wondered what we two could possibly have to say to one another, on such short acquaintance. Again, my fear, or nervousness as it might only be, increased. “You are Caroline Fox,” she began after filling two shell-thin china cups with amber coloured tea. I noticed there was not any cream or sugar on the tray but gladly followed her example and sipped my tea, which proved to be extraordinary in its flavour and nice and hot. I began to feel more relaxed as she continued: “You are the daughter of Charles Fox who wronged me deeply, but he is now beyond my revenge. I have not forgotten and will never forget. My revenge must extend to any kin of his until they are all gone. I was Charle’s half-sister, and when his father died, I was left this home and a mere pittance, though I should have had a fortune. A young woman left with an insurable affliction and hardly enough money to manage to keep alive. I should have had a specialist’s attention and a full life before me, “ she said bitterly, “but instead I’ve walked with a stick all my life, and now can scarcely walk at all. But let both of us finish our tea before it grows cold.” “Though one of us will be very cold before this night is out,” she added with a mirthless cackle. “I want to go,” I tried to rise again by my legs gave out from under me and I was powerless. “Drink up, my dear,” she said, pushing the cup and saucer closer to me over the small table. From her reticule bag she extracted a vial from which she quite openly counted three small tablets, then dropped them into my teacup. This will help you to sleep, my dear.” She added, followed again by a toothless cackling. But suddenly, almost in a frenzy of terror, I sprang from my chair, my legs this time obeying my instincts. I got to the door but the handle would not turn. The old woman also rose and stamped the floor with her cane. I frantically tried the door again and it yielded suddenly, as I dashed into the hall and headed in the direction of the outside door. Fortunately it opened readily and I was running down the wet driveway with only one urge – to escape from this evil place. A large winged object flapped in front of me, and I realized later that it must have been an owl. At the moment though I had thought it must be some devilish magic. In some way I managed to keep up my running and before long knew that I was on the right way toward the ridge. At that moment a car slowed to a halt and a vaguely familiar voice said, “Is that you Caroline?” I recognized the owner of the voice; an elderly police sergeant, known as, “Old Bill”, and I remembered him well as an old friend of my late father’s. He often visited our home on official business and was so kind and friendly to the children around the house all the time. “Nasty kind of a day it’s been Caroline, not a great day to be out and about”, he said when I was comfortably seated near him. “I, I, have to report an attempted murder, Sergeant,” I began. “Now where could that have been?” he asked quietly. “Things are pretty quiet around here. Could this have been up at the old house behind you now, but easily noticed if you’re on the ridge?” “Yes,” I tried to explain through tears as well as possible just what had happened. “You surely don’t mean at old Miss Fox’s, as we call her?” he asked. “Yes, that’s right.” “Well, Caroline,” said the sergeant, mildly. “You never knew she was there even when you were young. Your Dad kept it a secret from all of you children. Me, though, I always had it as a case in my line of duty, so I’ve kept a steady watch on her through the years, and tried to keep my mouth shut. But she’s mad as a hatter, she is, Miss Caroline, begging your family’s pardon. Now can I drop you off at your mother’s house?” “Dear Old Bill,” I thought, as he helped me out of his car and then gently in the voice I would always remember, “Goodnight, and don’t worry, my dear, the old lady seems to be still pulling her trick with her saccharine tablets. But believe me, she’s harmless. Too bad it rained like it did, but I guess she enjoyed herself and you’ll soon recover. Goodnight, Miss Caroline, and we’re mighty glad to see you back again with your mother.” As Bill drove away he thought about the case he had been on for years, and didn't have the heart to tell Caroline that her father had condemned his own older sister to her fate with his greed, taking the entire fortune, leaving her in that old mansion with a retired nurse to care for her. She never went out of there and lived alone with that nurse all those years until finally she simply went mad, but she was really quite harmless. He didn't blame her for her antics as she could have been healthy given the right care, and he would be bitter too. The old lady was now 75, what good would it do now to bring this all out now. Caroline's father had looked after his family well for getting rid of the original will. His children were well-educated and set now, and he was due to retire later this year so it was better left buried with his old friend. As he drove along the road home, he passed Caroline's brother on his bike heading in the direction of the old mansion and asked him if he wanted a ride, as it was filty weather out there. He had heard on the radio that this severe thunder storm was about to overtake Victoria yet again. Jeff thanked him and said that he had seen a mansion at the top of the ridge in his car yesterday he had never seen before and was going to try to get a glimpse of it before the rain got too bad. Just then a clap of lightening overtood the sky as Bill waved him goodbye. Bill roared with laughter as he drove home, wondering if Jeff would be stopping for tea. The flame of the fire burns steady. One request, that you will be so kind, And tell me when my tea is ready. The End The pursuit of truth and beauty is a sphere of activity in which we are permitted to remain children all our lives. ~* Albert Einstein *~ [This message has been edited by Mysteria (03-15-2002 08:41 PM).] |
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| © Copyright 2002 Mysteria 1997 - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Janet Marie Member Laureate
since 2000-01-22
Posts 18554 |
I'll be back later when I can take this in and enjoy undistracted  |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
Ok then! I nice read...a few spelling edits and it will help without bumping anyone else's thought process. Look at it again in the morning [printed] and they should jump out at you. But I did like the way the story progressed. I would like to see you add some meat to it, some more family background, perhaps, to make it a little more mysterious.... Enjoyed!!! |
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Mysteria
since 2001-03-07
Posts 18328British Columbia, Canada |
Thank you! I was just editing the errors when you popped up I am not sure how long the little stories in here are to be but I shall try to add "meat" if it takes it. LOL |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
Better  !! |
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Janet Marie Member Laureate
since 2000-01-22
Posts 18554 |
I love all the twists and turns this took... reminded me of Twin Peaks *L* I enjoyed the mystery style of this and I like how you closed with that verse. I dont think there is a "limit" or rule" for how long prose can be...thats the beauty of writing like this, no poetic restrictions. So glad you shared this with us... hope to read more. |
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