by Alicia Hope
Yes, it was exactly as Antoinette had described in her enthusiastic re-telling of Elizabeth’s story. But the delightful milieu was abruptly disturbed by movement nearby, and the sound of a voice raised in anger. The hair brush slipped from Claire-Rose’s fingers and dropped onto the dressing table with a clatter. Her heart thumped and her fingers dug into the soft top of the stool on which she sat.
In the rear of the bus, she frowned and whimpered but slept on, unaware of her sudden vice-like grip on the edge of her seat.
In the dream, she found herself unable to move. She sat bolt upright, staring into the mirror, and saw movement again. It was a man, she realised, pacing back and forth across the room.
Edward Lorienne.
The same nonchalant, cheroot-holding man in the photo with Elizabeth, but who now looked anything but nonchalant. His eyes were dark, dangerous slits in the pale flint of his handsome face, but his livid gaze would not meet hers. He spoke into the air above her head.
‘How could you?’ The words were ground through clenched teeth.
Claire-Rose was struck dumb. Chill fingers of fear clawed at her stomach and crept up her spine as he snarled, ‘I trusted you, believed in you, loved you more than—’ His face crumpled and he turned away abruptly.
Rising shakily to her feet, feeling like a passenger with someone else at the controls, Claire-Rose cried, ‘Edward—’
He paused and half turned, but still would not meet her eyes. Instead, he threw the next bitter words over his shoulder. ‘No! Elizabeth, no, I will not hear your lies. You betrayed me. You betrayed the family, and laid bare our home – my father’s dream! – for its bones to be picked over by every damnable thieving scavenger.’
He turned away again. His broad shoulders drooped and he covered his face with his hands as a mist rose to swirl itself around him. When he lowered his hands and faced her, his countenance cleared momentarily and he whispered, ‘Oh, Elizabeth....’ Their eyes finally met for the briefest instant, but long enough for her to glimpse such grief and despair, it tore at her heart like the savage teeth of a ravenous animal.
She stretched her hands toward him pleadingly, longing to comfort him. Her imploring fingers penetrated the vapour, making it swirl in misty eddies around each outstretched digit. But no substance greeted her searching fingertips.
Edward was gone.
Her heart clenched in anguish and hot tears coursed down her cheeks. If only she could reach him, she would....
‘Right folks, wakey, wakey! Time to get off the bus.’
Chapter Eight
History and Mystery
That night, Claire-Rose dined in the castle again. Most of the other guests were there as well, but it was a more sedate affair than their first dinner together. Everyone seemed happy to relax and quietly savour the meal. This suited Claire-Rose, who was so distracted by her thoughts she barely noticed Byron serving the first course. But when it appeared under her nose, she roused herself.
I’d better take note so I can describe it to Mum. Connie, queen of foodies, whose royal command to ‘tell all’ brimmed with barely contained resentment at being left behind.
‘I’ll be sitting here, bored out of my brain,’ Connie had declared, eyeing her daughter accusingly, ‘while you’re holidaying your little heart out. I want a blow-by-blow account of EVERYONE you meet, EVERY tour you take, and EVERY dinner you eat, my girl, so I know exactly what it is I’m missing.’
Claire-Rose dutifully cast her eyes over the dish in front of her, as Mandeep, the other dedicated foody, announced reverently with a mouth watering in anticipation, ‘Ah ... Prawns and Camembert with Avocado Cream. This is a classic, you know. I am quite impressed.’
It’s official, Claire-Rose smiled fleetingly to herself, I’m at a meeting of ‘foodaholics anonymous’!
The entrée was delicious by anyone’s standards, but she was once again diverted by images from her dreams. They flittered across her mind like movie teasers, distracting her with their poignancy. She half-heartedly forked another cream-dipped prawn and chunk of Camembert into her mouth, but left the rest. Collecting their plates, Byron frowned at the sight of hers. It was barely touched.
When he raised enquiring eyebrows at her, she stuttered, ‘Byron … um … please tell the chef there’s nothing wrong with the entrée.’ He continued to gaze searchingly at her so she hastened to add, ‘It’s not the food, it’s me ... my mood. Look at the other plates – all empty, proof of how good the dish was.’
To his eyes, she appeared pale and drawn. His expression grew concerned. ‘Is everything alright, Cl ... er ... madam?’
‘Oh yes, all good.’
Though sensing disquiet lurking beneath her bright smile, he merely gave her a measured look and moved on.
The next course was Trout Amandine, made with fish from the castle’s own lake, and accompanied by a savoury Caesar salad and Duchesse Potatoes. Aware of Byron’s scrutiny, Claire-Rose tried to do justice to the food. She didn’t want another twenty questions about why her plate was hardly touched.
And if he asks what’s bothering me, what can I say? ‘Oh, well you see, I’ve been having these dreams about a long dead ancestor whose much loved, but equally dead, husband perished in a shipwreck believing she caused his family’s downfall. Her side of the family has always maintained her innocence and wants to prove it, and that’s partly why I’m here at the castle....’ Yeah, right. I can hear him thinking, “Helloh, crazy woman at table”!
So, despite the twitch of nerves in her stomach, Claire-Rose managed to all but finish her main course by the time Byron began clearing the table to serve dessert.
While savouring the smooth sweetness of the Queen Pudding’s delicately glazed custard base, under its topping of meringue and freshly poached apricots, she wondered what her dreams would hold that night. Lately, as soon as she closed her eyes, she ‘became’ Elizabeth in her dreams, and as Elizabeth, had to front up to Edward’s daunting, unanswerable wrath. Her brow furrowed as she pushed the last creamy remnants of pudding around her bowl.
This is getting ridiculous. What happened to the loving young couple of my earlier dreams? Now Edward’s always angry and that’s no fun at all.
She chewed her bottom lip.
Then again, Gran did say he was an imposing character….
Fri, 11 October, 18:25:15
From: Claire-Rose.Brande
To: Connie.Brande
Re: CR’s Travel Log, day 5
Yes, you’re right Mum, I have been enjoying living Elizabeth’s life through my dreams, but not so much anymore. In the last couple, Edward has been completely different, demanding to know why I ... er ... Elizabeth betrayed him, and accusing her of bringing about the family’s downfall and the ruination of his beloved castle. The earlier dreams were about beautiful places and gorgeous outfits, dancing and loving looks, but now they’re all about furious accusations he won’t allow Elizabeth to respond to.
It’s strange where my imagination takes me in my dreams, but I’m absolutely fascinated by it. Today I scanned every picture on every accessible wall of the castle, hoping to find more about the Edward-Elizabeth story. Gran’s certain there’s something here that would prove Elizabeth’s innocence, just a shame she doesn’t know what! I studied the backs of paintings, looking for secret maps or clues, and peeked through gaps and cobwebbed windows, trying to see into ‘off limit’ areas, but it was all for nought. Topaz accompanied me on this exploration, but merely plonked himself and cleaned his whiskers while I did all the investigating work. He’s such a fifth wheel!
Anyway, after I’d finished, I couldn’t let it go, so I took a trip to the town library, where I found some Lorienne family records. They were mostly about the castle’s original construction and Edward’s business ventures, but there was also one brief account of the family’s downfall and subsequent abandonment of the castle. The scandal involving Elizabeth was mentioned as the catalyst for the do
wnward slide, but once again, no details were given of the misdemeanour at the centre of it.
So what could Elizabeth have done that was so bad? Surely not an affair? I choose not to believe that. I want her to have loved Edward as much as I think he loved her. But her death so soon after his … is it proof of innocence or guilt?
Luv,
An intrigued but befuddled CR
x
Claire-Rose tossed in her sleep. She surfaced briefly, just long enough to pull the quilt higher against a sudden chill. With her head barely resting on the pillow again, she slipped into a deep slumber once more.
And Elizabeth was there, in her dream, waiting for her.
This time she stood in front of Claire-Rose, looking at her with a sad tenderness in her topaz eyes. Her face and body floated in and out of focus. She drew closer, tentatively, and gently caressed the side of Claire-Rose’s face with a filmy hand. Her touch was like a breath of cool air against the skin, without warmth or substance, but in a strange way, restful. When she spoke, her voice was breathy, ethereal, but somehow also warm and gentle.
‘You are here at last, dear one.’ The mellifluous words were as if woven from the surrounding air.
‘Elizabeth?’ In the dream, Claire-Rose’s mind was woozy and her tongue felt groggy, as though disembodied from the rest of her. To her ears it sounded like she’d said ‘Lithabeth’.
‘Yes Claire-Rose, I am Elizabeth Lorienne.’
‘And I’m Cl— Oh, you already know who I am.’
‘Yes, I know you, and I believe you are coming to know me. But there is so much more you need to know, and so much I need you to do.’
‘Do? What is it you need me to do?’
Elizabeth drew away a little and clasped her hands together, as though in supplication. ‘Oh my dear, I grow so weary of the eternal weeping and the pain that fills my every moment, but my heart will not free me from it. Not until I can make my peace. With him.’
‘With Edward?’
Elizabeth appeared to shiver at Claire-Rose’s mention of her husband’s name. She closed her eyes, dropped her arms by her sides, palms open, and lifted her face to the ceiling as though allowing the cherished word to wash over her. As she moved, tendrils of mist dripped from her hair and flowed around her body like a shawl spun from cobwebs.
‘Oh, to hear my beloved’s name spoken with the warmth of life in every syllable. What joy it brings my saddened heart.’ The fine thread of her quiescent voice was interwoven with tenderness and incredible sorrow.
Claire-Rose extended a comforting hand, but only cool, empty air greeted her fingers.
Elizabeth opened her eyes again and looked at her. ‘Would that I could feel your comfort, dear one, but it is beyond my reach. As are all good things. As is my one true love, Edward, who thought ill of me when taken from me forever.’
‘How can I help you?’ Claire-Rose’s heart went out to the frail, tragic woman standing in front of her.
Elizabeth moved closer again. With a feather-like touch she cupped Claire-Rose’s face with a hand and gazed intently into her eyes. ‘Yes, I see our family legacy, shining at me.’ She stepped back a pace, but kept her eyes fixed on Claire-Rose’s. ‘My heart is so heavy when I speak of my darling Edward, I fear it is broken beyond repair. How can a heart bear such pain? Knowing the one I love more than life itself perished believing I had betrayed his love, his trust, and had brought shame upon his family name. And with no way of declaring my innocence because his face, that which I hold most dear, has turned from me forever.’
She bowed her head before continuing in a choked voice, ‘The love we shared was crushed from his heart, and the bitterness of betrayal filled the void, flowing into his veins like the cold waters of the ocean that claimed his body.’
Claire-Rose stood silently as Elizabeth paused again, composing herself.
‘Speaking of this brings only more anguish. Anguish upon anguish, always growing, never diminishing.’ She raised her head again. ‘But I must find the fortitude or forever languish in the torment of my besmirched virtue.’ She extended her hands to clasp Claire-Rose’s. ‘This disgrace has been improperly thrust upon me and my family, and taints the very memory of my existence. Please, you must help regain our honour.’
At Claire-Rose’s wide-eyed, silent nod, Elizabeth sighed and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were focused and intent, but growing hazy. ‘First, you must know there is something hidden that needs to be found.’
‘Yes, Gran said that too. But what sort of thing?’
‘You need to find the truth, and prove the innocence of your stricken ancestor.’ As she uttered the words, Elizabeth’s image dimmed.
‘Hang on, what am I looking for, and where will I find it?’
But Elizabeth’s form continued to fade. The mist enveloping her lower body crept up to devour her chest, shoulders and neck, moving stealthily but persistently toward her lovely, mournful face. Her countenance softened and her features blurred. Her words grew more breathy, until they all but evaporated into the still air.
‘My strength wains....’
‘Wait! Don’t go, I have so many questions!’
Elizabeth reached out a hand that was barely more than a fragile wisp trailing from the fog into which her image was dissolving. Before they too melted away, her shadowy fingers brushed against the tips of Claire-Rose’s outstretched hand, and then she was gone.
Chapter Nine
Nothing is Off-limits
Sat, 12 October, 08:56:02
From: Claire-Rose.Brande
To: Connie.Brande
Re: CR’s Travel log, day 6
Last night’s dream was different, Mum, this time Elizabeth spoke directly to me. She didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know, of course, being only the product of my imagination. But she did reiterate something Gran had mentioned, about my finding proof of Elizabeth’s innocence … proof Gran believes is hidden in the castle.
Think I’ll ring Gran and make sure she told me everything she knows.
Luv u and wish u were here sharing this marvellous adventure with me!
CR xxx
There was a quiet knock at the door. Claire-Rose quickly pressed the ‘send’ button on her email before rising to answer it. Her eyes widened when she saw Byron standing outside her room, looking tentative and a little awkward.
She gave a half smile and a quizzical frown. ‘Byron?’
‘Yes. Look, sorry to disturb you, Claire-Rose, but.…’ He paused to regard her intently. ‘I wanted to check everything’s OK. You seemed troubled the other night at dinner. And when you didn’t dine with us last night, I was worried something might be wrong?’
A warm smile softened her expression. ‘Oh, right, so you’ve cottoned onto the fact it takes a lot to divert me from my food.’ She gave a soft chuckle and a small shake of her head. ‘That’s very kind of you, Byron, but there’s nothing wrong. I’m just distracted by an old mystery I’m trying to solve. A very old “cold case”.’ Leaning forward, she whispered conspiratorially with an air of feigned arrogance, ‘You see, I fancy myself as something of a Sherlock ... er ... Shirley Holmes.’
He grinned and his brown eyes glittered with intrigued curiosity. ‘What sort of mystery? Does it involve the castle?’
So, another mystery hound raises his muzzle to sniff the air, Claire-Rose mused, and quite the nice muzzle it is too....
‘Well.…’ She hesitated. Did she really want to share it all with him?
Would that be wise, considering what I might have to do to find what I’m looking for?
But he was waiting so eagerly, she hated to disappoint him. ‘Look, why don’t you come in. I was about to make myself a cup of tea. Would you like one?’
That’ll give me time to think over what to tell him.
‘Please. Having someone else make it for me will be a pleasant change.’
They grinned at each other and he step
ped into the room, which immediately felt smaller. Although Claire-Rose had to look up at him, Byron wasn’t a large man, but had a big presence. She found herself reflecting on his wide-at-the-shoulder, slim-at-the-hip physique, clad in chest-hugging polo shirt and butt-hugging blue jeans.
Quite the manly figure.
She gave a silent ‘tsk’ at her errant thoughts, but was careful to keep her expression neutral.
When she indicated the table and chairs by the French doors, he went over to them but remained standing, gazing at the view. While waiting for the electric jug to boil, she rattled around in the cupboards and brought out a packet of English Breakfast loose leaf tea, two porcelain cups, a teapot and matching milk jug and sugar bowl.
‘You guys certainly know how to do things around here,’ she said brightly. ‘There isn’t a dusty tea bag or mismatched mug to be seen.’
‘Glad you approve.’ His deep voice floated across the room and settled on her like an airy caress. ‘So, I take it you like it here, in our castle?’
‘Oh yes.’ Her voice drifted out from the depths of the little bar fridge. She held a milk carton in one hand and a pack of spice-n-ginger cookies in the other, and was reading the use-by date on the packet. Satisfied the cookies hadn’t come from the ark’s pantry, she added them to the tray. Realising Byron had turned and was watching her, she went on, ‘I love your castle. It must be wonderful for the three of you, living and working here?’
His eyes creased into a glad smile. ‘It is.’ But the smile slipped from his face and his eyes grew serious again. ‘Speaking for myself, that is. And for Mum too, I guess.’