by Daniel Caet
At nine o'clock the doorbell rang again, this time it was their shuttle to the airport. A man dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform appeared at Becca's apartment ready to take the luggage and, although Becca was convinced that he was not very happy to see the amount of luggage, he took it to the car without saying a word. Becca almost collapsed when she went down to the street and saw the vehicle that was waiting for her. A black limousine with enough space for eight people or more. Charice immediately jumped in and shouted at her from within.
“Come in now, you silly, or the whole neighbourhood will realise that you're not used to this!”
Becca got into the vehicle stumbling on the door and thinking that if there was someone in the street who could believe that this was the kind of life she was used to, it was a miracle.
The trip to the airport was relatively fast. Becca had been in La Guardia several times before but always in the part dedicated to commercial flights. This time the car entered through a private entrance and they drove directly to a hangar where the jet was waiting for them. If the car had been a shock, the jet made her legs shake. The plane’s staff, two pilots and two flight attendants, were waiting for them by the stairs and welcomed them upon arrival. Charice felt immediately at home and behaved as if she had done this all her life. Becca could not feel more out of place. The interior of the plane was like a living room in one of those magazine houses; no seats in horrible navy blue. The armchairs were made of leather, the tables were decorated with fresh flowers and there were even carpets on the floor. Becca did not have much time to look around because one of the attendants asked them to sit down as the takeoff was imminent. Becca obeyed, tense as a violin string and that's how she was for at least the first hour of the flight. Little by little the incessant talk from Charice and the alcohol provided by the flight attendant relaxed her and she was able to fall asleep, conveniently aided by several pills provided by Charice's ambulatory pharmacy.
They arrived in Glasgow at eleven o'clock pm local time. Two cars were waiting for them this time on the runway. One for them and another for the suitcases. The driver informed them that the journey to Duncan Hall would be about forty-five minutes. At that point Becca was absolutely exhausted from the trip even though it was only six pm in New York. A good while later the car went through the gates of a private property. The road they entered was a dirt road and Becca could see that there were tall trees on both sides.
“Saint Louis Vuitton!” Charice said suddenly scaring Becca.
“What happens?”
“Honey, when you told me that your family had a house in Scotland, you forgot to tell me that the house is a castle. Check it out!” she said, grabbing her head and taking her to the window.
The image that struck Becca was shocking. At the end of the road they could see the lights of a huge mansion with some kind of towers on the sides of the structure that reminded a fairy tale castle. As they got closer they saw that the central part of the mansion was a lavish display of huge windows overlooking the front of the house that displayed what looked like huge gardens. The expanse of land around the house was not clearly visible, only illuminated by the lights that came from the mansion, but just the image of that immense structure, which seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, left her breathless.
The car came to the entrance of the house where four people were waiting, a man and three women, two young ones and one somewhat older, about fifty-something Becca calculated. She got out of the car almost pushed by Charice who could not contain the excitement and she tripped on the door again. The man ran to hold her. Becca noticed that he smelled of something that reminded her of the incense in churches.
“Thank you,” Becca said timidly.
“At your service, ma’am,” he said, releasing her when he saw that she was safe and taking a step back to return with his companions. “Ms. Engels, allow me to be the first to welcome you into your home. My name is Eustace and I am the head of Duncan Hall's service.”
The man made a small bow that left Becca confused not knowing if she should return the movement or simply ignore it.
“Thanks,” she stammered.
The man was between forty and fifty years old, tall, with dark hair but a few silver patches present at his temples and deep blue eyes. His physique, coupled with his exquisite manners made him strangely attractive.
“Please, allow me to introduce you to the rest of the household service,” the man said, pulling her out of her thoughts. “This is Mrs. Dermott, the housekeeper. She has taken care of the house all her life and will be able to take care of both ladies needs.”
Charice smiled delighted to be included in the list of ladies in the house.
“These are Lucille and Anne, the service assistants.” The two girls, one, blonde and angelic the other brunette and plump, made a bow. “There are two more members of the service who work in the kitchen, Matthieu the cook and Charlotte the cook, but they do not live in the mansion, so I will have to introduce them to you tomorrow. Of course, they asked me to apologise on their behalf for not being able to be here tonight.”
When the presentations ended, Becca realised that the two cars had disappeared, and Eustace moved away subtly indicating the entrance to the mansion.
On the way to the interior, Charice approached Becca and, grabbing her by the arm and whispered to her.
“Honey, if the butler comes included in the house entertainment package I think you will not get bored.”
“Oh, Charice, for God's sake!” Becca answered trying to avoid the image that was forming in her head.
If the outside picture had been shocking, the interior did not disappoint. The entrance opened into a large hall whose central position was occupied by a large stone staircase that ascended the four floors of the mansion. The walls of the staircase were covered with large paintings that represented mostly hunting scenes. In the center, a large chandelier hung from the ceiling and warmly illuminated the whole space in contrast with the cold of the stone which had also been minimised with a long carpet that ran all the way from the top to the entrance. This made a space that otherwise would have been a cold welcome become a pleasant invitation to the rest of the house.
“I imagine ma’am will have noticed the mix of styles in the mansion,” said Eustace.
“Er... Yes, of course, I've noticed,” Becca answered without knowing what he was talking about.
“The entrance and the two lateral towers of the building are remains of the original fortress of the thirteenth century, the rest of the house was added in the seventeenth century to replace those structures irremediably damaged by the passage of time”
Eustace no doubt noticed the lack of interest of the two American young ladies and immediately changed the subject.
“I suppose the ladies will be extremely tired from their trip. If you like, we can postpone the visit to the house until tomorrow and I can show you to your rooms.”
Both Becca and Charice agreed with the proposal wholeheartedly and the butler accompanied them to the second floor.
“The second floor’s right wing has traditionally been the area reserved for the family. We have arranged your mother's room for you, ma’am. The guest area is the left wing and there we have prepared rooms for your guest.”
Becca felt a chill thinking that she would sleep in her mother's room but, on second thought, what else could she expect? Her mother had been the mistress of this house just as she was now.
Eustace asked Anne to show Charice to her room while he accompanied Becca to hers.
“Lucky girl,” Charice said too loudly, making Becca blush.
For a second Becca wanted to ask Charice to sleep in her room but that would have been childish, and she had already gone through enough embarrassment for the day. Eustace accompanied her down the corridor to the right, filled with framed pictures like the entrance, passing through numerous doors, all closed.
“Are all these family rooms?”
“There was a time when
the family was very large, but times change, I suppose,” replied the butler with a sad smile. “Perhaps ma’am will soon bring her family and the house will be full again.”
“I'm afraid Charice is the closest thing to family I have.”
"Excuse me, ma’am, I meant no offence,” the butler said, stopping short.
“Oh, you do not have to worry,” Becca answered, “I'm not offended at all. Can I ask how long you have been in the house?”
“Almost all my life, actually. My family have been serving ma’am’s for many generations.” Becca could not help smiling. “I'm glad to make you smile,” said Eustace, responding to her smile.
“Now it's me who feels sorry,” Becca said, blushing again. “You see, I thought that these things, everything that is happening to me in general, only happened in series like Downton Abbey.”
The butler let out a great laugh.
“I think I can understand, ma’am.”
They continued down the long corridor until they came to double doors that had been carved to represent beautiful flowers.
“These are your rooms,” he said as he opened the two doors.
The room was simply magnificent. In the background a large glass door opened to what looked like a terrace. In the center, a large carved wooden canopy bed drew dramatically all the attention. Two more doors on the side of the room suggested a bathroom and perhaps a walk-in closet since there was no other room in sight. On the opposite side a large fireplace burned, heating the room and projecting a cozy light. And on top of the fireplace, a large picture of a woman occupied all the space. When Becca raised her eyes to look at the painting, suddenly the room changed completely. It was daytime and the woman in the painting played with a little girl on the bed, putting necklaces and more necklaces on her while telling her how precious she was and making the girl laugh out loud. A second later the room was the same again and she was in Eustace's arms.
“Are you alright, ma’am?”
“Yes, I think so,” she stammered. “What happened?”
“You were looking at the painting and suddenly fainted. Fortunately, I was able to catch you before you hit anything.”
Becca sat up embarrassed, thanking him a couple of hundred times.
“This painting…”
“It is your mother’s portrait, it was commissioned to a young artist of her time, Pascal Tourmais, if I remember correctly. Your mother had him in great appreciation.”
Becca could not stop looking at the painting. The woman who appeared in it, the same as her strange vision, was very different from her, but it was easy to guess the kinship. Her mother had very long ash-blond hair, very different from her short dark brown hair but the eyes were the same. Big eyes of an uncommon blue that gave them an unusual depth.
“Eustace, it may seem like a ridiculous question but, do you know if there is a possibility that I have seen this painting before? Maybe in a photograph or something similar.”
Eustace looked at her with some surprise reflected on his face.
“I have no doubt that ma’am had numerous opportunities to see it when she was a girl.”
“What?”
“I mean that during the years she lived here with her mother until her death ma’am probably entered this room many times.”
Becca was lost for words. The nuns had never explained to her anything about her life before her mother died. She knew she had a British passport, but her birth certificate did not specify the exact place where she was born. According to government officials, an unusual problem that sometimes happened when the birth took place in more isolated communities. Becca had never cared too much. She had never been able to get used to the cold left by the lack of memories, the absence of images of a complete part of her life, of her own mother but she had learned to live with that emptiness. Until now. In a second, a part of that void had been filled with information, images but, unfortunately, the cold remained the same. The images did not provoke any warm emotion, no affection. It was like watching a movie, as if those scenes were someone else's life.
Eustace took leave of her to let her rest and told her that her luggage had been arranged in the dressing closet, which, as she had supposed, was accessed by one of those two side doors.
Becca stood in the center of the room without daring to move. It took her a few seconds to react, the room did not make her feel completely comfortable, but she knew she had no choice, at least for one night. She went to the closet and pulled a nightgown out of the suitcase. She gave thanks for the fireplace because the summer nightgown she had brought was not the best option considering the cold that had welcomed her in Scotland. Behind the second door was a full bathroom decorated in a lovely fifties style with a large dressing table. The huge tub was screaming for a bath to be prepared but it was too late, and Becca thought that going to sleep as soon as possible would be the best option. She brushed her teeth and got into bed. The mattress was too soft, the bed too high and the canopy poles seemed to threaten her , but it would have to do. At least, for one night. And Becca fell asleep repeating the same litany.
“It's only one night.”
Her body tensed, and she sat up on the bed. She was disoriented, everything around her seemed like a dream full of darkness, she did not remember where she was but, that was not important, the only important thing was to look for the garden, the fountain. Anxiety filled her, the fountain, she had to go to the fountain, there they would meet. She noticed the softness of the carpet when her feet touched the ground, her legs trembled, but her brain told her that they would support her weight because the only important thing was to reach the fountain. She went out onto the terrace, the cold of the night hit her through the nightgown, but that did not matter either. She felt the frozen tiles under her feet, the rough stone of the stairs that descended to the garden, the heat of the blood spilled when pricked with the rosebush that invaded the stone railing, but it still did not matter.
“The fountain, you must reach the fountain,” her head yelled, “faster,” her body yelled.
She accelerated her pace through the dirt of the garden. The path was long, there was no light, but it was not necessary, the desire to reach the fountain guided her as if it were a sonar, avoiding obstacles and finding the right path in the middle of the green labyrinth. Becca knew that there was something strange in that dream, but she was not able to define what, she only knew that she had to reach the water, find the way.
Finally, she saw him, at the end of the path, on an esplanade surrounded by forest, an immense fountain, round with a stone ledge covered with verdigris and with a statue of a man in the center. Suddenly, the statue came alive, turned and spoke to her.
“Welcome,” he said in the sweetest voice she had ever heard. “Do not be afraid, little one, come closer.”
Becca lifted one foot over the edge of the fountain and pushed it into the water. Something in her body reacted for a thousandth of a second as if warning her of something but it did not last, it was immediately replaced by the need to reach the man.
“Come to me, little one,” the unavoidable voice repeated. “I've been waiting for you a long time.”
Becca stepped into the water that covered her to the thighs. Her nightgown was an inconvenience to walk in but she did not care, nothing mattered except that voice. Now Becca could see his face and there could not be anything more beautiful. His perfect features radiated a kind of warmth, welcoming light. She knew that anyone would have done anything that the man asked, and he asked her to come to him. Suddenly , a woman's voice began to resound in the esplanade. It came from the trees at the back, behind the man and intoned a kind of repetitive chant. Becca did not know the language , however, it was not strange, it was as if she could guess the next verse. The woman appeared among the trees. Becca could not see her face, only her hair, fire red shining in the moonlight. The man turned suddenly with a mixture of fear and anger that distorted his face.
“You!” he shouted. “After so long, fi
nally you!”
At the same time a voice behind her called out her name. Becca turned around and felt everything revolve around her. Another woman was on the other side of the fountain and it was the perfect mirror image of the first. There was only one difference, the hair color, jet black in this case. The second woman joined in the singing and Becca watched as the man shouted in rage raising his face to the sky. In a second the two women joined their palms over their heads and a blinding light came out of the figure of the man, from its interior and extended throughout the esplanade. When the light went out the man had disappeared. Darkness filled everything but, somehow, Becca could see the two women looking at each other. Suddenly, the redheaded woman spoke and, although her voice was a whisper, Becca could hear it perfectly:
“Take care of her, you know I'll come for her!” It was the only thing she said before disappearing. Becca turned to look at the second woman, but she was also gone, and it was as if they had never been there.
At that moment Becca's body said it was enough, the forces that had sustained her in her search for the fountain disappeared and she noticed how her body fell into the water and the darkness invaded her again.
The light that filtered through the room woke her up. Her whole body hurt. The strange bed had taken its toll and the nightmare she had had all night had not helped her rest. She stretched, and her brain began to process the information of what was around her and something did not fit. Suddenly, she understood what it was. She was naked. She remembered perfectly having put on her nightgown the night before, when she was going to bed. She looked around and saw that the nightgown was lying on the floor. She got off the bed and took it. It was wet. The images of the previous night swirled in her head. The man, the fountain, the two women, the song. She felt dizzy. Maybe it had all been a dream, but why was the memory so alive in her head? And why did her body hurt so much? She walked to the door that led to the garden. On the other side a stone staircase covered by a rosebush descended to the lower floor. Exactly as she remembered in her dream. She started getting nervous. She felt like she was losing control, her body and her mind did not have enough strength to not let her go, she felt anger returning to her and she was about to explode. She fought and fought, but she could not do anything. Suddenly an image slipped into her brain, the woman in the painting. She was singing a sweet song, a lullaby. Her voice was soft and warm. Somehow Becca knew that song. Her body knew that song. She felt her muscles becoming unstuck and she entered a state of calm, of inner peace. The control returned to her. She opened her eyes. She was still naked in front of the window, frozen. She grabbed the duvet on the bed and pulled it over her while she sat on the floor and started crying. She did not know why she cried. She did not know if it was the song, her inability to maintain control or the pain she felt for what had happened last night. Because now she knew. Somehow, she knew. Everything had been real. Her body and mind knew that it had been real and that generated thousands of questions.