A Gothic Lesson in Love

by Curtis Bennett

  She stood up and inspected the scooter. It did not appear damaged. She pulled back her hood and peeled off her skullcap and looked upward into the dark rolling clouds. Figuring the storm was over; she placed the skullcap into the carryon compartment of the scooter. For a moment she contemplated forging onward but realized it was far too dangerous to continue on. Without giving it a second thought, she rolled the bike onto the property and positioned it behind the tall hedging, as before. Almost immediately, she made a mad dash towards the entrance of the cottage and knocked frantically on the door. But there was no response.

  With the clapping sound of thunder growing louder and the lightning inching much closer, her heart raced. She’d never counted on being in such a dire predicament.

  She made several more desperate attempts to announce her presence. She knocked, and knocked again, and shouted, but she got the same results…silence. No one was home, she reasoned. Trotting around the side of the cottage, she frantically sought shelter of some sort.

  Brushing her hair aside, she spied a tall and spacious looking shed a short distance away. It was positioned in front of a metal privacy fence. Back in the States they were called cyclone fences. Perhaps the door to the shed was unlocked, she hoped and prayed. There she could ride out the electrical storm then be on her merry way.

  Before she could take another step, a sudden and loud popping, hissing, crackling sound howled. Inside she felt a tinkling sensation creep through her. Her body felt weird, almost alien. Without warning, there was a loud blast and the bulb and metal housing of the outdoor lamp post positioned near the shed exploded loudly. Following this, a section of the cyclone fence, now electrified by lightning, lid up with a bright white ambience which raced around the full length of the fence, much like a tsunami wave, except this left to right vertical moving wave was electrified. It was the most spectacular and most dangerous and unnerving light show she had ever witnessed.

  Squatting, she could make out the reflection of her distorted face in the shed’s door window and see that her hair had stood straight up, as a result of the electrical charge which had permeated the open space. Suddenly, the downpour started up again.

  Inside her heart pounded and her breathing quickened. She wasn’t sure whether to proceed forward or turn and run like hell out of there. Before she could decide on either path, there was another loud thunderous clap which caught her off guard. Her nervous system, already experiencing an overload, her heart excited beyond any event before this, seemed to tell her that this was all too much for her to process. As a result, she collapsed onto the soft wet ground. The heavy downpour continued to soak her limp form.

  When she opened her eyes, she squinted and an older woman’s face came into focus.

  The woman was wearing a head scarf and a long sleeve dress, something you’d expect to see a Quaker dressed in. A pimple protruded from the side of her nose. It was the size of a small pea. A smile formed on her caring face.

  “I saw you stirring and thought perhaps you had finally decided to wake up,” the haggardly looking woman said leaning over her. “I’m Mildred. Mildred Baines.”

  Irene sat up on the bed and greeted the woman.

  “Hello. My name is Irene. Where am I?”

  “You had a fainting spell, the likes I had not seen before in a storm.”

  “Now I remember,” Irene murmured; her mind still a little cloudy.

  Almost immediately, she felt another presence in the shadows of the dimly lit room, a presence that had been watching and listening the whole time. She turned towards the figure, wanting a closer look, but whoever it was exited the darken room without uttering a word. He appeared to be dressed in long dark clothing, the sort of attire you’d see a monk wearing, including robe and hood.

  “Ahh, you’re an American. Oh, don’t mind him. It’s Dr. Seabreeze,” Mildred said, and then as an afterthought, “It was he who saw you pass out in the garden. It was he who brought you inside from the rain.”

  Almost immediately, Irene inspected herself and saw that she was not wearing her wet clothing, but was dry and wearing a long gown. It was a gown she had never seen before.

  Taking note, Mildred filled her in. “I took the liberty of changing you and washing you up. I also dried your hair with the hair dryer. Good Lord, you were a mess. I also washed your clothes. They are in the dryer as we speak.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  “No problem,” the housekeeper replied. “So, what is a lovely American lass doing in the English countryside?”

  “I’m spending the summer with my aunt,” Irene answered. “She decided to retire here in England instead of returning to Virginia.”

  “Ahh, Virginia, home of George Washington.”

  “That’s right,” Irene’s face broke out into a smile.

  “I remember my American history,” Mildred said proudly.

  “And your memory serves you well, Mildred.

  “I thank you for the compliment.”

  “You know, I had heard rumors that only one person lived here,” Irene said, looking about the room which consisted of the canopy covered bed she found herself on, a large wooden chest positioned at the foot of the bed, and a dresser and wooden desk nearby. Three of the walls were wallpapered. The wall behind her was wood paneled. It looked like one of those rooms from the sixteenth century and was warm and inviting.

  “Oh, I don’t claim to live here, my fair one,” Mildred began, standing up. “I just come in once a week to houseclean for the good doctor. This happens to be my workday.”

  “I see. Again, thank you for taking care of me and tending to my clothes,” Irene said, standing up as well.

  “Don’t mention it, dear.”

  “So, he’s a doctor,” Irene added, taking a deep breath and walking about the room.

  “Well, he is not a medical doctor, if that’s what you’re thinking. But he has a doctorate’s degree in philosophy, that’s all I know about his education,” Mildred replied.

  “So, he’s a professor.”

  “Not a practicing one,” Mildred qualified.

  “I see.”

  “Care for something to eat or drink, Miss Irene?”

  “Just something to drink, please.”

  “Any preference?”

  “Do you have any lemon-flavored iced tea?”

  “Certainly do,” Mildred chuckled. “And freshly made, too. Honey or sugar cane for yah?”

  “Honey please.”

  “I’ll check on your clothes while I’m at it,” Mildred added. “Shortly after that, I must be on my way. Oh, the restroom is through that door.”

  “Why thank you,” Irene blushed.

  “I saw you looking,” Mildred smiled.

  Now fully dressed in her very own clothes, Irene walked over to the lamp table and took the drink in hand. Where was he? She pondered as she sipped at the iced tea. Surely this was no way to treat a guest. After the question ate at her long enough, she decided to ask Mildred.

  “Is my host ill or something? He has yet to show himself or introduce himself to me.”

  “No, he is not ill. And he may or may not decide to meet with you.”

  “But why?” Irene wanted to know.

  “I’m sure you have probably heard many things about the professor,” Mildred began in a hushed voice. “But believe only this. He’s just a tab eccentric, that’s all. You couldn’t meet a kinder man.”

  “Why do they say he’s a murderer?”

  Mildred’s raised an eyebrow on that question. “A murderer? I think not, lass.”

  “Some have even told me that he keeps dead bodies here inside of the house.”

  “Dead bodies,” Mildred chuckled. “Look, I’ve been the housekeeper for this cottage for nearly five long years and I think I know every corner and every nook and crack in the place and never once have I come across anything resembling a dead body.”

  “So, why all of the macabre stories surrounding him?” Irene asked, downi
ng the last of her tea.

  “People are bored and have nothing better to do with their time, I imagine. And people can be so cruel, at times.”

  “I’ll have to agree with you about that.”

  “Here, I’ll take your cup,” Mildred said, extending her hand. “Well, you better be heading out before it gets too late and your aunt begins to worry about you.”

  Irene gasped.

  “You know, I was so absorbed with my surroundings that I forgot about the time. By the way, can you tell me how long I was out?”

  “A little over an hour and half.”

  “God, I had no idea it was that long. Yes, I better get going.”

  “Your bike was hosed down with water after the storm passed thru so you’re all set to go, lass.”

  “Thank you Mildred, for everything,” Irene said as she gave the housekeeper a generous hug.

  “You’re welcomed Miss Irene,” Mildred replied with a toothy smile, the few that were left.

  “Tell the professor that I appreciate him coming to my rescue.”

  “Will do, that is, if I get to see him before I leave,” Mildred jested. “Come on, I’ll show you to the front entrance.”

  Before she exited the room she glanced about the bedroom one last time.

  Irene was lying across the bed watching television in her bedroom when her aunt’s voice called up the stairs to announce her arrival at home. Springing up, she hurried down to the living room where her aunt was standing over several large bags on the coffee table. The two traded hugs.

  “I’m telling you, that was some storm I got caught up in after arriving in London early this afternoon,” her aunt said as she pulled out clothing article after clothing article from three shopping bags and inspected them. “I had to wait twenty-five minutes for it to pass over before I could leave the train station.”

  “My,” Irene murmured. “But you did get to do what you set out to do.”

  “Sure did,” her aunt replied collecting the empty bags. “And what did you do today? I can tell that you were not caught up in the rain. You’re as clean and as dry as I left you this morning.”

  “Well, I –“

  “Hey, did you get a chance to talk to Morris yet?” she broke in as she walked around Irene and sat down on the lazy chair.

  “I’m planning on calling him after dinner. I believe he should be home from work by then.”

  “That is so good to hear, Irene,” Audrey almost sang. “I think you two will find that you have a lot in common.”

  “Perhaps,” Irene replied in a less than agreeable tone.

  “Look, I hate to do this to you niece but I’m leaving in the morning for a couple of days out of town. I’m tagging along with my friend Marge, whose nineteen year old daughter Mindy wants to hear a hot new group perform in concert,” she began. “This gives Marge an opportunity to visit a relative or two while there. Who knows, we may even go to the concert ourselves to see what all of the rave is about this group. I know it’s sudden but she just found out about it.”

  “What’s the group’s name?”

  “They call themselves the Silver Beetles, I believe,” Audrey answered as she pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. “I stand corrected. Marge said that they just changed their name to the Beetles. But then, she also told me that they originally started out as the Quarrymen first. What’s in a name anyway?”

  “The Beetles,” Irene murmured. “Where are they performing at?”

  “In Liverpool, that’s all I know,” Aunt Audrey said as she inhaled on the stick, then expelled a billowing cloud of smoke.

  “What kind of music do they play?”

  “Rock ‘N Roll, I’m told.”

  “Sounds like it should be fun,” Irene said as she folded her arms. She was not looking forward to being alone.

  “I’m hoping it will be,” Audrey came back. “Honey, I would have invited you along but we’re staying at a relative of Marge who lives in Liverpool and there is not enough space there to accommodate three people. I hope you understand.”

  “Sure, I’ll be fine.”

  “I know. You’re a big girl now,” Aunt Audrey said. “Anyway, this will give you and Morris plenty of time to get to know each other and have some fun.”

  “Perhaps auntie. Anyway, I better see what I can cook up for dinner. It’s my turn tonight, you know,” Irene said as she turned to leave.

  “Oh, Irene,” Audrey said, pursing her lips and exhaling another stream of smoke. “I bought something for you.” Extending her arm she handed Irene a small brown bag.

  Curious, Irene opened the bag and peered inside. The small plastic-wrapped box read Trojan.

  “Look, I know you two just met and I’m not suggesting you are going to do anything,” Aunt Audrey felt compelled to explain. “Morris is a nice young man and you, a nice young woman. But you just cannot be too careful these days, you know.”

  Irene stood speechless.

  Chapter 4

  The sun was high in the afternoon sky. On both sides of the road sat quilted layers of rich green hamlets stretching for miles as she rode her scooter towards the town of Aylesbury, her hair blowing in the wind. She had made arrangements with Morris the night before to have lunch with him. Not surprisingly, her aunt seemed extremely pleased to hear of her outing before she took off for Liverpool.

  “Hey, how are you?” Morris said in greeting as she pulled up on her scooter in front of his uncle’s shop. “How was the ride over?”

  “Quite pleasant compared to the storm that came through yesterday,” she answered gingerly.

  “Yeah, that was some storm,” he said, helping her with the scooter.

  “Thanks for providing me with good directions.”

  “No problem. Come on in, your bike will be fine here.”

  Following him into the shop, she passed a wall on her right with rows of shelves packed with locks of various shapes and sizes. The smell of aluminum and other polished metals was one she had not been acquainted with on such a grand scale. To her left sat a long counter with a register on top. Just ahead, Morris’s uncle approached them with an outstretched arm.

  “Hello, I’m Scott Mulligan, Morris’ Uncle,” he said shaking her hand. Scott was a short and stocky man in his early fifties with very pale skin. It was obvious that he was not getting enough sunlight, probably as a result of working indoors most of his life, she reasoned. He wore a thick handlebar mustache and a baseball cap on top of his head which was worn backwards.

  “Hello. My name is Irene, I’m glad to meet you,” she said releasing her grip.

  “American, I say,” he smiled. “Enjoying your stay?”

  “Yes, I am, very much,” she answered.

  “Good. Well, I know you two want to get on your way to lunch, so I won’t keep you waiting,” he added, looking at his nephew. “Besides, some lucky chap here has to get back to work sometime today.”

  “Now, who could that be, I wonder?” Morris chuckled as he tossed Irene a probing stare.

  “Whoever it is, their work will be here waiting on them,” Uncle Scott teased as he patted his nephew on the shoulder and returned to work.

  “Come on, I know a great restaurant just down the street,” he said as he led the way.

  The two studied the menus as the waitress waited with pad in hand.

  “I’m ordering fish and chips, what about you Irene?” he asked as he afforded her an opportunity to gaze into his handsome chiseled face and irresistible light brown eyes.

  “I’ll have the same,” she replied, seemingly indifferent to his good looks and obvious interest in her.

  The two added drinks to their order and the waitress whirled off.

  “So, what do women your age do for excitement over in the states?”

  “Some of them hang out at the local drive thru restaurant and some go bowling and others hang out at the beach,” she answered gazing beyond him at the interior of the restaurant. It had dark wood paneled walls, sitting booths
along the walls with thick green padded cushions for comfort sitting and large framed pictures, many of the countryside, and one with a group of men on horses chasing a fox. Cloth covered tables were arranged about the middle section of the dining area. A bar sat on the far left.

  “People your age hang out at the restaurant?” he asked incredulously.

  “Well, basically the high school aged kids are whom I was referring to,” she replied, blushing slightly.

  “And what about you Irene?” he asked.

  Returning her gaze to him, though briefly, she said, “I work a fulltime job and attend church and I’m involved with my community’s beautification action group.”

  “But what do you do for fun?” he pressed her for more specifics.

  “Sometimes I go shopping with my younger sister Margo and occasionally we frequent the movies,” was her nonchalant response.

  “Shopping and to the cinema, quite interesting, I might say.”

  The waitress returned with their drinks.

  “I like to go fishing myself,” he said proudly as he took a sip of cola. “Do you fish?”

  “Many of my friends do, but not I,” she said, sipping at her drink as well.

  “What about your father? Does he fish?”

  “My father passed away some years ago.”

  “Sorry to hear that. I didn’t know.”

  “You had no way of knowing but that is fine.”

  “Look, there’s a get together at my best friend’s house tonight over in Wayne Brier,” he finally said and in one breath. He wanted to get it out much earlier but did not think she’d be interested.

  “What kind of get together?”

  “Just a few friends and some music and some snacks,” he said. “Please say you’ll come.”

  “I’m not sure,” she said, as if to put off a definitive reply.

  “Look, you couldn’t have traveled such a distance just to sit around the bloody house, now say you’ll come with me,” he urged, nearly pleaded with her. “Pleaseee!”