by Mark wells
‘Well, and as expected’.
‘It will be a good affair, for I recognize you are very capable, and I leave it in your hands’.
‘Emily was in a dreadful mess when she came back from cake making, but she will soon clean up’, I laughed, for it was to be expected.
‘What of Charles? Has he helped Tom at all in the garden at all, or was it beneath him’?
‘No, he helped as ordered’.
‘I am going to spend some time with mother now, and I shall be down shortly’.
‘Not to long I hope’. With that I climbed the stairs, which led to the long corridor with the suits of armour. Right at the end I came to my mother’s room. I turned the key in the lock, and entered the room which my mother spent most of her time in, after the long expected death of my long suffering father. The Doctor’s said she died of what they could only describe, as a broken heart, for they were never far apart, every room they entered lit up when they were together. The room was extremely bright, for that was how she would have wanted it, crisp clean with the smell of cut flowers. Her picture hung over the fire place. I could for no reason bring myself to see it hung elsewhere; the memories of her death were too painful. I sat in the chair facing the painting of her smiling down at me which had bought great comfort in times of sadness. I always left this room feeling better, so I made a point of visiting the room at least once a week. Today was important for my wife so I could not spend too much time with mother. So after a somewhat brief conversation, I rose, closed the door and locked it, till the next time. In a strange way she was still alive. This made my wife jealous, thinking I should give her my feelings instead of my mother, but sometimes the memories of a mother’s love were all that was needed to give some sort of perspective to the problems faced on a day to day basis, and I felt this love, even though she had departed this life. This was my way of coping with the grief that I felt. It would be a short time until our first visitors arrived, and I expected the first of forty to arrive about four o’clock just before darkness would begin to fall. Charlotte by this time was in a dreadful spin. At one point I thought she would break into a run I tried to calm her down but to no avail. She was like a woman possessed. I decided that the best point of valour would be to retire to the library and make ready for the meeting of the ten at nine o’clock. All was ready so I climbed the stairs and made my way to the bedroom. Charlotte was already there trying to squeeze her way, into last years white gown, trimmed with artic fox fur, and thick with sequins. Her tiara completed the winter’s scene. ‘You look glorious this year, even better than last’. I dare not tell her that she had put on weight, for that would never do. I believe it took me a full five minutes to ready myself, for Carlton had placed my tails on the bed ready. I wore black, for the finery of the festivities were for women and not me, or for that matter of fact the rest of the ten. The clock chimed four and as expected the first arrived in coaches pulled by teams of two. These were family who lived close by. Carlton announced them all, and escorted them into the great hall where musicians played the compositions of Beethoven, Mozart, and my favourite, Johann Strauss. This was going to be a wonderful affair, I could tell. Food of every type lay on tables, which stretched the full length of the hall, on both sides bowls of punch were placed in strategic positions, one at every six feet precisely. Lemon slices floated in the silver bowls of red, the gentle fragrance swept through the hall. Wild boar, pheasant, suckling pig, venison, fruits and vegetables, of all kinds graced the tables, in the middle of the head table, stood the three tiered cake that Emy had helped cook prepare earlier, cook had excelled herself as usual in all aspects, the cake that Emy had lent a hand in was glorious, snow created from icing sugar, holly, pine cones, and berries collected from the woods encircled the creation befitting of winter, but my children would not share my pride until the next day, for they were not allowed to take part in this most adult affair. The music would play long into the night, ladies in ball gowns danced waltzes with their partners dressed in white, with faces hidden by masks to hide their identities. The polka, a fairly new dance was attempted by many. The guessing game, of who was who would be played later. I looked at my pocket watch, a quarter to nine and time for the ten to assemble in the library. Carlton reminded them all in turn, for there was, as in all things, an order to the chaos of the world. The fire burned high and warm. Ten tables and chairs, stood in a half moon shape around the fire and as always a glass of brandy and a fine cigar complete with a cigar cutter finalised the scene, the flames from the roaring fire cast shadows to the ceiling in all directions. ‘Be seated gentlemen, and we shall commence the proceedings of the forth quarter of the year. I realise that times this year have been very difficult, but as a group however we have made headways, in markets which have been refrained from by the many. Where is Richard Flemington’? My right hand rose to my forehead, my fingers drawn across my brow, waiting for a reply, my concern for his well being showed on my face, clearly visible to all.
THE DEATH OF RICHARD FLEMINGTON:
‘Richard will not be joining us’, the answer given by Jason Crane, the third duke of marchone in Kent.
‘And why is that, has he this dreadful cold that
seems to be afflicting all of us?’
‘No James, Richard is dead’. The response came from the forth chair, occupied by my dear friend Robert Rowan the young earl of Holliston. I lurched backward, for this was a reply that I could never have expected. My voice trembled as I asked the question.
‘How’?
‘We tried to reach you last week but the telegram we sent could not have reached you’. The reply from the fifth chair, always occupied by Steven Farnsworth, from Derbyshire, tall but very gentle, we believe shell shocked at Sevastopol. He was a solitary man, and the only redhead amongst us, and an imposing figure at nearly six feet tall. In fact we always wondered how he ever got through the Crimea alive as he was such an easy target to hit, lucky I guess!
‘They found him at the bottom of Southwalk Bridge, with a single stab wound to his back’. ‘How could this be’? A man like Richard had no enemies, he was a mild man, and very
gentle by nature, always helping those less fortunate than himself, as we all did, for this we believed to be the secret to our immense wealth, helping others, which would then be repaid to us by loyalty in business, and it worked relatively well. Knowing that the many people, who worked for us, from managers, to general workers, were very well cared for across the world, creating a harmony not seen before in our history, but a stab wound in the back was the most cowardly of acts.
‘The strange part about this was nothing was taken. His wallet, and watch, were all found on his person, and his lions head cane was close to him’. Clearly gain was not the motive, was this just a wholly random act, or was the person or persons disturbed before they could make off with his possessions I thought. ‘Who has taken care of the funeral, and when will it be, for we must all offer our support at this most dreadful time’. ‘Paul Winter presented his services in this respect James,’ the reply from the third chair
occupied by Simon Henderson duke of York.
‘For a fee I’ll wager’, I replied still in shock.
‘No James, he said he would not charge a fee’. The disbelief of this shocked me even more. ‘We should therefore, take a moment of silence to reflect on our dear companion, and raise our glasses in salute to the soldier, and friend that he was’. ‘Before you ask James, I have brought the cane that belonged to all of us, and accepted by Richard, and even though it formed part of the investigation Sir Richard Mayne allowed it to come home, for he knew of its importance to all of us’, Steven replied.
‘Bring it to me’, I said softly. It was placed in my hand; and I held it for what seemed an eternity. I then stepped up to the rack next to the fireplace, which was made from the same length of wood as all of the canes, giving them a sort of brotherhood, and placed it in the first section. I bowed my head and returned to my seat. We raised our
glasses, and said our farewells to our dear departed brother. ‘I believe as a mark of respect, we will forego the rest of the dealings tonight, and resume them in London, Monday week’. This will give us time to reflect, and attend the funeral. We were all in agreement. We placed our glasses on the tables, and returned to the ball which was well underway by this time, and drawing to its close. The guests, who lived close by, were escorted to the front door, to be greeted by their respective carriages, and the rest would be staying the night, to be taken to the local station in the morning. The musicians by this time had already gone, for they had other arrangements the next day in London. I slept uneasily that night. I could not get the picture of Richard from my mind, slain by an unknown hand. My mind tried to work out reasons for the killing. Pictures kept tumbling through my dreams, of an unseen face; I saw the flash of silver, as the knife broke through the air. I heard the final cry, as he lay dying on the cold and muddy embankment, which lined the banks of the Thames. I woke around six thirty covered in sweat which made my night clothes cling to me, I walked over to the flower painted pitcher, and poured the whole lot over my head. The shock of the cold water quickly brought me to my senses. With my mind still racing I knew that I could not stay in the house a moment longer, it seemed colder than usual, or was it just me. I hurriedly dressed, and left the house almost running, but where to go, then I remembered that I was meeting David for a spot of fishing at eight. I made my way to the forge; David was already awake, making preparations for the short walk to the top lake. My foggy mind cleared instantly. I took the rod in my left hand, my fingers held the line, and a calmness came over me. I told David what had happened, and his words gave me some comfort, for he knew Richard from our army days as well.
‘It is not the dying, for that will come to all of us. It is the method of death that has concerned you the most’.
‘You are right as always David!’ We walked in silence up the hill to the top lake, which was some ten acres in size, and chose a spot to the far right, with the wind blowing over our shoulders, for this would aid in casting, and it was the only spot on the lake which was clear of ice. David used an overhead cast with his line flying out to the twenty yard mark, gently landing the fly on the water, retrieving it, and casting out again, letting it settle delicately for a possible strike, and then slowly stripping it back to try and induce a take by the trout, which I considered to be the most foolish of fish. Sure enough the rod jolted, and the fish took to the air. It was quickly brought in and after a moment of admiring the fish for the fight it was quickly dispatched. ‘One for the kettle then’, I said admiringly.
‘It’s about time you landed one’, the reply.
I had opted for a roll cast, bringing the rod down quickly to the water, to form loops in the line, which made the fly flick out and land gently on the water. Surely this would entice a trout. After half an hour using this method, my first fish came to hand, small around two pounds in weight. ‘What do you call that’? David laughed. ‘Supper for one’, I replied. I then placed the small fish on the floor, and took the priest from my pocket, a small wooden object used in the dispatching of fish. I raised it, and brought it downward with enough force to kill the creature, but something happened, I stopped, and gazed into the eyes of this creature, and I could not kill it. Something had changed in me since last night. I could see the pleading in its eyes, life had taken on a value, I had never felt before.
‘Today is not the day you will die’. I said to this fish, knowing that the shock of actually being caught might kill it. I cradled it in my hands, and held it gently in the water, until it had the strength to swim away on its own. I continued this way until it was time to leave, to the dismay of David, but I somehow knew he would understand. ‘No trout for supper tonight’, I said on the walk back down the hill.
‘You may have a couple of mine if you wish’.
‘No thank you, and thanks for the company, I feel a great deal better now’. I left David around midday, thinking that there was something I could to catch Richard’s killer, but what? I paused by the old bridge which separated the two main lakes, and sat upon the stone-work which was cold to the touch. I soon felt the shiver of winter; icy breath came from my mouth, like the cigar smoke in the Library, the night before. I glanced at the middle lake, and saw the tell-tale signs of bream feeding on the bottom. Vast clouds of mud were being thrown up, as they were digging for food in the mud, heads down, with only a single thought in mind, oblivious to the few small pike, which were probably laying in ambush near the lily pads, which had died back, but still offered some cover. Diminutive flashes of silver could be observed everywhere, and I knew they were roach being chased by the jack pike, perch or zander that were present. I looked up at the heavens, which showed a promise of blue, and I asked for God’s help in the quick capture of Richards’s killer, but the logical side of my brain told me this would not be so. I tried in vain to shrug this feeling off, but to no avail, so I rose, and made my way back to the house. I had to do something, which would make the situation a little lighter. After the guests had all gone I called all the servants together in the main hall.
‘You did an exceptional job at the ball last night, and I believe in appreciation of this, I would like all of you to take the remainder of weekend off. I am sure we will manage for the rest of the weekend, and I would like you back here Monday morning, and that includes you too Carlton’. It was clear that he needed a rest, and the look of tiredness on his elderly face said it all.
‘Thank you sir’, the response from all of them, almost at once.
‘Well! Off with you. What are you still doing here’? I joked. The exception to this was Carlton, who had quarters at the house, the rest of the servants lived locally, and left quite quickly. My wife was in agreement with this, which caused a smile on my face, but I could tell she secretly did not approve.
‘We will have the house to ourselves this weekend, a chance for some peace and quiet, and relaxation. I will do all the cooking, now where’s Emy?’
Emy came from the conservatory, with her hands behind her back, dressed in white. Her little bonnet tied in a bow underneath her chin. She walked up to me with the grace of a baroness, but I could see the child in her wanted to run. She smiled at me, as though she knew what I would say to her, which she probably did, it was an uncanny knack she shared with my wife. I held out my arms, but she was having none of it, my wife had taught her too well.
‘Well done Emy, that cake was the talk of the ball’, I said, when in fact no one had spoken of it at all, as the topic of conversation could not have been anything else but Richard.
‘Now how about a great big hug’? I knew she
wanted to, but she held back, so I picked her up, cradled her light frame lovingly in my arms and kissed her on the forehead, as I put her down; she scowled, stamped her feet in disapproval, her teeth clenched.
‘Papa, will you please stop calling me Emy’? She said as she turned, and was gone in an instant. I could see Charles hiding by the side of the staircase, dressed as if he were leaving for dinner, at a private club, or a day at ascot.
‘Tom told me how well you worked in the garden yesterday. It must have been hard going with the frost on the ground. Good job we had a lot of vegetables in storage, wasn’t it’?
‘Indeed sir, the ground was very hard, and my fingers felt like they would fall off”.
‘Do you know why I asked you to work with Tom’?
‘No, sir’.
‘Well, I only do these things to prepare you for life. One day you will have to look after a family, times may be hard, and I hope that the knowledge I will impart, will give you the strength to overcome any difficulty that may arise. The vegetables you took from the store, and the ones you took from the ground, were placed to one side, by Tom under my direction, I hope there is enough, for that is our dinner for today, and you will help me prepare them, and cook them. It may seem that I am hard on you, but a man must be a man, although I love you bot
h the same,
‘I love you both in different ways. Tomorrow you will take another step towards manhood. I will take you fishing, and you will make your first kill’. His faced beamed at the prospect of doing this with me. I knew his attitude was about to change. I thought about what I would do for the rest of the day. I needed to spend some more time with my son, for there was a sort of distance between us, and links needed to be forged.
‘Will you help me in the library, there is much work to do, and I have no-one to help me, today’?
‘But I am not allowed in the library father’.
‘You are today! For there is something I want to show you’. We made the short walk to the library, and I could see the amazement on his face, at the amount of books that lined the walls, but none near the fireplace, for this would have made them deteriorate rather rapidly. ‘This collection of books is the accumulation of a life time’s study of most subjects, contained within them, is everything you will probably ever need to know. They will all be available to you soon. Today however you will be helping me arrange my collection of butterflies, which is large, but not in the order I would like them’. I had tried to put them in alphabetical order, but because of the vast array of names, and the fact they were under glass, has made this difficult. So I had decided to place them in order of colour, starting with the blue butterflies. The blues were my favourites, for this was my favourite colour, and I had decided to put these in the top section of the case, that I had especially made for the purpose of housing my large collection. Mostly the blues consisted of western blue beauties from Africa which I for the most part valued because of the calming effect they had on me each time I looked at them, I had also recently done various experimentation on cobalt blue glass, for I found, completely by chance, that flowers seemed to thrive in front of blue bottles placed in direct sunlight. Even near dead ones came back to life. In fact I start most of the herbs in the herb garden this way, before I put them out in their final positions. I have always wondered if this method could be used to increase the world’s food supply, but this was something for others to determine, although I must admit that I only drink water which has been placed in blue bottles in sunlight, for I was slightly dubious of water from lead pipes. Blue water seemed much more rejuvenating. Charles had sorted all the cases of butterflies into their respected colours, which I gave him praise for, and we proceeded to put them back, starting with the western blue beauties, and the gaudy commodores of Africa, and the Monarchs, and Silver emperors of America, to the Common Jezebels, Limes, and plain Tiger butterflies of India, finally there was a very small number of cases of Brimstone, Peacock, and Red admiral, butterflies native to Britain.