Let's Misbehave: Chapter 5

I awoke that morning to find Ainsley had preceded me from the bed as usual. It being October, the air had a strong chill accompanied by odd mist gathered like hooded mourners between the decidedly English entanglement of nearly leafless trees clustered in small unsheltered glades. There was nothing out there. Usually when I looked to vast grounds of the estate I saw at least some birds or perhaps a fox or bevvy of squirrels, but today I saw nothing but that strange mist, as if it had frightened away all of the creatures with its melancholy shadow. It was a spectre in these parts, it had stalked this stretch of countryside for many years, its often incoherent whisperings intermingled with the leaves that fell from the trees, echoed in the dim cries of black ravens and it watched us all through the eyes of the strange angels, cold and deathlike in their limestone casts with unquiet murmurings that filled the grounds with the illusion of no noise at all. Their phantasmal mutterings filled the estate with silence and in that silence the mist roamed at its freeist. Ah! Yes, I know that mist of old.

After dressing, I decided to visit my friends, the stone angels which lived locked to the front of the manor. They reminded me somewhat of the wooden mermaids I had seen in a photograph in Ainsley’s study who lived out their eternal existence strapped to the bow of sailing ships. Those girls were luckier than most; they got to see the world from their fixed position while my girls in stone only gained the experience of this limited surrounding. I wondered what they knew of Grace, for they were perfectly placed to see all who came and went from here. My friends shared their sightings with me, perhaps Grace too had sought their counsel on some other cold morning all those years ago. Ah! She has returned! One whispered, her lips cold and unmoving.

“Yes! Did you miss me?” I replied “I’ve had a busy few days, you see - “ Oh we know, another interrupted. Don’t be so rude, the first said, you don’t what to make the new mistress of the house think you are spying on her now do you? I suppose not, the other sighed, so we’re supposed to say they we don’t know what’s being happening? No, we’re stone, we’re not supposed to say anything at all, the first decreed. “Oh, come on don’t be like that, I don’t mind that you spy on me.” I laughed. Its not really spying, the first said, we have been keeping an eye on the mistress of the house since the house was built and we won’t be stopping anytime soon. “I’m glad of it.” I smiled. So what do you make of little Helena Legare then? The second whispered. “I’m not sure,” I replied. Yes you are, she continued “Oh, am I?” I laughed “How is it that you know more about me than I do?” Because we are guardian angels, its our job to know, she stated. No, that’s not it, she just thinks the same thing, the first chimed in. “And what’s that?” I asked. That she is a stuck up, unthinking idiot, and we are all wondering if she was simply a product of her mother, the second said. “Well, frankly, yes,” I nodded “She’s the kind of girl who thinks femininity is putting on a nice dress - “ the second cut me off, - whereas you know its wit, sophistication and charm. Not in the aristocracy, the first laughed, its about wide birthing hips, frankly, Adalaide, all the things you think are feminine and desirable are so, more than anything, just look at The Veneitan Republic, aristocrats have wives for their public self and courtseans for their hearts, the first said, “Ha!” I laughed “No one has said much about Italy in front of you in a hundred years or so, its called Venice now. But why is it that men so much have to have a private and public self?” For their status, its always been this way you know, the first said, but anyway, back to Miss Helena, I think there is more to her than you realise. She is like you, Adalaide, she has been locked out of sight all these years but she doesn't know how to escape. “Perhaps it's better that way, she wouldn’t survive in the real world.” And you would? The first laughed, “Well that’s debatable.” I smiled, but you don’t have to, you’re married, she continued. “So I need to find someone for Helena to marry?” No, don’t do that, she said. Yes, definitely don’t do that, the second agreed. “Well, what should I do then?” I asked. Not sure, we’ll just have to watch and wait, the first said. “Well that’s not terribly helpful, I’m not sure how long I can hold out with her here.” Maybe her mother will take her away, the second said. “Don’t think so, she’s dead isn’t she?” Nah, I saw her just a couple of nights ago in the grounds, the second continued. No we didn’t, the first stated. Yeah we did, remember, the second argued. No, we definitely didn’t, she said, she died twenty years ago. “What do you mean you saw her?” I asked. Shit! Shit! Someone’s coming! The second squealed. “No, don’t go, I need to - “

“Whatever are you doing?” I was interrupted by Barrett’s booming voice behind me. I switched around.

“Talking to the angels.” I stated.

“Okay.” he smirked. “I’ve brought Lawrence.” he whispered as if he were talking about some kind of illicit action.

“Ah, lovely, where is he?” I looked around.

“He’s gone inside.”

“Oh, God, Helena’s in there, that’s enough to induce trauma in anyone.” I laughed to see Barrett’s face glare disapprovingly back at me “A poor joke.” I smiled. “How is he?” I asked seriously.

“Come and see.” Barrett smiled at least half hopeful.

I entered the manor once more through the arched double doors to see Lawrence with his usual quiet if not slightly effeminate demeanour standing beside a suit of armour, half in shadow in the sharp wintery sunlight.

“Laidie,” he whispered in the silence.

“Lawrence,” I whispered in response. “How many years?” I asked.

“Too many.” he smiled.

“I’m not Laidie anymore.” I laughed.

“No, no, of course not, now you are a lady.”

“Something like that.” I smiled.

“I, I” he stammered. I understood why, of course, for it was nearly six long years which struggled upon his lips. “I’m sorry I couldn’t have been at your wedding.” he whispered. “I heard it was a lovely day.”

“It was.” I smiled. “You know, I think since I married Ainsley I have been the happiest I have ever been in my life.”

“I’m glad for you, Adelaide.” he smiled.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered.

“Sorry for what? Moving on with your life too? I see no wrong in that.”

“Well that’s very good of you. But no, I meant I’m sorry for telling you of my life as a happy thing when you face such difficulties.”

“Oh, my chest will be better soon.” he smiled, faking a little cough.

“Don’t lie to me Lawrence,” I said, “my husband may believe that you have tuberculosis but I’m not that stupid.”

“Oh come on Laidie, go with it.” He laughed “Everyone else seems to.”

“Well, Lawrie, I think you know me well enough to know that I am not like everyone else.”

“You are not like anyone else, in fact.” he smiled. My husband emerged from the drawing room with distinct purpose.

“Darling, what are you doing out here? Invite Mr Walters into the drawing room.” he said abruptly.

“I’m not doing anything out here, I was just inviting Mr Walters into the drawing room.”

“Good,” Ainsley said with a kirt little nod, disappearing off once more through the green upholstered door.

“I’d better go into the drawing room, hadn’t I?” Lawrence smiled, almost laughing.

“Yes,”

“Is it this way?” he said, gesturing to the green upholstered door. I nodded. “What a lovely house you have.”

“Thank you,” I laughed. It was strange, so very very strange for Lawrence to be invited into the drawing room of my marital home. He placed himself neatly atop a green leather armchair which camouflaged almost entirely.

“Wonderful to see you Lawrence.” Helena smiled.

“Likewise, Miss Helena.” he smiled.

“So tell me, Lawrence, what line of work are you in these days? Or did you decide to return to Oxford after the war?” Ainsley asked. I watched Lawrence force a distinct swallow and then begin.

“Well, no, no, I decided not to continue my education; I am trying to become a writer instead,” he said.

“Wonderful.” Ainsley smiled “Well, have you heard of Mr Francis Scott Fitzgerald? He is a charming young writer from across the pond.” Lawrence looked blank “New York, I believe.”

“Ah, no, no, I haven’t heard of him.” he said. “I think my literary understanding only stretches to the South East of England, rather embarrassingly.”

“Nothing embarrassing about that.” I smiled “Your heart belongs to Shakespeare; Dickens not Twain, Keats not Poe.”

“Indeed,” he said.

“Well my Adelaide’s heart seems most recently to belong to Mr Bram Stoker.” Ainsley smiled.

“Well she is at least half Lucy Westenra.” Lawrence laughed, his eyes fixed on me.

“Hmm.” Ainsley looked a little confused. “Well, Adelaide loves anything a little macabre. Are you familiar with the work of Stevenson?”

“Yes.” He said “The Strange Case of Doctor Jeykll and Mister Hyde.”

“Yes, yes,” Ainsley said, “I do rather like that one myself.”

“The idea that we all have another self inside of us, almost separate from the rest of us and yet so inexplicably intertwined that it has to appear now and again.” he whispered. “I like the idea that one could make another of oneself so sexuality could be free, what do you think, Barrett?”

“That’s hardly an appropriate conversation.” Barrett chimed in.

“What do you know of La Belle Epoque, Lawrence?” I whispered.

“Ah yes, La Belle Epoque; my wife’s favourite topic at the moment.” Ainsley smiled.

“Well, I remember it as a time of decadence and excess, long after the last time of decadence and excess and long before the next one which is now.” Lawrence smiled.

“Decadence and excess?” I laughed “Now?”

“Well, not for us, but for our transatlantic friends.” he said “We owe them an awful lot of money, you see.”

“Do we?” I asked.

“All that, well, the things we used, “ he swallowed, not wishing to bring bombs and fighter jets into his mind “they weren’t free.”

“I suppose not.” I said, forlorn.

“So yes, just as La Belle Epoque was a time of decadence and excess for some, now is a time of decadence and excess for others.”

“But what was it all like?” I asked as if he was about to tell me some magical fairytale of enchanted memories and wistful days gone by in a past I seemed to almost remember, though I had hardly been part of.

“Ha! You forget that I am only slightly older than you.” he laughed.

“But you’ve lived in the city.” I said, imploring him to continue.

“In name only, most of the time I spent out in the fields-” his voice trailed off as he remembered our plaintive childhood spent out in those rolling green fields before they became filled with mud and, well, all kinds of other decidedly adult things. We were afforded a brief second to share in that melancholic nostalgia; a moment to wonder together if - just if - the war had never begun, would those wistful days filled with enchantment have been granted life eternal? They couldn’t, of course, for he had told me his secret and by then I had decided that who I wanted was the young son of the man who owned the fields we played in; the one who was always wandering around pensively and shooting me sideways glances.

The conversation continued rather as it had; I cared not to listen to that. I did not wish to remember how I had mistreated him and ran away in the blink of an eye from a place by a stream to a rose garden. I turned my gaze to the window; we were wild and free out there. Not on the Radley Estate, but by what we found to be the Legare Estate with its lake full of swans. No, no, it was supposed to be full of swans, but Ainsley’s father - the master of the house - had got bored one day and shot a load of them until there was only one left. Oh how we loved that one white swan upon the clear lake; La-Vie-En-Blanc was what we had decided to call it. What an odd name. Lawrence liked that name for it served as a reminder of what he wanted his life to be more than anything else; pure.

How unfortunate he was to have met me.

0 Reviews

For more features, such as favoriting, recommending, and reviewing, please go to the full version of this story.