Let's Misbehave: Chapter 7

“Ainsley!” I replied to the familiar voice “You startled me!”

“Its dark, Adelaide, and you know there are little holes all over the grounds, you could break your ankle.” he said sternly. I replied with a soft look as one might give a lover if they so wanted something and he laughed “Come with me,” he said “we can share the light.” he gestured to the lanturn he carried and put his arm around me.

“Ainsley,” I whispered, unsure if I should tell him “I was out here looking for something.”

“And what was that? The vote?” he laughed.

“Shut up,” I replied.

“So?” he continued “What were you looking for?”

“La Vie En Blanc.” I laughed.

“What? That swan from my father’s estate?” he asked, bewildered.

“Yes,” I giggled.

“Well, why were you looking in the dead of night, on an estate it has never visisted - well, that’s a strange thing to say because its a swan, it doesn’t really ‘visit’ anywhere as such, but that’s beside the point - my point was, was it not highly unlikely you were going to find it here?”

“I suppose.”

“And let’s say that hypothetically you did find a swan, how would you know it was La-Vie-En-Blanc? How can you tell it apart from any other swan?”

“Oh, if I saw it again I'd know.” I smiled wistfully.

“Oh, Adelaide, you do beguil me.” he laughed.

“Well that’s good.” I replied “Because, you know, til death do us part.” I smiled wiggling my third finger on my left hand.

We reentered the manor through the conservatory. Unfortunately, if she - Grace - had been there before, she was not there by the time Ainsley and I entered that odd space which was not wholly inside, but not quite outside either she was most cenertainly no longer present. And yet, I have strong reason to believe she had been there at some point prior to our arrival because her Victorian boudoir chair was on its side once more, just as it had been after the storm the night Helena had arrived. In my imagination, she had been siting on it and had been frightened away by the sound of Ainsley’s approaching footsteps and had either vanished in some kind of phatasmal apparition or had simply flown away.

Ainsley did not seem remotely concerned or interested in the fact that his mother’s chair was subject to such violence enactments, no, he just picked up the chair and placed it into its usual position, slightly askew beside the glass door which led to the grounds. Although, for one brief moment, he gazed at the chair as if he were thinking something. Like I said, it was a very short moment indeed, but nevertheless it occurred as if for a split second, he wondered as I had if there had not been someone or something moments ago atop that chair. He didn’t say anything of course, for to suggest something such as a ghost (dare one even utter it?) would be almost as bad as well, saying Lawrence Walters has shell shock or saying Lawrence Walters is a homosexual or basically anything to do with the truth of the existence of Lawrence Walters. No, he certainly wouldn’t be saying any of that. But he was happy to have sex with me and I suppose that’s what matters so I won’t complain.

The following morning I awoke early and left our bed chamber before Ainsley had risen, for I was determined to look at the pathway Grace must have taken the previous night if she was to have gone North to South as she would have needed to to pass the angels as she headed towards the conservatory. I knew I had to be early, for if I waited until after breakfast, the ground would have been trodden by many eager feet and the whole object would be lost.

As I emerged from the manor in my coat, surrounded by the half frozen dew of the countryside dawn, I passed between the two guardian angels who - strangely - didn’t say a word to me; it was as if it was too cold for their stone mouths to move motionlessly or perhaps this was one of their moments which they imagined to be eternal was about to occur, a moment which they did not wish to fragment with their earthly whisperings. That was what I imagined their silence to signify, at least, which excited me immeasurably, making me vainly hope that I might be on the brink of a discovery.

I traced the path she must have taken; I began by the crumbling tower and paraded along the edge of the manor foundations, my eyes flicking cautiously over the untrodden earth beside me. I continued along past the entrance where she must have passed to be seen by the angels. There was nothing, no, almost nothing; in the mud there were some ever so light tracks, and yes, yes! They were headed towards the conservatory. I followed mindlessly for a few seconds before seeing the rather disappointing cause; Helena, standing in her white night dress, bare footed in the grass.

“Oh for goodness sake.” I exclaimed.

“She doesn’t leave traces.” Helena whispered.

“What?”

“You’re looking for mother; I saw her last night, she came to my chamber again. She told me not to return to my home.”

“Oh yes, that reminds me, why are you still here? Normally when people come for dinner they aren’t still here six weeks later, it's the bloody longest dinner i’ve ever seen.”

“I’m here because I can’t return home.” she stated in an abrupt tone which was most unlike her “Now, do you want my help or not?”

“Okay, yes, what?”

“Mother doesn’t leave any traces, so it's no good looking for footprints - that’s what you were doing isn’t it?” she asked.

“Yes,” my voice trailed off.

“Well don’t.” she said, “she sort of hovers. I think she can touch things though because of the scratches on the gate post and the things which keep getting knocked over.”

“That’s very helpful, thank you.” I said, turning to walk away.

“The way I see it, Adelaide, we can help each other; you want to know her story and so you follow her in the hope that you could ask her things and I need to be able to prove she exists because both of my brothers think I’m hysterical. She’ll be in my chamber tonight; it's Hallow’s eve and she always loved Hallow’s eve - come with a candle once Ainsley has gone to sleep and you can talk to her but in return you have to tell Ainsley that I’m not imagining things. Do we have a deal?”

I didn’t quite know what to say to this - in my opinion - new and improved version of Helena. I simply nodded quietly and walked away. As I passed back through the angels, I felt their stone eyes regarding me slowly; they wouldn’t say anything, not while Helena and God knows who else was so close by. No, I would not blow my cover; I would lay low until tonight when I could finally speak to Grace in person.

The sheer anticipation of that act had their parallels elsewhere in the life of a young lady; yes, this anticipation reminded me of losing my virginity all those years ago. It was to Ainsley, if anyone was wondering but it was before we were married or even engaged. There had been something wonderful about it, for my virginity was not a part of myself I felt to be lost, no, rather it was something I threw out of the window of a runaway train just as it arrived in the countryside - picking up speed - having departed the city for good.

No, enough of my half incoherent ramblings of days gone bye; it was Hallow’s Eve which meant for us that the countryside was to descend - for the night - into tricks, illusions and anarchy where nothing is what it seems to be. Ah yes, Hallow’s Eve was such an impeccable metaphor for existence itself. It was as if for the evening, we decided to admit what we all were; simply a wonderful deception of each other which we all - through some kind of intoxication of life - deluded into conceiving to be true and to that irreproachable hallucination of ourselves and those we loved we remained faithful until the end - or until death - because these days I am not quite sure if those two things are indistinguishable.

Night rolled in over the hills quickly, bringing with it its own seplechral dust, moving dimly through the shadows of this unseasonably cold night. I sat by the window and waited. I could not be sure what I was waiting for, but as with so many things in my life, it came despite my own indecision.

“Are you ready, darling?” Ainsley asked, halting at the foot of the stairs in the main hall, clad in his black jacket.

“Ready for what?” I asked, confused.

“The fayre - oh I did tell you didn’t I? Well anyway, yes, there’s a fair set up just a short walk away by the gypsy encampment and I want to go.”

“Oh, well, I suppose that could be interesting.” I nodded.

“Yes, in a common sort of a way,” he laughed “we could go on a carousel or something.” and with that, I dressed for the cold. I dressed for a night of electrically heightened disvertisment against the wind which kicked up as we make that most odd of journeys from a grand estate crumbling into nothing to a gypsy fairground alive in perpetuity.

Recommend Write a Review Report