Authors: Astrid Yrigollen
“It’s probably best for right now that the young Master keep himself hidden, that is until my Timothy can find work away from Westwind.”
I nodded wondering when that might be.
***
“So! Claren was that not a delicious apple tart that Mrs. Whitby baked?” Mr. Lowood commented as the dishes were being cleared away. We had just finished eating dinner and Mr. Lowood lit up his pipe.
“Yes, all the things that Mrs. Whitby makes are delicious.”
“I’ll teach you how to bake it if you like.” Mrs. Whitby said as she took my plate. I looked at her knowing that whenever I stepped in to the kitchen she would shoo me out.
“Thank you, yes I would like that. Also please remember that if you need any help in the kitchen I am always available Mrs. Whitby.” I said to spark her memory. She smiled at me in such a way as to tell me that she knew very well she did not want me in her kitchen.
“Yes Claren you seem to be an all around very helpful person don’t you?” Mr. Lowood said in what I perceived to be a cynical tone. Mrs. Whitby clearly thought so too because she glanced at him in an odd manner as she left to the kitchen.
“I don’t know in what way Sir.” I said knowing he was in one of his moods again.
“You don’t do you?” I looked at him dumbfounded wondering what on earth was causing this shift in his mood.
“Well you seem to be helping
my
son, Etrigan.” He put emphasis on ‘my’ which I did not understand.
“I have spoken to him, yes.”
“You’ve done more than just speak to him Claren! You have positively lifted his mood. He has been a black, brooding, lump lumbering around here for years. Now I see that you have gotten him outside of Westwind.”
“You saw us then? Taking a walk?” I could not understand why he was upset.
“Yes, I happened to need to speak with my son and went up to his room. He was not there so I went out to the roof. He keeps a small garden up there that he tends to. I went up to the roof just as he was flying off, towards the trees…and you. He landed and you two, at least from my view point on the roof, seemed to be on friendly terms. Is this so?”
“Yes we have begun talking little by little. Before he would only join me on the walks when he thought that I could not see him. Then gradually we began talking.” Mr. Lowood looked down at Naza who was chewing a bone at his feet.
“Mrs. Whitby! Please remove this dog from my feet to the kitchen where she may gnaw on her bone!” he called out loudly. I was shocked at his words. He had always treated Naza with kindness and understanding, now she was “this dog”. Mrs. Whitby entered the dining room quickly, almost as if she had been in the hall eavesdropping.
“Come on old girl.” Mrs. Whitby said picking up the bone and entreating Naza to follow her, which she did.
“Have I done something to upset you Mr. Lowood?” I asked wanting to come straight to the heart of the matter.
“No, but in the future Claren, please come to me first when there are new developments with my son. I don’t want to hear or see things second hand. Do you understand?” he tapped his pipe on the side of his ashtray to put emphasis on his question.
“Yes sir.” I said quietly.
What was the real reason why he was upset?
, I wondered.
“The second thing I will remind you of is to call me Uncle or Uncle Fredrick. Since you are becoming quite well known in society now, it would not suit to have you suddenly call me Mr. Lowood in public.”
“I don’t think I am becoming that well known. I have only gone to that one ball with you, Mr. Uncle.” I slipped and began to call him Mr. Lowood then changed to Uncle.
“Mr. Uncle? Well, it’s a start anyway.” He said dryly before continuing. “You would be surprised at how much press that one appearance got you Claren. The society column is now placing wagers at which event you will show up at and with whom, Mr. Peterson or Mr. Bitwater.”
Wagers? I was not a celebrity, did they not have enough news in this city, they had to single me out?
“If it displeases you, I do not have to attend any events.” I said simply. I was not sure if I should stay at Westwind now that Mr. Lowood seemed to grow more distant towards me. I could handle his aloofness but not anger. It would pain me to leave my new friends, but what choice would I have if Mr. Lowood continued his dark moods with me? Something was eating away at him and I seemed to be the cause of it. I could begin searching for a position somewhere in the city without him knowing, then simply leave.
But could I leave Etrigan, now that I am beginning to become quite attached to him?
Mr. Lowood stared at me hard, always thinking, forever scrutinizing me. After several uncomfortable minutes he finally answered.
“No Claren, it does not displease me. Let us see how this little drama unfolds shall we? Continue just as you please. I see no lasting harm with you being social, in fact its best and I insist. That way you do not grow weary of myself or Etrigan.”
“I do not think I could grow weary of Etrigan, now that he has stopped his tricks on me. He is very pleasant to talk with.”
But I can grow weary of you very quickly if you continue with these black moods
.
Mr. Lowood’s mood seemed to lighten a fraction when I told him that I enjoyed speaking with Etrigan.
“Is he? That’s good, I am glad you now find him so. I dare say I agree with you on that. He has become almost pleasant to speak with. He no longer barges into my study when I am working, no longer knocks down books from my shelves. In the first time in years, we have had conversations, without melodrama. He has recently come to me and asked me for advice on…” Mr. Lowood stopped himself short as if realizing who he was speaking to. He stood up and stretched and dismissed his thought and me.
“Yes, continue as you are Claren, I think it is doing some good.” He turned and left the dining room without bidding me goodnight.
The day before the Celestial Ball found me sitting deep in the woods on a blanket with Etrigan and Naza. The sun was out and gently warming us three. Etrigan was sprawled out with Naza by his side, who was sleeping soundly. I wonder if he brought her comfort, if she felt protected when he was there. I knew that from the beginning she had taken to him.
A handful of winter birds who had not left Westwind with their feathered companions, called out sweetly in the mid morning air. Etrigan suddenly sat up disturbing Naza. With a woof of disapproval, she shifted away from him and went back to sleep.
“Claren I have a question to ask you.”
“Yes?”
“Who were those two men who were coming to talk to you?”
“You mean the day that you took my bed up and dropped it?” I said amused. I figured out that that was the only thing in my room that could have made that sound. By the look of guilt on his face I determined that I was correct.
“Yes that day, and others before. They came on other days when my father was out.” I suddenly became worried that perhaps he would have told his father something of Dekker’s and Horace’s visits.
“Did you ever tell your father of their visits?” I asked feeling guilty. He tilted his head to one side.
“No, I did not. Should I have?” His dark blue eyes pierced my own, as if seeking something from me.
“Oh, I am no one to say what you should tell your father.”
“Well I didn’t, now you can tell me who they are and who they are to you.” He stated in his usual blunt manner.
“The blond one is Dekker Peterson. Heir to the Peterson Textile fortune. The dark haired one with glasses is Horace Bitwater.”
“Oh is he rich also?” Etrigan asked with a cynical note in his voice.
“As your father told me, he belongs to one of the five wealthiest families on the west coast. So yes, he is richer than Mr. Peterson.” Etrigan nodded at this new information and got up from the blanket we had been sitting on. He walked around our little make shift camp with his wings extending out and folding in as if agitated.
“Why do they not come any more?” he asked not looking at me.
“I asked them not too.” He whirled around
“You did? Why?”
“Because I did not want their visits to upset your father.” He seemed to relax.
“So they are not coming here to visit you anymore?”
“I don’t think so, not for the time being.” Etrigan came back to sit by my side on the blanket.
“Did you like them?” He asked sounding shy.
“I think they are nice.”
“Do you like them more than me though?” he asked with the innocence of a child. His insecurity touched my heart and I wanted to comfort him.
“No Etrigan, I do not like them more than I do you. They are nice people and besides you, the only friends I have.”
“So you consider them friends then?” he asked while he stretched his right wing so that it went behind me without touching me.
“Yes I do.”
“Do you consider them
handsome
friends?” He asked continuing his line of questioning. Of course Dekker was what every girl thought to be good looking. Blond hair, green eyes, athletic build and wealth were always pluses. But his over confident manner, swaggering walk and his familiar conversation style was a turn off to me. I could only really see him as a friend. Dear Horace on the other hand, I saw as a diamond in the rough for any girl who had the time and patience to clean him up. I could see through his acne, which could be cleared up with a change of diet. I could look past his large teeth that would benefit from seeing a dentist. His eyes, as I had noticed when he had visited me at Westwind last, were hazel and beautiful. His intellect was superior, his manner impeccable, and his wealth extraordinary. However, his insecurities, his inability to make decisions without his mother’s approval and his wealth were all negatives in my view. Yes, his wealth was both a plus and a minus for me. Both men would have some changing to do before I found them desirable as more than a friend.
I could not readily explain all of this to Etrigan nor did I want to. So when Etrigan prompted me again I simply said,
“I find them both nice gentlemen and I am sure many women find them attractive.”
He pressed me no further on the subject. Instead he switched to asking me questions about my early childhood. He was quite interested in the differences between our youths. I think he was using my childhood as a barometer for his own. As I told him of my youth filled with schooling and neighborhood friends, he told of me of solitary studies with his father and no friends.
He painted a very sorrowful picture of a lonely little boy with great black wings that wanted to reach out to the world. He had no idea he was different than any other child until he saw his first child from afar. He had run away he told me, in a fit of anger after his mother had died. Etrigan had found himself in the park and spied a little boy around his own age.
“I didn’t understand death, what it meant never to see the person you love again. My father, in his way attempted to explain. I refused to listen and ran out the front door. Something that I was forbidden to do.” I could imagine him running through a street full of strangers, his wings hitting them, their surprised expressions.
“I ran to a park, it was deserted except for a little boy who happened to be on a swing. I walked up to him and asked him his name. He told me it was Pryce and wanted to know where I came from. I didn’t know my address so I just pointed in the general direction in which I came from. He asked me if he could touch my wings. I wouldn’t let him.” Etrigan said as he chuckled deep in his throat. The sound sent shivers up my spine.
“He told me that his father was a great journalist and was famous. I didn’t know what my own father’s occupation was so I said nothing. Other children arrived at the park and saw me. They began to point, stare, and laugh at me. They surrounded me and what I thought was my new friend. But then I noticed that my new friend had stepped away from me, leaving me alone encircled by these cretins.” Etrigan picked up a small stone and tossed it away from us as he remembered. I could tell that this memory, so early from his childhood was still painful to him.
“They did not ask, but grabbed and pulled at my wings trying to take them off of me. They called me monster when they realized that the wings were attached. Pryce did nothing but watch as I cried trying to get away. I managed to get away but not before one of the bones in my left wing was broken. The force in which I pulled away from their vile little hands was what did it I suppose.” He stood up and stretched trying to clear the heavy mood that lay down upon us.