His Black Wings (15 page)

***

“She must leave at once!”

Etrigan once more burst into his father’s library. Fredrick removed his glasses and looked up at the imposing figure that was his son.

“Must you always barge in here in such a fashion? Door knobs were invented for a reason Etrigan.” The son ignored his father’s comment.

“I say she must leave. This is no place for a…a girl.” Fredrick stared at his son. He could read his son well and knew that he was affected by Claren. If he would have stayed away ignoring her, then he would have been worried that the plan to draw his son out was a failure.

“Her name is Claren and she is a young woman, she is here to stay. I have always wanted you to be happy and have indulged your every whim. This I will not acquiesce too. She will stay.” The rage that had filled the room subsided and once again Etrigan was calm. He walked slowly up to his father’s grand desk.

“What is she to you?” He asked his father in a low voice.

My son is becoming a man. He wants to know if I am interested in Claren.

“Meet her did you? Pretty little thing isn’t she?” He asked in return.

For now it would serve his purpose to have his son guessing as to why Claren was there. The real reason Claren was there had changed. A sharp pang of guilt stabbed Fredrick inwardly. He knew he could no longer go on with his original plan. He had worked so hard and long to get close to the family, only to change his mind in the end. What a waste of time and energy. One thing he knew for certain was that Claren was never to find out the real reason he sought her out. She had known so much pain and loss, certainly if she were to know…Fredrick shook his head from side to side to clear his thoughts. His son was speaking to him.

“Yes, I met her but I do not wish to do so again. I am tired of living in the tower room. It is cold there and there are rodents that squeak loudly at night.” Fredrick wanted to chuckle.

“No one told you to move to the tower room. You can come down to your own quarters any time you wish.”

“I cannot! Not with that girl’s door so close to mine. I may see her accidentally. She may scream her foolish head off in the middle of the night.”

“Did she scream when she saw you tonight?” Etrigan walked over to a book shelf in a suddenly self conscience manner and traced his finger along the spine of a book.

“Well?” Fredrick prompted.

“No.” Etrigan answered, sullenly pulling his wings in close to his body.

“Then what makes you think she will do so in the future?”

“I don’t know, she just has that look about her! All girls scream for no reason don’t they?”

“You have a lot to learn about the female sex my son. First, do not judge based on appearance. You will often be sorely mistaken at what is underneath the skin.” Etrigan looked at his father in defeat, his dark eyes sad.

“So will you put her out? I do not care what is under her skin.”

“No I will not put her out. She is delightful company and a pleasure to talk with. I had not realized how lonely I had been until she arrived to stay with me in Alcott. It was not by light decision that I brought her to Westwind. The servants like her and I like her. The only one who seems to take issue with Claren, is you. Since this is my house, I suggest you resolve the issue with Claren yourself. I do not want to hear about making her leave from this house again.” Fredrick put his glasses back on and looked down at his work once more, signaling the conversation was over.

Etrigan walked out of his father’s library and down the hall to Claren’s room. He stood before her door for several minutes looking at the faint light that still crept out beneath it. Slowly he raised his curled hand into a fist and struck the door loudly, sending Naza into a cacophony of barks and waking Claren.

The next morning Mrs. Whitby discovered that the door to Claren’s room was locked.

“My dear? Breakfast is ready.” She called out from the hall way. Claren had fallen back in to a fitful sleep after she was awoken by the loud noise of last night. She had been a little frightened and wondered what it had been but quickly put it out of her mind. It took much longer to calm Naza down. She cuddled her large dog until they both fell asleep. The next morning she had arisen, showered and dressed eager to talk to Mr. Lowood about meeting his son.

“Please come in Mrs. Whitby.” Claren called out from her dressing room. She was putting on her shoes when she heard Mrs. Whitby again call out to her.

“The door is locked Miss.” Claren shook her head as if to disagree, but went over to the door to check herself. Perhaps she was more frightened then she remembered and locked the door while she was half asleep.

Claren looked at the door and turned the knob since the door was obviously unlocked. The door stuck fast. She turned the knob and pulled. Nothing.

“I can’t seem to open the door Mrs. Whitby. It’s not locked from my side.” Claren looked at the knob which seemed to be turning fine, then she inspected the door jam and saw the problem. The wood was splintered and cracked. The sound she heard last night was her door being hit from outside. The force of the blow, that she could only assume was caused by Etrigan, wedged the door in to the door jam. She was stuck.

“Please inform Mr. Lowood that my door is broken and I am stuck in my room.” Claren called out in dismay.

“Right away Miss.” Claren listened to Mrs. Whitby’s footsteps leave. Apparently Etrigan did not feel the same way she did about their encounter. Disappointment washed over Claren.

I had hope he would not see me as a threat or too disruptive to him but it seems that he has wasted no time in showing me what he thinks of me
.

Naza danced around the door wondering why her mistress did not open it up to let her out. Claren looked down at her companion.

“I’ll tell you why, because your friend, ill mannered brute that he is, broke our door. And if you have an accident I will make him clean it up because it is his fault!” Naza wagged her tail in response.

“Claren? I’ve brought the Master.”

“Are you there? Claren?” Mr. Lowood’s voice called out from the hall way.

“Yes.” Claren answered.

“Mrs. Whitby, please go out to the stable and fetch Thomas.” Claren heard Mr. Lowood ask Mrs. Whitby. The sound of Mrs. Whitby’s footsteps echoed down the hall until Claren could no longer hear them. Mr. Lowood’s voice whispered through the door.

“Stand clear of the door Claren.” Claren moved away and took Naza with her. There was a violent noise and the entire door fell in to the room. She marveled at the exhibition of strength, but was more startled by the noise it made when it fell off its hinges. Mr. Lowood entered the room with an apologetic look upon his face.

“Are you quite all right?”

“Yes.”

“I see you have finally made my son’s acquaintance?” Mr. Lowood made motion to the door that now lay on the rug in the middle of Claren’s room.

“I am familiar with my sons’ handy work.”

“Yes, last night.”

“Come down to breakfast and tell me all about it then.”

Over a delicious hot breakfast of waffles, sausages and toast I related last night’s meeting with Etrigan. Mr. Lowood said nothing but listened quietly the whole time. Only when I was finished with my narrative did he begin to eat his own breakfast. Then only when the dishes were cleared and Mrs. Whitby had brought his coffee, did Mr. Lowood speak.

“You did an excellent job of relating what happened last night Claren, but you told me nothing of your feelings. What do you think of my son? His disfigurement?”

I looked at my water glass, wanting to give him a positive answer, but not wishing to betray the full extent of my pleasure, fear or disappointment over our first meeting.

“Do you mean his black wings?” I asked cautiously. He nodded.

“Yes, those of course.” He said in a dry manner.

“I found them interesting, terrible and beautiful at the same time. Your son is a unique person. He makes me very curious. I am afraid that he seems to hate me though, and I wonder if it would not be better if I did leave Westwind for the sake of his comfort.” Fredrick took a sip of coffee but placed it back on top of its saucer loudly.

“For the sake of his comfort? No indeed! Everything has been done for the sake of that boys comfort. Go about your daily activities, try to befriend him if there is an opportunity, that is my wish. You will stay and he will not harass you, what I mean to say is that there will be no more of last night’s behavior on his part.”

Of course Etrigan had something different in mind than his father’s wishes. From that day on, I was to be on the receiving end of many nasty and childish pranks. I had mud caked in between the covers of my bed, my clothes thrown in to the pond, mice placed in my bathtub and I was constantly being locked in my room.

I knew that Mr. Lowood was deeply embarrassed by his son’s behavior and sometimes I would hear the two arguing late in the midnight hours. After the Whitby’s went home for the night, the whole house would shake with their thunderous voices. Father and Son would rattle the windows making me jump. As always though, the next morning Mr. Lowood would join me for breakfast with a sunny smile and inquire of my night. He never would confess that he was having more difficulties with his son.

Mrs. Whitby seemed perplexed at all the things that were happening to me and would try to set my mind at ease.

“I’ve never seen the young Master and until now he has never really ever given cause for such behavior.” She said as I helped her roll up my carpet that was soaking wet with pond water. Sometime during the night Etrigan had snuck in to my bedroom and taken my carpet, soaked it in the pond and returned it. I was annoyed that he had come in and Naza did not wake me. She was certainly fond of him, of that I was sure of. As for me, my patience was wearing thin. The wonder and pleasure that I had first felt the night of our initial meeting had long worn off. Now I just considered him a childish brat. I met him several more times at night when I was walking Naza, he would scowl at me and ask me rude questions to make me feel unwelcome at Westwind.

“What are you still doing here? Why did you come? Don’t you have a home of your own to go to?”

I grew weary of his acerbic tongue and harsh manner.

“They say he is ill,” Mrs. Whitby pointed to her head as I helped her carry the rug out of my room, “but not really a danger to anyone. He must be really vexed now for some reason. In all my years working here I have never seen him once. My Thomas though, he has. They speak on a regular basis, but Thomas never tells me anything about him. Other than “he’s a poor, lonely soul.” That’s the extent of it.”

I knew that he was just acting out because in a fashion he was trying to get my attention, but I did not know how much more I could endure. I wanted to be sympathetic to his plight but his cruelty was wearing me down. Mrs. Whitby would try to cheer me up and took me on several shopping expeditions under Mr. Lowood’s advice. Mr. Lowood himself always seemed to be busy during the time of what I call
my persecution,
from his son. I would never tell him what I was experiencing, but I knew Mrs. Whitby was telling him everything by the sheepish way he would bid me good morning.

November passed by quickly with leaves changing from red, to orange, to yellow, then brown. My nerves were on edge not knowing from which direction a trick was going to be played on me. Before I knew it, December was upon us and Mrs. Whitby was still trying to find me a suitable dress for the Winter Ball that was now a short time away. She would show me dozens of pictures of “InstaFab” dresses that could be created in seconds and shipped within hours, but she would quickly change her mind.

“The materials always end up making you itch and break out in a rash so I am told.” She said exasperated.

A few days before Mr. Peterson’s Winter Ball, Mrs. Whitby roused me early. I thought she was waking me because of some new nasty trick Etrigan had played. I half expected to be waken with my bed in the middle of the road. From these past few weeks I came to find out that Etrigan was not only childish but very strong and very fast. He had lifted my whole bed up, with me on it when he took the rug from my room. I made a mental note to ask for a sturdier lock on my bedroom door.

“What has he done now?” I asked her groggily. Mrs. Whitby sat on the edge of my bed. She smoothed down my hair in a motherly fashion and took my hand in hers.