His Black Wings (27 page)

“We had to place a special order at Magdalene’s for this feast. Most people have to wait in line hours if you don’t place an order.” Etrigan dug in to every dish with eagerness. I could see he was enjoying himself as much as the others were. By the time I served the chocolate cake the three young men were boisterous and loud, laughing and sharing stories. My heart filled with love for the three of them, Horace and Dekker for seeing past Etrigan’s wings and Etrigan for making an effort to include outsiders in his life. Dekker recalled his days at the Gentlemen’s academy in which he was as he put it, “
Given the boot
” for clogging all the toilets with baby frogs. While Horace entertained us with stories of days he spent trying to stay out of the trouble that his friend caused.

It all seemed so normal and gay, the four of us picnicking with Naza sniffing at the blanket edges for a treat, but I could not shake off my sadness. His earlier words that I overheard came back to haunt me as negative remarks often do. I couldn’t allow myself to be selfish though, who was I to try to claim Etrigan for my own or even think that he could have feelings for me back? I was and should be grateful for the friendship that he has given me, but I could not help feel sad as I watched him laughing with a chocolate smudge on his lip. Especially when I admitted to myself that I was falling in love with him.

Horace and Dekker plied Etrigan with questions about his wings and flying. Etrigan in turn asked them questions about their childhood and schooling. I myself said very little but quietly removed dirty plates and smiled hollowly. The hours passed until the late January light began to grow hazy. Our guests helped put the rest of the dishes away in the hampers and with great reluctance, bid us farewell.

“Mr. Lowood, it was a grand experience meeting you today.” Horace said and shook Etrigan’s hand. Etrigan smiled delighted. Gone was the guarded look from the night before.

“Same goes for me, you’re not such a bad chap after all. Even though you are keeping Claren from us.” Dekker said.

“I’m sorry, but Claren belongs to me.” Etrigan said simply with a blank expression on his face. Wretched hope sprang up within my heart, followed by anger and pride.

What was he playing at? Just earlier he said…

“A bit possessive aren’t you, for a cousin?” Dekker said evenly. Etrigan knitted his eyebrows at Horace’s statement. Horace once again studied Etrigan’s reaction intently.

“Cousin?” Etrigan said not understanding.

“Well gentlemen, thank you for coming but I am afraid I need to go in.” I said as I took Etrigan’s hand and pulled him towards the house leaving our companions bewildered.

As we entered the house Etrigan turned towards me and hugged me quickly.

“Thank you Claren, this is the first time I have ever felt as though I have friends. You, Horace and Dekker, I feel as though things might be changing for me now.” He smiled shyly and dashed up the stairs. I went in to the kitchen to make a pot of tea since the servants were given the day off today. Mr. Lowood did not want anyone seeing his son being out of doors. Mr. Lowood entered the kitchen after Etrigan had gone.

“I want to apologize to you Claren.” I turned towards the elder Lowood not really knowing what to expect.

“I was upset and regretted bringing you here when I found out my son had been out in public. But as I watched you with my son and your friends, I saw how they became his friends too. I have never seen my son smile so much or laugh as he had today. I heard what he said just now to you, and that brought me much happiness, thank you.”

“It was my pleasure Mr. Lowood, I am growing very fond of your son.” I said quietly.

“Are you Claren? Are you really, you’re not just saying that to please me?” he asked desperately. Gone was the angry, cold man from this morning. I could see only quiet desperation in his eyes, a yearning for something lost.

“Yes, I admire him very much.” He quickly clasped my hand to his chest.

“Then it is decided. I have to go away for awhile Claren and when I come back I think we all will be a lot happier. You tell Etrigan for me but I haven’t a moment to waste, I’ve already wasted so much.” He let go of my hand and walked out of the kitchen quickly.

“But where are you going?” I called out to him but received no response.

****

Horace Bitwater loved research and took great pleasure in finding out things from the past. To him each tidbit of new knowledge was like discovering a hidden treasure. So the first night he had seen Etrigan stride through the crowd of people with his majestic black wings, something bothered him. The second time he met Etrigan and spoke with him, finding out the wings were real, he could not wait to race back to his beloved research center.

There, his family, because of wealth and influence, had access to old archives dating back to before the Great War. In these archives there were things so vile, so nasty, that even the Grand Council did not know that records of them still existed. If they knew, they most assuredly would destroy any and all records and anyone who knew about it. Horace remembered reading something, years ago about a company that helped finance the modern era after the Great War. Hand in hand with the Grand Council, they helped bring the world out of the unenlightened and depressed state it was in. Horace recalled something of winged beings being used to help usher in this new dawn. It poked at his thoughts in an annoying fashion until he
had
to get back to those records to read the full account.

“Are you even listening to me man?” Dekker said irate, he hated to be ignored.

“What was that?” Horace said absent mindedly.

“Don’t you think that fellow is alright?”

“Oh yes, he seems very pleasant, if not for his wings that is.”

“I think they are rather interesting. Imagine if you had wings like that, where you could go and what you could see. I wouldn’t have to commandeer a ship anymore that’s for sure.”

Horace snorted.

“Still playing pirate Dekker? Stealing your fathers textile ships, then bringing them back when you are done?”

“Well at least I manage to get away from my father once in awhile. More than what could be said for you.” Horace shrugged. He well knew that his friend disapproved of his loyalty to his aging mother.

“I do think though, that he is entirely a bit too possessive of our Claren.” Dekker said peeking into the hamper for leftovers.

“Yes, I agree.”

“Well for a cousin that is.” Dekker added.

“Maybe he is not her cousin.” Horace stated as the carriage stopped to let him off.

“What do you mean?” Dekker called out to his friend.

“I am not so sure about our Miss Claren. She may not be who she says she is.”

“What?” Dekker asked licking his finger that had touched a turkey leg in the hamper.

“I’m going to find out more, then I promise I will tell you Dekker.” Horace waved as he walked away to the research center leaving his friend perplexed.

Sometimes people become mean because of horrible experiences. It’s a gradual process that hardens their hearts and minds and forces them to develop a thick skin. In order to survive they must adapt to their harsh surroundings. They in turn become mean.

This was not the case with Kurten. Kurten Wandsworth as the favorite and only child in the household was, from the beginning a spoiled, headstrong, bully. As a young boy he tormented others that were weaker than he. He had no natural sympathies for anyone except himself. His mother, being weak willed and spoiled herself, did nothing to discourage this sort of selfish behavior in her only son. Constantly giving in to his every whim and making feeble lipped excuses to the other parents at the boy’s academy, where he had beaten someone up.

As a teenager Kurten learned from his father that people did not have to love, like or respect you. But they did have to fear you. If anything else followed, then that was just pudding after the meal. “A quick wrap on the beak will show them” was his father’s favorite expression and action. Kurten grew up with many “wraps on his beak” until he himself was a master at delivering them to an unaware offender. He was taught that if something could not be gotten by smooth talking or treachery, then brute force was in order.

When he was still in his boy’s academy he had set his sights on Claren. He had been home for the holidays when he first saw her, dressed in a winter white coat trimmed with white fur, her hands kept snug and warm in a muff. She was a vision of purity to him and her whole person shook him to the core of his slimy soul. He asked his parents to inquire about her, which they promptly did. She came from the Maidstone family, a family that had a prestigious reputation and a handsome fortune. Kurten’s own gambling debts had grown considerable while in school. He made his own inquiries about her reputation among men. It wouldn’t suit him to be married to a tart. The report was too good to be true. Claren had not courted any man in St. Marhen. It would seem as though she was somewhat of a late bloomer. Kurten himself had had many young women while at the boy’s academy and then later when he entered the gentlemen’s academy. The women that became involved with Kurten fell in to two categories. The first were young and foolish types that thought it would do them well in society to become involved with the Mayor’s son. After Kurten had his way with them, he would unceremoniously leave them. If they attempted to cause a scene, he would in turn tell them that he would take out an ad in every paper known to man, letting everyone know she had lost her virtue.

The second type of woman that would get involved with Kurten were women who took money for their favors. They did not expect any long lasting commitment from the youth, but instead, encouraged him to gamble and drink and drive up his debts. They, in turn got a modest percentage from the owners of the gambling houses.

Other than Kurten’s initial inquiries, he had ceased to even breathe Claren’s name to anyone. Her very existence was a secret he guarded jealously. If no other young men knew about her, they would not want her and they would be no threat to him in winning her. In the gentlemen’s academy an acquaintance of Kurten’s (for he had no real friends) had once remarked at a chance meeting with Claren and how he thought he might like to begin calling on her. Kurten without a word threw down his playing cards, marched up to the unsuspecting youth and knocked him out cold. He turned to face the shocked bystanders and commanded them.

“When this sorry chap wakes, tell him Kurten Wandsworth said if he even thinks about looking at Claren Maidstone, that will be the last thing he ever does.” That story circulated quickly throughout the halls of the gentlemen’s academy. Most young men decided it would be in their best interest to find another suitable girlfriend, one that the mayor’s son was not interested in. They all secretly thought it a shame and a waste that such a lovely young woman would be sought after by Kurten. Kurten himself was such a sordid wretch that they did not like, but feared. As Kurten walked down the halls and saw the fear he caused reflected in the eyes of his classmates, he smiled. He was determined to have it all after he graduated, and it suited him that men should fear him now. It would also suit him well to have a beautiful, virtuous wife with a good reputation and wealth by his side.

After he graduated from the Gentlemen’s academy he put his plan into action. Formal introductions were made from his parents to Claren’s. The Wandsworths were invited over to dine with the Maidstones. Later, Kurten came over on his own, unannounced, every Sunday afternoon. Claren’s parents were too well bred and polite to turn him away, so he made himself a regular sight at their dinner table on Sundays.

As for Claren herself, she did not seem interested in him at all. She was polite to him, but cool and guarded. He would watch her carefully during these Sunday dinners and was always left perplexed by her behavior. While he knew she did not have any other gentlemen callers (he made sure of that), she herself did not act like a timid young girl around him. She did not speak much at the table unless her parents or himself asked her a direct question. There were times when he was sure that he caught her with a distinct look of disgust upon her face when looking at him. She never allowed him to be alone with her, not even to sit in the parlor, which made it hard for him to maneuver some physical contact. He turned up each Sunday with a plan to get closer to Claren, to make her love him. It became his obsession. Though he continued to spend himself with women of lower standards, he found his own growing passion for Claren becoming unbearable. The more he wanted her and had to restrain himself, the more nights he spent at the gambling houses until he was gambling and drinking with women every night.