Gossip

by Cay Templeton

  Her eyes scoured over the picture with such fine precision that allowed her mind to churn. Then finally, her eyes fixated on the tower.

  “Of course.”

  ***

  The coolness of the floor helped push Claire’s eager feet forward as she glided from hallway to endless hallway unaware of how to get where she was going. Not even the curiosity of the secret garden outside the sun-filled windows slowed her down.

  She hastened her step until her body froze in front of a worn wooden door. When she went for the handle, it took her full weight to heave the door open. The cool air funneled down the spiral stone staircase, giving her a slight chill.

  “This is it,” she whispered to herself.

  Claire took her first step up the tower stairs, when she heard a throat clearing behind her.

  “My goodness, Herr Botley. You scared me,” she said, with her hand on her chest, startled.

  Botley stood with his hands neatly tucked behind his back and one of his eyebrows raised inquisitively.

  “I would ask, Mademoiselle Du Bois, what it is you are doing, but I already know the answer. So, instead I will ask why you feel a need to go through Her Majesty’s possessions?”

  “Please understand, Herr Botley, the Countess is about to tell me years of her life with the Queen. If I cannot see with my own eyes where the Queen grew up, I will not know if the Countess is fabricating the truth or if her story is indeed honest.”

  “Ever the detective.”

  “I knew you would understand,” Claire said, taking another step up.

  “Perhaps I could show you another place where the Queen spent far more of her time than the tower.”

  Claire instantly noticed Botley’s softhearted smile that accompanied his remark.

  “What kind of a place?”

  “A dark, dank one. Full of all kinds of surprises,” he said in a mysterious voice.

  “Intriguing, but is it enough?” Claire stepped up the staircase and out of sight.

  “I can show you something that not even the Countess knows about.”

  In an instant, Claire reappeared in front of the old butler.

  “All right, you have my attention.”

  Botley simply turned on his heel and began walking down the hallway away from her. Claire didn’t even stop to think before running after him.

  “Herr Botley, where are we going? Herr Botley?”

  His only response to her was a quickened pace before turning into another hall. The two made their way down a narrow stone stair that led into a dark room. A dense smoke smell slightly outweighed the musty, dank one.

  “Where are we?”

  A match struck and a fire instantly appeared in the fireplace. “This cannot be . . .” Her hand covered her mouth in awe.

  Botley started feeling against the stone hearth. Claire squinted her eyes, struggling to see what he was doing.

  “Ah.” Botley hummed.

  He pulled a medium-sized stone out of the wall. Behind it rested an old book, which looked to be in good condition. Botley slid the stone back into place and sat down at the child-sized wooden table in the middle of the room. Claire sat down across from him.

  “Seldom do we know why things happen the way they do.”

  Claire looked anxiously at Botley, not knowing what he meant.

  “The Countess De Leon cannot fathom how a dirty little child could grow up to be Queen. Just like the Queen could not figure out why her father died while she was so young, leaving her here alone.”

  Claire rested back in the tiny wooden chair, listening to Botley’s every word.

  “This is the last book the Queen was given by her father before he died. We read it together for a short time, and then she began to read it on her own. She was a very gifted child despite her oddities. I am hoping, by giving you this, that it will help you understand a little more about who she really was.”

  Botley placed the book on the table and slowly slid it across to Claire. She gently placed her hands down on the hard cover. Sliding her thumb through the cinders, the title became visible. The gold lettering embossed on the front read: “Dragons, Ales, Fairies, and Tales.”

  Opening the book up, the pages at the beginning were in pristine condition. The paper was still bright white and not a single wrinkle or smudge affected the lettering. As Claire thumbed through to the middle, the pages were worn so thin that it was hard to make out the pictures and some of the corners were torn.

  Backtracking through the chapter, it was made evident that the section that was so thoroughly read was of the Fairy stories.

  “I would suggest you read this chapter first before bringing it up to the Countess. This book is, how should I say, a sensitive subject for her. She believes that it was destroyed when the Queen left.”

  “Why would she think such a thing?”

  “Because she asked me to do it and I am usually an obedient servant.”

  Claire looked back down to the book in her hands. “So why did you not?”

  “I cared about Isabella’s wellbeing long before the Countess ever came to live with us. Her happiness was important to me. So, I hid the book in our secret hiding place, where no one could find it except for her and myself.”

  For a moment Claire could swear that Botley’s eyes were becoming teary but he stood up too quickly for her to be sure.

  “I will give you a little time before I take you to the Countess's study.”

  Claire nodded, dismissing Botley, and then turned her attention back to the book in front of her. In big golden letters across the page, the title read, “The Fairy Queen.” Sliding her fingers over the pictures, many of them looked familiar. A little girl was sleeping upon a pile of hay in the corner of a barn. An evil witch was forcing the little girl to clean the house and cook the food. If she did not do her tasks accordingly, she would be whipped with a cane.

  Page after page, the story read so familiarly. The witch once was so angry at the girl that she took a bolt of lightning from the sky and struck down the girl’s father as punishment. After so much torment, the girl prayed for some relief from her horrible situation.

  One night, the Fairy Queen came to her while she was sleeping. She gave the girl a small purse of money and changed the girl’s whole appearance. The new appearance allowed the young girl to sneak out right under the evil witch’s nose. When the witch found out that she had been outsmarted by this little girl, she became so enraged that she exploded into a bunch of little pieces. The little girl eventually married the prince and they lived happily ever after.

  Claire closed the book after finishing the tale.

  “I see,” she said to herself.

  “What we can see with great clarity is that what must be shall be,” sang an unexpected voice behind her.

  Startled, Claire spun in her chair to see a slender figure lingering in the doorway.

  “Josephine?”

  Unlike Genevieve, her sister, Josephine’s frame lacked the discipline to stand up straight and her head was dropped.

  “Are you Fräulein Josephine?”

  “Never can I say what has gone astray.”

  The shadows made it almost impossible to see the odd girl with any clarity. It wasn’t until she moved into the firelight that Claire caught a glimpse of the aimlessness in Josephine’s eyes through the long stringy hair that rested over her face.

  “Fräulein Josephine?”

  The girl did not stop at the table but instead danced past it. Walking to the fireplace, she stared at the hearth with great interest.

  “How could you know when things cannot grow? They will die just as fast as a sigh.”

  Her fingers explored the hearth until they landed on the same stone that Botley had removed moments earlier. With great ease, she withdrew the stone from the wall, as if she had done it a thousand times before. But as her hand slid into the empty space, a loud squeal shot out. Her head jerked around sporadically, searching for the missing keepsake. With one erratic twir
ling motion, Josephine spun into the chair across from Claire.

  “Then with the whirl of the wind and a little bitty spin, everything can go awry.”

  Once the last words were uttered, Josephine slammed her head down hard on the table and her arms went limp.

  Perplexity plagued Claire’s face. Something was clearly wrong with Josephine as she remained motionless. Was she dead?

  Claire reached across the table and placed her hand on Josephine’s head. “Fräulein, Josephine, are you all right?”

  A low growl could be heard from the back of Josephine’s throat.

  Claire rose quickly from the table and backed away. “Grrraaahhhhh!” Josephine roared, lifting her head and pointing at the confused woman.

  A gust of wind brushed past Claire while she stood in the doorway.

  “Josephine, stop. Stop it,” Botley said in a soothing tone. Again, Josephine slammed her head back down on the table, but this time she did it several times in a row.

  “Stop! Stop it!” Botley wrapped his arms tightly around her.

  “What is wrong with her?” Claire asked, horrified.

  “She has always been this way,” Botley said, stroking Josephine’s hair in a calming manner.

  He looked up at the ceiling mumbling a little prayer under his breath. From what little Claire could see, Josephine’s eyes rolled back until they finally closed and her body went limp in the old butler’s arms.

  “Oh, dear girl,” he whispered. He then laid Josephine down gently so her cheek was resting on the table, and then he kissed her on the forehead.

  Slowly, he made his way over to the door where Claire was still standing.

  “What are you going to do with her?” Claire asked.

  “Leave her here to rest.”

  “Leave her? That does not seem proper. Should you not take her to her room?”

  “If there is anything I know after working in this house for several years, it is that it does not run ‘properly.’ The best thing for Josephine is to just let her rest wherever she is. Now, Mademoiselle Du Bois, we should leave for the Countess De Leon’s study. I believe she wanted to see you by nine.”

  “I have one very important stop to make before I go see the Countess.”

  “She does not have much patience for dawdling.”

  “As you just said, Herr Botley, this house does not run properly. I do believe the Countess has waited all this time for me. She can wait a little longer, I think.”

  Botley’s brow furrowed at her words, but then he motioned to the doorway. “Please, lead the way.”

  Chapter 5

  “Whirlwind Adventures”

  Botley held the door open so Claire could step out into the secret garden. The fresh scent of flowers hung in the warm August air and the sun caught sporadic glimpses of the brilliance and color trapped within the inner walls of the house.

  Claire’s mouth opened in wonderment. She found herself looking in every direction at the splendor of this private Utopia that she was privy to enter.

  “This is where I shall leave you, Mademoiselle.”

  “But why? It is so wonderful out here. How can you not want to stay?” Claire pleaded with him.

  “I have my suspicions on why you came out here in the first place. I think it best to leave you to your exploring,” said Botley, light-heartedly. “Besides, I need to let the Countess know that you will be delayed.”

  Claire looked at him scornfully. “If you must. Please let her know that I will not be far behind you.”

  “Of course, Mademoiselle.” He bowed ceremoniously, and then exited back into the house.

  Claire did not linger. She turned down the small dirt and grass mixed path and allowed her body to move freely through the flowers.

  She hadn’t walked but a few seconds before she saw Genevieve sitting on a bench under a tree, reading.

  “Fräulein Genevieve,” Claire said softly so as to not startle her.

  Genevieve looked up with some kind of unspoken cheerlessness in her eyes, nothing like the enthusiastic woman that had snuck into Claire’s room the night before. Claire sat down next to her. Genevieve allowed the book to close and rested her hands comfortably on the cover.

  “What is wrong?”

  Genevieve’s eyes shut and her face contorted into her thoughts.

  “I fell in love at a young age,” Genevieve said at last. “It was not the prince, as the gossip goes, but instead a farm boy to whom I gave my heart.”

  “I have not noticed any men of your age on the estate. Is he still here?”

  Genevieve quietly shook her head.

  “Then how-”

  Genevieve’s sharp eyes darted to Claire, silencing her. “Children love to allow their minds to run away with them.

  That is what is so wonderful about children; they’re so oblivious to the harsh realities of this world. In my ventures out to the woods, I found myself being a daring swordswoman.”

  “Honestly?” Claire chuckled, not being able to comprehend this of Genevieve.

  “Do not laugh. I was quite good.”

  “I am sure you were,” Claire said, bemused.

  “I was alone in the woods one afternoon. A bunch of trees had fallen and how I loved to climb on them. I was a great swordswoman,” she said again very emphatically, so Claire took her seriously. “Who dueled evil creatures lurking around. Then, from nowhere, a bunch of birds were startled and flew past me. I fell from a great height and when I landed I could hear my ankle crack. All I could feel was sharp pain shooting up my leg.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Well, I cried for a while.”

  “No prince came to save you?”

  “No. No prince, but instead the farm boy who just so happened to be collecting firewood. I yelled out to him to come help me. At first, he did not move. He just stared at me with a contented smile on his face. I was not sure where the amusement was coming from considering that I was in a great deal of pain.

  “Before long, he made his way to me. He was strong enough that he could lift me as if I weighed nothing. Though it hurt, I bore the pain. He was not a gentle sort of person. When he carried me, for what felt like days, my body was jostled around a lot in his loose grip.”

  “I guess you were used to being handled with more care,” Claire interjected.

  Genevieve snickered at the remark but then followed it with, “I suppose you are right. Though, I also think he took some pleasure in saving an unfortunate little rich girl who hurt herself.”

  “Perhaps. It was a moment of servitude for him. I assume you made it out of the woods?”

  “Yes, the trees fell away, and I found myself on the edge of a vineyard. Its magnificence was indescribable.”

  “Please try,” Claire said, leaning forward with great interest.

  “Magical,” escaped her lips. Genevieve looked up at her with an embarrassed smile. “I sound like a giddy school girl, but it was magical.”

  She put her hand on her chest as if she were trying to catch her breath, and then smiled more brightly than before, lost in the beautiful memory.

  “He carried me through the endless sea of grapevines. I would guess we made it a good distance across the vineyard when my weight became too much to bear and he gently sat me down on the ground.

  “‘Why have we stopped?’ I inquired. My foot had been throbbing badly and I just wanted to see the doctor. Much to my surprise the boy pulled out a little knife, leaned over, and cut off a chunk of the thin vine.

  “I thought he had lost his mind, but then he stretched out the vine and tightly wrapped it around my ankle. ‘I can tell you are in great pain. This should help.’

  “That was the first time I had heard his gentle voice. Even now, I can hear it clearly as if he had spoken to me yesterday.”

  “I can tell you were taken with him. He seems quite charming, even if he is not a prince,” Claire said, sounding as if she too were falling in love with him.

  “We did not
travel much farther before the top of a thatched roof popped into view. In an instant, we were standing at the other end of the vineyard. I felt relieved initially, but then when he put me down on the ground, he disappeared around the side of the barn.”

  “He left you?”

  “I called after him for several minutes but he was gone. So, I sat alone with sharp pain and the groans as my only company. It was quite some time before the old farmer came running from behind the barn. He scooped me up and took me into the care of his home and quickly sent someone to fetch my mother.”

  “At least you were all right and your mother was on her way,” Claire interjected.

  “Again, you would think so. When my mother’s carriage arrived, I wanted nothing more than to be in the comfort of my own bed while I recovered. It was not until my mother thanked him that everything seemed . . . strange.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well the farmer said that it was not he we should be thanking but instead Michael, the young boy, with whom our gratitude should be placed. For it was he who ran through several vine fields to find the farmer and sent him back to me.

  “I was aghast. After thinking he had left me for dead, I was shocked to find that he was the reason the farmer was rushing to me in the first place.

  “My mother offered the farmer a monetary thank you, but he refused to take such a gift. Instead, he helped us into our carriage and we were on our way home. I remember looking out at the field that I had spent a good length of time traveling through only hours before. Just as the field was almost out of sight, I saw him. The farm boy. He was standing on the edge of the field with a huge smile; he slid his cap off and bowed to me. I could feel my heart racing and I became slightly faint. At the time, it was an odd feeling but I realize now that it was love.”

  “To find it at such a young age is a blessing,” Claire said sincerely, but Genevieve didn’t even crack a smile. “All right, then what happened?”

  “That night I replayed the events from the day over and over again through my mind. Several nights I snuck out of the house and tried to get back to that farm. And a few times I was quite successful. However, I was only with Michael for a short time before my mother found me again and took me home. She did not approve of him nor his lowly status.