The Black Lotus (Night Flower)

by Claire Warner

  Melissa started slightly, she wondered briefly why Justin had turned up to advise Marcus, yet that thought was brushed aside as she wondered how her brother had taken to the idea of someone younger telling him how to fence.

  “Your brother thought so too,” Maria continued as though following Melissa’s train of thought. “Stated quite baldly that Justin was younger than him and he shouldn’t seek to upbraid his elders. And would you believe that Lestrade laughed. Edward said that he positively threw back his head and guffawed as though he had heard a great joke. Your brother didn’t take kindly to the laughter, but Justin apologised saying that he didn’t mean any offence and that he was only trying to help.”

  Maria returned her cup to the table and poured another. “According my Edward however, the boy was completely dead on. Gave Marcus some sterling advice.” She added a cube of sugar to the cup and stirred it.

  “A strange boy that one,” She added, lifting the cup to her lips. “He came here to talk to Edward, spent ages in his study. My Edward said that he was impressed by the man’s knowledge. Of course he must have a very quick mind.”

  “What?” Melissa spoke up, her voice strangely tremulous. “What was he asking about?” Her mother glanced up at her, clearly wondering why she was asking about Lestrade.

  “Not a clue,” Maria took a sip of the tea. “Now tell me Lydia dear, what do you think of this yellow muslin?” She indicated the pale yellow dress that covered her form. “I wonder if this colour makes me seem washed out.”

  Several hours later, Melissa and her mother made their excuses and headed for home. Maria had mentioned little else of interest and the conversation had rapidly become boring. Yet they endured most of the tirade with forbearance and had settled into the carriage with a sigh of relief. The driver clicked to the horses and they moved out through the gates and along the road, a sense of release following them as they travelled. Lydia said little, clearly valuing silence after an afternoon of chatter and Melissa stared out of the window looking out at the rolling landscape. Maria’s information about Justin’s presence at the duel had been a revelation. She knew that Marcus would not have thought to tell her. Pressing her forehead against the cool surface of the glass window, she wondered at the mystery of Justin Lestrade. Since his arrival on the social scene a year ago, he had been something of a mystery. He had an old and valued title yet few in society had ever met his parents. He was rumoured to have grown up in the colonies and only returned to his ancestral estates recently. No one doubted his pedigree, the name Lestrade reached back to the Norman Conquest and yet, he was a mystery. At least three of her acquaintances were harbouring thoughts about him and if Melissa were honest about herself, her thoughts about him were more than polite interest. In all her trammelled life she had never found anything as intriguing as Justin Lestrade. He fascinated her, even though she had only met him the once. A vision of him leaning over her, blossom clasped in his fingers as he smiled at her with tender apology drifted into her mind. A small voice wondered whether he had been sincere in his apologies. After all, he was a seducer and an extremely gifted one. It was not beyond the bounds of possibility that this was an exquisite tease; however she did not feel that it was. For all the warnings in her head, her heart cried that there was something genuine about him. Though, her mind retorted, her feelings could be nothing more than hope.

  He’s a cad and a seducer. Clasping the edge of the window frame, she dismissed the warnings of her mind with a minute shake of the head. They were connected somehow. She had felt that in the brief instant they had talked. And then there was his appearance at Marcus’ duel. Despite everything she had heard about Justin, he had helped her brother. That alone endeared him to her.

  The coach rattled through a small hamlet and dragged her out of her thoughts. She was being silly, she couldn’t be connected to Justin, they had only met the once. Such foolish wonderings were the province of playwrights and poets. Love at first sight did not occur in the real world and her reality was different to that of the bard. Justin was simply a handsome enigma, nothing more. Running her eyes over the hedgerows filled with berries soothed her thoughts as she let her mind drift. Soon the landscape and the gentle, rocking motion of the carriage cast their spell and her eyes began to droop.

  She woke to a strange landscape. A long panelled corridor stretched out before her. The threadbare carpets were swathed in dust and small bones were piled up in the corners. The walls were draped in billowing curtains of lace that on closer inspection turned into cobwebs. Wonderingly she turned about, staring at the endless corridor behind her. Moving forward with slow painstaking steps, she pushed aside the cobwebs. The spider silk clung to her dress and skin holding her briefly in its sticky folds as she forced her way through. A scampering sound on the floor drew her attention and she watched as a long tailed rat rushed past her. However that small traveller was the only other soul she encountered as she traversed the infinite space. In the silent ruin of what was once a rich hall, she found her eyes wandering. There were no doors yet in between the cobwebs, portraits hung on the walls. Slowly she regarded each painted face as she walked. With no exception, each painted depicted a man or woman contorted in horror and pain. One was depicted in the paroxysms of some fit; another was badly beaten; yet another had been stabbed. Shuddering in horror, she moved away from the paintings, dragging herself from the depictions of pain and anguish. Staring straight ahead, she continued to move onwards, moving faster as she tried to escape from the portraits on either side of her. The walls flew by as she increased speed. An unreasoning panic was rising within her as she moved and the heavy skirts of her dress slowed her down.

  Melissa

  The word echoed strangely, bouncing off the walls and overlapping till it hurt. Panicking, she tried to go faster, pulling the skirts up to her knees as she raced. The portraits were fixed on her now, staring at her with accusatory eyes as she tore past them, almost sobbing with the effort.

  Melissa

  Trying to go faster, her foot finally caught in her vast expanse of skirt and she tumbled over, falling to a floor that was now no longer there. A black pit yawned before her and she fell forward into it with a soundless scream. Cool air rushed past her face, carrying scents of rust and blood.

  Melissa

  Light flared suddenly in the blackness, illuminating a scene that made her heart stop. Beneath her was a flower. It was large enough to swallow a carriage and its petals were a glossy black. Yet it was not its size that tugged at her breath and forced another scream from her lips. Teeth, razor sharp and coated with the rusty brown of old blood, lined its petals. It reared in one sinuous movement and headed for her falling body. Unable to do anything but watch in horror, Melissa saw the bloom flex toward her and extend razor sharp petals ready to rend her skin. In a futile gesture she covered her eyes and waited for the blood to flow.

  “Melissa,” Her name echoed again, yet this time the voice was familiar and welcome. Around her, the dream began to fade and she felt her body return to her place in the carriage. A gentle shaking assailed her body as feeling returned and she became aware of her surroundings.

  “Melissa,” Her mother’s voice called again as she once more shook her by the shoulders. “Wake up now dear we’re home,” Melissa slowly opened her eyes and stared to her right. A set of steps was laid at the door of the carriage and beyond that she could see the familiar front door of her home illuminated in the gold of lamplight. It was almost dark outside and Melissa realised that it was approaching suppertime. “You were asleep for a while,” Her mother smiled at her as she finally focused her vision on her face. “And quite deeply, it took me several efforts to wake you,”

  “I must have been tired with all the worry about Marcus,” Melissa exclaimed, heading off the questions with a simple explanation as she stepped out of the carriage. It would not do to trouble her mother with stories of dreams and omens. At best her mother would think she was sickening for something and at worst she would w
onder if the trials of her debut and the last few days had troubled her too much. Either situation wasn’t particularly desirable. It would be best to keep the dream to herself and perhaps a trusted friend.

  “Well worry no more about it,” Lydia said as they walked across the gravelled surface towards the door. “Your brother lived and your honour is defended. It is about time you put these black thoughts aside and focused on the rest of the season. It’s Lady Shearingham’s ball in two days and you must be ready for that,” They reached the heavy black door, which swung open as they reached it. Jane helped Melissa with her coat and she removed her gloves.

  “Lady Shearingham?” Melissa asked as they crossed the hall and entered the parlour.

  “Yes. She’s holding an event soon and we have an invite,” Her mother sat on one of the couches and picked up her sewing. “It happens to be one of the most prestigious events of the season. Anyone and everyone will be there,” She threaded a needle with aquamarine silk and began to ply herself to the sampler. “So that makes it the perfect opportunity to start finding a husband.”

  Melissa gaped, she knew that the whole point of all these balls was the acquisition of a mate, yet she hadn’t realised that she had to start so soon. With a strange hollow sound in her ears she stared down at her own sewing box.

  “Oh,” Standing up from the couch, she headed for the doorway.

  “Melissa where are you going?” The needle in her mother’s hand flickered in the candlelight as she spoke without glancing up.

  “Oh umm.. I’m going to write my composition,” Melissa lied quickly as she turned around and stared at her mother. “I’ve done enough sewing today.”

  “Very well,” Her mother waved her away and Melissa headed through the door with a sense of release. The dream was still fresh in her mind and she wanted to examine it further before supper. Heading up the elegant staircase she reached her room and dismissed the maid. Shutting the door to the house, she pulled out her journal and began to write, trying to sort out her thoughts.

  The dream had been so vivid; she could remember the brush of cobweb against her skin and she looked down at her periwinkle blue dress to make sure that she wasn’t covered in dust. The gown seemed fine; it was slightly creased from the coach journey yet there were no sign of cobwebs or dust on its delicately embroidered surface. She smoothed down the lightweight fabric and stared down at the spiky handwriting that encroached onto the blank creamy parchment.

  Such a dream I had…

  She dipped her pen into the ink and poised her pen over the parchment, wondering how to continue, how to describe the images that even now were fading from her mind. Her hand moved, the pen scratching the letters into the parchment as she allowed her thoughts to flow. Without thinking, she wrote of her roaming through the dreamscape, of the cobwebs and dust, the black pit, the portraits. She wrote furiously, noting down all she could remember, yet forgetting the most important. Memories of the blood streaked flower eluded capture and these failed to end up in her journal to be examined later.

  Pushing aside her pen, she closed her journal and concealed it at the bottom of her drawer before turning to prepare herself for dinner.

  Chapter 13

  Melissa sat in the parlour, her fingers running over the keys of the harpsichord. She was an indifferent player, but she was always soothed by the melody that she produced. She was due to attend Lady Shearingham’s party this evening and she wasn’t completely sure she wanted to. It was the first event she would be attending since the debacle at her debut and she wasn’t entirely sure of her reception. She had heard of people being frozen out at these soirees and she did not know if anyone would speak to her. Cascading through another set of scales, she wondered if she could convince her mother to allow her to stay home. Visions of being ostracised flashed through her head and she missed another scale.

  “Excuse me Miss.” The butler cleared his throat as he entered the room, interrupting her practice.

  “Yes, what is it Walker?”

  “You have a visitor.” The sombrely clad man stepped aside with a small bow. In a flurry of sprigged muslin Sarah swept into the room. Sarah’s hair was without powder this morning and it gleamed like spun gold beneath a powder blue cap.

  “Melissa have you heard?” In a voice eager with excitement, she had started speaking before fully crossing the threshold. Melissa looked up, wondering what had sparked such fervour.

  “What news?” Melissa asked mystified by her friend’s eager countenance “What are you babbling about?” Sarah only became this exciting when there was some great scandal to impart. In truth she was hoping for great scandal, for that was the only thing that would drive her own indiscretion from everyone’s mind.

  “Honesty Malison,”

  “What about her?” Melissa was truly bemused now. She barely knew Honesty Malison, the daughter of a minor baron who had only just made her mark in society.

  “She’s dead,” Sarah’s voice was full of ghoulish glee. Next to scandal, death was her subject of choice. “and not just dead… she’s been murdered,”

  Melissa sat up and stared at her friend in interest, this was indeed news. “When? How?”

  “Last night sometime,” Sarah settled onto a chaise longue and picked a minute piece of fluff from her dress. “Her maid found her this morning at the bottom of the stairs, her throat had been cut; they said there was blood everywhere.” She looked at Melissa’s face as though gauging her friend’s reaction.

  “That’s horrible.” Melissa’s voice was soft and incredulous. She recalled Honesty Malison as a vision with long golden locks. She blinked as her mind flashed on the vision she had before her debut. Long hair dipped in blood. Melissa shook her head free from the image and concentrated more on what Sarah was saying.

  “I know, My abigail heard the news from the Malisons’ under housemaid. I wouldn’t usually listen to servants gossip but the news was far too big to ignore. Also my mother was called on to comfort Lady Malison. Apparently they couldn’t hide the sight of the body from her and she had the vapours.”

  “I think I would if I saw such a thing. So why was she out of bed in the middle of the night?”

  “Ahh here’s the interesting thing..” Sarah leant forward and lowered her voice. “Apparently she was fully attired for travelling and there was a note in her hands. She was getting ready to elope can you believe. The door was slightly ajar so they think that whoever she was getting to elope with killed her.”

  “My god,”

  “Yes.” Sarah laughed and brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face.

  “Do you know who she was planning to elope with?”

  “No,” Sarah sighed and settled back into the chair. “That’s the strange thing; she was never really linked to anyone in that way. It’s true that she had flirted with several in society. She had even courted Lestrade,” Melissa jumped slightly at her words; however Sarah didn’t seem to notice. “Yet she wasn’t seriously linked to any of them.” A sense of strange relief flooded Melissa as she heard this news. Justin’s dark, sardonic expression courted her thoughts and she struggled back to the conversation, hoping that she had not blushed.

  “So we don’t know who she was planning to meet?”

  “Well I don’t, but then again I never really spoke with her.” Sarah missed the small pause in conversation and ploughed ahead with her news. “But you have to admit that it’s exciting.”

  “I would say horrifying,” Melissa responded with some heat to her voice. “Honesty is dead after all.”

  “Yes I know, but just think. Your scandal will be easily forgotten in the wake of this. None will remember you slapping Montjoy.”

  “Hmm..” Melissa wasn’t completely convinced at that, she couldn’t see that her behaviour would be easily dismissed because of this new gossip. Despite hoping for it, she did not see it happening so easily.

  “I guarantee it,” Sarah stood up and tugged her shawl about herself. Melissa glanced at her
in surprise, watching as she gathered up her purse and prepared to leave. “Say my goodbyes to your mother, I’m afraid I have to depart.”

  “Sarah.”