His Black Wings

by Astrid Yrigollen

  We walked out of the stable in to the afternoon sunlight. The air was sweet and fresh and even though Mr. Lowood was relating something sad to me I felt at ease. Usually things that were unjust or sad made me feel powerless and distraught. I would take them to heart and mull over them at night. My father used to call me a Wurtle, the title of a story he used to read to me when I was a little girl about a turtle who worried all the time. Perhaps, even though I had not been here long, I was feeling more at ease in general with my host and surroundings. I loved the rural setting of the house, my spacious rooms and the friendly staff. I felt that perhaps things were changing for the better for me and this was somewhere I could finally feel safe. Mr. Lowood continued his story.

  “I assume that I really wanted to protect him as she did, so I bought this place and whisked him away.” He gazed at the house and lawns and smiled wistfully.

  “You know, I liked the way this house looked but it was its name that sold me. It seemed terribly romantic and old fashioned in a sense.” Mr. Lowood murmured.

  “The house has a name? I can’t recall if you mentioned it before.” I replied. He nodded and pointed to the trees that served as a wind break.

  “Note how at any time of the day, or night for that matter, you can come out doors and witness the trees moving to and fro.” He pointed a grey gloved finger towards the trees now. I followed his gaze to the trees. At this moment they were gently swaying in an unseen breeze.

  “There is always a wind that is blowing here from the west. The lane one must travel to get here is aptly named Westwind Lane. So naturally the house is called Westwind.” He smiled triumphantly as if finally revealing a great secret. I had to smile in return at my benefactor’s pleasure.

  “I hope that there might be a chance you can be happy here.” I nodded. This seemed to be a recurring theme for him I sensed. He wanted all those around him to be content. Mr. Lowood reached up and scratched his temple.

  “Now where was I?” He knitted his brows and looked at the ground in earnest effort to recollect where he had been in his story about his son that I had yet to meet. He snapped his fingers as best as he could in gloves and smiled.

  “Yes! My son, he grew up here from five years of age. The servants we have, have been here since then. The younger men you may see, like that fellow,” he pointed to a robust looking young man walking in to the servants’ entrance of the house, “that is Thomas’s grandson, or a relative of the Whitby’s. They all know that Etrigan is here but they have never seen him either. He hides even from them.”

  “So how does he eat or take exercise? Surely that cannot be healthy to always be shuttered away?” I asked. Mr. Lowood shrugged.

  “He eats when he feels like it, goes out when he feels like it I presume, but really I do not know.”

  “Surely, he can’t be happy.” I said in a low voice. I spied Mrs. Whitby’s plump form come out from the back of the house. She waved a dish rag at us.

  “Ah, your curtain samples must be here. I have kept you out here long enough for today. We should go in.” Mr. Lowood once again took my arm and guided me in to the house.

  I spent the afternoon picking out curtain samples for my room with a merchant from the closest town. According to Mrs. Whitby, the town was twenty minutes by carriage and forty by foot. After the fabric merchant left, Mrs. Whitby stayed behind to review my choices. I was left with the samples, but the merchant would be back in a weeks’ time to hang the drapes.

  “Oh this is a lovely pattern Miss. It’s not too thick, but not too thin either. Should do nicely for the winter as well.”

  “I was looking for something that matches the room.” She nodded and turned her lip down as what I noted was her habit.

  “Good choice Miss. So are you getting settled in then? Do you like Westwind House?” I smiled since Mr. Lowood had just related the name of the house to me.

  “Yes, very much so. You have all been so kind to me. My rooms are lovely and the food is delicious. How could I not be happy here.” Mrs. Whitby patted my arm.

  “I’m so glad you like it here Miss. I have to say we were a might surprised when the Master sent us word to make this room ship shape for a guest. This room has been empty since the beginning.” Mrs. Whitby walked around the room looking for things to tidy up but she seemed hesitant as if wanting to ask me something. She touched the still bare fireplace mantle and turned her mouth down.

  “Oh, we need to get the duster in here. Dust collects so quickly in the countryside it does.”

  “Oh, please don’t bother with that Mrs. Whitby. I can do the tidying up and dusting in here.” I had never a maid to clean up my room or personal belongings. The rest of the house I was fine with, but maids move and hide things. Then they get upset when you question them as to their whereabouts. I am not referring to valuable things either, everyday things that you need to use such as hairbrushes would go missing.

  “Fie fie! You hardly create any sort of mess. I would be remiss of my duty if I didn’t do any sort of housekeeping up here.” She turned and looked at me and smiled warmly. “Besides Miss, you are no trouble at all. I am glad to have the work to do. If it wasn’t for you I would be following my grandson around the stables bothering him.”

  “Are you lonely out here?” I asked

  “Not as lonely as I would be without my Thomas or my little Timothy. He works the stables, grooms the horses and the like. It’s a long work day but I’ve come to see Westwind as my second home. The Master has always been kind and more than generous to us. Most employers would have fired my Thomas straight away when he lost his hearing.”

  “But Mr. Lowood kept him on?” I inquired.

  “That he did and then some. One of the Master’s horses caught a fright during a fearsome storm we had. It kicked out of the stable and my Thomas lit out after it. He found it after several hours. The horse and Thomas caught pneumonia. The poor beast died even though the Master had the best horse doctor flown in.” The smell of baking muffins wafted up the stairs and in to the room.

  “I was looking after Thomas at our cottage and a team of doctors descended upon us. The Master had no less than five doctors at our home caring for Thomas. I had to move out of my own bedroom! Thomas got better and in a months’ time was back at work but he had lost his hearing in one ear because of an ear infection. He carries on a lighter version of his duties now.”

  “That was very generous of Mr. Lowood.” I said impressed by his generosity. Mrs. Whitby put her plump hand to her chin and looked down at me from where I sat on my bed.

  “That is not even the whole of it Miss. He not only paid for those five doctors to come out, paid for their service but he also paid to have them put up in the finest hotel in the city and transportation. I remember the first night he was in the same room with Thomas and the doctors and he was a sight. His horse had just died and he came in looking fierce and wild and grabs a hold of the first doctor he can.” Mrs. Whitby squinted her eyes and reached up her hands grabbing an imaginary person.

  “I won’t have you mucking about and making this poor man anymore ill than he already is. The five of you are the best doctors in the country. If I am paying out for a miracle; I damn well better receive one.” She dropped her hands and her fierce imitation of Mr. Lowood and smiled.

  “And wouldn’t you know it? He then takes me out of the room and apologizes for his coarse talk. He held my hand and assured me that we would not lose another soul here at Westwind. I will never forget that kindness.”

  “That is very kind. I can see why you would be attached to him.”

  “You’ll grow fond of him too in short no doubt. That is if you are not already?” She smiled impishly. I was surprised that she would insinuate as she was doing.

  “Mr. Lowood, as you know yourself by experience, is very kind. I will be forever grateful for him taking me in as he did.” Mrs. Whitby was hanging on to my every word. Only then did I realize she had no idea who I was or why Mr. Lowood had brought me here
. Perhaps she thought it was for some low purpose and I was not as nice as she had hoped I was. Even though she was a servant, I did not want her to think wrong of me. Most people would not care what the help thought, but my father taught me that I was never to discriminate or judge someone because they were a servant. They were people just like myself with feelings and thoughts.

  “It’s honest work and it takes discipline and humility to do it.” He told me in a gruff manner once. I stood up and grasped Mrs. Whitby’s hands resolving to make her a friend and hoping she would like me.

  “You see, Mrs. Whitby, Mr. Lowood knew my aunt before she grew ill and died. I just recently lost my parents and I am still not quite over the shock of it. Mr. Lowood saved me from a horrible man, a criminal that wanted to marry me. Mr. Lowood has done nothing but treat me as he would a daughter and I am so grateful since I am orphaned now.” Tears sprang up in Mrs. Whitby’s eyes and she used the hem of her white apron to dab them.

  “I’m sorry for your loss Miss. To think such a pretty young girl as yourself being orphaned. May God give you the strength to carry on.” She squeezed my hand and wiped her eyes once more.

  “Dear me! I forgot the baking!”She turned on her plump heel and bustled downstairs. I hope I had done the right thing confiding in Mrs. Whitby.

  After a light dinner, Mr. Lowood informed me he had to go out for some business tomorrow morning but would be back by lunch time. I was to be ready and waiting for him.

  When I inquired as to why, he raised his eyebrow.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  That night as Naza and I settled in to bed with the warm glow of the firelight illuminating the room, I marveled at how contented I felt. The servants seemed happy and friendly, Mr. Lowood himself seemed more at ease, even Naza seemed happier. The environment was beautiful and Mr. Lowood seemed happy to have me here.

  Perhaps I could be happy here, even if his son never appeared to me.

  As I drifted off I heard Naza give a low “ruff”. She had gotten off the bed and was sniffing at the bottom of the door.

  Does she smell someone in the hallway or does she need to go outside?

  I rose from my bed and found my robe and slippers. I did not want to have to take her outside but I would be mortified if she had an accident in the middle of the night. I opened the door and faced the darkness of the hallway. It was after 10 p.m. and all the servants had gone home for the night. I walked Naza down the hallway where she stopped and sniffed the door leading to the staircase and tower room.

  I called her away as I glanced towards Mr. Lowood’s room. There was a light showing through the bottom of the door. I urged Naza to follow me to the front door. I let her out and we walked to the pond in front of the house. While she sniffed every blade of grass and seemed totally disinterested in doing the business I had brought her out here to do, I sat down on the stone bench to look into the dark waters.

  The moon was out and the night was still, so I did not understand why I heard the sudden rushing of wind. Naza looked up towards the wind break trees and gave another low “ruff” as she ran off. I stood up not knowing if I should follow her or not. I didn’t want her to go exploring further into those trees. I could no longer see where she had run off to so I walked slowly towards where she had entered them.

  “Naza, come on girl. It’s cold out here.” I called out to her softly. I heard the thumping of her tail on the ground as though someone was petting her, but I could see nothing because the trees blocked the moonlight. I pushed through the tree branches just as something large and black moved away from Naza and retreated into the shadows. My knees grew weak and began to shake but I didn’t fall. Naza came over to me happily and put her muzzle in the palm of my hand as if to tell me everything was all right.

  “Come on.” I whispered shakily to her. I was not sure if it was beast or man that I saw but I was afraid and did not want to stick around to find out. I did not run back to the house as I so desperately wanted to do. I felt eyes following my every step.

  He knows I am afraid.

  Where did that thought come from? Who was “he”?

  Naza stayed at a steady gait by my side and kept casting curious glances at me as if to say, “What’s the matter?” I went back into the house and locked the door. As I entered my room I locked the door behind us. The room was warm and cheery looking. The fire in the fireplace was still growing strong to heat the room, but I felt a deep chill in my person from what I thought I saw. I heard a loud thump on the ceiling above my room as I sprang to my bed and got under the covers. I did not fall asleep until morning broke.

  Etrigan

  Pacing and moving his wings methodically back and forth in his tower room, Etrigan was agitated. There were only boxes of books and a dusty desk up here. He was not comfortable in the cold room they only used for storage. He would have to bring up his mattress tomorrow night when the house slept.

  “When she slept.”

  He could not understand why his father would do something like this. Who was she to his father and why was she so important that his father would bring her to Westwind? He had approached his father in the early morning hoping to control his own temper and get more information. If this girl was only to stay a short while then he may be able to handle it. If the nature of her visit was more permanent, then something would have to be done about her. His father merely looked at him while he drank his tea in his library.

  “She is someone that needs a place to stay Etrigan.” His father stated simply.

  “Yes I know, but for how long and why?”

  “How long, I do not know. Perhaps she will be gone as early as next week or perhaps she will be here till next year.”

  “Really! What kind of answer is that Father?”

  “The kind that I give Etrigan. What is it that you want?”

  “I want to know when I will have my own life back? Since we have servants, I can’t walk about the house freely during the day and now that this girl is here, I can’t walk around the house freely at night.”

  “You can walk around the house at whatever time you choose Etrigan. I know you speak to Thomas from time to time, and his wife Mrs. Whitby is very nice. They have been with us since the beginning and yet you still choose to treat them as enemies and hide from everyone but Thomas.”

  “Mrs. Whitby is a woman, she will be frightened.”

  “You say the same thing over and over Etrigan and frankly, it’s becoming tiresome. I think it is you who are frightened of them.” Etrigan grunted at his father’s remark.

  “How do you think it feels for me, prisoner in my own home? You are the one that has told me people, other people will not accept me, I have to stay hidden.” His father’s expression changed subtly and he looked down at his cup of tea.

  “Etrigan, she will be here as long as she is here. I do not want to discuss it further. Make the best of it, reach out to her, you may be surprised to find that she is a delightful young woman.” With his trademark scowl, Etrigan had left his father’s library none the wiser at when the “guest” would leave.

  For years it had only been him and his father at Westwind. He vaguely remembered his mother; fragments, feelings and scents mostly. A kind smile and warm embrace, the smell of vanilla perfume. His father had largely taken up the role as mother and father to him when she passed away. His father had been a good teacher and a better playmate to him. Always bringing home games for them to play together, reading aloud and taking walks in the forest together. Etrigan loved his father even though he seemed moody and reserved for the last few years. How could he tell his father his thoughts and feelings were changing, they were no longer the thoughts of a boy, but a man? He felt a yearning deep inside of him for something…an ache that he could not understand. Reading through all the books in his father’s library he ran across love stories. They would stir something inside of him, but most often than not, the book would be dashed to the floor in frustration. He read about perfect people and perfect l
ives. No one had his disfigurement or situation, no one could love his ugliness. The sourness he felt for himself turned itself outward and closed him up even more.

  However, Etrigan was curious about the large wolfhound that the girl had brought with her. He had never had a dog before, being afraid that the dog would reject him like the horses in his father’s stables did. He had never asked his father for one. True, he had named all the horses when he was a teenager, but he frightened them. They would paw the ground and stamp their hooves nervously. Etrigan felt as though he did not belong to the world of man or of beast.

  ***

  “Hello Miss? I hate to wake you since you were so sound asleep, but I am sure you would be want to eat a little something before the Master comes home.” Mrs. Whitby was standing at my bed side. I looked over to Naza’s place on the bed to find it empty.

  “Where is Naza?” I asked sitting up quickly, rubbing my eyes.