His Black Wings

by Astrid Yrigollen

  “You don’t mind do you darling? You see your Uncle everyday but we hardly ever get a glimpse of his handsome face.”

  “No, please, by all means. I think my Uncle would benefit from some dancing.” He cast me a stern glance and led Mrs. Walefield inside. The night air was cold for December but I was still very warm from all the dancing I had done earlier. I didn’t feel like going back in just yet, but when Horace Bitwater came outside and nervously asked me for a dance, I could not refuse. I felt sorry for his appearance such as it was, but I admired his courage. I knew it was no easy task for a person that is not blessed with good looks to ask for a dance. I tried not to notice the looks we received as we entered the ballroom. Even the servants, who were in the middle of offering up little cakes with brandy to the ladies who were not dancing, stopped to stare at us.

  “You seem to attract a lot of attention Miss Lowood.” Horace Bitwater said in a shy voice.

  “I don’t think it’s me at all but your superb dancing skills Mr. Bitwater.” I teased. He chuckled and his glasses slipped down past the bridge of his nose. He let go of my hand briefly to push them back up with his index finger.

  “I did take dancing lessons for many years. My mother insisted. She related to me how in her youth she loved men that could dance well, and that is how she and my father fell in love. In a ball room like this, at a great party.”

  “How lovely.” I said uncomfortably as he whirled me around somewhat clumsily. I happened to spy Dekker Peterson standing in the corner with an amused look on his face. It was a better expression than what he had before when he told me that I must be unaware of the world I was living in. As Horace Bitwater chatted on, I was beginning to think that Dekker Peterson was making fun of me for dancing with Horace. I shrugged it off to shallowness, who cared who I danced with. I was not engaged to anyone.

  I determined to make a great show of laughing with Horace so that others could see I had not treated Dekker Peterson with special favor. To my great delight, it turned out that Horace possessed a quiet yet quick wit that I grew to admire as we danced. Humble and shy, he carried on conversation, hesitantly asking me questions and offering up bits of information on himself. He was not full of himself as Dekker seemed to be. I carefully answered his questions. He smiled and seemed to grow more comfortable with me. Of course his acne was horrible to look at and his teeth were rather large for his mouth but his pleasant personality made up for all that visual interference. As fortune would have it, the dance ended right in front of where Dekker was standing. Horace bowed to me and I curtsied to him. In a confident voice that Dekker could hear, Horace asked if he could call on me.

  “Miss Lowood, I would like to visit you sometime at Westwind.” I smiled feeling Dekker’s burning eyes upon us.

  “Of course Mr. Bitwater. I am sure my Uncle would love for you to visit. I’ll discuss the matter with him on the way home tonight. We receive so few visitors in the country.” Horace smiled and seemed to float away from me.

  Mrs. Whitby took my arm gently to inform me we were leaving. I did not even glance in Dekker’s direction but allowed Mrs. Whitby to lead me away.

  The carriage ride home was quiet as Mr. Lowood pulled out his pipe and lit it. I noticed Mrs. Whitby had fallen asleep. We were to drop her off at her house since it was close to midnight and Thomas had already gone home for the evening. I noticed Mr. Lowood kept glancing at me as if he wanted to strike up a conversation, but then would change his mind. It was only after we dropped Mrs. Whitby off at her home that he spoke up.

  “Did you enjoy yourself Claren?”

  “Yes, thank you, I did.”

  “I want to apologize to you Claren for the way I am about to speak to you. You see, I guess in many ways I myself have been socially stunted, living away from society for so long. Where I should be polite and quaint I may come off as brusque or overly harsh.” I nodded, worried that he was going to say something horrible.

  “I want to cut right to the heart of the matter Claren. I would like if you stayed away from Peterson’s son, that Dekker.”

  “Is he the bad sort then?” I asked, curious as to why Mr. Lowood thought that I would think that was harsh.

  “No, I shan’t say that at all. He comes from a respectable family, but he has been kicked out of several academies since primary school. Everyone was shocked when he finally graduated from Markwell Gentlemen’s school in Northbinge. He just has funny ideas, but I can’t say I like how much attention he paid to you tonight. Your situation here is rather precarious and I don’t want him to think that he has any hold on you. If he should ask to come over I would like if you refuse him.”

  “Of course Sir, he did not ask. Mr. Horace Bitwater did though, and I hope it is all right, but I gave him the impression that he was welcome to call.”

  “Horace Bitwater? Oh yes, Gerard’s son. One of the five wealthiest families on the western seaboard. That is quite all right.”

  “Why? Because he is wealthy?” I asked.

  “No, because he is all together too shy and bound to his Mother to try to seek your hand. I am surprised to see he asked you to dance. Who would have thought the fellow had the courage to do more than just watch the whole night. His eyes never left you as you danced with the young Peterson. Your personality is such that he probably thought you would be unlikely to refuse him something as simple as a dance. Or perhaps he assumed you already knew of his wealth. To ask you to court him though, is an entirely different matter.”

  “I have no wish to court anyone Sir, wealth or no wealth.” I said wondering what he meant by “my situation was too precarious”. The carriage pulled up to the door and Mr. Lowood helped me out. Naza came running out as he opened the front door.

  “Hello girl. Need to go out for a walk?” He pat her on her head and turned towards me, “Well that is good to hear Claren. A man may seem fetching until you learn he has faults and vices like any other.” We walked into the foyer where he bid me goodnight and left me standing on my own. I suddenly felt enclosed and warm. I removed my fur wrap and left it on a chair in the foyer then walked Naza outside in to the cool December air. I was confused about the evening. I didn’t understand why my benefactor seemed upset that I had enjoyed myself. I knew that nothing would come of my meeting Dekker, or Horace for that matter. Dekker was to self assured, arrogant and immature. Horace was weak and a little too close to his aging mother for my tastes.

  I walked to the pond and sat on the stone bench I now considered mine.

  Besides they did not make me feel like he did.

  I was shocked at my own thoughts.

  Who is “He” Claren?

  I balled up my fist and hit it lightly against my head. He was Etrigan, the residential brute. I had thought I had long buried that feeling, that thrill I had felt when first meeting him. I could not think of courtship or love. My own situation being what it was, just as Mr. Lowood had said. My situation is precarious. I am in a new home with new acquaintances, however I am not truly free from my past. In St. Marhen I am still considered a criminal, I mustn’t forget that. Perhaps I should not stay here but move further on. Move as far as I could get from St. Marhen and people that may know of me.

  Would I ever have stability in my life now that my parents were dead?

  Before I knew what was happening I was crying. It came upon me in great waves and my body heaved and trembled with the force of my emotions. I sank to my knees on to the ground and rested my cheek against the cold stone of the bench. The floodgates of my despair were opened, sorrow spilled out and would have continued unabated, had I not felt a gentle touch upon my shoulder. I turned around to see Etrigan standing above me with a concerned look on his face.

  “What has happened? Why are you crying?” he asked in a brusque tone. His harsh tone hit me as if physical. I was too vulnerable, too exposed to take any berating from him. I gathered my skirts and stood up, facing him.

  “Why should you, of all people care why I am so grieved? You torment
me so much it probably gives you pleasure to see me this way.” I turned and ran away from him towards the wide open green lawn. The moon light illuminated the grounds so I had a clear view of where I was going. The air felt cool against my hot, wet face as I ran into the wind. I felt as though I could run forever but before I knew what was happening, I felt two strong hands grip me by my waist and lift me up off of my feet and in to the air. Etrigan pulled my body close to his and wrapped his arms tightly around me in an intimate embrace. I kicked my legs struggling against him in anger, not caring if he dropped me. I could not see him behind me but I could feel his warmth. Holding me close to his chest he whispered in to my ear.

  “You cry as I do, I feel your loss as it is my own. I miss my mother also. So cry for your lost parents and I will hold you till you are done.” The shock of this new gentle manner was just as surprising as his fierceness. I stopped struggling and let myself be held by him as he flew us over the trees on his great black wings. I sunk back into him allowing myself for the first time to truly mourn my parents.

  Beginnings

  I awoke the next morning in my bed wearing my ball gown from the night before. The fire was still blazing which I thought was odd. I pushed myself up and looked around my room. A chair had been pushed up by the fire, but it was positioned to face my bed. Naza raised her shaggy grey head from where she slept at the foot of the bed and yawned at me, her pink tongue curling. I sat up and moved my feet gingerly to the wood floor knowing it was going to be cold. My carpet still had not dried in this weather from being dropped into the pond by Etrigan. But what was this? I was surprised to feel a dry carpet had been laid under my bed to cover the entire floor of my bedroom. I stood up and quickly realized it was a different carpet. I was astounded by the quiet strength that Etrigan possessed. True, he was taller than most men but nothing in his physique would suggest a Samson like strength.

  Walking to the chair by the fire, I remembered last night. I placed my hand upon its arm, a memory of Etrigan sitting in it last night before the fire, his wings extended out in what looked like a somewhat uncomfortable manner. Etrigan had made a sort of peace with me. He had taken me up in his strong arms and held me. I felt a vague sort of embarrassment when remembering how I had cried in front of him, but he had not been condemning or cruel to me.

  I felt drained this morning as if all my tears had left me the night before. He had held me last night as he flew, then when I began to shiver from the cold air he responded without a word and brought me back to the house. He had taken off my shoes and covered me with my comforter. With eyelids growing heavier by the second, I saw him add wood to the fire then pull the chair up, Naza sitting by his side. His hand rested gently on her head stroking her unconsciously, as he studied me. I had then closed my eyes and fell in to a deep sleep.

  This morning Naza seemed reluctant to leave the bed, even when I called her. She plopped her head back down telling me she did not need to go outside to take care of her morning business. Something told me that she had stayed up all night with Etrigan, watching me. I let her go back to sleep as I went to my dressing room to remove my ball gown. I noticed the hem was muddied and hoped it was not ruined. I removed it and went in to the bathroom to run a bath. This morning I felt like I needed to soak in warm water. The bath was a deep set porcelain ofuro type that allowed the water level to go up to my chin. As I let the warm water gently enfold me, my thoughts drifted back to Etrigan. I wondered what he thought of as he sat there studying me. What was it he had said to me as I struggled against him?

  “You cry as I do, I feel your loss as it is my own. I miss my mother also. So cry for your lost parents and I will hold you till you are done.”

  His words remembered stirred something deep in my heart. His understanding and permission to grieve, his providing a safe place to do it, in his arms, would be something I would never forget. Never had I felt so safe and protected. My tears had been built up from tragedy without outlet. From what I understood, his mother passed away when he was very young, and now he was a man. Could it be that he himself still held his pain fresh in his heart and it was a wound that refused to heal, even after all these years?

  I felt connected to him, as though with his one embrace he had left a burning mark upon my skin. Even though he was not there with me now, I felt his presence. I thought myself fortunate for being given this opportunity to know him more. Of course, I did not know if this meant things would be better between us or if he would go back to being mean and sullen. The carpet he replaced though, that was a good sign. I closed my eyes, feeling relaxed by the water. I had almost drifted off into a light sleep when a knock on my bathroom door startled me.

  “Yes?” I croaked, my throat feeling sore.

  “I’m sorry to bother you Miss, but it seems as though you have a caller.” I knitted my brows and sat up in the bath feeling tense.

  “A caller?” I had no idea who it could be.

  “Yes, he is waiting in the foyer. It seems as though the Master is questioning him, quite thoroughly I might add.”

  “I’ll be down in a minute.” I called out frantically almost slipping when stepping out of the bath too quickly.

  “Take care not to slip Miss.” Mrs. Whitby called out a tad too late, “I am laying out your clothes for you and putting them on the bed. Oh dear!”

  She must have found the dirty dress.

  “Is something the matter Mrs. Whitby?” I called out while doing my best at speed drying myself with my towel.

  “Your gown Miss! Whatever happened to it?” I wrapped the towel around me and came out.

  “I know, it’s a mess. Can it be cleaned?” Mrs. Whitby looked it over with her rough plump hands.

  “Yes it can be. It’s not as bad as I first thought. I’ll just take it with me today and drop it off to have it cleaned. I need to go out to pick up some items for the house.

  She held the dress up for a final inspection, then looked over at me.

  “Was it the young Master?” She asked referring to the state the dress was in. I did not feel the desire to have to explain what happened last night. In fact I was not sure I even wanted to tell Mr. Lowood that a breakthrough of sorts occurred between his son and I.

  “Yes and no, it’s rather hard to explain but it was not his fault. In fact he was quite nice to me last night.”

  Mrs. Whitby’s eyebrows raised in an astonished manner.

  “Is that so dear?” I nodded knowing she wanted me to go into detail about the encounter. When I continued to stand there in silence she remembered the dirty dress and the caller downstairs.

  “Oh! I’m keeping you, forgive me Miss. Please come down straight away, it seems like this young gentleman is the nervous sort.”

  “Did he mention his name Mrs. Whitby?”

  “Yes, Bitwater, Horace Bitwater.” With my gown under her arm she hurried out of the room. Dressing in record time, I pinned my hair back in a tight bun since it was partially wet and when in that state there was not a single flattering style I could coax it into.

  I descended the stairs to hear voices in the seldom used living room. Mr. Lowood was standing by the grand fireplace questioning poor Horace in a most intense manner. Horace himself stood by a couch not daring to sit down. When I entered the room, both men looked at me expectantly. One demanding answers, the other wanting a savior.

  “Miss…Miss Lowood, how lovely for you to see me.” Horace sputtered nervously. Mr. Lowood pursed his lips.

  “Claren, Mr. Bitwater came to call on you today, did you know he was coming?” I looked in to Mr. Lowood’s face, he did not seem pleased to have Horace here at Westwind.

  “No Mr…, no Uncle. However, I did mention to you that he would like to call some time.” I shifted my gaze back to Horace and smiled at his nervous fumbling demeanor, “I just didn’t know it was going to be today.” Horace took a step closer to me reaching out his hand to shake mine. Horace was dressed in a stiff black coat and pants that made him look not unlike an u
ndertaker. I thought it odd that colors could look so different on people. Etrigan’s own casual style of black apparel looked flattering on him, yet on Horace it made him look pinched and uptight.

  “And I do apologize about that Miss Lowood,” he turned to Mr. Lowood and nodded. “Sir. I found myself out this way and remembered that Westwind was in the general vicinity. Please excuse my apparent rudeness.” Mr. Lowood let out a long sigh and reached in to his vest pocket searching for something.

  “Where the deuce is my pipe?” He patted his pockets down and came up empty handed. Horace and I stood there awkwardly wondering if Mr. Lowood was going to turn him out. Mr. Lowood realized we were both staring at him and stopped his pat down.

  “Well go on Mr. Bitwater, have a seat. I’ll have Mrs. Whitby bring around some scones and tea.” Horace plunked down on the couch as if his knees simply ceased working. Mr. Lowood left the room mumbling to himself about his pipe.