“I don’t know in what way Sir.” I said knowing he was in one of his moods again.
“You don’t do you?” I looked at him dumbfounded wondering what on earth was causing this shift in his mood.
“Well you seem to be helping my son, Etrigan.” He put emphasis on ‘my’ which I did not understand.
“I have spoken to him, yes.”
“You’ve done more than just speak to him Claren! You have positively lifted his mood. He has been a black, brooding, lump lumbering around here for years. Now I see that you have gotten him outside of Westwind.”
“You saw us then? Taking a walk?” I could not understand why he was upset.
“Yes, I happened to need to speak with my son and went up to his room. He was not there so I went out to the roof. He keeps a small garden up there that he tends to. I went up to the roof just as he was flying off, towards the trees…and you. He landed and you two, at least from my view point on the roof, seemed to be on friendly terms. Is this so?”
“Yes we have begun talking little by little. Before he would only join me on the walks when he thought that I could not see him. Then gradually we began talking.” Mr. Lowood looked down at Naza who was chewing a bone at his feet.
“Mrs. Whitby! Please remove this dog from my feet to the kitchen where she may gnaw on her bone!” he called out loudly. I was shocked at his words. He had always treated Naza with kindness and understanding, now she was “this dog”. Mrs. Whitby entered the dining room quickly, almost as if she had been in the hall eavesdropping.
“Come on old girl.” Mrs. Whitby said picking up the bone and entreating Naza to follow her, which she did.
“Have I done something to upset you Mr. Lowood?” I asked wanting to come straight to the heart of the matter.
“No, but in the future Claren, please come to me first when there are new developments with my son. I don’t want to hear or see things second hand. Do you understand?” he tapped his pipe on the side of his ashtray to put emphasis on his question.
“Yes sir.” I said quietly. What was the real reason why he was upset?, I wondered.
“The second thing I will remind you of is to call me Uncle or Uncle Fredrick. Since you are becoming quite well known in society now, it would not suit to have you suddenly call me Mr. Lowood in public.”
“I don’t think I am becoming that well known. I have only gone to that one ball with you, Mr. Uncle.” I slipped and began to call him Mr. Lowood then changed to Uncle.
“Mr. Uncle? Well, it’s a start anyway.” He said dryly before continuing. “You would be surprised at how much press that one appearance got you Claren. The society column is now placing wagers at which event you will show up at and with whom, Mr. Peterson or Mr. Bitwater.”
Wagers? I was not a celebrity, did they not have enough news in this city, they had to single me out?
“If it displeases you, I do not have to attend any events.” I said simply. I was not sure if I should stay at Westwind now that Mr. Lowood seemed to grow more distant towards me. I could handle his aloofness but not anger. It would pain me to leave my new friends, but what choice would I have if Mr. Lowood continued his dark moods with me? Something was eating away at him and I seemed to be the cause of it. I could begin searching for a position somewhere in the city without him knowing, then simply leave.
But could I leave Etrigan, now that I am beginning to become quite attached to him?
Mr. Lowood stared at me hard, always thinking, forever scrutinizing me. After several uncomfortable minutes he finally answered.
“No Claren, it does not displease me. Let us see how this little drama unfolds shall we? Continue just as you please. I see no lasting harm with you being social, in fact its best and I insist. That way you do not grow weary of myself or Etrigan.”
“I do not think I could grow weary of Etrigan, now that he has stopped his tricks on me. He is very pleasant to talk with.”
But I can grow weary of you very quickly if you continue with these black moods.
Mr. Lowood’s mood seemed to lighten a fraction when I told him that I enjoyed speaking with Etrigan.
“Is he? That’s good, I am glad you now find him so. I dare say I agree with you on that. He has become almost pleasant to speak with. He no longer barges into my study when I am working, no longer knocks down books from my shelves. In the first time in years, we have had conversations, without melodrama. He has recently come to me and asked me for advice on…” Mr. Lowood stopped himself short as if realizing who he was speaking to. He stood up and stretched and dismissed his thought and me.
“Yes, continue as you are Claren, I think it is doing some good.” He turned and left the dining room without bidding me goodnight.
The day before the Celestial Ball found me sitting deep in the woods on a blanket with Etrigan and Naza. The sun was out and gently warming us three. Etrigan was sprawled out with Naza by his side, who was sleeping soundly. I wonder if he brought her comfort, if she felt protected when he was there. I knew that from the beginning she had taken to him.
A handful of winter birds who had not left Westwind with their feathered companions, called out sweetly in the mid morning air. Etrigan suddenly sat up disturbing Naza. With a woof of disapproval, she shifted away from him and went back to sleep.
“Claren I have a question to ask you.”
“Yes?”
“Who were those two men who were coming to talk to you?”
“You mean the day that you took my bed up and dropped it?” I said amused. I figured out that that was the only thing in my room that could have made that sound. By the look of guilt on his face I determined that I was correct.
“Yes that day, and others before. They came on other days when my father was out.” I suddenly became worried that perhaps he would have told his father something of Dekker’s and Horace’s visits.
“Did you ever tell your father of their visits?” I asked feeling guilty. He tilted his head to one side.
“No, I did not. Should I have?” His dark blue eyes pierced my own, as if seeking something from me.
“Oh, I am no one to say what you should tell your father.”
“Well I didn’t, now you can tell me who they are and who they are to you.” He stated in his usual blunt manner.
“The blond one is Dekker Peterson. Heir to the Peterson Textile fortune. The dark haired one with glasses is Horace Bitwater.”
“Oh is he rich also?” Etrigan asked with a cynical note in his voice.
“As your father told me, he belongs to one of the five wealthiest families on the west coast. So yes, he is richer than Mr. Peterson.” Etrigan nodded at this new information and got up from the blanket we had been sitting on. He walked around our little make shift camp with his wings extending out and folding in as if agitated.
“Why do they not come any more?” he asked not looking at me.
“I asked them not too.” He whirled around
“You did? Why?”
“Because I did not want their visits to upset your father.” He seemed to relax.
“So they are not coming here to visit you anymore?”
“I don’t think so, not for the time being.” Etrigan came back to sit by my side on the blanket.
“Did you like them?” He asked sounding shy.
“I think they are nice.”
“Do you like them more than me though?” he asked with the innocence of a child. His insecurity touched my heart and I wanted to comfort him.
“No Etrigan, I do not like them more than I do you. They are nice people and besides you, the only friends I have.”
“So you consider them friends then?” he asked while he stretched his right wing so that it went behind me without touching me.
“Yes I do.”
“Do you consider them handsome friends?” He asked continuing his line of questioning. Of course Dekker was what every girl thought to be good looking. Blond hair, green eyes, athletic build and wealth were always
pluses. But his over confident manner, swaggering walk and his familiar conversation style was a turn off to me. I could only really see him as a friend. Dear Horace on the other hand, I saw as a diamond in the rough for any girl who had the time and patience to clean him up. I could see through his acne, which could be cleared up with a change of diet. I could look past his large teeth that would benefit from seeing a dentist. His eyes, as I had noticed when he had visited me at Westwind last, were hazel and beautiful. His intellect was superior, his manner impeccable, and his wealth extraordinary. However, his insecurities, his inability to make decisions without his mother’s approval and his wealth were all negatives in my view. Yes, his wealth was both a plus and a minus for me. Both men would have some changing to do before I found them desirable as more than a friend.
I could not readily explain all of this to Etrigan nor did I want to. So when Etrigan prompted me again I simply said,
“I find them both nice gentlemen and I am sure many women find them attractive.”
He pressed me no further on the subject. Instead he switched to asking me questions about my early childhood. He was quite interested in the differences between our youths. I think he was using my childhood as a barometer for his own. As I told him of my youth filled with schooling and neighborhood friends, he told of me of solitary studies with his father and no friends.
He painted a very sorrowful picture of a lonely little boy with great black wings that wanted to reach out to the world. He had no idea he was different than any other child until he saw his first child from afar. He had run away he told me, in a fit of anger after his mother had died. Etrigan had found himself in the park and spied a little boy around his own age.
“I didn’t understand death, what it meant never to see the person you love again. My father, in his way attempted to explain. I refused to listen and ran out the front door. Something that I was forbidden to do.” I could imagine him running through a street full of strangers, his wings hitting them, their surprised expressions.
“I ran to a park, it was deserted except for a little boy who happened to be on a swing. I walked up to him and asked him his name. He told me it was Pryce and wanted to know where I came from. I didn’t know my address so I just pointed in the general direction in which I came from. He asked me if he could touch my wings. I wouldn’t let him.” Etrigan said as he chuckled deep in his throat. The sound sent shivers up my spine.
“He told me that his father was a great journalist and was famous. I didn’t know what my own father’s occupation was so I said nothing. Other children arrived at the park and saw me. They began to point, stare, and laugh at me. They surrounded me and what I thought was my new friend. But then I noticed that my new friend had stepped away from me, leaving me alone encircled by these cretins.” Etrigan picked up a small stone and tossed it away from us as he remembered. I could tell that this memory, so early from his childhood was still painful to him.
“They did not ask, but grabbed and pulled at my wings trying to take them off of me. They called me monster when they realized that the wings were attached. Pryce did nothing but watch as I cried trying to get away. I managed to get away but not before one of the bones in my left wing was broken. The force in which I pulled away from their vile little hands was what did it I suppose.” He stood up and stretched trying to clear the heavy mood that lay down upon us.
“I never went out again after that. It took a month for my wing to heal and I don’t know if I have ever really healed from my encounter with other humans. Thomas, my father and you are the only ones I have ever really talked to.”
“I’m so sorry Etrigan. You have lived with so much loneliness. I can see why you would not want to risk being out in public again.”
“Oh I go out, only at night though.” He turned and smiled at me. I was surprised to hear that he went out.
“You go out? Really? Does your father know?”
He chuckled at my surprise and seemed delighted to have a secret of his own to share.
“No, he doesn’t know. My own way of rebelling I guess. I perch on roof tops or trees watching people enter their carriages or hurrying home after work. If there were a coat large enough to hide my wings in a convincible manner I would wear it and walk among them!” he said and laughed. I looked at him and could see tears in his eyes.
“Have you ever thought of getting your wings removed?”I asked cautiously.
“I have, but my father has forbidden it. He will not say why. When I turned fourteen or fifteen, I can’t remember exactly what age it was, I pleaded with him. He said no, no matter how much I begged.”
I was silent wondering what would be Mr. Lowood’s motivation for not letting his son get the surgery to make him appear normal. Surely his wings did not fall under the cosmetic surgery act that the Grand Council had instituted. I stood up and walked over to Etrigan and stood by his side. Etrigan reached out and stroked my hair softly.
“It’s not all that bad, sometimes I see wondrous things at night when flying by the lighted windows.”
“Like what?” I asked, suddenly suspicious of the sounds I had heard outside my window at night.
“Pretty ladies in their flimsy nightgowns.” He said mischievously. I gasped and slapped at his arm as he threw back his head and laughed.
***
The day of the Celestial Ball once again found Mrs. Whitby bustling around my room like a tornado. Mr. Lowood appointed her my chaperone for the evening and she was very pleased.
“I got myself a new frock as well.” She confided to me as she lay out my black gown and wings.
“Now I can do your hair tonight, I think you should wear it down. I picked up these clips to wear on the sides though.” She pulled out a pair of diamond barrettes that sparkled in the fading sunlight that shone in through my windows.
“Those are beautiful Mrs. Whitby.” I said and ran my finger over them, smudging them. She blew on the surface of the one I touched and shined it with her apron.
“They are, aren’t they? They were my grandmother’s, passed down to me. Diamonds used to be worth something hefty back in the day. Now precious gems have been devalued so much by the Grand Council people no longer want them.” She brushed out the soft curls in my hair and pinned the barrettes in them.
“But I think they are still my favorite stone. You can’t put a price on sentimental value.” When I felt her pinning the barrettes in to my hair I protested.
“No Mrs. Whitby I cannot wear them! I thought you were showing me what you were going to wear in your hair.”
“Hush now, I want you to wear them.”
“I would be to worried that I might lose them…” I protested. She waved her hand back and forth in front of me telling me no.
“Miss, you won’t lose them and even if you did I would not be upset. These clips are far too young for me and I regret that I have no daughter to pass them on to. Wear them tonight or you will offend me.” She set her mouth in a hard line as she often did when trying to impress upon me her point of view. I relented, she smiled. Inwardly I was worried since I knew myself better than Mrs. Whitby did. I had a penchant for losing small things like earrings, necklaces and barrettes. I reached my hand up to my hair to feel them gently. I wanted to make sure they were pinned in securely. She slapped at my hand lightly.
“Now, now, they are fine where they are! I secured them. Don’t keep messing about with them or they will fall off. Now just slip into your dress and I will help you attach your wings.” I did as she commanded, Mrs. Whitby had a way about her that made you obey. When she was finished attaching my wings she bid me look into the mirror.
I laughed with delight at the prettiness of my dress and wings.
“They are so pretty together Mrs. Whitby! Your friend Hanna is truly a genius!” I had tried the dress on once at Mrs. Whitby’s insistence when we had first brought it home to make sure it fit properly. However she would not allow me to look at myself in the mirror.
“Good! N
ow you are all set,” she said as she looked me over, her hands resting on her plump mid section, “I need to hurry and get myself prepared as well. Meet me in the foyer in thirty minutes.”
“That’s all the time you need?”
“Oh Miss, it doesn’t take long for these old bones to get ready. You just make sure you are ready downstairs.” She pointed a finger at me in warning as she left my room.
Dekker and Horace arrived in one carriage, squabbling as usual, as I let them in. They both wore coats of white soft velvet with matching white wings. Their wings were somewhat smaller than mine.
“Claren! You look astounding!” Dekker said as he touched my wings.
“You do look beautiful in that gown Claren. Just like the first night I saw you.” Horace added shyly.
His Black Wings Page 17
