Sound of Butterflies, The

by King, Rachael

  He will need protection tonight, that is certain: from the gaping stares of people, from those who try to engage him in conversation, and those who will be scrutinising him for signs of madness. She has scarcely been able to admit it to herself — has in fact pushed the thought from her head for her own sanity — but it is these signs that worry her the most: his dogged silence; the way he can barely look at her when she enters the room; the way he jumped up, quivering, when a butterfly touched the window that day. His secret disappearances. What if Thomas behaves strangely tonight and somebody reports it to her father? He would have Thomas committed to an institution in a heartbeat, would take Sophie back to live out her life in his care with an ‘I told you so’ look every day.

  Dr Dixon might also be at the theatre tonight. He is an avid fan of comedies — he told her so himself. If he sees Thomas is not getting better … she stops herself. No, Thomas has definitely improved since the doctor examined him. She will put it all out of her mind and concentrate on enjoying herself — and making sure her husband does too. And if that woman is still on his mind, she will make him forget.

  When she calls into his room, he sits dressed on his bed. He jumps to his feet when he sees her and his mouth opens so she thinks he might speak, but he closes it again. The look he gives her says it all. Hope spreads through her like warm milk.

  The crowd is gathered in the warm evening at the entrance to the theatre. A rumble of conversation and bright laughter meet them as they move in tight formation, the three of them. It is as if she and Agatha are chaperoning Thomas instead of the other way around. Sophie clasps his left arm and on the other side of him Agatha is so close Sophie can smell her scent: lilacs. It is overpowering. The crowd parts for them as they move through it. She expects people to avoid her gaze, to turn their backs as they did at church. Instead, they give her and Thomas sympathetic smiles. Did she imagine it at church that day?

  She is glad she told Mrs Sykes now. At first she regretted it, wanted to keep their private life private, but now nobody moves to speak to them and they are all saved from excruciating awkwardness. She couldn’t stand to cause a scene.

  Robert Chapman, however, immediately approaches Agatha, who moves away from Thomas and turns her body towards her lover. Her gaze sweeps approvingly over his evening suit, and it is returned with as much admiration. Honestly, the two of them just can’t seem to hide their feelings, even though Robert overcompensates by greeting Sophie, not Agatha.

  ‘Mrs Edgar,’ he says, taking her hand. ‘And Mr Edgar. So nice to see you back from your travels.’ Agatha must have told him, because he doesn’t address any questions to Thomas, whose rigid arm softens in hers.

  ‘I say, there’s Captain Fale,’ says Robert. He waves and beckons to him. Samuel looks desperate for a moment, but he soon composes himself and waves back, without making a move towards them. Sophie tightens her grip on Thomas’s arm, steadying them both. She must make everything as normal as possible, to help Thomas. To help herself.

  ‘I was just talking to Mr Slater, from the council,’ Robert is telling Agatha. ‘They’re building another almshouse, if you can believe it.’

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ says Agatha. ‘Don’t you think, Sophie?’

  ‘Mm.’ Sophie wonders where this conversation is leading. Thomas is rigid again beside her, staring at the ground as if in a trance.

  ‘Well, I’m sorry, ladies,’ says Robert, ‘but I disagree. Richmond is being overrun with the unfortunate.’

  ‘What exactly do you mean by “the unfortunate”?’ asks Sophie.

  ‘Those who cannot look after themselves or their families.’

  Like us, she thinks. He means us. Is this what people think of them? She stares at him defiantly. ‘Aren’t you more at rest, knowing that if for some reason — God forbid — you found yourself in a position to need an almshouse, it would be there for you?’

  ‘That will never happen. Besides, having five almshouses in one town may also have the effect of attracting all those who are doomed to fail, therefore making Richmond a town of failed businesses. Soon there will be no business and the whole of Richmond will be living in almshouses. Then they’ll need to open up many more!’

  ‘You’re being contrary, Robert, and look, you’re making Sophie angry. Stop it at once.’

  He laughs and throws up his hands in surrender. ‘All right, ladies. You can be happy in the knowledge that the almshouses are sprouting like mushrooms and we gentlemen will have to see that you never end up in one! Isn’t that right, Edgar?’ He winks at Thomas, who gives him a blank look, as if he is deaf and doesn’t know he is being addressed. Robert’s smirk vanishes, and he looks away quickly, embarrassed. He murmurs something in Agatha’s ear. She giggles softly and a blush forms on her cheeks. She really should be more careful, thinks Sophie. And is Robert laughing at them now, and making Agatha laugh too?

  But it makes her think. If Thomas continues as he is, will they end up relying on the charity of others? Certainly her father would never let them starve, and Thomas’s allowance is enough to keep them, but what good will that be if someone decides he belongs in an institution? They will live out their days apart, Thomas rotting and silent, while she visits him on Saturdays and special occasions.

  She shouldn’t have come, and she shouldn’t have brought Thomas. She is opening them both up for scrutiny and judgement.

  As they move towards the stairs to take them to their seats, Agatha leans in close to Sophie.

  ‘Ask Mr Chapman to join us,’ she whispers.

  ‘Oh, Agatha.’ Sophie doesn’t even want to stay herself, but how can she leave and let Agatha down, and, more important, leave her alone with a man so recently widowed? Her friend cannot afford to behave scandalously.

  ‘Please, Bear. For me?’

  Reluctantly, Sophie turns to Mr Chapman. ‘Won’t you join us? That is, unless you have other companions waiting.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Edgar. I would be delighted.’

  They settle into their box and she surveys the crowds below and across on the other side. Eyes flicker up at them. Fans beat the warm air. As the lamps dim, Sophie glances at Thomas. He sits staring at his hands, seemingly oblivious to the world around him.

  The performance is a comedy, a very modern play about manners. The audience laughs frequently, but Sophie misses the joke each time; the players speak quickly, firing back and forth, and she cannot concentrate on their words. At times the content of the play scandalises some of the ladies below — gloved hands cover their mouths, but there are giggles beneath them. Thomas appears to have fallen asleep beside her. So much for taking him to do the things he loves — he seems to have regressed rather than improved.

  She finds herself thinking about what Mr Ridewell said about Thomas’s letters. He wrote something about keeping secrets for others. What had he seen? And the journals. She should have kept reading that day instead of throwing the book at the wall and giving up. But what she had found had disturbed her so much, she couldn’t bear to think there might be more. She had walked around in a trance those days after, fretting and mulling and making herself feel ill. She doesn’t know if she can ever forgive him. The hurt he has caused her twists into her belly like a screwdriver. But what she can do is try and see past it to their future together.

  Last night she dreamed that Thomas was wrapped in a sticky film. She could see him beneath it, sleeping, and realised with a shudder that he was a chrysalis. He woke then, in the dream, and began to stretch and shudder in the cocoon, which started to tear …

  Agatha shrieks with laughter and Sophie realises she has missed a particularly funny moment. She glances over at her friend, but looks away again quickly when she sees that her fingers are entwined in Mr Chapman’s. Silly girl. She thinks she is being discreet, but if she carries on like this, the whole world will know. Still, Agatha can rely on her to keep it quiet. Sophie moves closer to her husband. Perhaps she and Thomas are not so different after all.

  W
hen the show is over, the four of them join the audience as it flows down the stairs to the foyer. Halfway down, the crowd stops. People build up behind them like a storm.

  ‘What’s the hold-up?’ shouts a man’s voice close to Sophie’s ear. She flinches and rubs exaggeratedly at her ear with her gloved fingers. They come away damp; the man, in his enthusiasm, has drenched her with spittle.

  ‘It’s raining,’ comes a voice from below them. ‘They’ve all stopped at the door.’

  ‘Well, tell them to get a move on,’ the man bellows.

  There is surge behind them and the man falls roughly against Sophie, but does not apologise. She loses her footing and slips painfully down to the next step, twisting her ankle slightly. Thomas catches her arm and holds her steady. She turns to him, ready to smile; despite her discomfort, it is a startling gesture and his hand is strong on her arm. But Thomas is not looking at her. As the crowd boils around him and people shift indignantly on the stairs, he glares at the man who spat on her, looking as if he might murder him.

  ‘What’s your problem, mister?’ asks the man.

  Thomas continues to stare. His cheeks are flushed and his breath hisses through his nose.

  ‘Cat got your tongue?’

  Robert just manages to put a restraining arm against Thomas’s chest as he lunges towards the man. Then Thomas turns, letting go of Sophie and pushing his weight through the crowd, all elbows. The throng is moving now, thinning out — people have braved the rain and are beginning to leave — but Thomas moves through it at a faster rate. Sophie watches the back of his head disappear.

  The rude man laughs.

  ‘It is not funny,’ she snaps. She bunches her hands into fists and resists the urge to slap him herself. This man will ruin everything. Already people are swivelling their heads to look at her, murmuring to one another, straightening the collars that Thomas has ruffled in his path. They will all think he is quite mad, she thinks.

  The man shrugs. ‘Suit yourself, madam.’ He hangs back and is absorbed by the crowd.

  She glances down into the foyer, scanning the faces for her husband, whom she is sure has run outside by now. Instead she finds Captain Fale staring at her, and her stomach lurches. She wishes now she had worn something more modest. She feels naked under his gaze.

  ‘Wait here for me, please,’ Captain Fale says to the cab driver. ‘I won’t be long.’

  He leans heavily on his cane as he alights from the carriage in a quiet street leading down to the river. A large oak tree stands in Mr Winterstone’s front yard, and for a moment he is reminded of the tree he climbed as a boy. Well, there will be no tree-climbing now, not with this wretched leg of his.

  He thought it polite to write to Mr Winterstone before descending on him, but he did not wait for a reply. The note was simple: I have some urgent business I would like to discuss with you. I will be in Kingston tomorrow morning and should like to call on you at midday. Of course, the only reason he is in Kingston is to see the fellow. He will make some excuse about a tailor if he is asked.

  An alarmingly fat housekeeper opens the door and scowls at him. She moves quickly for one so large, however, and Fale soon finds himself in the drawing room. He waits by the fireplace, not presuming to take a seat. The room smells heavily of cigar smoke and is furnished with pristine leather armchairs. A photograph of a young woman hangs above the mantel, but it was taken some time ago. The look on her face gives him a fright: the curled lip seems to admonish him for coming. And yet the eyes soften her and he changes his mind about her expression. This, no doubt, is Sophie’s mother, although he can find little resemblance beyond the blonde colouring. Another photograph sits below it, propped in a silver frame. Sophie, as a much younger woman — a girl, really — sitting on a chair while Mr Winterstone stands beside her. Their faces are grim, as is customary, but there is a further emptiness in their stance. Winterstone stands rigid, with hands by his sides, when any photographer would have instructed him to put his hand on the back of the chair.

  He turns away from the photographs just as Winterstone comes into the room and approaches with his hand outstretched.

  ‘Your note was a pleasant surprise,’ says the older man. ‘I enjoyed our chat at the Star and Garter. How can I be of help to you, sir?’ He bids him sit in one of the leather armchairs, which squeaks as Fale lowers himself heavily into it.

  ‘I am hoping that it is I who can be of help to you, sir.’

  ‘Oh?’ Winterstone rises and moves to a liquor cabinet. ‘Drink?’ He holds up a brandy decanter and Fale nods.

  ‘It’s regarding your daughter’s husband.’

  Winterstone hands him the drink, his eyes sharp but his expression registering nothing. He sits and crosses his long legs, waving one elegant hand at Fale to continue.

  ‘Are you aware, sir, that Mr Edgar returned from the Amazon a changed man?’

  ‘Changed? In what way? I haven’t spoken to him yet, though I am interested to hear of his travels.’

  ‘He came back somewhat … disturbed.’

  Winterstone swallows loudly.

  ‘That is, he is not speaking.’

  ‘What do you mean not speaking? Do you mean to my daughter? Have they fallen out?’

  ‘Not just your daughter. He is not speaking to anyone. He appears to be, well, mute.’

  ‘Mute?’ Winterstone roars. ‘Has he lost his mind?’

  ‘Well, this is indeed the question, sir, and the reason I am here. I thought after I met you the other day that it was my duty to tell you, as Mrs Edgar had obviously concealed it from you.’

  ‘I’m sure she had her reasons.’

  ‘Reasons, yes,’ says Fale. ‘Perhaps she is planning to tell you. After all, the whole town knows about it now.’

  ‘How do they know?’

  ‘You know how people gossip, sir. Personally, I haven’t told anyone, even though Mrs Edgar confided in me.’

  Winterstone’s eyebrows shoot up.

  ‘As a good friend of Mr Edgar’s. Thomas.’ He takes a deep breath. He must tread carefully with his lies. ‘Also, they attended the theatre on Saturday night, and an acquaintance of ours, a Mr Chapman, had to restrain him from flying at a chap who had merely jostled him. I’m afraid he has become quite violent, and I worry that Sophie may be in danger.’

  ‘Good God. Sophie.’ Winterstone is lost in thought for a moment, his brow creased.

  ‘He went to church with her yesterday and, frankly, he looked as if he would rather not have been there. He didn’t join in on any of the hymns or prayers.’

  The man snaps his attention away from his glass and looks at him. ‘That would seem obvious, sir.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Idiot. He thought throwing in Edgar’s apparent lack of faith might help his case, but he handled it badly. ‘He avoided all contact with the parishioners, even though many of them tried to show him some kindness.’

  Winterstone has not moved from his position, but his glass is empty and he now drums it rhythmically on his armrest. He stares at the ground. Fale waits for him to speak.

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’ the older man asks finally.

  He’s suspicious of my motives, thinks Fale. It’s now or never.

  ‘I only thought, sir, that by telling you this, we may be able to help the unfortunate couple. I know that Mrs Edgar is most reluctant to have her husband committed to any kind of hospital or institution. Perhaps with your influence, you could make it a matter of legality. After all, it can do your daughter no good to stay married to a man who resembles a vegetable.’ He laughs, but it comes out high and girlish and he stifles it immediately. ‘One prone to violent outbursts, as well. How can the man be expected to support your daughter when he is clearly such a burden on her, and a danger?’

  ‘Captain Fale,’ says Mr Winterstone. ‘You hinted at something when I saw you last. I asked you directly what it was you were meaning. You said something about how terrible it was about him. Why did you not tell me then, instead o
f inventing some story about how he had a few hives and scratches?’

  ‘I … I didn’t want to alarm you, sir. And I hardly knew you.’

  ‘You hardly know me now.’

  ‘I know. I know. But now I am acting in what I believe to be your daughter’s best interests.’

  Winterstone’s eyes bore into him. Things are not going as Fale had planned. They got on so well together over a drink at the Star and Garter. But now, admittedly, he has just delivered some bad news, and no doubt the man is in shock.

  Suddenly Winterstone’s face softens, and he smiles a sad smile.

  ‘You’re right, sir. This is a most unpleasant situation for my daughter to be in. I will see what I can do about it. Leave me your details, and I will be in touch.’

  This is Fale’s cue to go — he must leave Mr Winterstone to deal with his new knowledge. As he stands he says, ‘I must ask you a favour, sir. Please do not tell Mrs Edgar that it was I who informed you. It is a delicate matter, and they are both my friends. I would not like them to think I have been conspiring against them. Even though,’ he adds quickly, ‘I truly believe I am acting in their best interests.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll say nothing about it. Good day.’

  ‘But how do you know ghosts are real?’ Agatha’s little brother is tucked up in bed, his eyes as round as shillings.

  ‘Because I’ve spoken to them,’ says Agatha. ‘Nona said I have a great talent.’

  ‘Are there ghosts in this house?’ whispers Edwin.

  ‘They’re everywhere,’ she says, and tickles his chest. ‘But no, we’ve never seen any here. There are plenty around Richmond, though.’

  ‘Like where?’

  ‘Like … at Ham House. You’ve been there. They say there is a cavalier who appears to people. Just when they think it’s odd what quaint old-fashioned dress he is wearing, he …’

  ‘He what?’ Edwin is scrunched down under his covers.