The Storyteller's Muse

by Traci Harding

  ‘Will there be a service?’ the doctor asked Henry.

  ‘There’s no family on either side to come. It’s mainly the local folk that will be mourning, so it will most likely be a small service in the family plot for them both.’

  ‘So you shall be the guardian?’ The doctor seemed most interested to know. Had he already spotted the spare corpse in the room?

  ‘That will be for the lawyers to say,’ Henry replied diplomatically. ‘I know the Lord charged me with his financial affairs, but I doubt this instance has been allowed for. However,’ he ventured, ‘should I be given such a charge it will be my joy and honour to see it through to the very best of my ability.’

  The doctor appeared reassured. ‘You are a good man, Mr Chesterfield, it is no secret that his Lord and Ladyship held you in high regard.’

  ‘Here he is.’ Sister Cole blustered into the room carrying a baby all bound up in blue. ‘Allow me to do the honours.’

  As she unbound the blanket and raised the nightgown, the doctor was struck by the similarities of the twins. ‘My goodness, they are alike aren’t they? Completely identical.’

  ‘Not quite,’ the nurse dropped the front of the babe’s nappy.

  ‘I say . . . if I wasn’t staring at male genitalia at this moment, I’d swear they were the same child.’

  Sister Cole fixed Emanuel’s attire, and rugged him up once more. ‘And he’s every bit as healthy,’ she boasted. ‘But a bit hungry, I’ll warrant. The wet nurse should be here at any moment.’

  An examination validated the Sister’s boast and the doctor was content. ‘When I get back to town I will inform the mortician.’

  ‘We would be much obliged.’ Henry saw the doctor out, barely believing that they were not to be destitute, or thrown in jail. They’d have but a few hours before the morticians came for the body of her Ladyship, but that would be more than enough time to wrap his head around this disaster and bury it.

  ‘The first two thousand words, boom!’ Peter was ecstatic! He hadn’t raised himself in six hours, not even to make a coffee, but he’d discovered that place Penelope had described as the realm of the transcendental creative. Time and reality had melted away and his consciousness had been teleported to another world and life. ‘I was in it! I was there . . . being Henry!’ He was overjoyed with his effort, until he wondered if he could do it again. ‘I gotta eat,’ he reasoned with himself, despite wanting to dive right back in.

  As his dinner heated up, Peter checked his emails and social media — he’d taken the advice of the writers’ group members and switched everything off while he worked. He was excited to accept the friend requests from the authors he’d met, and once he had, Peter discovered several of the group had left him messages. Fred Books, who went by the name of Food-slayer on his private page, had left him several links about lucid dreaming. Denise left him a note wishing him luck with his new novel, and Spooky Burns sent a message threatening all kinds of grievous injury if he wasn’t making progress.

  ‘Well, that’s all very encouraging.’ Peter couldn’t wipe the smile off his face; it was the perfect end to a perfect writing day — his first ever! Peter had always been a fairly unsocial person, and hadn’t had much use for social media before he’d got involved with Penelope’s promotion. It was perhaps a little sad that besides the writers’ group, he only had two friends on his page, one of whom was now deceased. The other was being fairly quiet. Gabrielle hadn’t posted anything on her timeline, or messaged him. ‘When she said she was leaving me alone, she really wasn’t kidding.’

  It was the first time in several days that he’d given Gabrielle a thought, and when he considered all they had been through together, he felt a twinge of guilt. He really did appreciate all her support and understanding, but as he’d only just got the story flowing, he knew if he called her now he’d get distracted and only God knew how long it would take him to fully submerge back into the story once again. Billy’s caution about Em’s jealous streak was also playing on his mind.

  ‘But what if she thinks I really don’t care?’

  Peter clicked his fingers as the solution dawned on him. ‘Flowers!’ He got online to have some sent to her first thing in the morning. He then sat down and typed up an email, and told Gabrielle about the amazing experiences he’d had in the past few days, including beginning his novel. He expressed how much he appreciated all her support, and vowed to take her to dinner anywhere she chose, once he had his first twenty pages.

  It was ten o’clock by the time he returned to the library, which was feeling decidedly chilly. But as he wasn’t in the least bit tired, Peter decided to light the fire in the lounge and take his laptop in there to get a few more hours of writing in before he hit the sack.

  As he returned to his story, it felt rather like he’d just paused a movie that he was now going back to. Despite the new blank page, his mind knew exactly what was to unfold upon it, and that came as a great relief. He tuned straight back into Henry Chesterfield’s psyche and placed his fingers on the keys to relay his account.

  The Fairchild Estate, and what was left of the family fortune, came under the guardianship of Henry Chesterfield and that of the family lawyer. As it was agreed that the twins should be raised on their estate, their guardianship was vested in Henry until a next of kin could be tracked down. On account of the war, none were found living and after four years, as the twins were clearly flourishing, Henry’s guardianship became a permanent arrangement.

  Emeline and Emanuel grew to be complete polar opposites. Emeline was assertive, outgoing and full of vitality. Emanuel was passive, extremely introverted, and was always more sensitive to illness. Yet in their passion for the arts and learning they were united. She loved music, singing, dancing and other sociable pursuits, like learning languages. He loved to paint, read, write and all the more solitary pursuits. Her Ladyship enjoyed fencing, and Henry had also become rather skilled at the art over the years as he was often called upon to be a sparring partner. The little Lord, on the other hand, had taken to archery, and often went off into the woods by himself to practise; but as he was a rather compassionate soul, he never aimed his weapon at anything living. Both the twins were schooled separately at the estate by various different tutors due to their varying interests. Emeline enjoyed getting out to socialise and to perform with her cello, but Emanuel never left the estate. The twins had taken to calling Henry ‘Chester’ — a shortened version of his last name, which had been too difficult to pronounce when the twins were young and the name had stuck as they got older.

  The Fairchild family had made their fortune in cotton cloth production, which had been at its height the year their father, Sebastian, had come into his inheritance. But the years since his Lordship’s death had seen a steady decline in demand as cheaper imports from Asia had flooded the market and sent local cotton prices into a slump. In order to raise the Fairchild heirs as their parents would have desired, Henry had sold all but one of the mills, a large warehouse space located in the middle of the industrial area of the city. The land itself was now worth more than the factory it housed, so to avoid running at a loss, Henry shut down all operations, but had decided to sit on the investment as long as they were able.

  It was just prior to the twins’ eighteenth birthday that the estate’s financial situation came to a critical juncture. Emeline had been offered the opportunity to tour with a quintet, and she was eager to take it. The position promised money and esteem, although initially she would have to pay her own expenses. When Henry outlined her aspirations to her brother, Emanuel claimed to be glad for her.

  ‘The problem is I don’t know that the estate has the cash flow,’ Henry told him. ‘We do have one investment property left, but as you are about to come of age I wanted to consult you before selling it, as I believe it will only appreciate in value.’

  ‘And where is this property?’ Emanuel put down his paint brush and looked to Henry — a sign of his genuine interest.

  ‘In
town —’

  ‘Take me there.’ The Lord stood, appearing ready to depart that second.

  ‘You want to go out?’ Henry was a little startled.

  ‘Well, clearly, Chester, you are perplexed,’ he replied. ‘And I may advise you ill, without personal investigation.’

  For years Henry had been trying to devise ways to get his Lordship out into society — invitations to events, parties, fantastic places — none of it had worked. He had no interest in other people, but he was rather fond of animals — they at least got him outdoors.

  ‘I’ll bring the car around,’ Henry advised.

  ‘I wasn’t aware we had a car,’ said Emanuel in all seriousness, but then he cracked a smile. ‘I’m joking, of course. I see my sister get in it all the time.’

  ‘I did wonder if you were aware of her existence,’ Henry joked, yet he was sincerely curious.

  ‘I do my best to ignore it, but now she has begun writing me letters, which I must say I prefer to her conversation,’ the young Lord warranted. ‘I can place a letter aside, but there is no off button when she starts talking.’

  ‘Well, she is making quite the splash in society,’ Henry said.

  ‘Good luck to her, if that’s what she wants. I prefer a more solitary existence.’

  Neither of the twins had ever shown the slightest interest in the opposite sex; Emeline claimed she had no desire to be tied down by a man and Emanuel had no interest in human beings period!

  So without any pomp or pageantry, the young Lord Fairchild made his first visit to the city, and as they drove through the streets he was fascinated. ‘What stimuli.’ When their car was stopped in traffic, he took snapshots with his box Brownie camera. Photography was also a strong interest with Emanuel but only so he could paint the scene later.

  ‘I hesitate to say I told you so.’ Henry pointed to a large warehouse up ahead. ‘That’s the old cotton mill there. Although with all this traffic, it may take us an hour to get there.’

  ‘Why is it so bad here?’ Emanuel wasn’t fazed by the delay as he could only take photographs when they weren’t moving.

  ‘Well this is a big industrial area, a lot of people work hereabouts, and as cars get more popular, it’s getting more congested down here.’

  His Lordship fully understood the problem after twice around the block failed to find them a parking space. ‘Do we have the keys to the doors of the warehouse, Chester?’

  ‘We do.’ Henry caught his Lord’s drift and pulled up in front of the doors. He jumped out, unlocked the barrier, and then returned to drive the car inside.

  ‘Goodness, it’s an enormous space!’ The Lord hopped out and looked around. ‘You’d fit all the cars on the block inside here.’

  ‘And then some.’ Henry was inspired by the comment.

  ‘Then perhaps we don’t have to sell to make this space pay,’ Emanuel concluded.

  ‘I dare say there will be some cost involved in such a conversion,’ Henry ventured to throw a spanner in the works.

  ‘We’ll mortgage against the estate, and get my sister her travelling money into the bargain,’ he said decidedly. ‘We’ll hire someone to oversee the work here while you are touring with Emeline.’

  ‘I am touring with her Ladyship?’ This was news to Henry.

  ‘Well, of course,’ Emanuel insisted. ‘You don’t think I’d allow her to go without a chaperone, surely? And you are the only man I trust to keep her safe.’

  ‘I can see the wisdom in that.’ Henry resigned himself to the will of his charge — their future was in the young Lord’s hands now.

  The decision to convert the warehouse into a car park did prove a sound financial move as there were few overheads to running the facility. Within a few years the car park had paid for itself, and when they added another level, a lift, and a large storage space on the top floor, it began to turn a serious profit.

  Emeline was now the star of her quintet and a much lusted-after commodity. Henry, as her business manager, was kept very busy, and was not with Emeline the day she encountered a young woman named Alice Roy in the alleyway outside the stage door of the theatre she was to play that evening.

  On the way to a rehearsal, Emeline exited her carriage and saw the young woman in tears on the back steps. When Emeline inquired after the younger woman’s woes, Alice explained she had been in the employ of the wardrobe department of the theatre production, which was still packing up their stage sets to transport to the next venue where the production was to run. She had been fired by the producer for not doing her job, but she claimed it was because she had rejected his advances.

  ‘Be off with you!’ The man supervising the load-out for the theatre company spotted Alice conversing with Emeline, and storming over he roughly grabbed the girl off the stairs and shoved her down the street. ‘Don’t you be wasting the Lady’s time with your lies.’

  ‘I’m not lying!’ The girl, once released, turned to confront him.

  He grabbed her once more.

  ‘Are you the producer of this production?’ Emeline addressed the fellow, fearing he would hit the girl.

  ‘I am,’ he said proudly. ‘And she’s a liar, this one, which is why she is now unemployed.’

  ‘Oh, but you are mistaken,’ Emeline informed him. ‘Miss Roy now works for me. So, I would ask you to kindly unhand her before you give my lawyer just cause to sue you.’

  The producer, stunned and angered, let Alice go. ‘You are making a mistake, Lady Fairchild, don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ He left in a huff.

  Alice gasped, her tears falling anew. ‘Thank you.’ Clearly the girl was a little lost for words. ‘But why take my word over his?’

  ‘Because clearly you are the one who is telling the truth.’ Emeline smiled surely, and Alice returned the gesture, appearing a wee bit starstruck.

  ‘Well, thank you again for coming to my rescue.’ Alice backed up. ‘I shan’t detain you any longer.’ She turned to leave.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Emeline wondered.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Alice turned back to confess and forced a smile.

  ‘Do you not wish to work for me?’

  The young woman’s eyes opened wide, and she gave a nervous laugh. ‘You were serious?’

  ‘Perfectly.’

  Alice gasped her joy.

  ‘Are you trained in hair and stage make-up?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am — I mean, my Lady.’ Alice, although excited, seemed somewhat overwhelmed.

  ‘For some time I have been considering taking on a personal assistant. If you don’t mind a lot of travel, the job is yours.’

  Alice was speechless.

  ‘I understand completely if you have family, or a husband —?’

  ‘I have no one, ma’am . . .’ Alice finally took a breath through what Emeline perceived to be a mix of joy and disbelief. ‘I have nothing to stay here for and would be honoured to work for your Ladyship.’

  ‘Then your home is now with me, Miss Roy, come along.’

  With the tour turning a good profit, Henry could hardly object to their new employee. Miss Roy seemed a sweet girl, who was eager to serve and please her Ladyship for delivering her unto a new life far more promising and elegant than the one she’d left behind.

  Very quickly Emeline and Alice formed a friendship that was far closer than that of a Lady and her employee. It was not Henry’s place to interfere in Emeline’s private affairs; he was grateful his mistress had found a companion younger than himself to socialise and shop with, as Henry was finding it harder and harder to keep up with his charge. He had his hands full just keeping Lady Fairchild’s suitors at bay, despite the fact she had publicly proclaimed herself married to her cello, as they made beautiful music together. One man in particular was proving annoyingly persistent in his pursuit of Emeline’s favours.

  Dearest Brother,

  Today I performed for royalty. Their highnesses requested a personal audience after the concert and we were invited to perform at the
palace. The fee will be a very tidy sum, which our man, Chester, is negotiating with the King’s representative as I write. You can imagine how proud he is, as there could be no greater honour for a musician in his opinion. Personally, I am content to play for whomever finds joy in it; applause feeds my hunger for my art and drives me onto my next performance. To someone who could not care less whether anyone saw or approved of their art, I know you will consider my motivation nothing but attention-seeking insanity! Yet I cannot express how wonderful it feels to be so adored and celebrated. I can see you now, my brother, shaking your head, utterly appalled by the thought. You always were far more self-sufficient than I.

  On the topic of attention, Chester gave Proudfoot my final rejection to his suit today. Lord Pettigrew may be a renowned collector of exquisite art, but I have no desire to be added to his collection. I feel his great patronage to the arts is most likely reparation for his complete lack of artistic ability. He has fashioned himself instead as an art critic, and fancies that a bad review from his pen might stop my career in its tracks — for the Lord boasts to have ended the career of many an aspiring artist, writer, actor and musician. If I were ever to be attracted to a man, it would not be one who boasts of destroying art and aspirations! The man revolts me, and I am sure you would loathe him immediately upon acquaintance. His most recent attempt to harass our dear, sweet Alice to furthering his cause with me is a step too far. Henry will see to it that he will not harass us again. I have never been so grateful to be of independent means, pursuing a career that I adore.

  But I do miss you, Emanuel; I miss your serene presence and look forward to some quiet time with you in the near future. The rumblings of another war are concerning Chester, who wishes to see me return home. With a dictator in German parliament and Austria set to follow suit, he feels certain another world war is imminent. For your sake, and that of all young men, I sincerely hope he is wrong.

  With great affection,

  Emeline

  Peter surfaced from a deep dream state to the sound of the phone ringing. He was up off the lounge and staggering into the hall before he was even in his body.