Fyrea's Cauldron. William Maltese
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Was that what it had been? Was that all it had been? Had Charles really been at her bedside? Had she really followed him to be confronted by the old woman standing in this very room?
Another chill shivered its way along her spine. She went back to the bedroom and climbed into her bed, finding the sheets completely absent of any consoling warmth she might have left there.
It was a long time before she could find the peace of mind to surrender the strangeness of the night to slumber.
CHAPTER THREE
INEXPLICABLE...“THINGS”
Morning was something Marie felt rather than saw. After all, the room was still dark behind drawn curtains; the house was as silent as a tomb.
She didn’t feel rested. So, maybe it wasn’t morning after all. Maybe her senses played tricks on her.
Her eyes were sticky with sleep that came free on the backs of her rubbing hands. Her mouth was dry. She had a headache.
Her sleep had been fitful and spread through with dreams mainly unremembered...except for her husband, sitting on the edge of her bed...except for the old lady standing guard in the sitting room like Cerberus at the gates of Hades.
It took Marie several minutes to get oriented. She kept wondering where she was. This definitely wasn’t England, or the plane, or the ship.
She threw back the blankets and came to a sitting position, dropping her legs over the edge of the bed. Without looking, she worked her toes into her slippers.
She picked up her robe en route to the French doors, fastening its cord before pulling back the curtains. The sudden entrance of light temporarily blinded her. Her right hand came to her forehead to offer shadow.
It was morning, but only barely. The sun, low on the horizon, only managed to reach the glass through a unique breach among the distant trees.
Marie was about to exit onto the small balcony, beyond, when the figure appeared beneath her and headed off across the lawn.
It was Charles, walking slowly, a bouquet of flowers in one hand, apparently completely unaware he was being watched. Reflexively, Marie, somehow feeling guilty in spying, stepped to one side so she’d be less likely seen by him should he chance to glance her way.
She wondered why she didn’t just proceed with unlatching the glass doors in order to call out to him, in that that seemed the more logical thing for her to do. Surely, he would much rather greet his wife than proceed on any early morning stroll?
Still, she intuitively sensed he would be less than pleased were he suddenly to be made aware of his wife’s Peeping-Tom status directly above him.
Marie couldn’t help feeling like a spy. That was silly, wasn’t it? What could possibly be suspect about her husband out on the lawn? Heading from where? Heading to where? For whom were the flowers?
She pulled back farther, unconsciously taking hold of the curtain to edge it more closely back into the position it had maintained throughout the night.
Charles continued across the grass, veering right toward the trees that bordered the long rectangular lawn on that side.
Movement in the shadows formed by the trees! There was someone there. Someone was waiting just within the border of darkness dividing the lawn from the thicker underbrush.
Charles stopped, obviously seeing the figure, too. Were the two talking? If so, no voices traveled to Marie, if just because the shut French doors kept out all such sounds.
The figure moved imperceptivity; just enough so Marie could identify the old hag from Marie’s bad dream (not a dream?) from the night before.
Charles continued forward, stopped on the very edge of the forest, looked down on the old woman who was pathetically dwarfed by his powerfully impressive physique.
What was he saying? What was the old woman saying? What mysteries had driven those two to that specific spot, on that particular early morning, while the rest of the household was possibly assumed asleep?
“Oh!” Marie exclaimed, turning toward the unexpected sound behind her, her heart leaping into her throat. She felt a combination of guilt and embarrassment as she saw that her cry of alarm had so scared the entering Madeleine that the girl had dropped a vase of flowers. Several habernia fimbriata had ended up scattered across a water-spotted rug, one orchid stem awkwardly bruised and bent.
“Oh, Madeleine, I’m so sorry,” Marie said, seeing the girl’s wide-eyed expression complete with soon-to-be released tears. Marie felt solely responsible for the accident. If she hadn’t been up and spying, but, rather, been in bed, where she should have been, none of this would have happened. “I’m afraid my nerves are just a little on edge, lately.”
She went to her knees and began picking up the flowers, continuing a running one-sided conversation she hoped would convince the girl that Marie wasn’t going to beat her for clumsiness.
Finally, Madeleine’s horror at dropping the vase was replaced by the horror of Marie busy doing the cleanup in which Madeline should have been the one engaged.
“Oh, Madame, do let me do that!” Madeleine said, hurriedly grabbing up the last flower from the rug and depositing it in the luckily undamaged vase Marie, also, surrendered to her.
“Well, it looks as if the two of us have sufficiently rectified any damage, doesn’t it?” Marie said with a wide smile.
Madeleine looked a little dubious as she noticed a sizable watermark on the rug, by the doorway, but Marie gave additional assurances, watching as the young girl finally deposited the salvaged vase and flowers on a bedside table.
Nonchalantly, Marie moved back to the window, noticing neither her husband nor the mysterious Little Mother any longer standing along the border of the lawn.
* * * * * * *
Charles entered while Marie was having breakfast in the dining room. He was obviously surprised to see her.
“I thought for sure you would prefer breakfast in bed, this morning,” he said, coming around the table and picking up a hot muffin from the serving counter. He reached Marie’s chair, bent, and kissed his wife gently on her right cheek.
“Had you witnessed how much time I spent in my bed during the voyage here, you might well understand my reluctance to stay bedridden now,” Marie commented.
“Feeling quite refreshed, then, are you?” he asked. Then, before she could answer, he informed a servant he would merely be joining his wife for coffee and a muffin, since he had eaten quite a large breakfast earlier.
Coffee cup in place, the last of his blueberry muffin eaten, he turned his full attention on Marie.
“I feel much better, thank you,” she told him. “Actually, I’m quite anxious to get out and about. You mentioned the lake in The Cauldron.”
“Well, that does, indeed, sound like a complete recovery,” he said, flashing an attractive smile. “However, I might suggest a few minor forays before we undertake such a major one. I’m afraid both of us will have to roll out of bed a lot earlier than this to make it to the lip of The Cauldron and back by nightfall.”
“Quite far, is it?” Marie asked, although, by that point, her question was obviously superfluous.
“I wouldn’t want to exhaust you completely after one such marvelous recovery,” Charles said, sipping his coffee and covetously eyeing another muffin on the service table. “I have to check the lower east valley this morning. Purely routine. I shall be perfectly free this afternoon, if you’re up to a look around of the grounds.”
Marie, who would have preferred a ride immediately after breakfast, surrendered to the fact she would obviously have to spend some time getting down the routine of the household. Certainly, she couldn’t expect Charles to handle domestic supervision now that he was married.
I’ll have Marc show you around the house,