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Post by grey scale: on Nov 3, 2011 20:59:20 GMT -5
Pennsylvania, 2009
I stepped over the dried leaves of the front yard, looking around the area. The house was on a hill, overlooking a murky sort of river and an overgrown forest filled with pine and fir trees. You could tell it had been a brightly white house in a past life, with its dirty, painted wrap-around porch and large, mullioned windows. The door and windows were bordered by dark green-painted boards, billowing white curtains visible through the less-than-clean glass on the other side.
"It needs some help, which is why we put out the ad," Ma'dam Moncurrie said, and from the distance at which we stood, her voice sounded far-away and muffled by the history of the house. I couldn't seem to get over how old it was and the shape it was in – although, when you took into account its age and the fact that it had been uninhabited for years, the shape it was in didn't seem so terrible.
I had answered an ad from the classifieds that Ma'am and her family had published; they needed a group of people to live in the house day-to-day and help restore it, as they lived three hours away and planned on using the old Victorian as a summer vacation home. I had warred internally over whether or not to answer the ad – I wasn't necessarily what one might call the most adapted to physical labor, so my chances at doing this work well were only a bit better than slim – for weeks, but I finally determined that I could still answer the ad without committing myself to the job.
The moment I'd met Madame Moncurrie and her granddaughter, I'd decided to take the job. Ma'am's name was Jean, but nobody called her that – it was always Ma'am, Madame, or the classically formal Madame Moncurrie. Her granddaughter, Marcia, was paralyzed from the waist down due to a long-ago car accident, but she maneuvered her wheelchair well in the old house and snapped at anybody who dared try to help her. They shared the same hair and eye colors – light brown, slightly curly tendrils and irises the color of dewy grass – but their other physical attributes and personalities were opposites. Ma'am was short, slightly plump with rounded facial features and large eyes beneath thick eyelashes, and had an amiable, friendly countenance. In comparison, Marcia was thin, seemingly stretched out until she seemed slightly sickly. Her temper was short but it was also short-lived, and she got over her qualms as easily as she acquired them.
"It shouldn't be too difficult, if there are others," I called to Ma'am. Marcia had not accompanied her grandmother today; apparently, she had grown ill over the night and had opted to stay home. I didn't particularly mind. The day hadn't been too good to begin with, and you had to be in a good mood to handle Marcia without being rude.
"There are others. Three others as of now, to be exact," Ma'am said, stepping closer to me and hugging her large winter coat closer to her body. "They should arrive soon, possibly tonight. I think you'll get on with them just fine." She turned to the house again, her eyes slightly narrowed and her arms hugging herself even more tightly as a sudden gust blew through the trees and we were hit by the strong scent of pine. "Do you want me to show you the rooms we prepared? We didn't have much time to set the quarters up, but we figured you could finish to your own desire…" Ma'am trailed off, her light brown hair, graced with the presence of gray hairs at the nape, still waving up and down slightly in the breeze.
"That would be lovely, thank you," I said, and I followed her into the house.
It was very dusty in the foyer. I'd been to the grounds before – it was where Marcia, Ma'am, and I had always met – but never had I been inside the house. It showed signs of former grandeur, such as thick mahogany banisters on the stair rails and walls painted with rich colors, but without our help the house looked like it would fall apart. The floorboards, an old light-colored wood, creaked as we walked. Ma'am didn't seem at all affected by the noise, but the sound of creaking floorboards had always unnerved me. Maybe I shouldn't have accepted this job.
"Your rooms, they're on the second floor. The third floor is just the attic; you can all work on it last. It's least important." Ma'am walked up the grand staircase to the second floor, which was carpeted with plush, dirty-white thread and upholstered with the dark mahogany of the stair rails. The older woman led me to the hallway of the second floor. It seemed to veer off at both ends, down adjacent hallways that I couldn't see from the staircase. "Those go to the rest of the house," Ma'am said, gesturing to the other hallways. She pointed to the hallway on the left. "That one is above the sitting and dining rooms. They're mostly spare rooms. Your rooms are down there." She pointed to the hallways on the right. "That one is above the kitchens. If you're too loud, anyone in the kitchen can hear you because the floors are a bit thinner there. The entrance to the attic is at the end of the hallway. There's a bit of a dip in the wall there because of the attic stairs. I'll show you later." Ma'am moved to the left, and I followed cautiously, stepping as gingerly as I could on the floorboards.
The spare rooms all seemed the same. Square, painted in similar off-whites and soft pastel colors, containing a single bed and a small dresser or a table in each. There were five on the hallway, and one bathroom with a chipped sink and grimy white tiles on the floor. The bathtub sat on old, gold-colored feet. There was no shower, only rusted gold knobs to turn the water on and off. I could already tell that this would be an interesting experience. "The utilities are bare minimum right now," Ma'am told me. I internally agreed.
"We'll be paying you all weekly; we've also decided that we will provide food as often as we can. My family and I, we understand the inconvenience this is on you, although you are being paid rather well." And we were. Obviously, Ma'am came from old money, and lots of it.
Ma'am showed me the room that would serve as my bedroom for the month-long stay I would endure. It was a sickly sort of pale green. I didn't comment on it, as I didn't wish to annoy my new employer about her family's home, but it was horrid. I made a mental note to bring as absolute many posters as I could with me, along with E-Z Peel tape so the disgusting paint didn't come off when I took them down.
Next, Ma'am showed me the other hallway. The rooms on this side were much larger, grander. The colors on the walls were much more appealing. The furniture in the rooms – all covered by dusty white tarps - was much nicer: canopy beds with scarlet red hangings, end tables with elaborately designed markings on the curved legs, and armoires with heavy swinging doors and golden hinges. "These are the family rooms," Ma'am told me, leading me from the last one and gesturing to the last door at the end of the hallway. "The attic. We'll not go up there now, it would take far too long. Let me show you downstairs." The older woman led me down to the first floor of the house, holding tightly onto the heavy mahogany banister all the while.
"The foyer, obviously," she said, gesturing to the large, open space in which nothing but dust particles resided. Ma'am moved quickly on to the sitting room. "The furniture in here is still lovely, just needs a bit of polishing and sprucing up. It'll be good as new." The sitting room was quite apparently themed, not a color to be seen but multiple shades of yellow. "They loved the sunshine…" Ma'am said, almost wistfully, and I looked away. It seemed like she was having a personal moment, and who was I to intrude upon such a thing? Who did she mean by 'they,' anyway?
"Anyway, this way to the kitchens," Ma'am said, and, instead of exiting back into the foyer like I'd thought she would, she strode briskly across the room to a doorway leading into what I could only assume was the dining room. "Come on, now. The other's will be here soon, I'm leaving you, shall I say, in charge? Don't make me regret my decision, Ms. Brunde." I followed her obediently. Since when had I been deemed Second-in-Command? This old woman really must be a bit farther off her rocker than I'd initially thought.
The kitchens were just that – kitchens. This house had been built before families spent hours in the room, eating together but Lord forbid they speak. There were some run-down counters, an ancient wood-fire stove, and a huge wooden box that opened at the top, lined with heavy, sturdy metal. "An ice box." Ma'am closed the lid on the box. It made a definitive thud which positively dripped with finality. "One of those tricky old inventions. Sometimes I wonder how they ever got along with some of our gadgets." Me, too, Madame Moncurrie. Me, too.
There was a small breakfast nook in the far corner of the kitchens, though, and that was where Ma'am headed next. "I'm much too old for this tour guide business," she said, and for the first time I noticed she was out of breath. "Sit with me." I obeyed her yet again and sat in the creaky wooden chair beside her own. "Let me tell you," Ma'am said, her expressive green eyes looking up for once and actually meeting my flat brown ones, "About this house."
"You've already told me about the house, Madame Moncu –"
"No, no, no," the old woman said impatiently, shaking her head vehemently and waving her finger at me. "This house was built by my great-great grandfather, Miranda. So much drama, too. My mother, she used to tell me stories of our family inside these walls." At this, Ma'am gestured vaguely at the walls of the kitchens. "It's almost as if Nora Roberts decided to write a novel with Stephen King's influence."
I laughed along with Ma'am's quiet chuckle, and leaned as far back in my chair as I deemed safe.
"Let me tell you," Madame Moncurrie said softly, her green eyes boring into mine yet again, "about Anglish Manor."
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Post by grey scale: on Nov 3, 2011 21:00:58 GMT -5
Pennsylvania Provence, 1799
Emily Monroe stepped gingerly into the house and gasped. "Oh, Walden…it's so gorgeous." She was sixteen, not yet betrothed and still graced with the free spirit of youth. Her hair was the color of liquid twilight, an auburn so bright it seemed to glow in total darkness. Walden didn't mind, or he didn't seem to, at least. Emily looked reverently at the manor he'd successfully built. The floors were beautiful, clean porcelain with lovely markings etched into each tile's surface. She turned to face her childhood friend. "Walden!"
Walden Anglish grinned at Emily. "Do you think it's worthy of a visit every once in a while?" There was a glint in his eyes, and Emily's cheeks flooded bright red like her hair. He knew not to make such insinuations, especially out in the open like this. Audrey – his wife – was just in the next room, admiring the kitchens loudly. ("Oh, Walden, these walls.") Her voice sickened Emily. She was trying to sound purposefully seductive because Emily was present. All Walden's wife's tone seemed to accomplish was annoying the other woman, rather than make her any sort of jealous.
Jealous. Emily almost scoffed. Walden didn't even like Audrey. What Emily and Walden had was different, more special. A lifelong friendship that had always been something more.
Yet, he'd just had to get married.
Four months. Four months of that damned dame's presence and Emily was ready to pull every last strand of her hair out. She didn't hide her feelings, either. Audrey also openly disliked her husband's best friend, but Walden quite honestly couldn't give a damn about who hated who.
She begged Walden to be off with her – nobody could stand Audrey, not even the ones who had arranged the marriage – but he adamantly denied his choice in the matter. "My father, you know how he is, Em…" Walden had said just nights before, his lips brushing her neck as she pled with him yet again to abolish the other woman's presence. "He would disown me. And then we'd have nothing."
"We'd have…each oth – oh, Walden, stop, I'm trying to tal –" Her giggles from the tickle of his tongue on her skin were stifled by his own mouth covering hers; she groaned, unable to suppress it. Emily felt the pace of the heart in her chest speed up instantly, and as her hands moved upward to hug Walden's neck, they passed the point on his neck where his heart would beat the plainest. His was racing nearly as much as hers.
Emily was wrenched back to the present by a chuckle. She noticed her face was warm; she was blushing. Walden turned her to look at him, glancing anxiously in the direction of the kitchens. When he'd determined that Audrey was properly occupied by the novelty of the house, he reached down and framed her face with his hands. "One day," he whispered, his lips against hers. "One day, this will all be ours. And no one else's." Emily smiled against his kiss, only able to feel elation as she betrayed her enemy and gratified her lover in the same movement.
Pennsylvania, 2009
The older woman's insistence shocked me a bit. I crossed my legs and watched her as she adjusted her large coat. "It's still very chilly in here," she lamented vaguely. Finally she stopped shifting in her seat and looked at me again. "I guess I should begin my story now."
"My great-great grandfather, Walden Anglish, built the Manor," she began, looking out of the window behind the nook in which we sat. "He led one of those pesky lives. You know the type. He was betrothed to a girl named Audrey Rogers by the time he was seventeen, and he married her." Ma'am paused now to look around the kitchens. "I do believe the gas is turned on. I'm sure if I dug around a bit, I could find a kettle and some tea leaves? We do still come to visit the place every now and then."
I immediately stood and moved to the line of cupboards and counters beside the stove. "I'll find the tea things. You just finish your story, Madame." Ma'am nodded at me, gesturing nonchalantly at the cupboards at the end of the line. ("They're probably in there, you know.")
"Anyway, this Audrey girl. Walden married her, but she is not my great-great grandmother." I paid close attention to Ma'am's story as I searched a floor-level cupboard for a kettle or tea leaves. All I found were old metal pitchers, some plastic Tupperware, and a basket of rusty silverware with intricate, swirly designs on the stems. "He had an affair, obviously."
"Her name was Emily Monroe, at the time. Every time my grandmother talked about her, she would emphasize the hair – bright ginger hair, like a carrot or an orange. She was known for it. The Monroe family had few living gingers in its line, and she was proud to be individual. Spunky, that's what Grandmother always called her." I smiled as Ma'am continued talking, trying to search as quietly as I could. "Oh, and bright green eyes, the greenest you'd ever see. That's where my granddaughter and I get our eyes, you know –"
There was the sound of a car door slamming, and I jumped. There was a loud clang, and a clunky metal kettle fell from a mountain of otherwise useless things. "Found it," I announced weakly, picking up the kettle and examining it as footsteps could be heard approaching the front door. A knock sounded, and I placed the kettle on the nearest counter. "I'll get that, Ma'am." I sprinted from the room to answer the door.
She was a small, reddish-brown haired girl with curious blue eyes and a mouth I could already tell was used to talking. "Hi!" she greeted me enthusiastically, and I sighed. Would I have to live in a house with Cheerleader Cheryl for the next month? Please, God, let her have an off switch, I thought desperately as she moved into the house, carrying a large duffel bag with her. "Is Madame Moncurrie here?"
"In the kitchen," I told her, closing the door and reentering the aforementioned room to resume my search for tea leaves and cups. The girl, whose name I still did not know, squealed and sat across from Ma'am, in the seat I had previously occupied. I clenched my jaw. She's already annoying me, I seethed.
"Miranda," Ma'am said, and I glanced over my shoulder at her as I searched through a drawer full of incenses and potpourri things. "This is Madison. She'll be helping you." I finally found some tea bags –finally – hidden underneath a box of Rouder's Famous Rose-Scented Candles. Chamomile. Good. I would need something to take the edge off of Madison's presence.
"Hi, Miranda!" Madison greeted me. I withheld another grimace and found it within myself to smile back at her.
"Hello, Madison. Nice to meet you. As you were saying, Madame?"
"Oh, yes," Ma'am said absently, and I watched her as she collected her thoughts. Finally, her face contorted into an unpleasant expression of frustration, she sighed. "Forgive me, dear. Where did I leave off?"
"Emily and her eyes," I reminded her gently as I opened my second cupboard in the search for the teacups. There were some in the back, an off-white set with purple and yellow flowers dotted on its surfaces with paint. I took out three cups, but, due to careful consideration and expectation of the Mitchell brothers, I retrieved two more cups and closed the cupboard. Meanwhile, Ma'am resumed her story.
"Ah, yes. Emily's eyes. Grandmother always told me they were the greenest she'd ever seen. And oh, she and Walden were smitten far before he even knew Audrey." Ma'am chuckled and watched me as I rinsed out the kettle at the sink, along with the teacups. "They were childhood friends, Emily and Walden. Apparently, they had always had plans of running away together to get married. Unfortunately, before they were even old enough to propose the idea to their families without being ridiculed, Walden's betrothal to Audrey became apparent, and their dreams were brought to an end."
"And then?" Madison asked eagerly, leaning forward on the table, for all the world looking like a child on Christmas morning having a chat with Santa over a plate of cookies. I just shook my head, filled the kettle with water, and fiddled with the knob on the old gas stove until it finally caught. I set the kettle on the burner and moved to sit beside Ma'am, since my previous seat had been taken by Madison.
"And then," began the Madame, "their affair began. Before the marriage was even sealed, Walden would sneak off, and he would be out until the wee hours of the morning. About six months into their marriage, however, Audrey announced she was pregnant, and Emily and Walden's affair was brought to an end. Emily was overridden with guilt over trying to steal another woman's husband – especially when she was with child. But she wasn't."
"Wasn't?" Madison and I both gasped, and the Madame nodded sadly.
"There wasn't any child! She'd lied to end the affair between Emily and Walden; neither of them had known she was aware, but if Audrey Anglish was anything, she was clever." Madison and I nodded our heads in understanding.
A loud knocking sounded, and all three of us jumped at the unexpected noise. I hadn't even heard a car outside. "I'll get the door, Madame Moncurrie," Madison said happily, bouncing out of her seat and all the way to the front door. We heard her chatter with the guests – or, more presumably, the Mitchell brothers. Before she'd reentered the room with our new additions, the kettle began whistling, and I moved to make the tea. I filled three cups with the hot water, dipped a tea bag in each, and took two to the table for the Madame and myself. Soon, Madison led the brothers into the kitchen. It seemed she hadn't stopped talking yet. I sighed internally.
"She's been telling us about her family history. Haven't you, Madame Moncurrie?" Ma'am nodded her head, her lips pursed slightly; I felt a bit of satisfaction at the thought that Madison obviously wasn't close enough to the Madame to call her anything but her formal name. I didn't even bother to make any particularly observant mental notes about the brothers. They were both rather nondescript – sandy blonde hair, dirty brown eyes, and similar facial features, although it was evident one was older than the other by height and stature.
"If you'd like tea," I told the brothers, gesturing to the kettle, teacups, and tea bags on the counter, "there's the things."
"The Mitchell brothers," Ma'am said quietly as Madison sat back in her seat, her cup of tea in her hands. "Charlie and Roland, this is Madison and Miranda. Shall I resume my story?"
"Of course, Ma'am," I said, taking a sip of my tea as she did the same.
The Madame cleared her throat before beginning again. "So, Audrey Anglish was clever. She'd known for months about the affair, and had finally decided it was time for it to end. She plotted and planned to the best of her ability. After a few months, Audrey became desperate and faked her condition. Her lie wasn't found out until a number of months later, when the doctor confirmed that Audrey had never been pregnant to begin with." The boys didn't seem quite so interested in the story as Madison and I were, but the one Ma'am had pointed out as Roland had at least gotten a cup of tea.
"How did Walden react? And Emily? What did she do?" Madison asked eagerly, a smile lightening up her tanned face. I allowed a small smile to appear on my own face as I listened to Ma'am's reply.
"Patience, girl, you're like a spinning wind-up toy. You'll have to calm down eventually." Ma'am took another slow sip of her tea. Charlie shifted somewhat restlessly, rolling his shoulders back; that was an obnoxious habit to have. I sighed for the umpteenth time that day. Was I just destined to be thrown together with a band of adolescents, all of whom annoyed me? These months weren't going to be enjoyable if they kept this up.
"As I was saying," the Madame said finally, putting her teacup back on the tabletop as she looked at us all, "Audrey faked her pregnancy, and everybody found out. Walden flew into a fit of rage and threw her from the house. Back then, it was an unusual thing to do, even though she had done something so unspeakable."
"Audrey fled to the house of her parents, but when they heard of what she'd done, they refused her entry to her own childhood home. Finally, Audrey was on her last nerve. Furious, hurt, and irrational, she went to the last place she could think – the Monroe home, where Emily lay in her bedroom, unawares."
"Audrey attempted murder that night, and I'm frightened to tell you she nearly won out against Emily." Ma'am's voice had grown softer as she lifted the string of her tea bag and dragged it through the colored water in the cup. "Nobody quite knows what happened that night, but Emily's parents heard both girls screaming. When they'd finally reached their daughter's bedroom, all they saw was Audrey lying still on the floor and Emily sobbing uncontrollably beside her."
The Madame's last words hung in the air for a moment. The boys seemed sort of lost at this point, but Madison and I were staring blankly at each other. That hadn't been the outcome we'd expected at all. Had Emily murdered Audrey?
Ma'am took a loud sip of her tea and set it down again. "There were signs of a bit of a scuffle, but nothing terrible enough to have killed the girl. There was speculation in the town that Emily was a witch, and her dark magic had killed her," Ma'am said, chuckling quietly, "I think it's all a bunch of old wives' tales, albeit local ones. I personally think the shrew was so overcome with emotion that she worked herself into a coronary. Emily and Walden were married a year later, no matter her cause of death. Audrey's death is still, technically, a mystery, though. Nobody quite knows what happened in that room, as I said." Her voice had taken on a different, ominous sort of tone.
"By the way, Miranda," she said, addressing me suddenly and smiling. "This is lovely tea."
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