saving grace, 4

Everyone was at table, eating, drinking, passing bowls and platters two and fro. There was usual talk of the marketplace gossip and what was left of the tales about the Governor’s Ball. Mrs Bellamy repeatedly left the table to see to Father Claireborne and his guest upstairs. Ariane sat by and ate in silence. She listened and answered if she was asked a question, but was otherwise quiet, until even John noticed and asked if she was under the weather. ‘No, she was clumsy and fell on her way back from the market,’ Mrs. Bellamy explained. Her look showed clearly what she thought of that. Ariane looked to her plate.

‘Does your arm still hurt?’ Tenny asked, looking concerned. Tenny was the woman who came to help with the washing. Her arms were dark as oakwood and strong, her hands large and leathery like a man’s. She was a jolly woman, short, almost squat, with a loud laugh. She often stayed longer than she first promised, unwilling, Ariane felt, to go back to small room she called her home down towards Port Augustine’s ‘disreputable corner’ as Mrs Bellamy called it. Ariane often wanted to ask Father Claireborne if Tenny couldn’t move into the small room out back that wasn’t much more than a place of storage, hardly used. She did not know how to ask though, since Tenny did always talk so much, and Ariane knew Father Claireborne liked it quiet during the day, so he could read his books and write his sermons.

It was when Tenny asked that Ariane realized she was indeed rubbing her arm, the one that man-thing had turned so sharply it had hurt all the way to her head. Ariane folded her hands in her lap and shook her head, Mrs. Bellamy saying, ‘Don’t worry yourself, Tenny, it’s just a bruise and it will heal soon, won’t it my dear?’ she smiled, stroking Ariane’s cheek. Ariane nodded and finished her plate, asking if she could be excused right after. She left the table when her mother gave her leave, and did her best to leave the kitchen by the back door as unhurridly as she could.

*

Ariane stepped onto sanded path snaking across the lawn, and at first walked one way, then the other, before passing towards the gate, slowly, carefully, her eyes fixed on the green. She was not certain if she should go and see if the tomato and carrot were still there. Officer Turlington had said there was a dangerous criminal on the loose. The man-thing had looked feral, mad even, and he had told her, no, commanded her to keep still and all without words. Ariane finally reached the gate and lingered. From where she stood she could see nothing red or orange in the green grass, but it was rather tall, and who knew if they weren’tcarried away by some feisty bird or whatever else came by. But if she walked out now, would it not be foolish? God knew what would happen, and if she shouted no one would hear, not the way they were talking and laughing inside.

Ariane hesitated, but common sense won over curiosity in the end. She could not forget that feral look in those eyes, clear yes, neither blue nor brown nor grey nor black, but somehow colourless in the bright light. It was out there, somewhere, all grunts and growls, and it had turned her arm so. She would be foolish to underestimate what else it could do, feral as it was. And so very dirty.

*

Ariane finally walked back to the house. She would eat one of the pastries she knew her mother had made for Father Claireborne and his guest. Mrs Bellamy never minded if Ariane ate one as long as it really only was one. Walking around the house, Ariane saw that the side door stood ajar, the one used for deliveries, but that was not surprising, her mother was always complaining how everyone forgot to close it. Luckily, the larder was the door next to the kitchen, she would not have to face the others again. Ariane could still hear the talk and laughter inside, stepped to the larder, opened the door, and – Holy Mother of God.

There it was, again, as feral and dirty as before only standing now, stuffing its mouth with freshly baked bread and those parts of the chicken her mother had layed aside for tomorrow. The man-thing stopped the moment she opened the door. There was a moment or two without a heartbeat. Ariane did not know if to talk or scream. Right then, the door to the kitchen opened, Bert’s voice booming out. Ariane closed the door to the larder and made to walk out, nearly walking into Tenny who laughed, ‘There you are! Lend me a hand with the washing later on, yes? I can never hang those sheets on my own.’ Ariane just nodded and Tenny went out through the delivery door,  John, Bert, Mel and Wesley following her right after, putting on their caps, Bert thanking Mrs. Bellamy loudly for his supper, it was as always ‘exquisite’. ‘You stop those lies, Bertram Mahoney!’ Mrs Bellamy shot back. ‘Ah, Mrs Bellamy, why can’t you accept an honest compliment?’ ‘Honest? Ha!’

This went on for too long. Ariane stood, listening, her heart racing, until finally, thankfully, John asked when they should return for tea, now that the weather looked like rain by evening. John and Bert liked to sit in the kitchen and drink cups of tea like gentlemen while it rained and stormed outside. They told wonderful stories then, stories of pirates and wild chases, sunken ships and hidden treasures, islands full of gold that only appeared at the full moon, and wells that were filled with gemstones. Together, John and Bert were storytellers fit to entertain any king’s court.It was why Ariane liked rainy days. Then she could just sit and listen to John and Bert tell their stories, her mother shaking her head at ‘all that nonsense you’re putting into the poor girl’s head’, though she never stopped them.

If John said it looked like rain, then it would rain, John was ‘an excellent predictor of weather’ as Father Claireborne said. Ariane had hardly seen the clouds while she was at market, but now that she thought if it, it had looked a little silvery while she was outside. Dogs could not smell in water, but they could smell in a house. What if they found the trail before it rained? What if the came all the way here? And if they asked her? Would they know she was lying? For she knew she should at least tell her mother, but first John and the others had to leave, and they did finally, all of them, with Ariane waiting in the hallway, between doors, not knowing what to do next.

*

One last look into the kitchen showed Ariane that her mother had suddenly disappeared. Where – ah, there, the quiet screech of a pump. Her mother was out back, fetching more water. Ariane stayed as she was, the kitchen door open, and her eyes fixed on the larder. Finally her mother returned, and Ariane summoned her silently, despairing with her ‘What is it? Why don’t you just tell me?’ before sighing and following Ariane’s silent plea and joining her. Body tense, hands trembling slightly, Ariane opened the larder door.

‘What is it?’ Mrs. Bellamy asked. ‘Ariane, what is the matter, why show me the larder in this silly way, you know – ’

Mrs Bellamy stopped and stepped in, walking to one of the shelves.

‘Those rascals! If I ever catch them, if I ever see them with my own eyes, may God forgive me, but they will get such a thrashing as they’ve never seen – !’

Mrs. Bellamy could hardly contain her anger. The third roast chicken had disappeared. Ariane stepped in with her mother and saw Mrs. Bellamy smile at her grimly.

‘Well, it’s good you saw it, your eyes have not gotten bad,’ she said. ‘I was already getting worried, it’s not like you to trip on the Hunting Trail.’
‘Look,’ Ariane said instead, pointing to the ever fastened larder window.

Turning, Mrs. Bellamy made a noise that sounded like a curse, something she only ever did when the food burnt in the oven.

‘To steal from God’s house is already – but to purposely break in! Have they no piety!’

Ariane did not answer. The glass was shattered, the window swung open at its hinges. The man-thing had not spirited itself away, she was not suffering from what Father Claireborne called ‘hallucinations’. Her mother was already climbing the stairs to the Father’s apartments when Ariane realised what this meant. Where was it now, the feral thing? She imagined it running into the green with a roast chicken. Well, at least it finally had something to eat.

*

Father Claireborne entered the larder, saw the destruction and shook his head. He looked out of the broken window and sighed, ‘I will have to have speak with their parents,’ which surprised Ariane who had always thought Father Claireborne was ignorant of the occasional thefts from their larder by the Holborns and Gellards, two families of many children and little means. Usually it was pastries and the boiled sweets Mrs Bellamy saw no sin in eating. As it seemed the Father was well aware of the occasional disappearance. He patted Mrs. Bellamy’s arm as if to calm her.

‘Don’t worry Mrs. Bellamy, I will see to it. This has clearly gone too far.’And with that, both left the larder, Ariane following them silently. Closing the door, she wondered. Where had the man-thing gone? Was it still about the house? Was he in fact, just a room away? And if so, should she not tell her mother at least? Father Claireborne? But once told, they would call the officers and that would be the gallows for him. The thought alone made Ariane feel a murderess. So far she did not know of his transgressions. Yet maybe Father Claireborne knew something of what Officer Turlington had said. She really should say something. At least to warn them of the feral creature hiding around the house.

© 2014 threegoodwords