Her Kind

Chapter 9

I have taken up drawing, though I dare say I have no great skill. I do not have Miss Castor’s steady hand or eye. Still, I find it calming, especially when coupled with time spent in the graveyard. I draw the stones, the trees, and the mausoleum, as well as my crows. The clever little animals have followed me here as if to keep me company. I find I can recreate them on the page quite well, better than even the simple lines of the many crosses strewn about. My affinity for the birds has only grown. They may not have the prettiest plumage, their song is harsh and discordant, and yet they are a beauty. I have observed they are never alone. Where there is one, there are others nearby, in what I believe must be a family. Even the animals need connection. Mrs Orton tells me they steal nests and will even destroy any eggs they find to do so. For this, I forgive them. I think it is necessary, sometimes, to be selfish, cruel even, in service towards one’s survival and for those we love.

My other companion was Miss Castor, in the form of her drawings. I would bring one to look at. Just one a day. They were a miracle to behold. I saw, through time, how her hand got steady, her lines more crisp and confident. She was especially good at drawing eyes. Each began to sparkle. She drew joy, and was keen to see it. She worked hard to perfect its likeness on paper, and my how the little governess succeeded. Why did I ever think her hand subpar? Because these little drawings did not look like the pictures in the books? That’s what I had been told was art. Perhaps it is. Some of it. But so was this.

The birds start cawing. First one, then the rest as they take to flight. Though each sound they make to my ear is a repeat of the other, I believe to the birds they are similar to how we use language, and in time, I think I know what they say. It is a warning. There is danger.

It is then that I hear the crack of a footstep and turn to see him come into view. Elloit Burkmore. My betrothed.

“It’s you.” He says, walking up to me with his eyes looking towards the ground.

“Yes. I come here often.”

He lets out a sound that feigns interests, his thoughts seemingly miles off. He stands mere feet away from me, but looks off somewhere in the distance.

“What brings you here, Elliot?”

“Boredom,” He tells me, still peering off.

“And yet I thought you envied my life here at the Hall,” He turns to me then, briefly looking at me, before turning away once again.

“I am used to more…bustle in London, I’ll admit. It’s temporary, the boredom. It is very peaceful here, is it not?.”

“Why should you be so unaccustomed to peace?”

“I told you, I’m used to more.”

“More of what exactly?”

“More of everything,” he snaps out.

“I’m sorry, my dear. I did not sleep well last night.”

“I am sorry you are not well.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t well, just that I have not slept.”

“And yet it is so peaceful here.”

His face became dark.

“I have upset you.”

“No. It’s just you use my words against me.”

“I did not mean to.”

“It’s as if you mock my duress.”

“Over your lack of sleep.”

“Yes. That.”

“Have you not been sleeping well then, for longer than last night?”

“I’m sorry, my dear, I tire of this. I shall go back to the house. Please excuse me.”

“I would suggest you not rest, Mr Burkmore.”

“Pardon me?”

“Do not rest. Take a walk. I find that if I rest during the day, it makes it harder to sleep at night.”

“I will worry about that at night. I’m tired now.”

“Take a walk. Exercise and the cold air will lift your spirits, and you will be able to sleep tonight.”

The younger Mr Burkmore seemed to be considering my recommendation, or else he was considering me, for he looked at me intently. I could not make out his mind, yet I stared back as if the answer would come by some change in his countenance, and I would be able to perceive in his face. But it was me who gave something away. His stare was firmer. The younger Mr Burkmore was used to being looked at, handsome as he was; I was not and under his gaze, I felt faltered.

“Perhaps you are right, mt dear, but I have a better idea. Come. Follow me.”

He began to walk away with the assurance I would follow, and I did, curiosity compelling me. Through the grounds of the hall, I follow till we came to the edge of the lake on the west side of the grounds. And there on the shore was a little boat. How long it had been there, I could not say, but the poor thing looked barely seaworthy. And yet, Mr Burkmore upturned it, and pushing it towards the water.

“What are you doing?”

“I am taking you on a boat ride.”

“No.”

With the immediacy with which the small word left my mouth, Mr Burkmore smirked. I had pulled back, and he stepped forward.

“Come, my dear, I insist. The rowing will get my blood flowing and help tire me. It is as you suggested.”

“No. It’s not safe.”

“It’s perfectly safe. Come. I insist.”

But I did not relent. I walked away, but he took my hand and pulled me towards the boat, and though I did resist, not with all my strength.

“I cannot swim.”

“Then stay in the boat.”

There he placed me, before entering himself, and I did not stand to go because I feared getting my feet wet. It didn’t take long for me to realize how ridiculous that was. I caused myself greater distress because I feared a minor one. I shiver, but not from the cold.

Soon the water is too deep to see through, and below me seems to be a endless depth from which I could never hope to surface should I fall in. All that keeps me safe is this boat at the start of decay. When I look to Mr Burkmore, I see him smile. There, on the boat, at that very moment, I looked at his handsome face, and see such ugliness. Truly, he is the most hideous creature I have ever seen. I see in that smile something I had not before. My fear was evident. I looked out into the dark water and been terrified of its depth, and it was that fear, that must be splayed on my face, that made Mr Burkmore smile the only genuine smile I think he’d ever made me. He liked that I was afraid.

“What’s wrong, pet?”

He stopped rowing. I was silent.

“See? The boat’s sturdy. We’re not sinking. It is rather far out from the shore, though, isn’t it? You will allow me to rest some. I am tired from the exercise. I am sure I will sleep well tonight. Thank you for your advice.”

Still, I did not speak.

He shakes the boat, and my hands reach out to the sides, trying and failing to hold it still. The fear only just dissipates for him he to do so again. This time, I cry out, and Elliot Burkmore laughs.

It is a game to him. I see it, and one set up for me to fail. If I ask to go back, he will ignore me, finding some excuse. The more I cry, the more he will smile, maybe even laugh, and call me silly. Therefore my only option is to remain silent, and try to calm the terror inside. I must hope in time he gets bored, and spares me my torment. I close my eyes, for I do not wish to see the darkness of the water. When I open them a little time later I see the younger Burkmore, still smiling cruelly.

Something overcomes me. I cannot put a name as to what it is, only to say it is a great passion, that the younger Burkmore has inspired in me. It takes me only a little time to name it; Hatred. It is as pure an emotion as I have ever felt. I have never hated anyone, nay, I could not afford to. Long had I been told of the “roof of bitterness”, but this so called work of flesh made me feel the opposite of what I had always believed. Nay. I feel nothing but it’s power.

I tip over the boat and the cold forces the air out of my lungs. At first it is frightening, but the lack of warmth freezes the fear till I am nothing but floating in endless black. Then there is no cold, there is only the sensation of being still, like a deep slumber. It is peace like I have never known, till I feel the water rushing by as I am pulled through it. Air hits my face, and rushes back into my lungs. It felt like seconds had passed, but surely, that could not be. We were quite far out, and whomever had pulled me, could not have been so fast a swimmer to get me to the shore of the lake so quickly, and yet, here I was. I felt it’s rocky texture on my back. When I open my eyes I see the outline of my savior. A dark mass, that comes into focus once she has moved herself a little further from my face, allowing me to see hers again. How I have missed this face. How I have longed to see it in the day, with sufficient light to make out the finer details. She is real. I reach out my hand to cup her face, so that I may prove he being with touch as well as with my eyes. She is cold, as she has always been. Yet here she shudders, like I used to, all those nights in the graveyard.

I hear the thud of running feet, and there comes Elliot Burkmore. Blocking out the grey afternoon sky. His face twisted into a sneer.

What he would have said, I don’t know, for he quickly saw my companion, and Mr Burkmore changed. This was not the man in the boat. This was the man from before, the one I had been most familiar with up to this point. This man was eager to please and be pleasing, but I saw there what I could not see before. His smile, the one I had been accustomed to, it did not meet his eyes.