Read an Excerpt
Ordinary People
Part VIII
By PHIL BOAST Trafford Publishing
Copyright © 2016 Phil Boast
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4907-7009-3
CHAPTER 1
Thermodynamics
Travelling by horse and cart, the same means by which she had arrived there, the old woman had made her slow and thoughtful way back from the house by the mill stream. To the carter on this so well - known and oft - trodden track she was just another passenger; someone he had never seen before; someone visiting relatives, perhaps, and he paid her no mind, so long as she paid her fare. She had kept her identity and purpose a secret, as she had done since she was a young girl, lest she be hung for it, and she had done that which she had come there to do. She had given warning to Edward Tillington and his sister that they must leave as soon as may be, and so had at least made safe the issue of the womb of Anne Tillington. She and her brother were blameless in this, after all, and the murderer must be denied his further insane satisfaction; had he found his daughter with bastard child he may well have meted out his perverted and puritanical justice upon her, and there had been enough death. And the daughter of Jane Mary was safe, as far as could be made so, and so she returned, and called for a meeting of the inner circle. They met by firelight in the late evening, and she it was, as High Priestess of her order, who imparted the intelligence as to that which had occurred in the house by the mill stream, and there were questions to be answered, as best she could answer them.
'So what of the so unfortunate Jane Mary now; what will become of her?'
'She will likely be imprisoned and killed, as was her son, Edward, for what other purpose can there have been for her abduction? She will by now be at the Manor House and at the mercy of the Lord of that household; the madman who is called Henry Tillington, and by now we may surmise that she is already slain. In any case she is beyond our help. If by some chance she escapes or is set free then we will know soon enough, but I do not think that this will be so.'
'But could we not have prevented her death had our actions been more timely and decisive; did she have to die?'
'We do as we may, as we have always done, and ours is not the place to intervene in all things, nor has it ever been, and you know this, Edith. Events must take their course, and one child at least is safe now though we could not save the other. The infant Edward is murdered, but the daughter lives.'
'So who has the child now?'
'Amelia has taken Mary Jane.'
'I do not know of Amelia.'
'She is young, and yet she is strong, though she does not know it, and she is brave and quick of mind; without her Jane Mary's daughter would also be dead, and the sisterhood now watches over her.'
'This is indeed a grim day in our history.'
'Ever has our history been full of such grim times, has it not; ever have we suffered and been persecuted and killed for our craft, and for our sacred belief.'
'Jane Mary was not of the sisterhood.'
'And yet she was a skilled healer, and so may her legacy now continue. If things go as I suppose then Jane Mary will be taken to the bosom of mother earth, and though she was but young we will give thanks to the earth mother for her life, and for that which she has achieved. All things have their time, and though the passing of Jane Mary may be a grievous thing, her daughter lives, and this in the end may prove to be the greater good. We none of us live merely for our own short time, you know this, and the spirit of the sisterhood will endure, as it has done since its' beginning, and it is my hope that Mary Jane will join our order. It is to Mary Jane that we must now turn our thoughts, for in her life lies the future.'
'So what of the assassins; what of those who have killed the innocent ..?'
'What of them? There was no hatred in their hearts, I think; they were in the employ of the madman.'
'And yet to have committed such heinous crime, for is there any worse a crime than the killing of a defenseless mother and her child, and for this crime to go unpunished; this surely is unjust.'
'Perhaps so, but this will not be our justice; if they are to suffer it will not be at our hands; they will otherwise receive justice. Their deeds will burn in their hearts, and they will find no peace from that which they have done, which will in the end consume them. Only the insane could commit such sin without retribution; that is the nature of men, and they are not insane; the insanity which drove their actions came from a place other than within themselves.'
'So what more can we do? Surely these deeds cannot go wholly unpunished?'
'We cannot kill the madman, if this is what you speak of; to even go to the Manor House is quite beyond our gift, even if it were our wish so to do, and he is not of sane mind, Edith; this must not be forgotten. Whatever has brought him to this pass is his own great and terrible burden, and this he will always carry, for his son will not return to him. It is the love of his son which has driven his actions, though all but he can see that it is sick and perverted love. He has killed his own grandchildren, or rather he thinks that he has, and none now live who will inherit his title beyond his own son. The male bloodline is so soon broken, and thus has he brought ruin upon those who would otherwise have followed after him, and who but a madman would have done such a thing?'
'So what then will we do; you are our high priestess and you must proclaim your intent.'
'We will take the infant Mary Jane into our care, and bring her into the sisterhood if she will follow our way, and some good will thus have come of this day which otherwise would not. Mary Jane will be our charge, and we must wish her a long, blessed and happy life, and may she inherit the gift which was given to her mother, so that this gift may one day pass to her own daughter. Otherwise all for now that we will do is to give thought to all that has happened, and we will never in any case and whatever may follow forget the dark deeds of this dark day.'
There was silence then amongst those assembled at this most secret of meetings, for ever must the inner circle of healers meet in secret places. Finally, one of them spoke.
'It is not enough.'
'What, Edith, is the meaning of your words?'
'It is not enough that we let this be. You have made proclamation, and I have heard it, but in this I say that you are wrong. There should be vengeance for that which has happened; too often have we stood by whilst the guilty go free, and I would that it were otherwise.'
'So you would go against me in this?'
'I do not know, and I must meditate upon the matter, but I do not yet see how I can let the matter rest. Madness may be seen and used as reason for many things, and so many of us have died who have wished only to heal, and are guilty of no sin other than believing that which we believe, and those who so persecute us are sane in the eyes of the world, though their actions defy reason. They kill us in the name of their god, who they say is the divine creator, and yet there is no evidence for this; they have only the writing of men from foreign lands, which none but their priests and holy men may read. In this way do they oppress those who follow their word, and persecute so cruelly those who do not, and their god is a vengeful god, and in his name do they kill us.'
'Edith, do not speak of the actions of one insane man in such a way, for he is but one man.'
'And yet he is a part of the greater madness which says that all others are wrong to believe other than that which this madness dictates; that all must believe it or else must suffer. The earth Goddess is everywhere and can be seen in all things, though it is not written down in their accursed scriptures, and yet in their eyes we are wrong to acknowledge her.'
'You are angry, Edith, and well do I understand your anger, and your words would seem like justice, but we must not act in haste and in the heat of anger, for so often are such actions regretted in the cooler light of rational or deeper thought.'
'Thought will not bring back Jane Mary or her son, no matter how long and deep the thought. Out of respect for you I will ponder your words, for indeed I see wisdom therein, but I cannot yet say where my thoughts will take me.'
'So be it then; let us all meditate upon the wrong which has been done, and let each of us find resolution however we may. We will meet again on the morrow after further reflection, for this matter must reach agreement between us, though I will say now that my mind is quite clear, and I am set on this.'
And so after due ritual the meeting dispersed for all to consider the evil which had been wrought upon the good and the innocent. The names of those who were then a part of the inner circle and had taken part in this most significant of meetings are not important for our story, save one. For Edith did not sleep that night, and could find no peace, and she wandered the dark places by moonlight, away from the villages, and went to dark places in her soul where forgiveness and understanding will never come, and by morning she sat upon a hilltop and watched as the blessed dawn broke red on the horizon, and by now she was certain. It was not enough. The son Edward was still a young man and could yet remarry and his new bride bear children, grandsons to the murderer, and so the line could yet continue. And though those who had committed the act of killing mother and child may suffer in their own way, and by their own conscience, Edith could find no solace in this, and she knew now what she must do, if she could, for she was herself a witch of some power. And though she love and respect the high priestess, she knew that she must leave the inner circle, and leave the order of healers though it pain her so to do, for that which she knew must be done she must do alone, and a great anger burned within her which would not be made quiet.
* * *
'Victoria; a word, please....'
During the second day after the news had broken like a tidal wave over the Manor House of Rose's operation, and of its' future implications, the waters had at least subsided somewhat. Rose was to stay in hospital for another day or so, and would likely be returning home the next day, although a period of quiet and medically supervised convalescence would be needed before her recovery could be said to be complete, and she must in any case rest. This left the Lord and Lady and their two offspring in residence, though Michael would sleep at the hospital, and for each of these people there would need to be a coming to terms, and each must adapt to the new circumstance in which the family now found itself. They would dine together, and thus collectively could they find a place from which to continue with the business of life, but each must speak to the others as a part of this same process. Thus it was that Victoria had spoken at length to her mother, and offered such consolation as she could. Lady Beatrice had, at least on the face of it, managed the least well with the matter, and Victoria had dealt with the tears as best she could.
'It just is not fair, Victoria; poor Michael, one can only imagine what he must be going through.'
'No Mama; it isn't fair, I'm sure.'
Victoria wondered quite how much of her sympathy her mother could in fact spare for her son once she had used the majority of the quota on herself, but she also wondered whether she was being reasonable in this enquiry; her eldest and only surviving son would in all likelihood not now be providing the grandchildren which she knew that her mother had so wished for, so some latitude must be given on account of this. Victoria also noted that Rose, who after all was the person who was suffering the most, barely found a place in their conversation, but she supposed that this also was natural, since Michael was after all her beloved son, and in truth her most beloved child. Victoria knew well enough that her mothers' love for her daughter in law had always been tepid, to say the least of it, and conditional rather upon her producing the children which she would not now produce, and for Rose to now win her mother in laws' affection would be a hard thing. This fact, she supposed, would not trouble the beautiful Rose overmuch; beautiful she may be, but there was an underlying hardness about her born of her previous circumstance, and relations between these two was likely from now onwards to be cold, to give the matter its' mildest expression, and they would all feel the chill. Nobody, perhaps, would have been good enough for Michael in his mothers' eyes, and Rose certainly was not, and Victoria knew well that Rose's distain for inherited privilege lived not far below the surface. Victoria had also left the conversation with another observation; not once had her mother so much as mentioned little Henry, or the fact that she, Victoria, had in fact given birth to the heir to the Tillington inheritance. There was no consolation, apparently, to be found in this, and for this more than anything else Victoria found it hard to have sympathy for her mother. Henry was her son, and henceforward and by some measure he was to be the most important person in her life, and those who ignored him, regardless of the circumstances and regardless of whom they were, were wrong to do so. If any person did not love her son absolutely then they did not love her, it was as simple as that, and love which was not given would not be returned.
Victoria had also had a few moments alone with Michael, although their time had been brief as he had been for the most part at the hospital with Rose, or otherwise engaged with their parents. Victoria had not pressed her brother in this; she knew well enough that he would find her when he was ready, just as he knew that she would be there for him when that time came. She was in bed reading a magazine on the morning after the operation, however, when the coded knock sounded on her bedroom door. She was alone; little Henry was with Abigail and Rebecca had upon their mutual agreement returned to the cottage and would stay there until the household had settled sufficiently to allow her reasonable return. It also did not escape Victoria's thoughts that had Rebecca been a man, and her husband, then there would have been no question of her staying, but she was neither of these things and allowances still had to be made in this regard for the prejudice and sensibilities of others, and for others, read her mother.
'Come in Mike.'
Michael entered and sat at his sisters' dressing table, and distractedly opened her jewellery box, in which she kept only such ornamentation as she would wear from day to day, and nothing of any value; those items she kept in the family safe in her father's study.
'Well; this is rum do sis, don't you think?'
'How was Rose last night; I only saw her when she was still rather groggy.'
'Oh she's okay, you know; she had a good nights' sleep anyway.'
'So how about you; did you get any sleep?'
'Yes, I slept a bit, although the hospital bed was damnably uncomfortable, despite what one pays for it. We'll probably spend one more night there depending on what the doctor says; I just came back to pick up a few things.'
'So otherwise how are you both?'
'Oh you know; as well as can be expected I suppose one might say. I mean of course ones' initial reaction is one of relief that Rose is going to be okay, the deeper implications I daresay have not fully sunk in yet. It's the kind of thing that one will have to chew at before one spits it out.'
This was said with more bile than Victoria was used to from her always calm and reasonable brother, in fact she could scarce remember words leaving his mouth with such venom; she hoped for his sake that the emotion mastication to which he referred would in the end make the matter easier for him to digest. She imagined for a moment her brother opening the drawer to her dressing table; from where he sat he had only to reach out to find the papers on which were written the last words of Anne Tillington; words which left no doubt that the Lordship which would one day be his was quite without legitimacy. But he did not open the drawer, as she knew he would not.
'Yes, I suppose so. There really isn't anything I can say, is there?'
'No, of course not ... It's just, I don't know ...'
'What, Mike?'
'There's something indefinably ironic about it all, don't you think, given that ...'
'Given that Rose was a prostitute?'
'Yes, I suppose so, although one can't really put ones' finger on it, if you know what I mean; it's a sort of primeval reaction, I suppose.'
'Yes, you poor lamb; still, one must look on the bright side; you still have Rose.'
'Of course, and that in the end I daresay will be all that will matter. It's funny though ...'
'What's funny?'
'Well, despite the fact that she is very unlikely to conceive, which is what she has wanted to do, we will now and for as long as need be have to take precautions to make sure that she doesn't. The irony just goes on, does it not? What the hell's that you're reading, anyway; it wouldn't be erotic literature, would it?'
Victoria had put her magazine down on the bed, revealing tastefully posed photographs of naked or semi – naked women.
'It might well be.'
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Ordinary People by PHIL BOAST. Copyright © 2016 Phil Boast. Excerpted by permission of Trafford Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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