Second Look - A Victorian Romance ch. 3

Chapter Three
Epithet

“Syd?” Darold knocked again on the wooden door of the deep-rooted cottage. “I….I wanted you to come to the house. It’s been years now. Please forget about the past. Angeline will think it’s odd if you do not lodge there with us. If you love me as your brother, please do as I say and come back.”

Syd did not open the door, but returned a cruel laugh. “I only came back here because you asked me to, did you not?” Darold remained speechless. Angry, he furiously thrashed his fist against the door.

“Then, be at it!” Darold raged throwing his hands into the air. “I hated your stubbornness and everything about you disgrace the pride of this family! I wished for peace and not once had you give me that; not once had you try to understand your own brother! What hardship must I go through to carry your burden!”

“….. I did not ask you to amend my immoral deed.” Darold grimaced upon hearing his ruthless words. Instead of continuing their argument, Darold darted away in fury. As always, he did not expect his brother to be humane in any ways. However, he stopped half way and rested his hand on his hip. He grunted and walked swiftly toward the carriage.

Darold returned with two fresh cotton blankets and pillows and stood again in front of the door. He inhaled for more air before placing the blankets onto the foot of the door.

“….I’m leaving you these blankets and pillows. You’re a grown man now and should know how to take better care of yourself instead of sleeping on old rags….. I hope to see you at the ceremony.”

When he heard the carriage pulled away, Syd remained in the dimmed room with only the light through the small creak of the window’s curtains. He was sweating and was bandaged from the shoulder to his midsection. Then, he let out a groan of pain as the injury on his shoulder had already swollen bigger than it was before.


Three weeks after Rosema’s injuries had lessened into minor pain, Darold insisted that they must go into town in search of an outfit for the upcoming ceremony. However, Rosema protested and told him to go alone with Angeline. He argued laughably, but in the end, gave in.

Darold left her and said they will find Rosema something while they’re out. She smiled and waved goodbye.

As she watched them disappeared along with the carriage, Rosema waited for awhile. When she was certain that they had traveled a great distant, Rosema, too, left the house.

She was cautious when she walked away from the house and toward the garden. She loved the garden; everyone knew that and they knew that before autumn come, she would visit the garden more than usual. In spite of this, no one suspected that she would slip into town by herself.

She did visit the garden; that was one thing she did in order to gather two dozens of yellow daylilies before leaving the property of the Richman.

As she walked westward toward the public road, she was quite alert for Syd; too afraid that she might somehow encounter him. Her thoughts brought her sudden fear and she began running through the woods.

Her running continued without any hesitation although she merged into the public road safely. It was the image of him that made her afraid enough to think that if she did not run, she will never be far away from him.

Her heart beat heavily, remembering that frightful night of seeing him smiling at her viciously and his cold, hard fingers tightening around her small neck.

Her throat felt tighter as she tripped and fell onto the ground. Her eyes widened as she tried to gathered herself onto her knees. She stared at the crushed flowers, stunned. For a long time, she did not move nor did she realize her difficulty to breathe. Unexpectedly, her tears sprinkled onto the ruined flowers.

She promised herself not to cry, pretending that she had recovered completely and was perfectly fine. The truth is she wasn’t. Since that night, the nightmare of him choking her to death repeated itself over and over again each night. Every time she broke away from that nightmare and awoke in cold sweats, it was his name and face that made her huddled in fear.

She was not afraid of death, but it was him that made her suddenly know fear. And at that very moment where she found herself alone again, she could not find the strength to call out for Larick. Instead, she let herself continued crying, knowing that she does not deserve to be save by anyone.

When everything became nothing but a loud blare in her ears, a sudden soft voice called her name. Rosema raised her eyes and was shocked to find a young, black hair boy in front of her. He was a scrawny young man who barely passed adolescence and long black hair that covered almost half his face.

She could not tell what face he was wearing; whether he was glad to see her or was he angry upon meeting her. But when he kneeled down and picked up her flowers, she was able to catch a glimpse of his azure eyes and his long eyelashes. He returned a stern stare as he held the flowers in his hands.

“It is great to see you again, Miss Rosema,” he worded the words with a peculiar tone. “….I really appreciated that you cleaned my brother’s grave frequently….And as well as my sister-in-law’s. But, today I‘d did everything, so you shouldn‘t cry over your flowers.”

Rosema wiped away her tears and pretended that she did not cry. Realizing her actions, the young boy smiled. “Does it pain you that much to see your flowers ruined?”

“….No…It’s nothing….But I ought to visit their graves before returning to Soave Maine.”

“….I will not stop you, then, but I’m glad you had stopped crying.” The young boy pulled her up and handed her flowers back. Rosema accepted it and remained wordless. He departed from her, but stopped after a few steps.

“…..I know you love my brother a lot,” he began in a hesitating voice. “But, he’s already gone…..And where he is now….Is where he can be happy with Corine.”

Rosema could not find a word to say to him. She did not try to face him. At last she spoke in a very low voice. “….I’m sorry, Reece.” He only returned a chuckle and throw his open hand in the air to bid her farewell. His footsteps distanced away as she too walked toward the cemetery.



“Sorry it took awhile for me,” Reece apologized as he reached a silver-haired man holding out a sack bag. He took it openly and slung it across his back. “Shall we go?”

The rugged, tall, muscular lad smirked and slid a cigarette between his lips. He inhaled a wistful of smoke and puffed it out. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked in a deep rough voice.

“You talk too much,” Reece retorted. “If we miss the ride, I swear I’m going to wipe that awful smirk off your face.” He trotted away. The lofty lad laughed it off and followed him.



“Syd, are you doing all right?” Darold questioned after knocking on the door. He did not expect an answer. “If you are in there, I just wanted you to know that in the next two days will be the ceremony….. It will be great if you can come…..You remember Frey Hobley? He will be there as well!” Darold’s voice died down after hearing Syd’s silence.

He sighed. “Well, I just wanted to check up on you and hopefully you will attend this occasion. You know it will mean a lot to me.” Darold sighed again and started for the carriage until Syd’s voice interrupted him.

“….Darold,” Syd stopped as he sat near the fireplace. He answered his brother immediately and came back to the door. Darold waited for Syd to continue.

“….By any chance,” Syd resumed tentatively. “Does the name Larick Chadkirk sound familiar to you?”

Darold stared at the door for a moment and finally answered. “No, I’ve never heard that name before. Why are you asking me? Who is he?”

Syd rubbed his chin, deep in thoughts and then leaned back into his armchair. Then, a smile formed on his face as he said, “No....I’m just curious who this Larick Chadkirk is.”


Lights beamed bright and high through the windows of the big, tall, pallid house of Soave Maine. Sounds of the viola and the violin and the piano brought music to the house that stood alone in the rural region of Paris, with green grass that kissed the dimmed moonlight and trees that shadowed behind the house. Vines crawled onto the white walls and flora implanted itself at the base of the house.

One could not imagine how massive Soave Maine was until the invited guests exited their carriages and studied the building that was three levels high and long. Some wished to visit the upper levels, hoping to get a chance to stand on the balconies and view the entire field of what the Richmans possessed. But, when they soon learned that it was prohibited for them to enter the family rooms and the towers, they called the Richmans selfish and quickly tittle-tattled of the Richmans. The younger ones began whispering the tale of how the Richmans were not merry and that was why a party was unusual.

Their rumors ceased upon entering the drawing room. They were charmed by the elegancy of the home of the Richman. It was a home made up of sleek, pasty white marble floors and tall columns that paralleled alongside with the pallid walls. Chinas and vases of summer flowers were neatly placed on the mantelpiece of the fireplace. A single wall of mirror bordered the walkway and the dance floor. Tables of silver teapots and dishes of summer fruits were put in the opening for the guests.

Some wanted to climb the Florentine stairs that coiled upward to the bedchambers and other rooms like the library. Instead, they remained on the highest steps, busied themselves with a conversation, but sneak a peek at any room they can. Some find it odd that a family of great fashion did not have much portraits of themselves, but few portraits of the passed masters.

Everyone knew that Soave Maine was a little different than other Victorian homes. It was more like a mansion, built and made especially for those who carried the Richman blood. It was a house of age.

Among those who were enchanted by the beauty of Soave Maine, were those who remained at the dance floor. Men in evening suits waited patiently and searched the room for a suitable dance partners while the young gentlewomen flittered their feathery fans continuously, hoping to be ask for a dance soon.

At the foot of the staircase, Darold and Frey Hobley chatted happily together. It wasn’t long until Darold insisted Frey to dance since he had not yet ask anyone. He did not hesitate and then asked the nearby lass for the next round.

His first dance turned into a several more with the others. However, when he approached another lass for the next song, he became distracted as he glanced at the reflection in the mirror wall. Frey quickly turned his full body to search the staircases. He wasn’t even sure what exactly was he searching for until he found himself watching the young lass in the cerulean tier gown awkwardly descending from each steps. Frey remained unmoved as he watched her from the dance floor while the other dancers began to the introduction of the song. He followed her every movements, from her clutching tightly on her skirt and then her breathing nervously through the small opening of her red lips. He stared at her fluttering eyelashes, down the nape of her bare neck, and then the curls of her russet hair that fell down to her small waist. When she surprisingly smiled to the awaiting Darold, Frey suddenly felt his heartbeat trembled tremendously.

He did not feel himself breathing nor did he blink away from her. The strange feelings disappeared as fast as it came when a pair of dancers accidentally stepped onto his feet. They apologized to him, but he could almost not hear them as he pushed his spectacles upper. Frey soon realized that he was standing like a fool in the middle of the dance floor. At last, he walked away toward the nearby lass.

From the far corner of the walkway, hidden from the others, Syd leaned against one of the tall column. He drenched himself with the glasses of champagne, bothered by his thoughts. He searched the room for Darold and upon seeing Mr. Richman, Syd tipped the glass for another sip. But, when he saw the lass in cerulean blushing from afar, he could not move his eyes away from her. He stared at her for a very long time, even after Darold led her to the dance floor, making him forgot about the glass that was still pressed against his lips. Syd just watched her, spying on her. When she turned toward his way, Syd became conscious of his actions and then grew disgusted from the sight of her.

He forcefully gulped the whole glass of champagne and then noticed Mrs. Abbot walking toward the kitchen. He glanced across the room and then followed her.

They continued to the scullery and when he was sure that no one will take notice of them, he called her. She jumped and dropped the dishes; luckily, into the washer.

“I would die of a heart attack, do you not know?” she cried out of relieve, but fell silenced when she saw Syd standing there.

“I have something I wanted to ask you,” he began in a husky voice.

Mrs. Abbot chuckled and picked up her fallen dishes. “What is it that you wanted to ask me, child.”

“Do you know the name Larick Chadkirk…Or Corine Dikes?”

“Acquaintances of yours?”

“Answer me properly,” Syd returned impatiently. Mrs. Abbot sighed and shook her head.

“Even if I pass them, I won’t know who they are.” Syd did not say more. He looked at her as if she was not being honest with him. After a few seconds, Syd turned with a humph and went out the door. Mrs. Abbot continued with her dishes and spoke lowly to herself. “What of them matters to you?”

When she finally escaped from the house, Rosema gasped for air . She did not want to be in there; she did not want to be dressed elegantly and dancing like gentlewomen. If it wasn’t for the sake of the Richmans and pleasing Angeline’s request, she would have remained in the kitchen. She made her way toward the white bench facing the woods. She sat down and stared at the shadows of the trees.

She recalled Mr. Richman’s speech a moment ago, announcing that he’ll fully give Darold the business once he turn 25. A strange speech, she thought. But, her spirit became livelier when Darold publicly pronounced Angeline as his fiancée.

She wasn’t through with thinking when a sudden voice surprised her and she quickly recognized the lad in the blue overcoat. He quickly asked for her invitation and sat alongside with her.

It was awkward for them, of course. A pair of complete strangers, yet known by an incidental event sitting together on a bench.

Rosema thought they would remain in silence forever until he cleared his throat loudly. “Is your arm better now?” She hesitated to answer, but nodded. He promptly smiled. “I was afraid you may not get well soon enough for the ceremony. But, it’s a pleasure to hear you’re doing fine.”

“I-I wanted to thank you….Mr. Hobley..For saving me.” She was, of course, lost for words. “If there’s a-anything at all, I will gladly repay my debt to you.”

“Call me Frey. I’m not quite a master yet, so being addressed by my surname really aged me.”

“I’m sorry,” Rosema apologized pathetically. He returned a chuckle.

“You like sceneries?” Rosema raised her head in astonishment. She clutched her hands together.

“It put my mind at ease .”

“I thought so, seeing that you preferred being alone out here than dancing. Isn’t that a little unsafe for a woman?” Rosema did not answer him. She had little to defend that fact. She was about to change the subject when he took her gloved hand and powerfully pulled her away from the bench. Her face landed on his chest and then she quickly withdrew herself from him, but could not loosen his grip. He gazed at her, refusing to look away.

“For the rest of the night, dance with me,” Frey required, keeping his grip firm. The atmosphere suddenly thickened. “Dance with me and I will consider your debt paid.” She gulped and then agreed.

That night, they danced at the back of the house as they listened to the melodies through the windows. It was, indeed, a very long dance for Rosema.



“Is it all right if I wonder off for a bit, Mrs. Abbot?” Rosema asked once they exited the carriage and into the crowded market streets. “I wanted to pay a visit to this place.”

“And what place is that?” Mrs. Abbot patted her basket and observed the nearby booth. “Oh, how much is this?”

“Please, Mrs. Abbot.”

She sighed and turned away from the approaching owner of the booth. She gawked at Rosema and rested her hand on her hip. “Make sure to come back in an hour. If Mr. Hagon discover that I left you off somewhere, he will certainly tell the masters. Okay?” Rosema grinned and thanked her. Quickly, she disappeared into the crowd of women with baskets, children tailing behind them and men smelled of ale chatting sluggishly.

As she turned her head to observe a nearby booth, she bumped into someone. Rosema apologized repeatedly and tried to pick up his fruits until he called, “Miss Rosema?!”

She looked up from the ground and realized it was an old, balding man with white hair circling his head. “Mr. Gibson?” She straightened herself to stand, recognizing the grave keeper.

“How are you?!” the short, old man exclaimed and shook her hands continuously. “I haven’t seen you for weeks!” She answered him with a forged laugh, but his excitement suddenly died down.

“I must tell you right away!”

Rosema pulled back in confusion. “What must you tell me?” He seemed a little afraid as he bend down to pick up the last of his red apple on the grubby ground. Then, sweat run fast down his balding head. He wiped it hurriedly and rubbed his eyes, trying hard to complete his words.

“Last night,” his voice was awfully shaking. “L-last night…Larick’s grave….Someone….S-Someone stole his body!”