- A Brash Act – Part I
- A Brash Act – Part II
- A Brash Act – Part III
- A Brash Act – Part IV
- A Brash Act – Part V
- A Brash Act – End
Ξ From the Journals of Edward Rochester ~ circa 1796 Ξ
Henry was forever changed by what happened that day, and Rowland his jealously deepened into hatred for me. ** *******
“Aury? Aurelia! Where is he? Where is that boy?”
Henry Rochester burst through the front door of the Hall, his boots dripping with mud, his face flushed with heat and anger. A trail of servants followed in his wake, to relieve him of his great fur-collared cloak and riding crop, but he would have none of it. He swatted them away like flies.
He was not a tall man. Broad-chested and strong as a bull, his bearing simply commanded the attention from everyone in the room when he entered. His voice thundered throughout the house, echoing up and down the gallery as though it was seeking after me like a hungry tiger. In my mind I could see him marching along the hallway, throwing open one room door after another. Failure to find the object of his search — me – would only exacerbate his rising temper.
“Aurelia Fairfax! I am coming to the library presently…!”
The cry echoed down the hall as the door of that very room burst open, and I fully expected that in the next moment, I should be dangling by my hair from my father’s monstrous fist, his glowering countenance all rage and disapproval. To my relief, it was not my father but Rowland who entered.
He stomped across the floor to the corner near the hearth where stood the heavy oaken table at which my mother sat every morning, attending to her household accounts, composing daily correspondence, or attending to my early education. While she wrote her letters, I usually contented myself with a storybook or a slate to practice my ciphers.
Rowland was big and strong like father, but his manner was unpolished and blundering, and his temper kindled at the slightest affront to his pride.
“Mother! Where is that worthless little snipe?” he demanded. “Let me have him. You can’t hide him!”
“I suppose you have tracked mud and filth across my Turkey carpets again?” She replied calmly without looking up from her letter.
Rowland’s eyes widened, and he glanced down at his boots, squirming at this gentle reprimand.
“Have a care, Rowland. Must I speak again to Henry about your manners? They can be so abominable.”
His mouth dropped open, but the invocation of my father’s name broke off his retort.
“Nor is Edward hiding,” my mother continued. “He just finished his afternoon music lesson and now is keeping me company.”
Rowland heard none of this explanation, however. He planted himself firmly before her, hands on hips, and screeched his accusation.
“Sirocco, the new colt is ruined, and he did it!” He whined, pointing at me. “You! Wait until Father comes…”
My brother had little patience for anything that might thwart his will. He stepped sideways to get a clearer view of me, then suddenly lunged at me across the table, heedlessly scattering papers and books everywhere, leaning as far as he could, trying to grab me by the shirt. I shrank away from his clutches as far as I could.
“You! Come out of there at once!” He shrieked, growing more frustrated as his groping fingers failed to grasp me. “There’s no use denying it, you filthy little sneak! The grooms saw you. You took him out of the stable, didn’t you? You stole him! And now he is positively ruined…ruined! You…you little… mole! Hold still! I swear, I’ll…”
“You’ll what?”
~ End of Part II ~
© 2016 by R.Q. Bell and Imaginality Press; All rights reserved.