- 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
The deep voice of Henry Rochester, whose imposing presence all at once filled the room, visibly startled him. Like the mice surprised at the appearance of the cat, there we two were: I sat unmoving on the stool, and Rowland, ceasing his efforts to snatch me, lay on the table. Slowly, he tucked his arms beneath his chest, while his mouth gaped open in mute accusation. He glared hatred at me. Flushed from his exertions, he remained rigidly still, stretched out like a specimen pinned to a card.
My mother, quite accustomed to her husband’s mercurial temper, calmly laid her quill upon the desk, rose from her chair and stepped out from behind the table.
“What the deuce do you think you’re doing, Rowland?” exclaimed Henry. “Get down from there before I throw you off.”
Rowland’s gaze remained fixed on me as he pushed himself up and slid off the table. When his boots touched the floor and he stood upright, his stupified expression of astonishment metamorphosed into a lazy, self-satisfied smirk. I was in for it now.
With gleeful malice, he pointed at me. “Look…there he is, Father. I found him for you.”
“Be silent! Now…pick up your mother’s books and papers and put them back where they belong.”
Rowland seemed unaware that he had disturbed anything in his attempts to seize me, and now saw the jumble of papers and volumes on the carpet. He stooped and gathered them up as one then dropped them in a heap onto the desk.
“Rowland, for God’s sake...”
“Nevermind.” said my mother softly. “I’ll sort them out later.”
Henry looked at his wife, then shrugged. He turned again to Rowland and motioned for him to move out of his path. “Stand aside. I will deal with Edward.”
“That little beggar, he’s trying to hide from you, Father!” cried Rowland. “What a little horse thief he is!” He glanced round at me again, a menacing look of triumph on his face. “You do know that horse thieves hang, don’t you Edward? Father, what are you going to do to him? Shall I fetch him out of there for you? Shall I…”
“Leave the room this minute.” muttered Henry ominously.
But my brother would not be put off. His temper had taken hold of him, and nothing short of our father taking a horsewhip to my hide would appease his thirst for vengence.
“But…he stole my horse! You know he did!” spluttered Rowland furiously, wildly looking back and forth between myself and Henry, as if imploring the latter to act.
My father’s temper, often meted out upon my person, on rare occasions vented itself against my brother. But as changeable as his disposition was, rarely was Henry Rochester goaded into action by another man’s inducements, even his eldest son. He turned and leaned forward, his face no more than an inch or two from Rowland’s as he gestured to the door and whispered between clenched teeth,
“Get out of my way.”
~ End of Part III ~
© 2016 by R.Q. Bell and Imaginality Press; All rights reserved.