Harp's Manor

INSTALLMENT XIX

July 14, 1928

How odd! And what an anticlimactic ending to these past few weeks. The Ladies of the Torch left on Monday morning with barely a word. Mrs. Maxwell announced that they would be leaving the evening before at dinner, and when I awoke the next morning, they were already gone. It is peculiar that they should vanish so quickly! I half expected to find Audrey with her throat slit in bed.

That is not to say I am disappointed by their departure. It couldn't have come fast enough; and I am glad that they shall bother us no more. The incense is mostly gone, but if you inhale deeply enough in the foyer you are still able to detect faint undertones of smoke.

Mrs. Maxwell, unfortunately, remains with us. I was secretly hoping that she would leave with her band of prigs, but no such luck. Rather, the one that was leaving us turned out to be Mr. Harp.

"Again?" Miss Hansen snapped when he stated this after Mrs. Maxwell had sat down. When he turned to her with an expression of surprise, she quickly resumed her honeyed tone. "Mr. Harp, you're a gentleman. Surely you won't leave a lady among this crew?"

"I'm afraid I must," he said. "It is a most urgent matter."

"More important than the welfare and peace of a lady?"

"Yes, more urgent than that."

Miss Hansen is quite the groveler whenever Mr. Harp is around. I don't know why, exactly. She cannot hope to catch his eye, for he is not particularly handsome, if I am honest, and he does not show any particular fancy in her. I believe she merely enjoys exploiting her relationships with the extremely wealthy. She gets to be this way around Mr. Weaver, if she's really paying attention enough. It's rather annoying.

Mr. Harp's departure somehow made the house seem less active again, like the reemergence of winter after a fruitful summer. It is his house, he knows it best; the rest of us still feel like visitors in an incredible hotel. I hope the man has more time to expend here during his next visit.

Mr. Forrest and I returned to our post on Friday to continue painting. Our hapless luck had it that the day was not as sunny as the last, and all the interesting shadows that the palms of the tree had made the week prior were now gone. "This isn't very helpful," Mr. Forrest observed as we settled down on the lawn. "How am I to paint a landscape if half of the landscape just vanished?"

"Perhaps you'll have to try making it up as you go," I said playfully, poking him with the end of my brush. "You know. Imaginary objects and all that."

"Well, I don't suppose you're any better off than I am."

"Actually, I decided against painting that old tree. I thought it looked a little too hard. Instead, I was working on the bricks behind it." I showed him my blocky canvas. "They don't change when the light does."

"Miss Thornton, nobody wants to look at a brick wall. They can do that by looking outside any time they want. Art is supposed to capture a fleeting moment."

"I was capturing the moment," I said. "And at that moment I was feeling bored."

I levelled my brush and began adding new brushstrokes to the brick wall before me. Mr. Forrest attempted to continue his painting, but the change of lighting was irritating him immensely. "Perhaps we should pause in our painting for the day and take a walk," I suggested as he viciously swiped the canvas with green. "The exercise is sure to clear your mind and relieve stress."

He willingly agreed, and shot one last glare at the tree. We gathered up our equipment and began making our way back to the north doors to put it back inside.