Kate cycled to the parochial house. It was too hot to pedal the whole way, so she walked for long stretches, enjoying the vibrant colors and subtle smells of the summer day. The uphill climbs were hard work, and she worried about arriving late and sweaty. But on the downhill stretches, she freewheeled, one hand on the handlebar, the other holding down her straw boater. The pneumatic tires crunched over the sunbaked ground, and the cooling breeze on her arms, neck, and face felt like a lover's embrace.
The embrace of a lover. She mulled over the phrase as she dismounted and walked alongside the bicycle. She first came across it in books, where it was always tied to excitable, sometimes silly passions. But now, with experience, she realized it meant something else entirely. It was the moment after passion had passed, when two bodies lay side by side, warm, breathless, and glistening. Her own body curled into another's, legs entwined, arms wrapped around each other. So safe and natural, God must have made it so.
Kate flushed at a thought yet felt emboldened by the mere idea of it: she knew the embrace of a secret lover. A delighted giggle escaped her, surprising even herself, so she looked about the trees, ditches, and fields to make certain she was alone. Secret lovers took pleasure in keeping their secrets.
When she arrived at the parochial house there was no answer at the front door, so she made her way round the back and found Mary, her sister, sitting on a step, her face upturned to the sun and a cigarette in the corner of her mouth.
"Thief! I know you can't afford such a filthy habit on the pittance they pay you. You must have stolen them." said Kate playfully.
"Well, if it isn't Catherine Hackett, the famous chambermaid of Balfefield Abbey," responded Mary, and she ran to hug her.
"Where's Father Gahan?" asked Kate after a moment during which she noticed her sister was getting taller. "Is he about?"
"No. He was called out earlier to give the last rites to a farmer near the old stone bridge. He should be back soon."
Mary nipped the tip of her cigarette before slipping it into her apron pocket. The two girls sat quietly on the backdoor step, drinking sugared lemonade. As siblings, they didn't feel the need to talk much. After a long pause, Mary rested her head on Kate's shoulder and asked, 'How are things up in the big house?"
"It's still a terrible mess. I think if it weren't for Mrs. Bennett, the place would have fallen asunder by now."
"If it's that bad, why don't you leave?"
"And where would I go? Come back here and get chased around the kitchen table by that old goat, O'Hara? I don't think so."
"You wouldn't have to worry about him, he's well past all that now. The worst he does these days is soil himself and has to be cleaned up like an overgrown baby."
They both laughed at the thought.
"No, what I meant is," continued Mary, "you could go far away. America, for example. They don't know you over there. Your name hasn't been dragged through their newspapers just because you were unlucky enough to be the one who found the body."
"And never see my little sister again?"
"You could take me with you. They've got big houses there too, you know. We'd find work easily enough."
"I'm tired of being a skivvy and running to everybody's beck and call. If I'm to leave Balfefield Abbey I want to do something different. Maybe give up working altogether."
"What? Get married? Don't tell me you've got a fella?"
"Definitely not that. That's just the same as being a skivvy but without the pay and decent clothes."
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Death at Balfefield Abbey
Mystery / ThrillerArabella Darley was brutally murdered. Young, beautiful, and the mistress of Balfefield Abbey, the violence of her death was matched only by the obscenity in which her naked body was elaborately posed for those who would find her. In a story that s...
