Striking Gold

7. Memories Flash

1st July 1838, Clovesleigh Abbey, Tarrow, Kent, England

The morning sun glowed gently over the verdant expanse of Clovesleigh, its light weaving through the branches of the oak trees that bordered the estate.

"Ahhh! Mama!" screeched the ten year old Henry as he rushed through the woods that served as a border between the nearby village of Tarrow, and his family's estate, Clovesleigh Abbey, with his mother, Helen Cecilia Brookshaw, running and laughing as she did so with the brightest smile on her face.

"I'm gonna get you, Henry!" She cheered, running past her son and towards the foot of the woods, with their laughter mixing in with the sounds of the leaves crunching under foot as they reached the edge of the woods, and in the distance, a grand house stood.

Clovesleigh Abbey was built in 1694, and had bore witness to the fall of the Halliard family rise of the Brookshaw family, who had become titled thanks to Sir Clarence Brookshaw's loyalty to the Crown in selling out traitors amongst the aristocracy, for that the King gave the Brookshaw's the Baron of Tarrow title as well as the possessed estate of the newly disgraced Halliard family, whom had made the foolish choice of funding the Bonnie Prince as opposed to accepting the Hanoverian kings, as families, like the Brookshaws, had. Sir Clarence happily accepted his reward and had passed it down to his son and grandsons, all the way to Frederick and his son, Henry.

Henry ran as fast as his legs would carry him, his heart soaring with the sheer joy of the moment. He glanced back to see his mother following, her skirts gathered in her hands, her face lit up with playful determination and her smile bright.

But he was faster. He reached the old oak tree first, touching its rough bark with a triumphant shout.

"I won, Mama! I won!" he exclaimed, spinning around to face her.

Helen slowed to a stop, her breath coming in soft pants, her cheeks pink with exertion. "So you did, my little hare," she said, her smile tender. She ruffled his auburn hair affectionately. "You'll make a wonderful explorer."

They began to walk back toward the house, the grandeur of Clovesleigh visible beyond the green fields. Helen slipped her hand into Henry's, and he looked up at her, his chest still puffed with pride.

As they neared a small pond nestled amidst the trees, Helen paused, her eyes widening. "Henry, look," she whispered, pointing.

Henry followed her gaze and saw them: a flurry of butterflies, their delicate wings shimmering in hues of gold and blue, fluttering around the pond like living jewels. They moved with an ethereal grace, dancing on the breeze as if the air itself were enchanted.

Helen knelt beside the water, her expression soft and reverent. "Aren't they beautiful?" she murmured, almost to herself. "So free, so light."

Henry crouched beside her, watching the butterflies with wide eyes. "They're like fairies," he said, his voice hushed with awe.

She smiled, her sky blue eyes never leaving the butterflies. "They are, in a way. They can represent beauty and freedom. And sometimes, people say they're the spirits of those who've passed on, exploring the world in a new way."

Henry looked at her, confused. "Spirits?"

Helen nodded slowly, her gaze still fixed on the delicate creatures. "Yes. It's just a story, but I like to think that those we love don't really leave us. They're always around, in the wind, in the flowers, in things like this."