Madeline

Part One

There are those that claim that music is a divine gift given to us from the heavens above. I agree that it is such a gift. Yet music can also be a curse, for there are harmonies that illicit from us such memories of grief and sorrow that at times we find it too much to bear. I will never forget the night that I laid eyes upon the thing that brought pain and fear to my heart. I shall never forget it, even now. I still remember the first time I laid eyes upon it. The night of November 23, 1879.

******************************************************************************************************

At first glance it was a very exquisite object, sitting undisturbed on the mantle of the fireplace. No doubt it was made by hand by the finest craftsman. Such intricate details were carved into the polished oak that it seemed nearly such an impossible task for one man to accomplish. Opening the lid, I was greeted with perhaps the most haunting, yet most hypnotic melody I had ever heard. No words can even describe the sound. For a moment I studied the interior of the box, as I continued to listen to the strange music. The interior was covered in red, velvet cloth that for reasons unknown to me seemed plain compared to the outside of the music that emanated from it. The more I listened, the more I felt like I was losing touch with reality. But with a sudden snap of the lid, I was brought back.

"It was supposed to be a gift...a wedding present." Turning to my right, I saw my brother standing by my side with a grim, yet sardonic, expression.

"It is very beautiful," I remarked stepping back.

"I bought it for her. It nearly cost me a small fortune. Or what is left of it." Steel grey eyes stared at the box vehemently and he raised the glass of port he held in his hand to his lips," A worthless thing now."

I had never been close with my brother, Arthur. There were many differences between he and I, (not just in age for he had just turned twenty three and I barely twenty) but also in manners. He leaned towards the skeptical and had always held some form of contempt for nearly every person he met. I was the antitheses.

But if there was one thing we shared, it was that we were both the last male heirs of the Ashwood line, a lineage that was dying. Our father had been a weak man who had gambled away nearly the last of the family fortune. Nearly the entirety of it was gone the day he had died ten years before. Our ailing mother had raised us with what little money we had left. She had died the year before last, leaving Arthur in charge of the estate while I was attending Oxford. By now the money had all but vanished. Yet mother, who was very clever, made one final arrangement before she succumbed to illness.

Arthur was to be married to an heiress, the daughter of one of the last earls in the countryside. She was to save our family from ruin. The moment Arthur married her, her vast inheritance would be his. But now she was gone as well.

Her name had been Madeline Barrineau and her beauty has been renowned. But her manner was cold and her eyes had had a look of cruelty about them. I had only been in her presence but twice, and the impression left upon me had been one of dislike. At first glance she seemed suited to Arthur who seemed to share the same cynical demeanor. But with a second look, one could sense they were not a suited match, even if society begged to differ.

They were to have been married the week before, but tragedy once more struck. Her body had been found in the attic, hanging from one of the beams. There was speculation as to why she would take her own life. Perhaps she had not wanted to marry Arthur? Perhaps she had been in love with another and had ended her life in despair? In place of a wedding, there had been instead a funeral. It weighed heavily on my heart that I had not been able to attend due to final examinations, but this night I had arrived from London. I had been weary, but anxious to see Arthur and offer my condolences. But he had shown no trace of sorrow, only bitterness.