Madeline

Part Four

  I was thankful for the warmth as I entered the house, but another sense of coldness filled the atmosphere. The foyer had a gloomy look about it, and I saw that the curtains had been closed, causing light to be almost nonexistent. No doubt it had been bothering Arthur's headache.

I removed my dark coat and hat, placing them on the bannister of the stairs to be taken care of later. I reminisced about the days when we used to torment Daniels, the footman. He had been a very stern man, with a long face and a pinched nose that always was turned up as if some unpleasant smell was present.

   "You'll git what's comin to ya's youn' master! Yee mark my werds now ya hear! You'll git what's comin to ya!" His words after a particular incident with black shoe polish came to my recollection and I found myself smiling. It was one of the rare occurrences when I had convinced Arthur to take part in the seemingly harmless prank. He had actually laughed and smiled, grabbing onto my hand and Alice's as we ran to hide, seeking shelter from Daniels' ire. But his happiness was quickly outlived, for father had still been alive and Daniels has gone to him, and Arthur had been the one who had been blamed. I remember Arthur emerging from father's study that night, with unshed tears in his eyes and an angry expression, a bruise already forming on his cheek. He stared at me coldly, Alice stood by my side, her hand clutching my arm.

   "This is your doing Matthew. Do not ever ask me to take part in your silly, childish games ever again." With those words spoken he ran off, Alice quickly following to comfort him. She was the only one he ever allowed to see his tears, never mother or myself.

     My smile soon disappeared at the thought. Father had been a cruel man. No one ever defied James Ashwood. I had received several marks for my misbehavior, I had seen mother with those same marks as well, but it was always Arthur who took the brunt of his anger. Arthur had always been defiant, never once being broken.

"I am glad he is dead."

  Those were the first words he spoke to me at our father's funeral. He was barely fourteen, and I eleven. I remembered thinking no boy should wish his own father dead, but secretly I was glad as well.

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     I made my way upstairs and saw no one was in sight. Arthur was still resting and Alice had gone to the village to buy food to prepare for dinner at the market. The vast house was empty. Even though there was no sunlight that could have entered the windows, shadows danced around the floor as I moved about the hall. Once more I wished I wasn't alone.

    When I returned to London I would have to recount my strange experiences to my colleagues. Herbert Denslow, one of my closest friends, would no doubt enjoy my tale. He had an affinity towards the strange and unexplained. I myself was a skeptic, but I could not deny that the events happening in this house were abnormal.

   As I passed by the many doors of the hall, one caught my eye. The door was partway open, as if someone had begun to push at it, but thought better of it and left. Curiously, I placed my hand upon the door and soon entered.

     The room had a musty air about it and the smell of lilacs and roses invaded my senses. Overall it was a sickly sweet smell. I deduced that a woman had recently stayed there. Madeline. The four poster bed with a coverlet of a deep burgundy remained undisturbed. On the vanity in the corner, her personal effects lay scattered about. A silver brush with M.B. engraved on the back lay crooked at a corner, teetering as if it appeared like it might fall. I left it undisturbed, some force told me to not lay a hand on anything in this room. A string of pearls lay in heap by the brush, along with matching earrings. The mirror of the vanity was clouded with a thin layer of dust, that touched nothing else, save the mirror. Something greater caught my eye.

     In the corner, a white gown lay sprawled across a chair. Her wedding gown. On closer inspection, I saw that I was made of delicate lace. The dress itself was pure unlike the woman who was to have worn it. I felt as if a presence was watching me. Yet I knew if I were to look, there would be no one. I was alone even if it seemed as if I wasn't. The smell of roses and lilacs, the dress, the brush. Nothing had been disturbed; it remained as it had been the day she had died. I could not suppress the shudder that coursed through my being. A cold hand clamped down on the back of my neck as my heart began to race.

  It was only Arthur. "Matthew what are you doing in here?" He asked with an inquisitive air.

  "Nothing...I saw that the door was opened and wondered if anyone was inside." I replied with a deep intake of air, trying to quell my ridiculous spell of fear.

   "That is strange for the door has always been closed. It has never been opened since she..." His words died on his lips, as he turned towards the mirror.

   Following his scrutiny, I saw that he was studying the mirror. Not a speck of dust remained on it. As if someone had wiped it clean. All the color left his face as he gaped at it, in seeming awe.

"Arthur? Is something the matter?" I spoke, not only for his sake, but for mine.

   He quickly regained his composure and straightened himself. But the color did not return to his face. "Nothing is the matter, “he paused briefly, "Alice was the first to find her body. Did you know that?" His eyes searched mine for a reaction, "The poor girl was traumatized for a week. I will not force her to come in this room. It would only serve to bring back bad memories."

   He looked around warily and his fingers brushed the coverlet of the bed, “Come let us leave this room. She sought solitude here when she was alive and she would still wish it to remain so." With those words said, he departed into the hall and I followed him.

    Turning to me, he continued speaking once more, "I've been searching for you to inform you that Thomas Greendale will be joining us this evening as our guest. You remember Thomas do you not?"

   Before I could respond, I cast one more glance at her room. Madeline's room. The door was closed, shut tightly in fact. Yet, I could not remember Arthur or myself touching the door when we had withdrawn.

Here is Part 4! (: I wasn't very sure about this chapter but I did my best to make it sound presentable! Thank you once more to everyone who has read it, commented, or voted it means a ton!!! -The_QueenBee