Inachevé

Twenty-six - The Adventures of Chester and Martha

The trilling voice of Aunt Imogene squealed through the house, declaring the spotting of a small rodent in her hatbox. “Oh! Help! Help! Mouse!”

Mrs. Birtwistle, Aunt Imogene’s older sister, rocked more violently in her chair downstairs as she screeched orders at the maids. She fanned her face with a ridiculously frilly fan and pointed to the stairs whenever a maid looked at her for direction. Mrs. Birtwistle stroked her curly haired dog that sat sinking in her ruffled dress.

“Good gracious! Hurry, Eliza! Get a broom—my sister must’ve come across one of those little white rats!” Mrs. Birtwistle said to Maid Eliza as she added a disgusted grunt. She proceeded to rock back and forth at a dangerous speed while everyone contributed to the crisis. The large house was in an uproar and the whole upstairs thundered underneath explosive footsteps. Every tiny trinket on their polished mantels wiggled to the edges of their platforms—although none of them met the floor.  The gold-plated chandeliers clattered every time someone struck at the mouse, and the shimmering bordered mirrors shook every time they missed.

The curly haired dog went to barking at the entrance of the mistress’s son, Chester.  The gentlemanly figure bowed to his troubled mother and narrowed his eyes at the dog. He looked up to the ceiling, where all the noise was coming from, and pointed upwards in question.

“She’s having another fit,” the mother answered, with a careless throw of her hand. 

“Oh dear,” came Chester’s simple response.

“Well, go help them!” Mrs. Birtwistle snapped. She tapped her fan on the glass table beside her until she got her son’s attention. “Go and help your aunt. She found another mouse, or something of that nature. Hush, Charles!” She squeezed the dog’s tiny muzzle shut, ending his snarling.

“Of course, Mother.” Chester ran up the stairs, ramming twice into the banister. He was a clumsy fellow, and he figured it was because his height didn’t agree with him.

Once Chester made it into his aunt’s boudoir, he was cut off by a row of three screaming maids and swinging dustpans and brooms. His eyes caught sight of his aunt bouncing on the bed in sheer fright at what seemed to be an imaginary monster crawling on the floor.

“Oh! Thank heavens you’re here, Chester! Quick, grab something and kill that creature!” His aunt shot a dramatic finger towards a crevice between her wardrobe and dresser. Valiantly, Chester marched forward towards the little terror. He crouched down and peeked through the two furniture pieces. There! He saw the gray creature sitting in the darkness with its pink hands curled around its mouth. The beady eyes met Chester’s blue ones.

“Destroy it, Chester!” Aunt Imogene screamed. That last order caused her to faint, much to the attention of the maids. They clambered around their mistress, fanning her face with their hands and shouting at Chester to hurry.

“I’m trying!” Chester answered, squeezing his fist in growing frustration. He looked around for a weapon, but found none. He tapped his chin with a spidery finger, wondering how he would chase the mouse out just far enough for him to slay it.  

As he stood there, his mind began whizzing with calculations of measurement and divisions. His eyes blinked rapidly in thought as he pictured solutions in catching the mouse. His mouth twitched as the equations became more and more complicated to the point where they weren’t useful at all! So, seeing no solution but to move the dresser, Chester hopped to his feet and pushed the robust piece out of the way. The mouse, having the light reveal its hiding spot, scurried out. 

“There! There, sir! Kill it!” a maid yelled, shaking her hands frantically about her face.

Chester took off a shoe and threw it at the mouse. The shoe bounced off the wall and rolled uselessly to the floor. Grinding his teeth in an undefeated attitude, Chester sprung forward like a cat, using his hands to nab the mouse. Around the room he hopped, making the suspense grow so much that his mother came tittering up the stairs. She opened the door, ready to question the scene, but to everyone’s sadness, the mouse escaped between her feet. Chester, still on all fours, ran after it.

“Chester! Off the floor, you’ll ruin those knickers!” His mother turned to scold him before the mouse, who had backtracked on the boy, flung itself into the mother’s face. A piercing cry rattled the house and then the sickening thud of metal meeting flesh silenced her scream.

“Oh, Mother! I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry!” Chester lowered the dustpan and tried to comfort his injured mother, but she melodramatically refused and escaped to her room to cry over her facial welt. Finding more determination to seize the mouse, Chester charged the bothersome beast on the mantel and drew his armed hand to strike it. The mouse, seeing the shadow of the dustpan hovering over it, squeaked and leaped from the mantel. Down came the dustpan onto the tip of a fountain pen, which in turn, kicked up a bottle of ink it had been laying under.

The ink soared through the air, its unprotected mouth tilting towards the recovering aunt. At the same time, Chester, at last, caught the mouse.  He turned to his aunt to show her his victory, but instead of seeing a relieved face, he jumped at the sight of a glistening black face and three very angered maids. Through the wet ink, he saw his aunt shake with rage.

“Look what you did!” Aunt Imogene declared, looking at the once ivory white bed quilt and pillows. “You stupid, stupid boy! Get out of here and destroy that rat!” the aunt broke down into an ocean of tears and began lamenting the loss of her attire and bed.

Chester’s shoulders dropped and he walked slowly out of the room like a whipped dog. When he was outside of the room, he overheard his aunt’s screechy voice exclaim madly, “He’s nothing but trouble, that boy! Wish he wasn’t heir to this estate. Him staying is the worst thing that has ever happened to the Birtwistles! Curse him! Curse him!”

Though he was only twenty-five and had plenty of years to grow a shield around his feelings, it still hurt to hear his aunt think of him so poorly. He couldn’t help his clumsiness or his ability to think fast enough in chaotic situations (of which they were quite a few in this house). Of course, there was no doubt about Chester’s intelligence. He was remarkably smart and an academic genius. He just lacked certain athletic talents and precision.

Once he had gotten outside, Chester knelt down and released the rodent out onto the streets. “Go on, with you.” He gave the small intruder a smile and motioned it to run off before his smile faded into one of terror.  The mouse spun around and zoomed back into the house, squealing in an almost maniacal laugh. Chester sprung to his feet and chased after it with a helpless hand extended to grab its squirming tail.

“Chester!” shouted the duet of his mother and aunt. “Look what you did!”