Faces of the Wind

Chapter 26

It was heartrending for Adrian to stay at his uncle's house after what he has learned even though Lydia and Natalie pestered him into staying at least for the night. The walls closed on him and the air gruelingly pushed its way through his nostrils and throat into his lungs and then out again, making every inch through which it passed sore.

Though freezing, the air outside felt lighter. The sun was retiring somewhere behind the thick quilt of dark clouds. He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, unsure what bit him the hardest; his father disowning him, the humiliation of coming to the discovery in front of his uncle's impeccable family, the conviction that he deserved being disinherited... or all of these combined?

A draught of chill stung his face and made his body give a violent shudder, but his eyes were on fire. He longed for the dark to fall soon and hide him from the world. He felt nonexistent but the light was forcing him to exist. A nonentity—a mistake, a problem finally solved. It took decades to solve it though.

He walked with heavy steps to the house that was once home, resenting every pace in its direction... but there was nowhere else to go. A critter would be more welcome in that house than him. Even his studio was no longer his. He often pictured himself telling the world how his journey to fame and wealth in the world of art began from that small shed. A juvenile fantasy it was. The picture shattered. He was not meant to be anyone of true worth. He was nothing – a nonentity.

The sound of snow beneath his feet and the howling of the wind, which blew more aggressively with the second, was soothing. The house appeared in the distance and it felt as if he'd only walked a few steps and not more than a mile. Warm light shone through the rectangular windows and smoke rose from the chimney and dispersed before it reached the clouds. He stood wondering if any of the servants knew he was no longer master of this house but merely his uncle's charity case. Never in his entire life had he imagined requiring permission to stay in this house. How one's life changed in an instant.

He slowly and idly opened the door and walked inside. A lone candle in front of the gold-framed mirror illuminated the entrance. The place was quiet except for the crackling of dried logs burning in the fireplace. He felt detached from everything around him as if this place had never been home. It felt alien and, despite the blazing fire, cold and bleak. He bent to take his boots off.

"Master Adrian," Mrs. Pearse said in a soft voice so as not to startle him, "where 'ave ee been in this weather an' dark?"

He seldom conversed with Mrs. Pearse and it wasn't unlike him to be out at this hour. The woman, who has been serving as a cook in this house for over ten years, is often grumpy and not the social type. Today, she seemed unusually congenial.

He looked up at her. She carried a candlestick that illuminated her round, chubby face. "My apologies," he said, his voice heavy, "I must have woken you."

"I wasn't sleepin'," she replied, "heard the door shu' and, since Mrs. Dust'by is tired and snoozin', thought I migh' see if ee need anythin'."

"I'm fine... grateful for your kindness." He did not know his own voice.

She lit a few more candles and he took one into the sitting room. The fire illuminated the place a warm orange. His father's empty seat sent an arrow through his throat. He thought of sitting in it but knew he would not be welcome. The chair would be aggrieved; it must have known of his father's disappointment. He was not worthy of this chair... but perhaps the carpet near the fireplace. He sat cross-legged and placed the silver candlestick on the coffee table behind him. What would he do in the morning? Where would he go? His mind was exhausted, unable to conjure up any plans.

"Dear God, Master Adrian!" Mrs. Pearse exclaimed as she walked briskly into the sitting room, carrying a candlestick in one hand and a cup of steamy beverage in the other, "Why are ee si'in' on the floor?"