Dead Man's Bells

The Governess & The Wife

The Governess

The days went on in their usual routine, until one night when Mrs Craig-Hart, elegantly floated down the stairs, and addressed everyone, as they ate their dinner. Miss Peridot was sitting between both Craig-Hart brothers, who were in an unspoken contest of gaining Miss Peridots attention with wild and completely exaggerated stories, and the children opposite them. They all stopped eating their celery soup and paused their tall tales to face Mrs Craig-Hart. A broad smile, the first Miss Peridot had seen, spread across her serine, porcelain face. "We will be hosting a Christmas ball in two days time." She announced, the pride thick in her voice. Mrs Craig-Hart, took pleasure in these events, they were prime times in which she could boast of her family, and to her, it was exulting. At the news Rosemary's face shone in anticipation, whereas Edmund's fell. Mrs Craig-Hart took no notice and smugly strut out of the room. Edmund hung his head as he left the room, he'd always hated those evenings; his mother always paraded him like a show pony, as if she knew all about his life, and it was true until 3 years ago when, it was as if she just lost interest.

The Wife

She knew she should be used to it by now, the cheating and then lying to cover up his own shame. At the beginning of their marriage he had been romantic and spontaneous, she must have been wearing rose tinted glasses for a while after he'd gotten bored of her because it was only until she'd walked in on him with someone else did she suddenly realize how distant and loveless their relationship was. She slowly turned to alcohol to keep her company the nights her husband would not return home, the warm and comforting haze of a Scotch before bed would numb her senses enough for her to find herself not feeling so lonely and no longer craving his attention. This soon became a habit, and she began to believe her happiness came solely from a bottle. She blamed her husband for her problems and misery which would most often lead to arguments.  Mrs Craig-Hart had noticed  Mr Craig-Hart made no effort to hide his interest in Miss Peridot, which infuriated her to the point that she confronted him.

It was normal that they were distant to each other, and some days their hushed argumentative whispers, were audible from behind their closed doors. But one afternoon, the whispers became clear shouts of anger.  Mrs Craig-Hart's jealously and  her husbands indiscretions threw her into a rage. Their argument became louder her accusing him of cheating and him insisting that she was imagining what she wanted to see. Resentment boiled in her blood and her  vision turned red, before she could come to her senses, in an alcohol influenced frenzy, she grabbed the first thing she saw and hurled it across the room at him. Not a sound was heard until Mr Craig-Hart's unsteady, heavy foot steps pounded out of the room. The door was roughly pushed open and Mr Craig-Hart stumbled out, his face pale white with sweat beading on his forehead. He was clearly shaken, his eyes looked wild and unruly. He could barely acknowledged Miss Peridot, who was was standing shocked in the doorway, before he shoved past her and stumbled down the hall. The fragments of a broken glass veiled the carpet floor and on the red walls was water splattered as if someone had thrown a vase at it. The crimson walls reflected their color into the water on the floor as if it was blood dripping down it. That was the first  argument they'd had in a while.. Mrs Craig-Hart sat on the chaise longs, eyes fixated on the spot where she threw the vase, as if she were in a trance. "Leave me." Was all she said to Miss Peridot, to which she obliged not wanting to anger her further.

The Governess

The next couple days were a blur of decorations and preparations. Holly bordered the banister on the stair case, an enormous Christmas tree stood in the center of the ballroom, baubles cascading down the branches like a waterfall, a platform in the right hand corner for the musicians, and a roaring fire on the lefthand wall was emitting tender, warm waves. New crimson curtains etched in gold thread and glass chandeliers were hoisted up, and wooden chairs were set by the fire smothered in fur blankets. A buffet table was installed and as Miss Peridot looked around at the newly furbished hall, a tender glow lit up the room, and the heat of the fire kissed her face. Christmas was her favorite time of the year, and as she noticed the mistletoe, a memory of last Christmas flashed in her mind; she was staring at the dark haired man in the picture on her table, except this time he was real and right in front of her, less than a foot away gazing at her too. Her eyes drifted to the mistletoe which hung above them, a whisper of a smile played on his lips, which quickly turned into a wickedly teasing grin. A blush crept to her cheeks, blazing them on fire.

She promptly shook herself out of her memory, her heart beating against her rib cage and she briskly walked away. She stepped out into the back gardens, and a frigid breeze blew across her body and froze her bones. She exhaled profoundly, and a breath of clouded air escaped her lips. She wrapped her arms around herself in vain, as if it could protect her from the attacking winds. Miss Peridot, looked out onto the gardens; the trimmed grass was smothered in a blanket of frost and the tall, sturdy pine trees, swayed slightly in the wind. It was eerily silent, not even the rustle of leaves were whispering.

The night of the ball, Miss Peridot had expelled all thoughts of her memory, and helped the children into their attire. Rosemary opted for a dark cardinal dress, which accented her turbulent cobalt eyes. Edmund dressed in a black suit, he didn't protest, but his expression evidently stated he was not comfortable, and Agatha was in white, the aspect of it made her look solemn and angelic, which suited her quite well. The children had all descended when Miss Peridot examined herself one final time in the mirror, she cocked her head to the side as admired her reflection. Her modest dark emerald dress swished as she made for the door. Whispers stopped her, just before she could pull the handle; the sound of two people, one male one female. She didn't recognize their voices, one was low and coarse, the other high and petite. "I saw you embrace him, so don't try and deny it!" The man accused, with daggers in his voice. The woman's response was so quiet, that all Miss Peridot could hear was a murmur. The reply must have angered the man, because he almost shouted out; "how could you? He's my boss!" And he stalked out of the corridor, and Miss Peridot stood perfectly still until his footsteps faded away. The soft whimpers of the woman's crying echoed off the stone walls, Miss Peridot decided not to make herself known, as she would not like to embarrass the woman further and waited until she gathered her dignity and shuffled away. With a heavy heart, Miss Peridot joined the ball and most the guests she spoke to could hear the sadness intertwined in her voice as she politely conversed, however, none dared to ask what was wrong. Halfway through the night, all the guests were consumed in a drunken haze and in the crowded hall one voice sprung over them all. Miss Peridot recognized the voice of the man who had been arguing earlier, he was now laughing thoroughly at something Mr Craig-Hart had said. For some reason, the man's face was familiar, but her thoughts were knocked out of order when a new waltz started and a lord requested her company on the dance floor. Ladies and lords twirled around the room, some clustered to gossip, and trills of high pitched laughter were heard over the orchestra of cellos, violins and flutes, playing merry Christmas tunes, which filled the room in layers of harmonized sounds.

Nearing the end of all of the festivities, a shrilling scream sprung out of nowhere. The music and chatter immediately terminated. The cook tumbled through the double doors, her face contorted in a mask of horror and grief. "The Master!" She shrieked, "he's been murdered!" There was a short moment of silence for everyone to digest what had been said, until panicked whispers and gasps of shock echoed and guest started to gather themselves, tracked down their partner and rushed out of the hall. In ten minutes the hall was empty and the music and cheer that was just minutes ago, became a distant memory, as the habitants of the house all gathered in Mr Craig-Hart's study and stared at his cold, dead body laying in his favorite chair. His eyes were wide and vacant; some people might call this the absence of the soul. The house grieved that night at its fallen family, but stood still and strong, despite the harsh winds brewing. The Detective Inspector was called that night and arrived with many questions which only one person could answer: the murderer among them.