~ Fading Crimson ~

by

Jessica H. Davies

One

England, 1880

Lysette Percell paced along the ancient corridor for the third time, propping one small hand on her broad hip while the other clenched the flickering candle. Glancing to the Persian rug, she shook her head and laughed. That expensive rug had been trampled upon by her bare feet for some months. She rubbed her rough hands--drafts blew up and down the hall like wind through the moors of Yorkshire.

Lysette looked at the portrait of Sir Thomas DeLucy. She lifted the wavering wick, letting the glow slide upward to the blue eyes hiding under bushy gray brows. The gloss from the oil painting almost made Sir DeLucy’s cobalt eyes appear lifelike as they shone down on her five-foot-four height.

Lysette boasted of learning all about Langley Castle’s history. Even though she wasn’t related, she felt a deep bond with her adopted home. The first Lord of Langley would have been proud of her interest in, and knowledge of, the castle. The valiant knight, one of King Edward III’s most trusted captains, built the magnificent fortress in 1350, not finishing the work until 1365. His castle was the fortified defense he intended it to be because it still stood as strong as it had in the Middle Ages.

Lysette winked at the formidable knight, then crept along the dim hall to Mrs. Langley’s sick chamber, as she often did when slumber refused to settle on her. The flickering candle sent her shadow slithering across the uneven stone as she turned the corner.

The crystal knob gave way without a squeak. Her drawn lips ushered a sigh of relief. A large wooden angel next to the vaulted window appeared lifelike as shadows cast moving glimmers about it. Light filtered through the latticed window, shining on Mrs. Langley’s form, which was dwarfed by the massive walnut four-poster bed. Large, lacy pillows and a thick silk comforter enveloped the old woman. The heavenly sight frightened Lysette. She hurried to the bed, leaned over, took the compact gold mirror from the nightstand, and placed it under the hawk-shaped nose of the mistress of the castle. The mirror fogged.

“Thank God for that,” she cried aloud.

Mrs. Langley’s face didn’t reveal her age. Wealth kept the features well preserved by honey, aloe, and chamomile lotions. Lysette’s callused fingers traced the creamy texture of the woman’s skin. A feeling of melancholy rushed through her. For the past year, this woman had replaced the mother she lost when she was but a child. Mrs. Langley chose Lysette to be her personal confidant.

Suddenly, the deathly looking form sat up as straight as a poker. Lysette’s arm suffered from a compression borne of Hercules. Mrs. Langley’s crinkled lips began to move.

“Close the door, Lysette!” Mrs. Langley demanded.

Lysette jumped up, her head escaping the canopy post by mere inches. Her heart throbbed with the speed of a rabbit. Mrs. Langley’s form wavered. Her shaking body managed to find repose on a nearby damask chair.

“I am sorry, my child. I didn’t mean to frighten you. You know I am a light sleeper,” said Mrs. Langley. “Most of the time, my confounded coughing keeps me awake. I knew you would come. Close the door--be quick and do as I say child.”

Lysette rose from her seat, her rose-colored robe tightly gripped in her hand so she didn’t trip, and peered outside. The gleam from the end of the hall reflected the moon, but no living soul lingered in its bountiful light. When she turned back into the room, she noticed a candle glowing beside Mrs. Langley. Fearsome shadows became harmless objects. She returned to the bedside chair, taking care to tiptoe across the oak floorboards.

“What is it, Mrs. Langley?”

Mrs. Langley’s black eyes darted about as her hands grasped the thick, silk quilt.

“Child... I have done you a terrible injustice--a dreadful wrong!”

“Please, Mrs. Langley, you have only been kind to me. Calm yourself and talk no more,” Lysette urged, handing her a small glass of water.

In her heightened agitation, the old woman slapped the glass from Lysette’s hand. Glass shattered into tiny pieces across the polished floor. Mrs. Langley grabbed Lysette’s hand, the frail woman suddenly gaining a supernatural strength that frightened Lysette.

“This is important, Lysette. Listen to me, I must say this. You are… you were not brought to this house by chance. I searched to find you. I knew who you were. That is why I insisted you come to live here at Langley Castle. Your mother was my… daughter,” Mrs. Langley confessed.

Lysette stared at her ebony eyes, the black abyss mirroring the dark void into which Lysette’s mind plunged. Me? The daughter of a wealthy woman? An orphaned servant? No, this is just a dream of some sort.

Lysette pinched her cold skin, closed her eyes, and then opened them. She stared at the gray mass of hair atop Mrs. Langley’s head, which cascaded around her thin, oval skull and around the blue veins that pulsated underneath her pasty, yellow skin. It wasn’t a dream.

“I know I should have told you sooner, but… your mother was murdered. When I discovered where you were, I brought you into this home as a servant to hide you. You are such a loving and compassionate child... just like your mother. If anybody knew who you were, you would be in grave danger. That is why I never told you. I was wrong. Forgive me, my child.”

Her trembling hands reached out to touch Lysette’s face. “I don’t understand all of this,” Lysette said as she stood up and folded her arms, the loose pink sleeves getting jumbled underneath her armpits. Mrs. Langley is only experiencing a delusion. She has to be!

“It is true! My children are all monsters. All they covet is my name, fortune, and estate--waiting around me like hungry vultures until they can devour all my possessions.”

Mrs. Langley’s watery eyes darted to the expensive paintings that hung in the room. Her bony hand pointed to the gold frames as if to personally blame them for her present state of health. Her eyes closed with a painful shudder.

When Mrs. Langley opened her eyes again, she sat up taller and cackled dryly. “Yet, they shall be surprised. Your mother, Janet, was the only sweet being in my life--the only child who loved and respected me. She was led astray by a cunning man, and I failed to see the signs of her unhappiness. Many a time she tried to talk to me, but after her father died... I became depressed. I failed to see anyone at all. I immersed myself in society functions and balls. Janet looked too much like her father, it pained me. I pushed her away. When I--”

A heavy thud erupted outside the door. Lysette went out to investigate. She pushed back her brown hair wiggling around her neck. The chiming of the large, ornate grandfather clock greeted her, but no living thing did. Concern crept upon her like the tingling legs of a spider as a chill raced through her body. Lysette didn’t believe in ghosts. This fact caused the natural emotion of fear to dissipate like a nightmare in the morning light.

“Child, you must find out what happened to your mother,” Mrs. Langley said as Lysette rushed back into the room. “I have lived too long in fear. I regret my cowardice. I never wanted to admit that one of my own spoiled children was involved or even responsible for the heinous deed committed after you were born almost twenty years ago. My pride refused to openly expose the culprit. I was angry at your mother and bitter... forgive me.”

Mrs. Langley’s mournful eyes filled with tears. Mrs. Langley was not a liar, and the fear that continued to darken her eyes and made her body jerk at the sound of her own breathing, proved her emotion was real. Even though Lysette’s mind swam in a pool of confusion, she couldn’t turn her back on the warm emotion of love overflowing in her heart. Lysette reached out to hug the heartbroken woman.

“Mrs. Langley, it is forgiven and forgotten. You have only to ask God for that forgiveness now. Then you can be at peace. At least I know the truth and can finally resolve that missing piece of my life.”

Mrs. Langley’s wrinkled lips curved to form a smile as she brushed a finger across Lysette’s cheek. “Janet’s death lies at my door. It’s my fault. I have made so many mistakes in my life. Lysette, help me to pray. I want to clear my soul of these dark blotches before I meet my maker.”

They bowed their heads. Lysette took hold of her hand and marveled at the soft and creamy skin that felt like buttermilk.

The old woman repented of her sins and accepted Jesus Christ into her heart. Lysette felt the warmth of Mrs. Langley’s tears on her neck and embraced the fragile form that shuddered like a young sapling in the piercing rain.

Mrs. Langley looked up, her eyes shining. “I feel so relieved!”

“I told you it would be so if you only let go of your pain and give it to the Lord.”

“Lysette, put your hand to the floorboard under my bed and feel for a hollow spot.”

“Why?”

“Just do as I say.”

Lysette’s hands scoured the smooth floor until she found a chipped board. She lifted the board, uncovering a little dark compartment in which she discovered a crimson piece of velvet.

“Pick it up and hand it to me.”

Lysette released the tiny strip of cloth into her eager hands. “This is a scrap of material from the dress that was found at the scene where your mother died. I kept it always, believing that someone in my family would know about it. Someday I knew all this would come to light. That day is now, and you, Lysette... you are the one to do it. Bring justice to my daughter. She has never had rest because her murderer roams free, but now... justice shall prevail.”

A loud hacking cough wracked Mrs. Langley’s body. Blood spurted out onto her lace handkerchief.

Lysette took the crimson velvet that fell to the floor and placed it back within the compartment.

“I shall tell you now which one of my wicked children--”

This time the spasm didn’t stop. Her face turned the shade of an autumn morning as her hands flailed. Blood spilled out of her mouth and onto the quilt. Mrs. Langley moaned before she flopped about like a fish out of water grasping for air. Her form straightened--ebony eyes fluttered, turning a blood red while the capillaries exploded. She then lay still.

Lysette panicked. She shook Mrs. Langley and put a shaky hand to the old woman’s heart. She could find no rhythm beneath her fingers. Mrs. Langley was dead. Lysette shivered as she looked at the lifeless form before her. I couldn’t stop the fit... it all happened too fast.

Lysette kissed Mrs. Langley’s hand, her tears spilling onto Mrs. Langley’s frilled cuff. Suddenly the door burst open. A rush of wind whispered past her ears, snuffed out the lamp, and shaped the curtains into two ghosts as they flew in the air. Door hinges whimpered from the force, and rocked back and forth.

Mrs. Langley’s oldest son, Albert, charged through the door. His red brocade designed robe, which fit snug over his pot-bellied gut, fluttered behind him as his brown leather slippers scuffed across the floor.

“What is going on?”

His shadowy head tilted in Lysette’s direction. She only nodded to the masked face, glad that the darkness hid the features she knew had to be marked with rage.

Albert leaned his short, pudgy frame down to listen to his mother’s heart. Lysette knew he couldn’t see the wet blood on her chest or quilt. He wiped at his cheek, rubbing the gooey substance between his index finger with his thumb, sniffed it with his bulbous nose, and inhaled a breath that seemed to take all of the air out of the room.

The five-foot-six Albert grabbed Lysette’s hand. “Murderer!” He dragged her from the bed, her body hitting against his round gut, and pushed her out of the opened door.

“You miserable wretch... I will have your head for this!”

“I... didn’t do it! I loved your mother.”

Lysette didn’t know where they were going until Albert dragged her up the winding back staircase--the tower. Her feet caught the ends of her robe, but he didn’t stop. He only muttered insults and quickened his pace. A swirl of cold air hit her face as they hurried through crystal spun cobwebs. The thin, broken wisps stuck to her moist lips. Lysette could hear Albert huffing and puffing, trying to get air into his lungs. Her breath became shallower as they climbed higher. A gritty, musty smell attacked her lungs and made her cough.

The round tower was the highest point in the castle. When they reached the top, he stopped. Lysette scanned the empty stone floor, which was bare except for a stray rat that crossed her path. Cobwebs blew in the drafty breeze. Thick dust covered the floor.

Albert Langley trudged to a locked door. He took the large metal ring that hung on a protruding nail, and unlocked the creaking door.

“Mr. Langley... please don’t do this! I went to your mother’s room to talk and she just... died.”

Grabbing the sleeve of her robe, he pushed her inside with a force that made her lose her balance and fall to the frigid floor.

“Tell Scotland Yard, my little missy. I don’t care to hear talk from a murderer!”

The door shut. Lysette was left alone in the coal-black chamber. Her eyes adjusted enough to see the form of a cot. Fumbling for the bed, Lysette sat down, closed her eyes, and cried.