For #freewritehouse in #wewrite

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The storm

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The clattering of the teacup against its saucer rang through the formal living room. Its hand-painted periwinkles and gold leaf rim were normally safe in the hands of the Countess, but today the cup chattered in unsettling clinks. The noise disturbed the Countess’ attempts at composure, so she placed the china safely on the glass table before her. As she did so, the door opened suddenly, making her jump farther back on the silk settee.

“George, must you enter so frighteningly quickly?” She accosted the man, who remained by the doorway.

“My apologies, your ladyship. I will do my best to be less…frightening, in the future.” The butler gave a small smile, to which the Countess responded with a relieved chuckle. Taking her laughter as forgiveness, he walked into the well-decorated space.

“I suppose it’s just this storm that has me on edge,” she confessed, with a brief glimpse to the ever-darkening scene beyond the window’s delicate frame. From their place on the hill, they could ordinarily see a small town in the distance, with vibrant green mountains beyond that. But today all charm was washed out in the sea of deepening purples, grays, and blacks descending into the valley. The Countess had watched as it grew closer, as the rumbles became roars, until it was too much for her to take.

“I thought your ladyship might wish to know that there has been a letter from town,” George ventured. The Countess perked up at the news, and eagerly took the envelope from his gloved hands. He continued, “Your brother has decided to wait out the storm at his office. He feels, and I must agree, that it would be too dangerous to ride back in such weather.”

“At least he’s indoors,” she sighed, “though I do feel he’d be safer here.”

“I understand your fears,” he comforted, “but all storms must—” A flash of light burst into the room, accompanied by a thunderous boom. The china rattled on the table, and the pair felt the very floor beneath them shake. It was enough to crack George’s professionalism into a primal fear, a fear reflected in the Countess’ eyes.

The countesses’ hands were still trembling a little. From that, however, one shouldn’t conclude that she was of a meek and vulnerable nature. She could have ridden a horse to a battle not bending to bullets. Simply put, her nerves were already at their breaking point before the thunder struck.

'…wait out the storm at his office…' As if…. She could guess whom he was with and why he was in the city and it displeased her greatly. Her own brother James, the decedent of proud Bolingbroke clan and a hair to the estate… how could he bring such a disgrace to the family? Surely, as a man, he can sow his wild oats, but one should not exceed the limits of the propriety! Especially not to fall to arts and allurements of some girl of petty origin, who had the audacity to concoct the plans of marriage! This match, to which this preposterous woman have the presumption to aspire, should never take place!

A report of this alarming nature reached the Countess two days ago. Though this report likely was but a scandalous falsehood, she shouldn’t have left it to permeate freely without a proper challenge. She must ride to the town, confront this coquette of a woman, made her aware of the Countess sentiments and nip this fetus of nonsense in the bud!

The thunder struck again just as violently, but this time it caught the Countess at the apogee of her resentment and she didn’t even wince. The thoughts galloped in the Countess’ head back and forth like cavalry attack and counter-attack. She remembered all the great history of her clan on the service of England over the centuries, appointees to highest positions in the state, the respect and attention that their name has drawn in the highest circles. And now all this could get to trifled, ridiculed, shortchanged because HER brother has forgotten who HE is, which family we were born in and how he has the duty to maintain this family’s dignity and good name!

Love? The Countess knew something about love. Oh, how she was in love with young Brian Skillets the son of the local priest. He was young, tall, smart and ow… so handsome. But she tore this feeling out of her heart together with the strands of the muscle itself and tossed it away. Marrying him would have been the grossest mésalliance. He left for war and died, while she married into a reach and a noble family as she ought to, as her duty prompted her to do it! No matter that her future husband was much older and repulsed her physically. She fulfilled her destiny! She responded to the call of her duty and so should her silly sentimental brother James or he is not descendant of the glorious clan of Bolingbrokes!

“George!” the Countess grabbed the bell and rang several times as loud as she could to overpower the sound of heavy rain outside. The old butler appeared with the deep bow. “How can I serve your ladyship?”

“Open those windows!” her voice was cold and measured.

“I beg you a pardon, my lady.” The old servant bent down and turned his head toward the Countess in hope to make sure that he really understood her unusual, under the circumstances, command.

“Open the windows!” the Countess repeated sternly.

“But, my lady, this is so dangerous! It pours outside and the great cold wind will bring all this water and dirt here and will ruin this parquet floor.”

“Yes, you’ve understood me rightly, George.” She uttered these words with an icy calm demeanor. But then, her voice came to a scream “Open it!” and she pointed her finger to the terrace window in front of her.

When the butler scared out of his wits, now on the account of the Countess much more than on the account of the storm, ran toward the double windows and opened it, the wind and the torrents of cold water rushed into the room just as he has predicted. The countess without regards to her pretty gown and complex hairdo stepped out to the window and with visible enjoyment emplaced herself to the storm.