Reflections of Unforgotten Sight

As she opened the door, the faint tinkling of the bell welcomed her into the realm of old treasures and curiosities. The crisp outdoor air was replaced by the thick scent of aged wood, polished brass, and the faint hint of mustiness that only comes with time. The rich, leathery fragrance of old books and furniture mingled with that of linseed oil and lemon polish. Courtney stepped forward and glanced about in search of the shopkeeper of Westwood Fine and Rare Antiques.As she did so, Serenity, her cat, popped her little black head out of the pet carrier, most curious as to what this new adventure may bring.

“Pleasant morning to you, Miss.” Came the reedy voice. “How may I be of assistance?” The voice questioned. Courtney turned her head searching for the source of the thin voice.

“Welcome. I am Mr. Wembley. I am the curator here.” A small man, as thin as his voice rose up from behind a lavishly carved counter, his gaze peering at her over round wire spectacles.

“Oh – uh – yes. Thank you.” Courtney’s response clearly indicated her surprise at his sudden appearance. She set the kitty-carrying case on the floor in front of the counter, pulled the old key by its faded crimson ribbon from her pocket, and placed it on the counter in front of Mr. Wembley.

“I was hoping that you might be able to provide me with some insight on this old key. I found it at a manor house which I have rented and was curious to know if you might tell me anything more about it…such as the year, or…” Her inquiry was interrupted as Mr. Wembley pulled his jeweler’s loupe from his vest pocket and picked up the small brass key.

Courtney, recognizing Mr. Wembley’s intense interest in the object, decided to leave him to his scrutiny as she peered around the shop admiring such antiquities of a bygone era. She began to daydream of the various characters who might have sat in this chair or that. Who might have served lavish and elegant dinners at this table, whose fingers had caressed the pages of the old tomes lining equally old bookcases, what did he or she…

“Ahem.” Mr. Wembley interrupted her musings with a slight clearing of his throat.

“Oh, pardon me, Mr. Wembley. I was just admiring all of the…”

“Quite right, Miss. Now to your interest in this key.” He interrupted as he leaned forward, key in hand. Courtney followed his forward-leaning motion in a conspiratorial sort of manner.

“Well, Miss. By the maker’s mark, this key was fashioned in 1920. It is the key that fits the lock of a small volume. A diary, perhaps? Or perhaps a small treasure box of sorts. Although faded with age, the ribbon appears to have, at its prime, been a glorious shade of bright red crimson. I know this because I have curated many pieces of antique tapestries and…”

“Meew. Meew!” Serenity’s propensity for interruption was most annoying at this juncture in the conversation regarding the key.

“Oh, Serenity! Stop that caterwauling.” Courtney whispered to the cat carrier as she bent to soothe the cat with a reassuring stroke. There was no response to Courtney’s touch. Serenity was gone!

“Your cat is over there.” Mr. Wembley waved his hand toward a corner of the shop. “I saw her go.” Again, waving in an almost dismissive manner.

Courtney headed in the direction Wembley indicated, moving amongst the hidden treasures and unspoken stories that lay behind each piece of someone’s history. Unlike the front areas of the shop in its charming nuance of blending fragrance, the mustiness and dankness increased as she made her way to the back corner. 

“Serenity! Where are you?” She felt the uneasiness creep upon her shoulders like a cold fog at midnight.

“Meew…Purrrrr…meew…” Came an unusually timid voice from an otherwise vociferous feline.

There, in a dimly lit, dusty corner, sat the cat upon the back of a finely upholstered chaise lounge. Her black body was almost unseen in the shadowy light. Save for her four tiny white paws she would have been nearly invisible. Those same tiny white paws were attempting to tap at something slightly out of reach.

“Serenity! There you are, my precious friend. What are you doing? I thought I’d lost you.” Courtney approached the little cat who appeared to be enchanted by the silver-framed mirror on a dusty, cob-web-shrouded shelf.

“Let’s have a look at what has caught your attention.” Courtney reached for the object, and giggled at the little cat who could never resist anything that had any trace of glitter and glimmer.

It was a tabletop mirror. The sort one would use for a lady’s dressing table. Though the looking glass was a bit hazy, and the silver frame tarnished with age, it was an exquisite piece. As Courtney examined the object more closely, Serenity became agitated and jumped upon the shelf where the mirror had stood. The feisty little cat began to paw at her found object and persistently meowed pleading sounds as a child would beg a mother to buy a sweet at the check-out counter of the supermarket.

“Okay, okay.” Courtney acquiesced. “You found it and I think it is lovely. You like it, and so do I. We’ll take it with us. After all, Mr. Wembley has been so kind and I’d feel a bit guilty without buying just a little something from him.” Courtney realized that she had been conversing with herself as Serenity had already slinked back into the warm confines of her carrying case.

“Thank you, Mr. Wembley, for your help. You have been so kind.” She paid for the mirror and gave a warm smile and nod of appreciation to Mr. Wembley. She collected the key and picked up the kitty carry case, its inhabitant peering with satisfied green eyes and a slight smile of satisfaction. The two of them, the key, and a newly acquired reflective object, left Westwood Fine and Rare Antiques and headed back to Ravenswood Manor.

The outside temperature had risen to an acceptable level of comfort and the high street began to brim with activity. The outdoor vendors set up their wares and visitors and locals alike meandered through the various offerings of jams and marmalade, freshly baked sconces, herbal teas, fresh produce, and so many hand-made crafts that it took the mind a moment to sift through all of the offerings. Putting aside the distractions of the ever-growing crowd, Courtney hastily made her way past the throng, out of the high street, and back onto the narrow side street where she had left the compact mini-cooper, her only non-pedestrian transportation in these parts. She opened the passenger door, set Serenity’s travel case on the seat, and placed the newly purchased mirror gently on the floor of the vehicle.

“You will find neither answers nor remedies in the high street. You have all you need to know right here.” The whispered, gentle voice came as both an encouragement as well as a slightly daunting challenge.

Courtney whirled around toward the sound of an old woman’s voice. There was nothing. No one.

Feeling as though she were going insane, Courtney shook her head, opened the driver’s door, sat down in the seat, and looked at a contented, purring, serene cat on the seat beside her.

**********

Though she could not manage to clear the hazy glass of the mirror, she placed the newly polished silver antique on the top of the writing desk in her bedroom. Since there was already a library in the manor house with a much larger writing desk, she had decided that the small one in her bedroom would serve better as a dressing table. Serenity seemed to agree to the new arrangement as Courtney positioned the mirror, her toiletries, perfumes, hair brush, and cosmetic items in the drawers while Serenity sat atop the surface of the table and continued her mesmerized stare into the looking glass.

“Serenity, you silly cat. Come along.” Courtney urged. Serenity responded by casting an indignant glance at her mistress and returned her gaze to the mirror.

“OK, suit yourself, but I’m going down to the library and sit by the nice cozy fire. I’m sure you’ll be down when you’re finished with your obsession.” Courtney shook her head at the puzzling behavior of the little creature and headed downstairs to the library.

The flames licked and danced in the old stone hearth and the heady scent of burning oak reminded her of the fires she and her dad had built every Christmas. Now, it seemed odd to have such a fire in the middle of June. But, then again, it was Jolly Old England, after all, and the inclement weather of drizzle, rain, and overcast skies of late beckoned for such a fire to repel the damp chill from the air. Courtney curled up into an over-stuffed chair, took a sip of her wine, and began fingering the little key she had shown Mr. Wembley. She didn’t know exactly why she wanted to know more about the key. After all, she and Serenity had already discovered the diary hidden behind the portrait on the staircase wall. Besides the date the key was made, what else could she have possibly learned? Perhaps the old man could have provided more information if they had not been interrupted by the cacophony created by one overly vocal cat. 

She began to ponder the strange things that had been happening during her stay at Ravenswood. Firstly, she thought it odd that such a lovely manor house as this would be available on such short notice. Why? She had put it off as good luck at the time. That was six weeks ago. Then, there was the discovery of the key by one inquisitive little cat. That discovery led to the finding of the diary, followed by several other oddities such as small items being found in places they had not previously been. Courtney had just chalked that up to the antics of her furry feline. She thought about Ethan Dougherty, the owner of Ravenswood, and how he had rung the chime of the manor house just a few nights before. As she had been dealing with a rental agent, she had never met the owner but was struck by his uncanny resemblance to that of the man in the portrait behind which she and Serenity had found the diary. Why had he mentioned Serenity by name? She certainly hadn’t put her cat’s name on the rental agreement. And what of today? What of the mirror and Serenity’s fascination with it, the reedy-voiced Mr. Wembley who seemed to know exactly where her escape artist cat had gone? And that whispered voice of an old woman who was nowhere to be seen? What of it all?

The clock chimed, rousing Cortney from her sleepy reverie. It was late. The fire had dwindled, its embers the only glowing light source. Courtney rose from the chair, stretched, and made her way up to her bedroom. The light source there was dim as well. Replacing the overcast greyness of the day, the night sky now revealed a nearly full moon, sneaking behind feathery clouds, casting the room in a silvery brilliance. Serenity lay sleeping, curled under the equally silvery mirror on the dressing table.

**********

Courtney shot up from her slumber to the clamor coming from the dressing table. The room was now almost alight as the mirror glowed the reflection of the moonlight and cast Serenity in silhouette as the cat, seemingly possessed, cried and swatted at the object of her obsession.

Courtney leaped from under the warmth of the blanket. This time Courtney was not amused by the cat’s behavior. She was angry as she approached Serenity with the intention of scooping the cat up and placing her in one of the other several bedrooms. She stopped mid-stride, her eyes too falling prey to the seduction of the mirror before her. There, in the hazy glass, was the face of a man, his handsome features distorted by a look of anguish. Gasping, Courtney whirled around expecting to see an ominous stranger standing behind her so as to reflect his mournful gaze. Nothing. No one. Her heart pounded, and she felt numb. Her throat closed, preventing a terrified scream from escaping her lips. She turned her gaze back to the fading apparition before her. The moonlit reflection began to falter as the diaphanous veil of a cloud passed over the moon’s glow. As it faded into obscurity, the apparition's only remnant was the sound of a whispered 

‘Help me.’

Courtney’s shaken frame collapsed onto the bed. Her little cat, no longer obsessed, nestled into the crook of her mistress’ arm.

**********

The soft patting and purring awakened her. There, next to her, sat Serenity, her luminous black coat glowed, not from the moonlight, but from the glorious early-morning sunshine glimmering upon the canvas of a cornflower-blue sky. Courtney sat up in bed, stroked the softness of Serenity’s fur, and felt as though she had awakened to another reality. As she shrugged into her dressing gown, a soft, gentle ‘meow’ caused her to turn. Serenity sat next to the mirror which now lay on the floor, its silver frame tarnished with age, its once-hazy glass now clear as crystal was shattered to pieces.

Courtney bent to pick up the shards of glass and the frame that had held them together only the night before. The sunlight shone bright upon the underside of the mirror frame, revealing an inscription which had, up until now, gone unnoticed. 

“My Dearest, Beautiful Eleanor,

With each gaze you cast into this mirror, know that my gaze is meeting yours.”

With never-ending love,

Your Husband,

~ Edward

A sudden sense of calm enveloped Courtney as she began to gather the remnants of the mirror. She reverently placed the once-intact mirror into the same crimson-red pouch Mr. Wembley had handed her the day before. Serenity silently followed her mistress down the curved staircase and into the library. The little key that she had left on the side table was not where she had placed it. Rather, the tale-tell faded crimson ribbon dangled from the pages of a small book. She opened the book, unfolded a torn page, and silently read a passage from The Highwayman, penned by Alfred Noyes in 1906. It read:

Yet, if they press me sharply, 

And harry me through the day, 

Then look for me by the moonlight,

Watch for me by the moonlight,

I’ll come to thee by the moonlight, 

Though hell should bar the way.”

A tear glistened and fell upon the page in her hands. Serenity looked up at her, turned, and led her mistress to the middle of the staircase overseen by the portraits of the many ancestors who had once graced and perhaps haunted the halls of the manor.

Serenity gave a slight, gentle ‘meow’, and tapped her white paw under the portrait of the handsome man with the crimson-red ribbon adorning his lapel.

Courtney carefully removed the portrait and inserted the small key into the lock. The faded diary was still there, seemingly lonely for a companion to complete an empty space. She took the diary in her hands and placed the crimson-shrouded mirror into the recessed alcove. She placed the torn page of The Highway Man next to the crimson pouch. She still held Eleanor’s diary in her hands. She caressed its smooth, leather surface and gave a quiet smile as she began to place it back into its secret hiding place.

“Meeew” Serenity’s voice pleaded softly as her feather-light paw tapped at the diary.

Once again giving in to any matter of oddities and emotions displayed by her cat, Courtney obliged her companion and, once again, opened the diary. The pages fell to the last entry dated 16 June 2011. This had been the diary entry Courtney had read before. Yet now, the page was yellowed and brittle, the ink script barely visible with the fading of time. Courtney, frustrated and confused, thumbed through the rest of the book. All of its pages -- old, decrepit, withering, and empty. Growing increasingly frustrated, she attempted to shove the little volume back into its hiding place when a cat’s paw countered her attempt and felled the book back onto the stair, laying it open to the very last, fresh, pristine white page, inscribed with glorious strokes of ink:

You’ve seen the face of God today,

The withered ages passed,

You’ve seen the grand, great victories,

And tried to make them last.

You’ve wandered through a life unlived,

In shadows did you stay,

Released now is your soul my love,

From earthly bonds and fray.

And through the mirror of our souls,

By moonlit skies at night,

I see you in reflections

Of unforgotten sight.

I’ve waited for you oh so long,

And here you are with me,

Beloved Edward of my heart,

I live again with thee.

It was the 16^th of June 2011 at 7:12 in the morning when Courtney placed the diary next to the mirror in the crimson-silken pouch. She and Serenity took the key, ascended the staircase, placed the key back into the drawer of the desk, and once again settled into the quiet peaceful tranquility of the English countryside.