Tempest in the South Wing

As the grandfather clock chimed the midnight hour, Eliza griped the rain-soaked ledge of her bedroom window and strained to see the figure beneath the withering oak tree. Lightning flooded the sky to reveal a girl, much like herself, with long, dark hair and delicate features staring back at her. She was curiously untouched by the raging storm and Eliza’s breath seized with the certainty that she had seen her before. A chill raked down her spine.

“Are you real?” Eliza whispered.

Her mother, Catherine, told her she wasn’t to speak to strangers but whispering into the dark didn’t count. Eliza’s nails cut into the wood as she leaned further into the windowsill and she felt the rain lash against her skin, like a horde of tiny bee stings unleashed across her face. She couldn’t imagine what the girl must feel standing in it. Eliza wanted to call to her and tell her to take shelter. 

It always stormed in her nightmares too. Why did storms have to be so awful?

Eliza couldn’t bring herself to go out into the cold, wet night but maybe, if she opened the back door, the girl could be safe.

With new determination, Eliza said, “I will come to you.”

The thundering wind drowned out her words but the girl responded by raising her arm to point at the South Wing of the house. Her mother had closed off the South Wing years ago, no longer needing the space with only the two of them living in the estate.

 “No, I’ll open the door at the back of the house. Come to the east side.”

Eliza turned and crept toward her bedroom door. She didn’t want to alert her mother as she knew she wouldn’t approve. Catherine hated storms too and wouldn't want Eliza sneaking around while a tempest erupted, throwing rain like shards of glass against the earth.

Breaths heavy, pulse racing, she reached for the door knob, its etchings rough against her soft hand. She startled as the old brass scrapped against the wood frame. She had been hopeful that it would be unlocked – her mother can forget things when the winds begin their incessant howling – but surprise greeted her nonetheless. It was usually locked on nights when she didn’t drink her tea before bed, its bitter tang clinging to her tongue for hours. Catherine said the locked door was to protect her from sleep walking during one of her nightmares.

Once outside her bedroom, the dimmed gas lamps lit the hall. Her legs trembled and her stomach clenched as she came upon her mother’s door and heard the sorrowful moans echoing from within. The rains brought a melancholy that seeped into her mother’s bones. The moans were fragmented by angry whispers that puzzled Eliza.

After that, she was swift to make her way through the house, not feeling entirely brave about the decision she had made. Reaching the back door, Eliza peered out into the night but the girl wasn’t there. Once again, the shadows filled her with a foreboding; a sense of pain, deceit and midnight terrors. She squeezed her eyes shut. Nightmares were worse when they happened while you were awake.

Eliza reluctantly moved to pull the door open and peered outside when a hand emerged from the darkness to stop her.

The monster from her nightmares–

“Eliza, what are you doing?” her mother asked.

Eliza opened her mouth to speak but no words emerged. Catherine was standing over her. Her tightly coiled, chestnut braid fell down her back in stark contrast to the lacy, pale nightgown she wore. Her swollen eyes were cradled by dark half-moons that told of her restless nights. The longer it took Eliza to speak, the tighter her mother’s grip on her shoulder became. But the words would not come.

“Come now, back upstairs.” Catherine turned Eliza around, but not before she caught a glimpse out the back door. The girl was standing in the rain.

***

When the sun made its hazy ascent over the horizon the next day, the rain had retreated to a light mist. Still, a dreariness hung in the air. Eliza had not seen where the girl went the night before and, making her way out to the oak tree this morning, she found no trace of her.

By midday, Eliza gave up her search and joined her mother in the back garden. They spent most afternoons tending the flowers, it being one of the only pastimes they loved to do together. Catherine usually paid particular attention to the gardenia shrubs that framed the southern wall of the house so Eliza knew that is where she would find her. But something was not right.

“What’s wrong, mother?”

Catherine didn’t even acknowledge that she had heard Eliza speak. Instead, she tore mercilessly at the shrubs. The roots strained against the earth while the petals poured down around them. The stems tore at Catherine's bare hands until they bled.

“They need to be perfect, Eliza. Can’t you see how hideous they have become? I must prune them back.”

Eliza tugged on Catherine’s arm trying to divert her attention. “Leave them, you’re hurting yourself."

But she couldn’t make Catherine stop. Her mother continued to tear at the gardenia shrubs like a woman possessed. Angry tears welled in Eliza’s eyes. It wasn’t fair, her mother was always better once the worst of the rain had passed but something was different today.

She turned and ran back to the house, wanting to escape. Eliza got lost in the maze of hallways in the East Wing and distracted herself with the ancestral portraits, statues, vases and heirlooms on display. By the time her tears had dried and she no longer tasted salt upon her lips, she realized she stood in front of the intimidating double doors leading to the South Wing.

The house creaked with her movements but she didn’t stop. She had been far to curious for far to long. The air was stale and stark white sheets covered every piece of furniture in sight but Eliza was refreshed by the pale pink walls and crystal chandeliers. A perfect room for her doll house, really. She thought maybe it was a room intended for just that purpose once.

Out of the corner of her eye, a streak of long, dark hair caught Eliza’s attention and she rushed out of the room. There, at the end of the hall stood the girl. But now Eliza could truly see how she floated off the ground and had an aura of white that surrounded her. And, in an odd way, how she looked exactly like Eliza.

“I looked for you. Are you alright?” Eliza asked.

The girl pointed to the door beside her. It was intricately carved with gardenia flowers, a whirl of petals and thick foliage from top to bottom.

“Its beautiful,” Eliza said. She didn’t really know what she was looking at. “Was this your room once?”

The girl stared at Eliza for some time, unblinking, before nodding her head slowly once.

Eliza was bewildered, if also a little eager. “Well, lets go in then,” Eliza said.

But the door didn’t open when she turned the knob and she threw her shoulder into it to be sure. Eliza’s head hung in defeat, frustrated that her exploring was cut short.

“Wait! I could ask my mother for a key!” Eliza said as she turned to go look for Catherine.

Suddenly, the girl flew down the hall to cut her off and shook her head once.

“It’s fine, I am sure she has one. Stay here, I’ll be right back!” Eliza shouted over her shoulder as she ran from the South Wing in search of Catherine.

***

Her mother was still tearing violently at the gardenias when Eliza found her.

“Mother!” Eliza cried, bending over in breathlessness. “I found the most beautiful door, it reminds me of your garden actually, and a pretty pink room that would be perfect for a doll house, and I think maybe we should be using the–”

Catherine held up a hand. “Eliza, darling, take a breath, I can barely understand what you are saying.”

Eliza gulped air into her lungs. She noticed that, while her mother had still been hacking at the flowers, her eyes were clearer.

“I got turned around while I was looking at the portraits in the hall today and came upon the South Wing. Oh, mother it is so lovely,” Eliza said.

Tension eased back into Catherine’s movements. “You went to the South Wing? Eliza, I’ve told you it isn’t safe in there,” Catherine said. “What if there was a loose floor board and you fell? No, I forbid it.”

“But mother–”

“No. Now come inside and let’s clean up for tea.”

Eliza did as she was told but held out hope that she would see inside the gardenia room soon.

***

With her belly full, Eliza was ready for bed.

“I’ll make you your special tea tonight, Eliza. I don’t want you waking from nightmares two nights in a row,” Catherine insisted.

Eliza agreed, it did help her sleep. It seemed to blur the edges of her mind enough to not remember her worries and help her drift off.

Catherine stood up. “Stay here, while I fetch it.”

Eliza sat at the dining table until her restlessness propelled her towards the kitchen. Peering into the room, she saw Catherine standing in front of the tea service with vials and herbs surrounding her. Eliza strained to hear but it sounded like her mother was... chanting?

 “Is…,” Eliza hesitated, “is that my tea, mother?”

Catherine turned but remained silent for several long moments until her mouth inched into an overly bright smile. “Why yes, darling. I’m making it extra special tonight. No nightmares. You head to bed and I will be right behind you.”

Eliza wavered but soon left the kitchen. She marched up the stairs and made her way to her bedroom, where she changed into her nightgown and turned down the bed, climbing in. Her mother emerged from the hall with the tea service a moment later.

Catherine poured the tea and handed Eliza the cup and saucer but she didn’t serve any for herself. Instead, her mother sat at the foot of her bed and watched her take a sip. Eliza hated the tea but she knew her mother would get agitated if she didn’t drain it dry. As Eliza took another tentative sip, she felt like more than one pair of eyes seared her skin.

A sharp crash rang out from the other side of the room, distracting Catherine. A candlestick had fallen out of its holder from the top of her chest of drawers. Her mother moved to pick it up and Eliza used the moment to hastily drain the remainder of the tea into the vase beside her bed. She smirked at her genius, now both her and her mother could be happy. She didn’t have to endure the harsh flavour and Catherine would not worry about more nightmares.

As her mother turned around, she pretended to sip until she set the cup back in its saucer on the side table. Catherine leaned in to confirm, kissed her head, and bid her goodnight.

Yet hours later, it was not a good night. For Eliza twisted beneath covers unable to sleep and she knew it was because another storm was hammering its vengeance outside her bedroom window.

She rose from her bed. Unlike the night before, as she scrutinized the darkness, no girl with long, dark hair and delicate features stared back at her. But what if the girl was still in the South Wing waiting out the storm?

She needed much less convincing this time. The door remained unlocked, and she headed to the South Wing in hopes that she would find the girl.

Eliza’s anticipation propelled her through the inky darkness and in mere moments she was back in front of the pink sitting room. She heard the thunder rolling in the distance but it was nothing compared to the thumping of her own heart. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, and when she opened them again, she was staring straight into the luminous eyes of the girl.

Eliza opened her mouth to speak but the girl held up a finger to her lips, jerking her head toward the hall. Eliza wasn’t sure she understood but she thought, perhaps, that they were not alone in the South Wing.

The girl glided down the hall and Eliza followed, noticing that a faint glow came from the room at the end of the hall, the one with the gardenia’s painstakingly carved into the door. And this time the girl didn’t stop at the threshold, she sailed into the room and expected Eliza to follow.

The door was unlatched and a beam of candlelight seeped through the cracks. Eliza pressed her hand to wood, feeling the smooth imprint of the floral pattern on her palm.

This room was not covered in white sheets. Rather, it was filled with pink ruffled bedding, lace accents, and porcelain dolls. Although the smell was…off.

It was a room full of decadence and wonder and her mother was sitting in the middle of it all, beside the four-poster bed, rocking back and forth manically.

“Mother?” Eliza’s voice trembled with uncertainty as she approached Catherine’s side.

Seemingly unheard, she moved to stand in front of her mother when she noticed something on the bed where the covers were pulled down. There were bones – a skeleton decaying against the feminine frills.

Eliza screamed. Her fingers went numb, her lips tingled, and a deep chill settled beneath her skin.

Realizing what this meant, Eliza frantically searched for the girl and found her at the edges of the room as far from the bed as possible.

“Is this you?” Eliza wondered aloud, “Who are you?”

The girl tilted her head suggesting it was her and tapped her chest, drawing Eliza’s attention to a silver locket that rested there. Looking toward the carcass, Eliza saw the true locket and she grabbed it, being careful not to touch the remains. A single gardenia was etched on the front. And on the back it was engraved Eliza Draven.

But she was Eliza Draven. She reeled from all of the questions that suddenly rushed through her mind. She dropped to her knees in front of her mother.

“Mother, am I dead? I think I'm dead,” Eliza said.

Catherine stopped rocking and looked up. “No, my darling. You were never dead,” she said quietly and began repeating, “never dead,” over and over until Eliza reached out to grip her hand.

“You were injured on your horse, remember? But you are better now,” her mother said.

“I don’t remember, mother. Can you help me remember?” Eliza asked.

“Three summers ago,” Catherine paused. “Right after you got that beautiful Friesian mare for your tenth birthday, you begged me to go riding with you after tea, remember? It was getting dark and I knew a storm was coming…but I didn’t say no.”

When Catherine didn’t continue, Eliza looked to the girl in the corner. Silent tears streamed down her face to drip off her chin and melt into the air like they never existed.

“Did I fall?” Eliza asked.

Catherine cleared her throat and confirmed with a murmured yes.

“And I didn’t die?”

“Of course not, darling. You are right here,” Catherine said as she reached out to grip Eliza’s face between her hands.

“But how did I come to be here?”

“I brought you here of course… After the fall. There was a moment I thought I lost you and the doctor wouldn’t have gotten here in time. So, I froze it.”

Eliza scrunched her nose in confusion. “You froze it?” she asked.

“Yes, I gave us all the time in the world. There was a moment – a horrid, impossible moment – when I thought you were lost and I searched and searched.” Catherine’s grip tightened on Eliza’s cheeks as her eyes frantically begged for acceptance. “I found you at the Callaway’s estate. You were there all along.”

The Callaway estate. Callaway…She wasn’t a Draven; she was a Callaway. The real Eliza Draven lay on the bed beside her. That Eliza’s soul wept in the corner begging for freedom from the sorrow that tethered her to this house.

Eliza gulped, pulling the putrid air into her lungs. She needed to be brave. “Okay, mother. Let’s go to bed,” Eliza said, hoping that in her desperation to cling to her truths, Catherine would be compliant.

“You understand, don’t you darling? I had to stop time for a little while is all,” Catherine said.

“I understand.” And Eliza did try to understand the crushing heartache that could lead her mother to want to stop grief before it had fully embedded its claws.

Catherine took Eliza’s hand and rose from the floor, leading her toward the hall.

Before leaving, Eliza looked back at the girl whose form wavered in and out of focus and made a promise. She would come back to bury her.