The Abbey Hall Visitor

People call me nosy but I call myself, curious. And, like fuel to attend to my curiosity, the new visitor in town was my neighbour and every afternoon since his entry, my high tea is always crowded with dim and stupid ladies who constantly inquire about the activities of my neighbour. I am the only one who is close to his quarters because after the death of my husband, I moved myself to a quieter place, where there were no inhabitants except for flora and fauna. An inanimate thing in that part was another mansion, Abbey Hall, its pillars covered in climbers, rust coated on its gates, pillars looking weather-beaten and, on the whole, looking quite dilapidated. I’d heard that it belonged to a certain Admiral Carey but he was in the navy and seemed to have forgotten all about it.

   So, when the handsome stranger came to town and took up residence in the long-forgotten mansion, the curiosity escalated, rumours flew about crazily and theories surrounding him grew as absurd as they can. I, first guessed him to be Admiral Carey from the navy but he didn’t look like a sailor. His skin was fair, his eyes had a glimmer of mischievousness and impertinence and his hair was brown, long and messy. The town head had spoken to him and identified him to be Randall Seger, a far relative of Admiral Carey and he was allowed to inhabit the place without any more questions.

  Mrs. Weston was my most intimate confidante and friend. She visited me frequently and we’d talk about all the goings-on in town over tea and cinnamon bread. On the second day of Mr. Seger’s arrival, both I and Mrs. Weston schemed to visit him with freshly baked scones and hand-picked strawberries. We met at my house in our fanciest gowns and picking our way through the overgrown lawns of Abbey Hall, we soon stood in front of the door and knocked.

   No one appeared.

Mrs. Weston said, “Knock louder.”

   I shifted the dish of scones to my other hand and knocked again, loudly. No one appeared and I was getting impatient. I lifted my hand again when the door opened and he stood in the doorway, looking majestic and pleasing. He was dressed in plain clothes and his hair was falling over his forehead. He looked at me and Mrs. Weston with a bored look and raised his eyebrows, impertinently.

  Next to me, Mrs. Weston spoke, “We are from that house,” she pointed to mine, “and we thought that we could welcome you with some native delicacies. It’s a neighbourhood custom.” She smiled, flashing her crooked teeth.

  He looked at us, incredulously and leaned on the door, keeping his hands in front of him. “And what do you bring me?” His voice was deep and nice and now, held a touch of contempt and ridicule.

  I could feel Mrs. Weston’s disapproval beside me but I couldn’t bring myself to say a word. I was caught in his charm. Behind those blue eyes, I could see a hundred mysteries.

 “Some scones and strawberries.” my friend said, sharply.

He nodded and grabbed the basket from my hand, swiftly and as if weighing it said to her, “This won’t last me for two days. Why don’t you bring me something more?”

  This was how much Mrs. Weston could handle. She kept the strawberries on the ground and pulled me away from him. As she dragged me away, I turned back to look at him. He was bending and taking the basket in his hands with a smile on his face.

 When we entered my garden, Mrs Weston glowered and said, “I’ve never seen such an impertinent and a brazen man as him. Oh, to think that I wanted to make his acquaintance! How very foolish of me!”

  She was flustered and I patted her on the back. I said, “Why don’t you go home now? Calm yourselves.”

 Mrs. Weston dabbed her forehead with her handkerchief and said, “Yes, yes. The children will be waiting for me.” She turned to leave but hesitated and turned around.

   She took my hands in hers and said, “We don’t need the acquaintance of such an unruly man and also, be careful of him. He seems dangerous.”

  I assured her in the affirmative but I had no intention of not making his acquaintance. My curiosity was already burning and I had already thought of a hundred different ways to get close to him.

Nowadays, all I do is sit by my window, which gives me a clear view of his mansion. He neither had servants nor visitors and I rarely saw him leave the house. I didn’t know how he managed to satisfy his necessities like food and water and that worried me. It had been two days since our visit and I had planned to bake him some pie and take it over but the ladies of the town were always visiting me in hopes of getting a look at my neighbour and because of them, I wasn’t be able to visit and moreover Mrs. Weston would never approve of me getting friendly with him. I was getting annoyed and so, I hatched a plan. I sent a letter to Mrs. Weston, telling her that I was coming down with fever and that the doctor had advised me to take complete rest and also threw in that my fever might be contagious, just in case she had plans to visit me.

   So, on the fifth day I took a huge basket from the almirah, cleaned it and placed the following items, neatly within. I had baked cinnamon bread, an enormous meat pie and fruit cake and also, had cooked potatoes with butter, meat stew and roasted mushrooms. I picked the heavy basket and strode over to his house. I placed the basket on the landing and delicately stroked my temples to make sure that no hair was out of place. I cleared my throat and with a smile on my face, knocked.

    He opened it immediately as if he had been standing right next to it. I jerked back and hitting my ankle on the basket, lost my balance and was about to fall when his strong hand grabbed my arm and pulled me. He looked the same as I had seen him, five days before but this time, his hair was slicked back and I could see the features of his face, more clearly. He had prominent cheekbones and pink, moist lips.

     He steadied my tottering balance and looked at me, puzzled. “What is it that you want?” he snapped.

    I was a bit taken aback at that direct question but I said, smiling, “Oh, there is nothing that I want. I just wanted to bring you this” I lifted the basket, “and see if you were doing well. Don’t think me nosy for I am just a widow who is extremely worried about your well-being and health. I see no servants manning the house and that is the reason for my coming here. I have made you items that can stored for a day or two but do eat the potatoes today.”

    He took the basket from my hand and stared, not speaking a word. We stood silently and after a while he said, “Thank you.”

  I smiled my most charming smile and said, “We haven’t introduced ourselves formally, have we? I am Elizabeth Henderson. Good to meet you” I bowed slightly.

   “Randall Seger.” he said and didn’t bother with a bow. Before the awkward silence could commence, I asked, “Mr. Seger, won’t you invite me to your house?”

  I could tell that this was fast and also bordering on indecency but who knows when I might get a chance as this? The ladies won’t be visiting me today and I have ample time to find out how the inside of his house looked like and also, think of what I could tell the ladies when they visited me. I could boast about having been in his house and also throw in a few extra exaggerations so that they can go home, satisfied. However, I had to be careful around Mrs. Weston.

  “It is quite dusty and the only places that are clean are the bedroom and dining room.”

“That is fine. I have no problem with fine dust and moreover, I cannot expect much from a man who lives alone with no one to manage the house.” I said, critically.

   He scoffed at this and said, “You indeed think highly of yourself. I am sorry that I cannot invite you into my house today and yet I know my manners. I will invite you one day and believe me when I say that it will be the best day of your life.”

It was the second pot of tea and the ladies still sat around, talking. We had split into two: one group was talking about the escaped convict and the other group around me, was listening to me speak about the interiors of Abbey Hall and of the character of its present visitor. Mrs. Weston wasn’t present because she had gone on a trip with her husband to Bath.

 I haven’t entered his house but I could imagine what it looked like and I couldn’t disappoint them who had come from so far and so I gave them a good, descriptive account of the house.

  “Oh, indeed it was grand! But I have to say, very ill-maintained. We cannot expect much from a man who doesn’t have a woman to guide him around, can we?” The ladies nodded in a matter-of-fact way.

   “The cushions and the curtains were quite old-fashioned. I guess they were left by Admiral Croft’s father or maybe, even grandfather.” We all had a good laugh at this. “He had made no additions, it seemed liked he’d only live here for a month or two.”

 “I saw him yesterday at the market. He was buying vegetables.” said Lady Gordon.

       “Did you?” “Oh, how did he look like?” the other ladies turned to her.

“I did ask him to get himself some nourishment or else who knew what he might be living on.” I said, a bit loudly and took back the attention, that was rightfully mine.

   We took our tea and sandwiches and were silent for a while. I could hear the other group’s conversation about the convict going on in full swing.

 “It is quite scary. My husband says that he is probably living under a false identity or else he would’ve been caught by now.” said one.

   “I also heard that he was held for murder and that these murder criminals are branded with a sign of some kind.” said another.

 “How cruel!”

“Yes but they deserve it.”

   I lost interest in them and as I had nothing more to engage my visitors with, I asked them to leave, saying that it would be unsafe for them to walk in the dark, what with the criminal on the loose. They exited my house and as I was bidding them adieu, I glanced at the mansion and all I could see was the empty glass windows glaring at me.

It was a night where sleep evaded me. After all the activites of the aforementioned evening, I should’ve slept like a log but at around midnight, I roused myself from a disturbed sleep and in my nightgown lit a candle and walked to the kitchen to heat myself some tea to put me to sleep and that was when I saw that unbelievable sight.

  From where I stood, I could see the lawns of Abbey Hall. I could make out the silhouettes of two people standing in the dark, one holding a lighted lantern. From the build, I could ascertain that they were men. Though only a part of his face was visible, one of the men was definitely Mr. Seger. The other was holding a huge bag in his hand. They both conversed for a while and Mr. Seger took the bag and entered the house whilst the other crept away stealthily into the night.

  The happenings had shaken me up and no calming tea could keep my spirits, in check. I was dying to know who that man was and resolved to ask Mr. Seger the following morning. I must have dozed off around four and when I woke up with a stiff neck from sleeping on the sofa, the sun was already high up in the sky and the hall was flooded with sunlight.

  The events of the night hit me like a flood and I quickly rinsed myself and putting on some fresh clothes, crossed over to his house hoping to get answers.

  I knocked and he opened, with a smile on his face. His spirits seemed to be elevated. I guessed that the meeting with the gentleman was the reason for this.

 I said, “I hope you liked the food.”

“Oh yes, I did. Thank you.” he said, still smiling.

   “You’re welcome. I noticed something last night.”

He raised his eyebrows and glared at me, “What did you?”

 “Yesterday night, I saw you with a man. I know that you have no acquaintances in this town, so no one from there could have visited you and if he were indeed someone to be trusted, you could’ve met him in broad daylight. Who was that man, Mr. Seger?”

   His eyebrows knotted together in frustration and he cracked his knuckles, furiously. “You are quite an interfering busybody, aren’t you? I don’t like to disclose my business with anyone but since you seem to doubt me, I’ll tell you. That man who you saw last night was my uncle. He came to give me some documents of importance as I am to leave for London tomorrow on business.”

 “He could’ve well given it in the morning. Why go through all that secrecy?” I argued, validly.

Here he hesitated but said, “There was no secrecy. It was just him and I, having a rendezvous at night because he was crossing this town at that time. I cannot take the blame for your suspicion.”

  “Mr. Seger, I find this reason completely stupid. I know what I saw and I can say that there was nothing ordinary about that.”

 “I have had enough and enough with you. Get out of my bloody porch, you old hag!” he shouted at me and slammed the door in my face. I stood in the doorway, shocked. I’d never seen a man behave this way with a woman and I realized that Mr. Randall Seger was ill brought-up. I collected my bearings and walked slowly back to my place, ruminating over the mannerism of his.

It was a little into the evening, when I heard someone knock. I got up from my comfortable position on the sofa, grudgingly and went to the door. When I opened it, I saw Mr. Seger standing with a small bouquet in his hands. He gave me the most charming smile and said, “Hello, Mrs. Henderson. Can I come in?” He gave me the bouquet and I assumed that this was his way of apologizing.

   I was startled at his presence but I let him in. He walked through the hallway, gazing at the interiors. He said, admiringly, “Indeed your house is wonderful. It does give you the right to look down on people like me.”

  I shrugged my shoulders and we stopped at the sitting room. I motioned him to a seat and he sat down, with a sigh. “What would you like to drink, Mr. Seger?”

   “Something cold.” he said, brazenly.

I nodded and went to the kitchen. I was taking a bottle of raspberry punch from the pantry when a sharp piece of metal was slid under my chin. From the paltry view, I could confirm that it was a knife and the person wielding it was none other than Mr. Seger. He brought the knife closer to my neck and my heartbeat quickened and beads of sweat were slipping from my forehead, my neck and the back of my legs. I couldn’t feel my hands and my breath was ragged and heavy.

  He leaned in closer to me and I felt his cold breath on my cheeks. He held my arm in his and squeezed it, tightly. I let out a shriek and he said, in a dangerous whisper, “Shut up your mouth.”    Struggle would be futile, he was strong, so I stayed put.

  “This wouldn’t have been your end had you not questioned me today.” He said.

“Who are you?” I managed to breathe out.

   “I am under no obligation to tell you that.” he said and pressed the knife against my neck and before the pain took me over, I saw a mark on this arm. It was the mark of the murder criminals.

The end

Name of the author: Ella Carter

E-mail: kitamanay23@gmail.com

Phone number: +91-9092093506