Billet-doux – a love letter.
Inside this shoe box are the love letters written by your great-grandparents who had to be secretly together due to their racial differences. If it wasn’t for their defiantance of laws and belief in love, you wouldn’t be here right now.
(Inspired by; http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/)
For years, I had been having dreams about a house with a three on the door, I would go up the steps and try to open the door but I couldn’t budge it no matter what I tried.
I knew that beyond the door was the answer to a question that I was desperate to discover, though half the time I couldn’t remember what it I was needed to know, it was like sand slipping away.
Would the dream door ever open? Or would the secrets behind it stay sealed forever, never to be in my grasp?
(Inspired by; https://only100words.xyz/2019/05/30/three-line-tales-week-174/ with thanks).
Zemblanity; the inevitable discover of what we would rather not know.
I stood by his headstone and re-read the words written there. They revealed a secret I never wanted to know about.
For years, mum and I had thought dad had abandoned us because he was depressed over the death of his brother. I told myself that story so many times it had become truth but now I knew it wasn’t the whole truth.
Dad had moved countries looking for peace in the aftermath. However, in Spain he had found more then that; a new wife and children.
The headstone told me I had a younger step-brother and step-sister but I didn’t ever want to meet them. Their father wasn’t really the same person my dad had been to me. I’d rather not know anything about his new life or family, all of that could stay with them.
I had just wanted to see where my dad was buried and the gravestone prove he was gone.
Dear Lucy,
The sickness is growing, I can feel it and if you’ve found this letter it means the time has finally come. I’m now too sick to sick to talk to you. I’ve gone to my bedroom and will die in my bed. Don’t bother coming to see me, there’s no point. My life has been so empty from the beginning that it only seems fitting that I should die alone now.
I’m trusting everything to you. Underneath this letter is the envelope containing my will. Only you and I know about how I live and that what people say about me isn’t true. I want you to up hold that imagine of me though; the quiet, yet social writer and artist. Who attend a different party or grand opening or some other important event every evening. Who’s house was always full with friends and he slept with different women each night. The too kind, mysterious, rich young man I wish I’d been in my youth.
Please carry on writing my ideas and books for me. You were always so good with new technology. I made it so in my will that you were able to write under my pseudonym, that way you can carry on perfecting your craft. You’ll make a great writer someday and finally be able to step out of my shadow.
I’m sorry to have to leave you like this. You have been like the wife and daughter, I daydreamed about having. I feel I should give you more but you already have my name and career in your hands, so what else can there be?
Good luck.
The river was good at keeping secrets. Though sometimes it decided to give them up; a broken arrow from a hunt, a lost ring from a lovers’ quarrel, a human body. A few secrets though, it would never give up.
(Inspired from; https://scvincent.com/2017/05/11/thursday-photo-prompt-green-writephoto/ with thanks)
Who knew what was locked away in the tower? Everyday life carried on as normal and no one give the crumbling structure a thought. It stood alone in the middle of the forest. Raising up over the top of the green pine trees and looking across at the village.
Maybe the tower had once been a part of a fort or a castle? A building now lost to time and the nature. Perhaps it had always been a watch tower, built to keep the village on the edge of the forest safe and warn them of coming danger?
Whatever it’s original purpose had been the tower was long abandoned now. And it would have slipped from history if not for a single story that involved it. Two brothers traveling across the country discovered the tower and made inquires about it.
‘Why do you wish to know?’ the oldest member of the village asked them.
‘It is so unusual out there by itself,’ the first brother answered.
‘We were think it might have a good story connected to it for the book we are writing,’ the second brother replied.
The old woman looked them up and down in the firelight of her wooden shack. They were young men; handsome and strong, yet tried from their travels.
‘Here, have some broth and I shall tell you the story I know of the tower,’ the old woman answered.
Gratefully, the brothers accepted the warm bowls of broth and settled down to listen to the old woman’s tale.
‘It was a long, long time ago and the king had just had a baby daughter. There was a big celebration as the kingdom now had an heir. The next day his wife died and an old hag, claiming to be a witch came to the king and demand his daughter. She showed him a contract his wife had signed in which the queen had brought a spell to make her pregnant.’
“By rights,” the witch said, “The child is mine!”
‘The king fought hard, but that night the witch kidnapped the baby and fled to the tower. Everyone searched high and low, but they could not find the old hag or the baby. Heartbroken the king died and his kingdom fell into war then ruin.’
‘And the child?’ the first brother interrupted.
‘Was locked in the tower,’ the old woman stated, ‘the witch raised her there and taught her how to spin and make things. Later, the lost Princess learnt about herself from books. She begged the witch to release her and the witch told her that could only happen when the Princess’ true love came to rescue her.’
‘And did he?’ the second brother asked.
‘No. Of course he did not!’ the old woman snapped, ‘they say to this day the Princess’ bones are still resting on the floor of the tower. The door magically locked so no one can get in.’
The brothers fell silent and finished their broth. They thanked the old woman and left. As they headed out of the village the first brother turned to the second, ‘I want that story,’ he declared, ‘but I’m going to change the ending.’
Inspired by: https://scvincent.com/2016/11/10/thursday-photo-prompt-secrets-writephoto/ with thanks.
(Please be aware this story contains adult sexual content.)
That night, after Chinese takeaway and the kids had gone to bed, I went through the journals.
I got Dan to bring the three boxes into the living room and I sat on the floor surrounded by books. For awhile, Dan helped but then he put the TV on and got distracted by a movie. With the journals all neatly dates, it was easy for me to find the ones I wanted. Setting the others back into their boxes, I looked at the seven books before me. There were all fake leather A3 size, two were black, two were blue, one was green, the sixth red and the seventh was a strange grey color. It didn’t seem to fit in with the rest.
I picked it up and double checked the date. 1979, the year my mum went missing. I put it back and picked up the one dated 1973, the year I was born instead. I flipped to my birthday and read my gran’s account of that day. It was brief. She wrote about my mum and her going into hospital at about lunch time and me bring born a few hours later. Everything was fine, but then there was a line about the nurses and doctors asking about who the father was. If my mum was married and if she was actually going to keep me.
They forced the adoption papers into Mary’s hands. I told her it was her choice, but hadn’t I said I would take the baby on myself? This family has had to many lost children. Mary decided to keep the baby, but she wants to raise it by herself. I know it’s going to a street scandal, but this isn’t the 1950’s now! We shall do our best.
I turned the page and read some more. It was another brief entry; my naming, leaving the hospital in the late evening and getting me home. Then something about the fact I was a good baby and slept well.
I went to the end of the journal and read the last page. I was five months old now. My gran had put that my mum still wouldn’t tell her who my father was. She could see the weight of the responsibility weighing down her sixteen year old daughter. She planned to adopt me and send my mum back to school.
I closed the book and reached of another one.
‘Anything interesting?’ Dan asked sleepily from the sofa.
‘No. That was the year I was born, so I wasn’t really expecting anything,’ I replied.
I picked up the next one and opened it.
‘We should go to bed. I’ve work in the morning,’ Dan spoke.
‘I’ll be up in a bit,’ I replied.
He paused then said, ‘come to bed with me now. You’ll lose track of time and be up all night…just like when you were reading Harry Potter.’
I smiled at that without really meaning too.
He got up and came to me. Slipping his hands on to my shoulders and massaging. I hummed a little and let everything go. All the tension and worry I’d been carrying with me and just hiding came to the surface. Tiredness quickly followed and I decided for a change that my husband was right.
I had the journals now and whatever secrets were inside of them could wait until morning. Dan helped me up and we went upstairs.
In the week that followed, I read the journals closely in any spare time I had. They told me very little and so much at the same time. I began to realise though that my mum had never told anyone the name of my father. My gran thought it could be a number of men, including; one of my mum’s high school teachers and an eighteen year old neighbor. I though, my gran wrote, looked too much like my mum.
When I came to read the grey 1979 journal it was very patchy and it seemed pages might have been torn out, though I couldn’t be sure. The date my mum officially was declared missing was Tuesday in late April. She had failed to come home from a friend’s house Monday night. Gran wrote mum never turned up to work her part time job in a shoe shop on Monday or Tuesday. She had asked friends and no one had seen her.
The police said she’d run away from home and or was just staying with a friend. She’d turn up. Gran felt differently though. It didn’t make any sense why Mary would leave me behind, she loved me. Even though Gran had pretty much taken over at this point. Gran wrote that six year old me often asked where mamma was. Gran said she was away and would come home soon. But she never did.
Soon after I finished the grey diary, I moved on and read through the 1980’s journals. Gran and the police were still looking for mum. There wasn’t a lot to go on though. And I stopped asking were she was. Gran was mum now and I had to worry about school and growing up.
‘Diaries turned up anything today?’ Dan asked a week or so later as we lay in bed together.
I snuggled against him, putting my head on his bare chest and listening to his breathing. He stroked my hair and held me close.
‘No,’ I replied, ‘gran was right when she told me she never knew what happened. Mary just vanished one day and the police could never find her. I always thought it was because of me. But gran told me and wrote how much Mary loved me. So that couldn’t have been her reason. I don’t know…Maybe I missed something.’
‘Or maybe that’s it,’ Dan said softly.
I rubbed his chest, feeling the small hairs against my skin. I looked up at him and he was watching me. He kissed the top of my head then I moved and our lips brushed.
‘Do you think I should give up?’ I questioned.
‘I wouldn’t,’ he answered quickly, ‘and your gran never did. The answers are out there somewhere. Tomorrow I’ll read through the diaries too. Maybe we’ll find out together.’
‘Thanks,’ I whispered and kissed him deeply.
To Be Continued…
Annabelle almost tore through the letter itself as she disregarded the envelope. Her eyes flicked across the neat handwriting that she recognised as being her father’s from the countless letters he had sent her. The letter was brief and written to his lawyer about amendments to his will.
My wife has died, he wrote, And I wish to leave the care of my daughter to my sister, Lucy Yeats and provide her a sum of money monthly to look after the child’s needs and education. My country house, should go to my brother, Edward and his wife. If anything should happen to my sister and her family which means they can no longer care of my child, she is to go to my brother.
Annabelle felt she already knew about that, perhaps her aunt Lucy had once told her. Luckily, none of that had come to pass and she was only staying with her uncle to get some fresh air and recover from illness. She knew she’s soon be back in London shopping with her cousins and discussing possible husbands.
She read on, noticing how her father’s last letter for that was which she guessed it to be, was so different from her mother’s. Her father continued to list money and items to people, namely her and other family members. Then he had signed it at the bottom. Annabelle set the letter down and picked up the envelope to put it back in. As she did so though light from the candle light caught it and she saw that something had actually been written on the inside of the envelope.
Carefully, Annabelle opened the thin paper and read the secret message her father had placed there. The ink was fading and the words so small it was hard to read without holding it up to the light. She felt a chill go through her as she read;
My wife is not actually dead, but she is as good as. Her madness has become too much to cope with. She no longer knows me or her child or anyone else. I have had to leave her in Edward’s care and remove our child to a safer place. My wife can not be cured nor do the doctors know how long she will live for. Often, she raves in French about seeing the ghostly form of her mother and we are finding it hard to keep servants in the place.
I need a death certificate but so far I have been unable to find a doctor who will sign one. They think perhaps, I mean to cheat my daughter out of inheritance. My will must be prove enough that I do not wish that to happen. We must arrange a meeting between us and a doctor who will assist us. It should be at the church were my sons are buried and everything done in secret for the time being.
The letter ended and Annabelle fell into a deep reflections. She had once had brothers and all the things she had heard about her mother’s passing had been wrong. Everyone had made her believe it had been in child birth, but all along it had been some other illness. And the ghost! Was the hunchbacked old woman actually her grandmother? Perhaps that explained why she could not rest for she wanted Annabelle to understand what had happened and for things to be settled.
Putting the envelope down, Annabelle picked up her mother’s letter and read it in a new light. The words made better sense now and Annabelle felt her heart breaking further.
I have not much time left, her mother had written, I can feel it. Some days I know my husband by his face and voice, but other days he is a stranger to me! I can not remember much other then my baby is gone to join the others in the grave and my young daughter has been sent to London. I hope that she is spared my illness.
The north tower has become my home and often I think of the poor child of my husband’s brother. That child lived here too, hidden from the world because of his deformity and the family’s shame. I think sometimes I can hear screaming and scratching at the door. My mother visits often in her ghost form. I have for years tried hard not to talk of her, but I can no longer hold it back. Still she does not speak and it is always past the midnight hour when she appears.
What will become of my child? I always think of her when I come back to my senses. I wish to she her, but my husband says she is gone and will only come back when I am better. I have heard the doctor’s whispering and I know I never will survive this. I want to leave. I want to get out of this house, it seems to have some supernatural powers, maybe it is cursed or evil lives here. My husband does not believe me, but I think I could get better if I only left!
My child needs to be kept away from this place. I fear for her if she ever comes here.
Clara.
Annabelle dropped the letter and burst into tears. How had they kept this all from her? She put her head down on the desk, resting on her arms and cried for sometime. Exhausted she then fell asleep and had fitful dreams.
The room was darker when she awoke because some of the candles had burnt themselves out. Annabelle got up and went to the door. It was still locked. She bang her fists against the wood and began shouting loudly. Someone must come!
However, when she paused to drag in deep breaths, she heard nothing but the slow creaking of the house. Annabelle looked at her hands and saw they were bruised. Wondering what to do she swept about the floor and decided to see if there was another way out the room.
She searched for a long time, testing all parts of every wall and even the floor, but the rooms give up no more secrets. Hungry and tried she give in and lay down on the bed. Holding on to the fact that someone would soon start looking for her, she fell asleep.
She dreamed of her parents in the manor house. They were running down the corridors and in out of the rooms, they were chasing each other and laughing. She watched them from the point of view of a baby until they vanished into the folds of the house. She cried loudly, begging they come back to her, but they did not reappear and she was left alone.
Annabelle woke with a start, her ears still ringing with the crying of a baby. She sat up, pushed her hair behind her and listened. The crying was still going on. Getting up, she walked around, but could find no source of the noise. She returned to the bedchamber and the desk just as the crying stopped. Annabelle saw the hunchbacked old woman waiting by the foot of the bed.
‘I know now!’ Annabelle cried, ‘I know what happened, but I’m trapped in here. How can I tell my uncle and aunt?’
The ghost looked at her and turned towards the door. Slowly, she floated over and went through the door. Annabelle dropped her shoulders and felt all the energy leaving her. She rose a hand to her head as she felt pain growing and then it was gone. She heard the door click open and slowly move inwards.
Annabelle hurried to the door and opened it fully. The ghost was standing in the hallway lighting the way as the last candle in the room went out. The old woman began moving and Annabelle followed to her chambers.
At the door, she thanked the ghost and promised to make things right, then she went into the room which was warm and blazing with light.
Annabelle stopped then pulled the curling envelope out of the jewelry box. She turned it over and looked for anything written on it or a seal, but there was nothing. She placed the rest of the jewelry back in and opened the envelope, her heart fluttered as she did so, but before she could stop her moving hands, the piece of paper was out and before her eyes.
She read it slowly and the words began to weigh heavy in her mind. It was strange, but even before she saw the name at the end, she knew her mother had written it. She re-read the letter and though it was not addressed to anyone, perhaps her mother had wrote it for her.
A noise and voices outside in the corridor drew her attention and Annabelle folded the letter back up, tucked it in the envelope then placed it up her long sleeve. She blew out all the candles but the one she had brought with her then slipped through the hidden door and blew out the candles in the library. Going into the bedchamber, she paused because the door into the hallway was half open.
She backed up, shielding the light of her candle away.
‘What were you doing in there, girl?’ a sharp man’s voice that Annabelle recognised as the butler’s asked.
‘Nothing, sir,’ Annabelle’s maid squeaked back, ‘There was a cat, you see and I was chasing it away and then I saw the door was open and thought it had gone in, but it had not. I am sorry, sir.’
‘The door was open?’ the butler mutter before raising his voice again, ‘that’ll be all. Get yourself back in the kitchen, girl! And I never want to see you in this part of the house again or I’ll have you removed. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir, right away, sir.’
Annabelle heard the running of feet then the door banging too and the clicking of a lock. She held her breath and kept pressed against the door frame. Her body was shaking and heart was beating so loud she was sure someone would hear it. After a few moments, she heard heavier footsteps walking away and she let her breath out. Still though she did not move and she counted a minute before entering carefully into the bedchamber.
She had removed all the candles before, so only the one in her hands offered any light. Annabelle found her way to the door and tried the handle. She pulled the door, but it would not moved. Panicking, she tugged the handle harder, but the door was clearly locked and not moving.
She opened her mouth and cried out then shouted for help. Annabelle listened but heard nothing. She paced before the door, her skirts swishing around her and she tried stay calm. Finally, she decided to relight the other candles and place them around her.
With more light, she could see the bedchamber better. The bed clothes and hangings were musty and she avoided touching them so there was no further rising of dust. She went back to the desk and sat down at the chair. She took the envelope from her sleeve and rubbed it against her fingers.
Opening it again, she took out the letter and re-read it. Annabelle let out a little gasp as the words on the paper sunk in. Her hand rested on her heart and she read like that till the end. Trembling, she put the letter down and looked at it. The words blurred before her and she realised she was crying.
Wiping her eyes, Annabelle tried to figure things out. She had always known her mother was half French, that was were she had gotten her name, but she had not known her mother had lived here. Her mother had died when Annabelle was young and her father had given Annabelle over to the care of her other aunt and she had been brought up with her three cousins.
Annabelle had never given any real thought to the mother she did not know, but now so many questions were coming into her mind. Sliding the letter away, she picked up the sealed envelope that she had avoid opening before and tore into it.
To Be Continued…
Annabelle hurried back to her chambers forgetting all her manners. The skirt of her nightdress whipped around her legs and she almost tripped over many times. The flame of the oil lamp flickered madly and made the shadows along the walls more darker. Her bare feet pounded the floor almost as loudly as her heart.
She almost missed her door in her flight. Annabelle stopped and looked desperately around, she barely recognised the corridor but then saw where her bedchamber door was and hurried in. The room was just as she had left with it; with the fire now out and the bed cold. Annabelle placed the lamp on her bedside table and scrambled into bed. She shivered violently and clutched the sheets tightly.
Annabelle calmed herself. She rested against the pillows and took in deep breaths. Despite everything, she heard the grandfather clock in the front hallway below chime three am. She tried to settle, but sleep would not come and her mind was too drawn back to the room. Why had the ghost taken her there? Who’s room had it been? She knew parts of the manor house had been shut away because they were no longer needed. Perhaps, she could ask her uncle and aunt, maybe even the maids and house keeper? Somehow though, Annabelle did not want to tell anyone about the room.
She shut her eyes, feeling tried but at the same time unable to sleep. She wondered when she could try and go back during the daytime. Maybe in the middle of the afternoon? her aunt always took a nap and her uncle went out for a walk. The servants would be busy preparing the evening meal and finishing their tasks for the day. Annabelle decided that would be the best time and promptly fell asleep.
When she woke it was late morning. Annabelle rubbed her eyes and face as she came too. She knew the maid had been in because her clothes were laid out and there was fresh water in the jug. Annabelle got up and washed herself before ringing the bell for the maid. Whilst she waited, she looked outside and out over the moors. It was a grey dull day and there was not much to see.
The maid appeared and helped her get dressed into a plain blue day dress. Somehow, Annabelle held her questions about the ghost and room in. She went down to eat and found her uncle and aunt had already eaten and where in other parts of the house. Annabelle ate her eggs and toast in silence then went back to her room. Stepping through the door, she saw the maid was cleaning out the fireplace.
‘I’ll be done soon, Miss. Is there anything I can do for you?’ the maid asked.
Annabelle looked at her, recalling that the maid was younger then herself, so the girl might not know anything about the room. The girl had chestnut brown hair, so different from Annabelle’s blonde curls and she was wearing clothes that ill fitted her, as if the maid had been given another woman’s clothes. Annabelle pressed her lips together and decided to ask, ‘do you anything about ghosts?’
The girl, paused and looked at her, ‘no, Miss.’
Annabelle went and sat at her dressing table where she played with a silver hairbrush and mirror. She watched the maid in the mirror and thought carefully.
‘You must know some stories though…’Annabelle muttered.
‘Sorry, Miss?’
‘Have you ever since a ghost?’ Annabelle asked.
‘No, Miss,’ the maid said quickly, ‘I must go and get some more coal.’
Annabelle turned to stop her but the girl hurried off before she could call her back. Sighing, she looked around then noticed the match box on the floor. Getting up, she collected that and a candle from the mantel and left her room. Though she had meant to find the secret room later, the urge to go back and see it again was too strong.
She hurried along the corridor and around into the next one. She remembered the way perfectly and arrived at the door, which was still slightly ajar. Annabelle opened it and stepped in. Closing it behind her, she found herself in darkness and had to go out again so she could light the candle. With that done, she walked through the bedchamber and light the few candles that were dotted about.
It was just a man’s bedchamber and beside from the envelope on the desk, Annabelle found no other names. She paused over the letter and then picked it up. The envelope had been sealed and never opened. It had never been posted. She almost opened it then she could not bring herself to break the seal. Placing it back, she walked into the other room and lit the single candle there.
The small flame hardly cast any light, so she went and picked up another candle from the next room. Then she could see that it was a personal library. A few molding books rested on a few bookshelves, but someone had taken away the others a long time ago. Annabelle went to the tapestry and inspected it more closely. She could not see anything else within it though. Moving it aside, she opened the door to the secret room and stepped in once more.
Straight away she saw the long curtains and went over to open them. Weak light drifted into the room from the dirty windows, but Annabelle could now see a lot more. She brought candles from the first room and placed them around. Then she saw that the room had once been heavily decorated and wonderful, but now time was decaying everything. It appeared to a be a lady’s private room, but Annabelle did not know how that was possible since it was clearly connect to a man’s room.
She walked about, looking at the pretty objects that decorated the room. There was a large chair and sofa, books on the shelves, dried flowers in vases, makeup and hair items on the large dresser. Small paintings hung on the walls of countryside scenes and the actual manor house. Two porcelain dolls sat together in a baby crib, their dust covered glass eyes staring up at Annabelle. Soft rugs covered the floor, muffling her footsteps as she moved around to looked for another hidden doorway. Perhaps she thought this room did connect to another somehow.
After much searching and looking at the placement of the items and furniture, Annabelle decided she had been wrong. There was only one way out of this room and someone had moved everything in here to make it look like it did. She went back to the desk and looked at the items there. There was a ink stand complete with pots and what had once been quills, yellow writing papers, an old book and the jewelry box.
Annabelle touched it, feeling dust under her fingers. She opened the large wooden box and saw the glitter of jewels in the candle light. No music came from the box, but as she inspect it and the contents more, she found a key and was able to wind it up. A soft lullaby rose up and she thought she knew it, but could not place it. She picked up necklaces, bracelets, earrings and loose gem stones, all very expensive and just left hidden in this dark room.
She started putting everything back and that was when she spotted the letter.
To Be Continued…
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