Spores: Chapter One-The Tavern
The local tavern was a haven from the downpour hanging over the rolling hills of Edinburgh, a good portion of the isolated village sitting amongst one another in solemn, quiet submission to the storm’s endless wrath. It was within this foreboding silence when a stranger feebly staggered in, their face obscured by the rain-soaked bonnet dripping pathetically over their head.
Peeling the thin cotton away from their forehead, the stranger revealed the face of a beautiful young woman, whose round cheeks & sharp jawline peeked timidly out from beneath a cluster of stray, thick-black curls. The brown complexion of her skin glistened softly as she drew forward into the amber-red glow of the tavern’s sparse candlelight, the once restive and submissive silence of the villagers suddenly fermenting into a more heavy and foreboding tension.
Amidst the abysmally dim lighting, Henrietta Williams saw the menacing glint of a dozen unrecognizable glares — their eyes hardened & pitch-black from years of learning their lot in life through grueling manual labor. The villagers followed her footsteps with impermeable thoughts brewing inside their heads, their faces like aged masks of stone. Unsure of how to ease into the abruptly hostile atmosphere her entrance had conjured, Henrietta uncomfortably cleared her throat, doing her best to keep her head held high as she walked carefully over to the bar. There a stern and strong looking alewife awaited her, greeting her with an equally unfriendly expression. The hag kept two large hands pressed possessively against the faded chestnut counter of the bar, her eyes fixed squarely & unwaveringly at Henrietta. Pulling off her battered and rain-soaked gloves, Henrietta sighed heavily, looking into the eyes of the menhaden in search of a trace of sympathy, only to find two chillingly reflective pools of ink reflecting her gaze right back.
“I beg your pardon, Miss — “ Henrietta began, faltering slightly in her composure. “I’m just a traveler passing through on my search for work — you wouldn’t happen to have any room and boarding here, would you?” Henrietta asked as evenly and politely as she could manage, her strength sapped away from her by the cold rain and the room’s oppressive silence. Before the bar maiden could respond — assuming she had any inclination to, as not one single muscle in her face moved an inch — the squat and hunched-over fellow sitting on a dilapidated stool to her left grumbled out a reply.
“No lodging here. No work either,” the man growled from the back of his throat, lifting a partially drained beer glass to the bushy mustache that consumed the majority of his face. Henrietta seemed taken aback, shocked at the dismal circumstances she found herself in, and even more shocked by the apparent heartlessness of the people she was surrounded by. She knew the farther one strayed from the urban settlements of the country, the less hospitable the local’s manners tended to be, but this flagrant rejection of a helplessly tired and cold traveler was — to her — unfathomable.
“Certainly, there must be somewhere — “ Henrietta insisted hesitantly, already feeling like just breathing was enough to break the fragile seal on the room’s waning peace. “You…you can’t expect me to just go back out there and try traveling through this weather — especially without any carriage or horse! The next village could be miles off!”
“And it is,” said another unseen voice from the back of the room gruffly, earning its owner a few chuckles and sneers from those crowded around him. Henrietta felt her eyes sting with barely contained frustration, her lower lip wobbling as she rubbed her eyelids hard in protest to her own emotions. She would not show vulnerability at a time like this — not with all of their silently ridiculing eyes upon her.
“I am being serious,” she stated firmly, though her voice quivered from the anger and frustration steadily rising up from within her, painfully bubbling underneath the surface. “Please, be civil. I have nowhere to go…and I fear I shan’t be going anywhere if you turn me away in such weather!” Henrietta pleaded, the tears in her eyes evident even more-so by the desperate wane in her voice.
In the midst of Henrietta’s rising breakdown, a voice low and thick like honey washed over the crowd, pulling Henrietta out of her mental spiral and hushing, for a short but discernible moment, the thundering of God’s wrath from above.
“Good heavens, my poor child — have you walked yourself here from the nearest post?”
As if Moses himself had given the command, the crowd of peasants slowly parted in unison, peeling away from a corner of the room to reveal a gentleman sitting all alone in a tucked away booth. His hair was crisp black like crude oil, thin rivulets of gray streaking across their slicked-back waves like thunder in the midst of a dark and stormy night. The thin edges of his lips were twisted up into a calm smile, his burningly cold, gray eyes half-lidded, as if they were heavy from the dark shadows that hung underneath them. He wore a finely tailored, black tailcoat suit with a red velvet vest underneath, the tell-tale sign of a family-crest twinkling from the golden cuff links decorating his wrists, his gloved hands folded neatly upon the table in the warm glow of a candlelight.
The stranger’s lips parted then, revealing a kind and warm smile to her, the shining gesture of affability guiding her across the bar to him like a moth to a flickering flame. He gestured to the seat across from him with a poised wave of his arm, Henrietta immediately noticing how the room began to slowly return to their soft murmurs amongst one another, enshrouding her and this gentleman’s corner with the privacy of adverted attention.
Curious to the power this one man held over the entire fleet of villagers, Henrietta slid carefully down into the seat in front of him, giving the stranger one final look-over before allowing herself the comfort of leaning tiredly back into the cushioned bench. Though not all gentlemen were to be trusted (as she had discovered through years of life spent in the bigger cities), this one was a welcome sign of hospitality amongst the ocean of cold malice surrounding her.
“Yes I — I did, sir. I’ve been traveling all across the country this past week, in search of domestic employment…It seems times truly are hitting folks hard, and thus money for employment is lacking,” Henrietta explained wearily, taking her time to pick out her words carefully as she recited the reason for rejection she had come to know only too-well. In the presence of such a refined-looking man, she figured the only way to woo him was to speak on his level — another party trick she had learned from her life adrift and at the mercy of those with more prestige and money than she could have ever hoped to possess.
The man leaned in then, propping his head upon the back of his intertwined fingers with an intent gaze upon her. He seemed to be hanging off of every syllable she spoke, the intensity of his attention both alarming and flattering to her at once. Henrietta was not used to such attentiveness from company like this man, as being urged to fight for the attention of those shrouded behind their wealth was not an uncommon experience for her. It was refreshing, albeit a startling change: to be suddenly and fully swept into the focus of such a mysterious man — though its inexplicable nature left her much room to doubt its hidden intent.
“I’m terribly sorry to hear that, my dear,” the stranger lamented with only the slightest shift in tone, a hand rising from his face to comfortingly pat the back of the clenched hand she left resting on the table. “I’m afraid the story here is much the same as it is elsewhere: What with the strange infestation of the local’s crops, both moral and money here have been quite low…I do apologize on behalf of the villagers for their indifference towards you, dear, really they mean no harm; it’s just the circumstances at large, is all — it has all of them quite weary of any more mouths to feed.”
“Ah,” Henrietta said dejectedly, feeling her spirits sink once again to the bottom of her stomach. She glanced forlornly at a corner of the ale-stained booth, allowing herself for a moment the comfort of distraction from the man’s peering stare. “That’s quite…unfortunate, really. I suppose my traveling this far north was a mistake…” she admitted, shaking her head sadly at her own misgivings. She had hoped things would be different the farther away she traveled from home, but it seemed everyone & everything was down on its luck. The only changes she’d perceived were mere faces and scenery.
“I wouldn’t say that,” the man suddenly interjected, the tone in his voice prodding her out of her thoughts, causing her to lift up her glossy eyes to meet his. “But before I digress…” The man began with a curious lilt in his voice, sending a wave of apprehension through her. “ — I must compliment you on your beautiful vocabulary; It’s not everyday someone so clearly learned as yourself wanders adrift into a tavern such as…this,” the man gestured disapprovingly around himself. “…Looking for something as trifling as menial housework,” the stranger ended with a slight bite, lifting a hardly touched glass of wine to his lips with the twinkle of smug awareness in his eyes. Henrietta felt a blush scorch her cheeks, her inclination to prostrate herself in front of this man dwindling.
“Yes — well — I suppose you could say I have an educated background,” Henrietta responded cagily, her eyes once more adverted to hide the anger flaring up from behind them. “Not that that should exempt me from being able to take on housework — There’s no finer or more honest work than that of a domestic nature,” she quipped, hardly believing the words she was speaking herself.
If Henrietta was being honest with herself (which — despite it being quite uncharacteristic of her — wasn’t very often in these dismal times), this was her last and most desperate effort to escape the calamity of the factories, whose cruel and sharp metal teeth had torn many like her asunder before her very eyes. She had decided she would fight tooth and nail to avoid such an abysmal fate, and so in her conviction to this decision, she had traveled miles and miles away from familiarity for her golden ticket out — out of poverty, out of filth, and out of uncertainty. Sadly, that golden ticket seemed to shine fainter and fainter the harder she sought it out, and as the days dragged on, and she grew hungrier and more tired, she began to doubt its existence entirely.
The man interrupted her from her inner mulling with a deep chuckle, the glass lowering to the table as he chose his next words thoughtfully.
“But of course, Dear. Forgive me for sounding so dismissive, it really is a rather…noble cause you’ve set yourself upon, housework,” he assured her half-heartedly, clearly amused by the thick pride he had teased out of her. Suddenly, Henrietta didn’t know if she was on the verge of a business opportunity, or if she was merely being toyed with the hopes of one. “I suppose I was just wondering why you’re seeking out housework, is all. Did your family not prepare a failsafe for your future?”
“My family is dead,” Henrietta responded flatly without hesitation, the pain in the statement resolved into a hard, concrete scab. “My mother when I was young, and my father very recently. I’m all I have left.”
The man seemed to soften then, a sort of understanding blossoming forth from his eyes as he found the shame to turn his gaze away from her’s, the neglected wine glass rising from the table for the occasion of another swig. “I’m terribly sorry. Pardon me for my uncouthness. Mine are dead as well.”
Henrietta paused then, looking up into the man’s eyes in search of a genuineness to his words. He glanced back at her then, his eyes once more locking with hers and pulling her in with an indescribable yet consuming emotion. Henrietta couldn’t help but shiver as a cold chill ran down her spine.
“I’m…I’m sorry to hear that as well,” she said consolingly, this time reaching out to place a hand gently over his. “I know the pain such loneliness as that can bring.”
The stranger smiled warmly at her again, suddenly melting away her thick armor of apprehension as she was engulfed in it, he placing his other hand over her’s, locking them together in a small yet prolonged moment of understanding. She felt her heart flutter against her rib cage then, the magnetic aura of this gentleman interfering with her internal compass, disorienting her from being able to discern signs of safety from danger. The conflicting feelings he inspired rose up from her chest and swarmed her insides like a flock of butterflies, and for a moment, she began to doubt everything — including herself.
“Hopefully it is a pain not as permanent as that which caused it,” he smiled forlornly, his gaze still set on her’s, some gleam in his eyes hinting to her that a decision had been made within him in that moment. Without skipping a beat, he receded from her, leaving her own hands hanging gingerly over the table without any idea of what to do with themselves. Extending a hand across the table, the man flashed her another broad, indiscernible smile, though his intent in the gesture was more than obvious. “Please — forgive me for being so rude, madame, but I believe I have yet to ask you for your name.”
Henrietta flushed once more, realizing her own misstep in not introducing herself forthright.
“Oh, heavens no — please, forgive me, sir, I had completely forgotten to introduce myself. My name is Henrietta Williams, last of the Williams.” She took his hand in her own, impressed to feel the firmness of his shake and the way his fingers completely enveloped her own.
“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Williams. My name is Percival Montgomery, and I’d like to invite you to my humble estate as the newest edition to the housekeeping staff.”
Henrietta’s eyes lit up like diamonds in the sunlight, her shock and felicity rising to the surface in one slow wave of emotion. With an expression of dumbfounded awe, Henrietta pulled her hand away, instead allowing it to hover uncertainly over her face. “Are you…serious? You’re…taking me in as a housemaid?” She asked nervously, unsure if this was one elaborately cruel joke being played at her expense or not. Percival only chuckled, leaning in closer to her as his arms folded themselves neatly upon the table.
“But of course, my dear — I could think of no one better suited for the task. Someone who can work diligently, and yet provide me with pleasant company within the lull of time between work and play — “ Mr. Montgomery said assuredly, his eyes wandering placidly across all of Henrietta’s features. “…I’ve been searching for some time, actually, but admittedly I had yet to find an individual possessing such characteristics to meet my standards. You, however — why, I think you’d be the perfect match,” Percival purred with a coy wink, that mischievously unwavering smile still perfectly fixated upon his gaunt face.
Henrietta smiled then — a genuinely warm and bright smile that seemed to strike something directly rooted in the heart of Mr. Montgomery, causing his otherwise infallible confidence to falter momentarily, a blush lightly tinging the edges of his cheeks.
“Words cannot describe how grateful I am for this opportunity, Mr. Montgomery. I promise you I won’t let you down!” She gushed, her mind racing with all the possibilities for the future — for the luxurious estate she would be maintaining, and for the wonderful moments to be had entertaining the company of a gentleman so established.
Percival chuckled then, beginning to rise from his seat, offering her an arm to do the same. “Please, my dear, if we are to be acquainted in such a manner, by all means, call me Percy. Mr. Montgomery was my father, and in his absence, I’ve found myself preferring the distinction from his shadow.”
Henrietta smiled then, soft and knowing. “Very well then, Percy. It’s still very much so an honor, Sir.”
Percival laughed then, his head thrown back in the abrupt burst of humor. “Oh, perhaps you’ll think otherwise when faced with the monumental task of my laundering. But I digress, I shan’t spoil the surprise of it all for you,” he teased with a wink, pulling her gently from the booth and towards the awaiting door of the tavern, umbrella already opened and held protectively over them.
“Where is this estate of yours anyhow?” Henrietta asked, suddenly aware of how fast her employment was moving and the questions she had left unanswered, perhaps out of a temporary lack of duty to her own awareness, or from her own highly-developed desperation for job security.
“Just a few miles off from here; I tend to visit this little village when I’m feeling isolated up in my lonely towers — It’s a bit of a journey to visit town, yes, but in stagecoach, it’s doable,” he assured her, his eyes never leaving the invisible path to the future ahead of them.
As Henrietta was whisked away by Percival back into the dwindling storm outside, the occupants of the tavern once again fell into a low hush, their beady and knowing eyes trailing the duo’s evading form with a deafening and pitying silence.
