In All Her Hidden Places E-Book

F. W. Moraes

• Herausgeber: Viseu
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 414

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

Everyone has secrets… but Bryony never expected her parents to have kept this secret from her. Bryony Royle thinks she is an ordinary girl until she receives a locket from her father on her birthday. As she embarks on a journey to discover who she really is, she uncovers secrets about herself, her family and her past involving her mother and sister's death. There is much more to the world than that which meets the eye, and Bryony will soon find out the mystifying perils that lie ahead, all because of a silly locket.

Leseprobe

Copyright © Viseu

Copyright © F. W. Moraes

All rights reserved.

Total or partial reproduction of this work is prohibited, in any form or by any electronic, mechanical means, including through processes xerographic, including the use of the internet, without the express permission of Editora Viseu, in the person of its editor (Law nº 9.610, of 19.2.98).

Boss Editor: Thiago Domingues Regina

Graphic and Editorial Design: BookPro

Editorial Coordination: Blenda Castro

Revision: F. W. Moraes

Copyedit: Julia Rosa

Digital Version: Fabio Martins

Cover: Vanessa Bueno - Valeria Degli Agostini

e-ISBN 978-65-254-0049-5

All rights of this edition are reserved for

Editora Viseu Ltda.

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“And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.”

Roald Dahl, The Minipins

Chapter 1The Precious Gift

She could see the warm air coming from her mouth evanescing into the twilight as she shrugged rushing through the pathway. The night was surprisingly cold, and the frost forming on the neatly placed stones leading the way up to her father’s house reflected the coming moon. The girl paced herself not to slip, disregarding the creatures that lurked in the dark.

Bryony Royle was quite average for her age, if not for her snow-white pale skin and unnatural blue eyes that told a tale of a stolen childhood: a forgotten joy.

Angus, Bryony’s father, was a man with little to no care in the world, or at least he presented himself that way. The girl had felt her father quite distant and aloof, never really there, ever since the accident, but he seemed to make a sure effort to see her every so often, especially after she had moved out of his house. Bryony couldn’t stand the idea of that woman, she now had to call mum, living under the same roof as her and had moved out a couple of months after they had wed. She felt out of place with the wretched witch living in the big old house.

In truth, Bryony had never felt quite at home there before, even as a little girl, or anywhere else for that matter. She always felt a little awkward with everyone around her, like she didn’t quite belong, but it only worsened after the hag moved in.

The brown curls on her hair, tangled by the light gush of wind, brushed against her face as she stood outside the heavy wooden door, not minding waiting in the cold; the twilight hauled to her and the moon shone brightly in the sky. She waited outside in silence.

Sighing, she knocked gently on the door. There was no answer. For a moment, Bryony felt a sense of relief, if they had forgotten she was going, she would be excused of a night of small talk and back-and-forth nasty remarks, but this was all too good to be true. A slim woman in a tight black dress opened the door. She had blond hair up to her shoulders and hypnotizing green eyes. Perfectly polished red nails, flawless makeup, and long eyelashes batting with impatience:

‘You’re late,’ the woman barked.

‘I’m sorry, Cecile. It was difficult getting a cab tonight.’

‘You should have left your house earlier, then. Come quick,’ she pulled Bryony into the house by the arm, ‘your father is waiting.’

Without being able to give a proper apology, she was dragged into the dining room. It had been changed since the last time she had been there, but Cecile always seemed to be redecorating the house.

The dining room consisted of a great hall with several arched windows. Regardless of the house’s traditional Victorian Style, Cecile had made sure to add some fake baroque ornaments in bronze and gold. The walls had been covered with a marble-like finishing giving the room an extra glow. The plaster moulding on the ceiling was also heavily embellished with baroque motifs such as angels and bay leaves, all coated in bronze and golden colours.

From the light-beige ceiling, a long bronze chain dangled holding the most beautiful crystal and gold chandelier anyone had ever laid her eyes upon. On one of the walls, opposite to the great ornate wooden door that led the way into the dining room, there was a white fireplace with a painted picture of Angus and Cecile over it; on either side of the fireplace, there were mirrors shaped just as the windows making the already big room seem even bigger.

Her father, albeit very wealthy, was used to the simpler things in life. His house had been a family treasure for years and he enjoyed preserving his family’s legacy and estate. Otherwise, everything else in Angus’ life was as common as any simpleton’s, much due to Bryony’s mum’s view of the world.

Nevertheless, ever since he had married Cecile, things had changed. Bryony dreaded the thought of that woman changing her mother’s house, the house she’d grown up in.

Bryony’s face lit up as she saw her father walk into the room. He was a tall, slender man with dark hair neatly brushed back. He wore a dashing tailored suit, ready for a fancy dinner party, but his face carried anguish and loss. The dark bags under his eyes were soon disguised by the smile he let shine through on looking upon his eldest daughter.

Although the mere presence of Cecile made the girl quiver, Angus’ presence always made enduring Cecile’s company quite bearable. Hugging her father, they walked hand-in-hand towards the table and sat down. Cecile rang a little bell to inform the maids that the dinner was to be served; Bryony hated how pretentious this was.

Withal, despite the girl’s criticism, Cecile had impeccable taste. Whether it was for food, clothes or parties, she was always successful in all her endeavours, and this night was no different.

She had made the cooks work all day long to prepare what Bryony was sure would be a most lavishing meal. The girl was deep in conversation with her father when, abruptly, her stepmother interrupted her. Cecile did this every so often, and it made Bryony extremely irritated.

‘I hope you enjoy what I’ve had prepared for you. The cooks have been at it all day,’ she said with duping delight.

‘You shouldn’t have,’ Bryony hated the shallowness of it all but thanked Cecile’s efforts to please her.

In silence, they waited as the maids served dinner. Bryony would never admit to it, but the food was exquisite. Every single taste bud she had was in ecstasy. The smell combined with the taste, made for an exquisite meal. She wouldn’t submit herself to pleasing Cecile even for a minute, but it was surely one of the best meals she had ever tasted. Nevertheless, the awkward sound of silence filled the huge room, and Bryony did not say a word complimenting the food; she would not give Cecile the satisfaction of even a squeal of pleasure.

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, Bryony’s father spoke:

‘My darling Bryony, I have something for you.’

He put his hand in his vest’s pocket and took out a vintage silver locket. It had no wrapping, no ribbon, simple and plain.

‘Your eighteenth birthday is approaching, … Bryony. It is time I gave you this,’ he handed it over to her.

Cecile’s eyes sparkled as she saw her husband handing the girl the locket. She’d had her eye on it ever since she had first seen it many years ago. Bryony noticed Cecile’s eyes slightly change colours; they seemed to shift from the beautiful green into a devilish red.

‘I must be imagining things,’ the girl thought to herself.

‘Where did you get that?’ Cecile said bitterly.

‘It was Sarah’s, and it was given to her as a gift, many years ago. She wanted Bryony to have it,’ he reprimanded Cecile, ‘now, little bird, keep it safe, it holds great secrets.’

They looked at Cecile with a suspicious look making eye contact with each other. Bryony lifted one of her eyebrows at the woman and put the locket into her purse. The maids walked in with dessert and cleared out the table.

Once again, silence took over the room as they quietly finished eating. Cecile huffed and puffed quietly with hate while Angus tried to engage in conversation several times, making a great deal of effort to find subjects that both women would have something in common, but it always ended in a small confrontation or sarcastic remark. Eventually, he gave up. As they finished their last spoons of ice-cream, her father inquired:

‘Would you like to stay and enjoy a cup of coffee in front of the fire, Bryony?’

‘No thanks, dad, I’d best be on my way,’ she answered in a soft voice.

‘I’ll get one of the drivers to take you, you know you don’t have to take a taxi home,’ he insisted.

‘Thanks, but I enjoy the walk after pleasant evenings such as this one,’ Bryony stared at Cecile with displease.

‘Don’t insist, Angus. Let the girl go,’ Cecile hissed.

‘I best be on my way, then,’ Bryony snapped.

No more words were exchanged. Cecile trotted upstairs in anger as Angus walked his daughter to the front door. He kissed her on the forehead, smiled and whispered:

‘Don’t forget, little bird, that locket holds many secrets,’ Bryony smiled back, gave him a hug and walked away.

It wasn’t very late in the evening; the night was particularly pleasant for a stroll. Thoughts and memories of her mother wearing the locket came to her mind as she walked to the taxi stop. Her father lived in a beautiful and large 18th century house in Cheadle, a small wealthy suburb in Stockport, a smaller district close to Manchester. The manor stood within a great green area that had been recently open to the public as a park. Bryony loved the winter and was always excited for it to come. Having walked through the park’s pathway to its main entrance and out into what she called ‘the real world outside the Royle House’, Bryony got a taxi in front of one of those twenty-four-hour supermarkets where she had bought some groceries before the short ride home.

Bryony asked the taxi driver to leave her at the beginning of the street that led to her house. The night was clear, and she thought an extra walk home would do her good. Slowly, she strolled thinking about the gift her father had given her. She barely had a chance to really look at it before Cecile’s envious eyes sparkled at it with desire. She thought about how oddly Cecile’s eyes had changes colour but rendered it impossible to be true; her loathing for the woman might have been playing tricks on her.

Love Lane, Bryony’s street, was a cul-de-sac that faced a park-like area. She was finally close to her warm bed now. She rented a room and a bathroom on this quiet street in Stockport. Her room had a view of the park, which, during the winter, would, on occasion, be covered in snow.

As she slowly walked towards house number eight, the wind blew stronger and some of the autumn leaves, which hadn’t yet fallen from the trees, flew off; winter was on its way. Approaching her house, she looked up at her bedroom window and saw a small dark figure on the windowsill; it was Ollie, her cat. Quietly opening the door, she walked in, trying not to make a sound.

‘I made you tomato soup, dear,’ shouted the landlady from the kitchen, startling Bryony.

‘Thank you, Ms Feverfew, but I’ve just had dinner with my father’.

‘Oh! Was that woman there, love?’ said Ms Feverfew, popping her head out of the kitchen into the hallway.

‘Yes, unfortunately! I am very tired; I think I’ll go straight to bed. Thanks for the soup,’ Bryony replied as she ran upstairs.

‘I’ll leave it in the fridge for you to eat tomorrow, then. Sleep tight,’ the chubby older lady replied going back into the kitchen.

Opening the door to her bedroom, Ollie ran straight towards her. Ms Feverfew would often let him run about the house during the day, but he was a quiet lazy cat that loved staying in bed most of the time, especially during winter.

Ollie had been named after one of Bryony’s favourite books as a child, Oliver Twist. She felt as though she could relate to him, having had so many tragedies in her own life. Ollie was found hurt by her mother, Sarah, when she was out for a walk on the streets when he was only a kitten; Bryony was just a little girl, but she remembered quite clearly her mother and her nursing him back to health.

He was a beautiful tuxedo cat. His fur was quite long and fluffy. His tummy and paws were white as snow, as well as half of his face, and he had a cute black spot under his pink nose. His deep greenish-yellow eyes told how old he was, but there was some spark of youth in him still.

‘Hey, Ollie; that wretched old hag was there.’ Bryony told her cat as she sat on her bed. ‘The only thing that made the night not be a complete loss was that daddy gave me a present, it was mum’s, look.’

She opened her purse and took out the locket. Ollie sat next to her trying to smell it.

The locket was made of old silver. It was, however, very shiny, as though it had been polished recently. Oval-shaped with small Celtic-like flowers embossed all around, it was a fairly thick locket, one of those that open up to reveal a picture of a loved one inside. On top, there were openings that revealed a stone, a precious gem maybe.

The stone was quite difficult to fully perceive, but it seemed to be dark grey in colour with subtle hints of cobalt and azure blue, it resembled the Milky Way, or at least what Bryony thought a galaxy would look like. As she gazed into it, the colours started to move. She blinked twice and rubbed her eyes. It stopped.

‘I must be tired, I’m starting to imagine things,’ she thought to herself.

She tried opening the locket, but it simply wouldn’t budge. ‘Maybe it could be jammed after so many years closed,’ she considered. Once again, she tried with all her might… nothing.

On the right side of the locket, she noticed an opening. It looked like a minuscule hole for a very tiny key.

‘A key?’ she wondered in silence. ‘Why would my father give me this locket without the key? And, if there is a key, where is it?

Bryony’s thoughts consumed her as she lay on her bed starring closely at the locket rubbing it back and forth with her thumb until she dosed off into a deep slumber.

Morning soon came, but the morning’s light was still hours away. A digital clock glowed brightly on Bryony’s face while it beeped as the time turned to six o’clock. Opening only one eye first, to make sure it wasn’t a dream, Bryony reached her arm out of her warm bundle of covers pressing the snooze button. ‘6:05,’ the clocked yelled yet again. There was no postponing it any further; it was time to get up.

She sat on the bed looking at her cat, who had just rolled around and had quickly gone back to sleep; she chuckled.

‘You’re lucky, Ollie. You get to stay in bed all day.’

As she stood up and stretched, she walked towards the window. While looking outside, Bryony made a list, in her head, with all the things she had to do that day. ‘The key,’ it was like she had dreamt about it all night long; regardless of how hectic the day would get, she had to get a hold of her father and try to find out how to open the locket.

Bryony’s room was quite large for the little rent she paid; Ms Feverfew probably took pity on the girl and offered her a lower price. She had a large windowsill where she would on occasion sit, and, as she gazed onto the quiet street and the park view, jot down some great ideas for novels and movies. Bryony had a distinctly fertile imagination. Her writing habit had come from watching her mother write in her journals every night; not a day would go by without her scribbling something down.

From her room, beyond the park, she could see a great old aqueduct from the time when the Romans ruled over Britain, she loved the shape it formed in the landscape, the old clashing with the metropolitan new.

Her bed was on the adjacent wall with a nightstand right next to it. The walls had an old flowery blue and pink wallpaper that was peeling off close to the ceiling. Bryony thought it was quite tacky, but as long as it was a short-term thing, she didn’t really mind it.

Across from her bed, there was the door that led to a narrow corridor with a ghastly green carpet. To the right out of the bedroom, there was Bryony’s bathroom and, further on, Ms Feverfew’s bedroom as well as another spare room with a deep indigo-blue coloured door, which was to let. To the other side, there were the stairs that led to the hallway downstairs.

Bryony ran into the bathroom taking a quick shower, got dressed swiftly and rushed downstairs into the kitchen.

‘Good morning, love,’ said Ms Feverfew with a pleasant smile on her face.

‘Morning, Ms Feverfew,’ she smiled, ‘you’re up early.’

‘Well, I thought after last night you deserved a nice cup of tea before going off to work. Made you toast, here…’ Ms Feverfew handed Bryony a plate with two slices of fairly burned toast, ‘take some for the road.’

‘Gee, thanks. But you know I can eat at the shop, right?’ Bryony blushed.

‘Yes! But, oh hush, eat your toast… My dear, what a lovely necklace you have there. Is it new?’ Ms Feverfew’s eyes changed, as though it wasn’t the first time she had laid eyes on the locket hanging around Bryony’s neck.

‘My father gave it to me last night, as a birthday present,’ she sighed, looking at the pudgy older woman, ‘are you okay Ms Feverfew? You seem a little distraught.’

‘No, no dear…’ she said as she looked away towards the ceiling, ‘I’m just fine, got caught up in a thought I guess… Now, hurry up and run along, otherwise you’ll be late.’

Bryony gulped the tea, burning her mouth a little, and grabbed the two slices of bread as she walked out to the porch. She put on her green coat and purple scarf, grabbed a grey woollen hat and walked out the door. With the left hand she tucked her hat into her pocket, while with her right hand she scoffed down the two pieces of toast.

The girl hurried down the street toward Wilkinson Road. It was a fairly short walk to work, but the cold weather made it longer and more dreadful. The worst part, though, was having to cross the M60, Bryony hated the idea of having to walk over the motorway with all those cars and trucks rushing by underneath her feet, the pathway would often shake and vibrate.

Finally, she wasn’t too far away from work, she would cross the main shopping centre, and walk out into a curvy street that let up a snug stony alley, with shops that tightly stood next to each other; between a second-hand shop and a bank was The Queen’s Coffee.

The place would usually have a queue that wrapped around the corner, with caffeine deprived costumers who needed their daily dose before heading into work in the morning. There were the occasional sit-ins, especially writers that would use its bohemian atmosphere as inspiration. However, these intriguing characters were only seen during the weekdays, since the place was usually packed of loitering teenagers and families, who were shopping on the weekends.

Bryony worked the early shift, she would help open the store, put the freshly baked goods on display, and stand, with a welcoming smile on her face, at the register ready to take orders.

The coffee shop had two large windows separated by an aubergine-coloured door on the facade. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled up the space, awakening any dozy person who would walk by. The coffee house had once been a small pub, and the owner had maintained the gloomy feeling that it once had; hence, a certain dark quality floated in the air, which was assured by the amber lights in the shop.

In front of one of the windows, facing the street, there was a lounge with dark maroon leather sofas and warm coloured pillows. On the other window, there were tall wooden tables with stools for two or four people. The walls had a dirty-like texture – a coffee stain sort of colour –, as thought they had been stripped from their old wallpaper and left forgotten to age.

Sometimes, when the hustle died down, Bryony would find herself staring through the window into the street. Watching people go by made her think about where they were going, and how she seemed to be going nowhere.

It was an atypically slow day; on Mondays, people usually needed a double shot of caffeine to get the week started, but not today. She had several opportunities during the day to drift off into the oblivion of her own thoughts.

As she wiped clean one of the tables, she thought about her mother and the locket she had been given.

‘The locket holds many secrets,’ her father’s words echoed in the back of her head.

Suddenly, the sound of the door opening caught her attention: a tall, dark-skinned, dark-eyed, handsome, young man, probably in his mid-twenties, walked into the coffee shop. He wore old light blue jeans, a creased white polo shirt and a dirty pair of white trainers. Bryony rushed to the back of the counter since her boss, Mr George Coughlan, had relieved some of the employees due to the slowness in the shop. The young man walked towards the counter.

‘Afternoon! What would you like today?’ Bryony smiled.

‘Hum… I see you have blackcurrant tea. Is that so?’

‘Y-yes! It’s blackcurrant with green tea, would you like a cup?’ she replied.

‘That sounds ace. Thanks,’ the handsome man winked.

‘W-would you like anything else with your tea?’ she said blushing.

‘I guess I’ll have an English muffin with that.’

‘That will be £6,50.’

The bloke handed her a tenner and stared into her big eyes as she opened the register to give him his change.

‘You have lovely eyes, did you know?’ he grinned at her.

‘Here you go,’ she replied handing him the change and making an effort not to make eye contact.

‘Fletcher Thomas.’

‘Pardon, what?’ she inquired.

‘My name is Fletcher, but you can call me Fletch, Bryony.’

‘How do you know my name?’ she said with a fright.

‘Your name tag, love.’

‘Oh, right. You can call me Bryony,’ she said making him smile.

Bryony felt her whole face light up in a bright red colour as she started sweating at the thought of looking daft. Fletcher smiled and walked over to the table she had just cleaned. Silently, he took out his phone from his pocket and texted. At this point, a couple more people had gone into the coffee shop and taken their orders. Bryony waited around their tables clearing out any mess that had been left behind.

‘Do you usually work here?’ Fletcher questioned her, as she walked by him bussing the tables.

‘Yes! Not this late though. I usually leave an hour or two earlier. My shifts normally end at four,’ she spoke quickly giving an awkward smile as she caught a breath.

‘Oh! I see. I always come here, and I’d never seen you before, I figured you were new,’ he smiled as she looked down at her purple wellies, putting a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I guess… Say, what are you doing after your shift is over? I would ask you out for a cup of coffee, but I guess you’re over coffee… Tea maybe?’ he laughed.

‘Gee Fletcher. I would love to, but today I have some things I need to take care of. Maybe some other time?’

‘A’aight! Give me your phone…’ she handed him her mobile phone; he dialled his own number, called it and let it ring a couple of times.

‘There ya go, I’ll ring you soon, yeah?’ he said as he stood up to leave.

They said their goodbyes; Fletcher walked out the door while Bryony watched closely.

The girl had a silly smile throughout the rest of her shift. She rarely gave her phone number to strangers; in fact, she never went out on dates at all, but there was something about Fletcher that made Bryony want to spend more time with him.

Finally, her boss relieved her, and she paced home quickly. Although she was ecstatic about meeting Fletcher, she had more important things to worry about.

As Bryony reached her front porch, she heard something very loud coming from inside. Quietly, she walked upstairs not to disturb Ms Feverfew, who was really into whatever outrageously loud programme she had been watching.

Opening her bedroom door, Ollie sprang out from the wardrobe where he had been sleeping all afternoon. The girl sat on the bed and dialled her father’s number on her mobile; Ollie jumped up and caressed his way onto her lap as she stroked him on the head.

‘Hello?’

‘Hey dad. How are you?’

‘Well, hello Bryony! Very well, thank you. Yourself?’

‘I’m quite well, thanks. Say, dad? You know the locket you gave me yesterday?’

‘Yes, yes. Of course. What about it?’ he asked.

‘Well, I noticed there was a small keyhole on the side.’

‘Keyhole? Are you certain?’

‘Yes, dad. I’m quite sure. I’m looking at it right now,’ she pulled out the locket, which had been hidden under her shirt, and analysed it carefully.

‘I’ve never noticed it’, he brushed her question off.

‘Well, do you know if the locket opens?’

‘I saw your mother open it once before the accident, but I’ve never noticed a keyhole.’

‘So, there could be something inside?’

‘Hum…’, there was silence on both ends of the phone.

‘Well…?’, Bryony insisted while her father seemed quite aloof.

‘Bryony, my dear. I don’t know. But I have an idea.’

‘What?’ she answered with haste.

‘Do you remember your mother’s old journals?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Where are they?’

‘We put them all into boxes and left them in the loft when I moved out. Why?’

‘Well, your mother had the habit of noting everything down in detail in those diaries, maybe there’s some clue there,’ although one would think him quite eager to help, Bryony thought her father seemed a little vague.

‘Really? So… Could I stop by on the weekend and have a look in the boxes?’

‘Of course! I’ll inform Cecile you’ll be here for lunch on Saturday.’

‘Oh dad, you mustn’t…’ she didn’t get a chance to say anything else.

‘It is settled. See you then. Noon, sharp. I’ll send a car around to pick you up, and I will not take no for an answer.’

‘If I have no choice… Cheers, dad.’

‘Well then, cheerio.’

Bryony walked over to the mirror on her wardrobe and made a silly face at herself.

‘Yet another everlasting meal with Cecile,’ she pondered.

However, this time, she was excited to go to the mansion, she would discover how to open her mother’s locket, and hopefully free whatever secrets were hidden inside it, or so she thought.

Chapter 2Mum’s the Word

The sky was light blue, full of white chunky clouds, on the long, awaited Saturday. Bryony awoke with Ollie’s loud purr vibrating her right arm. As she stretched out and sat on the bed, he slowly crawled onto her lap and rolled up in what seemed like a warm furry bun. Ollie purred louder. Patting him on the head she said:

‘Ollie, today I’m going through mum’s old things, I’m very excited,’ he yawned. ‘I wish you knew what I was saying, it would be easier to talk to you if you could just answer back sometimes.’ He looked at her with a blank expression, and then started licking one of his paws with pleasure.

Bryony picked him up and put him to the side; he stretched.

From her window, it seemed like a rare summer day in the eve of winter. The sun was shining bright in the sky and magpies were flying about making their distinctive loud cry. Unlocking the latchet on the window, she opened it only an inch or so, and a cold breeze blew into the room making a chill run down her spine. Ollie wiggled under the messy covers.

‘Oh, Ollie, you’re such a silly cat,’ she laughed at his tail waving side-to-side peeking out from under the covers.

Looking into her wardrobe, she picked out a dark blue dress with some red and yellow flowers, grey wool tights and a black pair of velvet boots. As she looked into the mirror brushing her hair, she smiled at herself thinking of what wonders the jewellery would come to unveil. Staring at the locket’s reflection in the mirror, she held it with her left thumb and index finger; moving closer and closer to the reflection to better appreciate it.

Once again, she had the impression that the colours where moving, but this time she just stared hypnotized. As it had done before, the colours moved like a galaxy orbiting around a centre star. It stopped. Bryony stepped back and shook the locket, it made a slight noise as though there was something light inside. Her curiosity grew.

‘I wonder what these secrets could be,’ this thought gave her a boost to get ready even quicker. Grabbing an empty backpack to bring home all the diaries, she finally walked out into the porch.

Bryony usually refused to have a driver pick her up, but today was an exception. She wanted to get to her father’s house as fast as she could and taking the bus would take too much time. As she walked out of the house, a dark charcoal Phantom Cope Rolls-Royce pulled up to the front gate; she knew it was her ride.

She arrived a few minutes to noon. Before even ringing the doorbell one of the maids opened the door.

‘Oh, Miss Bryony, you’re just in time. I just rang the bell to let Mr and Mrs Royle know that lunch is served. They will be pleased to know you’re here already.’

‘Thanks, Rosie,’ she smiled.

Bryony walked into the fancy dining hall and sat down waiting for her father and Cecile.

‘Oh! You’re here already. Good! Last week you were terribly late, and your father was hungry and annoyed,’ Cecile said as she entered the room.

‘Now, now, Cecile. Bryony is here and that’s all that matters,’ Angus replied before Bryony could give any snide reply.

‘Dad, your driver picked me up, remember?’

‘I thought you didn’t like getting rides from the drivers,’ Cecile smirked as she opened the cloth napkin and placed it on her lap.

‘Well, today is different. I came to look for my mother’s journals.’

‘Oh! Those old things? I think they are somewhere in the loft with all the other garbage that was in this house before I came. I tried to chuck it all out, but your father didn’t even let me donate it to Oxfam’, Cecile was always rude when it came to Bryony’s mother.

‘Old or not, that’s why I came. I just want to read them, besides, they are my things,’ Bryony answered trying hard not to be crass, although she looked positively fuming with anger.

‘Why now? What made you give them importance all of a sudden?’ Cecile inquired.

‘Let’s just say that the gift dad gave me last week made some memories of my mum come back and I wanted to read them. That’s all. Why? What’s it to you?’ Bryony replied pulling out the locket and holding it with her right hand making a fist whilst starring at Cecile.

Cecile face changed as she saw it, just as she had before. The young Mrs Royle was about to answer, probably starting an inevitable quarrel, when Angus jumped in:

‘I think it’s a great idea, little girl,’ he carried a big smile.

Everyone was silenced and they spoke no more about the matter. They exchanged fiery looks until Cecile gave the maid, Rosie, a hand signal. As Rosie served lunch, she spoke:

‘Bryony, your father and I have some business to attend to in the city this afternoon, will you please not make a mess of my house?’

‘Yes. Your house will be just fine,’ Bryony smiled at the thought of her not having to worry about Cecile’s hawk-like eyes watching her every move.

‘Rosie will tend to any need you may have, love. We probably won’t be here for tea or dinner, so feel free to eat if you feel famished,’ added Angus.

‘Okay. I’m sure Rosie and I will think of something to eat later on,’ Bryony winked at Rosie, who replied with a smile.

‘I’m so happy to see my girls getting along. See how nice it is when we can all be together.’ Angus said with excitement in his voice, pretending to be oblivious to the palpable tension between the two women.

Bryony was especially pleasant during the whole lunch. Having, of course, her own agenda, she made sure to stay on Cecile’s good graces throughout most of the meal.

The first savoury meal they had had in years had come to an end, not because of the taste of course. The cooks in the Royle House were the best in town, and the food was always exquisite. The truth was that, for the first time, Bryony didn’t feel like she wanted to vomit at the end of a meal from endless quarrels with Cecile, and it had been a while since Angus had had such a peaceful lunch with the two women.

As the maids cleared the table, Bryony started feeling anxious about going up to the loft. Her heart felt beat faster by the second, she could barely restrain her satisfied smile. Cecile knew that Bryony was only being pleasurable so she could have access to her mother’s things with no fuss, which made her curious about the contents of the journals. Throughout lunch, Cecile made an effort not to stare too much at Bryony’s necklace; although, later on, she admitted to herself that her heart’s desire was further and further away.

To better understand Bryony and Cecile’s rivalry, it is necessary to go back several years in time. Cecile McKenna, her maiden name, knew both Angus and his wife, Sarah, when Bryony was still a little girl. She was a new salesperson at a high-end tailoring shop downtown where Angus had been a client for years. He would often go there to tailor suits, trousers and vests; even for the slightest mend, he would not hesitate to go to his trusted tailor to get them fixed.

Working for the finest men in Greater Manchester’s high society, Cecile had more than a handful of suitors to choose from, it was hard to resist both the married and unmarried wealthy men that daily walked through the door; everyone was a possible target. Nevertheless, Angus struck her fancy. Sarah would seldom go to the tailor’s shop, giving Cecile several opportunities to try to seduce Angus.

However, his love for Sarah was strong and unbreakable.

The very first time Angus’s wife went into the shop was to pick up a black suit that Angus recently had tailored for a cocktail party promoted by the mayor. Cecile noticed a curious silver necklace dangling around her neck. She was hypnotized and drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Ever since that day, her heart had been set on getting her hands on the thick medallion.

At first, she tried to buy it from Sarah; however, no money Cecile offered was enough to pay for it, the locket was priceless, and Sarah refused to sell it. There were several break-ins at the Royle House, but Sarah tried not to jump to hasty conclusions, although Cecile had crossed her mind.

Cecile managed to befriend their close acquaintances, Sarah was not one to badmouth people, and she very quickly became part of their social circle, and present at all the gatherings. Angus was quite unaware of the workings of women, and he barely noticed Cecile’s presence. Several times she would invite herself over to their house, but the invitation would always be denied.

‘I would love to see where you live,’ she would often say.

Suddenly, Cecile was everywhere, making herself more and more noticed. It wasn’t difficult; she was an extraordinarily beautiful woman that could leave any man feeling powerless after five minutes being exposed to her charms, but not Angus. He was truly and deeply in love with his blue-eyed ginger-haired wife.

Sarah wasn’t really the type of woman you’d see in fashion magazines, but it was impossible to not notice her. She had wavy bright orange hair halfway down her back, big blue eyes, lots of freckles and a smile that could light up any room. Sarah was one of those people that make you feel warm and fuzzy inside because of her kindness and soft heartedness. Cecile hated that. She despised not being the centre of attention when Sarah was around, no curves or skin that she showed surpassed the power of Sarah’s smile and charisma.

Cecile’s interest in the Royles was unmistakable. Everyone around them could sense it; however, no one really understood why. She showed little interest in Angus himself, but she was clearly hell-bent on the locket.

With time, Cecile’s jealousy and coveting became more intense, making her hatred towards Sarah grow stronger. She suffered in silence. Only Cecile honestly knew how destructive she truly was. She smiled as though there were nothing wrong and fooled most people.

One person, though, noticed the well-hidden torrid wrath in Cecile’s eyes. Bryony clearly saw through the bogus smiles and felt a chill every time Cecile would enter a room. She noticed how overly pleasing and attentive she was to all of her family’s needs, as though she wanted something.

Bryony tried to warn her parents, but nobody really listens to the ranting of a nine-year-old, Bryony’s age at the time. They tried to look at Cecile as a lonely girl that needed attention.

Sarah and Lucy, Bryony’s younger sister, died in a car crash a little while after, leaving Angus completely heartbroken. It took him years to pick himself back up from the shock of losing his one and only love; furthermore, he knew he would never feel that kind of love for any woman ever again, but he hated feeling lonely.

Heart-broken and with his guard down, Cecile had a free access to Angus’s life. It wasn’t easy, though. Cecile worked hard to win his affections and he did not easily accept the idea of remarrying; however, after seven years of grovelling, Cecile finally won, at least half of the battle.

With so much time and effort put into enticing Bryony’s father, Cecile sparked some true feelings for him, but they were always shoved back inside and silenced, for she was motivated by a secret and darker desire.

Winning Angus was only a stepping-stone to her heart’s yearning; now, her goal was to get her hands on the locket. She searched and searched the house, but the locket was nowhere to be found.

Time went by, and Cecile became accustomed with the life Angus provided her. The house had been turned over several times, remodelled and redecorated, any excuse to lift floorboards and pull wallpapers in hopes of finding the locket. All in vain.

Until that night when Angus took it out of his pocket and gave it to Bryony.

‘Where had it been all this time?’ Cecile couldn’t help wondering.

Cecile and Angus had finally left the house, allowing Bryony to explore the loft without interruptions. She had been waiting in the hall, which had a stairway that led to the second floor. The stairs where beautifully decorated with gold and white ornaments. The mahogany steps had detailed handmade woodwork with common Art Nouveau motifs, like flowers and leaves. Halfway up the stairs, there was a landing in front of a large colourful stained-glass window.

On rare sunny days, the light would shine through the coloured glass making it feel as though you were in a dream. Shades of colours would dance and wave according to the flowing trees and wind blowing outside, blocking and unblocking the sunlight that passed through.

Bryony stared at the window for a few more minutes after her father and stepmother had left. To her mind came many days where she would sit in that exact spot watching the colours change and move for hours. It reminded her of the smell of freshly made pancakes her mother would make in the afternoon. The memory was so real she felt a tear run down her face.

‘They are taking the window down, Miss Bryony,’ Rosie interrupted Bryony’s thoughts.

‘Pardon?’ Bryony turned around to see her.

‘I heard Mrs Royle on the phone last week talking to someone about removing the window, she doesn’t want anything that reminds her or Mr Angus of Mrs Sarah,’ she answered with a heavy tone of voice.

Rosie had been a maid at the Royle House ever since before Bryony was a baby, and she thought of Sarah with great grief. She loved working for Bryony’s mum and since her death, and Cecile’s arrival, too much had changed.

She knew Angus needed her there and her love for the family compelled her to stay, in spite of Cecile hostile presence. Bryony also remembered another housekeeper that was faithful to her mother, but she had left as soon as she found out about the accident. The girl couldn’t, however, remember her name or her face for some reason.

‘So, she’s destroying my mother’s house and her memory?’ Bryony turned red with anger.

‘It’s not my place to say, Miss Bryony. I just thought you should know so you can enjoy the colours while they are still there.’

The girl looked down with rage that slowly drifted into sadness. She mumbled something at Rosie about going to the loft making the maid go into the kitchen.

As she quietly walked up the stairs, she lifted her head and watched carefully the colours reflecting on the wall. She stood on the landing for a few minutes, in front of the window.

Suddenly, the bright light outside turned into grey, and sounds of rolling thunder could be heard in the distance. ‘Just a normal day in Manchester, it was really strangely too bright today,’ Bryony thought as she finished walking up the stairs.

Leading up to a corridor filled with doors on either side, Bryony walked down the hall and stood under an opening in the ceiling. It was the entrance to the loft, the place she had been thinking about all week. The light rain was turning into a heavy storm as the thunders became louder. Flashes of lightning could be seen in the hallway from the bedroom windows. ‘Scary day to be wandering around an old loft,’ she thought. Rosie suddenly came up the stairs with a small kitchen ladder and a flashlight.

‘Here you go, Miss Bryony. Just like you asked,’ she said, handing her the ladder.

‘Thanks, Rosie.’

Bryony climbed up the small ladder and reached her hand between the ceiling and the painted wooden door that concealed the opening leading into the loft. There was a small space where a metal chord was hidden. With the chord dangling down, she jumped off the steps and pulled on it. A folded wooden staircase attached to the door descended; Rosie handed her the flashlight.

Holding the light in her right hand and using her left to balance her weight, she slowly climbed up the steps. The higher she went, the closer Rosie came.

‘Can you see anything?’ Rosie asked as Bryony peeped through the hole.

‘Yeah. I can see a light switch over there... Wait.’ Bryony climbed up the rest of the steps.

Click! The loft light was turned on.

‘Rosie, I’ll give you a shout if I need anything, okay?’

‘Yes, Miss Bryony. I’ll be downstairs cleaning up the kitchen and preparing you a nice snack for later.’

‘Gee, thanks Rosie. I miss your afternoon snacks.’ Bryony shouted from the loft.

The room was fairly dark, the air was stale, and all around were spider webs and boxes. It had been years since anyone had gone up there and the smell of dust and mould took over the place. Bryony sneezed a couple of times within the first few minutes up there, but her nose quickly adapted to the still and aged atmosphere. Each box had a word written in thick black felt-tip pen. ‘Clothes,’ ‘toys,’…, Bryony ran her eyes over the pilled boxes. ‘Lucy,’ she read on one of them; it was a box full of her sister’s things.

She picked the box up and put it right under the light far from the shadow that the triangular shape of the roof made over the corners of the loft. With her sleeve over her hand, she wiped off the dust and opened the box.

Lucy was six years old when she died, which meant that most of her things were toys and storybooks. Bryony slowly looked through the dolls, teddy bears and little girly dresses. A beige teddy bear caught her attention. It was her sister’s favourite toy. The teddy bear had plastic black eyes and a sowed on felt nose, his feet were crooked; Lucy had hugged it so many times, taken it to so many places, and had so many tea parties with it, that the bear was almost completely destroyed. It had a red ribbon on its neck that clearly had been made by a child’s small hands. Bryony took out the bear and closed the box. It was too much for her to handle.

Although her sister was only a little over three years younger than her, Bryony felt extremely protective over Lucy. More so, because she partially blamed herself for her sister’s early demise. You see, Bryony was supposed to babysit for her mother that day; even at a younger age, Bryony was very responsible, she would often take care of her baby sister. She had insisted on going over to a friend’s house instead of babysitting Lucy on that terrible day. Being so, Sarah ended up taking Lucy out with her, unexpectedly, crashing the car killing both instantly. ‘If only I had been there,’ Bryony whispered. These thoughts had been very distant for a long time, but opening that box made many feelings resurface, bringing many memories to mind. She felt another tear form and slide down her cheek. She wiped it dry with her dirty sleeve.

As she put the box away, she wondered if it was the right thing to do, go through all those boxes... all the memories. ‘Will it be too hard?’ She wondered. Bryony put the box back where it had been, keeping the beige teddy outside to take home with her. She continued scanning through the boxes trying to find any that could have her mother’s journals inside.

In the far corner of the loft, there were three medium sized boxes piled up, with ‘Sarah’ written on the side. Suddenly, her heart started pounding, the moment she had been waiting for was finally about to happen. Bryony rushed over to the boxes, and, with difficulty, pulled out all three, each at a time, into the light. Taking each one and laying them side by side, she carefully wiped each one clean, just as she had done with her sister’s box.

Opening the first one, Bryony knelt in front of it to look closely at all the things inside and was amazed by all the many beautiful knickknacks she saw. Her mother used to collect some antiques as a hobby, and there were all sorts of old novelties. She found and aged magpie feather quill, used by her mother to write in her journals. The quill was in a hard plastic case with several different tips and a small transparent ink flask. As she opened the clear case, Bryony felt the faint smell of her mother’s perfume still stuck onto the slick black and white feather.

Closing the case and putting the quill back into the box, she saw a vintage face powder holder, and, right next to it, an old pair of spectacles used to better watch plays at the theatre. Hand mirrors, makeup, a hairbrush with long orange strands stuck to it, and even a silver thimble was in the first box, but no sign of any diary.

Trying not to feel discouraged, she closed the first box, and opened the second one. ‘More stuff,’ she thought to herself. The second box had more vintage and collectible items worth a fortune; she found a hessian bag with pearls, diamonds, as well as silver and gold jewellery. There were earrings, necklaces, bracelets and many rings. Bryony wondered how Cecile hadn’t found all these things, knowing her, she would have done anything to get her hands on all these valuable items; furthermore, she’d probably try to make some money from it.