A.N.-I don't own Narnia, nor did I create the characters of Mrs. Lefay and Andrew Ketterley. I did try to stay as true as possible to Lewis' original vision for these characters. I hope you like my story. This is my first time posting on .
Breathing was a privilege Mrs. Lefay no longer took for granted. Before the consumption took her she used to inhale and exhale without even noticing. Now every life-giving breath had to be seized through the blood that escaped with every cough. The illness had done that to her. Her once healthy body was wasting away before her eyes. The end was near. It was a simple fact that there was no denying. Grief and fear welled up inside her. Then she pushed them from her mind. She was above those feelings. Even if she was dying, she would not let herself give in to her weaker side. She would face the end with a resolve befitting one of her kind.
She supposed people in her situation would comfort themselves by believing they lived a happy fulfilling life. But she could not do that. She could not pretend she had no regrets or that she had accomplished everything she wanted to. Now it was too late. She was too old and too weak to try another experiment. There was no use in holding onto the box any longer. Her god-son, Andrew, had been sent to retrieve it. The thought of asking him to destroy it filled her with grief, more so than the loss of any other thing or person (even her husband) had. Along with the box, her last hope of achieving her greatest ambition would be destroyed. But she knew it was necessary. The dust the box contained was far too dangerous to save. She knew that better than anyone.
At one time the dust had filled her with hope. She planned to use it to find her way into her true home. Not her birthplace, mind you, but her home. A place she knew she belonged to, even if she had never been there. Whenever the strain of living such an insignificant ordinary existence would discourage her, she'd imagine the possibilities of what the dust could do. She just knew that one day she'd use it to do something incredible. But her dreams had not been realized—and now they never would.
If only one of her experiments had succeeded. She'd had come so close the last time, until a slight miscalculation had ruined everything. After countless experiments and years of study, she thought she had finally found a way to channel the power the dust possessed.
Not that it was ordinary dust. The powdery substance she possessed may have the appearance of common house dust, but it was anything but. The dust had not come from the earth, but from another world entirely. Traces of that magical place still resided in the dust. The magical potential it held was immeasurable. If she could manipulate the substance just right it could create a porthole into another world.
That was what she had been doing the night of her last experiment. Through all of her research she had determined an arch shape would work best for her purposes. Using her own special concoction of the dust mixed with oil paint she had constructed a doorway on one of the interior walls of her home. The doorway consisted of two overlapping arches, one right side up forming the top and one upside down forming the bottom. In the center between the arches she applied a potion composed of copper powder and canner paste. Both ingredients would heighten the magical properties of the dust, making her experiment all the more powerful. They also made it possible for her to use only a pinch of dust in each experiment. Finally, with eager fingers she reached for a candle the last variable of her experiment. Everything she had done so far had been to prepare the porthole, but it would take heat to actually open it.
As Mrs. Lefay walked over to the arches a sense of delight overwhelmed her. This might be her last night in this miserable existence that was the world of men. For too long she had been forced to endure a life among ordinary simple-minded people. She had no choice but to conform to all of their rules and foolish notions about morality like she was an ordinary human herself. Sure, she did have human blood in her and did look human for the most part. Still, there were parts of her appearance that made her look less than human. She was exceptionally beautiful. Her hair was as black as charcoal, which wouldn't be so unusual if it wasn't paired with fair skin and rose red lips. Also, her eyes were an unnaturally pale blue. All these things hinted at her supernatural bloodline. In her veins ran the blood of the fair folk. If all went well with the porthole, she'd finally be able to reach the world of her ancestors. With all that in mind she excitedly raised the candle.
Had it been a normal flame it could have easily set the whole wall on fire, but Mrs. Lefay was using crimson fire. The blood-red flame would only burn the top canner paste layer. The heat created by the fire would be more than enough to activate the porthole.
Lefay's unnaturally pale blue eyes gleamed as the area between the arches turned into a red blaze. A second later her eyes filled with rage as the fire extinguished. All the canner paste had been consumed and the porthole remained unchanged. Another one of her countless experiments had failed. All her effort had accomplished nothing. Filled with rage, she cried out and hurled the candle across the room. Then she quickly rebuked herself. She couldn't afford to lose control of her emotions like that. The candle's flame went out when it hit the stone floor, but had she not been so fortunate it could have set the room on fire.
She tried to get control of her emotions by reassuring herself. It didn't matter how many of her experiments had failed. She only needed for one to succeed. She would create a porthole into another world, even if she did not create one that night. She only had a few hours until sunrise. When her husband woke she needed to be lying next to him. Arthur did not approve of her interest in the magical arts. The servants had fed him one too many stories of strange happenings and missing pets so every time he caught her studying magic it resulted in days of fighting. These quarrels always ended the same way. She'd swear the rumors were grossly exaggerated. She'd convince him that her interests were purely academic and her thirst for knowledge had simply gotten the best of her. After all, she'd say, she had no interest in practical applications. Finally, she would promise to put those interests out of her mind and find a more acceptable hobby. As if this hunger was a mere hobby.
Oh how she hated putting up with him. Still, he did serve a purpose. His financial status had allowed her whatever possession she wanted. In terms of husbands he was tolerable enough. He adored her and was totally devoted to her. Any desire she had he did everything in his power to grant. Her "hobby" was the only time he ever refused her.
Mrs. Lefay tried to take advantage of what few hours of solitude she had left. After half-an-hour spent reviewing every equation trying to figure out how she miscalculated she gave up. She could not concentrate anyway. The room was now teeming with flies. This wasn't unusual after one of her experiments. Canner paste was derived from sugarcane and left a strong sweet fragrance when burnt.
She watched as a fly landed on the porthole. When it touched the wall the porthole glowed like it had been struck by a weak volt of lightning. Then it turned black for a moment. The fly appeared to be absorbed into the darkness of the wall. A second later it had returned to normal.
Of course, she realized. Heat wasn't what opened the porthole. It needed contact with a living creature to be activated.
She ran over to it and held her fingers about an inch from the wall. She could feel a prickling sensation in her fingers. When she got close enough, she could hear a soft hum coming from the dust. Her fingers twitched with eagerness to touch the porthole, and yet she hesitated.
Perhaps she was not the right person to open the porthole. After all she didn't know what would happen. She thought about how the fly had disappeared like it had been pulled into the blackness. Suppose she didn't open a porthole into the fairy world, but into one of the other worlds she heard legends about. Or worse, she could be pulled into the nothingness that was said to exist between worlds.
No it did not make much sense for her to test the experiment. If something went wrong there would be no one to get her back. Someone needed to record the results of the experiment. Besides, she had no idea how her fairy side would affect the experiment.
Mrs. Lefay considered what sort of creature she would use. She debated about using one of the cats, but decided against it. Holding the animal against the wall would cause her to be far too close to the porthole. And a cat would be too small to keep it open long. To get the results she wanted she needed to test the experiments on a human.
She found the youngest of her maids, Marie sleeping in the servants' quarters. The young woman had only worked for her estate a few months and was already terrified of Mrs. Lefay. Marie would be the best person to use. Mrs. Lefay needed someone who would cooperate and could be coerced to not speak of this to anyone. Marie's fear of the older woman would keep her from showing defiance.
"Marie. Wake up." She gently shook the young woman.
Marie's eyes slowly opened. Then they widened suddenly when she saw who stood at her bedside.
"Mistress. What are you doing here?"
Mrs. Lefay suppressed the desire to inform Marie that this was her home and she could go anywhere she pleased. Instead she used her most comforting smile and greeted the young woman. There was no reason to risk waking the other servants by making a fuss.
"Good morning, Marie." She said in her sweetest voice. She noticed the teenager's eyes glance over at the window. The black sky revealed that dawn was still far away. "I thought I would get an early start on the day and I require your assistance."
Mrs. Lefay led the young woman to the far infrequently used room where she had constructed her porthole. She was careful to make sure she didn't wake any of the other servants. She couldn't allow anyone to know Marie was with her. If anything went wrong with the experiment she needed to be able to deny that she had seen the girl. If she was missing in the morning, people would assume she left without giving word. Due to Mrs. Lefay's high standards, it wasn't uncommon for servants to quit after working there only a short time. She could easily convince Arthur that timid young Marie had been too much of a coward to admit she was leaving. After all, she had successfully convinced him that Victoria, another maid, had done just that.
The young maids olive skin turned white when she saw the double arch painting.
"Do you like it dear? It's an art project I've been working on. I know it's a bit odd, but I've been trying to break away from the conventional techniques."
"It's very nice, Madame." Marie whispered. Her French accent always came out thicker when she was nervous.
"Well yes. It is pleasing to the eyes. But with this piece, I'm trying to stimulate more than just that one sense. In this work texture is just as important as appearance. Touch it and tell me what you think."
"What?" Marie looked terrified at the older woman. Her eyes moved to the door that her mistress blocked.
"I need your opinion of the texture of the painting, Marie." She spoke slowly, saying each word deliberately. "For that I need you to feel the painting. You have to touch it, right in the center."
"I…I do not know anything about art. My opinion would be worthless."
"Nonsense child." She was losing her patience. She approached the girl who shrank back. "Touch it." She shrieked.
Marie closed her eyes and touched a trembling hand to the wall. Immediately the lighting glow returned to the porthole. Marie screamed and tried to remove her hand, but some invisible force held it in place. The glow spread until it reached the arches. The area in between turned black like it was void of all light. First Marie's hand disappeared, then her whole body as she was pulled into the darkness.
To Mrs. Lefay's delight, the porthole remained opened even after the young woman disappeared. She held an empty bottle to the porthole. Slowly she touched the glass to the darkness. The porthole pulled the bottle into it the same way it had Marie. She gazed into her creation, trying to confirm she had created a pathway into the world of the fair folk. After a moment her hair started pulling towards the darkness. She felt a pull like she was being sucked into a whirlwind. Papers from her table brushed past her as they flew into the porthole. Sensing the danger she was in, she headed for the door. Her alarm was not unfounded. With every passing moment the porthole grew more powerful. Anything that came in contact with it vanished like it had been pulled into an infinite void. In her trip to the door she had to dodge books, bottles, chairs, a scale, and even the table as they got caught in the porthole's hold and sailed across the room.
She reached the door and was about to make her escape when out of the corner of her eye she noticed the Atlantian box that held the remainders of the dust fly towards the porthole. It had cost her dearly to procure this small amount of dust. The duchess she had taken it from was long gone. If she lost it she'd never be able to create another porthole. With little regards for her own safety, she turned from her only means of escape and dove after the box. Without the dust she'd never find a way into another world. Then she'd never find her true home. It had to be saved. She succeeded in snatching the box from the air and out of the clutches of the darkness, but not in landing. Instead of falling to the ground, her body was drug through the air. The porthole had grown to nearly twice as large as its original size and still was expanding in all direction consuming everything in its path. Before she could be consumed by the darkness like Marie, she grabbed the built-in bookcase with her free hand.
As soon as her feet found a footing, she pushed herself to the door. Once she was clear of the room, she raced down the corridor. She pushed past many servants shouting what was happening. The porthole had been more powerful than she ever anticipated. Unless she managed to get it closed it would absorb the house maybe even the whole world. There was only one potion that even had a chance of working. It had the opposite effect of the copper powder potion in that it inhibited magical energies. She only had two bottles of the liquid and one of them had just been pulled into the void.
By the time she reached the bureau that held the other bottle, the whole building was rumbling. Many of the stones that supported the structure's weight had disappeared into another world when the porthole touched them. Knowing she did not have much time she grabbed the potion from the hidden drawer. She replaced it with the box since it would be too difficult to hold onto while closing the porthole.
She ran back to the porthole. It was now almost three stories tall and was still growing. As soon as she felt the magical pull she stopped where she stood. Carefully she uncorked the bottle and poured out the blue liquid. The potion fell a few feet before getting caught in the magical field and flew towards the porthole.
When the liquid reached the darkness it changed into a multi-colored blob of energy. Then it burst into a white flash of light. It took a moment for Mrs. Lefay's eyes to adjust. When they finally recovered from the flash she looked around and saw that all the magical energy had dissipated.
Relief washed over her, but only for a second. The house's rumblings grew to a roar. Most of the support walls had been consumed by the porthole. The few walls that did remain could not hold the weight of such a large structure by themselves. The pain of being pelted with debris and the deafening sound of crumbling rock drowned out all else. Dust filled the hall. Then everything went black.
The entire north wing of the house and most of the south wing were destroyed in the collapse. Mrs. Lefay escaped with her life and didn't sustain any permanent injury. Many others were not so fortunate. Her husband Arthur was one of several killed in the collapse.
The collapse of the house was only the start of her difficulties. The workmen sifting through the rubble found the skeletons of four people buried beneath the floorboards. Based on the conditions of the bones the police concluded that these people had died long before the house had collapsed. Details of some of her other experiments came to light. The investigators learned she was the last person to see all those people alive. Victoria's death was the most damaging because she had been so insistent that the young woman had simply left during the night.
In another time she would likely have been found guilty of witchcraft. Not in nineteenth century England. People were far too enlightened to believe in such "myths". Although the police knew she was responsible for the deaths of the people buried in her home, they could not prove she intentionally killed those people and she was only sentenced to thirty years in prison. Had they known how those people really died she likely would have received a much harsher sentence. Mrs. Leafy felt her sentence was grossly unfair. The court had no real evidence that she had caused those other deaths. Most of her experiments did not leave injuries or marks that could be detected by the human eye.
For years she held out hope of creating another porthole. The bureau that held the box was one of the few pieces of furniture that survived the collapse. She hoped for years to get someone from Arthur's family to bring the box to her, but the police would not allow them to take anything her way without first inspecting it. She couldn't take the risk of them discovering the dust. Then the illness overtook her before she was released from prison.
Her reminiscing ended as Andrew entered the room. In his hand he was clutching the Atlantian box.
"I found the box. It was right where you said it was."
"Good. Andrew as soon as I am gone, I need you to promise to burn the box. And do not ever open it."
"What is in the box?"
"Old letters my husband wrote to me when I was younger." She hoped this story would satisfy her god-son. The box was about the right size to hold a large stack of letters and the weight of the dust would be similar to that of a stack of paper.
"Why would you want me to burn the box, if all it contains is a few old letters?" Andrew's tone made it clear he didn't believe her explanation. He had always been the suspicions one. It would take clever words to convince him to fulfill her wishes.
"There are personal things in those letters." She had to choose her words carefully. She needed him to believe she had a reason to want to destroy a few love notes, but she couldn't make her lie so convincing she spiked his curiosity. If Andrew became too interested, he may open the box just to see if the letters contained any valuable information. "They contain intimate words that should remain between a husband and wife. I would rather not take the risk that the servants can go pilfering though my private life when I'm gone."
"You have never been one to hold on to anything for its sentimental value."
"People grow sentimental when they are facing their death." It disgusted her to compare herself to a regular person, but she was getting too weak to keep debating this. "It doesn't concern you what is in the box. You only need to worry that you follow my instructions word for word. Now do you promise to burn the box or not."
"I promise." Andrew said.
Relieved that it would soon be destroyed she started going over instructions on just how to burn it. Describing how it would be destroyed pained her, but she couldn't risk someone creating another porthole. She had been skilled enough to close her porthole. Someone else might not be so clever. The ceremony she told Andrew about had the best chance of working. Even so she was glad Andrew would not try to destroy the box till after she was dead, just in case something went wrong.
Andrew agreed to all of her instructions. Had the illness not left Mrs. Lefay so drained, she would have noticed certain peculiarities about his behavior. She would have realized the smile he used to reassure her was the same one she had given her husband years ago whenever she promised to quit studying magic. She also would have noticed Andrew hardly looked at her during their conversation. Instead, he gazed at the box with the same hungry expression she had always reserved for the dust.
A.N. Thank you so much for reading. I would love to hear any reviews you would like to offer. If you would like to know more about what happens to Andrew or the dust you can always check out "The Magician's Nephew." It's a great book.