Swiftly flew the fragrant hours,
Ever faster sped the days;
All too soon was childhood ended
Save for memories.
"Childhood" -Baker
Chapter 4
The clock struck suddenly, its heavy beat echoing in the silhouette of the fleeting day, halos of rays whispering sweet goodbye's to the sun-scorched carpet. The oak-embossed windows lined like trumpeters alongside the lengthy hallway, sunlight hazily trapped amongst the dust-sprinkled panes. Mary sat upon one of the numerous antique chairs; her normally straight posture slumped over in boredom. Her uncle, the dear Mr. Craven, had summoned her from her chambers almost half an hour ago, and here she sat in the lobby in complete and utter silence trying desperately to be patient, her resolve to sit quietly quickly fading away. So here she sat, whittling away the dreary minutes and desperately trying to push the thoughts of the previous day in the garden away into the recesses of her mind. But good Lord, it was impossible! The humiliation Mary felt after her breakdown burned like a scorched thread in the pit of her stomach. Dickon must have thought her a child, a mere girl of weak disposition!
'The dolt must have no idea why I ran off, so ignorant,' Mary thought to herself, her head briefly trembling with irritation at Dickon's naivety to her emotions. Luckily she did not gain another opportunity to see the young Sowerby, primarily as she made it a point to avoid any such occurrences. How she wished Colin was here, he could always take her mind off her problems. He tried visited Misselthwaite manor every weekend, but the temptations of the city strung him like a puppeteer. In the meantime, she knew it was in her best interest to stay away from Dickon and let her feelings subside. But these intended avoidances could not prevent Mary from reminiscing in silent reverie. Gracious, he did look dashing, even if it was in his work clothes. As if he owned any other, but still…
'Enough! No more! No point in mooning over a lad who couldn't give a shilling about me!" Mary shook her head desperately and angrily wiped the brimming tears, threatening to paint along her creamy cheeks. In embarrassment at herself, Mary curled her legs up onto the velvet-cushioned chair and let her tears fall behind the soft folds of her dark dress, her face hidden behind the curl of the black tights surrounding her knees. Wrapping her arms around her legs, Mary closed her eyes as the world faded away with escaping tears. The dull roar of the grandfather clock drifted away as though silence itself wooed the noise into submission. Blackness overtook her as Mary finally fell into an entirely different realm altogether, a web of dreams weaving its tale.
Even in her dreams she could not escape the Indian heat, the soil itself scorched in a burned haze. The sky hung close to land, a heavy shroud of burdened sunlight and heat that dully inched its way into every particle that stood in its path. The sweet scent of honey wafted throughout the land, a permanent reminder of India's beauty. She knew she was sitting down in relative comfort, gazing softly out the exotically-curved window that stood downtrodden in a pathetic contrast to the swift painted streaks of the brilliant sunset outside that ensnared all of India. A gold corset of color consumed the blood-red sun as it hung by a thread, saturating the remains of the day. A small sigh escaped her lips as she gazed wistfully into the darkening sky, who knew that a sky could be painted gold? The black silhouette of Indian architecture hemmed the horizon, reaching like desperate arms to the glory of the stretching sky. An infant's cry in the background broke suddenly in her thoughts, annoyance rising swiftly. She clenched her jaw for a moment, before eventually letting the world drown away in the sorrows of her past, as she herself let her mind fall into the blanketed harps of serenity. She let her head slowly waft towards the vanity table in which she sat in front of, her arrow-curved lips softening as she gazed at the trinkets that sat immobile on the laced trim. Her delicate glass perfume bottles, silken strings of pearls entwined with diamond earrings, en-coupled in Victorian mirth. However as her mind settled on her most prized possession, she let her eyes crinkle with foreign amusement. She lifted her pale hand to catch the ivory elephant as it stood, solitary, as stoically as any English soldier, and placed it on the windowsill. She allowed herself to gaze unabashedly at her trinket, admiring the silhouette of the once alabaster hide to be darkened by the drowning haze of gold-streaked sky. All sound was tucked away as peace overcame her.
"Memsahib! Memsahib, come, I beg of you!"
Her head snapped up in startled awakening as her eyes blinked into the reflection of the mirror. Her mouth opened in horror, barely noticing the image of the sari-cloaked ayah standing in the background, her creamy dark hands wringing in worry. Her own eyes widened as she stared at her own image, a beautiful woman with dark, enveloping hair, tear-drop earrings, and spice enriched eyes that were not her own. Who was this stranger? It was a woman that adorned herself with the most delicate of jewellery, and subtly let her silk, violet laced-hemmed dress to slip off a pale shoulder. A diamond glinted from her shaking fingers, and she glanced in shock to the young Indian woman.
"Please, Memsahib, your young one is very ill!" the ayah cried worriedly, "Mary must attend to a doctor!"
However she was no longer listening, as her eyes had already drifted in dawning realization to the windowsill to where the ivory elephant still stood in its fixed state, its unbroken trunk elongated towards the sky.
"My goodness gracious child! Now is hardly the time to be sleeping! Wake up girl!"
Mary's entire body jolted awake as rough hands pushed violently against her shoulder. She jerked her body into sitting position as her startled eyes rested on a rather impatient Miss Medlock. She towered over the young girl, her fists resting angrily against the straps of both sides of her apron, her face slightly red from exertion.
"My word, what your poor uncle must be thinking having an unruly child such as yourself in his household!"
Mary, however, was no longer listening. Instead she reflected somewhat moodily on her dream.
"Miss Medlock, you have just awakened me from the oddest dream, I was…"
The older woman shook her head impatiently.
"Now is not the time for idle chit-chat girl, you have kept your uncle waiting long enough, it was no more then two minutes that he sent for your very presence."
Mary cocked an eyebrow at this. 'More like half an hour past", she thought rather testily to this. She barely had any time to form a reply to the housekeeper as her body was violently jerked to standing position, and she felt the two chapped hands steer her shoulders into the direction of her uncle's den.
"Go child, you are severely trying my patience. I must take my leave; do not in any circumstance take up any more of your Master Craven's time! Now go on!"
With that Miss Medlock swiftly turned away, a black shroud of determination stalking down the hallway. Mary momentarily paused to stick her tongue out at her, before running down the carpeted-length of a parallel hallway, her heels echoing in the din of one of Misselthwaite's many passages. When she arrived at her uncle's doorway, she paused for a moment to catch her breath and try to maintain an air of maturity, unaware of the shadow moving beside one of the standing pillars near the bookcases. Just as she lifted a hand to knock on the great oak doors, she felt a firm hand clasp her around her arm and pull her into the surrounding shadows of the grand velvet curtains. Before Mary had a chance to cry out in alarm, a sturdy finger pressed suddenly onto her lips. Her eyes widened as she recognized the shifting colors of the pair of eyes presented towards her. It was Dickon! He was pressed against her, pinning her arms to her side, the length of his body taking in the curve of her own. Mary was unable to prevent a flash of anticipation surge through her body, but maintained a look of confusion on her vulnerable face. Dickon reluctantly took his finger away from her lips, and his eyes softened in happy amusement as he gazed down to her. Though her tongue felt heavy, Mary felt obligated to speak first.
"You seem to be taking delight in sneaking up on me recently, Dickon." She spoke dryly.
Dickon grinned in response. Mary's eyes widened in sudden realization.
"But what on earth are you doing in here, if Miss Medlock catches you it would be a disaster!"
His eyes crinkled in amusement.
"Aye lass, tha' it would be. But tha' should remember to whisper, or thee could get me in trouble."
Mary flushed in embarrassment, by both his remark and the sudden resurgence of the memories of the previous day.
"I couldn'a bear to see tha' so unhappy, I needed to see if thee were alright."
She smiled brilliantly up towards him.
"Oh Dickon, I'm so ashamed of how I acted. I was terribly tired and cranky, and you know how spoiled I can act sometimes. Please forgive me, you would wouldn't you? I know I can be awful some days."
He grinned cheekily.
"Aye, that I could. But for a price."
Mary's eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. Dickon stared down at her, his eyes drawn towards a glistening corner of her lower lip.
"And what could that be?"
Suddenly Dickon's eyes turned cold, as he realized what he was saying. His face turned beet red and he jumped away from her as though she were fire itself. He took his cap off and ran a shaky ran through his coarse hair.
"I dinna mean anything, I was jus' teasing is all."
Mary donned him a small smile, still having the feeling that something was amiss. They stared at each other for a moment, reminiscent of when they were both children and used to share a swing together, gazing softly at one another. Dickon swallowed hard, a quick flash of uncertainty replaced by his usual amused demeanour occurred so quickly even he was amazed by the transformation. However a sound of shuffling feet in the next room snapped both their attentions away from each other and towards the door. Mary looked hurriedly back at him.
"I must go now, my uncle is expecting me."
Dickon nodded his head in resigned understanding. His hand slipped from Mary's as she turned towards the door. As he turned away back into the shadows, he glimpsed Mary turning her head towards him.
"You are my best friend Dickon, I hope you know that."
With that the door swung open, and a jovial Mr. Craven took Mary by the shoulder and they disappeared into the blackness of the room, softly illuminated by the flickering fire. Dickon's eyes changed into a curious color as he momentarily pondered her words. They were meant to give him comfort, but it failed to give him completion.
First of all, apologies must be in order to all my extremely patient reviewers. I could not be sorry enough for failing to update this chapter, and I hope that I will be forgiven. I'm making a few changes as well, I'm going to stop writing down individual reviewer remarks and instead start using that new reply thingy, unless it's by an anonymous or whatever in which I will thank them here. I'm still uncertain about Dickon's character, and I should have worked on the ending a bit longer, but I was much too impatient. Again I am so terribly sorry about failing to update. I hope you understand, and I would love to see more reviews. P.S. Is this new double format better or worse? Thanks!