You, Being One of the Beautiful People, are Cordially Invited to Hayley Smith's Strictly No Dags, Dropkicks or Uglies

***Party of the Year***

This story is based on an original idea by Skykat

Chapter 51

FOLLOWERS

Noah and Jack tore through the night towards the hungry flames, gut instinct kicking in. There could be people trapped in there. Terrified people frantically trying to find a way out, partygoers spilling out into the night, coughing and choking, desperately needing the medical attention both were trained in.

"NOAH, NOAH!"

Kit's screams of terror as she raced after her boyfriend were quickly swallowed by a roaring torrent of fire, her voice trailing away on the fierce wind of flames. Her eyes stung and she felt sick and dizzy. The smoke was growing blacker and thicker by the minute, curling around her body like a shroud.

And then she felt safe arms suddenly catch her as she staggered helplessly in the darkness.

"It's okay, it's okay!" Kit was relieved to hear Gypsy's voice close by. "Look, there's Megan ahead, waving, yelling at us to follow her. I mean, if she can't find the way, being psychic…!"

Eyes burning, Kit thankfully clutched her friend's arm. "I can't hear or see anyone, Gyps! I'll need to hold on to you."

"Gypsy! Kit!"

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Breathlessly, trying in vain to battle against the invisible force that was pulling her further and further away from her companions, Megan called their names once more but still they didn't hear as they ran into the firelit night.

And then they were gone.

She was alone now. All alone. Nothing but silence left. The smoke swirled and danced and became a river. The red glow of fire faded, yet strangely its heat remained…

Benevolent now, burning down from a cloudless azure sky. It was the beautiful daylight of early morning. Pinpricks of sunlight sparkled diamond-like on the river yet shadows remained. On the opposite bank, under the cold shade of the weeping willow, curled dead leaves floated slowly downstream.

She looked down into the turquoise water and saw the wavering reflection of a bride carrying a colourful bridal bouquet. She felt her arms rise of their own accord and furiously hurl the bouquet far into the river. Watched with quiet satisfaction as, quickly separated and broken, they too trailed along the gently-rippling river. Down by her feet a large grey spider skirted the uneven river bank, its long legs scurrying hurriedly over grass and stones, while a small breeze gently lifted the branches of the trees of Hartwell Woods, its sweet kisses left unsung on the summer air.

"Eleanor…?" Megan said quietly, afraid.

"Hear me," a voice whispered through the wind. Megan swallowed and nodded.

"I will," she promised.

And, heart beating fast, inwardly asking her grandmother for guidance and protection, she allowed Lady Eleanor's memories to consume her.

Something compelled Megan to pull back the veil. It was strange to see through another's eyes. To see herself as a plumper, smaller girl with blonde ringlets tumbling over her shoulders, with a pure white wedding veil pulled back over her face, stranger still to finger the gold locket and feel the heavy despair weighing down her heart.

"I loved him." Eleanor whispered in the rush of the river. "I loved him!"

Hot tears pricked Megan's eyelids and a lump rose to her throat. She felt as though she'd been weeping forever. She closed her eyes and listened.

Lady Eleanor Hartwell had fallen in love with Captain Harry Silcock the very moment they met. It had been at the ball held at Hartwell Mansion to celebrate both her eighteenth birthday and inheritance of the title. Her parents had died a year ago, within months of each other, Lord Thomas Hartwell contracting smallpox and his wife Lady Margaret, who'd nursed him devotedly throughout, succumbing herself to the disease soon afterwards. Eleanor, their only child, was mercifully spared.

It was however another seven years before she would come of age, at twenty-five, to inherit the Hartwell estate and until then her godmother, whom she had always known as Aunt Beatrice, had been appointed her legal guardian. Aunt Beatrice, in her late forties and never married, was a cold woman, not deliberately cruel, but she had been bought up in a strict religious household and was not given to emotion, lacking the exuberance and "romantic notions" of Lady Margaret's daughter. Aunt Beatrice was horrified that the would-be heiress had been allowed to "run wild and free as any gypsy".

"A lady must at all times conduct herself as a lady" she was fond of quoting, and Eleanor would be reprimanded for running or made to practice walking for an hour or more with heavy books balanced on her head for slouching in her seat or locked in her room to reflect on "the error of her ways and pray to God for forgiveness" if she dared kick off her shoes and hitch up her dress to paddle barefoot in the silver stream.

Beatrice was anxious that Eleanor should marry well and to this end threw several balls and dinner parties to which eligible men were often invited. Harry Silcock had been one such eligible bachelor introduced to Eleanor.

Several years older than she, he had sailed the world as a sea captain but now looked to find himself a wife and settle down. Young and naive, she was smitten, quickly flattered by the handsome older man's attention. His skin was nut brown from the sun, his face weatherbeaten, his deep, treacly voice like music to her soul, his brown eyes held the magic and mystery of faraway places. Her godmother considered him an excellent catch and was delighted when they were engaged to be married soon after their first meeting. Eleanor's friends however were less certain.

There were rumours, they said, that he'd made his money captaining the African slave ships. They said he was not a man to be trusted. They said they saw in his eyes, in his bearing, that he didn't truly love her; that he sought only to increase his wealth and to control her. Eleanor would have none of it, believing them jealous. Encouraged by Harry, who dismissed them as "giddy young girls out to do you harm" by the time of the wedding, she had dropped every single one of the friends, two or three of whom had been playmates since early childhood and cared for her like a sister. Her life revolved only around her fiancé and godmother. But Eleanor cared little. She needed no one else.

But no love is perfect and neither was the love of Eleanor and Harry.

They rowed fiercely one sultry summer's night when the moon was round and full and roses scented the air. He accused her of making eyes at other men. He said she flirted shamelessly and refused to listen to her pleas she was innocent of such a charge.

That fateful night she broke away from the dancing and took herself and her tears away to the Love Seat.

Her mother had had the small wooden bench, just big enough for two and beautifully carved with exquisite engravings of hearts, doves and flowers, built into the wall when Hartwell Mansion was first created. A stone gazebo jutting out above offered shelter from rain, a protective walled corner gave tender warmth should the air breathe cold. The nearby trees of Hartwell Woods, huddled together in shadows to tell each other their secrets, bowing their heads to the mystical Ancient Path, in winter blocked icy winds and in summer cooled sweltering air; by day the river shimmered and shone and flowers bloomed in a glorious riot of colour; by night, troubled hearts would be soothed by the hushed lapping of the river and joyous chirping of crickets.

She had sat here before with Harry, and as a child too had liked to slip away from her nurse to sit dreaming dreams that she would find the true love her parents had known. Tears had begun to pricked her eyelids once more when a movement nearby made her start, for she had not heard anyone approach.

"Such a close night, is it not?"

Harry's half-brother Arnold stood before her. He loosened the cravat tied rakishly around his neck and glanced down at her cleavage as he spoke.

Eleanor flushed. It was the first time she'd worn the beautiful green silk dress, daringly low cut in keeping with the Parisian fashion that was all the rage. She had carefully draped a pretty lace shawl around her shoulders to avoid her godmother's disapproval but the ballroom had been exceptionally warm, and, swept up by the gaiety of the evening, she had soon slipped it from her arms. She wished now she hadn't left the shawl indoors. Arnold unsettled her. Until very recently he had lived in Europe but now he was home social niceties decreed it only polite to invite him to the ball. He was much younger than Harry, being nearer Eleanor's own age, and she found him oddly attractive, for he shared many of her fiancé's handsome features and mannerisms.

"It is." She agreed uneasily, dabbing her eyes and glad of the handkerchief that hid her confusion.

To her consternation, he sat down beside her. The bench was barely big enough for two, being meant as it was for sweethearts, and, shocked at his body being so close against her own, she sprang to her feet.

He merely laughed easily, as though the indiscretion were of no matter, and stood too. Perhaps, she thought, it was the way of the Europeans and he had lived most of his life there.

"My brother is a headstrong fool," he smiled, tilting her chin and gazing into her eyes, eyes so like Harry's own that her heart fluttered with a strange forbidden excitement. "I could relate to you such amusing tales that Mother told me of when he was but a boy! That is, if you care to listen. Would you do me the honour of walking with me, Miss Eleanor? We could stroll by the river where it is so much cooler."

Intrigued, thinking to later tease Harry with her new-found knowledge when they reconciled, for reconcile she was sure they would, Eleanor smiled back and took his gallantly proffered arm. "I will, sir."

Megan suddenly crumpled helplessly to the ground, screaming in abject pain and terror, as a terrible darkness covered the lonely sky, the wind rose and wailed, and the river lashed in wild, tempest-tossed fury, Eleanor's words carrying through the whispering trees.

"I was so stupid, so trusting….down by the river…he raped me…"