Storytime: Helena and the Ghost - A Gothic Tale (Part 3)

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Helena excused herself from dinner that day. Mr. Terrance ate little and fast, and excused himself as well. For the first time since we arrived, the Barry’s were left alone to discuss matters. Mama’s tongue was cut loose.

“I advise you, Simon, to call the marriage off before it’s too late.”

Simon, accustomed to mama’s radical thinking, kept his temper soft. “I don’t wish to do that, mother, I wish to marry Helena”.

“That girl will make you unhappy”

“No, mama. I will make her happy. I will take her away from here and give her a new life”.

“She doesn’t want a new life, can’t you see it?!”

“Mother! Your voice!” I implored.

“I’m sorry, Sarah, you are right”.

“Why do you say she doesn’t want a new life?” asked Simon, looking sullen and hurt.

“Watch her, son. Just watch her. She’s sad all the time, she wants nothing more that to be kept out of the wedding preparation, she speaks little, eats little and now she is ill”.

“She’s nervous, mother”.

“That is what worries me… If I were in her place, I would be happy to leave a manor so overflowing with tears and sorrow. It would mean new life… a chance of a happy life. Don’t you agree?”

“Mother, I know what you say” replied Simon, repeatedly touching his hair. “I know your worries. But she’s not to blame.
She spent most of her childhood up there in Mr. Terrance’s laboratory, she never knew friends besides her few cousins, who don’t like her very much; in fact, she doesn’t know if she should invite them to the wedding… This house is all she has, mother. I feel guilty at times for taking her away… But then I remember how unhappy she is here…”

“Of course she’s not to blame, Simon” replied mama tenderly. “But she’s ill. She’s mentally ill. You cannot help her”.

The drawing room door swung open and we heard the familiar sound of wheels produced by Lizzie’s rolling tray. She walked towards us among the uncomfortable silence. She poured once more tea for the women and bourbon for my brother.

“Any news from Helena, Lizzie?” asked Simon.

“It’s better to leave her alone when she’s indisposed” she replied, “Interference can only worsen her”.

“Thank you Lizzie” added my mother.

“She’s not mentally ill, Mrs. Barry” continued Lizzie, without trace of hurt or anger in her voice. “Not in the way you say it. If the girl is saddened is because she knows her father and I will be left in loneliness after she is gone”, she made a long pause as she sipped some tea. Her long shadow flickered on the ground. “Imagine loving two women, Mr. Barry, dearly so. You would like to marry, but you can only marry one, of course. Now imagine that, the second a priest pronounces you husband to one of them, the other one will die, alone, sooner or later, because she loves you so and cannot bear to have you away from her. Could you walk happily down the aisle in such circumstances?”

“Dear Lizzie! You put it so plainly!” yelled Simon.

“You believe that is all she has?” replied mama, untouched apparently by the little story.

“Since she was born she has been gloomy. Neither her father nor I ever worried, being ourselves the gloomy type as well” she chuckled.

“For how long have you lived with the family?” I asked, to try and move the conversation to a more cheerful ground.

“Ever since Mr. Terrance married the late lady Helena, twenty two years next April”

“And before that? Did you serve anyone else?”

“No, I was too young to work, this has been my first and only employment” she finished her cup and set it back on the tray. “It has been a handful”.

“Wait, Lizzie” mother stopped her, “Forgive my asking, how old were you?”

“I was seventeen”.

No one spoke until the sounds of the rolling tray faded in the distance. Simon was the first to break the silence.

“She is not forty years old yet?”

“It’s impossible!” added mama in a hushed whisper. “She looks older than me!”

“She must have been joking” I said.

“Most likely” continued Simon, but didn’t look too positive of his thought. “Let’s get to bed, shall we? I’d prefer it to finally be tomorrow, when I can see Helena again”.

As we left the room together, a large shadow standing on the first step of the staircase made us stop short. Mr. Terrance, as always dressed in his strange long robes, was walking towards us, eerily silhouetted due to the flickering electric lights.

“I thought tomorrow would be a good day to show you my night laboratory” he said, without introduction. “I came down to tell you so. There will be a storm; you may be able to see the full force of my equipments. Maybe then you will improve your opinion of me, Mrs. Barry”.

“My opinion should be of little matter to you, Mr. Terrance. It’s your daughter’s welfare, health and happiness that must be improved”.

“You are quite right… I’m sorry to interrupt your way. Please, go on”.

He moved to a side of the hallway to let us pass. As I stepped next to him, I felt an electric graze on the back of my neck; at least that is the only way I have found to describe it. It could’ve been his hand, except it had nobody to it, only sensation.

The next morning, I felt very bad. I had had a poor night's sleep, as thoughts with no order unraveled in my head. When I woke, the sun hadn’t yet risen. I dressed in silence so as not to wake mama, who snored terribly. I planned to walk into Simon’s room and discuss matters alone. I wished to give him strength and offer my help in all that he may need to improve Helena’s life.

I sincerely believed he should marry her. There was no better ending to their love story. If not, she would remain as she was, but further heartbroken and hopeless; most likely, once the word got around that her groom to be had broken the engagement with her, she would have very little luck in finding another suitable husband, not to mention the poor relations she had with her more distant family. The thought of poor, motherless Helena aging forever alone in that manor, waiting for her father’s unavoidable death, broke my heart into pieces. My brother, on the other hand, would never consent to love her less, with or without marriage, and in all probability would refuse for many years to take another bride, one who would always live under the shadow of Helena, the sorrowful, who never was.

The sky outside was gray and heavy, what an ominous morning it was. My footsteps echoed loudly in the hallway.

As I walked towards the corner bedroom where my brother slept, a sound caught my attention. It came again from the inside of Helena’s room. I stopped short in front of her door and waited.

She was sobbing. There was no doubt about it.

I made to knock, but instead decided to try and open. The door was unbolted. I managed to turn it a little without making any noise.

Through the gap I saw, thanks to the hazy gray light that leaked through the large window, the girl sitting on the edge of the bed. Her hair was undone and fell gracefully around her shoulders. The few bits of her face visible among her mane, looked pale. Her hands were dropped on her lap as she cried.

Several times I saw her moving her head as if freeing it from an invisible, clutching hand. Her chin rose in the air making round movements, her eyes veiled by a stream of fair hair. She then moved away an invisible threat with her hands, all the time sobbing. I distinctly heard the word “fine” pronounced with desperation.

Helena seemed more calm, her movements became mellow and dance like. I took a step forward, but immediately stopped. The girl had lifted the skirt of her nightgown, her legs, covered in thick wool stockings were visible up to the knees. Gracefully, she took the brim of one of them, hidden under the gown way up her thigh, and took it off very slowly.

I was mesmerized by the pale beauty that, at the same time, surrounded her and was born from within her, like a halo of distant, unattainable, rainy hope. I watched as she removed the other stocking, again her hands disappearing under her garments, then dragging the edge from her thighs, and finally letting the piece fall on the floor from the tip of her toes.

Had I been told about the event that followed, instead of having witnessed it, I would not have believed it. But I did see it, and no amount of self assurance that lights and shadows play games on one’s senses has soothed my certainty of what my eyes perceived.

At first, I thought it to be the curtain, moving with a breeze. After a moment, I could distinguish perfectly another piece of clothing, yet of unknown shape, soaring the air, depositing on Helena’s lap, as if some invisible hand had laid it there with extreme care.

The girl had placed her hair behind her ears; I could see she was still crying, but very silently, tears ran down her face, yet her face did not move.

Helena took the clothes, it was another pair of very delicate and refined stockings, I recognized them as the one she had brought to use in her wedding day. With a glance towards the window, she began putting them on, with motions that took forever. Her patience at doing this made me feel a pain that was almost physical.

By the time both her legs were dressed, she stood from the bed. I closed the door as quickly as I could.

There was a lot of tension at the breakfast table. Mother and Mr. Terrance were discussing the perfect date for the event, mama pushing it away as much as possible, and the other wishing for a quick tomorrow with equal zest. Simon seemed distressed, not at all happy even though Helena seemed to be restored to her health. As for me, I was still in shock, concentrating all my efforts in making sense out of what I saw, and at the same time keeping my troubled mind hidden from the rest.

I sincerely believed to have witnessed at least a part of Helena’s secret. I had been forever sure it had nothing to do with Mr. Terrance, and everything to do with a fearful estate of loneliness within her own heart. Why else would she cry silently and alone? Why would someone with a loving parent, a loving maid, a loving groom to be, would keep her pain to herself?

“Have you found it?” asked Simon suddenly.

“Found what?”

“The reason crabs walk sideways”

I laughed in surprise and threw a napkin at him; we had forever used this joke among us to bring us back from our musings and into reality. “Forgive us” I said, my mood slightly restored, “It’s an old childhood game”.

“I use it every time she muses and gets lost in thought” added Simon.

“Where were your thoughts, Miss Barry? If I may ask…” said Mr. Terrance, pouring himself some coffee. We had already finished our food. His gaze felt oddly electric that cloudy morning.

“I think of the wedding” I lied quickly. “I agree with you, Mr. Terrance, that postponing it seems a bit pointless; but mother is also correct in saying that preparations, invitations and all those details take time and dedication, and we cannot hurry guests, it would be rude.”

“What do you propose?”

“I propose a quick intimate wedding” I said, “No invitations, very little distress for the bride and groom; and, instead of a large celebration, a very long honeymoon”.

Simon’s face was positively lit. Helena in turn seemed happily surprised at the proposition. I took a sigh of relief.

“Well, Miss Barry, your musings seem to be very well directed!” added Mr. Terrance, grinning broadly.

“What do you think, mother?” asked Simon.

She did not reply. Instead she heaved a long sigh and let her head fall melancholy on her clenched fist.

“Well, I think it’s splendid” continued Mr. Terrance. “When the honeymoon is over I will have arranged a room perfect for the both of you to live in”.

“Don’t be a fool, Mr. Terrance” said mother, quite suddenly. “They cannot live here! They need a place of their own!”

“Forgive me, Mrs. Barry, but this is my daughter’s inheritance. These lands, these plantations, everything you see around you will be hers, and therefore, Simon’s. He must learn the trade, the works, how to deal with personnel, the proper time of crops, the sales, the storekeepers… There are a million and one tricks of the trade that must be acquired! How will he learn it anywhere else?”

“I’m sorry, sir” interrupted Simon, looking abashed. “But both Helena and I have decided that we will find a means of survival of our own. After all, I am a barrister and, with her dowry and my mother’s aid, we have enough to buy a small cottage and get a good head start. We have already made arrangements”.

A tense pause followed.

“Why hadn’t I been informed of this?” asked Mr. Terrance, suddenly stern.

“Because you would not have accepted it, papa” answered Helena, secretly taking hold of my hand under the table.

“Well…” Mr. Terrance sighed and rose from his seat. “I’m afraid this is not expected and has caused some… very much distress on my person. Please excuse me, we will sit down and discuss matters when my head is clearer.” He made to leave the room. When reaching the door, Mr. Terrance suddenly stopped short and turned to us. “Please, remember tonight’s appointment at my night lab. Lizzie has been slaving over cleaning it for days. I will meet you at the drawing room at eleven o’clock.”

End of part 3