A Tale of the Shapeshifters

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑿𝑳𝑽𝑰𝑰𝑰 - 𝑨 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒆𝒔

Charles Everleigh did not know what to think upon seeing his crying wife and daughter—not to mention a strange Frenchman—entering the home late one night. But the man was soon made out to be Monsieur Henri Clermont—his daughter's dressmaker and his sister's business partner. They shook hands and sat down at the dinner table while Mrs. Everleigh ushered her hysterical daughter to her white linen bed.

Monsieur Clermont explained that his dear old friend, Sir Claudius of Beochaoineadh Castle, had passed on. He was an old, decrepit man, in poor health. At the request of Sir Claudius, there would be no funeral service or burial. He had wandered off into the woods somewhere and died alone.

Charles immediately became distressed. His face went as white as the glittering rays reflecting in the sea in the morning.

Isolde stepped in, her forefinger and thumb pinching the skin in-between her eyes, her head hung low. Athena's sobs and wails could be heard from the bedroom. There were tears in Isolde's eyes which Charles had never before seen.

The man stood, his hand reaching up to his neck. He asked if she knew what was going on, and the woman replied in the affirmative. She had known all along. She knew about Sir Claudius. About Athena working for him.

He sat back down, staring at the table. His wife sat down too, next to Monsieur Clermont. She folded her arms, and her face was tired and gaunt. She must have been too distraught to even fault her husband for his shortcomings.

Monsieur Clermont sensed the tension between the man and his wife, and so he changed the subject by asking if he could remain for the night. Charles nodded.

He asked her how long she had known, and she said for well over a year or two. But then, he asked something he should not have: If his wife had known he never actually went to work in town, and instead all of the gold came from Sir Claudius.

The monstrous woman slammed her hands on the table, pushing herself up and scooting the chair back. Monsieur Clermont scooted away from her, putting his hand over his face. She pointed her finger at her husband, and her face turned a blistering red. Spitting words fired out of her mouth—curses in her native language he couldn't understand, and then some in English he could. Monsieur Clermont gasped at the last few words.

Charles ducked his head. Isolde asked, with a bite in her words, if the new job in Dublin was real or fake. He replied that it was real—which was the truth. He finally felt at home in Dublin, where the cultured society was blossoming. He couldn't handle the lines of work in the small town, and instead went to the pubs each day. So when he had enough gold for a suit and new horses and carriages to transport him to Dublin, the man took that opportunity.

Isolde clawed the table, her nails sinking into the silvery table cloths with ornate designs. Monsieur Clermont lurched at that then quickly asked for a room. Charles stood, avoiding his wife, and pulled the Frenchman out of the dining room, assuring him they had the loveliest little guest room.

The woman watched as they walked out. She turned around, banged her fist on the table, and leaned over it.

~❦︎~

Monsieur Clermont departed the next morning for Dublin. Athena promised to visit him soon, and so did Isolde, who desperately needed a new wardrobe.

Charles avoided his wife by spending most of the day with his daughter, who was in a deep period of mourning for her old friend. His little girl, who—somehow... he didn't quite know how—was turning into a woman before his eyes. The grief stole the girlish gleam out of her eyes and turned her into a woman.

Athena asked to visit Beochaoineadh Castle a week after Monsieur Clermont left, but she did not want to go alone. Hoping to get away from his wife for a little while longer, the man agreed to go with his daughter.