She had not noticed the extravagance of the staircase when she had first arrived that morning. It swept up to the first floor in the most beautiful and elegant manner, fitting perfectly with the parts of the house she had already seen. The polished oak held the secrets to what the first floor held.
The maid beckoned for Charlotte to follow her once again. There was a single passageway off the side of the stairs which she was informed to be the master's personal chambers. Charlotte was lead in the opposite direction, down a much wider and, by her knowledge, more expensive corridor.
The first door on the left-hand side was pushed open to reveal a well-proportioned room. The walls were plastered with a pastel blue wallpaper; a blue seen only in a spring sky. The paper depicted the countryside birds perched atop of branches of birch or wallowing on a willow. From across the room, a large window could be seen. Through it, a beautiful landscape caught Charlotte's eye. The ordered gardens bordered by woods on one side, giving way to the rugged moor and battered coast with the Atlantic waves seemingly eating away at the rocks. A mahogany bed was up against the far wall. She let her hand caress the polished wood, it felt chilled beneath her fingers. An ornate looking-glass was situated in the far corner next to a dresser. The room itself was smaller than that of her own but it felt bigger and more comfortable without the dark panels and forest green walls. Rather than the enclosed surroundings she had become accustomed to which made her feel trapped with no means of escape, she felt free from her tight bounds and lighter within herself.
An abrupt wave of exhaustion hit her like a carriage does a stone on a rocky road, causing a sudden pain that leaves soon after to all on board. As her head hit the soft pillow for the first time in a few days, she remembered something from her childhood.
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'Harken! the mingling sounds of earth and sea,
The pastoral music of the bleating flock,
Bent with the sea-birds' uncouth melody,
The waves' deep murmur to the unheeding rock,
And ever and anon the impatient shock
Of some strong billow on the sounding shore:
And hark! The rowers' deep and well-known stroke,
Glad hearts are there, and joyful hands once more
Furrow the whitening wave with their returning oar.'
- 1825 Robert Stephen Hawker
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She smiled contented as this verse escaped her, the last of her energy extinguished itself. While falling into a dreamless sleep, she knew - deep down - that she was safe.
आप पढ़ रहे हैं
Charlotte
ऐतिहासिक साहित्यFor two sisters, the death of their parents lead to finding solace with an old family acquaintance. While one sister begins to thrive, the other begins to follow a path destined for social scandal
