17 June 2012
#OpussWings It's a long one so please be patient :)
'So, I see you have a degree in the Social Sciences alongside your teaching degree. And you speak fluent French, Spanish and German? My my you're an accomplished young lady.'
'Well, I try my best Dr. Mycroft.' I offered with a smile.
'I'm sure you'll fit the job perfectly. My son won't be home for another week until the term finishes so you can have a while to get used to the Manor.'
'It may seem a bit forward of me, but may I ask why he's coming home? I've heard Ivyfield is a most excellent boarding school.'
'Ah,' Dr Mycroft began, leaving his desk to look out over the expansive, manicured gardens. 'Well, they caught him stealing from the science labs for a little experiment of his.' he chuckled. 'A chip off the old block. I myself was expelled from my boarding school in the Highlands as a boy. Institutions, always eager to quash inventiveness and creativity.
Of course, that won't stop him. I've had a lab installed in the west wing for him so that I can teach him all I know. My little prodigy. And you will take him for all other lessons of a more conventional nature.' he explained, turning to me with a dashing smile. Dr Mycroft wasn't the conventional inventor. Well, no inventors are. But he was far from a Dr Frankenstein, tall and handsome, dark haired and bright eyed.
'And what does Mrs Mycroft think of this plan?'
'Oh not much. Our dear Melissa doesn't voice her opinion much these days. Being dead and all that.' he grinned once again.
'Oh, I'm sorry.'
'No need at all. Scientific habits. I handled it quite well if I do say so myself. Mind over matter.' he turned once again to the lawns and flowerbeds, so meticulously kept, a pensive look in his eye. 'Anyway, best to show you to your quarters Emily. Or I suppose I should call you Miss Burns now, set a good example.'
'Oh of course,' I interjected, meeting his smile as he directed me to the door. 'Thank you Dr. Mycroft.'
'Well, I suppose you could call me James but best not to tell Harry.' he winked
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ After a few days, the Doctor's strange habits had become more than apparent. He confined himself to his rooms in the east turret of the Manor, a rambling old pile which was so breathtakingly beautiful. The ancient masonry, the care and attention put into each detail, each carved nymph around the fireplaces and each gargoyle scrutinising your every move on the grounds was astounding. Yet he kept himself to that tower, only leaving for dinner in the dining room, an event at which only he and I were present.
It seemed we were the only two in the place. Cooking and cleaning seemed to occur magically although of course someone must have been there to do it. We discussed many things, mostly me and never him, particularly not his past. Across the courtyard I could see the light in his room shining out into the early hours, that brilliant man burning in his solitude, a great brooding bird in his keep.
One night I was wondering the halls. I couldn't sleep as a great storm shook the ancient foundations. I was passing the door to his turret, mysteriously left ajar. He was always so careful, making sure it was secured to avoid intrusions. And the most unusual sound, something so strange and pained floating down.
'Dr Mycroft? Sir?' I called, pushing the creaking door open. I made my way slowly up the stone staircase. 'Sir? James, are you there?'
I reached the top, to find his annex writhing in the winds pushed in by the storm. His window was thrown open, the curtains clawing at the room, now a mess from some mad rampage and I couldn't find him anywhere. Muddy boots and a spade lay abandoned by the staircase. A great covered skeleton loomed in the far right corner of the room. Flasks and beakers and clamps and feathers were strewn everywhere, bubbling mixtures joining in Nature's frantic howls, mingled with the cries of some creature agonisingly drawing out their soul.
There he was, curled up on the bed, rocking back and forth cradling something. 'James!' I exclaimed, rushing to the windows.
'No!' he cried, stopping me in my tracks. 'No, don't close it. I need it open.'
'But you'll catch your death.' I explained securing the windows. I turned my attention to the poor man on the bed, muddy and soaked to the skin. 'Oh, James what have you been up to?' I felt around for a candle, our little world cut off from civilisation and home comforts by the storm.
'Don't come any closer.' he warned, covering whatever it was he held. 'Oh Melissa.' he whimpered to the mass in his arms.
'James? What do you have there?' I whispered, edging towards the bed.
'I'm so sorry.' he wheezed again, lips blue from the cold.
I drew closer, throwing candlelight over his bed. There in his arms, the gruesome phantom of a soul, a gory cadaver, half-rotted fresh from the soil. My breath caught in my throat at the smell of Hell. 'Oh good Lord...'
'Oh Melissa, I'm so sorry. I should never have put my work over you. I'm so sorry.' he cried into the creature's rotting hair.
'James,' I whispered, pulling him over the bed, away from the body. 'Oh what have you done? How could you...'
'You have no idea what I've been through.' he hissed. 'I've been to Hell and back since she's been gone. And then you show up, so beautiful, so like her,' he stopped, punctuating his sentence with a stroke of my cheek. 'And I knew, if I took you as a wife I would only do the same.'
He drew his half-gone wife over, a gut wrenching crack echoing through the room as her leg broke off. 'James, what on earth makes you think... I barely know you... I'm the governess, I...'
'So, I've fashioned something. So that we can be together. The four of us.' he interrupted, shouting in his madness, propping the corpse up under his arm. At that he jumped from the bed across the room, leaving me cradling the dead Melissa.
'You see she killed herself. She threw herself from that very window over there. I drove her to it. I've spent nine years trying to fix it, trying to find a way to stop this happening again,' he carried on, throwing blueprints and charts across the room before looking up, suddenly still. 'And when you came, I finally cracked it.'
He rushed over to the covered frame in the corner, whisking the sheet off with a maddened flourish. There, there stood a mannequin with two great white wings attached to it. 'If ever I should drive you to death, Mrs Mycroft the Second, you could never do it. You would fly, not fall my beautiful dear. A short surgical procedure to bolt them to the bones and all will be well. We can all be together.'
I leapt from the bed to rush away, on guard. 'James you couldn't...'
'But I could. And I would. It's for the greater good, my love.' he sped over to me, taking my face in his hands, kissing my cheeks, my nose, my neck.
'No, James, no.' I cried, pushing him away and running to the stairs.
'The greater good, my love. For us, for Harry.' he called, running after me, shovel in hand.
The stairs were close now, just a few more steps. But I was met with a cold, wet shovel to the head. And he was on me, scalpel and gruesome tool kit in hand, slashing and cutting as all faded to the storm. 'The greater good, my love. For the greater good...'
©SThompson-Delilah 2012
For The Greater Good • Opuss № I