Of Moths and Butterflies - By V.R. Christensen Page 0,1

off, second by agonising second, the passing of time. And of one man’s life.

It was not an hour later when she heard the doorbell ring, followed by the sound of voices. The doctor and the lawyer held a brief and hushed conference before climbing the flight of stairs to her uncle’s rooms. What secrets were being relayed in those indistinct and earnestly offered words? How many more must know before this would all be over? Would it ever be over? She closed her eyes upon the unanswerable question. And waited.

* * *

A pale autumn sun was just beginning to rise when the gentlemen returned downstairs with the news. The doctor spoke kindly before taking his leave, offering his heartfelt condolences and advising Imogen to get some much needed rest.

The lawyer remained.

A man of imposing stature and stern demeanour, Mr. Watts might be called intimidating by some. For many years he had been in her uncle’s service, and in that time he had become Mr. Everard’s confidant. Perhaps not a friend, but an advisor and a bearer of his secrets—and now, presumably, of her own as well.

“You have aunts,” he began without preface.

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ll go to them. They’ll take you.” It was as much a question as a statement.

“Yes, of course. But–” She hesitated to say more.

“You don’t wish to go?”

She averted her gaze, unable to answer.

“Have you alternatives?”

“No, sir, not that I can see.”

The lawyer leaned back in his chair. “You have a cousin. One in particular, I think. Your aunt’s nephew by marriage. Is that not a possibility?”

For a woman in her position, alone, without resources, with hardly a character to speak of, marriage was the only conceivable choice. Still… “I’m not sure it is, sir. Not just at present.”

Another long silence followed as he examined her carefully. At last he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew an envelope.

“If you’ll be so good as to examine this, Miss Everard,” he said. “I’ll return in a few hours’ time. We can discuss matters in further detail then.”

Imogen looked at the letter but did not take it from him. Patiently, he laid it on the table before rising to gather up his coat and hat.

“I’ll show myself out,” he said.

Imogen saw him as far as the drawing room door, where he turned once more to speak.

“I’ve already sent word to the family. You can leave the formalities to me.”

“Thank you, sir,” she answered, relieved to know that these burdens, particularly that of informing her aunts of their brother’s death, would not be hers.

“Get some rest if you can,” he said, and turning, shook his head before shutting the door behind him.

Rest? There was no rest to be had here. Not with her uncle lying upstairs. Not with the family coming any hour now.

The sight of the letter still lying on the table reminded her that she had an obligation to read it. She took it up but could hardly bring herself to break the seal. She placed herself in one corner of the sofa and smoothed the document across her lap. And read. Yet it took some doing to convince herself that the words she saw were the words that had truly been written.

So he had thought of her, after all. Ten years under his roof and now he regretted. Now he wished to do something for her. In disbelief she stared into the newly resurrected flames. If only they could offer some answer as to what she ought to do.

“You look an absolute wreck, Imogen.”

She awoke to the sound of the familiar voice and, seeing him, arose to greet her cousin. Roger placed a kiss on each cheek and stood back to look her over more studiously. Tears had gathered by now. She felt the prick of them, but would not allow them to spill over.

“Are you really so very sorry?”

“I’m not inhuman, after all. He raised me, provided for me since...”

Roger reached out to her, but she drew away and returned to her place on the sofa.

“They’re here, then?” she asked him. “My aunts have come?”

He sighed in frustration. “I came ahead of them.”

“I’m so glad,” she said with a look of honest relief. “Yours is the only face I can bear to look at just now.”

He smiled and his manner relaxed once more. “I was uncertain whether I should come, you know.”

“Why should that be?”

“Well,” he paused and looked at her pointedly. “You’ve been rather unpredictable of late.”

“Have I?” she asked and looked away.

“Well, yes, if you