The Terrible Fate of Gideon Dormer: Part 2

I thought I had left myself enough time. Enough time to get ready before dropping past Alistair’s room under the pretence of picking something up. I knew I wanted to wash quickly but that wouldn’t take twenty minutes! I did, however, forget to factor in Mother who I passed on my way up. She smiled at me, exchanged the usual niceties and when we said good night, I assumed that would be its natural conclusion. Apparently not.

We talked of dinner. We talked of plans for the following day – of which we both had few. And from that, we agreed that it would be perfect to go riding together, should the weather be as lovely as it was today.

My mother and I got on well. She was a formidable opponent in many aspects of life, but that also meant that one would never disagree with her for fear of death or public ridicule. Eventually, we said good night… again, wished each a good sleep (little did she know) and I watched her turn the corner to make sure she was not coming back in this direction.

I glanced at my watch. Fifteen minutes down. Fuck. I practically sprinted to my quarters, locked the door behind me and immediately stripped off as many clothes as necessary to wash myself down in the next – I looked at my watch – four minutes. I didn’t have time to ask my valet to bring up warm water, I guess I have to keep it brisk and use the basin they had left from this morning. It made me curse under my breath as droplets ran down my chest and soaked the waistband on my drawers. No time to change them now. I threw on my trousers and shirt and left like that.

His room was far away and when I finally knocked on the door there was no reply. My heart rattled against my rib cage. Had I put myself out there only to be swatted down? Was this one of his power moves? It was silly of me to feel let down and even sillier to open the door anyway. I was going to come across as needy, but my head was swimming in adrenaline. Peering inside. The room’s empty. Waiting here briefly crossed my mind as an option before… I guess I was here to pick up my diary and I could at least keep good on my end of the deal.

Once I shut the door behind me, I realised how underdressed I was. What if someone saw me walking around with this sort of disregard for formality? Or worse, saw me coming out of this room looking like I had just been frisked by a mugger. Would they even consider the possibility of my crossing treacherous boundaries with another man? I shook off these vivid worries. I was here now, the best thing I could do was get the diary and leave. I scanned the desk and the window seat. Of course, it wouldn’t have just been left out. I was going to have to search the draws and cupboards. The realisation that it was probably properly hidden hit me. I was going to have to turn over pillows and check for loose floorboards. And when I do – if I do – what else might I find that I wasn’t supposed to?

The feeling filled me with a sudden thrill before the daunt of the task fell over the whole room. The space seemed a lot bigger and the possibilities for hiding places multiplied indefinitely. And why did I assume that he wasn’t going to come back any second? My stillness in the room allowed me to hear the grandfather clock chime downstairs. Quarter to twelve. He wasn’t coming and instead I was standing in his room like a lost mare. This is stupid. This was stupid. I turned for the door, opened it and left.

Across the saloon I could see one of the maids hurrying about with a bundle of linens, I didn’t have time to stop and think about the strange timing of it. If she saw me, news of my being out without adequate clothing would spread amongst the service like wildfire. She was heading around the gallery anticlockwise. The quickest way to my room would have been to turn left outside Alistair’s door but I ran the risk of her seeing me. Anti-clockwise it would be. I seemed to match her speed and got back with no one noticing – Hopefully.

And breathe. I leant back against a wall, willing my heart to stop whining as it did. Why was the maid hurrying with linens at nearly midnight? It was too late to dwell. I stripped off for the second time tonight and slung myself under the covers. How stupid must I have been to go through with something like amorous exploits with Alistair? It was definitely for the best that he didn’t appear. Probably still drinking scotch on the couch in the drawing room. Maybe he had drunk himself silly and passed out where he was sitting. Good, I thought. Serves him right to wake up with a hangover.

My eyelids were already struggling to stay open. The meal and the drink had caught up with me and I was happy that this is where I was. Comfortable and warm. Strange how the excitement I had felt at the idea of Alistair taking my clothes off felt so alien to me now.

I hadn’t expected to see Alistair at the breakfast table the next morning. He never usually woke before Ten O’clock unless absolutely necessary. Yet I still felt a twinge of uncertainty when I arrived in the breakfast room and still hadn’t seen him. I scrabbled to remember what had been said to each other reminding myself he had, in no uncertain terms, read my diary and then suggested that…

‘Antony! Good morning.’ Mary’s voice was too high pitched for so early in the day. With her at the table was her mother, Alma, and a newspaper I could only assume my father sat behind. I smiled at each of them, taking a seat and grabbing myself a slice of toast from the rack in the middle of the table. I wanted to ask where Alistair was and if any of them had seen him, but I was aware that it would come across as a strange question as everyone would be certain he was still in bed. What was wrong with me? Why was I so possessed? I told myself to enjoy the time without him. Afterall, I had never relished his company before.

It was Alma who broke the silence. ‘The strangest thing happened yesterday afternoon.’ She declared. ‘I was in the bakery when I bumped into Mr Richards of the green grocers!’

Mary and I looked up at her while father didn’t bother. Was there more to this strange occurrence of late? Her face hung in expectant suspense. Apparently not.

‘It’s a small village Mrs Kinsley.’ Came fathers voice from behind the paper. ‘I trust he didn’t beat you around the head with a French baguette and send you on your way?’

Alma laughed a loud and invasive cackle. ‘Oh, Mr Dormer. That would be strange indeed! No, he said the most peculiar thing. He was telling me all about his new stock of fruits and vegetables in his shop; just four doors down from the very bakery I was in! Can you believe it? I would have thought it was much further away, and Mr Richards made a very funny joke at me about how it must feel like a much larger distance due to the amount I have to carry from his shop as I always buy far too many fruits. Oh, that Mr Richards! I think that he might…’

I stopped listening after that. If she had been trying to avoid an uncomfortable silence around the table, she had certainly accomplished it. Alma seemed to have an archive in pointless stories. Almost everything that happened to her was – in some way – a notable occurrence. Although Mary seemed quite entranced. But she always did, whoever was talking. Too polite, I was certain. It got in the way of her eloquence.

While Alma talked at length of her dull afternoon, I looked out the French windows onto the back lawn and followed the uniform lawn stripes as they slipped past the borders, around the sun garden far in the distance and eventually fell down – and out of sight. Here I knew that the stripes ended, and tamed, long grass grew into a meadow. At this time of year, the first of the spring flowers would be littering the green all around the estate and the stream – the stream that divided our estate from the Perruche land – would have receded to its mellow flow. That meant it would be easy enough for me to hop across and walk up to the house if ever I was expected to see Jane or grace the Perruche family for lunch.

I hadn’t noticed Alma come to the end of her chronicles but when my focus was back on the room, quietness was only punctuated by sips of tea and clinking china. After eating more than my fair share of toast topped with marmalade and asking for eggs from cook, mother joined and Alma left having successfully obtained an invitation to go riding with mother and me. She had been ever so grateful. Displaying it by wafting her hand in front of her face, pursing her lips, and saying, ‘It really is such an honour.’

More silence, before Father looked up from his paper for the first time, spoke and shocked us all. ‘Where’s Gideon?’

‘Sorry?’ replied Mother

‘The cat, Marjorie. Little furry thing with four legs. Where is he?’

Mother chuckled with a stern face. It certainly wasn’t a real laugh. ‘I’m sure he’s about somewhere. It’s a big house.’

‘No, I’m quite certain of it. I haven’t seen him all morning. I have always seen him by breakfast. His food bowl hasn’t been touched, too. Look.’ He pointed to a lavish dish in a corner next to a pine dresser. It was filled with scrap meats, probably from dinner.

‘More and more curious by the second, dear.’ said mother, once again displaying the same lack of enthusiasm.

With a sudden and unexpected eruption of anger, father stood up throwing his paper down. Tea was flung across the breakfast spread and landed in a splatter across Mary’s breast. This meant she also stood up in shock as a brown stain ran down her frock. Mother and I watched in amusement, me with more pity than her.

‘Does nobody else care where Gideon is?’ He roared, before leaving the breakfast room in such a way that made the floorboards shake. We all continued to sit there while fathers call for the lost cat got more and more distant. Mother picked up the paper, Mary dabbled at the tea stain, and I continued to eat toast.

‘I’ll see you in the stables at eleven.’ Mother looked up at me before I left. It wasn’t a question. I smiled in return before making my way back to my room. The long walk across the house gave me time to think about breakfast. I should have been accustomed to irregularity that meal always took. Breakfasts in this house were like snowflakes in that no two are the same. I was lucky if the tensions didn’t run so high that I had indigestion when I left. Oh well, I thought. It’s over now and I have a little time to hide away in my chambers where I would ring for someone to bring me riding boots and…

‘Antony.’

I spun around to find Alistair hiding behind my door. It’s half nine, how is he awake?

‘I’m glad I found you.’

‘Found me – stalked me by hiding in my room and waiting for my inevitable return. I guess it could be the same thing.’

He didn’t reply. Of-course he didn’t. Instead, he pointed at the corner of my mouth. It almost seemed flirtatious. Was he really going to try and get me into bed now?

‘You get off on risk, don’t you?’ I shut the door and walked away from him. ‘I have places to be, Alistair. Get out my room.’

‘Don’t flatter yourself, Dormer. You have egg on your face.’

I bit my tongue. One-Nil to him.

‘I need you to come with me. It seems we have a bit of a situation on our hands.’ There was a tone of sincerity in his voice. So small it was almost undetectable under his wall of swagger.

I knew that I could save so much face by just doing what he said, with an eye roll of course. Ask no questions, leave last night so un-talked-about that I could have been the one to not show up, but curiosity got the better of me and I asked; ‘Where were you last night?’

His face flickered. Had he not expected me to go through with it? Or just not expected me to ask. He opened his mouth to speak now, looking… apologetic? No, not Alistair. Regretful perhaps. Maybe even pitiful. Whatever was on his face, I had taken him by surprise. ‘If you come with me, you’ll find out.’

‘Is it going to take long?’

‘Longer if we stand here talking about it.’

I looked back at him, he was waiting for me, expecting me to follow him. His hand was on the door handle, ready to leave when I was.

Following him was somewhere between a march and a sprint along the gallery to the room I had knocked on the night before. He certainly had a point to his walk which was a lot different from his usual casual slumber about the house. He knocked twice – why? It was his room – and entered.

‘I swear to god Alistair if this is what I think it is-.’ I was stopped short by a shock of pink standing by his bed. It was Miss Perruche with a heavy worry wrinkled into her brow.

‘Mr Dormer. We need to talk’