The Love Birds

It started with the postcard. Its faded violet-inked, beautiful copperplate handwriting, almost indecipherable to the modern eye, had caught Amy’s attention as she propped her bicycle against the village post office window.

“Free board & lodging offered to the right person in exchange for light duties - apply within. No time wasters".

Never being one to waste time, Amy pushed open the post office door. At first, Mrs. Langdon, the postmistress, seemed baffled by Amy’s request, but under her direction, retrieved, with some major huffing and puffing, the said article. She blew the dust off it, and handed it gingerly to Amy.

“Been there so long, I'd forgotten all about it" she said apologetically, rubbing cobwebs off her hands. “Don’t even know if Miss Long needs anyone anymore to be fair.”

Seeing Amy’s quizzical look, she leant over the counter confidentially, "You’re not from around here are you? Miss Long lives up at Tremayne Manor - on the road just outside the village. She rattles around the rooms in that big house like a marble in bagatelle- she definitely could do with some help - it’s a disgrace how that place has gone to wrack and ruin.”

So Amy cycled that very day to the decaying splendour that was Tremayne manor. She needed somewhere to stay - money was running low - and this seemed ideal. Feeling like Pip in “Great Expectations", her favourite book at school, she pushed open the rusty gate and rang the bell, thinking it wouldn’t be at all surprising if Miss Long appeared, festooned in cobwebs and full wedding regalia, at the door.

As it was, after an interminable wait, and the unbolting of several rusty bolts, Miss Long revealed herself - as faded and as beautiful as her handwriting, and just as hard to read. She eyed Amy suspiciously, barely disguising her disdain at the sight of a nose piercing and the glimpse of a butterfly tattoo on the young girl’s right arm. Then she checked herself, recalling her younger self at that same age, back in the 20s, her mother’s outrage when she bobbed her hair, her father threatening to cut her off without a penny when she wore a flapper dress.

Thus she listened with her inscrutable demeanour to Amy’s explanation of why she needed this job so badly, having finished school she needed a temporary post this summer before university. Unbeknown to Amy, Miss Long recognised in her, her former teenage self, understanding fully that burning desire for independence and the freedom to do as she pleased. So the deal was struck, Miss Long reeled off the long list of expected duties and showed Amy her bedroom at the top of three flights of rickety stairs.

“Free board & lodging” Amy snorted derisively as she texted her best friend Maisie, “I have saved that woman a fortune”. Over the past three weeks Amy had worked like a slave - polishing heavy furniture, cleaning zillions of windows and now today’s ridiculous task: sweeping the chimney. Miss Long was convinced a bird had become trapped and died in there. The way Miss Long had eyed her, Amy was convinced she would happily have sent her up the chimney like a sweep’s apprentice if she had been just a tad slimmer.

“Chimney sweeps are meant to be lucky “ Maisie had texted back with a winking emoji and maybe she was right, because after ten minutes of vigorous sweeping and a cascade of choking soot, a surprise had landed at Amy’s blackened feet. It was a beautiful lacquered box inlaid with mother of pearl, depicting the famous love story Amy had first seen as a child on her grandmother’s blue and white willow pattern plates. She was surprised it had not cracked in two, such was the force of its fall.

Amy scurried to her room, clutching her find tightly like a hungry squirrel with its cache of food in mid-Winter- excited to see what might lie within. Changing her clothes and wiping the box reverently she sat by her open window to examine her find. It really was a beautiful box despite the grime and the singed corners where the heat from ancient fires had harmed it. Frustratingly, it was locked but Amy jiggled around with an old hairpin she had found when dusting Miss Long’s bedroom until she heard a satisfying click.

Why had someone hidden the box in the chimney of all places?

Amy lifted the lid with trepidation - a latter day Pandora - feeling guilty that she was opening someone else’s property that had obviously been intended to remain hidden, yet feeling intense excitement about the possibilities of its contents. They did not disappoint: two gold coins and a small black notebook, as dark and as glistening as the soot that had rained down on it.

Amy lifted the book from its hiding place, wondering who had owned the hands that had placed it there - did its owner, like her, feel an irresistible urge to caress its beautiful silk-like cover which was so comforting to touch? Did those hands, like hers, trace the neatly stitched binding of its coal black cover? Two initials were embossed there, Amy’s fingertips followed their flamboyant contours, her eyes half closed as if she were reading Braille -“S.F.” - she whispered - “S.F”.

Amy shuffled further back into the window seat cushions, recalling her grandmother’s repetition of an old childhood story-telling programme on TV, “Are we sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin...” Instinctively, Amy knew this small book would have a story to tell and she wanted to savour the moment. She opened the cover and instantly coloured - she felt like a Peeping Tom- her cheeks burned as she realised she was reading a love letter.

23rd.November 1921

My darling,

If you are reading this I know everything is going to plan - Lysette has given you the box and you already have the key which I jokingly said was to my heart!

Your father will never agree to our marrying not only because he considers musicians to be of low social standing but also, he deems the music I play to be inflammatory-encouraging young people to shy away from their duties and traditions. Our only recourse is to elope - I have enclosed 2 gold sovereigns (all that I own) to enable you to travel to London. Like the lovers on the box I will wait for you at the Japanese gate in Kew Gardens in four days’ time at 5 p.m. If you do not arrive I know you have decided to respect your father’s wishes.

I have loved you since the first time I came to teach you piano, but I will understand if the pull of duty is stronger.

Forever yours,

Stefan.

Amy closed the book and closed her eyes. Obviously, the intended recipient never received the box or its precious notebook , the coins remained unspent. Suddenly, Amy stood up - only one person could perhaps unlock this mystery - she went in search of Miss Long.

Regular as clockwork, as Amy had discovered over her short time at Tremayne, Miss Long would take afternoon tea in the once magnificent conservatory at 4pm sharp. She sat motionless, like an expertly carved wax effigy, her fine features overcast by a fleeting sad memory. She startled at this sudden interruption to her reverie - Amy had never been invited to sip from the beautiful bone China cups.

With the exuberance that only comes with youth, Amy unceremoniously thrust the box and its precious contents at Miss Long, hastily explaining how they had literally fallen into her hands. Miss Long seemed not to be listening, and Amy was shocked to see a solitary tear silently coursing its way down her wrinkled powdered cheek.

“Stefan” whispered Miss Long “You didn’t forsake me.”

Miss Long gazed at Amy as if weighing up whether she should give an explanation, then stood up and walked to the conservatory window.

“It was from here that I saw Stefan and my lady’s maid Lysette talking together -over 60 years ago now. I thought he had come to see me one last time.”.

She turned to Amy, her eyes filled with tears.

“My father had guessed my feelings for him and fired him on the spot. He already thought I was too headstrong for his liking without allowing a penniless musician to influence me further. Lysette burst in here just as you did today. She told me that Mr.Fournier - Stefan - had given her something but that she had hidden it quickly as my father had also spotted them from upstairs. He had summoned her to his study but sent her packing - never allowing her to speak to me one more time.”

Miss Long grasped Amy’s hands with a strength that belied her advanced years.

“Thank you so much for ending my torment. You can never know how many futile years I have spent looking for Stefan’s last gift”

She sighed and reached within the box.

“Take these - I have no need for such things” and she placed the two gold sovereigns in Amy’s hand.

“You have shown me that Stefan indeed loved me and that we could have had a future together. That is worth more than gold to me”.

Amy tried to protest but Miss Long would hear nothing of it. Amy discovered to her delight on the Internet that these gold sovereigns were worth twenty thousand dollars. She felt she could not accept this without performing one last task - she typed into Google “Stefan Fournier musician” . She had found the box and now she must find him. She must reunite these two lovers like the lovebirds on her grandmother’s Willow plate...