Unfortunate Death: Eighth Calmacott

The guest with sympathetic face

 

Unfortunate Death

 

Coincidence.

“Good you’re home in time, Arthur. You’ll have a guest for lunch.”

I heard a smile in her voice…she would not have smiled

Knowing I was home. I could hear their talk, although the

Door was closed. Stewart had followed on my heels, fretting.

“Goddamn you!” He’d near trod on me. And he was carrying

it. That rage I’d felt was for Stewart.

When I’d snatched the hayfork from his hand.

 

Yes, I’d only gasped a little. I’d been careful of the blood.

The poor young man. I’d only knelt beside him where he fell.

I do recall I cried. I do recall I moaned and couldn’t stop.

I can’t think I’d been making such a noise.

Oh, Arthur, you were cold.

 

I was not. Myself. You see, Calmacott, how she—

Bessie…had that reckless prodding habit

An amoral will to be, at this moment

At this moment

Miring in excitement

—how she taunted. Though of course

The note was in her own hand.

 

“Yes, if Bess,” Henry says, “had been born a boy

By fifteen, she’d have gone into the navy. Been a nob

She’d have ridden to the hounds. Dash, is what

They call it. There, you have circumstance, as well.”

 

And what if I had had a little room, a bed

Some Chelsea street where rents are not too dear

And the Mrs. in my name might be enough

For a decent place, serving at a tea room

I know you couldn’t often come across

But I’d have welcomed you, visiting, and if you’d asked

Can you forgive me…Mathilda

I would say, Arthur I do

 

(copyright 2017 Stephanie Foster)

 

Let Them Go: Ninth Calmacott

 

 

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