Category : Stories

Sub Category : Historical Fiction

My Dear Friend Ira

5/13/2018 1 Comment
 
On a dreadfully warm day in the Summer of 1846, Celina Carrington was struggling to swat flies away with her silken, waterlily painted fan. The sunlight streaming through from outside was blinding her bright green eyes so that she was unable to admire the terrarium sitting in the corner of the parlor. The back parlor, rather than the front parlor used for receiving guests, was the most interesting place inside the walls of the Carrington estate, decorated with an elegant canary yellow sofa and decorative trinkets galore, as well as scarlet walls adorned with a variety of paintings worth a fortune. Celina found the whole estate rather mundane now, but her guest on this summer’s day was of unusual importance and she was hoping to impress her, as she had not seen her since Celina’s wedding day, five summers earlier. Five years changed much more than she had ever imagined, as she was no longer the youthful and outlandish eighteen-year-old she had been before.
Despite the facts, she had on her most elaborately taboo gown, a reflection of her former self. The gown was an emerald green color, embroidered with golden silk on a rather large skirt, and the neckline hanging lower than was socially acceptable to most. It had the unfortunate drawback of accentuating the stifling heat, but that hardly mattered to her. She had arranged for her chamber maid to escort her anticipated guest to the back parlor once she arrived, as to make for a more impressive greeting. Ira Drogace had once lived in the forgotten village of Emberwall, a village made up entirely of wealthy families living in grand four-story homes, but Ira had since moved to London and faded into an enigmatic character much like the city itself. Once upon a time, Ira had been the beautiful jewel of Emberwall, expected to marry someone rich and handsome. Someone like Celina’s husband, Sir Enoch Carrington III, heir to the Carrington estate and twenty-first in line to the English throne. Many had been envious of Celina’s arranged marriage, but she had once wished to run away from duty just like Ira.
Celina’s train of thought was interrupted so abruptly she jumped slightly in her seat. Three knocks sounded on the oaken door separating the back parlor from the front parlor. “Lady Carrington, your guest has arrived.” She heard the quiet voice of her chamber maid calling out from the other side of the door. A young French girl no older than eighteen by the name of Victoire, her chamber maid was one of the few persons in the Carrington estate’s employment of whom Celina liked. “Enter, please!” Celina called out in a dignified voice, ignoring the trepidation she was beginning to feel about her guest. It had, after all, been Ira who had requested to see Celina, although Celina had never forgotten her old friend.
As Victoire entered the room dressed in her usual bland attire consisting of a crudely made black dress covered in entirety by a frilly white apron just as drab, she stood in odd contrast to the magnificent woman who followed her in. Ira Drogace had become even more beautiful in their time apart. Yes, she had the same gorgeous shimmering black hair Celina remembered, but today Ira’s hair wasn’t tightly pulled back into a painstaking designed up do like most girls around Emberwall wore, including Celina. No, today Ira’s hair was pulled into an up do of loose curls shrouded by an elegant ivory vale. Her face was heavily painted, and her almond eyes glowed with a renewed sense of fervor, like she had seen and been on grand adventures. She was wearing a beautiful satin gown of blue and gold, tight enough to hover every curve and embellished with everything from ruffles to expensive gems to flowers that looked shockingly real. Her dress was a travesty, but all Celina could focus on was that it made Celina’s “taboo” gown child’s play. Finally, just like Celina, Ira held a fan in her hand, as if it would help with the heat. However, Ira’s was huge and heavily embellished, also accentuating the plethora of rings with giant rubies she was wearing, one for each finger.
Celina sat gaping at her old friend, thoroughly surprised at the sheer outrageous compel of Ira Drogace, what with the oddity that she even happened to smell delightful. Could that be Otto of roses? “My dear friend! You are well, I presume?” Ira smiled, much more widely than was usual for a woman, revealing pristinely bright teeth as she opened her arms wide. Celina stared for a time longer than was appropriate before finally returning Ira’s smile and standing to receive a hug. “I am wonderful!” Celina replied, knowing her wavering voice must not be too convincing. “And you, I hear you are enjoying the city?” The two appeared as mere acquaintance, not lifelong friends, as Victoire herself surmised before being shooed away by her mistress. With the exit of Victoire, Celina ushered for Ira to take a seat opposite of her on the sofa.
The action of sitting was proceeded by a stretched silence where the two merely stared at each other. Celina began to feel uncomfortable, and not just because the sofa was hard like a stone, but because she had no idea what her glamorous friend could possibly want. You see, Celina had decided Ira must desire something, that was the only explanation for her visit that was reasonable.
“I hear you have a child now… I am happy for you.” Ira smiled sweetly for the second time, not sounding intrigued by the idea of Celina’s children at all. “You have heard correctly; your sources must be impeccable. Everett is nearly three and Arabella two.” Celina’s lips curved into a small smile, and it seemed as though she was thinking of her children, but yet the smile did not reach her eyes. In her voice there was a glimmer of resentment hidden under a guise of detachment. Ira picked up on this, but left no judgement, as she had no desire for children herself.
With the short conversation of Celina’s children ended, another silence followed. “The conditions are lovely today; would you not agree?” Ira asked. “Yes, lovely.” Celina replied. As a counterpart of instinct, both women attempted to fan away the heat, but both remained to sweat under the heavy layers of their gowns. They also shared looks of distaste on their faces now, as if silently contemplating the very unlovely weather. Abruptly, an unexpected knock sounded on the door. “Lady Carrington, I regret to interrupt, but may I have a word?” The door opened slightly to reveal an older woman. She was wearing an attire similar to the chamber maid’s, but her clothing was nicer quality in appearance. Celina blushed slightly, either at the interruption or at the sight of her nanny.
Quickly, Celina rose to her feet and walked towards the door, muttering apologies to Ira. “Just a moment.” Her voice was barely audible over the sound of a shrill factory whistle coming from the steel mill nearby. Celina returned not a minute later, looking a bit cross. “Care for a stroll?” Celina asked, without sitting back down. “I would like nothing more.” Ira smiled, getting to her feet.
The two women waited by the front door while the chamber maid fetched Celina’s parasol. Ira had a delicate black lace parasol on hand already, just for the occasion. Somewhere in the distance, a child’s wailing could be heard. Celina’s youngest child, Arabella, was not well behaved, and the Carrington’s had hired a nanny for the young one on three separate occasions annually since her birth. Celina rarely spent time with her daughter, and now she refused to meet her friend’s eye, feeling rather ashamed.
Victoire eventually returned, carrying a scarlet parasol, lace like Ira’s but decorated with pearls and emerald gems, a perfect match for her emerald gown. As they stepped out into the smoldering heat, the women unfurled their parasols. The Carrington estate was large, but Celina chose the hedge maze as a fine place for their excursion. Stretching over five acres of the estate, the maze was massive with hedges reaching towards the heavens, designed in a confusing fashion as to ensure the visitor would get lost with in. An entire section of the Carrington staff was dedicated to upkeep of the maze, as it was a rather large undertaking. For a reason unknown to many, the Carrington’s considered the maze one of their prized assets, one reason why Celina had chosen to show it to her friend.
The two women took their time in reaching the entrance of the maze nearest to the mansion, weighed down by heavy skirts and humidity. As they finally reached the entrance, the hedges loomed menacingly over them. Celina gestured for Ira to enter first, and though the maze belonged to Celina, Ira quickly became the guide, leading them both deeper and deeper into the maze. The hedges were so high that the sun did not reach the inside of the maze, making it hard to see. The heat was much worse inside the towering walls of greenery, slowly suffocating its inhabitants. Finally, after strolling in silence for a time, the women came upon a dead end. The dead end conveniently had an elegant stone bench that appeared like an object out of a fairy garden, just waiting to be sat upon. The two complied.
Sitting, Celina peered at Ira and Ira stared back. Both women looked a little mad now, the heat having melted the makeup on their faces and messed the up do’s once sitting so perfectly on both their heads. Now that they were without a doubt alone and isolated, Ira finally appeared ready to make her case. “Celina, dear, I am certain you have guessed my motives for coming hear were not just to catch up, have you not? You were always so bright, I remember well.” Ira inquired as her confident composure wavered slightly. “Yes, I had. Now will you get on with it, already?” Celina had not intended to snap, but her patience was wavering. Too much longer, and her husband would begin to inquire about her whereabouts. Celina had begun a dreadful affair with the stable boy, unintended truly, but her spouse was beginning to suspect nevertheless.
“Well, you see, I suppose I am in need of your help. I have committed what one might consider a crime. It is quite trivial, truly.” Ira’s confession did not surprise Celina much, Ira had always attracted trouble. One could even argue she seduced it. Then, Ira continued. “I ran into some trouble in London and, long story short, a person ended up dead.” Celina felt a sudden urge to cough. “What is it you are trying to confess, and how could it possibly involve me?” She inquired anxiously. “Oh fine! I am a murderess, not intended, but it happened nonetheless. Nothing more than a qualm between lovers gone wrong.” Nothing more? Celina gaped in horror. Ira was confessing that she had murdered someone as casually as if they were discussing children.
“Now, as for how this involves you, I require assistance. I am in a bit of trouble, and I need money to leave the country, quickly. I am thinking Paris, perhaps.” Ira stated her demands plainly and as if she was merely asking to borrow sugar. Celina had not the slightest idea how to reply, not the slightest idea.
Later in the evening, as Celina climbed under the duvet into the four-poster bed, her husband absent from his spot next to her, she contemplated the wild tale and request Ira had made of her. A part of her was repulsed at Ira’s confession, but a small part left from her youth thought it all sounded like quite a grand adventure. Thus, Celina had half a mind to turn Ira away when she arrived the next day for Celina’s decision, but another half a mind telling her this could be exactly what she desired. What if, as Ira ran away from the law, Celina ran away from her own law, the one binding her to a boring domesticity with a husband she did not love and children she did not want. Not to mention, Celina had other trouble. She had lost two children since Arabella and was beginning to wonder if she would ever conceive again. Also, there was the affair with Jamison and her husband’s growing suspicions. So, she pondered her thoughts while trying to ignore her daughter’s screams on a dreadfully long and warm summer’s night.
The next morning, Ira arrived before the sun had risen. Celina met her covertly by the front door, dressing in a modest beige gown and holding two suitcases in hand. Before the clock struck eight, both women had disappeared, along with a large amount of Mr. Carrington’s fortune. A man was left wifeless, and two children motherless. Celina Carrington and Ira Drogace were never seen or heard from again, although tales of two women’s outlandish adventures were spread throughout the European continent for a century.