The Bride (short story)

This is a short story which I wrote in 2010. It’s a murder mystery. I know my blog is a fashion blog, but I may as well publish other writing pieces!

The Bride

A wedding is a wonderful, beautiful and memorable occasion. It is a celebration of love and joy and the joining of two destinies forever. I used to have dreams of my own wedding day, all white and blissful. But I must confess that I have been somewhat deterred by the last experience I had of a wedding. Although it was not the actual ceremony itself which I found disturbing, as I will explain later, but more the complications of love and jealousy, and how easily people can get these feelings confused.

I suppose I could begin this strange and mysterious tale the traditional way, by introducing the traditional warm summer day, then steadily starting to introduce the traditional happy-ending tale. But the miserable fact is, this isn’t a traditional story and whether or not it has a happy ending depends on your way of looking at life. So I will start simply.

For those of you who do not know of me and my profession, I am LuAnn Summers and I am the Personal Assistant to Kathryn Jones. Kathryn is a highly dedicated businesswoman, who can sometimes be overly keen and obsessive over her responsibilities as Executive Editor of the country’s leading newspaper, the London Telegraph. I help her run things smoothly and wherever she goes, I go. We are best friends and she is the glue that holds me together, and she would say the same about me. My family have negative opinions of my career and relationship with Kathryn. They think she manipulates me and forces me to do whatever she asks. But this isn’t about what my family think of me, it’s about a young couple and the physical and emotional barriers that they attempt to cross to be together.

It was the 15^th May 1918 and Kathryn and I had arrived in Appleby, Shropshire. Three weeks before, we had received an invitation to the wedding of Kathryn’s old school friend, Edward Fountain. His wife to be was Sophia Blooming, a young lady who was the heir to a large amount of money. The wedding was to take place on the Sunday, so we had travelled by train up from London on the Saturday morning and after a long, tiresome journey, we were extremely grateful to retire to our beds in our Victorian hotel room.

“LuAnn, I think I’ll take a nap, if that’s alright?” asked Kathryn, yawning. I smiled and nodded; “Sure. I’m off to the lobby anyway to ask for extra pillows, I won’t be long.” I headed down to the hotel entrance and took my place in the short queue for the front desk. I was casually glancing round the hotel lobby when something muttered by the man in front of me suddenly caught my attention. “...here to speak with Ms. Kathryn Jones about something...” I tapped the man on the shoulder and he slowly turned towards me. He was tall and dark haired, but his skin was the colour of a winter storm cloud, white but tinged with grey. His features were twisted with pain and anxiety and when he had spoken to the young receptionist; his voice had been hoarse and trembling. I glanced down and noticed his hands were clasped together and shaking. I swallowed and snapped my eyes up to his face. “Excuse me Sir. I don’t wish to be rude but I am Kathryn’s assistant. Can I help you?” Whilst I spoke I tried to make polite eye contact, but his eyes seemed to be unable to lift from focusing on the tiled lobby floor. “Take me to her,” he whispered slowly, with the same hoarse voice, as if he had been screaming for hours, “I must see her. Now.” I tried to respond but his insistent words had left me speechless. It was quite unheard of for a gentleman to speak to a lady with such harshness in his tone! I opened and closed my mouth, quite unlike a little fish trapped in the vast ocean, before deciding it was best just to do as he asked.

Perhaps it was due to the shock of the appearance and tone of voice of this young man, but as we walked up the several flights of stairs, I realised that I had not asked the man his name. I glanced at him again, and as soon as I did so, any ideas I had about asking his name quickly crumbled. He seemed to have a permanent frown and he was taking the steps one by one, as if each one was another step towards his death. What could be the cause of his evident pain?

Kathryn was sleeping, but as soon as I opened the door, she sat bold upright on the large sofa and gasped when she saw my new acquaintance. I didn’t even get the chance to tell Kathryn that this man (whoever he was) wanted to see her. She ran to him with arms outstretched and a panicked look on her usually smiling face. “Oh my goodness! Edward! I wasn’t expecting you!” I frowned. I was certain that Edward was the name of the bridegroom. If this was Edward then why was he looking so dismal the night before his wedding?

Five minutes later, I sank down onto the sofa as Kathryn closed the door with shaking hands. She sat down next to me and together we sat, silent, listening to the fading footsteps of Edward as he walked down the hotel stair case. I let out a long, painful sigh. “This is bad,” I whispered to Kathryn, who seemed to be counting on her hands, “Who would do that?” No response. “Kathryn? What are you counting?” She glanced up with irritated confusion, as if she was hearing me for the first time and as if I was interrupting something very important. “I’m counting how many hours we have." I waited for more. Kathryn held my stare with expressionless eyes. I had seen this look before, and although she wasn’t giving much away in the way of emotions, inside, she was bubbling with rage and anger. And suddenly I realised why. I thought back a few minutes and replayed the conversation with Edward again in my head. Kathryn had hugged his stiff, motionless body, before realising his face was stricken with pain. She had gone through all the obvious questions about illnesses and families, but then she stopped and gasped. “Oh no. No. No! No?” At this point I was obviously confused and worried but also hoping Kathryn would stop doing a parrot impression sometime soon! Kathryn finally stopped stammering and gasped again, as Edward stood staring at the floor, as if he were physically unable to move. “Oh no,” said Kathryn slowly “It’s something to do with the wedding isn’t it? Oh Edward...” Then we both looked at each other awkwardly and blurted out at the exact same moment; “Have you got cold feet?” For the first time, Edward slowly lifted his gloomy head and looked Kathryn in the eye. “No. I have no reason to have cold feet,” Kathryn raised an eyebrow as Edward turned away from us and began walking to the door, “She is dead. There will be no wedding tomorrow. You can both go home.” Kathryn’s mouth fell open in shock before she started to follow Edward; “But Ed, how and why?” He did not reply. He did not tell us how. He did not tell us why. He did not even say goodbye. He just left.

As I sat and thought about the incident, I realised why Kathryn was angry. She had told me prior to our departure from London that Edward had been her best friend all through her school years. If you have a strong friendship with someone, you’re likely to be very angry when they are upset. I looked over at Kathryn who was now writing furiously on a piece of paper. I cleared my throat and she looked up. “Sorry LuAnn. I am very angry. And I am taking it upon myself to find the person who is causing pain to my friend Edward.” She went back to writing and I replied; “But it is the death of Sophia that causes pain to Edward, and I do not think you can bring her back to life.” Kathryn did not hesitate for a second.

“But I must find the person who killed her.”

Kathryn did not speak again for several hours, not that I tried to make conversation with her. I have known her long enough to realise that when she is deep in thought, she isn’t quite herself and you’d be better off talking to a brick wall. But I was itching to know why, 2 hours later, we were both being driven out of Appleby in a cab. As I gazed out of the window at the meadows passing by, I found myself thinking about what Kathryn had said. It was true, a girl of Sophia’s age did not just drop down dead. But maybe she had been ill? I plucked up the necessary courage to ask Kathryn this question, to which she answered blankly; “Edward wrote to me often. He told me she was a well girl. Never ill.” I resumed the fascinating activity of watching the fields flashed by, as I considered the other options. If she was not ill then the only other way she could have died would have been murder or suicide. But she was a very rich girl who had everything she wanted. And surely a girl would be immensely happy the day before her wedding? So suicide was probably unthinkable to her. Suddenly I gasped. I remembered something else that Edward had mentioned, about a man called Davy. He had been leaving the apartment and been muttering; “Davy. I hate that Davy!” How could I have forgotten that significant detail? I glanced at Kathryn, who was smirking at me. “Worked it out LuAnn? We are going to Sophia’s house to find out about this Davy boy!”

Sophia had been a young lady who was very educated, and lived with her father, a high class man who was known locally for being a little on the scary side. Their house was in the middle of Oldbridge, a village right near the Welsh border, and we arrived there on Sunday morning. It was an huge, daunting house, and I felt butterflies when Kathryn knocked firmly on the door. We waited for a few minutes, after which Kathryn fetched an axe from the woodcutting shed. I stared at her. “Katy, what...what.....WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” I screamed as Kathryn began smashing the door violently with the axe! Once she had made a large enough hole, she took my hand and dragged me through and into the house. It was clean but a table had been knocked over in the hall and a vase of flowers lay smashed on the floor. “The father left in a rush to arrange a funeral. We have all day.” I didn’t even bother to ask her how she knew this, I just had to put a huge amount of trust in her.

Now I’ll pause at this point because as you may have gathered, I am a fairly forgetful person. And one small detail I forgot to mention is that as well as being Executive Editor of the London Telegraph, Kathryn is responsible for the Crime section and she often works with the police on major crimes in London. She knows all about murder, theft, fraud and much more. Hence the reason she took it upon herself to find out who killed her best friend’s wife-to-be. But she sometimes rushes into things like this without checking the details first...

Kathryn knew what she was looking for and we didn’t even look around downstairs. We ascended the traditional spiral staircase and opened the first door. We walked into a well-lit room which had prettily painted walls and a sewing machine, along with shelves of books about dressmaking and literature. Kathryn wasted no time in looking round the room. She delved into the large pocket of an apron hanging on the door and triumphantly pulled out a small black book. I walked over and looked over her shoulder, which wasn’t difficult considering she is only five foot two and I am five foot seven. I would like to say that this little black book held all the answers, and that we could immediately frame the murderer and Edward was cured of his crushing pain and sadness. But unfortunately that is not true. But the little black book did hold some of the answers. It was Sophia Blooming’s diary and when we opened it we skipped straight to the pages written for the last couple of months. We found out that the marriage had been arranged by Sophia’s father because the man that she was in love with was not rich or in a good occupation. And guess what the name of the man she loved was? Davy Carter. We read on...

13^th May 1918

Dear Diary;

The wedding is in only 3 days away. I don’t want to get married to him. He seems nice but underneath it all he has a vicious temper and he can be very maliciously spoken! Whereas Davy? He is not a liar and he is always himself. There are no hidden secrets with him and I love him so much. Edward knows nothing of our secret meetings, but he has met Davy. I introduced him as my friend. Edward told me that Davy hated me and hated him. But he must be lying.

Sophia x

14^th May 1918

Dear Diary;

Edward and I have had another argument. It was because Edward found a piece of paper belonging to me when he came for a meal with my father. I had made travel notes on it, details of a cottage that was for sale in Norfolk. He saw it and assumed that this cottage was for us to live in together. He told me he was happy because he had always wanted to live in Norfolk. Later that night we began arguing and in my rage, I accused him of lying. I said “The only reason you want us to marry is so that you can have the house in Norfolk and all my money! But the house isn’t for you. It’s for me and Davy when we run away together!” I didn’t mean to say it, because I don’t even know if we will run away together, but it made no difference. Edward was livid and said that Davy was scheming to ruin our marriage. This is not true, but the wedding’s on Sunday and I must see Davy one last time to decide the details of our escape. Father is out tonight so Davy is coming to see me at home at eleven o’clock, after I get back from church. I love him.

Sophia x

Kathryn and I finished reading and looked at the page after this diary entry. There was a detailed and artistically flawless drawing of a young man. He was very tall and handsome and underneath, Sophia had written the words; My Davy. Forever. There were many pages after that, but they were all blank. “That was Sophia’s last diary entry.” I thought aloud and Kathryn nodded. “It seems that Sophia was planning to meet with her killer, Davy, here last night. He must have killed her here...in this house.” I gulped and automatically looked behind me, to be sure that there weren’t any murderers watching us. Although we knew the house was empty, we were whispering and as we walked into the sitting room, we were trying to be silent. I whispered to Kathryn; “When we open this door, we will find the dead body of the bride. Are you sure you want to?” Kathryn bit her lip and nodded. “For Edward.” Gently, Kathryn pushed open the door and we held hands as we stepped inside. It was pitch black, so I struck a match to light my lamp. As soon as the match touched the lamp, the room was flooded with light. As soon as the room was flooded with light, the room was flooded with the sound of a young girl’s bloodcurdling scream.

A few seconds later, Kathryn lay on the floor next to me, unconscious from shock. I stood motionless staring at what lay before me, the piercing noise of Kathryn’s scream ringing in my ears. I was speechless, every piece of happiness knocked out of me as I looked at the dead body that lay at my feet. Kathryn came around and stared up at me; “LuAnn. I don’t believe what I am seeing here. Am I dreaming?” I looked at the body and pinched myself. Still unable to speak, I shook my head. I knelt down next to Kathryn and looked at the body of Edward Fountain that lay before me. There was not a trace of blood on him, not a single scratch. But there was a trickle of liquid near his mouth, and a smashed glass lay near his hand with a note. “I’ll kill that Davy Carter. I’ll kill him!” screamed Kathryn as she looked at the body of her school friend. I swallowed and turned to her, my heart beating like a drum. “Kathryn...” I stammered, my voice low and trembling, “I think someone beat you to it. Davy’s already dead.” I pointed across the room, where, sure enough, the body of a young man lay. His features exactly matched the drawing from Sophia’s diary. Kathryn walked over to the body and frowned. He was unharmed apart from a trickle of liquid near his mouth too. Kathryn cautiously leaned over and sniffed the liquid, then pulled back quickly, coughing. “Poison. They were both poisoned.” I was about to ask Kathryn where the body of Sophia was when we were interrupted by the sound of a girl crying. I froze in fear. Kathryn raised one eyebrow before calling out “Good morning Miss Blooming. Come to the sitting room. You have company, I’m afraid.”

Later that night, after hours of discussions and tears, we were at the police station, handing in our reports about the deaths of Davy Carter and Edward Fountain. Sophia Blooming gave me a small smile, and I looked at her pretty tear-stained face. “Well. I suppose that’s done and dusted then, isn’t it.” I nodded and looked at Kathryn, who was tearing up a picture of herself and Edward playing together as children.

You may be wondering how I managed to get my information wrong and tell you that Sophia was dead when she was clearly not. But we were only going by what Edward had told us. And he hadn’t told us a lot. Mainly, he hadn’t told us that he was not asking Kathryn to find out who killed Sophia, because he knew. When he came to us, he knew that Sophia would die, so it was perfectly acceptable to call off the wedding, saying that she was already dead. But in fact, he himself had followed Sophia out of the church after her evening Mass, and smuggled her into the tiny cellar of his home, where he had tied her up and left her there to die. He was the murderer! But even through her tears, Sophia told us how she had screamed for help until eventually a maid next door came and let her free. But whilst Sophia had been tied up, Edward had made his way to her house, to wait for the smitten Davy to arrive. He knew it wouldn’t be long because he had already read Sophia’s diary, which he found in the pocket of the apron he took from her. Edward left a glass of poison for Davy, with a note beside it, which said; My Davy. Forever. Drink this wine to toast our happiness. I love you. We found this note in the house and Sophia told us that she knew it was Edward’s writing, which looked nothing like her own. That was probably why Davy did not drink the “wine” when he arrived. Sophia then told us that she had hidden herself in the attic and listened, terrified, as Edward told Davy that she was dead. She told me and Kathryn that she had wanted to run to Davy, and tell him that she was fine, but she feared that Edward would kill her. So instead, she cried silently as Davy, who was heartbroken and distraught about the “death” of his beautiful Sophia, drank the poison, screamed and fell to the floor with a thud. Sophia told us that she had then listened in pain as Edward muttered to himself that he couldn’t live in prison for two murders, that he was worthless and that he too should die. She had cried as she listened from the attic, whilst below her, Edward drank his own poison and dropped down dead next to Davy.

Whilst Sophia told us the whole story, we sat in disbelief, staring at one another. We did not speak. We did not move. Sophia told us how Davy had never done a thing wrong, and that she loved him with everything inside her, but when Edward found out about this, he wanted to kill them both. “So, Edward loved you?” I asked Sophia slowly, whilst I thought about Edward’s motives. “No,” she replied sadly “Edward did not love me. He used to swear at me and he was rude and inconsiderate. No, I believe he was in love with the money I will inherit once my father leaves this world.” I gasped and nodded. It made sense. Edward didn’t want Sophia’s money going to Davy, the man he hated. And now that she wanted to run away with Davy, Edward knew that killing her was the only option. That way, all the inheritance money would go to him, her husband-to-be. Simple. Or so he had thought...

I handed my form to the police officer slowly, making sure I had written a false name on the top. Kathryn told me that she didn’t want to be bombarded with fan letters once the newspapers published the story. I looked at Sophia, who was sitting on a bench outside the police station, still crying and whispering Davy’s name over and over.

I’m going to take this opportunity to say that Sophia never got over her heartbreak. She cried for the rest of her days, saying Davy’s name over and over again. She didn’t move the bodies from her sitting room, but she would go and look at Davy’s face every day. Well...maybe Sophia slowly got better and was happy again and everything I just said was made up...but maybe it wasn’t. As this isn’t a traditional story, you will never know what happens at the end. And neither will I.