xxxInside one of the compartments of the confessional, a deep, singsong voice went on:
"Father, I must confess... I abhor my sister. This morning she brought in flowers and my entire face turned red. I've been with her all my life, yet she still forgets that I'm allergic to chrysanthemums! She nearly killed me." The voice, at times nasally and hoarse, could only belong to Henry Ansell, whose boyish features made him look like a schoolboy underneath the dimly lit box. His cheekbones were like gothic arches beneath his sunken eyes. As a writer, he knew how to express himself simply and forwardly; as a man, he was callow and mundane, embodying, at times, the characters of his own creation.
xxxIf was as if he had no identity of his own. Perhaps, this was true: Henry and his sister -
The Ansell Twins - were constantly being defined by the other’s reputation. If one fell, so would the other.
xxxBut they had always stood together, through their misfortunes, trials, and even in their separations. Henry came to be known as the church’s longtime organ player, and his sister an esteemed member of the choir.
xxxThe confessional was a rustic fixture in the corner of the Brompton church, tucked away behind a pair of thick marble pillars that towered over the whole interior. In the ceiling, each set of pillars - six in all, three on one side and another three opposite - met to form flying buttresses. These arches gave the impression that the main corridor was longer than it actually was.
xxxHenry blew into a handkerchief, opened his thin-lipped mouth to speak again, but found himself sneezing into the wooden grille.
xxx“Bless you.” said the father, instinctively.
xxx“You really shouldn’t.” Another voice interjected, sharp and crisp through the wood. The priest slid down the panel of the other compartment; a click and a clasp filled the small chamber.
xxx"Nearly killed you. If I had succeeded, I would be at home writing your eulogy. Father, should it begin with 'he was an annoying, half-witted imbecile and I will miss him dearly,' or 'those weren't chrysanthemums, they were peonies’?" The woman quipped. It was Edith, the louder of the two. She was doe-eyed, fresh faced and youthful; her hands looked as if they haven’t done work at all, pallid and veinless. At times, she found herself saying more than intended: this alone has deterred more suitors that she could possibly count.
xxxMore than once, she had gone under the pretense that she was
Mrs. Ansell in order to evade an affectionate love letter or two. It was her innate stubbornness that gave her the audacity to once pen the line,
I can’t endure you for a minute, let alone a lifetime, to a certain Thomas in Essex.
xxxShe pursed her lips, then prodded the panel’s lattice woodwork with her forefinger. The priest looked from one to the other. From a distance, one could immediately discern their hair - a shade of brown that made their resemblance unmistakable: their upturned noses at once strange and endearing; even their clothes seemed to mirror their shared identity.
xxx“Here I thought you came by to say ‘ello,’ not to complain about each other. I’m gettin' too old for your bickering.” The Father’s annoyance was quick to turn into happy anticipation, as he knew what came next:
xxx"I did come to say hello!” They declared in unison.
xxx"Alright alright. Four ‘Hail Marys,’ both o' you.”
xxxThe two recited the words aloud, their voices overlapping.
...
xxxThe hansom came to a halt in front of the church doors. Its driver was a plump twentysomething man, his nose a bulbous marble that seemed to glisten in the light. Outside, the building appeared vacant and unoccupied; its gothic exterior casted an imperius shadow on the surrounding pavement. Nearby, a magnificent black Shire tapped on the trodden floor with its great hoof. It was a curious creature, always sniffing at this and that.
xxxA church bell rung high above slate roofs and storied buildings. Its sound imposed a sense of foreboding: flocks of birds scattered from the tower, then disappeared into the distance. An eerie stillness followed. Gradually, the tall rosewood doors opened.
xxxThe Twins emerged arm-in-arm from the inner corridor. Once they approached the hansom, Edith entered first, ignoring her brother’s extended hand. They sat in silence during the first stretch of the ride towards Kensington. The loud thumping of the horse’s gallop and creaking wooden wheels were the only sounds that filled the small compartment. Outside, the street was lined with fog-colored row houses, mirrored on either side. They seemed to go on and on, their only distinguishable features being the curtains behind each window.
xxx“I’m terrible at floral arrangements, you know.” Edith said, in an effort to fill the silence.
xxx“If you wanted to add a bit of color to the house, you could’ve just bought me a painting.”
xxxShe surmised that the lack of color in the house was due to Henry’s disinterest in decorating. His corner of the house was sparsely furnished; the only constant in their ever-changing arrangement of chairs and desks, amongst other things.
xxx“You’re too grounded, Henry.” The series of identical houses ended briefly, then a new set began, the color muddier than the last. He said nothing; a quiet admission of defeat.
“There is such thing. You need a bit of excitement in your life: something that will get your heart racing - and I don’t mean a woman.” A gothic statue came into view. She felt the same apprehension as a child when she first saw the imposing rosewood doors of the church: a sensation that began at the pit of her stomach and travelled along her nerves.
xxxAnd she thrived on it.
xxx“Stop!”
xxxThe horse whinnied as the driver yanked on its reins, putting an abrupt stop to the carriage. The Twins lurched forward and Edith bolted out the door, dragging her brother along.
xxx“We’ll be back.” She tugged onto the sleeve of his beige knee-length coat, then jerked to a halt in front of the great statue: it was of a woman, strange yet inviting. The door to the entrance was partly open, and one could see the backs of empty seats. Henry hid his own inward curiosity - there was something remarkable about an obscure theater - and for the meantime he allowed Edith to lead on.
"They're at it again, lassie."
The horse, to the hansom driver's surprise, nodded.
...
xxxThey entered slowly, as to not interrupt a rehearsal: a young woman stood center stage reciting the line:
“Foul spirit, retire!” in a myriad of emotions. She didn't notice the Twins until they neared the apron.
xxx“He’s through there.” The woman languidly pointed to one side of the theater.
xxx“Who?” She looked from one to the other, then replied:
xxx“Someone came to see Mr. Rheinfeldt earlier. I assume you’re here to do the same.”
xxx“Rhein...?”
xxxEdith elbowed her brother in the chest.
“Yes, he’s been expecting us.”
xxxThe two glanced at each other, then prepared to meet Rheinfeldt, a man whom they both knew nothing about. For Edith, it was an opportunity to perform beyond the confines of the church: the theater was a welcome change of scenery. It evoked an air of gothic mystery that undoubtedly drew them both. They wandered through a poorly lit area of the theater, its wooden framework barely visible on the walls and ceilings. When they were no longer within earshot of the stage, Henry began:
xxx“We know nothing about this Rheinfeldt fellow. He could be the theater ghost, for all we know.” He kept his voice down, in case it were true.
xxxEdith stood in front of him, her childlike happiness infectious.
“Oh hush. This could be our chance to perform on a stage, Henry! Tell me that is not what you’ve been dreaming of.”
xxx“That is your dream, sister. Not mine.” A faint barking came from the end of the corridor nearby. They followed it together.
xxxThe dog’s dainty ears perked up once they came near it. It tilted its small head in confusion, but quickly assumed a defensive stance and growled at them both. Not far off, a woman stood by the door to what they assumed to be Rheinfeldt’s room. Henry could only make out a pale hand, with slender fingers and sharpened nails.
xxx“Are you waiting for Mr. Rheinfeldt as well?” They asked, their eyes still fixed on the woman’s ghastly fingers.
100
100
50
Eternal Rebellion rolled 4 20-sided dice:
7, 13, 9, 9
Total: 38 (4-80)
