Of Moths and Butterflies Read online

  Table of Contents

  What others are saying

  Part one

  Chapter one

  Chapter two

  Chapter three

  Chapter four

  Chapter five

  Chapter six

  Chapter seven

  Chapter eight

  Chapter nine

  Chapter ten

  Chapter eleven

  Chapter twelve

  Chapter thirteen

  Chapter fourteen

  Chapter fifteen

  Chapter sixteen

  Chapter seventeen

  Chapter eighteen

  Chapter nineteen

  Chapter twenty

  Chapter twenty-one

  Chapter twenty-two

  Chapter twenty-three

  Chapter twenty-four

  Chapter twenty-five

  Chapter twenty-six

  Chapter twenty-seven

  Chapter twenty-eight

  Chapter twenty-nine

  Chapter thirty

  Chapter thirty-one

  Chapter thirty-two

  Chapter thirty-three

  Chapter thirty-four

  Part two

  Chapter thirty-five

  Chapter thirty-six

  Chapter thirty-seven

  Chapter thirty-eight

  Chapter thirty-nine

  Chapter forty

  Chapter forty-one

  Chapter forty-two

  Chapter forty-three

  Chapter forty-four

  Chapter forty-five

  Chapter forty-six

  Chapter forty-seven

  Chapter forty-eight

  Chapter forty-nine

  Chapter fifty

  Chapter fifty-one

  Chapter fifty-two

  Chapter fifty-three

  Chapter fifty-four

  Chapter fifty-five

  Chapter fifty-six

  Chapter fifty-seven

  Chapter fifty-eight

  Chapter fifty-nine

  Chapter sixty

  Chapter sixty-one

  Chapter sixty-two

  Chapter sixty-three

  Chapter sixty-four

  Chapter sixty-five

  Chapter sixty-six

  Chapter sixty-seven

  Chapter sixty-eight

  Chapter sixty-nine

  Chapter seventy

  Chapter seventy-one

  Chapter seventy-two

  Chapter seventy-three

  Chapter seventy-four

  Chapter seventy-five

  About the Author

  About the Illustrator

  Copyright info

  What others are saying

  about

  Of Moths & Butterflies

  “A lovely, haunting story. The first paragraph drew me in and I could not stop. The author’s writing is superb, like a river flowing through a beautiful landscape that is sometimes light, sometimes dark and threatening. A gorgeous book!”

  Susanne O’Leary, author of A Woman’s Place

  ~

  “V.R. Christensen’s work reminds one of literature from the turn of the century, when masterful writers gave their characters emotional gestures and restrained dialogue. A tremendous accomplishment for a contemporary writer.”

  Janie Bill, author

  ~

  “What really makes this work is the author’s understanding of social attitudes in the 19th century. An enjoyable read!”

  N. Gemini Sasson, author of Isabeau: A Novel of Queen Isabella and Sir Roger Mortimer

  ~

  “Poor Imogen, cursed with money. All the things that money does to a family, the paradoxes of having and not having, of how money ruins the best of intentions, and the author combines all this with writing of the highest quality.”

  Jeff Blackmer, author of Draegnstoen and Highland King

  ~

  “What scandalous mystery, what delicately hinted corruption wrought behind closed doors! The dialogue flows effortlessly, drawing the reader into the times. Of Moths and Butterflies is masterful for its genre!”

  Hawaii­based mystery author, Toby Neal

  Author of

  Cry of the Peacock and Gods and Monsters

  For information about these and other works please visit www.vrchristensen.com

  Captive Press Publishing

  Copyright 2011 by V.R. Christensen

  Kindle Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

  Cover design by V.R. Christensen and Captive Press. Please contact either party for copyright info, or see the copyright info page at the end of this book. Interior book layout formatting by V.R. Christensen and Captive Press. Illustrations by B. Lloyd. For more information about her, visit her website or see the About the Artist page. For all other citations regarding quotations and images used in the creation of this book, please see the copyright info page.

  Table of Contents

  Front Matter

  Words in praise of Of Moths and Butterflies

  Title page

  Copyright page

  Part one

  Chapter One - Some terrible news

  Chapter Two - Imogen makes a decision

  Chapter Three - The runaway

  Chapter Four - Gina Shaw

  Chapter Five - Maid of all work

  Chapter Six - Death notice

  Chapter Seven - Worship

  Chapter Eight - An introduction, of sorts

  Chapter Nine - Miles Wyndham

  Chapter Ten - A compromising situation

  Chapter Eleven - The mural

  Chapter Twelve - Circuses and insects

  Chapter Thirteen - Overheard

  Chapter Fourteen - Found?

  Chapter Fifteen - Friends in unexpected places

  Chapter Sixteen - A confession

  Chapter Seventeen - Change of plans

  Chapter Eighteen - Psyche

  Chapter Nineteen - An insect collection

  Chapter Twenty - The Blue Morpho

  Chapter Twenty- one - Found!

  Chapter Twenty-two - Returned to London

  Chapter Twenty-three - Society

  Chapter Twenty-four - Common acquaintances

  Chapter Twenty-five - An interview

  Chapter Twenty-six - A proposal of marriage

  Chapter Twenty-seven - Weakness

  Chapter Twenty-eight - Arrangements

  Chapter Twenty-nine - Remorse

  Chapter Thirty - A request

  Chapter Thirty-one - Announcements

  Chapter Thirty-two - Rebuked

  Chapter Thirty-three - Marriage morning

  Chapter Thirty-four - Vows

  Part two

  Chapter Thirty-five - The mistress of Wrencross Abbey

  Chapter Thirty-six - Occupation

  Chapter Thirty-seven - An accident

  Chapter Thirty-eight - Promises

  Chapter Thirty-nine - Demands

  Chapter Forty - Counsel and a warning

  Chapter Forty-one - A cottage scene

  Chapter Forty-two - Responsibilities

  Chapter Forty-three - Discoveries

  Chapter Forty-four - Interrupted

  Chapter Forty-five - Nightmares

  Chapter Forty-six - Guests expected and unexpected.

  Chapter Forty-seven - Imogen states her objections

  Chapter Forty-eight - More counsel

  Chapter Forty-nine - Incompatible

  Chapter Fifty - Mrs. Barton advises

  Chapter Fifty-one - Preparations

  Chapter Fifty-two - An intruder

  Chapter Fifty-three - The soli
citor

  Chapter Fifty-four - Mrs. Montegue

  Chapter Fifty-five - Tried and tested

  Chapter Fifty-six - In Ethne’s room

  Chapter Fifty-seven - Home

  Chapter Fifty-eight - Truly stated

  Chapter Fifty-nine - Family gatherings

  Chapter Sixty - Precautions

  Chapter Sixty-one - Rivalry

  Chapter Sixty-two - An agreement

  Chapter Sixty-three - Solace found

  Chapter Sixty-four - An evening’s amusements

  Chapter Sixty-five - An uninvited guest

  Chapter Sixty-six - A grim scene

  Chapter Sixty-seven - Archer makes a decision

  Chapter Sixty-eight - Conflagration

  Chapter Sixty-nine - Injuries

  Chapter Seventy - The truth

  Chapter Seventy-one - Sacrifice

  Chapter Seventy-two - Presumption

  Chapter Seventy-three - Set free

  Chapter Seventy-four - Captured

  Chapter Seventy-five - Endings and beginnings

  Illustrations

  Illustration one - Frontispiece one, or Imogen contrite

  Illustration two - From his portfolio he withdrew several documents

  Illustration three - He placed himself beside the churchyard gate

  Illustration four - She was seated on the floor

  Illustration five - She returned to the Abbey

  Illustration six - Aren’t you the fine gentleman this evening

  Illustration seven - She gazed upon the insect-strewn walls

  Illustration eight - The more the room filled, the more alone she felt

  Illustration nine - The enlightenment she sought was not to be had

  Illustration ten - He waited for her answer

  Illustration eleven - Frontispiece two

  Illustration twelve - Not too young to understand

  Illustration thirteen - A chill came over her

  Illustration fourteen - And you play, too

  Illustration fifteen - Her behaviour seemed to auger some dark association

  Illustration sixteen - There was a chance, albeit a small one

  Illustration seventeen - They were to the second landing when the whispering began

  Illustration eighteen - She began gathering up the broken glass

  Illustration nineteen - She was standing at the mirror when she heard the knock

  Illustration twenty - Not sleeping, no

  Illustration twenty-one - She opened the window

  Illustration twenty-two - They made their way home

  About the Author

  About the Illustrator

  Part one

  People have very little idea how great are the injuries which imprudence draws on them, or they would not despise this homely virtue. Especially for young women is prudence required in the conduct of love affairs. There is no end to the tale of misery we could tell resulting from its want. Marriage would not be the lottery it is, if girls would exercise a little prudence. They should never engage themselves to a man of whom they know nothing—the past of their future husband ought to be clear to them.

  Laura. Valentine, The Young Woman's Book

  Chapter one

  October 1881

  ITH EACH CREAK in the floorboards above, Imogen’s nerves tensed. She wanted to sleep, needed to. The fire in the parlour had gone out, but it wasn’t a particularly cold night, and the warm glare of firelight seemed too harsh an interruption to the soothing darkness.

  Again, the footsteps overhead. The doctor had been upstairs for hours now and this late night vigil did not bode well. If the man should die, she might at last have the liberty she’d so long desired. But where would she go? How would she live? Yet there were concerns more immediately pressing. The shameful circumstances of her life here, the events which had led up to the tragic finale of the evening, these secrets must come to light. Perhaps the doctor was hearing of them now.

  It had not been her intention to hurt him. She had only meant to stand up to her uncle. She had reached her limit and she could take no more. She wanted the torment to end, the daily battle to hold onto the last vestiges of self-respect that still remained to her. But now she sat in this limbo between freedom and ruin. If he lived, could she leave him? If he died could she stay? Her conflicting and tumultuous emotions betrayed themselves only in her occupation of busily fingering the fringe of her paisley shawl. Out of date, it was her mother’s and she wore it often. She wore it for comfort.

  A knock at the parlour door startled her from her meditations. Mary entered, followed closely by the doctor. He paused a moment before crossing the threshold, his frame a black silhouette against the lights that burned in the hall.

  Imogen sat up, pulling her shawl more tightly around her.

  “Your uncle requests his solicitor, Miss Everard.”

  Silently she nodded and arose. She crossed to the writing desk, where she sat down to compose the line or two required. She blotted and sealed the message, then gave the direction for its delivery.

  The doctor returned to his patient, leaving her once more to her dark thoughts, interrupted only by the creaks and groans of a centuries-old house and by the hall clock as it marked off, second by agonising second, the passing of time. And of one man’s life.

  It was not an hour later when she heard the doorbell ring, followed by the sound of voices. The doctor and the lawyer held a brief and hushed conference before climbing the flight of stairs to her uncle’s rooms. What secrets were being relayed in those indistinct and earnestly offered words? How many more must know before this would all be over? Would it ever be over? She closed her eyes upon the unanswerable question. And waited.

  * * *

  A pale autumn sun was just beginning to rise when the gentlemen returned downstairs with the news. The doctor spoke kindly before taking his leave, offering his heartfelt condolences and advising Imogen to get some much needed rest.

  The lawyer remained.

  A man of imposing stature and stern demeanour, Mr. Watts might be called intimidating by some. For many years he had been in her uncle’s service, and in that time he had become Mr. Everard’s confidant. Perhaps not a friend, but an advisor and a bearer of his secrets—and now, presumably, of her own as well.

  “You have aunts,” he began without preface.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’ll go to them. They’ll take you.” It was as much a question as a statement.

  “Yes, of course. But–” She hesitated to say more.

  “You don’t wish to go?”

  She averted her gaze, unable to answer.

  “Have you alternatives?”

  “No, sir, not that I can see.”

  The lawyer leaned back in his chair. “You have a cousin. One in particular, I think. Your aunt’s nephew by marriage. Is that not a possibility?”

  For a woman in her position, alone, without resources, with hardly a character to speak of, marriage was the only conceivable choice. Still… “I’m not sure it is, sir. Not just at present.”

  Another long silence followed as he examined her carefully. At last he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew an envelope.

  “If you’ll be so good as to examine this, Miss Everard,” he said. “I’ll return in a few hours’ time. We can discuss matters in further detail then.”

  Imogen looked at the letter but did not take it from him. Patiently, he laid it on the table before rising to gather up his coat and hat.

  “I’ll show myself out,” he said.

  Imogen saw him as far as the drawing room door, where he turned once more to speak.

  “I’ve already sent word to the family. You can leave the formalities to me.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she answered, relieved to know that these burdens, particularly that of informing her aunts of their brother’s death, would not be hers.

  “Get some rest if you can,” he said, and turning, shook his head before shutti
ng the door behind him.

  Rest? There was no rest to be had here. Not with her uncle lying upstairs. Not with the family coming any hour now.

  The sight of the letter still lying on the table reminded her that she had an obligation to read it. She took it up but could hardly bring herself to break the seal. She placed herself in one corner of the sofa and smoothed the document across her lap. And read. Yet it took some doing to convince herself that the words she saw were the words that had truly been written.

  So he had thought of her, after all. Ten years under his roof and now he regretted. Now he wished to do something for her. In disbelief she stared into the newly resurrected flames. If only they could offer some answer as to what she ought to do.

  “You look an absolute wreck, Imogen.”

  She awoke to the sound of the familiar voice and, seeing him, arose to greet her cousin. Roger placed a kiss on each cheek and stood back to look her over more studiously. Tears had gathered by now. She felt the prick of them, but would not allow them to spill over.

  “Are you really so very sorry?”

  “I’m not inhuman, after all. He raised me, provided for me since...”

  Roger reached out to her, but she drew away and returned to her place on the sofa.

  “They’re here, then?” she asked him. “My aunts have come?”

  He sighed in frustration. “I came ahead of them.”

  “I’m so glad,” she said with a look of honest relief. “Yours is the only face I can bear to look at just now.”

  He smiled and his manner relaxed once more. “I was uncertain whether I should come, you know.”

  “Why should that be?”

  “Well,” he paused and looked at her pointedly. “You’ve been rather unpredictable of late.”

  “Have I?” she asked and looked away.

  “Well, yes, if you want to know.”

  She knew it was true. Since the day, nearly three months ago, when she had quite suddenly come to realise the nature of her value to her uncle, and to the gentlemen who came to borrow money from him, she had begun to see the world in a very different light. She understood now what dangers lurked behind the seemingly innocent smiles and glances offered between a man and a woman, the friendly touch of a hand on her arm. How quickly these turn into something more, crossing the lines of propriety when no obstacles are set in place to check them. To such things, her uncle had turned a blind eye. If it meant keeping business then who was he to deny a man some little reward for his trouble?