Preys and Predator Part II; the monster and witches' Chapter 41

 

41.

The villagers all turned up to look for Wallace. He was declared missing after his axe was found at the creek. There were his clothes and one other frock that belonged to a lady. It ran off speculations, and Laurel, the churchgoing lady, was taking it lying down. She went on rounds, calling upon the other Christian-loving folks to rally with her, and be damned that this village needs to be cleansed. The assembled mob went to the taverns and whatever hellholes their men may have patronized and demanded ‘retribution.’. The scenes were chaotic, and the chief constable had to wire for assistance from the city. Three days and nights of retribution came to a solemn end with the arrival of the army; Tommy Atkins they were nicknamed.

“Sergeant O’Reilly, Barnsley O’Reilly. Suffolk 2nd Infantry, sir.” The non-commissioned officer stood at attention and saluted the chief constable with the left hand. The infantry wore scarlet coatees or tailless jackets, with greatcoats for cold weather. A white cotton dress was used for summer wear with the greyish-blue trousers. The tapering "Albert" shako, with peaks both fore and aft, was adopted. The infantry was armed with the Brown Bess musket, essentially the same weapon the Army had used, the Brunswick Rifle, which was first adopted in 1836.

“We were assigned by the regiment command to assist here, Sir.” Sergeant O’Reilly sported a tall frame and sideburns that reached the thick moustache on his upper lip.

“I have with me twenty of my best here.” The sergeant stepped aside to display his men. “Fine, lots of lads.”

“Good, Sergeant. I am Chief Constable Lestrade. Here is my aide, Constable Watson. I need your men to patrol the village and stop the mobs from dragging any ladies they may think are vixens.” The Chief Constable had sought refuge at the church, missing the priest. “Bring those poor ladies here to the shelter.”

“And men too. Poor sods who were mistakenly blamed.”

The sergeant saluted and then organized his men into four groups of five. Just as they were to march off, the Chief Constable asked the sergeant to send one group to the Frankenstein’s mansion down the road.

“You cannot miss it. They are a mob there, and they are held back by the Frankenstein household. Shots were fired, but I have no reports of casualties.” The Chief Constable sighed. Bloody idiots could have been killed and roasted in the furnace for all he cared.

“And do take care not to harm a Mrs. Muriel. You cannot miss her at all. She will be the one with the revolver.”

“Permission to take drastic action, sir?” The sergeant’s lips twitched.

“None whatsoever unless you are shot at. Please restrain your men. I valued lives, and we have lost three to the mobs. I will bring them to justice.” The Chief Constable sighed. “Monsters they were.”

“Sir!” The sergeant saluted and redirected the group led by Private, or Toms, as he preferred to be called.

“Matthew!” Sergeant O’Reilly likes the man. The name of Matthew is traditionally regarded as one of the twelve apostles of Jesus and the author of the Gospel of Matthew, one of the four gospels in the New Testament, which recounts the life and teachings of Jesus.  That Matthew, John Matthew was his full name, was a good man; a soldier often enlisted after being plied with drink by a recruiting sergeant in a pub. The sergeant denied all of that.

“Sir, he accepted the "Queen's shilling" and was given twenty-four to ninety-six hours to reconsider. He did not reconsider.”

Matthew could not then, for he was drunk, and told by Lois that he was hunted by her husband. He left the cottage and found himself escorted to the recruitment tent.

“Son, your avenue from retribution is to be in the infantry.” That was how Matthew took the oath of allegiance before a magistrate.

“God and…… Queen saved you, son.” Matthew was told. “Now button up your coatee.”

God and Queen did not save him from the humiliation; the ladies of the Theology Society then gathered outside the mansion.

“Son, when did your mama let you wean off from her milk?”

“I can tell you still wet the bedding nightly. The poor boy needs his breeches washed. I could smell him a mile away.”

“Hail, Mother Mary. They sent us boys to do the man’s job.”

Private “Tom” Matthew stood his guard there. He had with him four others; one was Welsh, and another was Irish. The other two he never bothered to ask, but he knew that those four were not Catholics but Protestants. He was not with them in faith, but his duty stands above his belief.

“Mad Catholics.” Matthew heard the call by one of the Protestants. He was not going to persecute that man. He felt the same as those who were gathered there.

“I am Mrs. Muriel. I am the chairperson of the Theology Society. Let me tell you what we do.” The lady stood there and gave the infantry a long lecture on their beliefs.

“Purity in our body and soul, purity in our mind and thoughts.” They all called out.

“I must go out there.” Elizabeth stood behind the long glass door to the garden at the library. “My aunt is there.”

“You cannot go there. We do not know what they will do. They are …… monsters.” Victor tried to reassure the lady. “They may kill you.”

“Kill? What did you do, Victor? You are lucky that the Chief Constable was undecisive. It has been three days now.”

“I did not kill…… anyone.” Victor declared his innocence. “I have told you over and over again many times.”

“No……” Elizabeth broke down in tears. “So many deaths. “William, Justine, and then Ernest…. I do not know what to think.”

“Think nothing but this. I love you.” Victor held her close to him. “I love you.”

“I…… love you too.” Elizabeth found the reply she was to give, but deep down, she felt empty. She was no longer the Elizabeth Muriel from last week. She was ruined. Her aunt will not forgive her for her ways. She was to be pure. One day, married to a fine man from a fine family.

“Not to the Frankenstein’s boys.” Elizabeth was told.

Could love be understood? In her studies, she was told that love is a complex and subjective experience; understanding its various facets and expressions can be insightful, though perhaps not fully comprehensible, as it is a deeply personal and multifaceted emotion.  That was what the professors had taught them. The ladies in the corridors said otherwise: Love is when someone knows every little thing about us, takes time to know what is within us, and sees us beyond the surface.

“I concurred. I knew not much about Sally, and in the little time we knew each other, she had seen all of me naked.” That was Tessa, the foreign student from the continent. She had professed to love the woman more than the man. Why was that, when she was asked?

“He would not hold his monster and say, ‘Can I take you? but he would anyway.” Tessa laughed. “I could tell him; I have a bigger monster in my drawer, but then he may seek my other hole.”

“Arsehole! Do your own.” Tessa will shriek.

“He loves your asshole, Tessa.” Another called out.

So, love was a failure of awareness in us. That was what Elizabeth had concurred. She was not able to take notice of her failure to stop Victor then as she did with William. She had failed, and it ruined her.

“Master Victor, Mr. Spielsdorf asked for you. He is at the gate.” It was one of the maids. Spielberg took guard at the gate with Sven.

“Hello, lad.” Spielberg greeted Victor. “We got the infantry here. It will hold the mob back.”

“Bring my niece here.” It was Mrs. Muriel, and she was raging mad when she saw Victor. “Did you hold her against her will?”

“Monster!” The mob there roared. Victor was to reply, but Spielsdorf held him back.

“Go back. They will lynch you if you go out there.” Victor heeded the advice.

“I called you to tell you that I need you to stay here with Sven. I need to see Lauren.” Spielberg tapped the lad’s left shoulder and handed the revolver to him. “Shoot if you are attacked, but only when Sven does. He knows better.”

It did not take long for Spielsdorf to be at his daughter’s side. She was frail, but her condition was improving. She asked the father of the mob outside.

“We do not know. They are here because one man was killed at the creek.” Spielsdorf told the daughter,. “Here they are demanding to see Ms. Muriel.”

“Who is she?”

“She stays here when…… she was with Victor, the last son of Frankenstein.” Spielberg tried to find words to explain.

“Father, may I ask you?” The father leaned over.

“Have you seen Carmilla? I have not seen her for many nights.”

“Why do you ask?” Spielsdorf asked.

“She is my friend. I… I love her. We share a lot.” Lauren smiled. “I think she needs me. Can we find her?”

“How, my love?”

“Carmilla told me you will know.” Lauren said. “You’ve been there.”

“You told me you did not see her?” Spielsdorf asked," His mind was in confusion; did she meet Carmilla?

“I did.” Lauren smiled. “It is a girl’s secret. She told me that. I must not tell the whole truth, and maybe at times, part of the truth.”

“And……”

“She was here last night. She told me to come find her. She told you, You will know.”

“I do not think so……” Spielberg shook his head. “She may …….”

“She told me you will say so. She told me that she would not harm me but wanted to show me her mansion.” Lauren held onto her father’s hand. “She will not harm you too. Can we?”

Out there! someone shouted.

“They found a monster in the forest. It had killed Wallace before and just did Terry. His head was crushed.”

“Monster!” They all roared.