Hello there.
Thank you so much for joining me for this continued reading of my book,
Moonlight at Misdarwis.
This is my unofficial fan written sequel to celebrate a hundred years since the publishing of Lucy Maud Montgomery's amazing 1926 novel,
The Blue Castle.
Many of you are familiar,
I think,
With The Blue Castle.
It is the most popular book I have read here on Insight Timer.
If you haven't already heard The Blue Castle and you'd like to,
You can certainly look for the playlist for that and hear that whole story before listening to this one,
But it's not necessary.
Moonlight at Bistawis was written as a standalone novel.
This book picks up the story from The Blue Castle several years later.
Later.
Many of us,
I'm sure,
Have wondered what happened to these characters after the end of the Blue Castle.
And this book is my version of what happened next.
So before we get into the story further here,
Let's just take a moment to have a nice,
Deep exhale.
Letting go of the day.
Letting go of whichever baggage we might be bringing along with us into this moment.
For right now,
There's nowhere else we have to go,
Nothing else we have to be doing.
So we can just relax,
Get ourselves comfortable,
And enjoy Moonlight at Misdarwis.
Chapter 3 The Cup of Tea The brass lion's head glinted in the morning sun as Valancy raised her hand to knock,
But the door opened before she could touch it.
Valancy!
Breathed cousin Georgiana,
As if surprised to find her alive and standing upright.
Georgiana looked much the same,
Pale lavender dress over her slight frame,
Grey curls pinned precisely,
And that familiar expression of worried delight,
Her smile quivered on the edge of too much feeling.
Come in,
Dear.
Let me look at you.
Oh,
How well you look,
And so brown.
Valancy stepped inside the call hallway.
That's what comes of living with a man who forgets hats exist.
Oh.
.
.
My,
Said Georgiana,
Half laughing,
Half alarmed.
She led the way to the parlour,
Where the air smelled faintly of violets and dust.
The same piano.
The same china dogs on the mantel.
The same pink glass dish of barley sugars.
It was all exactly as Valancy recalled.
And yet.
Smaller somehow,
As if the house had folded in on itself slightly.
Sit here,
Dear,
" said Georgiana.
I'll bring tea.
You must be tired.
For Lancey sank into the faded floral chair.
Still carrying the quiet,
Novel thrill of the journey.
The canoe ride,
The streets,
The decision made.
She glanced around the room while Georgiana rattled gently in the kitchen.
There were new photographs on the sideboard.
Children in white pinafores and sailor suits.
Solemn faced.
Cousins or grandchildren of distant sterling branches.
Valanci recognized none of them.
Georgiana returned with the tea tree.
Two cups,
A teapot in a knitted cozy,
A plate of lemon biscuits.
And Valancy rose to help,
But was waved back down.
I was terribly afraid my letter might go unanswered,
Said Georgiana as she poured,
Her hands only just shaking.
I wasn't sure it would reach you up back out there.
It reached me,
Valancy said calmly,
And I came.
Georgiana looked at her for a long moment.
With something like gratitude,
Or was it relief?
Yeah.
She said softly.
You did.
They sat in silence for a few moments.
The lemon biscuits were dry and sweet,
And Valancy found she liked them more than she used to.
Or perhaps she just liked eating them without someone judging the crumbs?
Well.
.
.
I don't quite know Where to begin?
Georgiana said at last,
Folding her hands in her lap.
I don't want to put too much upon you,
Dear.
Oni!
You always had a kind way about you.
Even if you were quiet.
I believe the accepted family opinion was that I was odd,
Said Valancy.
Oh.
Yes,
Georgiana agreed gently,
But never unkind.
Valancy waited.
Cousin Georgiana glanced towards the window where lace curtains swayed in the draft.
Her hands,
Clasped loosely now in her lab,
Looked thinner than Valancy remembered,
Though they had always been a bit bird-like.
Well.
.
.
It's olive,
Georgiana said at last.
Valancy set her cup down.
There's no great scandal,
" Georgiana added quickly.
At least,
Not the sort anyone would talk about openly.
But You can feel it.
In the way.
People,
Look away.
And There's something else.
Something more.
Lingering.
Valancy nodded slowly,
Letting the pause expand.
Cousin Georgiana was not one for drama,
Nor was she careless with her words.
If she had written,
It meant that.
.
.
She had tried everything else first.
She's been very quiet these past months,
Georgiana continued,
Withdrawn.
Not quite ill,
But.
.
.
Not herself.
There are long afternoons when she simply doesn't answer the bell.
Her mother says it's nerves.
Her father says it's pride.
And the town,
Well.
.
.
Town says nothing but you can hear the nothing humming behind every closed door.
Valancy tilted her head just slightly.
And Cecil,
She asked.
Georgiana hesitated.
Gone,
Left for Montreal shortly after the engagement was called off.
Took a post with the.
.
.
Railway company,
I believe.
There was no fuss.
Explanation.
Simply.
The end.
Valancy picked up a biscuit and broke it in two.
And olive.
She.
.
.
Didn't cry,
Said Georgiana,
Not that anyone saw,
But She hasn't been the same.
She still goes to church,
Of course,
And to bridge parties when her mother insists,
But.
.
.
She speaks less,
Eats little,
And sits by the window like Someone.
.
.
Watching a ship that.
.
.
Isn't coming in.
Valancy Pictured,
Olive.
Glossy hair pinned just so,
Eyes sharp,
Spine straight,
Mouth unsmiling.
The image was familiar,
Yet dulled now.
Like a silver frame with the shine rubbed off.
Do you know why it ended?
She asked.
Cousin Georgiana aside.
No one does.
Not really.
Olive won't say.
Cecil told his mother something vague about differences of temperament.
But you know how the prices are.
Oh.
Roses and riddles.
And Olive simply told her father that the engagement was no longer suitable.
Her mother tried to blame it on one of Olive's migraines.
Valancy snorted before she could stop herself.
Yes,
That sounds like deer wood.
I thought perhaps you might.
.
.
Georgiana paused.
Took a breath and began again.
I.
.
.
I thought you.
Might have a better chance of winning.
Reaching her.
She.
.
.
Always resented you,
I think,
But later she also admired you.
Envied you,
Or something,
Between the two.
That's a heady invitation,
Said Valancy,
Raising an eyebrow.
I don't mean to put it all upon you,
" Georgiana said quickly.
She might listen to you.
Oh.
.
.
At least she might talk.
And what would I say,
Exactly?
Valancy asked.
Cousin Georgiana's voice was very quiet.
Perhaps?
You wouldn't say.
Anything in particular.
Perhaps just being yourself.
Be enough.
For a moment.
Balanci.
Said nothing.
The clock ticked in the hall,
And a cart rattled past outside.
Georgiana poured the last of the tea with practiced grace and reached for a biscuit at last.
I suppose she must have loved him for lance he said Georgiana looked up.
Perhaps.
Or perhaps she only loved the idea of being loved.
Valancy smiled slowly.
We've all done that.
Georgiana smiled too.
Blinked as though she'd surprised herself.
She might not want to see me,
Balansi said.
Olive and I were never exactly close.
No,
Said Georgiana gently.
I think.
Things are different now.
She thinks you.
Got away.
And perhaps.
.
.
She wants to ask.
How?
Balansi didn't answer.
But in her mind's eye,
The island shimmered into view.
The pines,
The wildflowers,
The beloved little house,
Just visible through the trees.
When Valancy stepped outside again,
The sky had softened with that particular late morning light that made everything look newly washed.
As if the town had just blinked off the last frost.
The air smelled faintly of chimney soot.
Somewhere nearby,
A bird was trying out its spring voice.
Hesitant,
Then bold.
She paused on the porch.
Cousin Georgiana's farewell,
Lingering behind her,
Like the closing of a hymn.
The door had shut without a latch-click,
Soft,
Final,
And unshowy.
That was Georgiana through and through.
Valancy walked slowly down the path,
Past the trim rosebushes still bare and twiggy from winter.
The buds were tight and greenish at the tips.
A few blades of crocus leaves pushed up shyly through the earth.
She wasn't in a rush.
Deerwood didn't exactly invite rushing.
The houses still stood sentry,
Prim and proper,
But something beneath it all had shifted.
Or maybe she had.
Across the street,
Mrs Robert Carruthers stood half-hidden behind her parlour window curtains,
Pretending to adjust them Her sharp nose twitched as she caught sight of Valancy,
And then vanished with military efficiency.
For Lancey's smile to herself.
Yes.
Dearwood was still running exactly as she remembered.
On tea,
Lace and vigilance.
She continued walking.
And passed the bookshop.
Where she had never quite dared go in as a girl.
Not without purpose,
Not without permission.
Her mother had called novels nonsense,
And Aunt Wellington thought poetry encouraged discontent.
Now the shop had a green facade and a sign in the window offering discounts on hymnals.
Her reflection in the glass pleasantly startled her.
Not because it was unfamiliar,
But because it looked.
Unafraid.
A few blocks further on,
She passed the green where the Stirlings held their annual summer picnic.
She wondered idly who had brought the best sponge cake last year and whether olives had collapsed in the middle.
As it sometimes did when her pride got the better of her caution.
But Lancey had once wished she could sneak a book into those gatherings.
Just a little something to read under a tree.
But even that small freedom had been unthinkable then.
Now,
The idea of returning to such an event felt Not painful,
But.
.
.
Agreeably.
Impossible.
There was no summer picnicking now,
Only muddy spring patches underfoot and a child dragging a stick along a picket fence.
The sound was irregular.
Offbeat.
Somehow comforting.
Valancy turned down a narrower street,
Less polished,
More lived-in.
A tabby cat watched her from a stoop,
With suspicion and dignity.
A laundry line snapped overhead.
Somewhere,
Nearby,
A kettle was boiling.
She realised that she hadn't yet really decided.
Where to go next?
Georgiana had not made a specific request.
There had been no,
Please talk to her,
Or do see what you can do.
Only a gentle offering.
That Valancy might,
Simply by being herself,
Make some kind of difference.
It was an odd kind of hope to place in someone.
Odder still that Valanci didn't feel burdened by it.
A few streets over,
Valancy decided impulsively to step into McGuinness's cafe.
A small,
Smoky little place she'd never once dared enter in her dearwood days.
It had always been unsuitable for a sterling girl too loud,
Too casual,
Too full of unfamiliar men with ink-stained hands,
And women who wore colour in their cheeks.
She chose a seat by the window and ordered a strong coffee and a cinnamon tart.
Somewhere between Rome and Cairo,
She had learned to like her coffee strong.
Years ago,
She'd have panicked at the thought of being seen here.
Let alone eating pastry with her gloves off.
Now she simply smiled and ate slowly,
Letting the bitterness of the coffee cut the sweetness on her tongue.
It felt bold.
And ordinary.
All at once.
When a greying man at the next table offered a courteous nod,
She returned it.
Without shrinking.
When she stepped back outside,
The town felt smaller than it had before.
Familiar,
Yes,
But not in charge.
After a while,
Valancy found herself back near the Wellington house.
Though she hadn't necessarily meant to be,
The clipped hedge still wore its early spring severity.
And the green trim caught the light like it always had.
She stayed just far enough down the pavement to avoid the gate,
Just near enough to see the edge of the veranda through the branches.
No movement.
No figure at the window.
No flick of curtain or shadow passing by.
Balancy.
Did not go to the door.
That would be too much too soon.
She hadn't been summoned,
After all.
Olive Sterling would not take kindly to being surprised on her own doorstep.
Not now.
Instead.
Belancy stood still for a moment,
Letting the wind lift a strand of hair across her cheek.
The silence of the house.
Didn't feel completely cold.
Just Waiting.
She turned and walked away.
This time with the direction in mind.
She would ask cousin Georgiana if she might stay another night.
Let things settle.
Let Deerwood settle around her.
There was no need to force anything.
Olive could wait.
Valancy turned the corner and went in search of cousin Georgiana.
And if she was lucky.
Another cup.
Of tea.
