Hello there,
Thank you so much for joining me for this continued reading of Moonlight at Mystawis.
This is my unofficial fan-written sequel to celebrate 100 years since the publishing of Lucy Maud Montgomery's wonderful 1926 novel,
The Blue Castle.
If you haven't previously heard The Blue Castle,
That is my most popular reading here on Insight Timer.
Can certainly look for it,
If that interests you,
And listen to that story first,
Although it is certainly not necessary.
This book,
Moonlight Atmospheres,
Has been written so it can also just be enjoyed as a standalone novel.
With this book I wanted to offer something that feels comforting and soothing,
Gentle,
Old-fashioned,
Sweet kind of book to maybe help listeners through times that can feel challenging or harsh in life and hopefully get some great sleep.
So I hope you'll join me on this journey as we are transported back a hundred or so years ago to this simpler,
Slower pace of life.
And for now,
Let's just take a moment here 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 the next installment of Moonlight at Mystaris.
Chapter four,
Silence with starch.
The morning in Cousin Georgiana's house began with the gentle ticking of the parlour clock.
And the scent of toast warming on the stove.
Valancy stirred in the guest bed,
Narrow,
Tidy,
And piled high with lilac-scented quilts,
Reflecting on the curious weight of returning It wasn't discomfort,
Exactly.
But rather a sense of being fitted back into an old shape.
That no longer quite held her.
In the kitchen below,
Cousin Georgiana went about her tasks with the noiseless grace of habit.
The table was already set by the time Valancy descended.
Brown bread toast,
Apple butter,
And the pot of black tea steaming comfortably in its cozy.
Good morning.
You slept well,
I hope?
Georgiana asked warmly,
Looking up as she poured.
I did,
The lancy said,
Though it was only half true.
Thank you.
That's lovely.
I can't say the same for poor Mrs Bellamy.
She died at half past four this morning.
Valancy paused with her teacup halfway to her mouth.
There'll be a funeral on Friday.
Continued cousin Georgiana.
Sighing with gentle satisfaction.
It's been quite some time since we've had one.
Valancy pressed her lips together firmly to hide her smile and looked down,
Busying herself with her napkin.
They ate quietly,
The silence companionable but not casual.
Valancy was again aware of how little had changed in the house.
The worn doilies still pinned in place by tiny shell-shaped weights.
The same watercolour of Prince Edward Island on the wall,
Its blues faded to mist.
I think I might take a walk this morning,
" Balancy said at last,
Wiping crumbs from her skirt.
Stretch my legs,
See how many old ghosts still live in these streets.
Georgiana gave a slight nod.
Deerwood keeps its ghosts tidy,
She said.
I'm sure you'll find them exactly where you left them.
The April morning was bright and dry.
Though still holding the cool edge of early spring.
Balancy stepped out in her walking boots and sensible coat,
Her gloved hands tucked beneath her shawl,
And set off through streets crisp with the faint sense of wood smoke and turned soil.
Deerwood was stirring.
Two women emerged from the greengrocers and fell abruptly silent when they saw her.
Valancy nodded pleasantly and kept walking.
A boy on a bicycle wobbled past,
Glancing over his shoulder at her.
He did not fall off and Valancy took that as a small victory.
Before long,
She found herself outside Uncle Benjamin's shop.
She had run errands here more times than she could count.
Always dutiful.
Often silent.
Today,
She went in.
From Curiosity.
The bell above the shop door gave a little indignant jangle as Valancy stepped inside.
The place smelled exactly as she remembered.
Notes of camphor,
Licorice root,
Boot polish and lemon cough drops,
With a faint overlay of pipe smoke and smugness.
Shelves lined the walls like sentries,
Packed tight with tins,
Folded linens,
Pen nibs,
Embroidery kits,
And dusty novels no one had read in twenty years.
Uncle!
Benjamin.
Was seated behind the counter.
As upright as if he'd been carved from oak.
His moustache twitched.
Well now,
He said,
Drawing out the words as if they cost him a penny each,
Mrs Redfern graces us with her presence.
Uncle Benjamin,
Valancy said with polite brightness.
I see some things in Dearwood are reassuringly permanent.
He squinted at her over the rims of his spectacles.
And I see some have come back with opinions.
Yes,
Valancy said cheerfully,
And I've learned to speak them.
Uncle Benjamin gave a grunt of amusement,
Or perhaps approval?
It was difficult to tell.
Behind him,
A pair of younger clerks emerged from behind a stack of feed sacks.
Valancy recognised them instantly.
Joe Hammond looked almost unchanged.
The same narrow eyes,
The same quick glance that never quite met yours.
Claude Bertram's grin still had that oily shine.
Though it faltered for half a second when he recognised her.
Balanci remembered with perfect clarity.
The day he'd once snickered.
Curable or incurable in reference to Valancy's standing as a dearwood old maid.
That particular humiliation had stayed with her longer than it had any right to.
But not today.
Today,
She met their eyes squarely and didn't blink.
Mrs.
Redfern,
Claude said,
Putting a little too much emphasis on the Mrs.
Valancy,
Inclined her head.
Claude.
Still.
Guarding the kingdom of tinned beans,
I see.
Joe flushed slightly,
But Claude rallied with a half laugh.
Well,
Someone's got to keep Dearwood properly fed.
And someone's got to keep Deerwood properly labeled.
Valancy replied,
You were always so fond of labels,
Weren't you?
Claude gave another tight chuckle,
But Jo muttered something inaudible and disappeared behind a tall pyramid of flower sacks.
Uncle Benjamin didn't intervene.
Anything you're needing?
" he asked.
Or is this a social call disguised as commerce?
I'd like a tin of sugared almonds,
She said calmly.
And a small bottle of that cinnamon oil you used to keep under the counter if it's not considered too frivolous.
Uncle Benjamin grunted and reached under the till without comment.
Valancy added,
I'd also like two of those pencils,
The ones with the green ribbon on top.
And a blank ledger.
That caught Claude off guard.
Starting your own accounts then?
No,
Said Valancy lightly.
I've decided to keep a diary of Dearwood's more flavourful expressions.
Uncle Benjamin barked a single sharp laugh.
Haven't lost your tongue abroad,
I see,
DOS.
Valancy met his eyes.
It's Valency now.
He nodded after a beat.
So it is.
She paid in full.
No asking for the family discount and took her small parcel of items.
As she turned to leave,
She caught Claude watching her,
With something that might have been.
.
.
Envy?
Or confusion.
Or both.
The bell jangled again as the door shut behind her,
And the spring air felt even fresher after the closeness of the shop.
She walked slowly,
The tin of sugared almonds rattling gently inside her bag.
A tiny,
Victorious sound.
A wagon clattered past.
Two boys chased one another across the road and were narrowly missed by a milk cart.
Somewhere a dog barked furiously at nothing.
People noticed her,
Of course.
Deerwood noticed everything.
But Lancey kept walking.
She found herself near the Wellington home again.
The house seemed to have a way of pulling her into its orbit.
It was all clean lines,
Clipped hedge,
Immaculate windows.
A place that didn't allow ivy or dust all day long.
Sentiment.
Onii!
Appearances.
A figure moved behind the lace curtain of the upstairs parlour.
Then,
A few moments later,
The front door creaked open.
Olive.
Stepped onto the veranda.
But Lancey's heart skipped a beat.
Olive wore a pale grey dress and gloves to match,
The colour making her look as if she she'd been washed in moonlight.
Her hair was gathered into a low twist,
Not a hair out of place.
She was,
Every inch,
The Wellington heir.
Poised.
Polished.
Crapper.
A picture of perfection.
Yet.
There was something missing.
In the posture.
A slackness at the corners of her mouth.
Aye.
Hollowness beneath the smoothness of her brow.
Even from across the street,
Valancy could feel it.
Something brittle behind the brightness.
She didn't wave.
Neither did Olive.
They looked at each other.
For the space of a breath.
One long second.
In which the years between them and the mountain of things unsaid,
Stirred quietly,
Then Olive turned and disappeared back inside.
Balancy let out a slow breath.
She hadn't even realized she'd been holding it.
The town moved on.
A dog barked,
A door slammed.
Somewhere in the distance,
A church bell rang the quarter hour.
Valancy walked on.
A strange lightness from the encounter following her.
Near the corner by the butchers,
She heard a familiar voice behind her.
Jaws?
She turned.
Aunt Alberta,
In her buttoned coat and hat with the perpetual velvet ribbon,
Stood on the pavement with a wicker basket on one chubby arm.
Her face was a mixture of recognition and confusion.
As though she were trying to read a new book with an old pair of spectacles.
Oh,
Mrs.
Snaith?
No,
Redfern,
I mean.
She corrected herself with a little fluster.
Valancy smiled.
Good morning,
Aunt Alberta.
Alberta tilted her head.
Well.
.
.
I must say,
You're looking.
.
.
Very well.
Very different.
It suits you.
Valancy inclined her head.
Thank you.
There was a small awkward pause.
The kind that occurs when someone wants to ask questions but has not yet decided which can decently be asked.
Alberta's mouth pursed slightly.
You've.
Been gone so long.
Travelling with your.
.
.
Husband.
She gave the word a slight emphasis,
As if it had a flavour she wasn't used to.
Europe,
Wasn't it?
And somewhere tropical after that.
I do hope the cats got on fine at Georgiana's.
Valancy smiled.
Oh yes,
They grew very fond of her.
Alberta nodded briskly as if that closed the subject,
Though her eyes still searched Valancy's face.
I saw Olive the other day,
" Aunt Alberta said lightly.
Whoa.
She's very pretty.
Busy,
Of course.
So many things to manage.
The Wellington Houses.
Such a responsibility,
You know?
Valancy gave a soft,
Neutral sound.
Yes,
I imagine it is.
Alberta glanced down at her basket.
Well,
I mustn't keep you.
I've still half my errands to do.
Balenci lifted one eyebrow.
Of course.
Another pause.
Then,
To Valanci's great surprise,
Alberta gave a quick,
Uncertain smile.
As though She'd glimpsed something… bold in her niece and wasn't quite sure whether to fear it or to envied.
Well,
She said,
It's good to see you,
Doss.
Oh,
Sorry,
Valancy.
The lance's smile deepened.
She walked on.
Thinking of.
Olive.
What did one say to a person who had once been everything.
And then,
Somehow.
.
.
Nothing at all.
Should she speak to Olive?
Or leave matters alone for now.
For Lancey wasn't sure.
At the next corner,
She remembered quite suddenly how she had dropped her gloves there years ago and cried quietly.
After Olive's engagement had been announced at a church social.
She had forgotten all about it until now.
The memory rose and fell inside her like a wave.
Gentle and harmless now.
Valancy stopped and plucked a sugared almond from the little tin in her bag.
Then she popped it in her mouth and headed back to Cousin Georgiana's.
Cousin Georgiana met her at the gate,
In her gardening apron,
Hands slightly damp from tending to her roses.
Back already,
" she said gently.
Valancy held up the tin of sugared almonds.
I've been shopping.
Georgiana eyed the tin.
Recklessly,
I see.
White.
Uncle Benjamin may never recover.
Georgiana smiled.
Did anyone say.
Anything.
Dreadful.
No,
Said Valancy,
But I felt their silence.
It's still here,
You know?
All the old whispers and judgements.
Georgiana nodded.
Dear woods,
Always been fond of silence with starch.
They moved into the parlour.
Valancy sank into the same chair she'd occupied the night before.
I saw Olive,
She said,
Finally.
Cousin Georgiana's eyes widened.
She saw you?
Yes,
We looked at each other.
Neither of us flinched,
But we didn't speak.
Georgiana.
Didn't press.
She merely poured Valancy another cup of tea.
Valancy sipped her tea and smiled slowly.
As several.
Increasingly mischievous possibilities occurred to her.
Maybe she'd invite Olive to Cousin Georgiana's for a seance.
Or take her to Uncle Benjamin's shop and ask for a book on palmistry.
Georgiana looked at her over the rim of her teacup.
What are you thinking,
Valancy?
Nothing Aunt Wellington would approve of.
