The Burgundy Handkerchief

The Burgundy Handkerchief

         Odette Marvelle Rousseau, a young woman of only seventeen and daughter of the late Philippe Rousseau, held tightly onto her mother’s pale and crippled hand. Odette was the only daughter and the last surviving relative of Mme. Rousseau and grasped strongly onto the hope that her mother would survive the dreaded disease which plagued her. Not having the necessary funds to contact a doctor, or even the opportunity to come across one in their rural French town, Mme. Rousseau was falling victim to some nameless virus, which was also coursing through the veins of countless other citizens of her village.

         “Maman,” Odette whispered, “Stay strong, ma mere.” Odette felt a bitter tear slide down her cheek and she quickly wiped it away, gulping down the impending wave of despair that she knew would soon consume her. She rested her eyes on her mother’s glazed ones and watched as the lids slowly slipped closed, covering the light that once had shone through them and snuffing the candle in her soul. Odette clinched her eyes shut and took a deep, cleansing breath; she was now completely alone in the world.

         Odette made her way down the ramp, frightened and alone. The ship she had boarded several days earlier had finally put into port on English soil and she was fearful of what was to come. After her mother died, Odette sent notice to the Berkeley family of London, notifying them that her mother had passed away and had given Odette their address while on her death bed with instructions to contact them if she was to pass away. Odette gazed into the mass of people, watching as life-time friends and family members were happily reunited and nearly experienced a pang of nostalgia, however her thought-trail was interrupted by a welcoming sight. Standing in the middle of the crowd was a dark-haired boy of about twenty years holding a sign which read, “Mlle. Rousseau.” She timidly walked towards the boy, sneaking looks at him as she moved. He looks very intriguing, she thought, very different from the hardened farm boys of Palei. When she finally arrived at his side, and it took like what seemed an eternity, she smiled and shook his hand.

         “Bonjour, monsieur. Je m’appelle Odette Rousseau,” Odette smiled warmly as she greeted the boy and hoped that he understood her words. He smiled back and shook her hand excitedly.

         “‘Tis a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, miss! I’m so sorry about your mother,” the boy responded. Odette vaguely put together what he was saying but saw the grief on his face and heard it in his voice and reassured him with another smile. “My name is Bruno, that’s what everyone calls me, miss. Now follow me, this way to the house.” Bruno, as she gathered, wanted her to follow him, so she did, and Odette found herself on her way to one of the largest, most ornate houses she had ever seen. Along the way, Bruno continued to babble on in his intelligible language, but Odette was not paying attention, or even trying to interpret his words. She was hypnotized by the castle that she approached.

         It was a large, dark-stoned house, covered in moss and ivy. The windows were wide and majestic, promising secrets within the house. It had a tall, sturdy wall, protecting the inhabitants from other people of the village surrounded with wild flowers and ancient trees. The house looked like some haunted mansion that she read about as a child and she felt her stomach rise as she approached it. Odette knew that something strange would occur here, and she wasn’t quite certain that she would enjoy whatever lay before her. When they finally arrived at the threshold of the Berkeley home, Odette gulped and then followed Bruno in through the front doorway.

         “This is it, Mlle. Rousseau. Home sweet home,” Bruno said as he looked at her expectantly.

         Odette gathered that Bruno was trying to tell her that this was to be her new home, and she smiled at him replying, “Oui, Bruno. Mais please, I em Odette.”

         Bruno smiled at the intriguing girl, almost laughing at her flowing, yet precise, accent and responded, “Yes, Odette. Do forgive me. Now then, let me show you to your quarters, then you can come back downstairs for a proper introduction to everyone in the manor.” Without pause, Bruno then led Odette to the stairs, which he ascended and Odette followed. She trailed him like a shadow up the lengthy set of stairs and past countless rooms and turns. Odette did not like the feeling she got in her stomach as she walked through the house and found herself subconsciously walking closer to Bruno’s side. When they finally arrived at what appeared to be Odette’s new quarters, Bruno shoved the squeaking, heavy door open and told her to enter. Bruno then walked off without another word.

         Odette un-packed what few possessions she still owned into the small oak chest that sat in the corner of the rather plain room. The floor was cold stone, the bed was small, and the walls were completely bare but for a single eerie portrait displayed on the wall that protected the room from the outside. Approaching the painting she also noticed the window which had a wide, deep windowsill leading directly to the outside. The view was gorgeous; she could see a lovely little brook that ran along the wall that protected the manor from the outside surrounded by luscious trees and tall wild flowers. Moving to her right, she found herself face- to-face with paint strokes that came together to create the image of a proud and rich-looking man. She studied the picture but found her eyes kept wandering back to the shiny, crescent-shaped scar along his right brow. Odette wondered how the scar got there and whom the man was, but her thoughts were interrupted by a loud and deliberate knock upon her door. Startled, Odette jumped, knocking the picture off-center. She hurried to the door and opened it, finding a rather regal looking women standing before her.

         “Eh. . . Bonjour, madame,” Odette said as she held out her hand for the woman, assuming she was Mrs. Berkeley.

         “A pleasure, I’m sure,” the woman responded, absently sweeping Odette’s hand to the side and giving her a stern look. “We have been expecting you in the parlor for quite a while, Miss. Rouseau, do tell what has delayed you for so long.” In saying this, Mrs. Berkeley looked at Odette, waiting for her reply.

         “Madame, I . . . em not undastand.” Odette was confused by the lady’s long sentence but could feel the anger radiate off of her and was, with reason, a bit afraid.

         “Bah. Follow me,” responded Mrs. Berkeley impatiently. Without another word, she quickly stalked off, expecting Odette to walk behind her, and Odette understood, following Mrs. Berkeley without further question.

         When the pair arrived to the parlor, Odette was greeted with cool stares. This is not a friendly staff, she gathered, looking insecurely into the room. Before her stood what appeared to be a chef who seemed to be in his upper thirties, largely underweight and completely covered with hair; a stall boy of a mere thirteen or fourteen years, even thinner than the chef but with quite a bit less hair aside from his head which was covered with a blonde mess of finger-length locks; two children, one of whom she aged about approximately four years and the other about ten, both of whom were girls, their faces characteristically covered with soil; and lastly, the boy who met her at the docks, with the same smile that graced his face before. She smiled hopefully into the room, expecting some sort of welcome, but she was instead greeted with quiet mutters and discontent looks.

         “This is our new maid, Mlle. Odette Rousseau. She is here from France. Take a care to not be too cruel to the girl, she just lost her mother.” Without another word, Mrs. Berkeley left the room and Odette was left alone with the Berkeley manor’s help. Following in Mrs. Berkeley’s manner, the rest of the staff scooted out of the room, deliberately brushing shoulders with Odette. Once only she and Bruno remained in the room, Odette could felt the tension almost completely dissipate.

         "Nice to see you again Miss . . . ahem, I mean Odette,” Bruno stumbled over her name, feeling uncomfortable calling such a beautiful and strange woman by her first name. He smiled at her, fixing his near-mistake and lightly ushered her into the hall. “I’d like to show you around, if you don’t mind.”

         “Oui.” Odette couldn’t quite understand all that the boy had to say, but knew that he was the only friendly face in the hardened manor, and therefore clung tightly to the hope that he would help her. In response to her smile, Bruno sighed gratefully and lightly took hold of her wrist, guiding her around the house and telling her the names of all the rooms and explaining her duties to her. Odette missed nearly every word Bruno said, for her eyes were focused only on his face. She studied it, finding it utterly fascinating. After what the chiming grandfather clock downstairs told her had been over an hour, seeming to Odette to be but a few minutes, the pair arrived back at Odette’s room. He smiled and opened the door for her.

         “Dinner’ll be exactly at 7:00. The Mrs. is real strict about that, so you best be there on time,” Bruno smiled, “Have you any questions?”

         Odette recognized the word “question” and looked hopeful. “What is him being in the paint?” Odette asked with intrigue.

         Picking up on what Odette was attempting to ask, Bruno smiled and responded, “That, miss, is Charles Berkeley, creator of Berkeley estates. He went missing almost one-hundred years ago and no one has seen him since. ‘Tis a great mystery around these parts.” Bruno looked slightly uncomfortable for a moment, but made a quick recovery and said farewell to Odette for the time being.

         “Á tout á l’heure,” Odette said softly to Bruno’s back as he left. “See you later.”

         Odette found herself falling into a pattern. Day after day, she woke up with the sun and went to the kitchen to set the table for Madame’s breakfast; cleaned each room in the house, for Mrs. Berkeley was a stickler about cleanliness; and often poured a bath for Madame. Ultimately, Odette did what she was told, as the Berkeley manor was her only home. After her work each day, Odette stumbled into her room long past dark, ready for sleep to consume her. It took a while, but she began finding herself able to fall asleep, despite the sense of being watched caused by the portrait of Charles Berkeley that hung just over her bed. Each night, that crescent shaped scar, gleaming, despite the darkness, was the final thing she saw before she fell to sleep and it often haunted her in her dreams.

         Now that Odette had been living with the Berkeley family for several months, she was beginning to come quite comfortable with the English language due to Bruno’s extensive teaching, and along with her ability to converse with the inhabitants of the home, she was also growing quite comfortable with Bruno. The two had developed a sort of relationship between themselves. Not a relationship of romance, but one of mutual trust and friendship for she felt that he fully understood her. She went to Bruno whenever she was feeling lonely, as she often was, as his gentle embrace and comforting words were a great source of solace and she was eternally grateful for his presence. Odette also found herself going to Bruno with her questions. One night, when she was feeling especially brazen and curious, she knocked on Bruno’s door and asked him if he’d like to take a walk through the courtyard.

         “There is a question that has been burning within me since I first arrived here, Bruno,” Odette casually mentioned to her friend, “and I think you know the answer.”

         Bruno looked at Odette, encouraging her to ask her question. “Go on then, what is it, Odie?”

         “Well, I was wondering if you could tell me about Charles Berkeley.”

         Despite his attempts at a quick recovery, Odette couldn’t help but notice the look of shock that sprung upon Bruno’s face when first she asked her question. This subject is obviously quite taboo, Odette thought, I really must know.

         “Ahem, well, Odie, let me start from the beginning,” Bruno sighed lightly. “About one-hundred years ago, Charles Berkeley left his family in hopes that he could start a new life for himself. On his trek across England, Charles met a lovely girl and the two fell into deep love. On the night that Charles proposed to the woman, her family came upon the two together and insisted that she never see him again. You see, the girl was the only heiress to a great title and manor, and the family had every intention of marrying her off to an equally well to do man. The two ran off together, regardless of the family’s objections, and they wed. They did not, however, get away quickly enough for Charles to avoid a severe blow to the head, scarring him for life.

         “They lived in utter bliss together for many years in her rightful manor and had two children together before Charles began getting mysterious letters speaking of death threats for him. Two weeks later, Charles went missing, and he was never seen again.

         “It is rumored that the girl’s father came and murdered him, leaving a burgundy handkerchief around his neck, warning the entire Berkeley family, that they would all meet a terrible demise for their trickery and deceit. Of course, that is all a mere legend, nothing to be taken seriously at all."

         Odette looked at Bruno, flabbergasted for several moments before gathering herself. So that is why she felt such negativity from that painting. What a beautiful story that is behind it with such a tragic ending. Odette sighed.

         “Merci, Bruno. I’m glad that I now know what everyone else in the house knows.” Odette sighed, "Alors, I do suppose I should be getting to bed. Good night."

         Upon Odette's dismissal, Bruno said his goodnights as well and they each left for their separate chambers to sleep away their weariness.

         Laying in her bed that night, Odette could not help but stare at the painting. It had so much more meaning now that she knew the story behind it. It was all so interesting to her and she debated heavily in her mind over what she thought really occurred so long ago to the poor Mr. Berkeley. Odette realized, studying the portrait so closely, that she had never straightened it after that first day she had entered the room. She slipped her feet out from under the blanket and into her house slippers and made her way to the portrait by moonlight. Odette reached for the painting and returned it to its original position. Suddenly, as she did this, she heard a low rumble and watched as, amazingly, the wall slid to the side exposing to her a wretched smell, a crescent moon upon a skull, and a burgundy handkerchief.