OUT OF THE FOG

By:  S.K. Naus

The fog whispered and slithered around Isabella’s lithe form as she wandered sightlessly on the estate grounds.  She felt no chill, no damp despite the winter’s eve and the late midnight hour.  An owl hooted but she gave no sign she had heard the night creature’s call into the dark.  Instead, she continued on over the cold frosted ground, her white gown sometimes appearing to join with the circling fog.  Not even the frantic barking of a dog coupled with a wild shout caused her to flinch.

    “I see her!”  Cried a young stable boy, waving his cap in the direction of Isabella.  “She’s there, towards the gates.”  It was hard to see in the swirling mist but he was sure he’d caught a glimpse of the black waist length hair when the feathery curtain had parted for but a split second.

    A plump motherly woman bundled in a flannel housecoat and slippers stood at the rear doors of the manor, her arms folded around her to keep from shivering.

    “Well, get Thomas to fetch her now!  She’ll freeze to death.” 

    “Thomas!” shouted the boy towards the windows above the stables.  “Thomas, wake up!”  He cast a couple of small pebbles against the pane and a startled face appeared.  

    “Tis the mistress!” he called out as Thomas threw open the window. In what seemed the space of a few minutes, the young groomsman was in the yard, still tucking in his shirttails. 

    “Pigeon says she’s moving towards the gates.” Cried the housekeeper, her face creased with concern.  “Ya must hurry, Thomas.”

    “Aye!” nodded Pigeon, his hat bobbing on his head. 

    Without a word, Thomas disappeared into the web of fog.  “Mistress Isabella!”     

    He squinted into the whiteness and finally saw a flash of rippling darkness. Her hair!  Running at top speed, he found the lady, arms outstretched, approaching the tall estate gates.  She was sleepwalking again. 

    Gently, so as not to waken her, he lifted her into his arms.  Almost naturally, her arm curled about his neck and her face burrowed into his chest.  He felt his heart stir.

    “Oh, Izzy.” He whispered, bending his head towards her thick hair.  “Why did you ever marry him?”  Knowing she could not respond, he hurried back towards the manor.

    “Poor Dearie.”  Soothed the housekeeper as she tucked the covers around Isabella like she was a child.   The young woman sleeping in the bed was, after all, only 18 years of age.

    “Here’s the hot milk, Fiona.” A second maid came into the room and placed a steaming cup on the night table before quietly exiting. 

    “Will she be alright?”  Thomas was slumped in a chair wearing an anxious _expression.  He knew that by rights he should not be in the Lady Isabella’s chambers but he couldn’t leave her side.  If Lord Mowbray was about, he would surely flay his hide at such audacity and presumption.  Thomas didn’t care at the moment.  In fact, he would welcome the challenge!

    “Aye, she’ll be alright.”  Fiona assured the young man.  “You run along.  Tisn’t proper for you to be here.”

    He rose, running a hand across his weary brow.  “He is not a man.  He is an animal.”  He spoke the words in a soft yet menacing tone.

    “Shush.” Fiona’s alarm was obvious.  None of the staff were fond of the heir of Mowbray estates but his likeability had soured even more so over the past year when he’d brought home his third young wife.  They could all see how cruelly he treated her.  However only the female members of the household had either seen or heard her as she wept in her room. 

    Fiona, who had been employed at the estate for nigh on a dozen years, recalled how similar the behavior of each new bride had been.  The man was truly a beast. 

At the age of 55, Lord Mowbray was seeking a son to carry on his name but to no avail.  It seemed even his third wife was barren. 

    “Go!”  Fiona gestured towards the door with a rapid wave.  Thomas was like a son to her and she knew the handsome young man had fallen for Isabella the moment he’d seen her.  Though somewhat shy, Isabella seemed to find Thomas appealing.  He was 25 and far closer in age to her than the man she’d married.

    “Take care of her.” Murmured Thomas before leaving the room.  Tears sprang to her eyes at his urgent plea.

    She blinked and nodded.  “Course I will.” 

Lord Mowbray was aware of his wife’s sleepwalking habits.  They’d started only about a month ago; 3 incidents in all.  What angered him was the fact that he never should have married beneath him.  It had to be the reason why this blasted female could not reproduce.  She was common blood; the 4^th daughter of the village shopkeeper.   17 years old and ripe for the picking yet still unwed.  Her twin 16 year old sisters were betrothed and her 19 year old sister married to a shepherd.  Her parents had been only too willing for Lord Mowbray to take her off their hands.  In the end, he knew he’d bought a beautiful but useless package of goods.

    Anger surged through him as Isabella stepped into the drawing room.  How dare she not provide him with a son! 

    “Excuse me.”  Her heart raced when she saw the crazed look in his eye.  His face looked feverish and his thin lips were drawn into a straight line.  She’d only come to retrieve her needlework.

     “Sorry to disturb.”  She dropped her head like a mere servant girl and tried to hide her trembling hands in the folds of her dress. 

    “Come here!”  With his anger came sudden arousal.  Isabella knew it only too well. 

    “Husband, the cook is expecting me to help sort the dinner menu.”  She tried to beg off but he rose from the chair and began to approach her.  Barely able to swallow, she tried to turn away from him but he managed to snatch at her arm with his bony hand.  She shook her head.

    “Please, I must go to the kitchen…. I must…”

    “You will give me a son.”  Threatened the mad man tearing at her dress.  

    Fiona heard the scuffle and the muted whimpering.  A lump rose in her throat and she thought she might gag.  Quickly, she ran into the pantry, her hands wringing the swatch that was her apron. 

    “What is it?”  Thomas was eating the last of a pork pie while Pigeon played with Brat, the calico kitty the mistress had rescued from the pond.

    “Nothing.”  Trying to hide her emotions, she busied herself with the kettle.          “More tea?”

    “Aye.” Chirped Pigeon, unaware of the sudden tension.  “And another sugar cookie.” 

    Thomas had lost his appetite.  He knew Fiona too well and his stomach sickened.  Knowing his thoughts, she placed a hand on his shoulder and shook her head before pouring him another mug of hot tea.  Ignoring the brew, Thomas stood and marched from the room.  He knew he had to do something.

“Oh, goodness, not again.”  Fiona covered her mouth with her hand when she saw Isabella’s empty bed with the blankets strewn every which way.  It had been less than 2 weeks since the last episode.

    “I’m here.” Came a soft voice.  There by the wardrobe stood Isabella.  She was smiling and wide awake.  She was also fully dressed – completely in white and gray with her hair hidden under a wide hat.

    “What are you doing, Lass?”  Because of the affection between them, they dropped all formalities when they were alone. 

    “I’m leaving him.”

    Fiona’s eyes widened.  “How?  He won’t you let you go.”

    “Thomas is helping me so I mustn’t be late.”  The girl suddenly looked vibrant and happy.

    “Dearie, this is dangerous.  You know that no one knows what became of his other 2 wives.”

    “Exactly.”

    Fiona’s forehead wrinkled in confusion.  “I don’t understand.”

    “Hush.” Isabella comforted the older woman and led her to the bedroom window.  “Look outside and you’ll understand.”

    A wall of fog greeted Fiona.  “I can’t see a thing.”

    “Perfect, is it not?” 

    “You will get lost…” began Fiona before comprehension dawned. 

When morning came, Lord Mowbray was awakened by shrieks.  Swearing loudly, he lumbered to his wife’s chambers to find a maid crying and pointing to the empty bed.

    “I can’t find her.” Blubbered the tear-streaked girl.  “Neither can anyone else.”

    Tightening the belt of his dressing gown, the suddenly agile man leaped downstairs and began drilling each and every member of his staff. 

    “Pigeon’s found her shoes.”  Announced Wainwright, the butler, a tall, pale figure of a man.

    The lad nodded, a tear trickling from one eye.

    “She was sleepwalking again!” growled Mowbray, grabbing a decanter of whiskey.  Now he’d have to find another wife.

    “Send someone to the pond.”  Perhaps the bitch had drowned.

    “Already done, Sir.” Replied the ever efficient Wainwright.  “And Thomas is out scouring the neighbourhood.”  But Thomas never returned and his whereabouts were never questioned.  If the lord of the manor made a connection betwixt the two missing individuals, he never confided in his staff.   

Years later, villagers claimed they saw a young woman resembling Isabella and a young man very much favouring Thomas Walken, the missing groomsman of Mowbray Estates, living in a tiny cottage by the sea with several tiny tots.  And it was said that whenever the fog swept over the Mowbray’s Estates, the tall gates would open all by themselves…..