Ms. Winifred spied out the deserted street. Though it was still early afternoon the grey clouds, and the rain they had brought with them, had considerably dimmed the atmosphere. The harsh lighting, however, was easily penetrated by her predatorial eyes. It had probably been years since she had killed, she couldn’t exactly remember her last. Every one of her muscles stiffened and stood at attention, as if at any moment they may be called upon to spring into action. Her ears, though wearied by time, were still keen. She slowly oscillated her sharp-featured face. The only sounds that came to her were the softly pelting rain and some distant traffic. The cold in her feet told her she had been standing at her door too long.
She knew her path well and set out with purpose. Careful to avoid conspicuity she walked close to the tall fence that ran the length of her lane. Here and there were gates in the fence that led to gardens and courtyards. Five or six gates down from her own she stopped. The McNally’s had unwittingly been part of her various schemes. Their near constant absence and particularly low gate let Winifred move from her street to the adjacent one with wraithlike furtiveness.
A quick look round and she went over the gate in one smooth motion. She landed on the cobblestones beyond without a sound. The faint trace of a smirk crossed her face. She felt her sinews working instinctively with a powerful drive. Don’t get caught up in it, she thought. There will be enough time to gloat later. She came to the rearmost of the McNally’s property. A break in the hedge brought her into the vacant lot. In the center of the lot was a ruined old house.
She used to bring her victims to the place late at night. She paused a moment to reminisce. The muffled cries washed over her, filling her with ecstasy. She would take them to the very brink of death and then release them, giving them hope, until that last fatal second. What power! What raw, natural, dark power! To feel her victim’s pulse slow and the very life flow out of them. Yes, she thought, this is what I was born for.
All these thoughts flashed through her mind in an instant. She lingered no longer. Down Hackney Street across the four-way, here was her destination. A very confusing three-story house. It was opulent, there was no doubting that, but it was decidedly incongruous. It was part Victorian, part cathedral, and part Chinese temple. These inconsistencies seemed to be noticed and celebrated by the owner. For each section of the house was painted a dramatically different color. Among the myriad colors a tarnished gold (if indeed gold could tarnish) made the most frequent recurrence. The passerby who did not consider the house an absolute blight would be forced to agree that it was ostentatious at the least.
Ms. Winifred shook her head slowly as she came up the path. “Such serious business to be had in such a joke of a house.” She did not bother with the front door, instead she followed the flower beds around to the side. Even the flowers were the same dull gold as the house. Finding the screen door unlocked she pushed it open and continued through the French doors.
“Ahhh. You’ve arrived my darling.”
Feeling her presence enough of a reply Ms. Winifred did not answer. He who addressed her was named Guildford. He was portly and grey save for a shock of white hair in the middle of his head. He was extremely self-conscious about it and pawed at it nervously throughout the confabulation.
“Well, well, Miss Winifred. Please, do join me by the fire.”
“Ms. Winifred. And I am fine standing,” she replied, glancing around the room. It had the same incongruous nature as the exterior, but here it was chiefly attained through knickknacks and mismatched paintings.
“Oh, I do wish you would sit. It would make me ever so much more comfortable.”
“I am not in the habit of making people comfortable, as you well know.”
“Quite right,” said Guildford narrowing his eyes with an almost sadistic glee. For Guildford was one who took satisfaction in Ms. Winifred’s secrets. That is how they had met some years before. Though Guildford had never been very active he used to ambulate lethargically through the neighborhood. On one such stroll he had stopped to sit in the shade of a tree in the vacant lot. In a few seconds he had dozed off.
He awoke to a sharp cry cut short. Ms. Winifred was at her sordid work in the ruined house. Spying through the dirty glass he watched. He watched it all. He felt then like he had never felt before, alive.
Afterward Guildford introduced himself. Taken aback at first, Ms. Winifred soon found that he posed no threat to her. Guildford agreed to keep her secrets, providing he could again watch her at her work.
For a few years they had this partnership. Guildford feeding off the violence that he was neither physically nor emotionally capable of, and Ms. Winifred receiving an elevated ecstasy knowing she was holding sway over her victim and her audience both.
But even the macabre grows stale with repetition. Guildford and Ms. Winifred grew apart. Guildford had retired into the gaudy house and could not remember the last time he had left. Ms. Winifred had slowed, but nothing like the quiescent mass before her. They were together now though. Together for one last deadly errand.
“You are still ever so lovely, my dear,” said Guildford. “Tell me, have you settled for that chump across the street from you? I hope not. He used to admire you so much. But I should not blame him for that.”
“Your coquetry is wasted on me, as you well know.”
“If I know so much as you presume I do, then there would be no reason for conversation.”
“Except for the few details there is no need for con-ver-say-tion.” She said this last word with peculiar emphasis, mocking Guildford’s slow way of speaking.
“It is good, my dear,” replied Guildford, “that I sit so near the fire. For your words are so very cold. I see your point though. Let us get on to business, or I should say ‘pleasure’”
“Who?” asked Ms. Winifred still looking around the room. She had but glanced at Guildford once upon arrival.
“I don’t know his name. I find it’s usually better that way in any case.”
“You don’t!” Ms. Winifred said forcefully, then calmly continued, “You don’t know what is best. Leave what is best or worst for me to point out.”
“But of course, my dear,” said Guildford apologetically.
“Where?”
“In this very house.”
“What?” said Ms. Winifred somewhat surprised.
“Ah yes, my dear. This promises to be the most exhilarating and satisfying experience yet. The owner of this grand house (who you know I serve in official capacity) is flying in our prize from Central America. I do not know why he would go to such expense. I already take care of his more serious matters. But that’s the thing of it. I believe, from what I heard, that he’s being flown here almost entirely for entertainment purposes. Low times these, mighty low times. When one is flown halfway ‘round the world because he can tell a joke. I would tell the master of this estate a joke if I wished, but they are all so low. A joke our target tells the owner of this fine estate in some dirty market and it so endears the rascal to him that he invites him to live here. Low times...” Guildford finished with a murmur.
A wry smile came onto Ms. Winifred’s face.
“You are delightfully passionate about this Guildford. I would love to do this for you. Wouldn’t things go badly for you though? You being in the same house?”
“This is the beauty of it: I am almost completely confined to this chair, and I could surely never make it up the grand staircase to where the fool will be residing. Absolutely no suspicion will fall on me.”
“Guildford, your body may be dormant, but you mind is keener than it ever was.”
“Thank you, my dear, thank you. Now you must be off. If anyone were to see you here now, the cloak of stealth would be removed. I shall see you in this room Thursday next.”
“I shall be here,” said Ms. Winifred and silently stepped out into the drizzling rain.
The week passed quickly and without event. Ms. Winifred had a solemn disquietude about her. This she attributed to her being “rusty.” At the appointed time she went out, following the same path as the previous week. The same quick look about her, and the same dexterous maneuver so surprising for her age. However, upon lighting on the far side of the gate she noticed something was amiss. The McNally’s curtains were open and their sitting room window was ajar. They were home!
Perched on the window seat was the McNally’s terrier. The whole scheme could be ruined if he barked and alerted the occupants to the intruder. Thinking slow, steady movements would keep the little dog silent, she put out her foot deliberately. Before her foot had met the ground the dog let out the alarm.
Should she go back over the gate? Should she go on? These thoughts assailed her alternately a thousand times in that moment. No, I must go on. There is only one chance for this. She ran as fast as she could, the dog’s barks following her every bound. She had just made it around the corner of the house when Mrs. McNally opened the door to see what the disturbance was. Ms. Winifred stopped on the far side of the vacant lot to catch her breath.
She waited until she was sure she was in complete control of her mental faculties before she moved on. She took her time winding through back streets. She came to the back of the contradictory house via the small park behind it. All was quiet.
She once again pushed through the unlatched screen door.
“Shh,” was the greeting from Mr. Guildford. He was even more grey than usual and was pawing at the white shock of hair even more nervously. “Come close,” he whispered. Ms. Winifred did.
“We have a slight, um, disconcertion.”
Guildford’s “um” disturbed Ms. Winifred. He was never one to be at a loss for words. She wasn’t certain, but he may also have just invented that last one.
“What do you mean?” she inquired.
“Dear me,” he said in a very hushed voice, “It seems as if my residence has become the house of nations. Yesterday our ‘friend’ arrived on schedule and as planned. But today, this morning, someone else arrived. A Swiss from the family of Appenzeller. He’s a thorough boor, my dear, and he may get in our way.”
“Splendid,” said Ms. Winifred, “I flee from one dog only to run into another.”
“There is some good news,” said Guildford trying to brighten her fallen countenance, “The brute has fallen in with the cook in the master’s absence. They are in the kitchen right now sharing a meat pie. He has been engaged thus all morning. If we go about our business quietly I have every confidence we will be undetected.”
“Since you are obviously an expert on the hypnotic quality of food I trust it to your judgment.”
Ignoring the last remark Guildford proceeded to tell her the plan. Their ‘friend’ was upstairs in the east wing. She would unlatch the window of his room and drop him into the courtyard behind the house. From there they would take him to the outbuilding to set about their evil play. When Guildford reached the end of the plan the fire reflected in his eyes seemed to flash up with savage brutality.
Ms. Winifred took it all in and merely nodded. She walked over to the heavy door that stood open just a few inches and listened. Nothing. She opened the door enough to slip through and it squeaked rather more than she liked. She looked around the massive entryway that was dominated by the grand staircase. Every inch of the staircase was covered in intricate carvings.
Quickly, she made her way up the first few stairs, but she froze upon hearing a voice. She leaned over to look down the hall. The kitchen door was open and she could hear the cook’s voice. “There you go chap. Much better isn’t it? Get some air moving in here fer ya. I bet it’s a sight colder where’s ya come from than here.”
Knowing she was still safe Ms. Winifred moved up the stairs and took a right. Her footsteps made no sound. Following the hall she found the described room. Her heart began to race and instinct took control. Her thoughts were her actions, her actions were her thoughts.
There he was, this creature (for she never allowed her victims to have a personality) from Central America. He was facing toward the window, oblivious to her presence. She took in a deep slow breath. Winifred could smell the country of his origin on him. He was pale yellow and plumose. She had never seen anyone as exotically decked as he was.
He’s a court jester, she thought. He mimics what he hears and receives applause for it. This one will be particularly gratifying. With this last thought she stole into the room and pushed the door closed behind her. Her prey spun around revealing massive eyes and an even larger nose.
“Stay quiet and this will be much easier for you,” said Ms. Winifred. He did not respond.
“I was born for this you know,” she said while slowly closing the distance between them. “And now that I think about it, you were too.” He remained mute and stared at her with unblinking eyes. She continued, “Though you grew up in a country far from here we were meant to come together like this. For you were born and raised to be my prey. And I was bred to be your predator. Still unable to speak? I suppose silence is the wisest course of action for you. Give in to nature and it will be over soon enough.”
She was circling him now. Unsure of what his silence and statuesque stillness meant, but she fancied she could sense a great deal of fear. Ms. Winifred went to the window and with some difficulty unlatched it. She turned to face her quarry. Every muscle tensed. Her eyes tightened. She was ready to erupt and spring upon him with terrifying force.
Just as she sprang there was a tremendous crash. A gust of wind had slammed the open window against the side of the house. Her heart stopped and wincing she fell to the ground on all fours. The target took this chance to fly through the open window that Ms. Winifred’s silhouette had momentarily vacated.
Winifred recovered quickly and leapt after him in time to catch him by the tail. He was heavier than she thought though and his weight pulled them over the sill. Directly beneath the window was a steep roof. Down this they slid fighting the whole way. Ms. Winifred clawing at him and he trying to make an escape squawking in his fear.
They reached the edge and fell some ten feet into a fountain filled with stagnant water. This stopped his noises and momentarily stopped Ms. Winifred’s terrible blows. Guildford, who had been waiting on a bench near the fountain, started up as quickly as someone of his degeneration could be expected to start. He came to the edge of the fountain in time see Ms. Winifred dragging her prey, knocked unconscious by one of her blows, over the stone lip.
“We must hurry!” he said frantically, “That crash is sure to...” It was too late. On the far side of the courtyard a door was thrown open. The Swiss came out followed immediately by the cook. They were on the scene in an instant. There was nowhere to flee. Guildford assumed a look of feigned astonishment. As if he were just as surprised to find such an episode. Ms. Winifred let fall her helpless prey with a dreadful thud. She glared at the two onlookers with fierce defiance. The Swiss let out a low growl, but the cook was first to speak.
“Well, don’t this just beat all? Whataya think the master of this here house would say about this conspiracy,” he paused for a second, very proud of the last word. “A conspiracy's what we got here. The master away and you Mr. Guildford and your little friend here treating his guest like this. It’s downright abombobmni, abombninb, it’s wrong leastways. I guess there’s nothing to be done about it though. Except for you Mr. Guildford,” he cringed at hearing his name, “you’ll be gettin’ half rations tonight, and you’ll be lucky to gets them.” Here the cook raised his voice and yelled, “Get out of here you good for nothing cats!”
The cats left. One very slowly and the other very quickly, though not before one last look of defiance. The cook picked up the parrot who was coming around now. “Oh good,” he said, “you don’t seem the worse for wear, ‘ceptin’ a few missin’ feathers. And you,” he said addressing the guard dog,” bred in Switzerland for to do the work a doorstop could do better. Let’s clean this feller off and put him back upstairs. Maybe the master will be none the wiser. Then we can get back at that meat pie, which is particularly delicious, if’n I do says so myself.”
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