The Window Seat

A short story inspired by “Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries”

Her thoughts wandered as she stared out onto the street below fidgeting in her seat. Wind whistling between the houses of England’s ‘high-society’ rustling the leaves in a frantic show of dominance. Pushing and pulling on the few brave souls’ umbrellas and jackets that had become more of a hindrance than an aid in their quest to get out of the god-forsaken weather. Newspapers were scurrying down the cobble drive as if to escape the storm whilst small rivers cascaded through the cracks of the stone into the weathered storm drains.

Accompanying those who darted past her window, which was situated on the second floor of an Italianate style home, was the occasional beast-drawn cart; rustling past her in time with the rain. Every so often the loud motors of the rich could be heard in the distance before they turned onto her street. Her breath on the window made the fog outside look so much more foreboding than it was; causing her to wipe away the distraction as she continued to watch the goings-on of the outside world. A loud flash of light followed by a rumble of thunder startled her. Using unsteady hands, she shifts the upset pillows that had fallen on the ground to fit the curvature of her back, allowing her to continue her observations from her perch on the window seat.

The relentless rain pounded on the window she rested her head upon. She gazed longingly toward the gate-lined road for the arrival of her Aunt Patience and the two clowns that followed her every whim. Aunt Pat was a tall woman, standing at 5’11’’ with a graceful poise that bestowed upon her royalty. Her dark hair cut short into a fashionable bob that was usually accompanied with a new accessory designed in France. The girl from the window admired her Aunt – always in for a good laugh or an outrageous adventure. She smiled at the thought of Aunt Pat dragging along Harris and George on another one of her excursions. Veterans from WWI, she had taken them in several years back as henchmen to aid her in chasing after shady characters and tearing down crime syndicates. It was a common occasion to have those in the house do obscure tasks in the glorious name of justice. It was just a part of the package when you lived with Dorothy Patience, The Famous Woman Detective.

Her ears perked up at the sound of a car engine, muffled by the rumble of the storm. She spotted the familiar yellow 1924 Hispano-Suiza pull up onto the side of the house where they kept the garage. Her Aunt’s house was larger than the others in the neighborhood for her Aunt was a very wealthy woman who never settled for less than the extravagant. She plucked herself from her perch, twiddling her mother’s locket with her fingers and walked over to the window adjacent to the other, wishing to catch sight of the occupants getting out of the car. She stifled a laugh at the sight of Harris and George, two large men in their early thirties, getting out of the car with great haste. They fumbled with the umbrella’s latch as they hurried to escort her aunt and another figure to the kitchen door without getting drenched.

“Angie! Your aunt has just arrived from her trip,” Dott, the Catholic maid announced as she popped her head in the room. Her round face was slightly rosy and her short, wavy, golden hair was barely situated in a bun; all signs that she had been busy with Butler awaiting Aunt Pat’s return.

“Thank you Dott.” Dott was turning to leave when Angeline beckoned her over to the window, still watching the four of them get out of the car. “Do you know the stranger who accompanied them home?”

“I don’t know Miss. Your Aunt did not mention another guest. I shall inform Butler to set another cup and saucer out for tea.” Dott quickly excused herself and scurried out of the room to inform Butler of the unexpected guest. With one last glance out the window she soon followed Dott down to the kitchen where she could hear the warm exclamations from her beloved Aunt.

It had become too quiet in the large house her aunt owned, even for her own taste. Although she mainly kept to her room with the occasional outing into town, she kept most of her company with those employed by her aunt. She missed the adventurous spirit that her aunt carried with her. She wished she had the drive to get her hands dirty and go out to capture the bad guy, but she found it better staying with Dott and giving advice when asked.

“Ahh there you are my dear!” Angie was pulled out of her thoughts by her Aunts remark. She noticed that her skin glistened from the water outside, her jacket draped over the back of the chair that was now vacated as she approached Angie into a much missed hug. She pulled out of the hug and directed her towards the rectangle table situated in the center of the kitchen allowing all present to sit down to a nice cup of tea, “I would like to introduce you to an old friend of mine, William Fishinger.” Her voice sounded a little strained but quickly composed herself and sat next to the beady-eyed stranger.

Mr. Fishinger looked up from his tea. His short, black hair, speckled with the signs of stress and age, was pressed down from the hat he wore giving him a hooded appearance as if he hadn’t slept in days. He looked to be in his mid-forties, a little older than her aunt. She fidgeted in an attempt to sit straighter in his seat. “It is nice to meet you Angie,” his voice grated as if he smoked a pack of cigarettes a day and there was a crazed glint in his eye making her shudder as he extended his hand to shake hers. Tentatively she reached out to shake his calloused, leather-hard hand, “I have heard much about you from your Aunt Patience.”

Harris and George sat across from each other at one end of the table. Angie sat next to Harris on the side of the table facing the kitchen window over the sink. Her Aunt sat facing her with George on one side and William who positioned himself rather close to Aunt Pat. The table was tense as there were many scrupulous stares directed towards the unwanted guest. “William has run into a bit of a trouble and has asked me to look into the matter,” her Aunt began. Angie carefully sipped at the steaming tea in front of her, grateful for the comfort of it’s warmth.

William put a hand on top of her Aunt’s that was placed on the table as if to procure her attention. “Patience, this is a delicate matter that we are talking about. Are you sure that it is appropriate for your niece to be listening to this?”

She tried to remove her hand but was stopped by his steely grip. Her Aunt seemed unfazed by this behavior in contrast to her tense looking bodyguards at her sides. She continued, “Angeline is a grown woman who has more brains than most of Parliament.” With a small chuckle, she looked at Angie, a sparkle in her eye and a quirk to her eyebrow. Angie’s uneasiness with the guest was growing until it was felt pit of her stomach even at her Aunt’s attempt to lighten the mood. “Angie has helped me solve many of my most challenging cases.”

“Oh Aunt Pat, I think you over exaggerate my abilities.” Angie’s words sounded forced as she gave a quick smile and took another sip of tea.

“Are you sure? You seem like a very intelligent young lady, no doubt inherited from you Aunt. You have the same eye for mischief and poking around in others business.” William’s demeanor changed to something far more threatening as he chuckled humorlessly. The pit in Angie’s stomach grew and she felt her heart beat faster, causing her to wipe her moist hands on her long black day dress.

As if sensing her uneasiness, Harris patted her hand from under the table. A flash of lightning followed by a house shaking roll of thunder sent the lights flickering. All nerves were on edge as one more crack of lightning occurred followed by an impenetrable darkness. Angie felt as if she would  collapse from the stress when Butler came in with candles, giving off a feeble light that illuminated the suffocating stillness that had settled into the kitchen.

“Thank you Butler for the candles. They were in immediate need. Do you know where Dott went?” Her Aunt asked looking as calm as ever as she offered a comforting smile to those at the table.

“Yes ma’am, she was in using the telephone in the library calling her mother. Making sure she was safe with the storm outside.” Angie let go of a breath she did not know she was holding feeling relief flow through her.

William’s maniacal gaze shifted from face to face in the room. Everyone watched each other in anticipation wondering who was going to quench the lust that lingered in his tormented eyes. Eyes that spoke of guilt, shame, desire, and blood thirst. They waited in excruciating silence for someone to make a move, her Aunt’s hand still in the clutches of Mr. Fishinger. The men sat waiting for an opportunity to protect their mistress. And behind the door, the maid trembled… praying.

Angie watched in the same fixated state. Like she had only a little while ago as she stared out her bedroom window. Droplets of water tapped on the window in front of her and the pounding on the slate roof lulled us all into a sense of false hope. The shadows created by the candle made the mad-man’s grin look larger than it was and much more malevolent making chills run down the curvature of the niece’s back.

Another loud crash, followed by another. Aunt Patience’s calm demeanor never wavered as she sat there, listening to the stillness that the darkness provoked. In the distance was the sound of a car traveling down the cobbled road, muffled by the constant downpour of the rain.