Chapter Sixteen: The Clues

The last encounter subjugates with forlorn, mourn and weeps, overflowing the fountain of tears by those left loved ones. Mr. Filch, Mrs. Finnegan, and Enrico convene together, seeing the old person that contributed a memory for them. Mr. Wagers rests peacefully in his coffin. For each of them, his good characteristics cannot be rivaled by anybody else.

Mr. Harold James Wagers was born at Harrogate on the thirteenth of July 1913. He’s an orphan, adopted by a Jesuit priest named Father Alexander Flaviore. After a few years of staying from his hometown, the young boy persuaded by his confessor to accompany him in moving to Bucharest, Romania to settle there for the rest of their lives. However, he doubted to agree, since living in his hometown couldn't be compared in other places, but for some reason, he has hidden secrets that made him stay and in the latter moved away from it.

The mourning weeps accustom to the melancholic breeze of the air, pressing against their teary faces, all people, gathering in his funeral. His close friends, neighbours, customers, visit him, before his presence expires in this world. Mrs. Finnegan sobs extremely as she transporting her sight to him back and forth, even if she talking for some people who paying visits and condolences to this nobleman. The conversation initiating a little as an old friend of Mr. Wagers comes forth to introduce his self, telling his story. His looks quiet older, wearing an old fashioned knitted sweater and old craggy trouser along with his old black cap. His barely simple and smiling face, with his dimple in his left cheek that slightly covering by his maturing wrinkles. All of them seat casually except Enrico who crosses his legs and keeping on roaming his sight to his surroundings.

"Before anything else…how are you my old friend?" Mr. Filch asks him firstly.

"I'm fine mate. What about you? How was─ oh, you have companions?" he scans his eyes unto them.

"Charlie, this is Mrs. Finnegan and Enrico…" Mr. Filch outstretches his right hand, pointing to them.

"Oh, I’m a friend of Harold, I am George Charlie Ferguson.” He travels his sight sluggishly.

The conversation continually overinflates into a pleasant one. It somehow temporarily easing and forgetting the pain of Mr. Wagers' unacceptable death. This conversation sweeps into more casually detailing. However, in the middle of the conversation, Mr. Ferguson oddly asks about Mrs. Finnegan's affair to Mr. Wagers. She defeats by a great silence. She candidly narrates their past. She starts with their memorable childhood memories when they regularly sauntering in the flower village at Harrogate, stealing some fruits from Sir Clearwater’s old farm. Those were good memorable years. However, it intruded by some of her suitors in the name of Robert James Finnegan who fancied her obsessively.

"Finnegan…? Yeah…he's a bloody friend." Mr. Ferguson declares.

"I wonder why many hate him." She sniffs as she clamping a handkerchief in her nose.

"I’m sorry to say ma’am, but same as me.” Mr. Filch tunnels his sight to her disfiguring face.

“Anyway, how…did our old friend die, Charlie? I can't believe he's dead now." Mr. Filch sniffs as well.

"Hmm… I don't think I should've said this to you, but perhaps I can set my conscience free at all." Mr. Ferguson strokes his chin, travelling his sight to them.

"What is that? Don't tell me, I’m not willing to accept anything about what happened to him. He’s selfish, he left us without any words, even letters any─ I'm sorry…" Mrs. Finnegan weeps once again.

"What do you mean letters? Hey…Jane! Heed me, any single day, and hour, minute and second, he's thinking of you two. He wrote a bunch of letters to you. He prayed and confessed to father Falviore about his regret of being coward to fight out his love for you. He told me everything about you and you're always his inspiration. He worked so much for you and dreaming one day you forgive him." Mr. Ferguson reasoned out.

"Forgive? Huh… he just deserted us… that's the truth… because…because…he impregnated a woman, he cheated on me, he lied─ that’s the truth. Now, tell me─ where’s he? Where’s he when I gave birth to Elizabeth, when my father died, when our wedding was supposed to start? Now, where’s he?" she blubbers distinctly.

Mrs. Finnegan’s eyes gushes her complete flowing tears with a shivering voice, moaning sounds and weeping unstoppably. The gentlemen purr into uninterruptible silence like a feeling of guilt. She even captivates other people’s attention in the funeral with her weeps and mourns taking much longer than others like a sound of torment.

"Ma'am, please calm down. I know your grief and frustration but as far I know─ Mr. Finnegan always letting me checking the post-box every day. It's one of my daily routines in the mansion; besides I received some Harold’s letters asking about you." Mr. Filch pacifies her as he rubbing her back.

"Yes, Jane…that's true. He sent you a bunch of letters every third week of the month and just to let you know─ Brittany Bernadotte was my daughter-in-law, don't you know that?" Mr. Ferguson adds a statement.

"No, not to my knowledge that─ so, you mean… you're Charles’ father, aren’t you?" she bulges her eyes unto him.

"Charles Ferguson? That lad he's no son of mine!" Mr. Ferguson exclaims as he evading and disfiguring his face.

"So, it's you─ you’re his father." She sniffles.

"He's no son of mine anymore. After his wife’s sudden death, he left us rotten. Her sickly mother pled me to find him. Until I've lately learned from a bank that he collaterals the house and our businesses for his ambition to become a lawyer. He wasted our money on his shifting courses and for his vanity that corrupted him. He's irresponsible at all." Mr. Ferguson reasons out.

"So, it's true…what about Ms. Bernadotte? How did she die?" Mr. Filch interrupts.

"She committed suicide, but I knew it's not true. She has the deepest secret we kept for long years after her death. She once told my wife Catherine that she regretted meeting Robert Finnegan when Charles introduced him to her. One night, when Charles left earlier for some urgent matter, he left her at the church in Harrogate for her confession. Upon her confession started, she felt disturbed by the priest behind the confession screen and his voice was unpleasant and unusual.”

Mr. Ferguson narrates the details of the scene as to how Brittany Bernadotte detailed it to her wife. Brittany insisted that the priest she confessed at that time was a complete impostor. She hasn't seen it clearly but she felt it. She also insisted that the priest he talked to was transfigured into another person she's not familiar with. She even insisted further that somebody watching and following her. She can't even sleep tightly, because of some nightmares of a guy chasing her in her dreams many times. They silently listening towards the hidden story and noting some clues they might find sooner in their minds.

"Then, is that the reason she committed suicide? Or… perhaps anything else…" Mr. Filch interrogates.

"At that night before she found dead. Catherine visited her room and that night she early slept soundly. My wife accidentally spotted her sweaty disfigured face, yet she touched her forehead but she attested her normal body temperature. So, she left her windows opened and left immediately in her room. In very early of the morning, Brittany usually woke up earlier but strangely she didn't. At 8:13 in the morning when Charles arrived from his private unknown business and went to their bed. Suddenly, Charles screamed in their room, confirming that Brittany was dead, leaving a suicide note. Mr. Ferguson pulls up a piece of letter from beneath of his old jacket’s pocket.

Dear my parents-in-law,

I regret writing this letter to all of you but I think I must. I'm sorry I don't love your son anymore and my abode to your home is over. I must go to where someone is waiting for me and he is waiting for me right now at the gate he promised to bring me in.

I swear to love him but he cheated on me. I swear to understand him but he won't. He chose to become rich and famous rather me instead. Now, my soul will be departing from here and my journey to the gate he promised me has commenced.

Farewell, my mother and father…

"So, she committed suicide?" Mrs. Finnegan wipes her tears.

"Perhaps, but still we're not convinced yet with that note. I knew, she's a kind-hearted wife of my son, but before my beloved wife passed away a couple of months ago. She told me at once about her suspicion…" Mr. Ferguson reclines his forehead into his left palm.

"What sort of suspicions would that be Mr. Ferguson?" Mrs. Finnegan focuses her sight to him. Mr. Ferguson cleared his throat as he confessing their theory about Bernadotte’s death. "This is our suspicion. My wife found Bernadette’s white knickers filled with so much blood in it and my wife added her regrets when she left Brittany in her room with her windows opened that night. She was─" Mr. Ferguson cuts off.

"It's bizarre actually …what do you think?" an interruption of a strange voice.

The climax of their conversation disrupts by a strange voice of an old woman. She cloaked herself with an old craggy, dusty hoodie long cloth, covering her face with her white long hair and gripping a long wooden cane with a Y shape and a few sprouted leaves on top of it. Each of them twists their sight to her as she marching towards them, passing from direction and continuously walking towards Mr. Wagers’ coffin. She speaks strangely but perhaps it might be useful for some point. Enrico is uncertain, thence he calls her promptly and she corners her eyes to him.

“Is that you ma'am?" Enrico disfigures his face.

As the old woman fades away from their sight, Enrico arouses from his seat, chasing up her trails outside. He manages to seek her in an old weeping willow tree in the corner of the backyard and finally perceives her apparition melting him by her looks. He heads towards her, scanning every detail of her facial expression that makes him baffles.

"Did I scare you? I'm sorry─ but I badly need you right now." she greets and verifying his feeling as she standing next to the tree. “Sure, what is it?" Enrico nods as he approaching her. “Do you have the things with you? She asks. "I’m sorry─ let me, fetch it." He scratches his head. "Bring forth everything you need, the time will shortly commence." She replies with a serious tone. "Certainly, but what kind of─" he pauses. "Ah-ah-ah, shut it, please lad stop asking, time is fleeting, shall we?" she serious her looks to him. "I'll be …back─ just real quick then, I promise…." Enrico steps back, acting to leave. "Very well then, off you go." she smiles.