Young Writers Society

“He loves me… He loves me not… He loves me…” Daisy walked around the fountain, her shoes crunching on the gravel whilst her fingers busily plucked away at the red flower she held in her hand. “He loves me…. Not.” Sighing, she tossed the remnants of the flower head into the water; scattering the loose petals, which floated like little boats on the surface before sinking. The fountain stood in the centre of the garden. It was a large, circular structure sculpted from pale sandstone, and a group of stone cherubs encircled the centre of it protectively, as though guarding its water. Daisy sat down on the edge, and trailed her hand absent-mindedly across the rippling glass; watching as the little waves spread out, until they were engulfed by the stormy bubbles in the centre of the pool. She sighed again, dramatically, and looked across the laurel hedges towards the grand old manor that stood at the head of the garden, its wide balconies stretching out to embrace sweeping lawns and towering hedges that formed the impressive garden in which she was sat. From the fountain, Daisy could just see the French doors to the drawing room where her mother and Lady Mary- who owned the house- were talking. Lady Mary was a formidable character, and Daisy couldn’t see why her mother would ever associate herself with her as rumour had it she was very cruel to her servants and even her husband, Lord Henry. The chance of seeing their son Peter was the only thing that made visits to Fardale Hall bearable for Daisy.

She knew she should probably go back to the house, instead of being outside by herself, so she laboured up and straightened the skirts on her new forget-me-not dress. Funny, she thought, I wish that Peter could see me now as he would never forget me if the colour were true!Peter Carstairs was, in Daisy’s opinion, what every man should be. He had broad shoulders and he was of an acceptable height, which was good Daisy thought, as she was tall herself, and small men were not to be abided! His dark hair was curly without being unruly, and fell like the forelock of a pony, down into his eyes, only to be pushed up again by his strong hands. His eyes were a deep brown, and they always seemed to be smiling… He also happened to be three years older than Daisy, who had just turned sixteen that September, so any thoughts of romance were off the cards. And besides, he was courting Elizabeth Morley, from across the way. “A plague o’both your houses” Daisy muttered bitterly, quoting the most appropriate Shakespeare she could think of, “A plague----“ She stopped short as a rustle of leaves caught her attention.

Daisy froze, her wide blue eyes straining to see past the leaves around her. All around the fountain was a ring of dense evergreen hedge, with paths between that radiated out like the spokes of a wheel towards the house, and others that led to the lake and flower beds. She peered down each of these little streets, trying to sense where the sound had come from, when she realised that she was being ridiculous- it was probably only a rabbit! This thought, however, did nothing to get rid of the chill that ran down Daisy’s spine and caused the hairs on her arms to stand up even though the day was mild- warm even- for April. She breathed in deeply and relaxed, forcing herself to stop overreacting yet again.

“Daisy, dear” she said to herself firmly, “There is no use being daft about little things, there’s nothing there. This isn’t like last time, nothing will happen.” Another sudden sound like a twig snapping caused Daisy to jump. “What was that?” she cried, startled, and without a backwards glance she picked up her skirts and hurried towards the house, the gravel beneath her feet digging into the soft soles of her shoes; the white shoes with the row of pearly buttons that lined up her ankle.

*** “But mother, there was something there! I felt it!” cried Daisy, as their carriage was pulling out of the driveway at Fardale. “Nonsense dear, now hold still. How you managed to get quite so many leaves in your hair is rather baffling. You fell over, you say?” said Daisy’s mother, Lady Harborough, as she continued fishing scraps of dirt out of Daisy’s flaxen curls.

Daisy pulled away with a jerk, “I didn’t fall mother. I happen to be quite careful on my feet, contrary to your beliefs! Something, and don’t look at me like that if you would, something tripped me up.” Her blue eyes flared and Daisy tossed her loose hair in what she hoped looked like an act of defiance.

“Really dear,” exclaimed her mother as the carriage jolted along the road, “You need to learn to act like a lady! We shall never find you a desirable husband at this rate. Have you heard about Miss Morley?” Here, Lady Harborough leaned across the carriage, her eyes shining with gossip. At the sound of Elizabeth’s name, Daisy’s heart dropped, “Well it turns out that she was seeing both Mr Carstairs and that young rebel type, oh what’s his name… Mr Phillips!”

Lady Harborough sat back against the seats, as though the spread of talk had quite taken it out of her. Daisy rolled her eyes as if she found the entire business tiresome, but inside she was secretly overjoyed. If Elizabeth had been seeing Edward Phillips as well as Peter, then Peter would no longer like her, she thought, this could be her chance! Brimming with happiness, Daisy arranged her face into a neutral look and glanced out of the window as the carriage continued to bump along the country lane that led away from Fardale Hall, watching as the long grass that bordered the roadside swayed up out of the ditches and waved lazily in the late afternoon sun, turning the fields a warm orange. The gentle rocking of the seats, combined with the soft, plush cushions and the warm, sweet-smelling breeze lulled Daisy into a trance, her forehead leaning against the window frame as her eyelids drooped into sleep. Her eyelashes rested in a dark sweep across her cheekbones as the dying light made the dust glitter inside the confines of the coach. Daisy stirred and her eyes fluttered open; blinking into the fading sun. Opposite her, she saw that her mother had succumbed to her exhaustion of the day, and had fallen asleep with her head resting on her hand, crushing the silken flowers that adorned her hat. Daisy smiled and marvelled at how quiet it was now Lady Harborough wasn’t talking.

She turned to look back out of the window, shifting slightly in her seat. Still, the world looked peaceful and she could hear the steady clopping of the horses’ hooves on the dry dirt as a sudden gust of wind picked up the dry dust and blew it around the wheels. Daisy’s eyes watered and she began to pull back when she stopped. There… There was definitely something in the undergrowth next to the carriage. Leaning slightly out into the road, she tried to look closer. It was something big and dark, shadowy and swift. It was racing along next the carriage, silently, like a ghost and Daisy felt her heart race as she began imagining what it could be. This was no rabbit; this was no fox, Daisy thought, thinking of all the books she had read on animals- a bear, perhaps? Scared, Daisy shuffled further into the interior of the coach and was just about to wake her mother, when a gleam of red caught her eye. The creature had turned its... head, she supposed, and the sunlight had glinted off its eyes, shining in a sinister way. An unexpected feeling of de’ja vu swept over her, and she remembered. Just before she had fallen over at Fardale, no, before she had been tripped over, Daisy had seen a flash of red from the bushes before she had hit her head. The carriage gave a sudden lurch and stopped. Then Daisy began to scream.