Clara’s Encore (A Short Story)

Part 2 of 3

For the third day in a row, Logan had failed to find his client, Idris. He wasn’t at his mother’s, he wasn’t down by the river and Logan still hadn’t plucked up enough courage to ask the local healer to guide him through the woods. He’d read numerous fairy tales in his clients’ books about white witches, but now he was presented with the opportunity to meet one in reality, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He balked at the idea of shattering the fantasy that magic wasn’t real, but every day in this mystical village added another layer of confidence that she could be legitimate.

The freshly coated, cast iron victorian gate creaked as Logan closed it behind him, crinkling his nose at the strange smell. It would take more than that to put him off his freshly baked croissant.

“Hope you’re saving that Logan,” chimed Gwen from across the garden as she balanced precariously on a wooden ladder that looked older than she was. “Your breakfast is being made as we speak,” she said in between short puffs, whilst cleaning the bay windows. Logan shoved the croissant back into its brown bag, forcing his grimace into a smile.

“Of course, Gwen. Wouldn’t ruin your breakfast.” Gwen waved her hand in
acknowledgement as she climbed another wrung on the ladder, causing it to wobble even harder. Logan rushed over to steady it. As he did, he couldn’t help but look through the window into the breakfast room and catch the gaze of the mysterious woman. He felt a chill vibrate through his body as her eyes looked through him and made him feel emotions he couldn’t articulate. He jumped slightly, as he felt the ladder pull from his grasp.

“Are you ok Logan? Your breakfast is going colder than my marital bed.” Logan blinked, clearing the fog that had settled over his thoughts, and turned to face Gwen, whose eyes danced with mirth. “I’m fine, Gwen. Just got lost in thought for a moment. “Thank you,” he added, nodding at the now stable ladder.

She chuckled softly. “One day, you’ll tell me about that daydream of yours. Until then, enjoy your meal.”

Resigned and still curious about the mysterious woman, Logan made his way inside. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the scent of the croissant from his bag. As he settled into his usual spot by the window, he summoned the courage to approach her. Drawing a deep breath, he stood up and approached the corner table where the woman sat. “Good morning,” he began, his voice a tad uncertain, “I’ve seen you here the past few days and felt… drawn to introduce myself. I’m Logan Beaumont.”

She lifted her eyes to meet his, their depths holding stories untold. “Morning dew on roses, yet night’s shroud awaits,” she replied cryptically, her voice lilting and soft, like the gentle breeze that rustled the village trees. Logan blinked, taken aback by her poetic response. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that?”

She tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a slight smile. “When the sun sets and the day’s work is done, shadows reveal what daylight shuns.” He hesitated, trying to decode her words. Every interaction with her felt like wading through a dense fog, each step revealing a new mystery. “Are you talking about the village? Or something else?”

She leaned in, her gaze unwavering. “Both, and neither. Llyndaran holds its secrets close, but perhaps, in time, they might be shown to those who truly seek.” Feeling both intrigued and more confused than ever, Logan nodded slowly. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

She simply nodded, her gaze once again fixed on something unseen. Logan drummed his knuckles on the table awkwardly before moving back to his table and finishing his breakfast, repeating the conversation he’d just had with the strange woman over and over with every bite.

Logan made his way up the narrow staircase, the polished wooden bannister cold to the touch, contrasting the warmth that the B&B exuded. As he neared his door, a figure emerged from the shadows, causing Logan to jump back a little.

“Mr. Beaumont,” greeted Mr. Davies, the aging caretaker of the inn. With silver hair, a stern face, and always impeccably dressed, he was a constant presence, often seen in the background, making sure everything ran smoothly.

“Mr. Davies! You startled me,” Logan replied, his hand over his racing heart.

“I apologise,” Mr. Davies intoned, a hint of amusement in his deep-set eyes. “I saw you speaking with Clara downstairs.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, curiosity evident. “Oh, that’s her name. Clara” He repeated it again as if to give it extra presence. Yes, she’s… different. Intriguing.”

Mr. Davies gave a slow nod, leaning against the hallway wall. “Clara has been part of Llyndaran for a very long time. She’s become a bit of an enigma around these parts.”

“Is she a relative of Gwen’s?” Logan inquired, recalling their earlier interaction.

Mr. Davies chuckled softly, a sound Logan hadn’t heard from the stoic man before. “In a manner of speaking. Clara lived in this very house long before it became a B&B, during the Victorian era. Clara was known for her beauty and her… unique way of seeing the world. They said she could speak to the very essence of Llyndaran, could hear its whispers.”

Logan’s interest was piqued. Did he really say the Victorian era? Mr Davies continued, his eyes glazed over as he spoke with deep fondness.

“She was never the same after returning from London. Desperate to be seen. To be a star. She couldn’t see what was right in front of her. Who was right in front of her.” Logan noticed Mr Davies’ expression shift to sadness and frustration, his liver spotted hand gripping the sweeping brush even tighter. “Oh yes, those rich, little english boys would watch from the audience and shower her with gifts, but they all took advantage. Yes, she was good at her craft, but she came back scarred. Not worth it. Not my
Clara…”

“Are you ok, Mr Davies?” Logan queried, concerned about the old man’s sudden change of character. The caretaker snapped out of his own little world and looked at Logan, a gaze that seemed as hauntingly familiar as the one Clara had given him when they first exchanged glances across the village square. He felt the chill run through his body once more. Mr Davies smiled and nodded, “Oh yes, I’m ok.”

“And what happened to her?” he asked the caretaker, curious to understand more.

Mr. Davies paused, the weight of years and memories evident in his gaze. “Tragedy, as it often does, struck. She was…let down. Betrayed. By someone that supposedly loved her…”

Logan stared, trying to process the revelation. “But I spoke to her. She’s real, tangible.”

Mr. Davies simply smiled, a wistful expression crossing his face. “In Llyndaran, the boundaries between the past and present, the living and the departed, are thinner than most places. Clara is as real as you and I, in her own way. Perhaps you’re meant to uncover more of her story.”

Logan’s mind raced with thoughts and questions, but before he could voice any, Mr. Davies gently excused himself, leaving Logan to contemplate the enigmatic tapestry of Llyndaran’s history and its equally mysterious inhabitants.

TO BE CONTINUED… (please do clap if you enjoyed & let me know in the comments if you are keen for The Final Part)