Whispering Echoes - Maya Chandel (best books to read non fiction .txt) 📗

in vogue with young women. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought that she might find her mother’s wedding trousseau within; or perhaps even more thrilling, correspondence between her parents, letters of courtship!

That she look within the old chest suddenly became imperative, and Kitty found herself casting a sharp eye about the room as she considered where her mother would most likely have kept the key. Setting her bets upon the dressing table, Kitty approached it once more; only this time rather fervently searching through its many drawers. She barely paid any attention to the contents she unearthed, her mind too intent on discovering the key to the chest; though much to her frustration her search seemed to be in vain. As she reached the bottom drawer with no luck, Kitty gave an impatient little stamp with her foot, before reaching to her pocket for a cigarette.

Never one to give in easily, she exhaled a slow puff and then set about going through the drawers again at a somewhat slower pace. It was as she did so that she caught sight of something she had missed the first time round; a small catch at the back of the top-most drawer!

With a gleam of excitement in her bright blue eyes, she instantly put out the cigarette and reached with her slim fingers to try to undo the catch. It was a little tricky, but she soon had it figured and much to her delight found herself opening a secret compartment at the back of the drawer; where sure enough together with a stash of tied up old envelopes was a rather rusty looking key.

By now Kitty could feel the blood pumping through her veins with anticipation and she did not hesitate a moment in snatching up the key and literally running to the chest. Scrambling down to her knees, her fingers struggled a little with the worn out lock; though she eventually won the battle to tentatively lift the heavy lid and reveal the contents within!

In all honesty she could not help but feel a heavy weight of disappointment; it was nothing but an old children’s toy chest and not even a very impressive one at that. From what she could make out there was nothing at all fancy inside it, but rather home-made toys and altogether odd bits and pieces. Bemused, Kitty found herself drawing out the likes of a play sword which had been carved from wood and wrapped in tin foil, a smart crest painted across its gilt. There was also a shield to accompany the sword as well as a compass, a pretty little silver tiara, a pair of wings crocheted from a dusky pink yarn, a rather striking venetian mask, a vast selection of crystals and shells, numerous cloaks and a good many more odd pieces besides.

Kitty did not at all know what to make of the collection; it certainly did not bear any resemblance to her own array of childhood toys. It was rather like an odd fancy dress collection; yet why would her mother have kept all these things, furthermore why should she have kept them locked up in a chest such as this? Evidently this all must have held some meaning for her; some sort of sentiment perhaps?

It was puzzling to say the least, though Kitty was not altogether certain it sparked enough interest in her to ponder over any further. Whatever her mother’s reasons for keeping these items, they certainly did not seem to be worth keeping to Kitty and as such she thought she may as well clear out the chest now that she had started; it would at least be one less task for later.

As such she continued sifting through the layers of odd assortments with a faint air of bemusement, until approaching the bottom she stumbled upon a collection of what appeared to be old scrapbooks. With a small glimmer of curiosity, Kitty picked the topmost volume and started to flick casually through its browned pages.

Whatever she may have been expecting to find within the dusty old scrapbooks, she certainly found herself a little surprised to be met with a flowing script of blue ink that had been written by a remarkably elegant hand. The writing was interspersed at regular intervals by coloured drawings, which although crafted with care were clearly depicted from a child’s hand; or rather Kitty thought from children’s hands. For on a little closer regard it was evident that the drawings were in varying styles; some crafted from a rather more precise hand than others. They were certainly very imaginative pictures; flicking through the pages, Kitty glimpsed images of strange and mythical creatures, their names and origins printed beneath the drawings in that one same beautiful flowing hand. There were also innumerable maps, all of make-believe places; yet in a detail that was quite remarkable, as if these lands almost truly existed.

Giving the drawings closer attention, Kitty began to recognise some of the images as bearing resemblance to items from the chest. There were illustrations of a few of the crystals she had found and she was interested to note their magical properties as were listed beneath the drawings. She also found herself recognising a reoccurring sword and shield, which were yielded by the same man; although he appeared to wear innumerable different disguises. His name she learned, on glancing at the captions below the images, was Captain Bravura; and for some reason Kitty rather thought she knew that name. There were other reoccurring characters throughout the drawings too; a fairy princess by the name of Ophelia, who was depicted with sparkling pink wings and wearing a silver tiara, as well as a Sea Witch, who was portrayed only as a face that resembled the Venetian mask from the chest.

Kitty’s interest in the scrapbooks by now was truly ignited; not only by the fantastical imagination in the drawings before her, but also by some vague recollection that these characters were familiar to her. Intrigued and hoping to shed some light on the hazy recollections that were taking shape in her mind, Kitty rather thought there was nothing for it but to start at the very beginning of the elegant prose; and as such she settled herself down comfortably and turned back to the first page, dated July 1892.
Chapter 10

Rosevale Manor, Cornwall, July 1892

At the sound of footsteps racing down the stone stairwell, the two small girls looked up from their spot under the willow tree where they were enjoying the cool shade; Agnes sitting neatly cross legged upon a sprawled out cardigan so as not to dirty her pretty summer dress, whilst Evie merely lay flat out on the grass, a contented creature of the Earth.

‘Here, I found this,’ called Daniel rushing over towards them as he excitedly waved what appeared to be a scrapbook before them.

Agnes looked most unimpressed as he settled himself down on the grass beside them, digging his hands inside his trouser pocket as he did so to take out a pen and ink pot.

‘Really,’ she exclaimed with an expectant sigh, ‘If you were going inside, you might at least have brought us out some lemonade; I am quite parched.’

‘Didn’t have time,’ he shrugged, already opening the first blank page of the scrapbook out before him. ‘Besides I am sure Daisy shall bring us out a tray soon enough; she usually does,’ he added as he dipped the pen slowly into the pot.

‘What exactly are we doing?’ asked Agnes.

‘I told you, we need to chart out Captain Bravura’s first ever adventure whilst it is still fresh in our minds so as we don’t forget any small detail.’

‘But why?’ persisted Agnes screwing up her delicate little nose in the manner that she usually did when she was at a loss to understand something.

‘Well because it is going to be the first of many adventures and I think we should keep an accurate record of them.’

‘Here, here!’ came Evie’s voice of agreement from somewhere amongst the grass.

‘How can there be more adventures when we already reached an ending?’ enquired Agnes. ‘I mean Princess Ophelia was rescued and returned safely home to Fairyvale, the evil Grindylows were defeated by Captain Bravura, who in turn received a handsome reward from the Fairy King and as such no longer needed to serve Captain Shortleg, but was at liberty to have a ship of his own to sail the seas.’

‘Precisely Agnes,’ grinned Daniel. ‘Don’t you see, it is just the beginning of the adventures; a prelude almost that explains Bravura’s origins and how he came about to have his own ship.’

‘However, now that he does, the real adventures can begin,’ said Evie suddenly springing up with a bright smile. ‘Only imagine all the possibilities; all the places he shall go and see, all the different peoples and creatures he shall meet and all the dangerous situations he shall find himself in. Something tells me that Captain Bravura rather has a taste for danger.’

‘Why of course he does Evie,’ smiled Daniel, his hazel eyes already sparkling with anticipation as he envisaged all manner of predicaments that would face Captain Bravura across his travels.

It really had been the greatest stroke of genius he thought; indeed he hardly knew exactly how it had come about. After all they had begun the afternoon simply playing one of their regular games; that was until Agnes had started to cry because as usual she had been the first to be caught. In an effort to appease her threats of abandoning them, he had suggested they try to make it a little more interesting; to which she had replied that she would only continue to play if she were permitted to be a fairy princess. Hence they had all decided to take on characters; he and Evie playing a multitude of roles, amongst which Captain Bravura had been born and Daniel had just known he was the likes of proper storybook heroes.

‘Why is it all about Captain Bravura?’ asked Agnes, not sounding altogether too pleased at the notion.

‘Well because he was the hero of the story and the one with the most potential for development,’ replied Daniel. ‘As he now has his own ship it makes sense to follow his adventures.’

‘Why not follow Princess Ophelia’s adventures in Fairyvale?’ argued Agnes, to which Daniel and Evie exchanged a worried glance.

‘She is not exactly the most…’ Daniel paused to consider his words in fear of upsetting her. His short eleven years of experience with girls had already taught him that they really were a trial to manage; all except Evie of course, but he didn’t really count her as a girl. Why he was sure Evie could give the boys at school a run for their money; in fact he rather thought it was a pity