The Tortoiseshell Mirror Ch. 01

This story is a romance but it also contains fantastical elements including a character's transformation into a non-human, feline humanoid which may not appeal to some readers. There is some sex but it only comes at the end of Chapter Five.

Marianne brought her car to a halt outside the small cottage. Killing the engine, she sat for a few moments, listening. Though the year had turned to Autumn it was still warm enough for her to drive with the window open and now that allowed her to breathe in the rich scents and enjoy the quiet of the countryside. Feeling suitably rested from her drive, two hours West from London, she began unloading the car. From the map she had seen that the nearest village was a couple of miles away, it would be nice to walk there, but she was uncertain what shops, if any, it would have. She had no desire to be driving tens of miles back to a town for shopping, so, had come well stocked for her fortnight at the cottage. For the moment she was not keen to really associate with anyone.

Things had moved so fast in the past couple of months. First she had been very weak following a bad bout of flu and then she had discovered that Rob, impatient at her being unavailable, had triple-timed her with a work colleague and some other woman he had met at the supermarket. Consequently, Marianne felt bad, both physically and emotionally. One of her colleagues, Helena, had been a star when she had recommended this place, 'Silverbirch Cottage', that belonged to some friend of a friend of hers. Apparently this woman liked to rent it out as a kind of refuge from the cares of the world and had thought Marianne an ideal person to use it.

Marianne began lugging the bags of groceries to the cottage door. For a moment she thought there was cat curled up asleep beside it, but as she got closer she found it was a clay model, shaped and painted to look so lifelike. She was sure that Helena had said something about the cottage's owner being an artist, so this seemed to fit. Marianne pulled out the long iron key and plunged it deep into the lock. It was stiff to turn, but soon Marianne was inside. The cottage was tidy, if a little musty. Marianne hurried around, going first to switch on the power and water, before opening the shutters that gave the cottage more of a French feel than that of a typical English place. Soon the cottage was bathed in afternoon sunlight, the golden kind you find in Autumn and a gentle breeze was clearing the mustiness.

Having unpacked and put away the food supplies, Marianne went back to bring in her clothes, books and other things to keep her entertained. There was no telephone, television or even radio in the house, and even her mobile phone seemed to be having difficulty getting a signal. There was a rack of CDs though, seemingly selected to be calming. The books on the shelves, similarly had been chosen for their beneficial content. There were some classic novels, but Marianne was heartened to see a number of good books on yoga and meditation, things she had once been very interested in, but had gone by the wayside when she had met Rob. Now was certainly the time to rediscover them. Marianne parked her fantasy of meeting some handsome yoga instructor who would treat her the way she should be. That would be something to tackle when she returned from this break and not to address now.

Whilst for a moment Marianne worried about being cut off she understood that this was what she needed, not to be bothered by messages of any kind or the affairs of the world. She would be strengthened by this break and return ready to tackle anything. Having had a nice cup of hibiscus tea, she began exploring the cottage. She had been told that it had two bedrooms. The more spacious one on the ground floor had a big bed and an even larger wardrobe. It was of a shiny dark wood, and Marianne imagined that it would have been great to play in as a child. Marianne left this bedroom and climbed the stairs to find the smaller, and in her view, far more cosy bedroom. Its wardrobe was newer and the window looked out over the small garden behind the cottage to the woods beyond. Marianne decided she would use this one and she made up the bed and unpacked her clothes and books so everything would be ready when she came to sleep.

Her job finished, Marianne decided to have a snooze and lay back on the duvet. She put her hands behind her bed and looked up at the ceiling. She drifted in and out of sleep. Feeling a bit more relaxed and hungry for her lunch Marianne sat up. As she did, she noticed something protruding from the shelf below her bedside table. She reached for it and it turned out to be an old-fashioned tortoiseshell mirror, with a slender handle and an oval face. They were back in fashion now, with synthetic materials replacing the tortoiseshell, but this looked like an original, probably made sometime in the late nineteenth century. Marianne admired the rich brown, flecked pattern on the back. She guessed it would come in handy. Finding it somehow reassured Marianne further: clearly if the owner was willing to leave antiques lying around in an empty cottage there was little danger of it being visited by vandals or burglars.

Marianne flipped the mirror over to see her reflection. For a moment she thought the glass must be old and stained. The reflection it showed was of her face, but strangely different. It was if she was looking at the face of a cat: a pert nose, whiskers, the distinctively-shaped eyes, the greeny-grey light and dark stripes of tortoiseshell fur around the face and on the pricked-up ears. It was so different to how she really looked that she guessed it had to be a picture. This was presumably some piece of artwork produced by the cottage's owner. Then the reflection blinked. Startled, Marianne dropped the mirror on to the bed. The strange image had scared her and again, as had been so common in recent weeks, Marianne could feel her heart racing. She was almost afraid of the mirror, but slowly reached out for it. She had to confirm whether it had been picture that she had seen or something else.

Marianne turned the mirror over again and looked into the glass. Now it showed her as she would expect to see herself, if a little tense. Clearly she had still been half asleep or maybe the stress of recent weeks had made her see things. She put the mirror on the bedside table, chiding herself for being so silly when the whole point of her being here was to rest. She stood up. Her clothes felt tight and itchy. She recognised that after all the driving she probably needed a bath, but first, she realised, a strong cup of chamomile tea was what was needed. She set off downstairs to make it. With her tea made and some of the biscuits and a magazine she had picked up on the way down, Marianne headed into the living room. She selected what looked like a calming instrumental CD and put it on quietly in the background. She casually flicked through the magazine, not really being ready to read anything more demanding. She sipped her tea and felt it taking effect quickly. Now things were relaxed. There was a bird chirping outside but that and the music were the only noises. She was so glad that all the worries of work and her life in London seemed a world away. She knew she had only a short time here, but it reminded her that she did not have to permit herself to be deluged by worry, she could step away from it and return to tackle the problems re-invigorated. In minutes the itchiness had gone and she felt cooler. Soon she had forgotten what had worried her and with her attention more in her grasp she picked out one of the new paperbacks she had bought and immersed herself in the complexities of its murder mystery. So the afternoon passed and Marianne finished the evening with a simple meal, some nice red wine, a bath combined with more reading and an early retreat to bed.

Marianne awoke suddenly. The wind was shrieking round the cottage, and the roof, the timbers, the very fabric of the building seemed to be groaning in sympathy. Marianne guessed this was the price you paid for coming to the country. Whilst it may not have the traffic noise and the drunks shouting in the street, that could be made up for by the sounds of the animals and plants all around you. Marianne switched on the bedside lamp and slipped from her bed, guessing she was not going to get back to sleep too soon. She opened the curtain and looked out. It seemed windy certainly, but in the weak light coming from the cottage she could see no trace of rain, for which she was glad. Marianne stepped back from the window catching her reflection in the glass. For an instant she thought she saw the cat-like image from the mirror looking back at her. She snatched for the said mirror which she had left by her bed. Then there was a loud bang and Marianne leapt in fright. Then as the noise came again, she realised it must be one of the shutters come loose downstairs. She was unused to checking them before bed and anyway, she had felt that closing them would make the cottage claustrophobic rather than snug.

Marianne knew she stood no chance of getting to sleep if the shutter was banging all night and went down the stairs to deal with it. She wondered if there was torch around, but as she progressed, she found she could see reasonably well anyway. It must be closer to morning than she had realised. The further she walked, the warmer she felt. Her nightdress felt itchy and she put it down to the fright she had just had, making her hairs stand up. She continued into the small living room. The nightdress felt restrictive now. A little self-consciously she lifted it over her head. Then she told herself she was being silly, there was no-one here to see her, why should she not walk around naked if it made her feel more comfortable? She dropped the nightdress on the sofa and went to the front door. There was a real spring in her step, she must have had some decent sleep if she felt this good. Maybe it was the weather, there was something invigorating about it. At first she had not been eager to go outside, but now it felt like an exciting idea; the cottage had suddenly begun to seem rather close and she wanted to breathe in the fresh air. She fumbled to open the door finding it difficult to turn for some reason, but finally she lifted the latch quickly.

Marianne hurried through the open door. Outside the light seemed strange. The Moon showed it was still quite a while to morning, but Marianne seemed to be able to see pretty clearly. It felt good to be out here. Marianne relished the strong wind as it whipped across her body and made her feel really alive. She wanted more of it, and found herself running away from the cottage, bounding on to the grass, loving the sensation of it stroking over her. She let out a peculiar sound of joy. This was fun, this was getting away from it all. Soon she was coming close to the woods. Whereas she would have imagined that they would have been scary, now Marianne felt they were exciting and filled with things of interest for her to investigate. She plunged into them, running along a faint path, barely noticing that she did not feel the twigs that must have been jabbing into her feet. She caught sight of mice and ran after them, laughing as she toyed with them, then focused on something else.

Marianne had no idea how long she had been out here. The wind was beginning to subside and on the horizon she could see the first glimmers of dawn. For a moment she worried about finding her way back to the cottage, but then it seemed so easy. It was almost as if she could smell the way she had come and certainly sense the correct path to take for home. It was not long before she was striding back into the house. She pushed the door closed behind her and picked up her nightdress. Then she curled up on the couch with it simply covering her. Quickly Marianne fell into the best sleep she had had in months.

To Be Continued ...