From the first draft of Mira Rathod, Rising Star; an Autobiography

Chapter 57: A Life in Turmoil

Can you imagine? Even more bad news has struck since we were stricken by the tragedy of my older brother’s untimely demise, from whence I found myself all alone in the world (save for my other brother and sister and friends and I suppose various staff members at Haverfall). Even now the pen trembles in my very hand. I do not wish to shock the reader with the vivacity of my descriptions, so I shall be brief: I beg you be brave as I set the grim scene and tell you succinctly all that occurred :

(I am told my writing has that affect on people, that they are often overwhelmed by the lucidness of my prose and forceful command of grammer and are obliged to put down my books before finishing and sometimes never pick them up again, so deep and full of feeling is the impressions that my writing leaves upon them! But enough- here is what happened, in as few words as possible:

Let me also say that I daresay I should not like anyone to be overcome by gloom or horrified at the direness of our situation, so I will assure my fans that through it all I never lost faith, I knew this was but one more obstacle to be overcome in my climb to destiny. I consider myself fortunate enough in the fame I already hold, but that surely does not make me not privy to struggle. All my accolades could not help me that fateful day…

Alas! It was a darkish storming night (though not really night, more mid-afternoon and not all that dark but there was a good deal of cloud cover). The shutters trembled in wooshing wind and we all sat round the living room. I was wearing my new afternoon dress, the silk one with the green belt that I so admired in that shop on Piccadilly if you’ll recall from chapter 43. The solicitor was reading with a serious look on his face. He was reading my brother's last will and testament.

Poor William, rest his soul in restful peace, naturally left everything to us when he departed this earth all too soon. (His three siblings I mean; his sisters Eileen and me, and our younger brother Ashwin.)  Eileen says I cannot go into great detail about the legal proceedings in my autobiography as it is a family matter, and of course I must respect my sister’s wishes, so I can only hint that everything was split evenly between us, and that dear William gave us a few items individually according to what he thought we might like, and that I really don’t know what I shall do with the furniture as I’m afraid it is not quite as in vogue as my brother fancied - and also my brother left me three onyx necklaces, a few rings, and I simply cannot go into great description but I must not neglect to mention a set of yellow diamonds he left me that I really am quite pleased about (also that great lump of a carpet from Bhadohi that has been plunked in the middle of his dining room; you didn’t hear it from me but it really is a beastly thing.)

But hold! Here is the dastardly tragedy of the whole affair; I can’t imagine how, but the savings William left behind were a good deal less than we all expected. Do not be distressed, I shall carry on; but really I don’t know what to do with myself – I had thought that the money should help fund my travels when I go on tour this autumn, a trip for which I badly need to add to my wardrobe – styles change ever so quickly in Paris! Of course you'd think with all the publicity and attention that my musical performances garnish I should be quite able to pay for all I need, but a life of fame is not without it's costly costs.  You cannot imagine the pressure to be on top of every trend, and to make an appearance at every party and opera and club and all the best social events and restaurant openings and even your sister-in-law's book club that one time.  

It really is a pity; the sum William left is not a small one of course, but I should not call it large either, really middle-ish, all things considered.  I can’t think what my brother could have spent his whole fortune on... why he was rich as a king once! I think it a bit selfish of him to leave us with so little means to support ourselves, though of course I'd never say he did so consciously, despite the fact he always was an absentminded fellow, and a bit odd and taken to his own fancies, but I'll never doubt that out welfare was greatly imperative to him and also important.

Of course we bereaved family must count out blessings; we're not all so unlucky as William's godson, Ciaran, poor droopy thing. No one really expected for him to receive much in the will, and that's just as it happened - in fact his name is never mentioned.  I really think my brother was so preoccupied in his own affairs that he scarcely remembered he had a godson, even though the fellow used to spend all his summers here in his youth. Now he's a rather tragic looking thing in his twenties, always sighing and staring out the window at nothing at all. I believe he fancies himself an author of some sort, spends half the day scribbling away in that notebook of his. They say he went abroad to complete his education and only just returned this past month- alas that he should return to such doleful tragedy! Only I wish they'd taught him a touch more about getting on in polite society at whatever school he attended; I can't say he's much of a conversationalist. I tried to engage with him and his answers to my queries were polite enough but all somewhat abrupt, and he quickly excused himself right away. Perhaps I could offer him some writing tips sometime, the two of us being authors and all that.

There's also the butler kicking about (rather a looker if I do say so myself) who is just enraptured by my piccolo performances. The fellow simply can’t tear himself from the room while I play. Hard to get a word out of the poor soul though, I think he’s smitten.  But he wouldn't be the first person I've known to become tongue tied upon making my acquaintance (fame will do that to some folks, you know, but I assure you I am quite ordinary!) William also kept a first rate cook, a Scottish girl - don't know where he found her but her breakfast scones are simply to die for. And of course there's good old Chaucer, my brother’s silly little pug dog, who is old as dirt and does nothing but sleep and snort all day.

Oh! Walter's still here, the groundskeeper. I really can't say why my brother kept him on for as long as he did, as the property is in a lamentable and bad condition (and I have a great suspicion that Eileen shall be sacking him soon. She's always mistrusted Walter; wouldn't even let him tend to her horse, back in her show riding days.)  The fellow just gives me the oddest feeling, just like someone's dropped an icicle down my spine. I know he must be fascinated to have a celebrity in the house, but he keeps hanging about and asking me the oddest questions. When did my brother die, not what day but exactly what time, and what precisely was he taken ill with? I suppose it's innocent curiosity but really there seems something morbid to it.  When I’d finally had enough and let him know that the family affairs are not particularly his business, the fellow grins the most spiteful smile at me and then slinks off somewhere behind the shed. I haven’t seen him since.

So now here we all are, nothing to do but distract ourselves by putting my eldest brother's affairs in order. There are so many pieces of furniture and collectibles and paintings to sort through and divvy up; luckily we have a young typist who's been assisting us in taking notes on all the household belongings. Eastwind something ? Westbreeze? Well anyway it’s the oddest most whimsical name. I think having a secretary is a grand idea, for we must keep a catalog of everything left behind, but Eileen says that this is all Ashwin's doing and that she should have been consulted first before hiring anybody. I can tell she’s not pleased with there being a stranger in the house. She’s so rarely pleased with anything these days... Well I think the secretary is charming (and seems fascinated in me! Perhaps a little starstruck, poor dear. I was kept answering questions about all sorts of subjects for near half an hour, everything from my tour schedule to my brother's favorite foods to all manner of details about the family history.) 

So there is the whole of it; we siblings are all handling this dark and distressing turn in fortune as best we can. Ashwin felt the financial blow as keenly as I did, I'm sure, but of course he managed to grin and pretended to make a joke out of it, the dear. Eileen seems to be taking it all in stride, but who can say for sure? My sister is so terribly hard to read sometimes. She didn’t say a thing when William died- I was almost worried she might never speak again. Now she mostly paces about with her brows farrowed, giving orders. I get the idea that something is troubling her, you know? And I don’t just mean William's death, there's something more on her mind. But what it could be I haven't an idea of the foggiest.