Mr. Grimswell

Stars cannot shine when they are obstructed by clouds.

Death by Love

Chapter One

Mr. Grimswell

Under an old oak tree, buried under three feet of fertile soil, lies a golden medallion. It once was the precious possession of Lady Anne of North Middlebury Sound near the coastal regions of Massachusetts. She had buried it in that place some several centuries back only weeks before her untimely death.

There was much speculation as to the cause of her premature demise, for she was still young and vivacious.

Most, however, conjecture that she died of a broken heart.

Sir Martin Grimswell was his name. His many exploits and conquest with the ladies was well documented. He made no attempts to deny such claims, and, in fact, seemed rather vainglorious of his notoriety. He had, as one might say, been around the block more than just a few times. The fact that he was quite wealthy further inflated his value. He was, indeed, a commodity to be had, that was, of course, if he could be had.

Of all his many conquest, he had never fallen in love, that was, until he met Lady Anne. She was a ruby amongst plain stones.

She was not like all the others who willfully tossed themselves into the waiting arms of the charmingly witty, and handsomely young Mr. Grimswell. No, she would not buy into such a character so vile as he.

It was at the Festival of the Northern Lights, which always took place on the second Saturday of each December, that he first noticed her.

She, too, without purpose, had noticed him.

Well aware of his reputation as a womanizer she vowed, if possible, to avoid him at any cost.

However, a series of coincidental circumstances, much too detailed to go into at this time, brought the two face to face, thus and then, spoiling her plan.

“It's a very good evening, is it not.” replied the charming Mr. Grimswell, looking over at her and politely smiling.

“The stars are shinning brighter than I have seen in many years.”

“Sir,” replied Anne, “If you might take note, the stars cannot be shining as brightly as you claim when the clouds obstruct their view?”

“I was not speaking of the stars of the sky.” replied Mr. Grimswell.

“Are you speaking of me then Sir? I am not a star nor any other such object.”

Smiling, Mr. Grimswell looked right and then left,

“I am sure it is you to whom I speak for I see no one else.”

“Then I suggest, Sir,” replied Anne with an air of indignantcy. 

“that you take your comments some other place where they might better be appreciated.”

“You do not appreciate them then?” inquired Mr. Grimswell.

" No, I do not,” she replied.

“And why?” he asked, “What have I done?”

She looked at him and glared,

“Sir,” she began, “Your reputation precedes you. Your conquest are well known. I, for my own part, have no intentions of becoming yet another notch on your belt. You will find, Sir that I am not so easily impressed by your fine looks, cunning wit of humour, or your large bank book. So,” she continued, “if you don't mind, and without sounding too rude, could you please take your conversation elsewhere?”

The dejected Mr. Grimswell refused to be so easily dismissed and offered up one more spark to the dying flame.

“It is a shame, then Madam, that you should miss out on such interesting conversation that I might offer, and, as well, anything else that might come along later.”

Put off by Mr. Grimswell's suggestive comment, Anne retorted,

“It's a shame you should mention conversation at all, if that is what it is. Do you truly think so highly of yourself?”

“Well, Madam, I do think highly of many things.” he replied.

This only forced Anne to press on unrelentingly.

“You have not answered my question, Sir.

And, what," she queried," sort of answer is...'I do think highly of many things.'

You hide behind meaningless phrases, Sir.”

“I hide behind nothing of the kind, Madam. You see, here I am, standing before you, for all to see.”

Anne turned and faced Mr. Grimswell.

“You make my point perfectly, Sir.

YOU hide behind that which we can only assume we see. What is behind that facade? Who are you, really? Please, do not bother answering, for I already know the answer.

At that, Anne twirled and walked swiftly away from Mr. Grimswell. It would be months before their paths should cross again.

Things between them would not improve much by then.

Author's Note

Taken from chapter one of Death By Love