Through the Looking Glass by Lovesfox Headers in Prologue Part 3 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Diary of Liza MacGregor September 2, 1872 The mirror has been completed; it was delivered to me today. A thing of beauty, it will become the instrument of my revenge. For at my grandmother's knee, I did learn many things, and a curse have I placed upon it. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Starbuck House 11:30 PM Mulder moved through the darkened lower level of the house with ease, his eyes having adjusted quickly, skimming the room and finding obstacles in time to avoid them. The service entrance was unlocked, as promised, and he pulled it quietly shut behind him as he exited. There were two paths he could take –- one that led around the front, to the street, or one that led around the back of the house and the rather significantly sized property. On their brief tour he had caught a glimpse of a patio as he looked out the sunroom windows of the dining area. Beyond the patio there was what appeared to be rather extensive gardens, and beyond those, a stand of woods. Woods that looked dark and mysterious. He smiled to himself at the fanciful thought –- weren't all woods dark and mysterious when viewed at night? He was certain those descriptors were a prerequisite, a must have, for a scary movie or story. The temptation to check the woods out was strong, but he knew Scully would not be impressed if he went without her, or at the very least without informing her of his intent to investigate. Despite being drawn to explore –- it was the nature of his beast, after all –- and how difficult it was to acquiesce to her, he decided he would just walk around the exterior of the house and do a quick scout at the very edges of the trees. The crushed stone path ran along the side of the house, where at the corner he again had two options. Turning right led to the large flagstone patio, with its tasteful groupings of white wicker furniture and umbrella tables with chairs. If he followed his present course, moving along the path would lead him through the gardens and to the very edge of the property, which became the woods. After only a cursory glance at the patio furniture, he continued down the path. Besides the typical flower garden, either John or Nancy was also cultivating an herb garden. Mulder recognized a few of the plants, but not all, and wondered if Scully might know any. Making a mental note to ask her, he continued on, reaching where he assumed the Carrington's property ended and the woods began. He and Scully could check with the town's registry or surveyor's office, or possibly the public library tomorrow to confirm if the woods were town property or privately owned. There was a functional yet decorative shed in the north corner of the property, with a sturdy-looking padlock on its double doors. A glance in the tiny, four-paned window revealed only the shadowy outline of what appeared to be a lawn tractor, and various and sundry garden tools and implements. The lawns appeared to be professionally done, and were immaculately tended right to the small wooden fence that ran along the entire back of the lot. He walked its length, hand skimming the top rail, and as he neared the far eastern corner, his fingers encountered an anomaly in the thus-far smooth surface. Pulling his mini Maglite from the zippered slash pocket of his track pants, he knelt down and trained the small beam on the fence. Moving it length-wise down the nearest post, he realized it was a cleverly concealed gate. Finding the latch, and then the hinges, he opened and closed the gate several times, confirming that the components had been well- oiled, and operated smoothly and silently. Standing up once more, Mulder trained the light on the ground on the opposite side of the fence, where the woods began. There was a not-quite obvious dirt path leading from the gate itself, one that appeared to cut through the dense thicket of bushes and trees. With the weak beam of light from his Maglite, he was unable to see how far it might go. It was too late to go traipsing through the forest now. He'd have to wait until the next day and convince Scully to go for a walk in the woods. Turning the Maglite off and returning it to his pocket, he made his way across the lawn to the house, ending up at the edge of the patio on the opposite side of where he had started out. Instead of cutting over the flagstones to retrace his steps to the door he had exited, he followed the path along the other side of the house. It was cement, and far wider than the other one, and there was a wooden ramp that led up to another door into the house –- wheelchair access? He tucked that interesting tidbit away in his mind, and continued on until he had come to the front of the house. Rounding the corner, he hesitated momentarily, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Sending a quick glance at the deep, partially closed in porch, he was unable to make out much except for the vague shadowy outlines of what he assumed were rocking chairs. Brushing off the feeling of being watched as an overactive imagination, he moved down the crushed stone path and through the picket fence gate, where he then leaned upon a section of the fence to perform some stretching exercises. A few minutes later, feeling limber and loose, and eager to run, he started off. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Diary of Liza MacGregor September 10, 1872 John and Rose were married today. I could not weep, for my soul has withered. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Scully's Room 11:45 PM As Scully efficiently moved about the room putting away her clothing, she caught occasional glimpses of her reflection in the cheval mirror. She could see now that it was perfectly placed to allow the occupant to see themselves almost everywhere in the room. And to put its fine craftsmanship on display. All the furniture in the room, and those downstairs were beautifully handcrafted. Scully's mother's house contained many fine pieces that were family heirlooms handed down through the years, pieces that Scully admired and cherished as being a part of her family's past, but she had to admit many here had definitely caught her eye. A huge yawn escaped her mouth then, interrupting her musings, and Scully glanced at her watch. It was 11:50. She should have told Mulder she would see him in the morning. His mind would be all revved up from his run and he would probably want to discuss the case. They could do that in the morning over breakfast, as well as determine which avenue of investigation they would take. After putting away the last of her clothes, she stored her empty suitcase under the bed, and reached for her toiletries bag to get ready to retire. She paused in mid-action. Where were her pajamas? She distinctly remembered pulling out her freshly laundered, purple silk, tailored men’s style pair and laying it on her bed at home. She heaved out a sigh of exasperation, her hands on her hips as she stared down at the empty suitcase. Unfortunately, she had no recollection of actually placing the pajamas in there. A dull throb began in her temples, and she lifted one hand to rub lightly at her forehead. An odd noise from out in the hallway distracted her, and she looked up, to realize two things. Her room door was still wide open, and the squeaking, creaking sound had to have come from the old-fashioned wicker chair styled wheelchair that was now parked in front of said door. The occupant of the wheelchair was an elderly lady with shockingly white hair who was watching her with interest. "You look troubled, dearie," the woman said, her voice nasal, and sounding of the sea. "Is there something the matter?" Scully dropped her hand back to her side and moved closer to the door, a little taken aback. She had been under the assumption that no one else was staying at the Inn, other than Mulder and herself. Her voice was guarded as she replied, "I've misplaced...something." The elderly woman nodded sympathetically, and her smile was sweet, making Scully smile in return. "I'm always misplacing things. Old age does that to you, you know." Scully was not sure how to reply to that, and her hesitation must have shown on her face, for the woman chuckled, although cackled might have been a better word, and said, "Don't worry, dearie. I know I'm old." She followed up that statement with another chuckle-cackle and then said, "So what have you misplaced then?" "Actually, my pajamas," Scully answered, a little self- consciously, for the woman's eyes suddenly seemed very piercing. "I'll have to make do I guess." The dull throb in her head pulsed harder, and she barely contained a wince. She disguised the instinctive move to rub her forehead again by smoothing her hand through her hair instead. "Make do?" the woman repeated. "Nonsense! I have something you can use, a lovely handmade linen nightgown that was passed down to me. I never wore it, myself." She seemed to know Scully would protest, and added, "And don’t you go giving me any excuses. I insist you take it." Scully tensed slightly, uncomfortable with the elderly woman's persistence on the matter. As if she had sensed Scully’s uneasiness, the woman smiled again, and her whole face was transformed into that of a sweet grandmother. "Please?" she asked. "It would do this old heart good to know I’ve done some good. Besides, I think it would look lovely on you." Scully decided to acquiesce, for it seemed the elderly woman was really set on her wearing the nightgown, and what could it hurt, really? Besides, the woman would never know if she wore it or not. She could take it and leave it out on the bed in the morning, in case she came by again. "Thank-you, that’s very kind of you," she said softly, and was then embarrassed by an enormous yawn she just barely managed to cover with one hand. The old woman made that odd laughing sound again and said, "You’re exhausted, dearie. I won’t keep you any longer. If you open that little chest there in the corner," and here she pointed one age-spotted hand in the corner opposite that of the mirror, "you’ll see the nightgown in there, on top of some extra blankets in case you happen to get a chill." Scully surmised then that the woman was a family member –- at her age and with the impediment of her wheelchair she was probably not part of the Inn's help. She then mused to herself that the elderly woman's age, which she judged to be in her late eighties, could actually be a benefit, in regards to perhaps answering questions about some of the older disappearances. Murmuring her thanks, Scully turned her head to look where the elderly woman had pointed, and saw an antique wooden chest bound in brass that was dull and pitted with usage. It was roughly two and a half feet long and maybe a foot and a half deep, appearing just big enough for what the woman had said, a few blankets or maybe some linen. Definitely not a hope chest or a linen chest, but perhaps a traveling chest of sorts that might have been used in the late 1800’s or early 1900’s, and one that suited the décor of the room. Returning her gaze to the woman, Scully said, "Thank-you again, Mrs...Oh, I’m so sorry, we never introduced ourselves, did we?" Shaking her head and moving over to the doorway, she held out her hand and continued, "I’m Dana Scully." The old woman lifted both of her hands from her lap and took hers, sandwiching it between them and squeezing gently. "Nice to meet you, Miss Scully. I’m Esther Dunford, but please call me Essie." With a nod and a smile, she added, "My grandchildren run this Inn." Confirming her supposition. Scully smiled back, glad Essie had invited her to call her by her personal name, or nickname, for the woman had not put an appellation to her full name, and she had been wondering what to call her. "I will, Essie. And call me Dana." Essie squeezed her hand once more but did not release it. She seemed to be studying Scully's face, and her voice was shrewd when she remarked, "You've a headache, haven't you, Dana? I've got something that will help take care of that. It will help you sleep too." She released Scully at last, and put her hands on the wheels of her chair. Scully opened her mouth to protest that she was fine, but Essie added, "It's no trouble, I've already got it brewing. I drink a cup myself every night. You go get that gown on, dearie, and I'll be back in a minute or two." Closing her mouth, Scully just nodded instead, and watched as Essie maneuvered the wicker wheelchair around and headed back down the hallway. Grasping the beautiful doorknob, she gently shut the door, musing at how easily the elderly woman had overridden her protestations. But then again, she was quite tired, not to mention the fact that her headache was steadily building in intensity, so she was not quite up to par. Turning, she walked over to the chest in the corner and knelt on the floor before it, lifting both hands to raise the lid. It creaked slightly and released the sweet smell of a sachet that someone, most likely Essie, had tucked along one side. The nightgown was where Essie had said it would be, delicate looking white linen folded neatly on top of a brightly patterned quilt. Scully thought it looked fragile, and touched it lightly with her fingertips before carefully removing it and standing. Unfolding it gently, she laid it out on the bed and admired its beauty. Sleeveless, with thick bands of the cotton material that would rest on the wearer’s collarbones, it had a scooped neckline delicately edged in eyelet lace with tiny pearl-like buttons down its front to the hem. It gathered slightly at the waist, and looked like it would fall to mid-calf on her. Simple, yet absolutely beautiful. The gown was also nothing at all like her normal style of sleepwear, but Scully found she just could not resist. Shedding her clothes, she neatly folded the pants and sweater she had been wearing, and placed them on the bureau to put away later. Her bra was folded and placed atop the bureau as well, while socks were stored in the garment bag she kept for dirty laundry while on trips. That was tucked back in her suitcase under the bed. Rising from that task, she stood there for a moment, before a shiver ran over her nearly nude body, and reached for the gown. Lifting the soft linen up, she carefully eased it down over her head, shimmying her hips slightly to let it fall into place. It was cool at first, and as the material slid down her body, her nipples tightened from the friction. Several of the tiny buttons were undone near the top, and in her tiredness, her fingers were clumsy and she found it difficult to fasten them. She looked up and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The white of the gown almost shone in the faint light, and the gaping front created interesting shadows on her skin. She found herself walking around the bed to stand directly in front of the long oval. Her hair was tousled, but it didn't look messy, it looked... sexy. The gown was very flattering to her figure, particularly where it dipped into the vee of her breasts, and she idly wondered what Mulder would think if he were to see her in it. Her head tipped to the side and one hand came up to touch the lace at her breastbone as she dreamily imagined his reaction. She didn't know how long she stood there, staring at her own reflection, was in fact unaware of anything until a knock at the door. Jumping in startlement, she smoothed her hands down the skirt of the gown. For a split second her image seemed to blur and shift in the mirror, and she shook her head, thinking she must be more tired than she had thought. Blinking rapidly in an effort to clear her vision, she hurried over to the door, the half- buttoned front of the nightgown gaping slightly. Pulling the door open, Scully found Essie there, balancing a tray on her lap with one hand. On the tray was a steaming mug. Scully watched as the old woman took in her gowned figure. Her mouth formed an 'O', the hand that had been on the armrest of her chair going up to flutter at her chest. "Oh, my, dearie, you look beautiful," she crooned. Scully felt her cheeks warm, knew they were most likely turning pink. "Thank-you, Essie. It's such a beautiful gown. You didn't...I shouldn't..." Essie broke in, "I won't hear that, Dana. It was just sitting there, never being used. You keep it, and I'll have none of your protests." She nodded her head once, emphatically. "Now, I've kept you long enough from your sleep. Here's your tea, dearie," Essie said, and lifted the mug up towards Scully. Scully reached out and accepted the offering, carefully cradling the hot crockery in both hands. Wonderful scents were drifting up to her nose on the wisps of steam, and she brought the mug closer to her face, inhaling deeply, eyes half-closing in pleasure. "This smells wonderful, Essie. Thank-you." "You're welcome," Essie replied. She winked then, and added in a stage whisper as she leaned forward conspiratorially, "It's my secret recipe, you know." The old woman settled back into her chair after relating that fact, and continued, "You drink that right up, and you'll be right as rain." Another emphatic nod, and then she said, "Good night then, Dana. You get yourself to bed now, you hear?" "Yes, ma'am," Scully said, the respectful title having come unexpectedly to her lips. "Thank-you again, Essie, and good night." Once more she watched as the old woman slowly and carefully turned her wheelchair around, instinctively knowing Essie would not want any help. The same squeaking and creaking came from the chair, and Scully wondered why Essie was using such an obviously antique item, instead of a modern and perhaps more easily maneuverable chair. Though this one did seem to suit its occupant, and in a way, the house itself. After closing her door, she hesitated with one hand on the old-fashioned lock, and then finally engaged it. Hopefully Mulder would get the hint that she had retired for the night when he returned from his run, and not pound on the door until he got to talk to her. Lifting the mug to her lips once more, she blew gently as the liquid was still steaming slightly, and then took a tentative sip. Her lips slowly curved in pleasure. The flavors tingled and danced on her tongue –- it tasted as wonderful as it smelled, and was now just the perfect temperature. Not moving from the door, she took another, deeper drink of the tea, her eyes closing, trying to isolate individual ingredients. Cinnamon was the strongest, and easily identifiable, as was nutmeg. She made a note to herself to get the recipe from Essie before they left, and took one more sip before telling herself to get moving. Carrying the tea with her, she retrieved her toiletries bag from the end of the bed with her free hand, and moved into the bathroom. She placed the bag on the little side-boy counter beside the beautiful pedestal sink, and turned to look at the whole room, sipping once more at her tea. As Mr. Carrington had taken them along the hallway, he had mentioned that she and Mulder would be sharing a bathroom and that it connected their rooms. After noting the door at the other end of the rather large bathroom, which was ajar, and through which she could just see a portion of a quilt- covered bed, her eyes immediately went to the huge claw foot tub, which was situated kitty-corner just to her right. It was easily six feet long, and appeared to be in perfect condition, a gorgeous and glorious addition to this or any bathroom with the shower stall in the other corner more for expediency or convenience. Thinking of neither of those things, Scully wistfully imagined herself slowly sinking into mounds of bubbles for a long, luxurious soak. But it was too late for another bath tonight; she knew Mulder would be raring to go in the morning. As well, it was just after midnight, and she was tired, and her headache had yet to diminish. Sighing, she scanned the rest of the room, taking in the wisteria-patterned wallpaper on the walls, and the cast iron wall sconce light fixtures. Absently, she brought the mug to her lips to sip at her tea, eyes moving slowly. There was a small mirror above the sink; its scrolled trim also in cast iron. Plush hand towels in purple-blue to bring out the color in the wallpaper, and a cluster of candles in varying sizes on one corner of the counter added beautiful, homey touches. As did the clear crystal bowl filled with real wisteria on the other corner. Someone certainly liked flowers, Scully mused. Her room was decorated in a rose motif, with the bathroom accentuated by wisteria, and she had noticed vases and bowls of flowers throughout the house on their tour. She idly wondered if Mulder's room had a similar theme, and smiled to herself as she thought that he probably hadn't, or wouldn't, notice. A sudden, hard yawn had her remembering her tea, and draining the remainder. After putting the mug down, she commenced with brushing her teeth and her nightly routine. Minutes later she was turning the small bedside lamp off and climbing into the feather softness of the bed. The sheets were crisp and cool, and she snuggled into the pillow with another yawn, the covers pulled to her chin. If Mulder later tried her door, or knocked, she did not hear a thing. *** End Part 3