A Knock on the Door

In a big old-fashioned house, on top of a green hill in Cumbria lived a rather strange-looking young woman.

“Strange” may be a bit strong, maybe unusual would suit her better. Her hair was long, blond, often unstyled, her fashion sense non-existent. She favoured flowing Indian skirts more 1978 style than 2018. Sandals adorned her bare feet whatever the weather prompting the question of whether she had a stash of similar sandals as they only varied in colour. Her tops were also very 70s and she wore oversized jumpers on cold days. Definitely not the usual appearance of a Cumbrian resident!

Villagers at the bottom of the hill were intrigued by her but very few of them actually knew anything about her. Some said her name was “Emma” and others swore that they heard her call herself “Lura”.

One thing they all knew is that she lived alone in the house which used to belong to a distant cousin of the Royal Family, on the Prince of Wales’ side. The cousin had died but some villagers still remembered him. She had come to live in the village a few months ago. There were rumours that she was mid 20’s but often she looked like a weirdly dressed 30 something.

There was speculation too as to how she could afford to buy such a big house at the top of the hill. She was never seen going to work and only glimpsed doing her shopping in the village once a month. The rest of the time she roamed the countryside in search of herbs, plants, flowers and bushes or stayed indoors. When villagers came across her, in woods or fields, her arms were always laden with various greenery that she had picked that day.

Tongues wagged constantly: “She must be a witch, a herbalist.” On and on it went…

She was aware of the interest she generated but ignored it most of the time, simply getting on with her own business, which she loved. Once a fortnight, a white average-sized van drove up the hill to the house, then, as observed by nosy villagers, the driver parked round the back, went in briefly then loaded boxes in the van and drove back down the hill to leave the village.

What would the villagers not give just to have a peek at what was being loaded in the back of it? That was just too mysterious and unnerving. People needed to know, didn’t they? In case she was up to something dubious!

The worst gossip in the village, Ethel, decided to enlist the help of a few cronies by whipping up a frenzy of outlandish, mainly negative and derogatory assumptions about “the weird one”, as she was known in the village.

One March morning, Ethel and her posse of 3 ageing gossipers, walked to the house on top of the hill. They got there as the van was actually parked at the back.

Ethel asked, “who is going to knock on the door?”

Secretly she thought she was entitled to be the one to knock but she also wanted to appear magnanimous so she had raised the question.

Gertie replied “You, Ethel, I think you should. It was your idea to come here!”

Gertie just finished her sentence as Ethel approached the wooden front door and knocked with a firm, decisive thump.

There was no answer to Ethel’s demanding knock. She was none too happy. “I am sure she is in, but she is not answering. How rude of her.”

As Ethel ranted to her friends, the front door suddenly opened and there stood “the weird one”, dressed in her usual 70s attire, her blond hair today held in a messy bun overflowing from every part. Up close, she looked to be in her late 20s.

Ethel was taken aback and stuttered her “hello” then carried on “we wanted to introduce ourselves and say welcome. I am Ethel…” this statement clearly designed to generate a reciprocal introduction but “the weird one”, just looked at her, saying nothing.

Ethel’s curiosity was aroused: “I don’t know your name but we are so pleased you chose to come and live in our village. These ladies are Gertie, Barbara and Iris. We wondered how could help you to settle in?”

“Hello, ladies. Thank you for taking the trouble to come up here and for your kind offer but I am just fine. Now I am afraid that I need to return to my work, so if you’ll excuse me, good day ladies”. Then she closed the door in the face of the four gossipers, leaving them baffled and offended.

Ethel was enraged: “Well I never! The cheek of her, no mention of her name or what she does! We are none the wiser, that’s outrageous. I’ve never been treated like that in my entire life.”

Fuming, Ethel marched her cronies back down the hill.

Behind the closed door, laughing to herself, “the weird one” made her way to the back of the house. The van driver was next to a box in which laid several beautiful natural arrangements made of wild flowers, plants and twigs.

“Sorry about this Peter. Some busybodies are intent on finding out who I am and what I do and they are dying to know more about me. No doubt they are very disappointed right now!”

A hearty laugh came out of her throat and lit up her face.

“The Prince’s natural wild flower arrangements are ready for you to take away now. Please thank him once for his order and please thank Camilla for her suggestion for the summer arrangements, I will work on them straight away. See you in a fortnight, Peter.”

“I’ll pass on your message of course. See you then, Laura”.

Peter said his goodbyes, all the while thinking of the villagers who were so hung up on Laura’s appearance that they actually had no idea who was living in their midst…

" Régine Demuynck originally from France, has a passion for the word and has written several poems and flash fiction. She is a linguist, a language teacher and lives in West Sussex. 

Régine, who writes under the name of Andrée Roby, published her first novella called "Double Vision" in January 2019. It was voted "Book of the month for April 2019" by the publisher Tredition.  She is currently writing a sequel called "Failed Vision".