Lady Millerd
This story is about the mysterious circumstances of a plate and the hands in which is comes from, and goes to.
Lady Millerd
‘Please, be very careful with it.’
She received the wide teal rimmed plate early that morning. It’s combustion of teal and brown flowers, leaking outward from the middle. As she delicately held it in her hands, her fingertips gripping the edge, she noticed the small flecks of clay that revealed the plate’s wearing over time. She wrapped the plate in her scarf that scarcely covered it. It was all she had to protect it. Her engine started and gave a slow coughing start. The plate sat at the feet of her car with her scarf’s tassels poorly covering the plate. In her mirror, she could see Lady Millerd stood at her door nervously looking ahead, fingers to mouth, as the plate got further away from her.
The car eased its way into her drive with another coughing stop. The plate tilted a little on its side. The scarf now thrusted into a corner, crumpled and useless. She tiptoed out of her car and gently closed her door. With slow footsteps she held the plate to her chest as she turned her key, squinting her face in fear.
‘Please, be very careful with it’, repeated in her ears like the gathering sound of wind picking up.
She made it inside without the plate falling. The lights were off as she scampered her way from the hall to the kitchen. She didn’t want to wake him up, but now wished she had at least turned the hall lamp on. The protruding coat rack bulged in the almost dark. Her body felt like it was filling up with fire. Turning sideways to get into the kitchen, the pesky door still hadn’t been fixed, caused her shoulder to jut out and the plate to almost plummet to the floor. She froze and caught her breath before moving again.
She lay down the plate on the counter, besides the basket of garlic cloves and lemons. With one swelled sigh, she leant back on the opposite counter and wiped her brow. All was silent. Her perspiring palm slipped, and her stale coffee crashed to the floor. The remains of coffee splattered onto the floor like the imprint of a sneeze.
She heard a groan or so she thought. She wasn’t sure if it was the neighbour’s dog, her own groan as a reaction to the speckled tiles, or maybe the postman struggling to deliver to next door, as he often did. She stared on at the basket and could have sworn she saw the lemons clambering on top of each other to edge their way to the plate.
Springing back from the counter, she decided to move the plate. She set it on top of the fridge but feared being too high up might cause an accident. She carried it in the folds of her cardigan and hesitated between rooms. Removing the plate from her folds of cardigan, she set it on the carpet underneath the table. No. She scooped it from the floor and put it on the mantlepiece. The plate’s edge jutted out and it seemed to daringly hang in the air. No. This wouldn’t do.
Right. Where could the plate quietly, comfortably live. She looked at the closed door underneath the stairs and could see the chaos of mess. If she placed it there, she was sure he would at some point be on the hunt for something, yank, tug and pull and boom! the plate would shatter.
‘Please, be very careful with it’
Holding the plate underneath her chin, she circled on the spot seeking a space. Her silver rings tapped the base of the plate in a nervous, irregular chime. She abruptly stopped worrying she had marked its bottom. She placed the plate on the dining table. It seemed so obvious now. Why wouldn’t she put it there, so perfectly in the centre.
She looked on at the plate with pleasure. A soft release rose from her body. She remembered the splattered coffee and returned to the kitchen. Kneeling down to erase the stains, she reached for a cloth and her scattered bits of newspaper came fluttering down and became blotted with coffee stains. Letters were obliterated and others became more prominent.
Footsteps shuffled upstairs.
‘Is that you Bea? Everything alright?’
She creaked up from the floor and inspected the plate again. Maybe it was too obvious there she thought. A lack of imagination perhaps. Maybe it should be higher. Viewed with more admiration. Right out of people’s reach too. Though not so high nothing of its detail can’t be appreciated.
She placed the plate on the small table by the front door. Perfectly noticeable. It was an immediate feature to please the eye. No longer was the table a mere key holder. And a good distraction from the ugly coat stand.
‘Bea?’
‘Oh yes, yes, I’m just popping out to get the final bits for later, want anything?’
‘I’m ok thanks, I’ll start on tidying the garden’
She reached for her coat and no sooner was she wrestling with the bulging coat stand. Why did they continue to load it with coats, when all but one was needed. She was shrouded in hot, fuzzy darkness. She felt a creaking snag in the wood. She finally got her coat and broke free but with a thrashing, ungainly force. The plate swivelled at its base, spinning on its axis before gaining momentum and gyrating in full force. She leapt from the floor, half covered in coat, and caught the plate in the centre of her stomach. Gasping and wheezing.
The doorbell rang. She almost couldn’t hear it at first, but it quickly became a blaring noise filling up her ears. She couldn’t tell who it was, but the two figures looked stocky and thick, in black. One seemed to be tilting on their heels a little. And the other so still it frightened her. A finger raised itself to push the doorbell again. Interrupting this, she opened the door and two policemen stood in front of her. They were speaking but her attention was still with the plate. She wanted to check that no damage had been done.
‘Madame, we have an urgent case on our hands. Can you confirm when you last whether you know, or have been in contact with Lady Millerd?’