‘Tick Tock’
Whispers the Old Clock.
A tale spun from the hands of time, and the cruelty and greed of the rich and the poor taint it red.
But perhaps, there is more than what meets the eye? Delve deeper, read within – perhaps, another tale is yet to be sung.
“Whatever you do, keep your ears and eyes open, child.”
It was a dull, gloomy day that day with grey clouds looming dangerously over the Russian sky. Little Ira, never scared of such frivolous weather, giggled and squealed in excitement whenever the booming thunder echoed through the mansion. For the little lady, it was a good day – there were many people milling around the mansion; all of whom were bowing to her politely. Not to mention the pretty white dress that made her feel like an angel. It was, indeed, a good day for Ira as she skipped around her room with a big grin on her face. She stopped short as the door opened, revealing a strikingly beautiful lady and her most trusted handmaids.
“Mummy!” she gasped before racing to her mother.
“Careful, child. We don’t want your dress getting spoiled.”
Ira giggled. Lady Romanov was quite strange like that. While the little girl was terribly afraid of her father, who happened to be the greatest duke in Russian history, she wasn’t so much of her mother. Despite the lack of loving words, somehow in her childishly mature mind, she believed her mother meant well.
She wasn’t so sure of her father though.
She looked up when she felt her mother stroke her hair and was startled to see tears welled up in her eyes.
“What’s wrong, mummy?” she frowned.
“Nothing, my sweet,” smiled the lady through her tears. Ira frowned further hearing the endearment, before grinning widely.
“I like mummy calling me that!” she exclaimed.
“Really? Then mummy will call you that,” said the lady looking down at her lovingly before her eyes grew sad,”I’m sorry for not doing so all these years, my love.”
“That’s alright, mummy! You can start now.”
“Oh! My child, my poor poor child,” cried the lady, hugging her startled daughter tightly.
After a long minute, Lady Romanov pulled away and looked down at Ira before picking her up gently and setting her in the middle of her bed.
“Listen carefully, my sweet,” she said, kneeling down, “Mummy loves you, you know that, right?”
Little Ira nodded vigorously. Lady Romanov closed her eyes to take a deep breath before beginning.
“Remember that I will always love you,” she began gently, “But some things have come up, my love. Your father and I are struggling and need help. But the only person who can help is you, Ira, and the only way to do so is for you to -”
The mighty lady, on her knees in front of her daughter hesitated before speaking again.
“The only way to help is for you to live with some other people. Will you do that, Ira? Will you help your mummy and daddy?”
“But why do I need to live with other people? Can’t I stay here and help,” whined Idina, making her mother wince at her voice.
“No, my love. That’s impossible. You will have to go there alone to help – ”
“Alone?” Ira exclaimed in alarm, “But won’t you be coming with me?”
“Do not interrupt me, Ira! I have taught you better. You cannot behave like this when you go away. However, to answer your question,” the lady paused to look up as if to seek strength, “Of course I won’t be coming with you. A lady of the manor doesn’t simply leave the manor. That is ridiculous.”
“But I don’t want to go alone,” whispered poor little Ira. She wanted to scream it out, but was afraid of the lady’s wrath.
“Enough!” said Lady Romanov, rising to her full height, “Dry your tears, child. You must look beautiful today.”
Ira touched her plump little cheeks and was surprised to feel that they were indeed wet with her tears. Her eyes followed her mother who stalked to the big door before pausing.
“Martha!” she barked out.
An old lady appeared seemingly out of nowhere and bowed deeply to the lady.
“Calm her down, fix her hair, get her ready. She has a wedding to attend,” lady said coldly while the mother deep inside her wept uncontrollably. She barely controlled her tears before walking out as swiftly as she had come.
Lightning flashed as Ira stood up at her mother’s words. Ashen-faced, still as a statue, she stared after her mother with an emotion far beyond her age. Besides, age hardly mattered anymore.
She was a ten year old bride after all.
Martha, the old maid walked inside the room slowly, her joints protesting at the movement.
“Come, my angel,” she said cautiously.
Ira snapped out of her reverie and looked at Martha, beside a vanity mirror. Her face, old and wrinkled, but full of warmth and the little girl almost broke down at the kindness of it.
But another lightning flashed and wiped away all traces of weakness from her face. She walked determinedly to the mirror before sitting down in front of it. Old Martha smiled knowingly as she lifted a brush.
“Listen child, this may be difficult and uncomfortable,” she spoke in a rush, “But it is the only way. You must understand that.”
Ira sat with her back straight and tensed, looking every bit the lady she was to be, her eyes boring into the mirror, as Martha brushed her hair softly.
“And whatever you do, keep your ears and eyes open, child.”
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