Byron the Bastard, Part 1 of 9 :: BigCloset Classic :: BigCloset TG Stories <br /> June 2001 to November 2004

Byron, the bastard, treated his wife terribly. Too bad for him her best friend is the grand niece of the infamous Dr. Moreau
Byron the Bastard

Part 1: Byron goes too far.

Byron the Bastard
by Jezzi Stewart
©2004 Turn Right Productions

This story was conceived by the merging of two events in May of 2003. The first event was my rereading of H.G. Well's "The Island of Doctor Moreau" followed closely by the second which was a result of my cleaning out of my classroom closets prior to retirement after 37 years of teaching. I found material dating back to the '60's in those closets! A lot of it consisted of things I had acquired thinking to use them in class, then totally forgot about, and never used. One of those items was a copy of "True Love Stories" magazine from May, 1930. As I leafed through the magazine, it became apparent that it was close to crumbling to dust. There was no way I could save the whole magazine, but I had been impressed with the illustrations and decided to try to save them long enough to scan them. I eventually saved nine illustrations from five different stories. As I looked at them. an idea began to form. I printed each one on its own sheet of paper and began shuffling them around on my dining room table. After several shuffles, the story which you are about to read formed in my mind. Because there are nine pictures, "Byron the Bastard" will be posted in nine chapters, each inspired by one of them. I hope you enjoy it.

This is dedicated to my fellow authors and, I hope, my friends Angel O'Hare and Maddy Bell, who have honored me by including me in their stories. You two are in this whether you like it or not! :-)

Part 1, December 24, 1933, Angel

It was christmas Eve, and as the taxi drew closer to the Bromley estate in suburban Wilmette, Angel could tell that her friend Carol Bromley was, getting a bit nervous, and she thought, *I hope to hell this works!*.

Carol's father, Alexander Bromley, was a self-made man. Born dirt poor in Oklahoma in 1880, he had worked his way out west to Washington state, where he was in a perfect position, at age twenty, to work his way north to Alaska and take advantage of the Gold Rush of 1901. He had not struck it rich, but like Levi Strauss before him in California, he had come up with something the miners desperately needed, a new, improved form of snowshoe, and made a fortune selling it. His snowshoes were smaller and lighter weight than the traditional ones, and much easier for the miners to work in. It later turned out that his snowshoes worked equally well in sand, and he had increased his fortune by selling to the British and French in the desert regions of their empires. During The Great War, he had come up with a military version, which he manufactured and donated at no cost to the allied forces, earning the praise of the American, British, French, and Russian governments. (Angel, on a visit to Bromwood, the Bromley estate, had seen a picture of him displayed on the piano receiving a medal from the Czar.) The shoes had been endorsed by none other than Lawrence of Arabia.

In 1910, Alexander had married the beautiful Sissy Rowland, heir to the Rowland seed grain fortune, and in 1913, Carol had been born. It was a difficult birth, and Sissy, it was found, could have no more children. The couple lavished all their love and money on Carol, but, unfortunately, Sissy never fully recovered from her daughter's birth and died in 1919, when carol was six. She was brought up after that by her father, who retired to do the job. Their joint grief over the loss of Sissy only strengthened the bond between the two, and carol grew up as beautiful as her mother and with her father's intelligence and work ethic. Hence Carol's employment at Moreau Imports, even though she was heir to enough money to buy several European kingdoms.

Over the year and a half that twenty year old Carol had worked at Moreau Imports in Chicago's Rogers Park, the two young women had become good friends. Angel Moreau O'Hare was the grand-daughter of the founder of the company, which imported artifacts from the Far East, and had been working there since she graduated from high school, five years ago.

When Carol had started at the store, she had been a bright-eyed happy newlywed, and every other conversation was about how much she loved her apparently god-like husband, Byron, and how happy she was. It had been Byron this, and Byron that; it seemed as though the man had no faults.

They had decided to live, she told Angel, with her invalid father on the family estate because he needed her. It had been Byron's idea, she had stated proudly. She had wanted to buy a small home of their own close by, but he had convinced her that "father" needed them close at hand. Such a wonderful, caring man!

But five months after she started work, her beloved father had died. Angel had been by her side for three days straight to comfort her distraught friend, and had held her while she cried and threw the first handful of dirt into the open grave. Angel had thought at the time that it should have been her husband comforting Carol at this time, but when she looked over her friend's shoulder as the dirt rattled on the coffin six feet below, Byron was nowhere near. She finally spotted him over fifty feet away engaged in a heated conversation with a man she recognized as the Bromley family solicitor, Jack Flyer.

Carol had changed after the funeral. There was less and less talk about the wonderful Byron, and when Angel would mention happy times with her husband Bob and their twin daughters Teesee and Tammy, Carol would sigh and get a wistful look in her eyes. Angel suspected all was not well on the Bromley home front.

Today, though, there had been a change for the better. Carol had requested the morning off, and had come into the store at one o'clock beaming and humming "Away in the Manger" She told Angel she had the perfect Christmas gift for Byron, one that was going to make things all better. "I don't know if you've noticed," she opened up to Carol, "but I haven't been happy for quite awhile now. Byron used to compliment me and treat me like a princess, but since the funeral, nothing I do seems to be right. My feelings have been hurt, but I think the poor dear has been under a lot of stress. He claims he wants to buy us the house we talked about before marriage, but there seems to be a problem with father's will and the sale of Bromwood. Uncle jack comes by often, and, while he is sweet uncle Jack to me as he always has been, he seems cold to Byron and the two of them argue, mostly in places where I can't make out what they are saying. I love Bromwood, but was willing to give it up as it was way too large for just the two of us," here she smiled, "but now, my present will, I think, make Bromwood just right for us and relieve Byron of the stress connected with trying to sell it. I'm going to tell him on Christmas morning."

At that, Angel began to suspect the nature of the gift that Carol was talking about, and was not surprised when she finally couldn't contain herself any longer and, drawing her friend into a massive hug blurted, "Oh, Angel, the rabbit died; I'm PREGNANT! With twins Dr. Burrows thinks!" She danced her friend around the shop and, while Angel couldn't help being infected by her friends joyous mood, she cringed as many a far Eastern antique came perilously close to becoming a pile of china or glass shards or broken pieces of wood on the salesroom floor.

Carol had invited Angel to come home to Bromwood with her after work for a girl's evening in of gossip and, of course, baby talk, and to help her decorate the house for Byron's arrival late that evening, and Angel had agreed. Angel's thought in the taxi that she hoped this pregnancy worked was sparked by the experience of a friend of hers, Sally. Sally had also thought that a baby would fix a marriage gone rocky, but the opposite had occurred, a divorce followed, and sally was trying to get by now as a single mother with a four year old. She was not about to rain on her friends parade just yet, though, and tried to remain upbeat. "Honey, don't worry," she said, giving her friend yet another hug, "Byron is going to be thrilled!" *I hope* she thought to herself. The hug lasted until the taxi pulled into the driveway off Sheridan Road and stopped before the gates to Carol's estate.

In 1922, Howard Carter had discovered the virtually intact tomb of the Egyptian pharaoh Tutankhamon, and the British Empire and the United States had been swept with a passion for all things of an ancient Egyptian nature. It was in 1923 that Alexander Bromley, caught up himself in the craze, had hired architects to design what was to become Bromwood, he and ten year old Carol's new home. As the taxi pulled up to the gates of the estate, Angel was once again awed by the massive facing statues of Ramses III that served as gateposts. The gates themselves were wrought iron with what Alexander had liked to call, tongue in cheek, the "Bromanhotep" cartouche designed by himself worked into each side. Carol exited the cab and, unlocking a plate in the chest of the right-hand Ramses, flipped a switch causing the gates to slowly open.

Fortunately or unfortunately depending on one's point of view, plans for the main house at Bromwood had been finalized before Alexander caught the Egyptian bug, and so was built not in the tradition of an ancient temple or pyramid, but it was still an impressive structure, almost a throwback to the imposing castles built by the Vanderbilts and Rockefellers of the latter half of the last century. Angel's family had not been poor, and she and her husband and children lived comfortably in the converted top two floors of the building that housed Moreau Imports, but she still felt a moment of awe every time she saw Bromwood House.

The cab driver dropped the two off at the front door, and Angel was surprised when Carol fumbled in her purse, pulled out a key, and let them into the house herself, rather than ringing the bell for the butler. Seeing her friend's confusion, Angel explained that their long time family butler and maid, a husband and wife team, had retired to florida a month ago. several new servants had been tried, but had not worked out. The way carol said that made Angel suspect that Byron was the reason, but she decided not to pry ... yet.

As soon as they were inside, Carol's mood brightened considerably, and the two girls were soon giggling and singing carols as they decorated the living room. They had it decorated to carol's liking by 6:30pm, with Byron's gayly wrapped presents - "But not the BIG present!" Carol had giggled - piled artfully under the tree. But when Angel had made to go home, Carol urged her to stay and say hello to Byron, who was due to arrive at 7:00. Suspecting that there was more to this request than just socializing, she agreed to stay, and the two settled down with Coca-Colas to wait for Byron (Neither woman indulged in alcohol, even though the new 21st Amendment had at last repealed prohibition.)

7:00pm came and went, and so did 8:00pm and 9:00pm. Finally at 9:30, they heard a car screech to a halt out front and a few moments later the door was thrust open. Carol, a smile of both relief and greeting on her face had leaped up and run to the door, with Angel following behind at a slower pace. It should have been a happy romantic scene, the loving and lovely wife waiting to greet her darling handsome husband with her gorgeous best friend, happy for the two, looking on. Two-thirds of the participants looked their parts. Both women were dressed in elegant dresses, carol having decided sometime after 7:00 to change out of her work attire. She had insisted on loaning another elegant gown to Angel, since they were the same size. Angel had agreed, thinking that playing dress up would help pass the time and calm her friend a bit. In keeping with the season, Carol was in red and Angel in emerald green.

But then Byron actually entered the entrance hall. Angel would have been hard put to think of Byron at all as "darling", but she had always found him handsome. Under normal circumstances he was. Very. At a slender 5'10", he filled out a tuxedo nicely and, with his slicked back coal black hair, both women agreed he looked rather like the movie star Fred Astaire. Tonight, however, Byron's good looks were mitigated by a slight stagger in his walk; his suit was disheveled, and there was a scowl on his face. He reeked of cheap booze and just a hint, Angel thought, of a woman's perfume that wasn't Carol's.

No "I love you." No "You look lovely tonight, dear." Not even a "Sorry I'm late, honey." Instead Byron stared at his wife as if disgusted and asked in a surly voice, "Get paid today?"

A shocked Carol replied, "Why, yes..."

Before she could continue, Byron thrust out his hand and in the same surly voice demanded, "Give it here, then!"

Carol could only stutter, "Bu ... bu... but, Byron ..." Angel was speechless with shock.

Interrupting her again, Byron raised his right hand and advanced menacingly on his wife. He was almost shouting now. "Carol, give me your pay envelope, you stupid slut!"

Blanching and cringing slightly, Carol reached for her purse which was lying on the small end table by the door and, opening it, pulled out the envelope with her pay in it. She thrust it into Byron's hand and he turned without a word and made his way out, slamming the heavy door behind him. The start of an engine and the screech of tires finally seemed to release the two women and Angel moved quickly to catch the sobbing Carol in her arms.

Many tears later and a phone call to Bob explaining that Angel would be late, Angel put her friend to bed and reluctantly prepared to leave. She wanted to stay with her friend, and only agreed to leave when Carol called "Uncle" Jack.

Jack Flyer was a widower, and both of his sons were overseas, so he had no Christmas obligations. Indeed, Carol had invited him over for Christmas dinner the next day. He regarded Carol as the daughter he never had, so he was more than willing to come over and stay with her. He'd never liked that bastard, Byron!

Christmas morning found a somewhat bleary from lack of sleep Angel putting on a good front and laughing along with Bob as Tammy and TeeSee ripped through their Christmas presents. She had almost forgotten her friend Carol's plight, when the telephone rang. It was Jack, telling her that Carol was in Lake Forest hospital and in surgery.

to be continued...

Note: TG transformation Rated-M
Read Part 1. 2.